Date: Wed, 16 Jun 2021 18:46:25 +0100 (BST)
From: Peter Brown <badboi666@btinternet.com>
Subject: Alternative Histories - 2, Barfleur 1120

The Poppycock Papers - 2: 1120 by badboi666

=====================================================================================
If sex with boys isn't your thing, go away.  If, as is much more likely,
you've come to this site precisely to get your rocks off reading about sex
with young lads then make yourself comfortable - you're in the right place.
Don't leave, however, without doing this:

Donate to Nifty - these buggers may do it for love but they still have to
eat.  http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html

Alternative Histories is an occasional series of short stories.  Fuller
versions, incorporating the exchange of bodily solids, may be found in the
Urination section under the title The Poppycock Papers, inspired by
Margaret Thatcher (not a name you come across too often on Nifty), who
failed to understand what her favourite word for "balderdash" actually
means.  It's from the Dutch: pappekak, literally, soft dung.  But here the
gentler reader is spared such exotica.
=====================================================================

William of Malmesbury, in his "Gesta Regum Anglorum" of 1125, describes the
sinking of The White Ship outside Barfleur on 25 November 1120.  The crew
had been drinking before setting sail and the helmsman steered the ship
onto rocks just outside the harbour.  William says:

"The water having washed some of the crew overboard and entering the chinks
drowned others, the boat was launched, and the young prince [William, heir
to Henry I] getting into it might certainly have been saved by reaching the
shore, had not his illegitimate sister, [Matilda] the countess of Perche,
now struggling with death in the larger vessel, implored her brother's
assistance, shrieking out that he should not abandon her so
barbarously. Touched with pity, he ordered the boat to return to the ship,
that he might rescue his sister; and thus the unhappy youth met his death
through excess of affection; for the skiff, overcharged by the multitude
who leaped into it, sank, and buried all indiscriminately in the deep."

Whether William of Malmesbury - a monk, and thus perhaps sheltered from the
sinful world - knew what actually happened, or sought tactfully to cover it
up, is lost to us.  Until now ...

*******

My name is Anselm.  It will not be long now until the Lord calls me to Him,
and I must needs make a confession, though not to a priest: what I have to
confess is far too dangerous to be spoken, even within the Confessional.
England is split from end to end and no man can be sure that his friend is
indeed a friend and not an agent of the enemy.  Even priests cannot be
trusted.  In a way it is a mercy that the events that night happened the
way they did, for if I had perished as my master did I should never have
become a monk and learned to write.  "My master!"  Strange words, but they
convey little of what he meant to me.  Be patient, my friends, and all
shall be revealed.

It is Midsummer 1154 and King Stephen is ailing, they say, though more
slowly than I.  He is around 60 - no bad age for a man, particularly for a
king who has been at war with half his kingdom.  I am not yet 50, and my
leprosy will see that I never reach that milestone.  Come, Anselm, they do
not want to hear about your affliction.  Tell them about William, about the
only person - apart from Our Lord - whom you have ever loved.

*******

My father was a brewer - not just any common brewer, but Brewmaster to His
Grace King Henry.  I was his fourth child, and the only son.  My mother,
God rest her soul, perished not long after I was born, and I was nursed by
one of the serving-women of the Court.  My childhood is neither interesting
nor important, and when I was 7 years old I was put to work with my father,
cleaning vats and burrowing into all the narrow places which needed
attention.  I was a happy child despite the lack of a mother's love.  One
day, when I was almost 10 years old my father told me that my services were
no longer needed in the brewhouse.  I was dismayed - was I to be thrown out
of the house to make my way alone in the world?  He saw my distress.  "Nay,
lad, 'tis not bad news.  You are to serve the King's son as one of his
pages.  Someone will come and take you to him on the morrow."

I had seen the King once as he rode away.  He looked very grand on his
horse.  Would I live with him and his son in their castle?  I knew he had
many bastard children - grown up now, most of them, but only one son,
William Adelin.  He was three years older than I.  Why had I been chosen?
I could hardly sleep that night with a mixture of excitement and dread.

My father scrubbed me vigorously at dawn.  "Got to have you clean for the
Prince," he said, "can't have you stinking of the vats."  He told me to put
on my cleanest garments - there was little choice as a brewmaster's boy had
few things in his wardrobe.  I broke my fast with him - the last time I
would do so - with yesterday's eel pie and small ale.  We had only just
finished when a man came to fetch me.  "God go with you, Anselm," said my
father, kissing me on the cheek.

"Come, boy," said my guide as he strode from our quarters in the clutter of
dwellings outside the castle walls.  I could hardly keep up with him.  My
heart was a mixture of excitement about going into the castle and serving
the Prince, and dread that I would be letting my father down if I failed to
serve properly.  I hoped that my father would not be punished if I was
found wanting.

I will not weary you with details that are not important.  Suffice it to
say that I was not found wanting; that I learned quickly the things I
needed to know - whom to bow to, whom to avoid if I wanted to keep my hide
untanned, whom to ask when I knew not where to go - all the things that any
boy of not quite 10 years has to learn as he starts on the road to being a
man.

I had been taken to the castle's kitchen where I had been inspected by a
man who turned out to be one of the King's chamberlains.  "He'll do," said
this high official, having satisfied himself that I was not verminous or
diseased.  "Take him to the Prince."  The same man who had collected me
from my father now led me up out of the kitchen (the biggest room I had
ever been in) into one a great deal larger.  "This is the Hall, where your
master eats with the King and the Court.  You will not eat here, but you
will attend him.  You stand against that wall behind his seat."  And he
pointed to where I would be stationed.  "Please, sir, where do I eat?"  "In
the servants' Hall beside the kitchen.  You eat with all the rest of the
under-servants before the proper folk have their meals.  Can't have you
slavering like a dog at the sight of food if your belly's not full, can
we?"  Satisfied that I wasn't going to starve I followed him along a cold
corridor.  He stopped outside a door.  "You call him 'Your Grace', and if
you ever have to speak to the King you call him 'Your Grace' as well.
Understand?"  I nodded.  "Well then," and he opened the door and ushered me
in.  He did not follow.

A boy not that many years older than I was sitting by the window.  He got
up.  "You must be my page."  I stepped a few paces towards him and bowed.
"Anselm, Your Grace."  I felt I had successfully negotiated the first
hurdle.  "And you are the brewmaster's boy?"  "Yes, Your Grace."  "Well,
you're not the brewmaster's boy any longer, Anselm.  You are now my page,
and that's a great deal more important.  Let's get you some proper clothes
to fit your new status.  Follow me."

Fifteen minutes later we returned to his room.  In that time he had taken
me to a chamber high in the castle where a group of needlewomen were busy.
They stood up as we - or to be precise, as he - entered and bowed.  "Your
Grace," said the older woman in charge.  "This is my page, mistress.  Can
you find something suitable for him to wear.  Not too grand or my father
will think me proud."  He grinned as he said this, and the woman smiled
back.  He leaned against the wall while the women bustled about, holding
various clothes against me to judge the size.  When we left my arms were
full of garments - enough to clothe half a dozen boys.

Back in the Prince's room he told me to put my burdens on his bed.  "Why do
I have so many clothes, Your Grace?" I asked.  "Because you are my page,
Anselm, and your clothes must be fresh and not stinking after several days'
wear.  This is not the brewhouse.  Besides, I like my page to look pretty,
and -" He broke off.  "Get those things off and we'll have them sent away
for the poor."  I was startled - my clothes could go to the poor as far as
I was concerned, but the idea of taking them off in the Prince's presence
was surely wrong.  "Here, Your Grace?" I said timidly.  "Yes.  Now."

As well as being the Prince, and my new Master, he was also a bigger and
older boy than I.  At this time - August 1116 - he was newly 13, I
discovered later.  That was why he had been given a page to be his
body-servant.  My task would be to attend him at every hour of the day, to
dress him, to do everything he wanted, to accompany him everywhere so that,
were he to discover he had needs, I could fulfil them.  As instructed I was
to stand behind him at his meals - a very wearisome task as sometimes the
meals went on for hours as minstrels or bards would entertain the Court -
and at the end of the day I was to undress him and send that day's clothes
to the laundresses.  All this he explained to me while I slowly took off my
mean brewmaster's son's clothes and folded them neatly.  My face must have
burned with shame as I stood almost naked in front of another human being -
a thing I had never done since I was a tiny boy.  All I had on was a strip
of cloth covering my intimate parts.  Tiny parts, a tiny strip of cloth, an
immense shame.

The Prince grinned, amused at my shame.  "Come now, Anselm, you can't keep
that rag on.  Off with it."  Dread filled me: I knew I must obey, but I
knew that the shame would never leave me.  "Yes, Your Grace," I whispered
as I loosed the knot and removed the cloth.  I stood naked before the
Prince, my eyes cast down.  I knew I would never be able to look him in the
face.  I heard him step towards me.

He lifted my chin.  He was standing only inches from me.  His blue eyes
looked at my face, studying it.  "They chose well," he said softly.  What
could he mean?  At that moment my entire life changed.  I felt his hand on
my member.  I shuddered.  Could he have known about my wickedness?  I had
been so careful.  The priest was insistent about wickedness and how the
Devil put evil thoughts into a boy's mind.  I knew well those thoughts and
I knew well how hard I had resisted them when first they had assailed me
many months earlier.  I knew too how guilty I had felt as I found myself
unable to resist them any longer.  And worst of all I knew how joyous it
was when resistance gave way to indulgence.  And the Prince was holding it!

The shame only grew when it grew, and as it grew the Prince's hand stroked
it.  Please, God, let me die now before the shame is too great and my
father is whipped for having whelped a satanic monster.  My eyes were tight
shut, so it was a shock when I felt lips on mine.  So great was the shock
that my eyes sprang open.  The Prince was kissing me!  I must have gasped
because moments later my mouth was open and the Prince's tongue was licking
mine.  Sinful Anselm's sinful tongue responded - Satan had taught it well!
- and I so forgot myself that I reached out my arms to clasp the Prince to
me.  When he did the same I knew that I must have died and gone to Heaven -
no such joy could exist on Earth between a brewmaster's son and a King's
son.

He drew back after a short while.  "Well, Anselm, are we friends now?"  Did
he mean that we might do this again?  I nodded, unable to speak.  My naked
shame had faded, but my member still showed a great keenness for further
adventure.  I was astounded when the Prince knelt in front of me.  "No,
Your Grace, you must not kneel ..."  But words left me when he took my
member, harder than it had ever been, between his lips.  "Ah!" I said
softly.  I took the dreadful liberty of gently stroking his hair - soft,
soft blond hair, the loveliest hair I had ever seen - while he abased
himself (as I understood it) on his knees in front of me.

All too soon he drew back and stood up.  "You do it, I suppose?  In bed, I
mean?"  Shame returned: my secret was known.  Had he sensed it while he was
tasting my member?  "Don't be silly, Anselm, all boys do it.  Didn't you
know?"  I nodded, my eyes cast down again.  Again he raised my chin.
"Listen, Anselm, your duties don't end for the day when you have undressed
me, you know.  That's when the fun begins."  His eyes glittered.  My member
knew what he meant, though I had no awareness of anything which might pass
between two boys other than what had already happened.  But if he wished to
lick my member at night I was not going to demur.

"And now that's all settled," he said, becoming business-like, "let's get
you inside some of these things."

Five minutes later his page stood before him.  "Not a word outside this
room, Anselm.  You don't speak to me unless I speak to you first.  You call
me 'Sire', not 'Your Grace' - that's what you call my royal father if ever
he deigns to speak to you.  In this room it will be different.  What you
call me here is something we will think about as the days - and the nights
- go by.  Are you able to be two page boys, Anselm?  The quiet servant
outside and the lusty bedfellow in here?"  In all truth I had no idea, but
the prospect of having my member licked, and of being kissed, was so
exciting that I would have agreed to anything.  "Yes, Sire," I said with a
smile.  "Good boy."  And he kissed my lips lightly.  My member gave a
little twitch.  "Later," he said, seeing movement in my breeches, "I
promise."

I attended him throughout the afternoon, keeping as unobtrusive as I was
able, until he dismissed me.  "You are due to eat soon," he said as we left
another huge room, "and you must be back in my room - our room, Anselm - "
(I blushed again) "- in one hour.  I shall need you to dress me for the
Hall."

I made my way back down to the servants' hall where I found a place with
other boys.  They were older than I for the most part, and I was nervous,
being new.  One boy, around 12 I guessed, greeted me.  "You're the Prince's
new page, aren't you?"  I nodded.  "I'm Anselm," I said quietly.  "Well,
Anselm, I'm Edwin and you are to sit by me."  I was glad that someone had
sought to make me welcome and Edwin and I chatted about the kind of life I
would lead.  Edwin, it transpired, was one of the lowlier pages to the
King, whose personal servants greatly outnumbered those of his only son.
Still, I comforted myself to think, I was the senior page to the Prince if
I was the only one.  Food was brought in a large trencher and set on the
long table in front of us.  Instantly hands were stretched out and handfuls
of meal grabbed.  "Go on," said Edwin, "grab some.  You won't get served
here.  It will be gone soon."  Quick as a flash I took two handfuls and
plopped them into my dish.  At home we ate with a knife to cut up the meat,
but here there were no knives, nor any need for them as the pieces were
already small enough even for my mouth.  A flagon was set down.  I looked
at Edwin.  "Is that for us as well as the men?"  He shrugged.  "No-one's
stopped me yet, and I've been here since I was your age.  How old are you
anyway?"  "I shall be 10 soon - on St Bartholomew's Day."  "Why aren't you
called Bartholomew then?"  I had no idea: it wasn't a question I had ever
asked myself.  However it was clear that Edwin had not sought a reason for
my being named as I was as his interest was entirely taken up with eating.
And drinking the ale he had poured for himself and - having thought about
for a moment - for me as well.  I decided Edwin was my friend.

I liked the ale.  It made me feel very grown up.  I decided not to tell
Edwin that my father had brewed it and that I had washed the vat in which
it had been made.  We weren't that good friends yet.

Benches were scraped back.  The meal was suddenly over.  "Sit by me again
tomorrow, Anselm," said Edwin.  I felt a great rush of happiness: I had
been accepted, shrimp of not quite ten years that I was.  And my member had
been stroked - by the Prince!  I recalled that he had wanted me to be two
pages, and one of them - what had he said? - was to be a lusty bedfellow.
My member knew only too well that that aspect of being a page was one of
which the learning would be pleasant.  Now, however, it was time for the
other part.  I had to attend on the Prince and prepare him for the evening
meal with the rest of the Court.  What would that entail?

When I entered the Prince's room he was sitting by the window, as he had
been when first I saw him.  He got up smiling.  "Well, Anselm, this is
where you learn the tasks for which my father has sent for you to carry
out."  When I made no reply he added that naturally his father had no
inkling of the other tasks I would be called upon to perform.  He stood
upright, his feet apart and his arms outstretched.  I approached, wondering
what to do.  I knew I was to dress him, but first I had to undress him, for
surely his Court clothes would not be donned over those he was now wearing.
My clothes were held together more simply than his, I soon discovered, and
my fingers fumbled with ribbons and little ties.  The Prince grinned.
"You'll get used to it soon enough, Anselm.  Look," and he showed me how
his breeches were fastened.  "Undo this," he said softly, "and these."  I
did as I was told and as soon as his breeches were loosed they fell to the
ground at his feet.  I knelt to ease his feet from the pooled cloth.  As I
did so I felt his hands on my head as mine had held his while he had knelt
before me earlier.  My eyes were level with a swelling in his undercloth.
"Shall I undress this part of you, Sire?"  I hoped with all my heart that
he would say 'yes', but I was to be disappointed.  "Nay, Anselm, not now.
Later, but you must wait ... and so must I.  Take the clothes and fold them
neatly, then bring me the ones from my bed.  Tomorrow you will lay them out
for me, but today there is not time."

Ten minutes later he was robed - fit for a King, I thought, and then
realised that that was exactly what he was.  I was glad I had not given
voice to the foolish thought in my head.  "Come, Anselm, it is time to
parade before the Court.  Walk one pace behind me, bow if you see me
bowing, help me settle in my chair then stand behind me against the wall.
If you ape the other servants you will come to no harm.  Do you need to
piss?  You may not have another chance for hours."  I was glad he had
thought of it, for it had not crossed my mind.  I nodded.  "Over there," he
said, pointing to a hole near the floor in the wall in a corner.  I fished
out my member and pissed.  As I did so I marvelled at the change that had
happened in less than one day.  Here I was, pissing in the presence of the
Prince, unashamed that my member was visible to him, unashamed that he
could hear the splatter as my piss arced into the gutter.

"Next time you do that we shall do so together," said a voice in my ear.  I
jumped - luckily I had finished pissing - for I had not heard the Prince
walk softly towards me.  Truly my life had changed!

*****

Three hours later we were back.  The meal had lasted most of that time,
with several platters brought in and a great deal of minstrelsy in between.
I was glad that my family ate without musical entertainment, for the whole
business was very wearisome, particularly to a boy of almost 10 who had to
stand unmoving throughout it all.  I cast glances to either side of me from
time to time, and saw that the two servants next to me - both men - moved a
little to ease the stiffness.  I was ignored throughout - the Prince had no
need of me while he ate and joked with the other men of the Court.  I
studied the rest of the people eating - men for the most part, but the
Queen and three other women were there.  The King's pages - his rank seemed
to call for two - stood much closer than I or any of the others, one on
either side two paces behind him.

(You will remember that I am a monk now, and that all these things happened
a long time ago.  After that terrible night my life changed, as I shall
relate, and I gave thanks to God for sparing me - sparing me to serve Him
while spending every waking hour grieving for the other him.  I now know
the names for the things we did, he and I, but then of course I knew only
the childish names I had used at home.  I was about to learn new words, as
well as new activities.  Since it would be foolish to continue to refer to
my 'member' in the telling of this tale I shall use the words the Prince
taught me to use while he was telling me the manner in which we would
pleasure each other.  I was, as you will recall, almost 10 years old, and
the Prince was newly 13.)

"God!" he said as the door to his room closed behind us, "that went on far
too long.  Those bloody minstrels don't know when to stop.  I've been
longing to get up here with you for hours."  He drew a heavy curtain across
the door and another across the window.  He had instructed me to bring a
candle and I used it to light two more, one at each side of the rich
pillows on his bed.  There was a truckle bed at the foot where I was
expecting to sleep - my father had told me that this was how it would be.

He stood before me, his arms outstretched.  He smiled.  "Undressing me will
be more fun that dressing me, Anselm, more fun for both of us, I hope."  I
was nervous.  All through the interminable meal I had revisited the moments
earlier when he had held me and kissed me and taken me in his mouth.  I had
been hard almost all that time, hard with excitement and wonder at what we
might do, for I had no idea of the things which lay still hidden from me.
But in my breeches what lay there knew only too well that it would be
exciting.

I undid the fastenings of his clothes and carefully folded them for the
morrow.  It took only a few minutes for the only garment still to be
removed was his undercloth, and I could see that, like me, he was hard
within.  I began to unloose it but he stopped me.  "Nay, Anselm, for you
must shed your clothes now.  We must be naked together."  He stood glorious
before me while I took off my clothes as quickly as I could.  When all that
remained was my undercloth I stopped, not knowing how he wanted me to
proceed.

We stood facing each other.  My heart was beating so hard I feared he could
hear it.  "Is it time now?" I said, "for I must undress you as I was
bidden."  He smiled.  "It is time, Anselm, but you must be naked when you
undress me," and as he had done before he knelt and unloosed the only thing
that kept my modesty.  "Mmm," he said softly, "it's perfect.  What do you
call it?"  I knew only the baby word that my wet-nurse had used, and I was
not about to use it.  I said nothing.  "I call it a cock," he said,
"although the Court has another word - une bite.  But since your cock -"
(and he had it in his hand, harder than it had ever been) "- will never see
any of the Court we will just call it a cock.  It's a nice cock, Anselm,
but it's lonely.  I think it would like to see mine.  It's time for you to
be my page again for a moment."  He stood up, smiling.  "Kneel, Anselm," he
whispered.

At last!  I knelt.  I could feel the heat coming from his ... cock.  Was
his a cock, or was there a special word for a royal one?  Whatever it was
called it was very clear that, like mine, it was hard.  I reached forward
and stroked it with both hands.  He sighed.  "Ah! Yes, that is so nice."  I
unloosed the knot and the cloth fell to the floor.  There it was!

It was bigger than mine, but not by very much.  It was very hard.  I looked
up at him.  He was looking down into my eyes, smiling.  I remembered how he
had taken mine into his mouth.  Was this what I was to do?  Without waiting
I opened my lips and closed them round it.  "Mmm."  His hands held my head
while my tongue explored its new friend.  We stayed like that only a few
seconds - I wished it had been longer - but he raised me up.  "It's much
nicer in bed," he said, and he took me by the hand and led me to his bed.
"Am I not to sleep there?" I said, pointing to the truckle.  "Good God, no.
That's just for show.  You sleep in my bed - that's what you're here for."

He lay on his back and I lay on my side looking at him.  I wasn't sure what
I should do, so I decided that I would await instructions - instructions I
was sure would be issued without delay.  We were both still hard, after
all.

"Have you done this before - with another boy, I mean?"  I shook my head.
"None of that," he said, "I need to hear `yes' or `no'."  "No, Sire."
"Forget the `Sire' in bed, Anselm. Now, what have you done.  Done with that
nice cock of yours, I mean."  My face reddened again.  "I pull it and it
gives me a feeling.  Is there anything else it does, apart from that and
pissing?"  He chuckled.  "You are about to find out.  What you did is
called wanking (the Court have a word for that too - they say se branler)
and the feeling is called coming (they say juter).  And now, my little
puppy, I am going to welcome you to my bed by giving you the best wank you
have ever had."  "But Sire," I said, "should I not be serving you?"  "All
in good time, Puppy.  And you called me `Sire' again.  "What shall I call
you then?  When you make me ... come I will need to thank you properly."
He thought a moment.  "Call me Nicky."  That seemed odd, for I knew that
his real name was William Adelin, but he was hot beside me and I was on
fire and if he had told me to call him Sunbeam I would willingly have done
so.  "Well, Nicky, I am ready," I whispered.

When I had wanked myself it was a matter of several minutes while my hand
did what was needed; when Nicky wanked me it seemed wrong to use the same
word for such a much greater deed.  He moved down the bed so that his face
and my cock were next to each other.  This naturally meant that his cock
was in front of me and I could study it closely.  "Do to me what I do to
you," came an instruction from lower down.  A hand stroked my cock ... a
hand drew the skin back - something I had never done - and the sensation
was indescribable.  He blew gently ... I remembered that I was to copy him.
I was very careful in drawing the skin back, for I had no idea what to
expect.  "Here, let me," he murmured, and his other hand - clearly used to
what it was doing - drew it back.  For the first time I saw what lay inside
- purple, moist, the piss-hole glistening.  Was that piss?  I had no time
to debate the matter for my cock was in his mouth and I had no option but
to take his into mine.  I licked the purple head as he licked mine and a
thousand lights exploded in my head.  Was this what coming was like with
another boy?

No.  The lights faded but his tongue continued to bathe my cock.  His cock
slipped from my lips as he moved slightly.  "Let me do you first - it will
be better that way this time," he said, and I felt his hand grasp me and
start to ... what was it? ... wank me.  I sighed.  It was much nicer being
wanked by somebody else.

Moments later it became a great deal nicer as I felt a hand stroking my
balls.  Was that what they were called by boys our age!  I made a mental
note to ask him once we had finished (which I hoped would be as prolonged
as the meal had been).  Much sooner than I was expecting I suddenly knew
that my feeling ... no, I must use the correct words.  Much sooner than I
was expecting I knew I would soon come.  I moaned "I'm near, Nicky, don't
stop."  His hand moved faster as he knew what was about to befall me.  Then
I was there!  "Aah! Aah!" I sighed as my cock painted the inside of my soul
with rainbows.  His hand left me and I felt soft lips caress my cock while
it still pulsed.  I felt his tongue wash the red-hot end.  Too soon his
mouth left me ... only to be fastened to my mouth where our tongues danced,
greeting each other like frolicsome puppies.  Was that why he called me
`Puppy'?  "Now it is my turn, Puppy.  Was it good for you?"  "Oh, Nicky,
yes, yes," I murmured foolishly.  The feeling - the coming - had been so
much more thrilling than any comings had been in my bed at home, and the
thing I wanted most in the world was to give Nicky a come as wonderful as
the one he had given me.

He was lying on his back, his cock pointing at his chin.  I moved down the
bed to feast my eyes upon it.  It was so hard!  His piss-slit was still
wet.  "Is that piss?" I said.  He laughed.  "No, Puppy.  Would you like it
if I pissed in the bed?"  "No, but if it is not piss, what is it?"  "It
comes from my cock when I need to come - yours will do the same in a year
or two.  I think it makes fucking easier."  Here was another new word, but
I was in no mood to discover what it might mean: my mind was bent on giving
him the come I owed him.

I took his cock in my mouth, licking the hot length of it.  He shuddered.
I felt his balls as he had felt mine.  They were bigger than mine.  He
shuddered some more.  "Use your hand," he whispered, "then when I tell you
I'm about to come get it in your mouth again."  He knew, but I did not,
what would happen.

I wanked him as he had wanked me - sometimes slowly, sometimes quickly.
Not two minutes passed before he groaned.  "Now," he panted.  My lips were
round his cock, my hand still wanking the root of it.  He thrust upward,
burying his cock deep in my mouth and I felt something fill my mouth.  Over
and over again there was a sensation of ... not piss, surely?  I had not
pissed in his mouth - I would not have dared - yet he was pissing in mine.
"Swallow, Puppy," he murmured, "it is not piss, I promise."  My mouth was
so full that I had no choice, but as I swallowed I was excited by the taste
of this not-piss.  It was warm and much thicker than milk or ale, and it
tasted sweet, almost like honey.  I decided I liked whatever it was that
had gushed from his cock.  Why did nothing gush from mine?  Had it gushed
the first time I had wanked and I had wasted it in my bed?

His cock grew softer as mine had done, but my tongue and my lips were loth
to bid it farewell.  The decision was his.  "That's enough, I'm too
sensitive for more.  Anselm, that was the best come I've had.  You are a
good page," and he pulled my head to his and we kissed again.

"I can taste my spunk.  Did you know what it was?"  "No.  You said it
wasn't piss and it tasted of honey.  Piss doesn't taste of honey.  What was
it?  Did I do it in your mouth?"

Five minutes later I was possessed of the knowledge I had sought - or at
least I was possessed of what William Adelin's understanding of such
matters was at the tender age of 13.  As the years went by we both became
aware of the precise nature of what had happened, and indeed what we shared
in his bed that night became a very frequent delight for both of us.
Naturally our repertoire expanded, and that, I'm sure, is where the
interests of a reader will lie.

Before we reach that state, however, there is one further thing to relate
about that first night together.  We had lain together, I in his arms
resting on his chest, for some minutes after our exertions.  "Up, Puppy, I
need to piss," he said.  I recalled what he had said earlier when I had
pissed in his presence for the first time ('next time you do that we shall
do so together') and I - who was almost asleep - reminded him.  He smiled,
"yes, I remember.  Come with me," and he took me by the hand to the hole in
the corner.  We stood very close together.  He put his arm on my shoulder
and I put my arm round his waist.  With our free hands we aimed our cocks
at the hole and watched as piss gushed forth.  When we had finished and
shaken our cocks he turned to me and again touched his lips to mine.  I saw
that his cock was beginning to harden again, and my hand strayed - no,
Anselm, it did not stray, for that would imply that it was trespassing - my
hand returned to where Nicky and I knew it now belonged.  He smiled at me.
"Again, Puppy?"  I nodded.

*****

The next morning set the habit for the next years of my life.  I awoke at
dawn in a strange place.  It took me some moments to remember where I was
and why there was another boy in bed with me and when I did my heart was
filled with joy.  I moved carefully out of bed, trying not to wake him, but
he slept lightly and his eyes opened.  "God give you good day, Puppy."
"God give you good day also, Sire."  I grinned as I said it.  "I hope I
gave you good night."  He grinned.  "Yes, Anselm, since we are being
formal, and so it will be for many nights to come."  He got out of bed and
scratched himself.  Although we had shared so many moments of intimacy -
kissing, sucking each others' cocks, swallowing his spunk - I was still
startled when a great fart escaped him.  "God's blood, that stinks," he
said happily.  I was relieved, for I knew a fart was waiting in me.  He
looked at me.  "Go on, Puppy, let it fly.  Everybody farts when they rise
from their bed."  It felt as though the last barrier between us was
breached when I did as he bid.  I giggled.  "Mine stinks too."  He went to
the hole to piss again, with some difficulty as he was half-hard with
morning need.  Above the hole the stonework was stained - I had not noticed
it in the candle-light the night before.  When William held his cock and
pissed two or three feet above the hole the stain was explained.  I was
about to piss also but he stopped me.  "Can you wait a few minutes, Puppy?
It will be worth it."  When he had finished he said, "that's where we shit
as well."  I had wondered about that: at home we shat in the straw behind
the cottage and a man came with a cart every week to remove it.  Nothing
would induce me to shit in his presence, I decided - pissing was fine, but
my noise and my stink were things I had no wish to allow him to experience.
Luckily I felt no need, not then.

I began to lay out his clothes: I should resume my daytime duties and dress
him so that he could break his fast in the Hall.  As I turned to begin I
saw to my horror that he was squatting over the hole, unconcerned about my
presence.  "Sire!" I said, "should I not leave while you ..."  "Don't be
silly, Puppy.  We've pissed together, I've come in your mouth, everybody
shits, why should you be worried?  Does the stink offend you?"  I was
alarmed - I had perhaps offended him by implying that what he was doing
disgusted me.  "Nay, Sire, Nicky," (I was confused) "I just ... felt you
might not wish me to be present."  "Come here," he said, still squatting,
"you and I are close in years, closer than anyone else with whom I spend my
time each day.  We must share everything - everything, Puppy.  Do you
understand?"  I nodded, then remembered his instruction.  "Yes, Nicky."
"Then you must do what I say.  Bring your fine little cock over for me."
"Now?"  "Yes, Puppy, now, while I am sitting here waiting for something to
appear."  Nothing had prepared me for this, but when my cock was in my hand
it was no longer little.  Though it shames me now, more than forty years
later, to dwell on the scene before me it most certainly did not shame me
then.  He whispered, "I need to see you naked again."  My cock, revealed to
his gaze, was hard.  He smiled.  "Now do exactly what I tell you.
Promise?"  I nodded, wondering what he might want.

"Piss on my chest, Anselm."

It was hard.  All my being cried out in my head that it was wrong for so
many reasons.  Yesterday I could not have pissed in front of anyone, but
that wall had been breached.  Today I was being told to piss on someone,
and not just anyone - a Prince of the blood royal.  "You promised," he
reminded me.  I closed my eyes and murmured a prayer in my head, asking
that God would understand that I was obeying a command and that, if He was
to smite me, it would be swift.  I opened my eyes.  He was still smiling.
Piss flew from me, leaping the few inches to splash on his chest where it
ran in rivulets down his belly, parting as it flowed round his cock (now as
hard as mine) and ran into the hole down to the pit which I assumed lay
below.  As I pissed he frowned and another great fart escaped - as stinky
as the earlier one.  "Aaah!" he groaned, "that's so good, Puppy.  Piss on
my cock," he whispered, "while I wait to see what will happen."  I did so,
though I had little left with which to satisfy his need.  Then I busied
myself elsewhere in the room, doing my best to ignore what was happening.

A minute later he was done.  "That's better," he said, "now it's time to
clean me."  He looked at me expectantly.  I was at a loss.  At length I
found my tongue.  "How?" I whispered.  He stood up.  "Through there," he
said, and he led the way through a curtain into a little stone-floored
chamber.  There was a trough to carry water away and a large ewer stood in
a corner.  "Wet the cloth in the ewer and wash my chest and belly," he
said.  The water was cold, and I was glad (for his sake) that it was
August.  I shuddered to think what such washing would be like in February.
When he was satisfied that all my piss was washed away he turned round and
bent to touch his toes.  "Now my arse.  Is it shitty?"  "A little."  "Use
the cloth again.  Always arse last, Puppy, I don't want shit all over me."
I plied the cloth, wiping him clean as best I could.

"You are clean now," I said, "but I need to dry you."  I had seen a rough
cloth in the other room which would serve the office of a drying cloth.  I
ran to fetch it and when I returned seconds later he was still standing as
I had left him.  The sight of his arse was too much.  I knelt and, as I had
done only a few hours before with his cock, I licked hungrily between his
globes.  "Mmm," he murmured, "you are a find, Puppy, and no mistake."  I
know not what drove me to do what I was doing, but the heat in my bowels
drove me on.  My tongue made certain that there was no trace of anything
unpleasant on him, nor - to the small extent it could reach - within his
body.  The cloth finished the task.  He stood up and embraced me.  I was
overwhelmed with a feeling I had never felt before - a feeling for which I
had no name.  All I knew was that to serve William Adelin - Nicky - was the
only thing which had any value, and that being in his presence - his bed -
was the only place I wished to be.

The poets - and not just the poets - have a word for this condition, but if
the poets have ever recorded its presence in a boy not yet ten years old
then I have yet to find their writings.  As an old man near the end of his
road I have neither the resources nor the inclination to search the poets;
as a boy of not quite ten years old my head, my heart, my very soul, were
too full to have any thought for what the poets might have to say.  Nor, in
truth, could I have given words to him - or to myself - about how
upside-down I found myself.

My reverie was interrupted.  "Time to put the night away, Puppy.  The day
beckons and my belly lusts for meat."  He grinned.  "But tonight, who
knows?"

I dressed myself quickly, then I dressed him.  "You don't attend me in the
Hall while I break my fast," he said, "go down break your own fast with the
other servants.  Come back here when you have done so."  I nodded and
followed him, two paces behind as usual.

Edwin greeted me like an old friend, and I fell into a place beside him.  I
had not realised how hungry I was - how much the activities of the night
and the recent minutes had given me an appetite.  I reached for meat from
the trencher and poured myself a cup of small ale.  I drank it quickly.
"That's better," I said, pouring myself a second cup.  "Looks as though you
have been busy, Anselm," said my friend, and I must have blushed because he
looked at me with respect.  "You and the Prince?  So quickly?"  I managed
to restrain myself from making any reply by stuffing a handful of meat into
my mouth.  By the time I could speak Edwin no longer seemed to be
interested.  Instead I asked him something which, in the few minutes since
I had left Nicky, had begun to be pressing.  I whispered a question.
"Where do I go to shit, Edwin?"

He laughed.  "Has no-one told you?  Follow me when you've finished stuffing
yourself ready for a busy day with the Prince."  He was grinning, so I knew
that I was being teased as my sisters were wont to tease me.

The arrangements were somewhat grander than the pile of straw we used at
home.  Grander in that seating was provided and no-one had to squat.  Rough
planks were laid over a pit with holes allowing a number of men to sit and
shit together.  The stench was indescribable.  Our straw had smelt bad, but
it was fragrance itself compared with this.  Edwin lowered his breeches and
sat unconcerned.  "I thought you had to go," he said.  I nodded.  "Well
then, sit by me - or shit by me," and he fell into a great gale of
laughter.  I did as he bid me, sitting a little distance from him.  He
laughed some more.  "You had better get used to shitting next to someone,
Anselm, because in the winter this is the warmest place apart from the
kitchens, and some of us spend as much time in here as we can, even though
it stinks.  You get used to it after a year or two."  He could hardly stop
laughing, and I confess I found his teasing less wearing that when my
sisters joined in making life tiresome for their baby brother (as they
liked to call me).  As I shat I could not help recalling how Nicky had shat
and to my horror my cock started to recall it as well.  Luckily I had
almost finished.  I don't think Edwin saw ... but would I have minded if he
had?  I did not know.

He showed me how to wipe myself with the cloth wound round the rod.  "You
put it back in here," he said, pointing to the hole from which he had drawn
it.  "There's some stuff down there which keeps it fresh.  Sometimes it
even seems to work."  I applied the cloth to my arse - it was cold and
stung.  I resolved to inform my sisters about how much better the shitting
arrangements were here compared to the straw.

I made my way back up to what I was already thinking of as `our' room, but
he was not there.  I busied myself folding his clothes again and stowing
them neatly.  I took his undercloth to the laundress (after I had secretly
inhaled his scent) and she berated me for not having done so hours earlier.
When I returned he was there.  "Where have you been, Anselm?  Not still
feasting, I hope."  I told him about the laundress, omitting to mention the
heady bouquet I had sampled.

*****

The next morning at breakfast Edwin had asked me why I was so quiet, so I
roused myself to be the chatterbox he expected me to be.  I must not let
him think there was anything on my mind.  I told him that serving the
Prince was exhausting, that I had so much to learn.  It was perhaps not the
wisest thing to have said because he looked slyly at me.  "Already?  He's a
quick worker then."  I said no word, but my blushes must have confirmed his
suspicion.  I comforted myself with the thought that if he had worked out
what Nicky and I were about then it could only have been because he and his
master - whoever that was - were equally occupied.  I merely smiled as
enigmatically as I was able at almost ten years old.

I made myself tarry as long as I could, but as we were all servants of some
kind leisure was not something we could enjoy, even while eating.  "I'm off
to the jakes, Anselm, are you coming?" said Edwin.  I shook my head.  "I
have no need at present."  "Well, God go with you then," he said, and he
was off.  I made my way back to where the next intimate exchange (as I
hoped) would happen.  I wasn't sure that God would approve.

God's approval would have surely been withheld, not least because I had
lied to Edwin.  It was true that my bowels needed no attention, but I was
in great need of pissing and my insides were most uncomfortable.  I opened
the door to find the room empty.  God's blood, I said to myself, aping the
expression William had used the day before - I felt grown up using such
words which would have doubtless earned me a whipping at home - as I kept
moving about the room.  I feared that if I stopped I would find myself
pissing willy-nilly.  God, make him come, I muttered to myself - and lo! -
my prayers were answered.  He grinned when he saw me in evident discomfort.
"Just in time from the sight of you, Anselm.  Let's to business.  Undress
me."  I managed to do so without soiling myself, and I tore off my own
clothes, undercloth and all.  We were naked again, He was hard and I was
bursting.

"Squat as you saw me squatting, Puppy," he said softly, "but hold it in as
long as you are able."  I almost ran to the stone and sat on it, heedless
of the piss and shit stains that might have been found there.  "Sitting is
better," I said, "squatting is for women and old men."  "We will sit when
we play, Puppy, for much more fun is possible that way."  I was confused -
all I needed was to piss.

"May I piss on you, Anselm?  Piss on you as you did on me?  It's very
exciting."  I nodded.  "yes," I breathed, "all over my belly."  He came
right up to me and stood with his legs either side of mine, so that his
cock was almost touching my chest.  He closed his eyes.  I wished I could
kiss him, but his mouth was out of reach.  I felt piss on my chest, running
down my belly, soaking my cock and beginning to trickle between my globes.
The piss continued to pour onto me.  I suddenly knew that I could no longer
contain my piss and that, were I to do so without warning onto Nicky he
would either have me thrashed, or he would wish me to do it again.  My
brain was too excited with what was happening in my arse and on my skin to
make a thoughtful decision, and my bladder made it for me.

"Oh fuck!" he cried, "Puppy, that is so evil.  I love it."  I was not going
to be thrashed then.  We pissed on.  "I'm done, Nicky," I whispered.  He
held me tight: two boys soaking wet with each others' piss sitting above a
stinking cess-pit.  It was not the most romantic of situations, but it was
one that neither of us wished to bring to an end.  Eventually William leant
forward to give me a quick kiss.  "Nice, Puppy, we will do this every day.
Are you in agreement?"  "Your every wish is my command, Sire," I said
grinning.

As we had done the morning before we washed each other again.

*****

I will not weary you with how the days were spent - that day or any other.
I learned a great deal about life at the Court, but none of it belongs in
this confession.  St Bartholomew's Day was different, however.  William had
remembered that it was my birthday and, though the night before had been
spent as had every night in his service, the morning was different.  When I
awoke it was to find Nicky already awake, propped on his elbow looking at
me.  "Now that you are ten, Puppy, you are so much more desirable.  I must
feast upon your body."  I giggled; I loved it when he said foolish things
like that.  He burrowed down and my cock was soon in his mouth.  I relaxed,
knowing that he would make me come.  Sometimes he made me refrain from
doing anything to pleasure him, though I always did so when he had brought
me to Paradise, and I knew that this was such an occasion.

Suddenly he threw off the bedclothes.  "It's too hot under there, and your
cock is so hot today."  I grinned.  "Lift your legs, Puppy, I want to get
at your arse."  This was new.  He took my cock in his mouth again, but with
my legs lifted he was able to run his fingers between my globes and touch
my arse-hole.  In the days since I had first shared his bed his fingers had
often traced that path (as mine had his) but had never sought to penetrate
me.  Today it would be different.

I had often hear my father cry 'fuck!' if something had gone amiss, but the
word itself had no meaning other than as a cry of annoyance.  I recall
having said it myself - a year or more before I left home - when I stubbed
my toe, and I recall the whipping the use of the word occasioned.
Evidently you had to be a grown-up to use it, or if not, then well out of
earshot.  If only all Life's lessons were so easily learned!  That day - St
Bartholomew's Day in the year of Our Lord 1116 - I learned the more common
meaning of the word and, like the earlier learning, it was accompanied by a
considerable pain.

Nicky brought me to a high state of excitement with the use of his fingers
and tongue.  He spat on my arse-hole and pushed a finger in.  I
instinctively clenched myself.  "No, do not resist, Puppy, push and I shall
slip in."  I was alarmed - it hurt and besides, if I pushed I was afraid I
might shit in the bed.  My muscles remained taut.  "Push, Puppy, nothing
nasty will happen, I promise."  "How do you know?" I whispered.  He made no
immediate reply, but I could not maintain my tightness and as I relaxed his
finger entered me.  To my astonishment it was a wonderful feeling as his
finger moved around inside me - it was much more thrilling than being
tickled, although that must have been what he was doing.  My eyes were
tight shut (as so often during our fun moments in bed) so when I heard him
spit again I had no idea what he was planning.  "Aaah!" I cried.  The
second finger was uncomfortable and again my muscles tightened.  "Sssh!" he
whispered, "it is all right - trust me, little one."  He had not called me
that before, and it was odd, for had my father or one of my sisters called
me 'little one' I should have been very cross.  But Nicky ... he was
special, after all.  I relaxed, warm in the glow of having two fingers -
his fingers - in my arse ... and the fingers themselves made me glow.  The
discomfort was forgotten.  I heard a whisper.  "I want to fuck you,
Anselm."  "Mmm," I murmured, having no notion of what he was proposing to
do, but happy that if he wanted to do it then I would find it as pleasing
as having fingers in me.  "What do you mean?" I said softly, "what is
fucking?"  His fingers were suddenly out of me, and I felt a wave of
regret: the heat had been so great and so wonderful.  He moved up the bed
and lay next to me, his face only an inch from mine.

"You must have seen the animals fucking, Anselm, when the stallion mounts
the mare or the dog his bitch."  I nodded - did he think me an ignorant
boy? - of course I had seen those things, and had found my eyes drawn to
the sight (especially the stallion).  "Well, that's what fucking is, making
foals and puppies, Puppy."  We giggled.  "You want to make me have a
puppy?"  "No, not quite.  For a start you aren't a girl and so you don't
have a cunny, so whatever else happens you won't have puppies - or babies,
come to that.  And the only hole you've got in which I can fuck you is your
pretty little arse-hole - and it is pretty, Anselm, because I've been
gazing at it for days now, waiting for you to be ten and ready to be
fucked.  You have had two royal fingers up inside you, and you seemed to
like that -" (I nodded vigorously) "- well then, the royal cock will be
even better, won't it?"  I nodded.  "Will it hurt?"  "A bit, I expect, but
you'll get used to it."

Although he prepared me carefully with more spit it did hurt - dreadfully -
and I groaned.  I did my best not to cry out, nor to let him see the tears,
but I was unsuccessful.  My eyes were shut but the tears escaped: the next
thing I felt was his lips kissing the tears away.  "It won't hurt for long,
Puppy, I promise."  His cock was deep inside me and I tried hard to relax -
to push, as he had told me.  With the experience of the hundreds of
fuckings we had shared since then I know that my pushing had the effect of
sucking him more deeply into me - a feeling I had no words to describe
then, nor have I now - and quite suddenly the searing pain was fading.  I
opened my eyes to see his face immediately above mine - I was on my back -
wreathed in smiles.  "Happy, Puppy?  Better now?"  "Yes," I sighed, "do it
now, but gently."

He tried to be gentle, but it was his first time as well as mine, and he
was not able to control his urge.  He fucked me fiercely and I was pounded
mercilessly.  It hurt again but I was determined to show no sign of it.  I
was pleased that within a minute he made the sounds he always made when he
was nigh to coming.  Then, with a mighty groan he pushed his cock into me
even further than he had done before and I felt his cock swell and surge.
Was he filling me with spunk?  Of course he was, Anselm, you fool, just as
he filled your mouth, only this time he swelled and surged over and over
again.  He rose from my body - we had been clasped together like toads -
and grinned down at me like an ape.  "Wank yourself while I am still inside
you.  I bet you come within a few seconds."  I reached down - I was as hard
as I could remember and we were both aglow with sweat and in his case
fulfilment and in mine, need.  My hand flew, he was right, for it was less
than twenty heartbeats before I convulsed with a great come - the biggest
of my life.  "Ah! fuck, Anselm, your arse clutched my cock as you came," he
moaned.

I should like to have died then, I thought: nothing this side of Heaven
could ever be so sweet as that moment.  And yet it was all so unseemly.
The Prince had his cock up his page's arse; his spunk was seeping out and
trickling down the page's arse crack; when it slipped out (please, God, let
it stay in for ever) it would be caked in shit ... but I knew that however
unseemly it was something that I would welcome whenever William wished to
repeat it.  An imp pricked my soul, telling me that were William to have
forgotten to suggest another fuck I should be sure to remind him.

*****

I have recounted those first weeks in William Adelin's service in some
detail, not to seek absolution for my childish sins but to give some
explanation of why he entered my soul and my heart as readily as he entered
my body and (as you may expect) I his.  The next important milestone came
over two years later.  During those two years he fucked me on most nights,
but always refused to let me fuck him, though I begged him to.  "Not yet,
Puppy, but soon, I hope."  My irritation at this constant refusing did not
last long, for lips, fingers, cocks, arses all conspired to drive such
petty thoughts from my mind.  And of course I was in love.

You must not think that the Prince spent all day sinning with me.  On most
days he went, an hour or so after he had eaten breakfast, to knightly
training.  I was required to attend him while this was going on - not that
I received training of this kind, but to assist him should he have need of
it in aspects other than those in which he was being instructed.  As the
weeks and months went by I could see, even with ten-year-old eyes, that he
was developing both skills and bodily strength.  The boy I loved was
growing towards the young man I would love.

After the midday meal he spent some hours with his father, King Henry (or
if not with the King, with his advisers and the Chamberlain) learning about
kingship and what he would one day be called upon to do.  I was not
required at such meetings, so my afternoons were largely mine own.  On one
occasion another servant, thinking me idle, set me to a tedious task
(cleaning the cooking pots) and I resolved that I should never again be
seen with nothing to do.  In the afternoons I repaired to `our' room where
I busied myself tidying, sweeping, making sure that his clothes were clean
and sweet-smelling, taking soiled or frayed garments to the women for
attention.  "My, you are a busy lad," one of them said.

When he came back from an afternoon's instruction I was always there for
him.  On most days he flung himself on the bed, tired, as he put it, `with
all that listening'.  "At least in the tiltyard I get up a good sweat.  My
fucking brain doesn't like sweating over all this kingship stuff."  I found
that I could restore his good mood by bathing him in the adjoining room.  I
had discovered that the boy - not much younger than I - who brought the
ewer would bring hot water if asked.  At Nicky's suggestion I offered him a
penny to do so each day.  Our bathings were thus much more welcome than in
the cold water supplied before pennies changed hands.

That was the pattern of our days - feast days and saints' days apart,
naturally - for two years.  The next landmark occurred a few days before my
twelfth birthday.  I had been in William Adelin's service (and his bed) for
a little over two years.  That night began as countless others had.  After
much kissing and stroking he fucked me, and as so often before I swam
enraptured as his spunk poured into me.  He had fucked me so often that my
cock had learned to come while he was coming in me.  That night it felt
different.  I looked down.  "Nicky!  I've made spunk, look."  Sure enough
there were three white drops on my belly - drops which could only have come
from my balls.  He was as excited as I was.  "Well done, Puppy, you are on
the way to being a man now.  Each day your balls -" (he stroked them) "-
will make more spunk."  Tomorrow morning, after they have had a busy night
making more, you will come in my mouth at dawn and I will taste your
essence as you have tasted mine."  He looked into my eyes.  "This is a
magic moment, Anselm," he said gravely, "we are for each other now."  I did
not know what he meant.  As far as I was concerned I had been his for two
years.  But was he now mine?  Was the Prince his page's?  I could not
fathom it out.  All I knew was that I had come proper spunk, and that both
he and I were joyful.

He kissed me.  The spunk - such as there was - cooled on my belly.  He bent
to lick me.  He was licking my spunk!  Swallowing it!  He moved back up the
bed and whispered in my ear. "Your spunk tastes of everything sweet, Puppy.
I love it."  There was a contented silence as we lay close together.  "I
love you, Anselm," he whispered.  "I love you, Nicky.  I have done since I
first came here."  "I know.  And tonight, Anselm, Puppy, I want you to fuck
me.  Now that you can make spunk I want you to make it inside me."

That night - the first of many when we each fucked the boy we loved - will
always remain in my mind.  My body may be decaying almost before my eyes,
but (thank the Lord) my brain is still as agile as it ever was, and that
night is as fresh in my memory as though it were yesterday.

*****

One day the following spring - it must have been not long after May Day
1119 - William told me that a small number of the Court was to visit
Norfolk - there was a shrine, apparently, and the King wished to pray there
- and after they were to spend some days at a place called Guella.  "It's
on the sea, Puppy, so we can swim.  Can you swim?"  I shook my head.  "Nor
can I, but we can at least get ourselves wet," and we both grinned at the
thought.  At that time he was 15 and I was approaching 13.  Our frolics
both in bed and on the stone piss-hole were well established, enjoyed by
both of us.  "If we are lodging away from London who knows what mischief we
might find, Puppy," he said as we lay in bed after a boisterous hour one
spring night.

The day before we set off for Norfolk William asked me whether I could
ride.  "How could I?" I said, "I'm a brewmaster's boy.  The only horses my
father has are for pulling the dray, and he has a man to manage them."
"Then you shall ride with me.  Don't worry, I can handle the beast."  I
liked the idea that I would ride behind him, clutching him by the waist and
feeling the heat of his body next to mine.

The journey was tiring, even though riding behind William was exciting.  My
poor cock was hot and hard after so many hours pressed against his body.
Our Lady's shrine of Walsingham was where we were going.  It had been
founded some fifty years earlier, just before the King's father came to
England and had already acquired fame as a place where miracles could be
expected.  "Do you believe in miracles, Nicky?" I asked.  "No, not really.
I don't say my prayers any more.  I'm far too keen on getting my page into
bed and my cock up his arse than I am in kneeling on a cold floor.  It will
be different when my father dies and I am king.  I will have to be very
holy then."  I hoped that would not be for a very long time.

The monks and priests at the shrine had made several rooms available for
us, doubtless hoping that the Court would endow them.  The King rose early
the next morning and the Court, including William, were all obliged to
accompany him on their knees as he spent hours praying.  When William
returned he was most vexed, and it took some time before my lips and my
tongue (and other parts of me) were able to improve his mood.  "That's
enough praying for a year," he grumbled, "I can't think what my father sees
in it.  Tomorrow, my fine Puppy, we are all to ride to Guella."  "What is
there?" I said.  He shrugged.  "I don't know.  There are healing wells
apparently, but since neither of us is sick we shall not bother visiting
them.  The Court will have to accompany my father, but I have persuaded him
to excuse me from such things.  `I wish to see the fisherfolk there, and
talk to them about their trade.  Whenever I have been into France I have
been afraid at the sea crossing, but these men go every day, come rain or
shine, they say, and I wish to understand more of the sea and its perils,'
I told my father.  "What did he say?"  "He grunted.  That means `yes'."

Naturally I accompanied him to the fisherfolk, or to be precise to their
women - the men were at sea.  He talked to them and I stood a respectful
few paces away.  I was glad when he turned to me and said that he had had
enough converse, and now knew all he felt he would ever need to know about
the fishing trade.  "Come with me, Anselm," and we rode a mile or two out
of the hamlet along the seashore.  There was a little cove, sheltered from
view.  "This looks ideal," he said.  He hobbled the horse and we walked
down to the water's edge.  "Undress me."  I hoped he would say that - I had
looked forward to our playing in the sea from the moment he first mentioned
it.

Very swiftly we were both clad only in our undercloths.  "There is no-one
to see," he said, "and besides, I am a prince.  Who will dare to say
anything if they see us naked?" and he took off his undercloth and reached
over to unfasten mine.  Two naked boys relished in their nakedness and in
the heat of the sun on their bodies.  We walked together into the sea.  It
was a strange feeling, at once chilling and thrilling.  The sensation of
the water on my balls was exciting.

Though neither of us could swim we frolicked about, forgetting his status.
We might as well have been a young fisherman and his apprentice.  We ducked
under the surface, braving death by drowning.  Soon he whispered in my ear.
"I need to piss.  Shall I do it in the sea like the fishes?"  "No, Nicky,
keep it in.  We'll enjoy it in the dunes." He looked at me.  "You have an
idea, don't you."  It wasn't a question.  "Come on," I said, "I need one
also."

Two minutes later we had found a spot completely hidden among the grassy
dunes.  "We'll do it here, then we can go back in the sea to clean
ourselves," I whispered (though why I whispered when there was no-one
within a mile of us I know not.  Perhaps I was too excited to speak
properly).  "I can't hold it any longer, Puppy, what am I to do in your
great plan?"  I lay down on my back, heedless of the sand sticking to my
wet back.  "Squat over me, Nicky, and piss on me."  "You are mad, Puppy.
Are you sure?"  "Of course I'm sure.  I've been wanting you to piss on me
lying naked under you for months when we've pissed together.  Please."  He
grinned.  "Very well, Puppy.  I think you can guess that I am just as
keen," and he squatted with his arse just below my chin, facing away from
me.

He squatted as I had asked him, his arse only two or three inches above my
chest.  He sighed and I saw his arse displayed beautifully before my eyes.
"Oh yes, Nicky," I breathed, "it looks so hot.  Now piss on me."  When he
had done in the instant before his body was lowered onto mine his hands had
grasped my cock, soaked as it was with royal piss, and spread it down over
my balls.

His body was on mine!  His piss was plastered between us.  My hands were
around his body, pressing him as close to me as was possible.  Seconds
later I felt the heat of my wetness on my belly.  I too was pissing.  We
must have lain like that for some time, kissing, kissing, kissing as time
passed.  All the time we could feel our cocks hard against each other's
belly.  "Fuck me, Nicky, please," I moaned, "I need you in me, piss, spunk
and all.  Fuck me as hard as you can."  Neither of us had fucked the other
while wet with piss, but our arousal was so great that doing so seemed the
most natural conclusion to our wickedness in the dunes.  "Kneel then, like
a dog, for I will have you from behind."  We had fucked like that sometimes
before, and I knew that he became very vigorous when doing so.  He plunged
his cock into me with little preparation - I needed none - and his arms
clasped me tightly as he fucked me fast and deep.  He lasted only a minute
before he groaned and I felt the familiar joyful swelling of his cock as
the white-hot lava was pumped into me.  He knew enough about how I liked to
come while being fucked like a dog for his right hand to grasp my cock,
hard and hot, and bring me very swiftly to the same height of ecstasy as
himself.  His cock was still deep inside me as mine swelled and cast my
spunk into the sand.

Almost immediately he slipped out.  "Come on, Puppy, the sea will be our
salvation lest anyone smell what we have been up to."  We ran, soaked from
neck to foot, our cocks softening but still leaking spunk, into the sea
where we ran our hands and arms over each other to cast the mess into the
waters.  "Fuck, but that was the best surely," he said softly when, several
minutes later, we lay in the warm shallows up to our necks.  I nodded.
"But it's not something we can do at home."  'At home!' I thought as soon
as I had said it.  It was presumptuous, I knew, but we both knew that we
loved each other, and therefore that his home was my home.  "We will find a
way, Anselm," he said, tenderly stroking my face.

*****

William Adelin was required to pray with his father, the King, again at
Walsingham three days after our adventure in the dunes.  I and other
attendants waited outside the shrine while they and two priests did
whatever had to be done.  When they emerged an hour later William was as
pale as a ghost.  I went to his side in case he had need if me, but he
remained silent.  The King and his train rode towards London, and we
followed close behind.  "What's wrong, William?" I said when we were out of
earshot of the procession in front of us.  He remained silent, still
pale. As I held on to him I felt that every muscle in his body was taut.  I
leaned forward and said softly, "please tell me, Nicky, I know something
bad has happened.  Let me share in it."  He sighed.  "My father wishes me
to marry Matilda - she's a French noblewoman - and it will happen in France
next month."  I was as distraught as he was, but I dared not show it.
"Will she live with us - with you, I mean?"  "I expect she will at some
time, but she is too young, I think."  He turned his head to look at me.
"Anselm, my father wishes it, not I.  I have never seen her.  I have no
desire for her, but I will do my duty and fuck her so that when I am king
there will be heirs to carry on after I am gone.  My father made that clear
at Walsingham.  The first time he prayed to the Holy Virgin that She would
bless the marriage.  Today She seems to have given a sign that it would be
a successful union.  Don't ask me what the sign was - it was something the
priests could understand apparently.  Be that as it may, the marriage has
Heaven's blessing and neither I nor Matilda have any say in the matter.
You are lucky, Anselm, being a brewmaster's boy.  You will be able to marry
who you like, if ever your cock decides it needs to bury itself in some
woman."  He broke off.  I felt him shake.  "Don't weep, Nicky," I said
softly, "we will still be together until she is old enough for you to do
your duty, and when you have done it I will still be warm in our bed to
make you feel better again."  I only dared to speak in that way because it
was the only way I could think of to shake him from his despair.  I was
relieved when I heard the familiar chuckle.  "You are an impertinent
rascal, Puppy, but I think I shall keep you."  By the time we reached
London we were both in a merrier mood.  After all, he would not be sailing
to France for some weeks.

*****

I went with the Royal party to Lisieux.  Matilda was not yet 13, and she
seemed as unwilling as William was about anything beyond the lengthy
ceremony in the church.  There would be feasting and courtly formalities,
but the only person being fucked was me.  The chamber set aside for the
Prince William Adelin was considerably better than the one he - we - had at
home, and the bed in which he - we - slept (and fucked, and did all manner
of other things) was both larger and softer.  Not knowing how the chamber
would be attended I made a great play of lying in the truckle bed provided
for me, and crumpling the linen so that no-one might think it had not been
chastely occupied.  William watched gravely while this charade was
performed.  Alas, there was no opportunity for the play with which we now
routinely occupied ourselves as bowls were provided for our necessities.
We were amused that his was of fine porcelain while mine was of unglazed
earthenware.  "Never mind, Puppy, I'll piss on you when we get home," he
said as we held each other.  I had never held a married man before.

When he took his leave of his new wife the following morning she seemed
pleased that the whole business was over - a feeling he told me that he
shared.  "She will come to London when she is 14, and she and I will live
together then."  Seeing my face he quickly went on, "but I shall still need
a page, or rather a body-servant. You will be too old to be a page next
year.  I have no idea what arrangements my father will make, but we don't
have to worry for a long time.  While my wife is not at my side you will
be."

Back at home we resumed, at night at least, the habit we have each grown to
enjoy.  We shared the disgusting juices of our bodies as often as we could.
During the summer months when the King was out of London on Progress we
rode with him, and when his Progress took him into Kent to inspect the
ports that lay in that part we found the opportunity to seek out dunes in
order to do again what we had done in Norfolk in May.  We were fortunate
that each time we escaped from the Court we were undiscovered.  Once in
Folkestone and once in Rye we lay together and emptied ourselves.

The Rye occasion was particularly memorable, for it was a hot sultry day
when it seemed likely that a storm would come upon us.  It was the last day
before the Progress was to turn inland and head through the Weald for
various towns on the way to London.  William and I both knew that it was
likely to be the last chance we would have that year to do what we both
longed to do, and to do it without any need for caution or carefulness.
Neither of us knew then that it would be the last time we would ever do
those things together in that abandoned way.

The shore at Rye is very muddy when the tide is out, and neither of us
found the idea of wading through dozens of yards of mud to wash piss off
ourselves a very pleasing one.  We were fortunate that as we explored the
littoral we saw that the tide was near full, perhaps an hour away judging
from where the wrack was lying.  We found a place at the foot of a bank
which could not be seen.  "Thank the Lord," panted Nicky," for if I do not
piss on you in one minute it will run down my legs."  We were out of our
clothes in an instant.  As he had the more urgent need I lay on my back
ready to receive what he was about to lose.  On this occasion it was less
plentiful but it still soaked the whole of my body.  He was about to turn
to lie on me as he had done in Norfolk, but I stopped him.  "Lie on me, but
with your arse at this end so that I can see it."  "You want my pretty arse
under your nose, do you?"  "Yes, and not just under my nose.  Now lie on me
before the flies get wind of you."

His arse was in front of my eyes as well as my nose, and I reached up and
gradually drew his globes apart.  I put two fingers into him and felt his
magic button.  I rubbed it, as I had done so often before, and he groaned.
We had long ago ceased to warn each other of the need to piss, so when I
felt more hot liquid flowing from his cock onto my chest and running down
towards my belly I allowed my cock - hard, like his - to piss up.
Instantly his mouth was on it, swallowing greedily as fast as I could piss
into him.  We lay together as we always did.  The heat was intense, and we
were both sweating heavily.

At length he sat up on my chest.  I felt his hand grasp my cock.  "I need
to come," I whispered, "wank me."  He leant forward again.  "No, Puppy," he
said, "I want you to fuck me first this time."

He got off and was about to kneel like a dog.  "No, Nicky, lie on your
back.  I want to fuck you as you will fuck your wife."  He chuckled, but he
did as I asked.  My cock, slippery with piss, eased into him as though it
were designed to do so, and I plumbed his depths for several minutes before
I was overcome and pumped my soul into him.  I fell forwards onto him as my
spunk ceased to spurt and as always his arms enfolded me.  A few minutes
later he said his need was now pressing.  "I shall fuck you in the same way
this time."

I lay on my back in the sand.  It was almost dark, though nowhere near
nightfall.  He lifted my legs and gently slid his cock into me.  When it
was as far in as could be he paused.  He looked into my eyes.  "Here is a
present."  I looked at him curiously, then felt a feeling I had not felt
before.  He was pissing in my arse!  The heat of it was very great, as was
the quantity, and as he kept on pissing it began to leak out of my arse
into the sand.  He pissed on ... and on ... but at last he ran dry.  "Now
you are going to have the best fuck of your like, Puppy.  Not for nothing
did I ask you to call me Nicky."  "I do not understand.  What do you mean
... aaah!" (for he had plunged deeply and had started to fuck me hard, how
I love it best).  "Niquer means to fuck in the French tongue."

The weather-gods must have a high sense of humour, for at the very instant
that Nicky's cock swelled and delivered the first blast of his juices deep
inside me there came the brightest bolt of lightning and the mightiest
thunderclap I had ever seen or heard.  They came from right above us it
seemed.  We both jumped with surprise and the effect was that another inch
seemed to pierce me.  We both cried out in shock and joy.  Nicky's cock
continued to pulse within me, and the heat of his coming seemed greater
than ever.  I believe that at that moment I enjoyed the greatest happiness
of my life.

Mere seconds after the thunderclap the skies opened and warm rail fell onto
our reeking bodies.  We held each other tightly until Nicky's cock slipped
from my arse followed, as it always was, by a trickle of spunk.  "Come on,"
he whispered, "we have never been in the sea in a storm," and climbing off
me he raced naked and piss-covered into the sea.  I was only a pace or two
behind.  I was to remember his words before too long.

*****

The lady Matilda - Princess, I must call her - travelled to London the
following year, 1120, and was installed in fine chambers in the castle.
William had gone to Dover to greet her and rode with her through Kent.  I
was not with them as the King decided that knights should accompany them.
"Never mind, Puppy," William had said in bed the night before he set off,
"it will only be a week or so.  Then when I have done my duty she will be
as pleased as I that we shall sleep apart.  This bed is where I truly wish
to be, and this -" (he pushed a finger into my arse) "- is where this
belongs."  (And he placed my hand on his cock, soft after I had made him
come in my mouth not minutes before).  "I shall miss you," I whispered.
"And I too, Anselm, but we must be brave.  England requires us both to do
our duty."  We both smiled at each other.  Our lips and tongues sealed our
love yet again.

Ten days later he returned to our bed.  I had decided that I should not
make any enquiry about what had passed between husband and wife, but would
wait until he raised the matter.  "Here I am, back with you, Puppy.  If her
courses dictate I shall lie with her again in a few weeks.  She is sweet
enough, but since neither of us has any experience in fucking she is
somewhat timid.  Fucking your arse is not the same as fucking her cunny -
my aim was not always of the most decorous."  We giggled like a pair of
little boys.

That was the pattern of our life for the next few months.  Matilda's
courses - whatever they were - gave no indication that William should not
do his duty for a few nights each month.

Late in the year the King made a visit into France.  He insisted that the
Court accompany him, as well as a few hundred bowmen.  As this was a
military occasion neither the Queen nor the Princess were with us - yes,
'us' because William insisted that I was with him.  I had no idea what was
going on between the King and the French King, and William never offered to
tell me.  I was content to remain in ignorance: being with him every night
was pleasure enough, and attending him during the day when there was
feasting or merriment allowed me to see how the French did things
differently from us.  As I was then 15 a French boy was told to be the
Prince's servant for the duration of our stay.  It became clear that his
were the menial tasks - cleaning our chamber, emptying the slops and so on.
Nicky and I soon discovered that Pierre, who had a merry face and a quick
wit (I could not understand a word, so Nicky, who could speak French, had
to tell me what the boy had said), was a gamesome lad.  "He says he is 12,
Puppy, just like you when you first came to serve me.  Shall we see whether
French boys of 12 are as full of mischief as English brewmasters' sons?"  I
nodded.  A part of me was a little jealous that Nicky had eyes for another,
but a larger part of me (a growing part) quickly decided that as we were to
be here for only two weeks there was no risk that Pierre would be more than
a passing adventure for both of us.  Besides he had a very nice arse.

By the time we left France twelve days later Pierre knew several English
words and I had learned several French ones (though I knew niquer already).
He was a very active boy in bed - neither of the truckle beds in William's
chamber was put to much use beyond a superficial tousling of the linen -
and allowed us to penetrate him in interesting ways.  It had never crossed
my mind that being fucked in the arse by a Prince while having a
serving-boy enjoying one of his early spunkings in my mouth at the same
time was possible.  So evident was my eagerness to repeat it that my two
companions refused, saying that each of them wished to be in the middle
before I enjoyed that position again.

*****

We arrived in Barfleur to take ship home on St Catherine's Day - 25
November.  The King was anxious to return to England, so boarded with most
of the Court and sailed before dark.  William and many of the others,
including the bowmen, tarried, saying that they would follow in the other
ship soon after.  I have spent every moment of every day since that fateful
day wishing that the King had insisted that William Adelin, his only
legitimate child, his heir, should be with him in the leading ship.  But it
was not so.  The bowmen, knowing that they would soon be in England and
subject to much greater discipline, spent the early hours of darkness
carousing and wenching.  By the time the White Ship set sail it was nigh
midnight and the steersmen and crew were drunk as well.  William and I, and
a number of the King's illegitimate family, had kept clear of the
drunkenness, and we were alarmed that we were to sail through darkness with
such an ill-disciplined ship.

Only a few minutes after the ropes had been cast off the vessel caught the
wind and was swiftly on her way, but no sooner had she left the shelter of
the harbour than there was a mighty crash and the ship stopped dead.  She
heeled over and it was clear, even to a landlubber like me, that it would
sink.  It was pitch dark and the sea was rough.  William clutched my arm.
"Come," he said, "if we do not make our way off this wreck we shall drown.
Forget the bowmen, they must fend for themselves."  We went to the side and
looked down.  The sea was no more than ten feet below us, and as far as we
could tell the shore was no more than two hundred feet away.  "Look," I
said, "there is some wreckage.  We can cling to it and try to make our way
ashore."  He nodded and we jumped.  Had we paused to think we might have
drowned there and then, I think.  We were holding hands when we jumped, but
the shock of hitting the water caused our grip to be lost.  I was on my
own, under the waves.  Luckily when I rose to the surface there was a piece
of the ship beside me and I clung to it.  I looked for William ... there he
was, but a few feet away.  He reached for my piece of wood and our hands
clasped.  Thank God!  The waves took us towards the shore and soon we were
able to stand, though the water was almost up to our mouths.  "We're safe!"
he cried, "God be thanked."  We were slowly making our way to safety when
there was a cry from the ship.  "William," came a voice.  "My sister
Matilda," he said, "I must go to help her.  You go on and wait for me,
Anselm."

I saw it all from the shore.  They were in a boat ... men clambered onto it
to save themselves ... the boat tipped over ...

*****

There were only two who survived that terrible night.  I lay on the shore,
soaked to the skin, desolate that the love of my life had perished before
me.  I was in a foreign land, knowing no words - none that would be of use
to me, that is - and with no master.  The Lord had spared me, but for what
purpose?  I wandered for hours that night.  At dawn I fell to my knees - I
do not know whether it was exhaustion or grief - and prayed with an
earnestness new to me.  I vowed that I would serve God; I would keep the
secrets of my heart safe in my heart; I would remain in France where a new
life could be made: France near where William Adelin - Nicky, my Nicky -
had gone to God.

Later that morning I heard that a butcher from Rouen had survived the
wreck, and I sought him out.  After some time, using signs and with the
help of a citizen who had some English, the good man agreed to employ me as
his servant for his journey back to Rouen.  When we got there I went to the
monastery where I was accepted as a novice.  I remained there for over ten
years.  I was sent back to England, to a brother monastery in Sussex in
1132.  I was loth to leave France, but William was in my heart, not in the
sea.

I have been a monk here in the monastery since then.  No-one has called me
'Puppy' for over thirty years.  Soon I shall be with my Nicky again in
Paradise.  I doubt whether they do the kind of things in Paradise that we
did when we were boys though.

=====================================================================
There will be further instalments of Alternative Histories.  Drop me a line
at badboi666@btinternet.com - that is after you've dropped nifty a few
quid.
=====================================================================