ARCADIA ACADEMY FOR BOYS Chapter 11 "A Quiet Morning" When I next opened my eyes, it was morning. Ethan lay on top of me. Sunbeams sparked along the reflective skin of his body so that the little boy glowed as if from the inside out. Somehow, we had fallen asleep on the couch. The child's rosy cheeked face rose and fell on my chest as I breathed. His right knee was drawn up, my left hand palming the cozy warmth of his buttocks. I could have lain their forever. The little boy wriggled, silky thighs sliding over mine. "Mr. Wilson?" he peeped, smacking his baby lips with delicious moist sounds. "Yes, my darling. Mr. Wilson's here." The supple child rose up on all fours, thrust his bottom back and yawned mightly. His tongue curled. I held his sides, feeling every rib. "I fell asleep on you?" he blinked. "We kept each other warm. The fire burnt down. See?" I pointed to the ashes in the fireplace, the boy following with his eyes. His auburn hair was mused. "Why didn't you wake me?" he asked dreamily. "Because I was asleep, too." Ethan sat back on my knees to rub his eyes with tiny fists. Then he dropped his hands to my thighs, bony fingers sliding up the leg openings of my tangled shorts, scrambling for a purchase as another yawn took him. I held his sides tightly. Ethan's small hands flexed in my pants. He scratched my thighs absently -- still more asleep than awake -- and noticed my crotch. "You don't have an erection anymore," he observed. Then boy started and snatched his hands back. "Sorry!" he gasped, wide-eyed. "For what?" Ethan tilted his head to one side to stare at me curiously, then climbed off me and stood. "Where are you going?" "The bathroom. I have to pee." "Want some breakfast?" "O.K." Ethan paused to stare at my crotch before ambling to the bathroom behind the kitchen, weaving on rubbery legs that shimmered with light. He left the door open. I heard the splash of his urine hitting the water and sighed: it was the only liquid that would spring from his hairless, immature genitals for several years. Ethan was strangely quiet at breakfast though I tried to engage him in conversation. I worried that he was withdrawing -- not from the sexual, playful episode of the night before but from the intimacy of the morning. At one point, when opening the refrigerator and bending for a carton of orange juice, I felt his eyes on me. I turned and saw him sitting stiffly, glass in his left hand and milk moustache on his upper lip. "Would you like some orange juice, honey?" I asked. "Um, yes, please." I walked to the table and stood on the boy's right, tousling his hair as I reached for his juice glass. Ethan turned his head to stare down at my crotch. "Just say when." "When what?!" he squawked, jumping, chair legs scraping the tile floor. He stared at me as if caught doing something he shouldn't be. "When I've poured enough orange juice," I answered evenly. "Oh. When when," he chirped. I poured a glass of juice for myself, and walking to place the carton back in the refrigerator, glanced at him over my shoulder. The little boy was again staring at my legs and my shorts. "Look. There's something here." On the patio, Ethan squatted beside a small cardboard box wrapped with string. He hald a bright orange carrot in each hand. I picked up the box and read the note. It was sighned "H & J" -- Harrison and Jeremy -- explaining that they had stopped by to say hello but found us asleep. They'd left a plate of apple pie and an invitation to join them for drinks. "Think we should visit?" "Sure. Maybe we can watch a movie." I smiled. "We could do that." Ethan sniffed the morning air, then stood and faced south, in the direction of Harrison's chateau, a ten minute walk away. "Mr. Harrison and Jeremy live together," he said, scratching his thighs with the carrots. "Jeremy is Mr. Harrison's special boy," I said, setting the box of pie and note on a wicker chair. "Mr. Harrison loves Jeremy, doesn't he." "Yes. I suppose he does." "And Jeremy loves Mr. Harrison." I nodded, watching Ethan begin to put it all together. "Teachers have special boys," he declared. "And lucky boys have special teachers." The child stared at me thoughtfully, bangs blowing in a gentle breeze. I held my breath -- Ethan seemed about to speak, to say something -- then he turned and walked down the stone path, boots clomping. I followed at a distance, wondering at the child's thoughts. Careful not to touch his knees to the damp earth, Ethan gingerly knelt by the rosebush and held a carrot over the rabbit hole. In a few minutes the fluffy-eared rabbit poked its head up, pink nose twitching. "There he is!" the child gasped, trembling with excitement. "Don't make any fast movements," I counseled, squatting behind him, my manly thighs framing his. Ethan rest his elbows on my knees for support. I rubbed his back. His shoulder blades protruded from beneath his crimson coat. The rabbit hopped toward the carrot. Sniffed. Nibbled. "Look! He's so cute." "You're cute, too." Ethan edged backwards and into the shelter of my body, slim thighs wriggling and glistening. I closed my hands over them, fondling their softness with newfound leisure. The autumn sun was bright in a blue sky. "Mr. Wilson?" "Yes?" "I love you." The little boy's unabashed declaration caught me off guard. I'd finally heard those words spoken in his high, unchanged voice. I couldn't respond. "You love me, too," Ethan said matter-of-factly, serene and secure. "You're touching my thighs again." "Your wonderful thighs," I sighed, stroking him. "I can feel your erection on my butt." Incredibly, I hadn't noticed the contact, but my cock was touching his bottom, throbbing against the tiny globes. The boy scooted backwards, grinding against my erection. Did he know what he was doing? I held his trim hips as my swollen glans dipped in and out of the narrow crack of his swaying ass. The rabbit gnawed away at half of the carrot, then hopped back into its hole. "Hey! Come back!" the boy called. "Mr. WIlson! Make him come back!" "He'll eat more when he's hungry." I kissed Ethan's neck. Ethan hunched his shoulders, a shiver moving through his small frame. He set the carrots by the rim of the hole. "Mr. Wilson?" "Yes?" "Last night was fun, wasn't it?" "Yes. Why?" The little boy scooted around to face me, his head haloed by the sun. He fussed with my crimson coat, small knees pressed into the soft underside of my balls. I shivered, my erection throbbing. Ethan straightened my necktie, gazed at my crotch and sniffed. "What's that smell?" I blushed, becoming aware of the tangy odor. "It's sperm from last night. That's why my penis pulses. An orgasm produces sperm that flows from a penis." "Smells like fish." I smiled. "But you won't smell when your ograsm." "Orgasm?!" Ethan called in surprise, staring down at his own crotch. "I can orgasm?" "Of course. You just won't be able to make sperm. Your orgasms will be dry for several years." "I can orgasm?" The little boy was fascinated by the idea. I steadied myself to say the next few words. "I can show you how." "You will?" he peeped, wanting to learn a new game. I nodded. "But I won't sperm?" "You're a child. You haven't reached puberty." "What is puberty, anyway?" he asked, having heard the word many times, like Ronald, but never knowing what it meant. My role as a mentor was clear: I wanted the child's first rush of ecstasy to be miraculous. Special and unforgettable, something he would remember all of his life. And I would be there for him when he reached puberty. "You'll just have to wait. You'll see." "Mr. Wilson?" the boy asked after a moment of silence, watching my erection throb against his knees. "Yes?" I tucked his hair behind his ears. "Can I touch your legs again?" "Yes." "Will you have another orgasm?" "Of course, Ethan. Just for you." The little boy smiled.