ARCADIA ACADEMY FOR BOYS
                                    Chapter Twelve
                                    "The Visitors"

        On the floor of the front room, Ethan and I sat in a circle of
lamplight, playing checkers.  The child was dressed for bed, wearing his
blue silk pajamas.  I was dressed in a simple outfit of white knee socks,
white sport shorts and a white sweatshirt.
        "What's that smell?" Ethan asked, stretching his neck, sniffing.
        I had just showered.  "Cologne.  Here."
        I leaned across the checker board.  The child pressed his nose to
my chest.
        "Hmm.  Smells good."
        I placed a quick kiss on his nose.  The child smiled and folded his
legs to sit Indian-style.  The bright blue silk pajama shorts slid up in a
rippling wedge at his crotch.  I ran my fingers down his and into the open
collar of his pajama shirt, touching his silky throat.
        "Why are you looking at me like that?" he peeped.
        "I just can't believe how beautiful you are," I sighed, my voice
rumbling with rich, deep romantic tones.
        The prepubescent boy blushed.  "You're handsome, too, Mr. Wilson,"
he said bashfully.
        My heart melted: this was Ethan's first date.  I cupped his small
face.  The boy gripped my wrists.  Our eyes locked.  I leaned forward.  The
blushing boy turned his head to offer his cheek, not knowing how to kiss on
the lips
        For the first time, I wondered what kind of man Ethan would grow
into.  He would begin an odyssey of sexual exploration after graduation,
siring a son his first year in college at 17.  Only 3 years after his first
ejaculation in the comfort of my bed.  Life is strange.  The marriage would
fail, his wife, Carol, would die in a car accident, and Ethan would return
to Aracadia at 27, his ten year old son, Everett, in tow.  But that's
another story.
        There were several bedrooms upstairs, and though Ethan had lain
claim to one, leaving the master bedroom for me, I knew that he wanted to
sleep with me.  Not for sex but for the closeness of a best friend.
        "It's getting late.  Almost 10:00," I said, wanting to snuggle with
him in bed.  Hoping to teach him how to kiss, hoping to stir him to
erection.
        "I'm not tired.  One more game, please?"
        I sighed: a game of checkers was still more important to the child
than an orgasm.  Teaching him the most important lesson of his life -- the
idea and sanctity of man-boy love itself and not mere physical pleasure --
would be a challenge.  I wondered how to procede when I suddenly got
unexpected help.
        A hard pounding at the glass doors by the patio made us jump.
        "Who's that?" Ethan gasped, sitting up straight.
        "I don't know.  Security?" I suggested, knowing that Arcadia's
private and informed guard kept close watch on campus grounds.
        The pounding continued, urgent and insistent.  Something was wrong.
        "Wait here," I said, standing and walking to the doors.  But Ethan
followed right behind, holding my hips.  I strained to see through the
dark.
        A tiny blonde boy stood pressed against the glass, his face a mask
of anxiety, wearing a black latex short skirt and black boots, shivering
violently.
        "Who are you?" I demanded, not recognizing him.
        "It's me!  Jeremy!"
        "Jeremy?" I blinked, still confused.
        Ethan raced out from behind me to open the door.  I turned on the
lights.
        Jeremy stumbled inside, hugging himself, knees knocking.
        "He's freezing!" Ethan gasped, closing the door and walking to the
10 year old to run his hands over the quivering boy's back and arms.  I
thought of Spencer and how he had cared for me.
        "Why are you here?" I asked, deeply concerned.  Even so, it was the
first time I had ever seen a boy in a skirt, and I couldn't help feeling a
twinge of arousal.  He looked very pretty, buttery-yellow legs quaking, his
every rib showing.
        The blonde did not answer,  teeth chattering, blue eyes wide with fear.
        Ethan took Jeremy's skirt in his hands.  The black latex shimmered
wetly.  "Why are you wearing this?!" he asked, face screwed up in distaste
and disbelief.  "This is girl stuff!  Ew!"
        I glanced at my lover -- it would be difficult to put Ethan in that
puple holiday dress -- but noted that saying the word "girl" was more
distasteful to him than what Jeremy was wearing.
        Jeremy slapped Ethan's hands away from his skirt.  "There's people
here!  People from the State!"
        "Oh my God," I gasped, running to look out the glass doors.
        "What people?  What's wrong?" Ethan asked, puzzled.  Because we had
yet to make love, I had not been able to teach him that some aspects of
Academy life would not be understood by the outside world.
        "A surprise visit?"  I spun to Jeremy, who stood shivering like a
leaf.  I crossed the floor and grabbed his shoulders.  "Speak, son!
When?!"
        "I don't know!  Two of them!  One is alumni but the other's a woman!"
        "Did they...see you and Harrison together?"
        "No!  I ran to warn you!  I got lost!"  Jeremy's face melted into
tears and he threw himself against me, hugging tight.  "I got lost!
        "Shhh!"  I rubbed his back and gasped: the child's skin was like
ice.  The child had ventured out to warn me at great personal cost  -- the
chateaus had no phones -- and I was moved by his efforts.
        "Ethan. Take Jeremy upstairs.  Now!" I barked when Ethan hesitated.
Ethan jumped and took Jeremy's right hand, leading him away.
        "They're coming here," the blonde whined, following Ethan into the
front room and up the stairs.
        Jeremy had lost precious minutes by getting lost.
        "Mr. Wilson?  What's the matter?" Ethan asked pensively.
        "Shhh!  I'll explain later.  And get Jeremy out of those clothes."
        "Come on.  I got some boy's clothes," Ethan said harshly, tugging
Jeremy.
        "Shut up!" the blonde snapped.  The children began to push and jostle.
        "BOYS!  GO!"
        I had never raised my voice at Ethan, never raised my voice at any
of the students.  It had the authoritative effect that was needed: the
children flinched, stopped fighting and ran upstairs.
        The doorbell rang seconds later.  I cursed under my breath, wishing
I was not wearing the white shorts outfit.  But there was no time to
change, and even if there was, I had thrown away all of my long pants.
        "Hello?  Harrison!" I called cheerily, opening the door.  "A bit
late for entertaining, don't you think?"
        "My apologies, Daniel," the Englishman said as he glanced quickly
about the room.  "These nice folks are from the state auditor's.  They felt
a surprise visit would be productive."
        "Forgive the intrusion, sir," said a handsome young man around my
age as he stepped across the foyer.  He had black crew-cut hair and a nice,
slim build.  He squeezed my bicep as he passed.
        "Yes, we apologize, but it's our jobs," said the woman, a short,
dumpy form in an awful beige pants suit.  She was in her 50s, carried a
beige leather notebook, and had close-cropped, frizzy brown hair.  "My name
is Ms. Joyce.  Fran Joyce."
        "Pleased to meet you," I smiled, cringing as we shook hands.  Fran
was the first woman I'd seen in several months and the sight of her was
monstrous.  It was an unfair assessment, but after being immersed daily in
the beauty of little boys I could barely hide my repulsion.
        She sniffed in disapproval, raking her eyes over my outfit.  "Nice
little place.  Do all the instructors live so...comfortably?"
        "We all need to get away," I laughed, gesturing for them to sit.
"Babysitting 24 hours a day can frazzle anyone's nerves."
        "I am so entirely frazzled," Harrison said, plopping onto a
recliner.  The man radiated tension.
        "Cognac for you, my friend," I said, walking to a corner bar -- all
the chateaus were thus equipped -- pouring an ample serving in a large
snifter, handing it to him.
        "Thank you," he gasped, gulping thirstily.  We all stiffened at his
zestful drinking and stared.  "I was in bed when you knocked and my body
temperature is elevated," he said crisply, defending his actions.
        The young man and I exchanged looks of understanding.
        "You, sir?"
        "Tim," the young man answered.  "No.  Fran doesn't drink either."
        I nodded, taking in his suit -- blue and gray, Arcadia colors --and
wondered if he wore short pants beneath his slacks.
        Fran opened her notebook and began asking questions, wanting to
know my credentials.  My PhD impressed her, and when she asked why I chose
to work at Arcadia I answered that I have always enjoyed working with
children.
        "The PhD is a personal achievement but teaching children is a
vocation."  I leaned against the bar, crossing my ankles.
        Fran raked her eyes over me once more, but this time with a hint of
sexual interest.  A wave of nausea filled me but I decided to be
flirtatious.  It was the best strategy.
        "I would have dressed more formally if I'd known," I winked,
flexing my quads and arranging my white shorts.
        "No, no," the woman blushed, waving her hand.  "Seeing how the
school operates under normal conditions is why we're here."
        I smiled, leaning my elbows on the bar and spreading my legs enough
to draw attention to my crotch.  The white shorts were very tight, the
bulge of my genitals apparent.  Fran cleared her throat demurely but did
not turn away.  Disgusting!
        "Daniel is a real gem," Harrison said, relaxed by the cognac and by
what I was doing.  "He has a wonderful style with the boys."
        "Could I trouble you to expand on that?" Tim asked brightly, also
staring at my legs.  His attraction, unlike the woman's, did not make my
skin crawl.  Who had been his lover?  One of the staff?  Another student?

        I spoke about the welcome challenge of teaching so many grades and
how a boarding school had been suprising in that student-teacher
relationships were magnified from our living together.
        "It's a training ground for fatherhood," I said, rotating my hips
to get comfortable and to catch Fran's eyes.  "I can't say that I'll teach
here my entire career, what with a marriage and a family possible sometime
soon."
        "Yes.  A young man must be having such inclinations," the woman
said, smiling now.  "There's no chance of your satisfying them here."
        Harrison, Tim and I smiled.
        "You were playing checkers by yourself?" Fran asked, noticing the board.
        I tensed, trying to think up an excuse, when a thump in the
upstairs bedroom made us all jump.
        "I have company," I said calmly, hiding my panic.  I glanced at
Harrison for help but the Englishman was stricken, his face ashen as he
drained his cognac.
        Fran's easy manner changed suddenly.  Her eyes narrowed.  "And who
might that be?" she asked suspiciously, thinking I was entertaining a
woman.
        The wind howled against the windows -- the cold wind of a
threatening, unenlightened world -- and a great sadness filled me.  I
thought of Rome making its last stand against invading barbarians.
        "Mr. WIlson?  Who are you talking to?"
        All heads turned at the sound of a sweet, chiming voice.
        Jeremy's thin, naked legs came into view as he descended the
stairs.  Terror filled me -- the little boy in a latex skirt would be the
end -- but Jeremy was wearing some of Ethan's play clothes, red gym shorts
and a blue t-shirt.
        "It's all right son.  Go back to bed."
        Jeremy bent to glance down at us adults, his blonde hair tangled as
if he'd been sleeping.
        "Hello, sweetie," Fran chirped, charmed by the pretty boy.
Shifting in her chair in that awful, ready-to-fuss womanish way.
        "Who are you?"
        "I'm Ms. Joyce."
        "Are you and your husband here to adopt?" the boy asked with
hearbreaking hopefulness .
        The woman gasped and exchanged looks with Tim.
        "These people are here on grown-up business.  Go back to bed,"
Harrison said, staring at me as if I'd put his boy up to this.  I shrugged,
indicating that I had nothing to do with it.  We both looked ready to
feint.
        "I had a bad dream," the 10 year old peeped, looking at me.
        "But you're all right now, aren't you?" I asked gently.  Jeremy
nodded.  "Go back to bed.  I'll be up to tuck you in."
        The blonde boy hesitated, conveying a need to be comforted, then left.
        "Jeremy came to us this past year and has nightmares," I explained,
turning to Fran.  "His parents were killed during a mugging," I said
solemnly.
        "Poor thing!" the woman clucked.
        "Boys need special attention sometimes."
        "Yes, of course!" Fran gasped, regarding the checker board.
        Another pair of legs began to descend the stairs -- long, olive
legs -- Ethan.  I pushed off from the bar and walked forward, fearing that
the boy was wearing the silk pajamas, but then I noticed he was not wearing
his knee socks.  His legs kept descending, revealing more of his thighs.
        Then, incredibly, Ethan stood at the landing wearing tight, white
cotton briefs and a white undershirt.
        "Mr. Wilson?"
        Ethan wobbled into the living room, sleepily rubbing his eyes with
his right fist.  The Teddy Bear was tucked under his left arm.
        "Go to bed, Ethan," I said nervously, my heart pounding so hard I
was sure it pulsed visibly beneath my sweatshirt.  What were the boys up
to?
        The child's innocent ease at being in his underwear touched Fran
deeply, and the Teddy Bear beneath his arm was a fabulously endearing
detail.  My eyes bulged: new respect and even awe filled me: the child was
a magnificently intelligent, composed, and remarkable human being.
        Ethan was protecting me.  Coming to my rescue.  Noble and brave.  I
bit back a moan.  How imbalanced our budding relationship seemed!  How
could I ever give the little boy what he deserved?  Inadequacy threatened
to consume me but I fought it down, redoubling my promise to glorify the
never-to-be repeated moments of his first loving expressions.
        "Ethan?  You're name's Ethan?" Fran cooed, smiling and extending
her arms.
        The child hesitated, then walked to the woman and stood before her.
He yawned as Fran smiled and held his waist.
        "Who are you, lady?" Ethan hugged the bear to his chest.
        "I'm Ms. Joyce."
        "Is that your husband?" he asked, glancing at Tim.
        The woman's eyes misted with enchantment.
        "No, sweetheart.  We're from the state."
        "What state?"  The little boy yawned mightly, long legs trembling.
Ethan's firm little buttocks flexed in his flimsy underpants, his immature
genitals forming no bulge.
        "Well, from Michigan."  Fran reached out to touch the toy bear.
"And who's this?" she smiled, appreciating the stuffed toy's short pants
uniform.
        "Teddy," Ethan said dreamily.  "Are you gonna adopt me?"
        The woman's jaw dropped.  She withdrew her hands to clutch at her
notebook, unsure of what to say.
        "No.  We're here just to visit," Tim said.
        The lovely boy in his crisp, clean white underwear backed away from
the woman and walked to me, leaning back against my body for protection.  I
dropped my right arm over him to pat his chest.
        "You're lying," he said accusingly, hugging his bear tight, sudden
anger and despair in his voice.  The change in his attitude was dramatic.
"You're here for Jeremy and don't want to tell me!"
        Harrison's and Tim's eyes bulged, regarding Ethan with awe.
        "No!  No no!  We're here on business!" Fran squawked, flustered.
        All of Ethan's mishievous, prankish talents came into play.  He
screwed up his face, somehow forcing tears to spill down his cheeks.
        "You're lying!  You don't want to adopt me because you wan't
Jeremy!  That's why you came while I was sleeping!"
        Us adults froze, the child's shrill, sorrowful voice filling the
room.  I patted Ethan's chest again.  He spun around to look at me, right
hand clawing at my sweatshirt.
        "They don't want me, Mr. Wilson," he peeped, almost unable to
speak.  "They always come for the little kids."
        "Shhhh!  They're here on business.  Someone will take you," I
gasped, so caught up in the child's performance -- sensing its underlying
authenticity -- my voice broke.  "You're a good boy, Ethan!"
        I patted his head.  Ethan craned his neck back to stare up at me,
frail body trembling with emotion.  He blubbered, lower lip sputtering,
then broke from me and ran up the stairs, a bedroom door slamming.
        "My lord!" Fran gasped, flustered, standing.
        "I think we're done here," I said soberly, gesturing for Harrison
and Tim to rise.  They did promptly, heading for the door.
        "This is why we frown on surprise visits," the Englishman man
gently scolded.
        "I had no idea!  I didn't mean...poor boy!" Fran sputtered.
        "Every orphan dreams of being adopted, Ms. Joyce," I said, touching
her arm.  "They see.  And they wonder why they were left behind."
        The woman had no words, her face registering remorse for her
insensitivity.
        "These types of costs don't show up on balance sheets," I said,
glancing upstairs.
        "I'm so sorry!" Fran gasped, Harrison and Tim ushering her out.
"Tell them I'm sorry!  How...how stupid of me!" she whined in dismay.
        "Of course.  Don't worry.  We -- the boys -- will get by," I sighed.
        "I didn't know!  I didn't realize!" the woman exclaimed as I closed
and locked the door behind her.  I watched through the peephole as they
disappeared into the darkness beyond the porch light.  Then I ran upstairs,
finding Ethan and Jeremy in one of the smaller bedrooms, huddled together,
holding hands.
        "We're sorry!  We're sorry!  We just wanted to help!" Ethan yelped,
he and Jeremy backing away as I burst into the room.
        "Honey, no!  You were wonderful!  You were both wonderful!"
Ecstatic, I  dropped to my knees before them, hugging their legs.  "Such
clever boys!"
        Ethan and Jeremy went rigid, crushed face to face in my embrace.
They exchanged glances then gingerly set their hands on my head, fondling
my blonde hair and I purred and nuzzled my face in their skinny chests.
After a moment the children laughed, each one shivering with a release of
nervous tension.
        I swept my hands up and down their naked legs, squeezing and
squeezing their thighs, my right hand just below Jeremy's red shorts, my
left hand just below Ethan's underpants, their crotches touching.
        Making love with Ethan would have to wait.  I led both boys to bed
and tucked them in together, fluffing their pillows.  Quiet, they grinned
at me, proud of themselves, bonded with new friendship.  The children
snuggled beneath the downy blue comforter.
        I pulled up a chair and began to read a bedtime story -- the book
"Captain's Courageous" -- and within minutes they were asleep, sweet faces
untroubled.  I kissed each one gently on the cheek, turned off the light
and left the room.
        We would all soon share in what we had gained that night.