ARCADIA ACADEMY FOR BOYS
                                CHAPTER 15
                           "The Silent Request"

        Hands clasped behind my back, I strolled up and down the classroom
aisles, watching the little boys work.  The 7th graders were taking a final
exam before term break; morning sunshine highlighted the combed hair on
each little head.  Such good boys, every one.  The click of my shoes on the
wooden floor was being recorded in the marks the children made in their
notebooks; the mission of my life was being inscribed in their young
hearts.
        Ethan had been gone when I woke that morning.  I wasn't surprised:
he had gifted me with his sacred virginity and first orgasm, after all.  I
had lain atop him and kissed him as never before.  The little boy whimpered
as I humped his thighs slowly, passionately, my adult mouth pressing over
his.  It grew hot beneath the covers, dissipating the cold from our bodies.
I'd moaned loudly and trembled as my semen washed through my cotton
underpants.  I'd breathed into the boy's mouth, filling him with my spirit.
Sucking his cherry lips until we drifted into sleep.
        I waited for Ethan to return and help dress me, but when it became
clear that he wasn't coming I carefully dressed myself, paying great
attention to detail: I wanted the impeccably groomed child to be proud of
my appearance.  I hummed: I listened to Spencer's radio program.  At
breakfast I anxiously searched the cafeteria, starting each time I saw a
boy-waiter emerge from the kitchen, but Ethan was not among them.
        Now I turned down Ethan's aisle, my pulse quickening as I
approached his desk.  Slowly, the boy looked up, brown bangs cascading over
his eyes in a shiny wave.  "Looks like I managed to dress myself," I
whispered, proudly tugging at the hems of my shorts to show him the crisp,
ironed crease.  Needing his approval.
        Ethan extended his left arm and poked my thighs with his pencil as
if he was seeing them for the first time.  In a way, he was seeing me for
the first time, stunned into a new perspective after last night.  The boy
ran the pencil up under the left hem of my shorts -- my knees buckled --
and he snatched the pencil back and stared up at me, his thin face a
blossom of questions.
        I walked past Ethan to the snow-frosted windows.  The child's soul
was as clean and white as the snow-covered grounds.  Together, we would
walk across this unmarked page in the notebook of Ethan's life and write
the story of our love like the final exam he completed in his perfect,
cursive script.

        Unlike his masturbating me, the 12 year old was not prepared for
his own sexual capacities.  At dinner, Ethan was quiet and shy.  When he
refilled my cup of coffee and I reached down to pat his beautiful legs he
jumped, splashing coffee on the table.  Instantly, he produced a rag from
one of his pockets and wiped at the spill, shaking so badly he knocked my
coffee cup and saucer with a loud clatter.
        "I have it, honey.  It's fine," I whispered, startled at his discomfort.
        The boy-waiter nodded, backed away, then trotted to his serving
cart.  He stood with his back to me, gripping the cart's edges.
        "Young Ethan finally had an orgasm," Harrison observed gently.
        "How do you know?"  I gasped, regarding my colleague as if he was
telepathic.
        "Well, look at him!  Spencer was there too, wasn't he?"
        "How do you know that?"
        "Because the boy has played nothing but the sweetest love songs all
day.  He's met Patty after every class to carry his books.  They look so so
cute."
        If anyone deserved true love it was Spencer.  "I'm very happy for
them."
        Harrison surprised me by reaching under the table to grab my knee
and shake it.  "Daniel!  Why so glum, chap?"
        I shrugged.  "Ethan seems worried.  What if he wasn't ready?  What
if...?"
        "Nonsense!  Man or boy, it's always the same after that first bit
of sex.  He's just processing.  And it was the boy's first orgasm."
        I glanced over at Ethan, who shifted from foot to foot, struggling
for internal balance.  The child's long, velvety legs rippled with light.
I debated approaching him, wanting to ease his anxiety, then tensed as
Harrison's fingers scrambled the length of my thigh.  If I were still a
little boy the Englishman would be a fine lover, and I knew that  Harrisson
had similar thoughts of what might have been, but that time was long past.

        "My apologies, chap," Harrison said, removing his hand.
        "No harm done."
        "There's a little boy in all of us, Daniel.  I wore a short pants
suit while growing up in London but my legs won't do anymore."  The man
continued his meal, smiling at me.  "Your legs held up nicely.  Wear those
shorts suits and don't let the little boy in you fade away.  Share that
inner boy with Ethan.  He'll be indebted to you always."

        At bedtime, I sat in my leather recliner in the corner, wearing
brown slippers and red-tartan boxers.  My erection stuck out from the fly
of my boxers.  Pre-cum oozed down my shaft until it was as shiny as an
icicle, ready to spurt and melt in the child's  hands.
        I stared at the door.  The doorknob turned.
        Ethan shuffled inside, wearing the royal-blue silk pajamas.  He
stood with his head down, teddy bear crushed to his chest in his left arm
for security, right hand pulling at his shorts.  Tonight, the nervous child
was not visiting me to play a game.
        "Don't be afraid," I whispered.  "I understand."
        Ethan began to twist, silk shorts skewed in his tiny fist.  The
boy's miniature erection was clearly defined and throbbed as powerfully as
mine.  He looked so vulnerable, so small, needing guidance.
        "Come here, baby.  I can help."
        Tenderness for the child overwhelmed me.  Boys enjoy orgasm like no
other beings, and all men were boys once upon a time.  Men remember that
first, terrifying and liberating moment of ejaculation, wet or dry.  A
woman or a girl can never hope to support a boy through that
never-to-be-repeated moment the way a man can.
        "Baby?  Please?"
        I smiled and held out my arms: a mentor.
        Ethan twisted for several moments, then strode across the room
decisively, never looking up, bangs hiding his eyes.  The boy's narrow
thighs bumped my knees. I gripped his hips and turned him around, pulling
him onto my lap.  He trembled.
        "Shhh!"  I comforted, slipping my left hand under his pajama shirt
to fondle his warm, wonderful flat tummy.  Ethan was my miracle: reverent,
I felt his tummy rise and fall with each of his quick, living breaths.
        The radiator hissed steam.  The child hugged his teddy bear.  I
kissed the nape of his neck and the delicate vertebrae.  The child hunched
his shoulders.  Gooseflesh rose up along his arms and dangling legs, his
stockinged heels bumping my shins.
        "Ethan.  I love you.  God, I love you. "
        The boy clutched his teddy bear.  My cock surged in the narrow
cleft of his anus, practically penetrating him through his shorts.  I began
to hump, the boy lfting and dropping on my lap.  His shiny hair bounced as
he rode me in silence.  Soon, on Christmas Eve, I would sink into his ass
while he wore the purple-and-black velvet dress, and then the little boy
would be anything but silent.
        But for now he was desperately silent, flopping as I thrust.  I
fondled his bony chest.  Ethan bucked like he was riding a horse.  I
thought of how he looked while playing soccer, running and straining in his
red and white soccer uniform, so athletic and sporty, legs gleaming with
sweat.  Such a vibrant, healthy child -- I would have him in that soccer
uniform before and after games -- and then he would be truly athletic,
whining and grunting as I bore into him, supple limbs straining and
sweating.
        With gratitude, with grace, I ejaculated strongly.
        Before I finished the boy hopped off my lap and stood, stringy jets
of my sperm extending from my cock and impacting on his tight, tiny ass.
He reached back with his right hand to touch the fresh, jellied circle of
cum moistening his anus.  Gasping, I waited for him to speak but he
remained silent, head down and trembling.
        The little boy did not know how to ask for what he wanted next.
        "Do you want me to masturbate you?" I whispered, scooting forward
to hug his long thighs with my knees.  The boy shuddered at the contact,
neurons firing in the pleasure-center of his brain.  "Ethan?  Do you want
me to masturbate you?"
        The stricken child did not respond.  Inspiration took me.
        "May I masturbate Teddy?  Want to watch me do Teddy?"
        I reached around the little boy for the toy bear clutched in the
crook of his left arm.  I patted the bear for several seconds, then with my
left hand I fingered the toy through the doll-sized charcoal gray short
pants.  Ethan bent his head to watch.
        "See?  Teddy likes it.  You'll like it, too."
        The little boy's thighs quaked between my knees.  Oh, how precious!
I had to masturbate the bear's non-existent genitals before I could
masturbate Ethan!  I smiled as I fondled the toy, the doll-sized short
pants fluttering.
        "See, baby?  Teddy feels good.  Do you want to feel good like Teddy?"
        I bit my lips.  An eternity seemed to pass before a high whine
escaped Ethan's throat and he gave an almost imperceptible nod.
        My right hand slid down the anxious boy's soft lower abdomen.  My
thick, adult fingers found his cherry-testes which had yet to drop.
        "AH!" Ethan yiped, frail body going wire-tight.  "M-MR. WILSONNN!"
he whinnied, speaking his first words of the day.
        My hand trembled.  The moment had arrived -- the pretty, tiny penis
was finally mine.  I found the child's throbbing penis through his flimsy
silk pajama shorts, feeling the white cotton underwear beneath.  A few
inches of hard, narrow flesh: all my fingers were longer.
        Like me, Ethan was terribly aroused.  Like me, he had no self-control.
        The slender child rose up on tippy-toes, a gurgle of shocked
pleasure escaping his lips.  The gooseflesh along his naked, straining legs
grew harder.  He clutched his cummy shorts, hugged the toy bear tighter.
        "Such a good little boy!  My little boy!" I called, squeezing his
young balls, making his flimsy pajama shorts flutter around his crotch.
"Ethan and Teddy!  Masturbated together!"  I fingered boy and toy.
        Ethan shrieked, throwing his head back, falling back like a wooden
board against my chest.
        Safe in my embrace, vibrating like a tuning fork, the schoolboy
experienced the second, dry orgasm of his life.  I yanked and squeezed his
two inch, pulsing penis, marveling at how his baby-ecstasy consumed him so
completely.  Treasuring his immature orgasm which was no less satisfying
for Ethan's inability to produce sperm.  Not that he didn't try because he
did, his slim pre-pubuscent cock firing "blanks," his cherry-tested drawing
up in his scrotum so that they almost disappeared.
        Ethan's body went lax as his orgasm dwindled and ebbed.  Once more,
he was sitting on my lap; once more, he was reduced to tears, hunched over
and crying into his knees, making sweet, confused, mewing sounds.
        "Shhh.  Good boy.  My special boy," I sighed, stroking his bony
back.  I was moved to tears myself by his reaction.  The old sexual cliche
took on new truth: 12 year old Ethan Sevatis -- the most beautiful,
wonderful and intelligent boy I had ever known and would ever know -- had
been reduced to a sobbing, babbling incoherence.  This would be his
standard reaction to our love-making for months.
        "What is it?  What's happening?" he sniffled, unable to comprehend.
        "It's love.  An orgasm.  It's you and me," I whined, folding myself
over his back.
        In time, the little boy recovered.  He hopped off my lap, right
hand flitting from his dry crotch to the back of his cummy silk shorts.  He
turned to stare at me, brow furrowed, struggling for connections.
        "I'm a man.  You're a boy.  There's nothing else to say."  I
reached for him.
        The child scampered away on quaking legs, clutching his Teddy Bear.
He looked at the crotch of his bear, at his own crotch, at mine and my
limp, exposed cock.
        "Sleep with me, Ethan?  Stay with me tonight and be there in the
morning?"
        The little boy shook his head and backed to the door, naked thighs
shimmering.  I ached to lick those thighs, to suck and suck them, to teach
him more about his body.  But I sat watching as he left my room as quietly
as he'd entered.
        Once Ethan was gone, my room seemed too large and too empty.  I
stood, turned off the light, and climbed into bed.  I wondered how I could
have lived so many years without a boy to love.  I lay awake for hours,
taking comfort in the knowledge that little Ethan was lying awake in bed,
too, wondering how he could have lived for 12 years without a man.