Date: Wed, 24 May 2017 19:56:38 -0400
From: Orson Cadell <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: Beaux Thibodaux 18

Please see original story
(www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/) for warnings and
copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights reserved. Includes sex
between adult and young-adult men, some of them related to one another. Go
away if any of that is against your local rules. Practice safer sex than my
characters. Write if you like, but flamers end up in the nasty bits of
future stories. Donate to Nifty **TODAY** at donate.nifty.org/donate.html
to keep the cum coming.

*****

"Here's the assignment: Use your fingers to try and replicate on your dick
what your tongue does on the carrot. Find ways to make it feel better. BUT,
put the carrot away when you get close. I don't want you choking to death
just as you hit your orgasm." That got me a scowl and a smile at the same
time. Tonight, I was the one who flat out ran for the bedroom. The image of
that beautiful face going down on that fucking carrot over and over and
then teasing the head had me bellowing and blasting like a maniac mere
minutes after I slammed the door. I hadn't even gotten my breathing under
control before the image of Beaux completing his assignment a dozen yards
away had me up and at-em again, for another massive, screaming climax. Yep;
I needed to talk to Barry about new cum rags for me as well.

*****

Beaux Thibodaux 18: Well, That Happened...  Tuesday & Wednesday

By Bear Pup

*****

Beaux was in a right state the next morning. Hyperactive as a toddler and
prone to fits of excitement that could turn to snapping anger in an
instant. The reason was simple. He was elated and terrified by the fact
that Dr Perez and team were ready with an education plan for him. I
certainly understood. What could be more exciting than finding out what you
would soon explore, and what could be more nerve-wracking than finding out
how ignorant you really are?

By the time we got to Columbia, I felt like I was suffering from emotional
whiplash. Beaux had jumped from chatterbox to power-sulk like a light
switch a dozen times on the two-hour drive. We arrived a bit earlier than
we were expected but I made a command decision (basically in order to save
some shred of my own sanity) and we went straight to the office.

As it happened, Dr Perez was already there and as excited as Beaux. He had
a three-ring binder as thick as a dictionary and several charts and two
smiling assistants. Beaux's eyes nearly exploded. It took the entire day,
including a catered lunch, to work through it. The man and his team were
inspired and the results were jaw-dropping. There were sections for every
subject-category (alphabetically of course): Art & Music, English, Fitness
& Health, Foreign Languages, Mathematics, Science and Society. Everything
was also color-coded and cross-referenced.

Beaux scowled at the math section, a very slim section of blue. Perez
spotted the reaction and laughed, an infectious sound. "Beaux, let's start
with math, shall we? You need work on spatial and solid geometry."

Beaux sat for a second and went, "Yes... and?"

"And nothing. One part that took so much time was revamping our entire
scoring structure to even get scaling for mathematics in your case. Even
the two geometry sections will put you in college levels in a couple of
months. In fact, they're largely there to make sure you keep using those
skills."

"B-b-b-b-but, but what about number theory? What about--"

"I am going to ask your guardian to bring you to campus once a month for
meeting with various departments who have taken an interest. One set in
particular is Drs Jain and Agarwal. They are absolutely desperate to work
with you based on some of the side-answers during the tests. One wants to
talk about Set Theory and the other about... I don't even recall the
words. Lauren?"

He turned to the nice-looking young woman to his left. "I have it here. Uh,
convergence of infinite continued fractions? Does that sound right?"

"Oh, sure. I love that, me. It's where you can have a rational--"

Perez jumped in quickly. "Whoa-whoa! I didn't even understand Agarwal's
'simple' explanation. He seemed to lose Dr Jain halfway through! Telling me
what it is would just waste your time, son."

"But... but you're a doctor. A professor!"

"Not in that field, Beaux. I don't know a polynomial from a proton! It's
why this section is so thin, son. We need Jain & Agarwal to even make sense
of what to teach you."

Beaux just sat and blinked, then turned and scowled at me. I smiled. "I
told you, Beaux. You just didn't want to believe me." He snorted eloquently
and turned back.

English was basically about the writing; his gaps in reading were, at best,
skimpy and not terribly relevant. There was an extensive book list, a lot
of it from the world of (to Beaux's horror) poetry. Foreign languages was
similarly skewed and with much the same results, though Dr Perez strongly
suggested that Beaux work on a third language. With his interests, probably
German or Latin.

Society, other than some very narrow areas of history (mainly what could be
gleaned from Shakespeare), was massive. Everything from social structure,
governments and more/morays to the basics of history, economics and
geography were on the list. Art & Music was similar, but not as intense.

Dr Perez had a real surprise, though, in the Sciences. Based on his
testing, Beaux needed almost no advanced coursework, just the basic
foundations of each discipline. He explained that Beaux's prodigious math
skills would make the "High School Level" work quite boring other than the
experimental phases. The texts here also overlapped heavily with history
and philosophy.

Lastly came a surprise for me. Fitness & Health needed a live tutor and Dr
Perez had worked with Rob to devise a program of study. The teacher would
be a man named Charles Atalas. No joke! The guy who was gonna teach Beaux
fitness was named one letter off of the most-famous body builder in
history, and the man who created one of the early exercise crazes.

For the last hour, we discussed the approach. Dr Perez produced a
slightly-smaller (perhaps phone-book thick) binder that Laruen and Chuck,
his assistants, walked us through. Everything was still color-coded, but
the colors were mixed in a single, unbroken ribbon diagonally down the
stack. Chuck warned that some of the ink might still be wet. They were
still printing at 5:30 this morning, the two younger team members worked
through the weekend and even the previous night to finish.

The curriculum was as brilliant as the analysis. All of the lessons fed off
each other seamlessly. An example was Animal Farm, tying into social
studies, government, propaganda, physics (the windmill) and spatial
geometry (the volume of the water tanks). It was genius. It was also a
three-YEAR lesson plan! But it was a plan that largely eschewed textbooks
per se in favor of accessible works that could teach the same lessons.

Beaux and I left late that day, exhausted physically and
mentally. Emotionally, though, we were both almost blissful; the plan was
something I could really enact and handle, something that had terrified me
from the start, and one that Beaux seemed delighted to dive into. I decided
to 'punt' on dinner and hit a Chinese place that did take-out, and did it
quickly.

I ended up with a giant tub of Beef Lo Mein and smaller ones of Bourbon
Chicken, Fried Rice and Buddha's Delight. A sack of freshly-made egg rolls
rounded out the purchase. We'd been sitting in the chairs smelling the
amazing food cooking for fifteen minute and the look of utter betrayal on
Beaux's face when I put it in the back of the car was hysterical. He didn't
speak to me or even look at me all the way to the house.

Very few foods travel as well as Chinese, and the Lin family's creations
were no exception. Even the egg rolls were crisp and hot when we got to the
bar (if I'd delayed long enough to get to the kitchen or dining table,
Beaux would have killed me outright). This was another of the great reasons
for a nudist household -- no soy sauce stains! Beaux was incredibly wary of
the Buddha's Delight as few of the component veggies were things he'd ever
heard of much less seen, but he loved everything in it but the tofu. I
admit I picked it out of mine as well. Stir-fried Styrofoam was just not
appetizing.

When the carnage was over, I mixed the remnants of the Bourbon Chicken with
the Fried Rice and put it in Tupperware with a separate one for the Lo
Mein. I figured there was enough left over for perhaps three meals... or
one 'snack' for Beaux.

The next day was a rough one for me, as I had an appointment downtown and
also wanted to get Beaux to the library to collect the first set of
books. The Kansas City Public Library was an atrocious "space age" box from
the worst of 60's design, and inside it wasn't much better. I turned Beaux
loose with his list and went to my office. The meeting went well, very well
indeed. The couple were from Chicago, referred to me by two different sets
of their friends.

Darrel and Linda Chambers purchased what had been a small church in Old
Town built after the Great Chicago Fire. It had been converted to
apartments in the distant past and they wanted to gut it and turn it into a
single home. Their worry was noise from the nearby rail line. I invited
them to dinner so they could see first-hand what my work was like and they
were delighted at the offer. I gave them directions to the house and told
Louise to start on the background work of hiring someone in Chicago to dig
through city archives for any previous permits and plans. I was pretty sure
it was worth the risk to spend money even before there was any agreement.

I picked Beaux up at -- scratch that, I pried Beaux loose *from* -- the
library and we headed home. On the way, I told Beaux we'd have guests. He
took the news serenely, even that his Cajun meal would be postponed by a
day. I'd have to get this kid to the library more often!

I had a small stable of menus for entertaining clients. I refused to do
elegant or formal dining. Since they were from Chicago, I knew better than
to cook Italian. I picked Basque instead. I assembled Pintxos as the
appetizer, toast on skewers with Roncal cheese and quince jelly, half of
them with serrano ham as well. That would be paired with a cider called
Sagardoa.

A fairly simple salad would start the meal, then Cocido Montanes ('mountain
soup' of white beans, collards and pork; basically Basque cassoulet-like
stew) as the entrée with some heavy peasant bread and Tempranillo as the
wine. Gateau Basque, a thin cake with an almond filling and buttery crust,
would be dessert with a light Amaretto cocktail.

I decided against doing the bread and pulled a frozen loaf to thaw; I'd
re-bake it just before dinner. I set Beaux to work assembling the Pintxos
which he was happy to do, then built the Cocido. Beaux finished his own
task and came over and sipped the soup. He smiled slowly. The various cuts
of pork are normally the only seasoning, but Beaux made some suggestions
that just made the stew explode with flavor. He tied herbs in a strip of
cheesecloth in this hand-dance so swift and elegant I knew I'd have to ask
him to teach it to me.

I cocked the lid and left it to simmer for the rest of the day. The Pintxos
went onto a covered tray and onto the table by the front room couch and
chairs with the bottle of Sagardoa. We both went to spruce up and dress for
dinner. Beaux chose grey chinos and a shirt with a subtle dark-blue and
black paisley pattern that played against his hair and eyes. I wore casual
blue slacks and an open-necked shirt of an odd wheat color that I liked.

The Chambers arrived and introductions were made. We sat in the comfortable
chairs for appetizers and fell to chatting. Beaux was quiet but polite and
seemed to enjoy himself. Linda was intrigued by his accent and surprised us
all by knowing quite a bit about the Bayou Country. A school chum had been
from Houma, a dozen or so miles and worlds away from Beaux's home.

During this exchange, I saw Darrel gradually start to frown looking up at
the high windows. "Uh, Kevin, are those planes?" Oh, my, do I ever love
that question. I topped off everyone's Cider (Beaux had ginger ale) and I
took them down to the 'family' level. I timed my chatter by watching from
the corner of my eye and slid the door to the deck open just as a jumbo jet
roared over us under full thrust. Linda actually jumped at the sound and
Darrel's eyes got wide. I explained that we were just south of the airport
and they'd likely be able to see the house when they took off for home the
next day.

Darrel built a slow smile, nodding. He finally nodded and simply said,
"Well played, Mr Faolan. Very well-played indeed." I took them on a tour of
the rest of the house and Linda fell in love with the master bath and the
steam-room shower. I noticed her throw a number of significant glances at
her husband. When we got to the kitchen, she positively glowed.

She asked for the powder room and I pointed it out, popping the bread in
the oven at the same time. "May I have a word, dear?" Darrel glumly
followed her and returned as Beaux was helping me decant the Cocido into a
lidded tureen that he carried to the table. Darrel offered to carry the
salad and I got the dressing. I was pouring the Tempranillo when Linda
returned. We chatted lightly over the salad.

When I pulled the lid off Linda breathed in deeply and gave me a long
look. "Cantabria Stew?" I smiled and replied that it was a close relative
and gave a little of the story as Beaux retrieved and cut the bread. When
Linda sipped the broth, though, her head came up like it was on a
spring. "What's in this? It's excellent!"

I smile and nodded to Beaux. "You'll need to ask my nephew. When I make
Cocido Montanes I really only use bay. Beaux is the wizard who came up with
this."

Beaux blushed adorably. "I don't really know the names of the herbs,
me. The thing that shocked Oncle Kevin was the brandy, though."

"I'm pretty sure that thyme and sage and perhaps savory were in there, but
in tiny amounts. I've never seen such a deft hand; they weren't really even
pinches." Linda was nodding.

"I could taste the cognac, but can't taste a single other herb. Not one!
It's like you just made every ingredient taste more like itself. But what
do you mean you don't know the names of the herbs. You mean you know them
in Cajun French but not English?"

Beaux blushed hard and looked down. "Um, no, ma'am."

"I jumped in. Beaux doesn't really bother with labels. He opens each bottle
and decides what seems right." Linda's eyes started blinking like a
semaphore and I thought she might drop her spoon.

"You cooked THIS... by SMELL?" She turned to me almost fiercely. "Mr
Faolan," uh oh, that can't be good to go back to last names; Beaux had gone
chalky-white, "do you know what I do for a living?" I shook my head. "I
edit cookbooks for [___] House. My job is to figure out if the recipes are
worth publishing and others make sure the story is marketable. I've eaten a
nearly every leading restaurant in the country and cooked with a lot of
chefs. A lot of very famous chefs. No, I'm not saying that this is in that
league, far from it. But from a young man his age with no training at all,
and cooking from his senses? If I hadn't just tasted this, I'd have laughed
you right out of the building." She turned.

"Beaux, I'm sorry I startled you. You have a rare and special talent. When
you're ready for college," she handed him a card, "you write me,
please. I'd like a chance to convince you to go to a culinary school or at
least a university with such a program. I really do think that with
education and few years under a master chef, you'd be a real
treasure. Darrel?"

"Um, uh, I was going to wait until after dinner," the got a lancing, wifely
glare and hurried on, "but if you don't mind talking business at the table,
I'd like to hire you on our project. My real estate lawyer will get in
touch with Louise in the next week or so, and feel free to start gathering
the info you need. You'll be reimbursed."

I was too shocked to speak. I thought I was watching a train wreck and
instead Beaux sealed a very lucrative and exciting job for me! I shook
hands with both the guests and we returned to amiable chatting. The Gateau
was another mild hit and both of them smiled at the amaretto
cocktail. Linda could sense that she pushed Beaux far past his comfort zone
and didn't press him, but she did dart frequent, calculating glances in his
direction throughout the meal.

When they'd left, Beaux practically melted into a chair, muttering in
French and throwing clothes in all directions. "Oh, Oncle. I never been so
worried, me. I thought I done ruined a business thing for you. I coulda
died. Why'd you tell that terrible woman I done cooked that?"

"First off," I replied, chuckling, "You didn't think she was a terrible
woman until she liked your food. You thought she was nice and charming and
it showed in your eyes. If she hadn't scared you so bad you'd have been
telling my how great she was. Second, Very, very few people make negative
decisions based on a dinner or a party. Outside of a true catastrophe, it
normally is just ignored. Lastly, Beaux, 'they' made the decision before
dinner. When she asked Darrel 'for a moment' she was simply telling him
what he had better decide if he knew what was good for him. If you have to
know, I think he was sold with the noise and she was sold by the bathroom.

"But what she said about the stew!"

"That really was all you, Beaux. What you did really impressed her. I'd say
she now has you classed as 'talented amateur to watch', and she probably
really does have contact that can help you."

"Oh, no. I could never do cooking for real. All those fancy restaurants and
everyone talking about my food? Oh, no. Not me, Oncle. No-no-no." I just
chuckled.

"We'll let's table that discussion. Let's hit the library
instead. Wednesday, remember?"

He mumbled, "Mort miséricordieuse!" Something about death, but I just
smiled. "Come on, Beaux."

We moved into the library. Finally, tonight I was not going to start out on
the spot. "So first, Beaux, I want to talk about your homework." He let out
a melodramatic groan and slouched. "Nope. Not gonna work. Now tell me about
the carrot and your homework."

"I tried like you said and imagined it w-w-w-was a tongue on me doing like
I was the carrot. I do hope it's like that for real, me! Oh MY! And I got
to really liking the carrot after a bit, except for the taste. What, well,
what does it, you know, taste like for real."

"You've, um, never tasted your own, well, juices?" He looked at me like I'd
lost my mind and I laughed. "Beaux, think about it. If you perform oral
sex, you're going to taste someone else and if they do you, they'll taste
yours. It can't be THAT bad!"

He got a thoughtful look. He was, of course, railed at any such sex
discussion and there was a bead of precum it his tip. He reached down and
scooped it tentatively with his finger. He narrowed his eyes, apparently
checking to see if I was pulling his leg, then brought the moisture0 to his
lips. He rolled it around his tongue and frowned.

"It, well, it doesn't really taste like much, does it?"

"It depends on the person. I'd say no taste at all is rare, but it may seem
that way because you live in your own scent all day every day. You may
simply be desensitized to the taste, as most men taste a bit like they
smell. Some are very strong, some are salty or ripe or meaty. Some are even
actually sweet."

"Why?"

"No clue, Beaux. I'll make a note to do some research and find out."

"What about, um, after?"

"Cum? It always has some taste. It's very thick, obviously, and tends to
taste salty and very rich, and a lot of people sense a faint taste like
bleach. Taste your own next time and let me know what you think. Some
people can't stand it and others crave it like candy."

"You, Kevin?"

"Um, somewhere in between, I guess. It's more about the act of swallowing
the most intimate thing a guy's body makes than the taste itself. And I
think that's big part of the taste. Something you are really excited about
is going to seem pleasurable to you most times, whether or not you'd like
it otherwise. And it can incredibly erotic to watch another man bringing
you to orgasm and drinking your cum down. It's a sexual rush like few
others."

Beaux had a dreamy look, and I could tell the idea of a man draining his
balls was having a serious impact; he was leaking steadily and I could see
his cock throb with his heartbeat. He was staring into the middle distance
and his eyes gleamed. I got a wicked thought and decided to play a hunch.

"So, you're fantasizing about Hans? Whose sucking whom, hmm?"

He jumped like he'd been bit and blushed red. "W-W-Who said I was thinking
about H-Hans?"

I hooted a laugh and said, "Well, it was just a wild guess until I got THAT
reaction." He scowled at me then slowly smiled.

"Yes, but it was both. Wondering what it would feel like both ways. Is
that, well, odd?"

"No. In fact, it's uncommon for anyone to just do one or the other. Unlike
anal sex, most guys like both sides of a blowjob. In fact, one of the
hottest thing is called a sixty-nine."

"You got *numbers* for sex things? Oh, God, Oncle. Is there a chart?" I
laughed hard at that and he glared at me. I took a piece of paper and a pen
from the table and handed them to him.

"Write the number 69, Beaux. Okay, now think of the two numbers as the
shape of men's bodies." The enormous rush of air being sucked into his
lungs literally, no kidding, made the candles flicker. "That's right, two
guys curled into each other, each sucking the other at the same time." I
let that sink in for a second.

"So, we'll talk about the carrot homework this weekend. Here's your next
assignment. Remember the artwork at the Nelson?" No way was I going to
encourage him to fantasize about Hans while there was still a chance the
Norse Nurse was flirting with ME instead. "Think about what it would be
like to be on your knees as Drunken Hercules lets you suck his dick until
he comes. Then think of what it would be like to have Drunken Hercules on
his knees in front of you, devoted to your pleasure. Lastly, you and
Drunken Hercules servicing each other in a 69." His eyes were wide and
breath short. "I'd suggest though, not to think about all three in the same
session. I don't want you hurting yourself." He scowled at me, but damned
near left a contrail on his way to his room when I told him that was enough
for the night.

<eof>

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