by
Part 18: Kolina - I
The refugee station at Kolina was nothing more than a vast conglomeration of prefabricated huts and tents. It was mostly comprised of row upon row of nondescript buildings, all arranged in neat, symmetrical blocks, and a little sea of hastily erected marquees, with their canvas skins fluttering in the breeze. The whole camp was a hive of activity, with legions of UNHCR staff dashing hither and thither, distinctive with the white UNHCR logos emblazoned on their light blue shirts and caps. This was what Simon-Peter and I observed through the barbed wire fence as the VFOR Land Rover approached the camp gates.
At the entrance to the camp, we pulled up next to a checkpoint with a barrier across it. Jens jumped out to exchange a few words with the guards that were manning the checkpoint. He produced some rather important looking papers, which the black-clad guards verified on the computer. I could see them through the observation window comparing details. Finally, the guard handed the papers back and the Land Rover was waved through.
We were taken into the single story building that stood right at the front of the camp. It was bigger and grander than all the others, so I guessed this was like the office and administration block. Inside we were met by the same UNHCR guy who had interviewed me at Sector HQ the day before, the one who was in his late 30s and had that thick, black, neatly combed hair. He was wearing the regulation light blue sweatshirt with the white UNHCR logo and was carrying his notepad with a sheaf of papers clipped to it. He introduced himself as our support worker. His name was Matti. Matti was Swiss. He escorted us into a little office and waiting area. There were UNHCR staff sitting at computers and answering telephones. It seemed very busy and there was a constant hum of activity in the air, with phones ringing and people tapping away on keyboards. Simon-Peter and I hovered about uncertainly at the front of the room while the formalities were completed.
At this point Jens and Emil handed us over and prepared to leave. Saying goodbye to Jens and Emil was hard. Harder than I expected. They had done so much for us, not only in the practical sense of removing us from the war-torn streets of Verolino, and delivering us into the safe custody of the UNHCR, but also especially in demonstrating to me the civility and kindness of the Danish people. Even if they were not typical of the Danish, they were certainly good ambassadors. They had shown me their warmth and humanity, as well as their open-mindedness and good humor. Tell the truth, I was gonna miss them. I had only spent one night with them, but it was a night which I would treasure, the memory of which had cast a tangible spell on me. They bade us goodbye, and Jens even gave me a warm hug, wishing us luck with a buddy-like slap on the back. And as he did so, I recalled the random scenes of the previous night from our joint-fuelled little sex games in the mess room. I pictured us fucking around, stripped naked; his handsome body with that big, beautiful dick of his spraying my naked little frame with his copious jizz; Emil's pumping thickly into my little snatch. Last night seemed such a long time ago now. Under the full gaze of Matti, I watched them through the window, climbing back into their VFOR Land Rover, and I knew then that these Danish soldiers were going to leave me with some wonderful memories which would stay with me for a very long time.
When Jens and Emil departed, the sense of abandonment was overwhelming at being suddenly marooned in this forbidding place. It was significant, I thought, that the barrier was firmly closed after their VFOR Land Rover had gone, so that it left me with a slightly scary, slightly claustrophobic feeling of confinement. As soon as we arrived I could sense that there was something not quite right about this place; something unorthodox; something harsh and austere. It seemed to hang in the air, like a pall of misery and doom. My initial instinct was to turn around and walk straight back out again. But of course, at this point, that wasn't really an option.
Matti then assumed a very businesslike air and got straight down to work. He took Simon-Peter and I away from the busy admin area to a separate room at the back of the open plan office. It was a long and narrow room with very high windows that were too high to see out of. It meant that the room was quite cool and shady. There were two desks pushed together back to back in the middle of the room, and to the side the usual token chairs for visitors. I guessed this was Matti's office, or at any rate the office he shared with a colleague. As Simon-Peter and I sat down on the chairs by the wall, I spotted the framed photograph that was propped up on Matti's desk. There were two young boys in it, probably aged about 8 and 10, with the same thick black hair as Matti, dressed in expensive designer casuals, with windswept hair and toothy smiles and eyes that were squinting into the sun. I guessed they were his sons, brimming with health and happiness, and both very beautiful. He was a lucky man. I wondered, very briefly, as I watched Matti maneuver himself into his chair behind the desk, whether he had ever enjoyed his little boys' nascent libidos. I wondered whether he had ever coaxed them into the unbridled pleasures of man-boy sex; whether he had ever sampled their tight, youthful little bodies, flush with virginal sexual desire, yearning for that incestuous foray into the forbidden realms of dad-son erotica; whether they had ever fascinated themselves playing with daddy's adult yogurt-squirter, or whether he had fooled around with their tiny stiffies, perhaps manipulated their turgid little organs to the heights of dry-cum ecstasy, or maybe even tapped their hairless little pussies. Oh fuck, those two little boys in the picture made Little Cloud harden perceptibly in my pants.
My musings were interrupted by Simon-Peter giggling. He had seen me looking at the photograph and was flashing a sly little grin in my direction from the seat next to me. I swear he was so attuned to my way of thinking. He was such an astute and insightful little boy, he simply amazed me. At this point Matti demanded our attention and we were obliged to focus on what he had to say.
'Good news,' said Matti, pulling himself closer to the desk on his swivel chair, and he looked directly at Simon-Peter, 'We've traced your mother. You're going home.'
There was an awkward little moment of hesitation. Matti grinned at us both, almost as though he expected a slight delay for the news to sink in. But our hesitation was not due to us assimilating the good news. The pregnant silence was due to us recoiling metaphysically from the magnitude of its implications.
'Aren't you pleased?' asked Matti, looking at Simon-Peter expectantly.
Simon-Peter turned to me, momentarily confused, then turned his focus back on Matti.
'You found my mummy?'
'Yes,' Matti nodded enthusiastically, 'Or rather, SHE found YOU. Isn't it great?'
Matti explained that after he had taken our details at Sector HQ yesterday, everything was entered into the computer. After that, it was just a question of waiting to see what came up on the database. The UNHCR database held records of all the refugees and IDPs in Verolino, and details of people looking for their loved ones. It was designed to bring separated families back together, and to verify the names of any civilians who had been confirmed killed in the fighting. There was also a register of people wanting to adopt a displaced or orphaned child. According to Matti, the UNHCR database extended across the globe. Apparently, there were many families all over the world wanting to adopt a child and Verolino had many such children to offer. Using the DNA sample and other details, it didn't take long for Simon-Peter to be officially identified and almost instantaneously matched to his rightful next of kin. His family were looking for him. They knew his father was dead - officially he had been 'killed in action' - but they had been told that Simon-Peter was still very much alive and arrangements had been made for him to be sent home. As the son of such a high ranking British officer, Simon-Peter was going to be afforded a great deal of honor and respect and treated with the highest priority. He was going back to England where his mother was waiting for him.
Of course, I had always known at the back of my mind that my time with Simon-Peter would have to come to an end some day. But even so, now that it was a reality, that prospect filled me with profound terror. It was just too sudden, and I realized just how unprepared I was to deal with it. Beside me, I was aware that Simon-Peter was quiet and thoughtful and had not said anything.
'W...when am I leaving?' Simon-Peter stammered, almost overwhelmed by the news.
'This afternoon,' Matti announced, 'There's a car coming for you. You'll be on the next flight out of Verolino. A US Air Force transporter will take you to Ramstein Air Base in Germany. From there, the RAF will take you to Brize Norton in England. Your mother will be there waiting for you. By this time tomorrow you'll be back home.'
Simon-Peter looked frightened. But I knew instinctively that it was not the prospect of flying home that frightened him. It was the prospect of leaving me.
'What about Cloud?' he asked.
Matti seemed perplexed by the question.
'We'll look after him,' Matti replied, flashing me a reassuring grin, 'Who knows, maybe we'll find his family too.'
Ha! Good luck with that, I thought to myself. As far as I was aware, I HAD no family. They were just a dim and distant memory to me, vague images like regurgitated flashbacks from some delirious nightmare; odd snippets, like random stills from a second rate movie; barely remembered scenes which made no logical sense. And what I did remember left me reeling with horror and distaste, as though it was something I didn't want to recapture, a part of my life I had no desire to recall or relive.
'Why can't Cloud come with me?' Simon-Peter asked, innocently.
Matti laughed. But it was an amiable, unassuming little laugh, which indicated that he found Simon-Peter's question cute and endearing.
'That's just not possible,' said Matti, shaking his head with regret, 'Cloud has to stay here with me.'
This should have been a happy day, with Simon-Peter and I finally being transferred to the refugee station and placed into the safe hands of the UNHCR, where we would be effectively out of the combat zone and away from the fighting. But it wasn't happy. It was sad. It was sad because Simon-Peter was going home. I looked on him as we sat there in Matti's office, and I took in the sight of him for what I now knew was going to be one of the very last times. I took in the incredible beauty and cuteness of this little boy, sitting there swinging his little legs back and forth on the high wooden chair, with Howard in his lap, the frayed teddy bear looking rather soiled and shopworn. I wondered how I could be so enamored by such a little boy. I took in his slim, lithe little frame and his little pixie-like nose and those big, bright, liquid eyes. I looked on his big head with those raffish protruding ears, the ears which I had been so tempted to grab onto when he was sucking my little dick. Oh, how I wished I could stick my boydick into his little rosebud mouth one last time, and experience the exquisite pleasure of his pink little tongue lapping at my piss-slit, ingesting the little squirts of kiddiecum he so adroitly coaxed from my hairless little balls. We had shared so much and been through such tumultuous experiences together, I couldn't quite believe I might never see him again.
'Looks like rain,' said Matti, casting a wary eye at the high window, beyond which the sky had turned a menacing gray.
It was an indication that, as far as he was concerned, this conversation was over.
Simon-Peter stood up and looked very uncertain for a moment. I stood up with him. Then a momentary flash of panic spread across his face as the magnitude of the news became tangible to him. He looked scared and threw himself against me, wrapping his little body around my waist and burst into tears. I held onto his sweet head and comforted him.
'Shh, don't cry little one,' I whispered, kissing the crown of his shiny, chestnut-brown mop.
He sobbed away in my arms, his little body shuddering against me with grief.
Matti got up from his desk.
'I'll leave you two to say goodbye,' he said graciously, and stepped out of the room.
Matti thoughtfully closed the door behind him so that the noise of the neighboring room was instantly muted, and I found myself alone with Simon-Peter, both of us standing there entwined in a hushed silence.
I let him cry for a few moments, and waited for his tears to abate. Tell the truth, I felt like crying too. But, for my part, I knew I had to put my feelings aside. After everything Simon-Peter had been through, I had no intention of trying to keep him from going home. I knew that it was only right that he should go back to his family, to a stable, loving environment where he would be safe at last. It was right that he should be with his mother. He deserved it. Who was I to deny him that? And as we stood there, in this stranger's room, in this forbidding, unfamiliar place, it struck me at that moment for the first time that I actually loved Simon-Peter. I really did love that little guy. But loving Simon-Peter meant wanting to do the best for him. And if I truly loved him, I knew I would have to let him go.
We waited with trepidation in Matti's office until the car came to collect Simon-Peter. He had fallen silent by then, still trying to come to terms with the sudden and unexpected turn of events. By the time the car arrived, the sky had darkened considerably and it had started to rain, almost mirroring what was going on in my heart.
Matti took us outside, where the raindrops had begun to dapple the dusty ground, and I could see the enormous car, an olive green VFOR Humvee, waiting by the gate with its engine growling. Matti greeted the young uniformed soldier who stepped out of it. He was the US Army Liaison Officer charged with getting Simon-Peter home. They shook hands, then Matti beckoned Simon-Peter forward. Simon-Peter went to step towards the vehicle, holding his little backpack, but stopped. He turned and looked back at me, and he saw that I had not walked towards the car with him. The reality was finally taking hold: I really wasn't going with him. I saw he had tears in those pretty eyes of his. It was very unnerving to see this little boy so wracked with emotion. It always amazed me how quickly his eyes filled with tears. We knew this was it. He stepped towards me, dropped his backpack onto the ground, and we hugged one last time. His little arms embraced me tightly, grabbing handfuls of my shirt as though he wanted to hold onto me forever. We allowed ourselves one last little kiss, and then he looked up at me, still clutching me tightly. The rain was drumming against our faces, peppering our complexions with tiny splashes.
'But what will happen to YOU?' he asked, looking up through the raindrops, as though suddenly fearful that I might be overlooked and forgotten.
'Oh, don't worry about me,' I said brightly, 'I'll be alright.'
And I really believed that too. I wasn't concerned because I knew I would always land on my feet. I was clever and resourceful and I had youth and good looks in my favor.
'I'll always wemember you,' he said, through his tears and the rain.
'I'll remember you too,' I said, 'I'll never forget you baby boy.'
'You will come to visit me one day, won't you?'
'Oh yes, for sure,' I said, emphatically, 'Just try and stop me.'
'You pwomise?'
'I promise.'
Finally, he released his little fists from my clothing, resigned to his fate, both of us acknowledging that, painful though this was, we were powerless to do anything about it.
'Go, little one,' I said, pushing him away into the rain, 'Go home. Your mom is waiting for you.'
Finally, the Army Liaison Officer picked up Simon-Peter's backpack and took his little hand and led him away. Simon-Peter twisted his little head as they went, looking back at me wistfully as though trying to eke out every last glimpse of me, Howard the bear still dangling precariously in his other hand. Then he turned and hopped up into the cavernous Humvee. The dull matt paintwork of the car was already awash from the rain. The door was shut, and the vehicle rolled away. The vehicle paused as the barrier was lifted, then it turned out of the gate. As the car disappeared from sight, I knew I would never forget this beautiful, remarkable little boy; this tiny person that had wormed his way into the deepest recesses of my heart; my little buddy, my lover, my adopted brother. He had been my constant companion during these momentous days. Undoubtedly, the memory of him was going to stay with me for the rest of my life.
Whilst I was overjoyed that he was going home, I was filled with sadness at losing Simon-Peter. I was already starting to feel his absence. So after he had gone, I just stood there, rooted to the spot, oblivious to the rain, staring at the barrier, the estranging shield that separated us as he journeyed further and further away from me.
'Come on,' said Matti, from somewhere behind me, 'Let's go back inside.'
But, even despite the rain, I couldn't find the motivation to leave that spot. Perhaps Matti had gauged the depth of feeling between Simon-Peter and me, and was able to suppress any objection he may have had. So he didn't say anything. He seemed to understand, so he just stood there and waited. The rain was falling harder than ever now, in cold, hard pellets that disintegrated against my face and scalp as they hit. Matti was waiting patiently, squinting at me through the rain as it increased in intensity. My shaggy hair was saturated and clung to my head in greasy clumps, the water running down my neck, until I was soaked through and had rainwater dripping off my chin. Finally, Matti stepped up beside me and put a consoling arm around my shoulders, and he gently coaxed me away, silently guiding me back inside.
Matti was very kind. He smiled a benevolent little smile, and spoke to me quietly, in hushed, sympathetic tones, and explained what I had to do next. We collected my backpack from his office, then he escorted me along the endless little alleyways that crisscrossed the sprawling camp, forming narrow thoroughfares between the squat buildings. He took me to one of the blocks way over on the other side of the camp, keeping close to the walls so we wouldn't get too wet. Inside was a long corridor with lots of rooms leading off it. The rooms were tiny, almost like little prison cells, and had bunk beds in them. Matti explained that the camp was a former army barracks where new recruits completed their basic training, and these rooms were where the soldiers used to live. Now they were just used as accommodation for the refugees in the camp. He told me that I would have a room to myself, until another boy arrived to share it with me, the prospect of which I regarded with what I can only describe as ambivalence.
When Matti showed me inside, I saw how bare and uninspiring the room was. It was small, with barely enough floor space for one person to move around comfortably. The décor was dour and soulless, with a sickly yellow paint on the walls. There was a single high window with frosted glass, and to one side, bare mattresses on bunk beds. Sheets and pillows were neatly stacked at the foot of each bunk. There was a tiny table and a single chair in one corner and a wash basin in the other. It was very dispiriting. Not that I expected five star accommodation - this WAS a refugee camp after all - but the prospect of spending time in this cell-like room was depressing beyond words.
I sat disconsolately on the chair in the corner, clutching my backpack, and Matti handed me one of the towels that were next to the basin. I dried my hair and neck as Matti made up the bottom bunk for me. I watched him as he was bent over the mattress, smoothing out the sheets and the comforter for me. His movements were calm and gentle, but confident and purposeful. He was a very trim, lean figure of a man, quite tall, with handsome, distinguished features and a very cute butt. I decided I was quite drawn to him, and tried to imagine his naked butt humping pneumatically between my opened thighs, driving his big adult dick deep and hard into my little shota boy cunt. Right on cue, Little Cloud stiffened at the thought of it.
Just then, Matti turned and caught me checking him out, and it looked for a moment like he was a little flattered or even embarrassed to see how much I was admiring him. He flashed me a 'cheer up' expression, as though to say that things weren't so bad, and then he sat down contentedly on the edge of the bottom bunk and patted the space next to him. I got up, deposited my backpack on the floor and the wet towel on the chair, and went to sit down next to him. He detected my sadness and loneliness and went on giving me little smiles of encouragement. I took his little tokens of benevolence towards me as a sign of his affection. There was something very paternal and comforting about Matti, so I turned and hugged him. I was relieved to find that he was very receptive and tactile, and gave me a reciprocal hug, turning towards me and linking his hands behind my back, pulling me against him. I wondered if he hugged his sons like that, and tried to imagine what it must be like to have a dad like him. As he held me against him, both of us turned towards each other so that my face was muffled against his strong shoulder, I decided I would have been very thankful to have a father like Matti. For a long few moments I enjoyed the embrace, which was very comforting in the wake of Simon-Peter's departure. I enjoyed Matti's proximity and I could feel his warmth through his UNHCR sweatshirt, and the firmness of his adult torso underneath. All the time, neither of us spoke. Little Cloud was so hard in my pants, I wanted Matti to play with him. Having only my previous experience with adult men to draw on, I took his silence as acquiescence, and the fact that he didn't forbid this physical contact between us could only mean that he would welcome my advances. I tentatively reached down and placed my palm over the neat, soft bulge in his crotch, and gently pressed down.
Matti broke the hug suddenly, grabbing me by my shoulders, and pushed me away. He looked confused.
'What the hell do you think you're doing?' he demanded angrily, spoiling the moment.
His tone frightened me and the look in his eyes was distant and scared. I realized this was all wrong.
'I... I'm sorry,' I stammered, 'I... I thought...'
'It's okay,' said Matti, realizing he had startled me, and stroked my upper arms to soothe my ruffled feathers.
Matti was a little unsettled, and his quiet, confident, self-assuredness deserted him briefly. He knew I had made a move on him. But he had stopped me. He had indicated quite unequivocally that any sexual activity between us was not welcome.
'I'm sorry,' I said again, looking down dejectedly, 'I thought you liked me.'
'I DO like you,' said Matti, emphatically, 'But...'
'I'm not pretty enough?' I asked, almost disappointed, 'You don't think I'm sexy?'
Matti laughed, as though I had said something vaguely ridiculous.
'What is it then?' I demanded, genuinely confused, and I tried appealing to him, 'I'm hot and dirty. I can make your cock real hard. You can fuck me any way you want.'
Matti shook his head, dismissing all my assertions.
'It's not that,' he explained, 'I just can't do stuff like that with you. It wouldn't be right.'
I didn't know what to say. There was just no script in my archive for this eventuality. It was a stark contrast to find myself forbidden from any sexual contact at all when I was used to having free run and virtually unrestricted access to any guy I damn well chose. That was quite a hard adjustment. For a horny, prodigious and quite permissive little fuckboy like me, the idea that any man would turn me down was something quite alien and unanticipated, the fundamental nature of which I found difficult to comprehend. I just couldn't understand it. I was blond and pretty, and had a great physique for a boy my age, with a larger than average little dick. And I could spunk too. How could any guy decline the opportunity to spunk all over my hairless little body, or pound my cute little butt? Men paid good money for that. I sure hoped Matti wasn't a moralist, or worse still a religious nut, because I couldn't abide those types. They aggravated the hell out of me, tell you the truth.
Matti got up, giving me a forgiving little squeeze on my arm, and said he was going. He asked if I needed anything. I had wanted to say 'Yes, your stiff fuckstick ramming hard up my little cunt', but I didn't. I just shook my head. So he quietly slipped out, saying he would be back later to check on me. Then he closed the door behind him, leaving me sitting forlornly on the edge of the bed.
Suddenly, and for the first time in a very long while, I found myself alone. I had almost feared this moment. I had been afraid of being alone because there was finally no escape from the ugly truth that was hunting me down; no avoiding the inevitable sadness that had been waiting in the wings to claim me. I had just spoiled things between me and Matti, with whom I was already forming an attachment. I had probably shocked and repulsed him. Worse than that, Simon-Peter was gone. Our magical little liaison was over. What Simon-Peter and I had shared was pretty unique and special, and our friendship went way beyond the realms of normal shota boy liaisons. He was one of the best things that had ever happened to me in my short and relatively unremarkable little life, and now he was gone. So, finally finding myself alone, enclosed within this joyless and forbidding space, which felt just like being in prison, I finally succumbed to my sorrow. I drew my feet up, rolled over and curled up in my little bunk. I was so overwhelmed with sadness, that I turned my face to the wall and cried like I'd never cried before.
* * * * * *
My initial impressions of Kolina were not ameliorated by the experience which followed. With the rows of nondescript little huts and the barbed wire fence, Kolina felt just like a prison camp. That impression was reinforced by the fact that the whole place seemed to be policed by these ubiquitous black-clad guards, who took the pressure off the UNHCR staff by overseeing the day to day running of the camp. I discovered that it was the responsibility of some private security company who had been contracted to control the general security of the camp, leaving the UNHCR staff to focus on their humanitarian work. What seemed odd to me was these guards looked like members of some modern paramilitary organization, all dressed in black, clad from head to toe in black pants and sweatshirts, with black boots and even black caps. No word of a lie, they looked like some latter day equivalent of the SS.
The routine at Kolina was also very disorientating. My first night was pretty sleepless and uncomfortable. Finding myself in this little cell-like room was a stark contrast to the private room we had been given at Sector HQ the night before. There was a washroom at the end of the corridor, with a communal shower. The whole regime was quite alienating and impersonal. Isolated in that little cell, I was very lonely. And it was noisy too. The walls were paper thin and I was kept awake by the constant illicit chattering of the boys in the other rooms, to say nothing of the involuntary moans and vocalizations of their dreams as they tossed and turned in their sleep, and the constant comings and goings emanating from the corridor.
The entire camp was very daunting. The prospect of being assimilated into this new and unfamiliar environment filled me with dread. It was so big and confusing. Worst of all, I didn't know anybody. I was sad and lonely, lost and bewildered. I was so disoriented by these new surroundings, that for the first day I hardly spoke to anybody.
The most difficult times were mealtimes. The entire population of boys in the camp all descended on the hut with the dining hall in a noisy, disorganized rabble. The dining hall was always unbearably raucous. It was a scary, forbidding place, a vast panorama of long tables, and the room was full to overflowing with noisy, chattering boys - the girls were kept in their own separate part of the camp. We had to join a long queue to file past a server counter where disinterested kitchen staff doled out an indistinct and unappetizing slop into the various little compartments of our molded plastic trays.
I took my tray and found a secluded corner of the dining hall to sit down. There was a table end that was pretty much vacant, so I set down my tray, picked up the plastic cutlery, and made a start.
As I ate, I watched the antics going on around me. At the other end of the table, two older boys decided to chase away a much younger boy, to make room for them to sit together. Cowed and subdued by their menaces, he meekly picked up his unfinished meal and moved further along the table. To add insult to injury, one of the older boys then decided to reach over and steal his hunk of bread. Of course the younger boy raised no objection. He was a little peeved, but seemed resigned to it. I guessed this was all quite usual. I had to assume that bullying and subjugation was endemic in this kind of environment.
I had not worked very far through my meal when I was interrupted from taking another mouthful by someone passing by behind me. I heard someone call my name in a voice which I knew was familiar.
'Cloud?'
It was one of those moments when I instinctively recognized the voice. It was a young voice, and one which I had known well, but couldn't pinpoint it immediately.
I turned, not having yet succeeded in placing the owner, and there, poised with his plastic tray in his hands and a crooked little smirk on his lips, was Chip. Chip! The pretty little shota boy with whom I had shared so many exploits. Chip! The pretty, horny little tyke, with that cute elfin face, those round wire-rimmed specs and steel-gray eyes. But there was something very different about him. Chip looked somehow older, hardened, more street-wise. I realized it was because his hair was gone. That mop of longish light brown hair with that distinctive unruly little curl on his forehead was missing. His hair had been shaved very closely, revealing the true shape of his pretty head. His eyes had dark circles around them and appeared more sunken, and his cheeks were thinner. He looked very different, tired and drawn, and yet he was still a very welcome and beautiful sight.
'What are YOU doing here?' was all I could think to ask.
'Same as you probably,' he replied, grinning in amusement.
We both laughed. It was a stupid question. Chip stepped towards me and put his tray down next to mine. I shifted along to make space for him. So overjoyed was I to see him, I instinctively threw myself onto him and kissed him in a hungry, emotional, desperate greeting. I gorged on his sweet lips and held him. The older boys at the other end of the table jeered and whistled, witnessing our embrace, and evidently thinking it worthy of acclaim. They clapped and cheered and some of the other boys joined in, alerted by the attention we were attracting. Chip and I didn't bat an eyelid. We were both seasoned fuckboys. We didn't care.
I hugged Chip tightly, and our lips locked together. His little body felt somehow thinner and harder, like he had lost weight and his physique had suffered from recent hardships. Nevertheless, he embraced me warmly. It was the embrace of a favorite fuckbuddy from the past; the same boy I had performed countless times with; the tight, well-toned little body I had thoroughly sucked and fucked; the pretty little boy whose ass cherry I had busted; whose dick cherry I had popped; whose tiny frame I had repeatedly smothered in my kiddie fuckjuice; who had swallowed inordinate amounts of my boyspunk and who had even fucked me on occasion, his little dick pulsing with pleasure as he dry cummed inside my veteran little snatch. As I held him close, it was as though all those memories flooded back; the feel of him, the warmth and substance of his little frame seemed so familiar, even the smell of him, and I realized I was horning up for the little guy even as we hugged each other. It was as though my body instantly recalled all those pleasurable encounters. My body remembered it all because the body never forgets. We were united by our shared experiences, bound through a relationship which was rooted in unique circumstances. We were comrades, united in our common suffrage, like old soldiers who had fought together and ultimately survived together. For how could I ever forget this brave little warrior that had fought with me. No, the body never forgets.
As we broke apart, and he stood before me in all his glory, I realized there were tears in my eyes. But they were tears of joy, for Chip was like a little angel, sent to save me from my loneliness, to lift my spirits in the aftermath of losing Simon-Peter, and to assuage the grief of my incarceration in this stark, forbidding place.
We talked excitedly all through our meal. I rushed, wolfing down my food and swallowing impetuously, almost finding the necessity for nourishment an inconvenience to my personal agenda, which was to get Chip back to my room and fuck him. Yes, I was overjoyed to see Chip, and the emotional connection we had was as tangible as ever, but he was such a good looking boy, at this moment he just made me very horny. It was also partly because I knew how hot and dirty Chip was, and how sexually skilled he was. I couldn't wait to get him alone so I could sex him up real good. Little Cloud was rock hard in my pants, eager to press up against Chip's hard little 10 year old body, to feel his heat, to sink between his soft butt cheeks, to root hard into his little cunt and be totally engulfed in his creamy tightness.
When we had finished eating, I was so keen to get Chip alone, that I took him by the hand and we half ran-half skipped our way back to my little room. We crashed through the door and I slammed it shut. We fell against the door, giggling and breathless. We were alone at last. The daylight was fading and the whole room was bathed in a dull shadow. There was a kind of subdued hush and I didn't want to spoil it by putting the light on. I leaned back against the door and pulled Chip towards me, kissing him once again. He fell onto me and let me do whatever I wanted. I kissed his mouth, invading it with my tongue, and then my lips explored his pretty face. I removed his little specs and kissed each of his eyelids, then his nose, his chin, and all the way down the side of his neck. He was burning hot. I sensed his little body yielding to me. He was receptive and seemed acquiescent to whatever I wanted to do. He felt my stiffie in my pants and humped up against me hard, sending little jolts of pleasure right through me. I could feel the little lump in his crotch, then I knew that he wanted this too.
I had become so accustomed to Simon-Peter's dimensions, that meeting Chip again was a lesson in re-acquaintance. As we kissed, I was relearning Chip's physiology. The difference between Chip and Simon-Peter was that Chip was more knowing and dirty. Sure, Simon-Peter was not averse to sucking and fucking, and he had all the instincts of a true fuckboy, but so did Chip. And Chip was dirty-minded too. He knew how to ratchet up the eroticism. He thought dirty and talked dirty, just like me. He was so entrenched in his sexuality that he reveled in his sexiness, whereas Simon-Peter was innocently dirty. Simon-Peter acted out of instinct, whereas Chip's actions were tinged with perversity. Like a true fuckboy, Chip was inventive in his perviness, which is what I liked most about him.
We clambered up to the top bunk bed and pitched into each other in a flurry of writhing and kissing, and for a few moments there was nothing but the sound of our lips slobbering over each other and our heavy, irregular breaths. At the same time, we struggled to shuck off our clothes, impetuously throwing off first our shirts, then our pants and finally our underwear. Perched up there on the top bunk, it was as though we were discarding unwanted detritus from our nest. When we were finally naked, I found myself on top of Chip, on all fours. He laid submissively beneath me, squirming with pleasure, his pretty, perfect form laid bare for me to enjoy. His muscly little tummy still had the discernible ridges of his little preteen six pack, and his chest and arms were very well defined. I swear this boy had the most perfect physique. He had a body that was so beautifully sculpted, so perfectly boyish, that it almost begged to be glazed with boyjizz - it was so beautiful that it cried out to be lashed with creamy, sloppy fuckjuice, and soiled with rivulets of hot sticky spunk. When he stripped off and discarded the remnants of his shabby clothes, to reveal that pretty little bod of his for the first time in a long while, I wanted to instinctively push him down onto the bed, mount him, and furiously jack my little fuckstick until it pulsed out my boyjizz all over him. I just wanted to cover him in cum - that was the kind of effect Chip had. His tricks would all testify to that. I could still clearly recall the sight of him dripping with all those freshly extracted fuckwads at the New Years Eve Bacchanal. He just had the kind of body that contrived to be fucked hard and spattered with sperm. What was more - he liked it.
Chip's little dick was standing up clear and proud, long and straight and engorged with blood, hot and hard and aroused by the pleasure that was in the offing. I looked down at this perfect boy, lying between my knees. My arms were either side of him, my face above his, and we looked into each others eyes. I reached over and gently slid his little spectacles back onto his face - how I loved those little round specs - and we smiled affectionately.
'It's so good to see you again,' I said quietly, almost in a whisper.
Chip looked up at me, flattered by that, and raised his head off the pillow to kiss me. I swooped down to meet his kiss, and laid down on top of him, the full length of my body pressing against his. He was hot and hard beneath me, and I could feel my hard dick pressing between his slender legs, cradled in the natural groove of his smooth, slender thighs, and I swear I could have spunked him just like that. I could have frotted my dick against his hairless, muscly little thighs, until my kidspunk gently pulsed out in pleasurable release. It was just as good as fucking him.
Chip started thrusting his hips up into my tummy, so that his little stiffie was digging into the muscles of my stomach, and he started moaning in his cute high-pitched voice. Fuck, his little boy moans were so erotic.
I kissed him on the lips and spoke quietly into his ear.
'You wanna fuck me?'
He closed his eyes and nodded, at the same time he wriggled around beneath me, horny as hell.
I wanted Chip to fuck me. Matti had turned down the opportunity, much to his detriment in my view. Chip had no such reservations. Chip was born to fuck. His little dick was no substitute in size for what I imagined was Matti's big adult boy-plunger, but Chip had technique and experience on his side. I wanted my little cunt rooted, and Chip knew exactly how I liked it.
We exchanged places and I laid down on the comforter. Chip rose up and positioned himself between my knees. His favorite position was the same as mine - face to face. I brought my knees up to my chest and opened my legs so that he could have free access to my hole, proudly presenting all my shit to him. He looked at my hardened dick, so much bigger than his, and he scooted closer to jack it a couple of times, just for good measure. It felt good. He then lowered his little body onto me, his abdomen pressing against the underside of my dick, which was laid flat, pointing up towards my tummy. I supported his little body between my opened thighs. He paused, holding the base of his little dick at the entrance to my hole, and he looked lovingly into my eyes.
'Can I?' he asked.
His dick was pretty small, and we knew it would easily penetrate my little sphincter. He was well versed in achieving entry with one single thrust. He was simply asking permission to ram it into me. I nodded, indicating that I was ready. He rubbed the hot, hard little head of his dick against my ring, centering it against my star, and for those few moments the anticipation was tangible. How I loved that magical moment just before my little cunt was filled, feeling a warm cockhead tickling my ring, and pressing against my pucker as though knocking on the door to seek entry, just on the brink of utter paradise.
The next thing I knew, there was a disembodied shout and I felt a sudden and searing sting from deep inside my chute. I realized the shout was my own. Chip's entry had been violent and forceful, and he was now thrusting so insistently into my snatch that I hardly had time to catch my breath. I reached up and stroked his arms and shoulders as he labored above me.
'Fuck, that hurt,' I said, bracing myself against his energetic thrusting.
'Sorry,' he said, but didn't slow down, just went right on stabbing into me.
He smiled. He was turned on by it and continued thrusting his little pelvis into me repeatedly. He was rocking me hard into the mattress as he fucked. Chip liked rough sex. He was not like Guus - into fist-fucking and bondage - but he liked a good hard fuck, and he was thrilled by hard boydicks stabbing into yielding boycunts. Oh yeah, Chip was so accomplished, so prodigious. He was the quintessential fuckboy. His technique was unrivalled. His experience showed in the confidence and maturity of his movements. He was grunting with the effort and really stabbing his little dick into me hard. He was a strong boy, and it hurt a little. He was desperate to cum in me. It was sheer animal lust and a real pleasure to behold, that even in a boy so young, the sexual imperative was so strong. The drive to pump his non-existent kiddiespunk into my butt was tangible. I reached behind him and put my palms squarely on his smooth, rounded little buns, and pulled his pelvis into me, forcing his stiffie to dig painfully into my little cunt. It felt so good to have his veteran little dick inside me - a dick so small and young, and yet so proficient, so experienced, so hard with little boy lust, so attuned to boring into tight little fuckholes, so technically accomplished at hammering into boychutes, seeking that elusive nirvana of cumming up another boy's butt, and pulsing powerfully whilst sheathed deep inside their taut little sphincters.
I could tell when Chip had worked close to his orgasm because he started thrusting faster, with harder, shorter strokes. He also changed his angle of attack, thrusting upwards rather than just in, painfully digging his little fuckstick into the sides of my chute, trying to hit my gland. It worked. Every time he struck my gland it felt like my little dick wanted to let go, unleash all my boyjuice in one powerful explosion. But I held on. I expected him to ram his little dick into me even harder on the paradise stroke, burying his little fuckstick into me as deep as he could. But he didn't. Instead, he suddenly pulled out and started jacking it, leaning in between my legs as though he wanted to shoot it over me.
'Watch this,' he said, with a sense of urgency, frantically polishing away with his little fist.
I watched him between my open legs, Chip kneeling between them working away on his little dick. With another few deft strokes, he cummed. His little orgasm was heralded only by the merest intake of breath. Then he moaned loudly and arched his back, and he trembled violently a couple of times, his eyes widening with the pleasure. Then a couple of sharp breaths, as his orgasm played out. He was looking down in amazement at his little dick which was straining in his fist in a seizure of pure pleasure, waggling strongly in his grip as though it was being asphyxiated. When it had stopped, he looked up at me with a wondrous expression.
'Look Cloud,' he said, holding his little dick for me.
He retracted his trim little foreskin and showed me the pink exposed head of his cute little dick. We both looked down, and there, glistening on the very tip, a few droplets of clear kidspunk had trickled out over the head of his dick.
'See! I can spunk!' he announced, triumphantly.
I looked on in amazement, and remembered how much I had looked forward to tasting Chip's kiddiecum one day. And now, finally, his little balls were starting up production. It was a milestone in the development of all boys - the end of muted little dry-cums and the beginning of big, sloppy wet ones. Chip had a smirk of smugness on his lips. He was so proud of it.
Pleased for him, I paid him the ultimate fuckboy accolade, which was to lick it off. I stuck my tongue out and he knew immediately what I wanted. He clambered over me, and sat astride my chest, pointing his stiff little dickie at me with both hands. I gave it a very precise and deliberate lick, cleaning his little cockhead with my tongue, and savored the taste of the little drops of kiddiesperm he had produced for me. It was sweet and slick on my tongue.
'Mmm,' I said, 'Delicious. Make some more for me.'
He giggled and scooted off me, lying down next to me on the narrow little bunk, and shut his eyes contentedly.
'Heh, you're the best,' he murmured, lying there with his eyes closed.
I smiled, more to myself than anything.
'Good to see I haven't lost my touch,' I replied.
'You haven't,' said Chip emphatically.
I giggled a little. He was so complimentary. But then Chip knew how to strike a good rapport with his lovers. He had a natural affinity for being easygoing and down to earth. It wasn't just the fact that he was pretty and horny and one of the most accomplished boys in boyfuckdom - he was also a nice boy with a friendly personality. He was very intuitive, genuinely good at getting the measure of people. He was emotionally mature and had a level of knowingness about him that even the older shota boys lacked.
As I lay there, with Chip next to me on the narrow little bunk, I was still hard and had to cum. Little Cloud was so hard in my crotch that I knew it wasn't going to take long to jack him into a state of paradise with a few hard yanks. I needed to blow my load. I needed to pump out my kiddie fuckwad, and I wanted to do it all over Chip.
I rose up and quickly mounted him, straddling his waist, and leaned in so that my dick was waggling threateningly above his naked little frame. He smiled. He knew what I wanted.
'Spunk me,' he cried out, almost imploring me, grabbing recklessly at my dick as it wavered above the taught rib cage of his little frame, 'Fuckin' blast it all over me. I know you want to.'
Boy, did I want to. I wanted to paint his little body with my cum. In fact, at this moment, I wished I could spunk just like Jens. I wanted to spray a whole fountain of jizz at him, to glaze his little body all over with an angry cockful of boyjuice. He reached up and jacked it good and hard a few times for me, stretching the skin and eliciting a little stab of pain. Tell the truth, his little fingers clawing at my boner like that almost made me jettison my load prematurely. As I jacked frantically, I sat down hard on his pelvis so that my balls were pressing warmly into the dip of his tummy. He reached behind me and began jacking his own little dick, which was still engorged with hardness even after his own orgasm. He was pulling it and stretching it, painfully manipulating his stiff little organ this way and that as though the pain would induce another little cum out of it. It was just too much. I rose up and tipped forward, feeling the first stirrings of my seizure approaching, and I pressed the head of my dick into the groove of his chest. The warmth and hardness of his little body against my spongy cockhead sparked ignition. The pleasure was exquisite. For a few moments my whole body was gripped by the inordinate ecstasy that was centered on my dick. As the first nominal jet of my boyjizz forced its way out in a graceful little arc, it came to rest in the little dip of the V at the base of his throat. My cum was overwhelming and profound, pulsing out my kidspunk in a couple more little squirts. For a few moments I floated about in a haze of pure pleasure, my vision almost blurred, and my little cock felt like it had exploded, as though I had spunked a whole damburst of fuckjuice over him. I hadn't of course, but the pleasurable stinging in my tube told me that what little I had squirted had been ejected with great intensity. Finally my little cock stopped pulsing and I was able to breathe again. When it was over, I sat back down astride his slender thighs, his little cock pressed into mine. I could feel its heat on my balls. My heavier boydick, now softening somewhat, rested above his, leaking little dribbles of my almost clear kiddiecum onto his still stiff little todger, and our little dicks nestled together like two dancers exhausted from a duet.
Eventually, I flopped down on the bed next to him and we both fell silent. There was only the muted sighs of our breathing as it slowly regained its regular rhythm, and we laid there side by side, basking in the afterglow of our lasciviousness. We both dozed for a bit, nearly falling asleep.
After a while, I woke up and saw the beauty of this boy on the bed next to me. The room had now darkened as the sun was setting, bathing us in an intimate semi-darkness. Chip looked so cute and sexy lying there next to me. I rose up and stole a little kiss. I leaned over and gave him a smacker on the mouth. He smiled contentedly. He was still awake.
'This is nice,' he murmured, his eyes still closed.
'Yeh, it is,' I concurred, and laid back down with one arm draped across his chest.
'Y'know, I missed you,' said Chip, unexpectedly, 'You should never have left without saying goodbye.'
I looked over at him regretfully, almost apologetic. He was right of course.
'Sorry,' I said, 'there just wasn't time.'
'That's okay,' he said, smiling, 'I forgive you.'
And he let out a little laugh of absolution.
He then rose up and reached over to the little pile of clothes we had discarded earlier, which had been unceremoniously kicked to the foot of the bed. He found his pants and extracted a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He even had a little lighter, which he ignited with a soft click. Having lit his cigarette, he laid back down next to me, puffing smoke up into the air. I was mildly shocked, because he used to be such a health freak. He used to frown on anything that was hazardous to health. I assumed he had let go of his principles somewhat, his disapproval perhaps ameliorated by recent experiences. Whatever Chip had been through, it had certainly changed him, physically and psychologically. He took a couple of puffs, then turned towards me. He stuck the lit cigarette in my lips and held it there for me to take a puff. It was ironic, I thought, that the only time I smoked these days was when someone else stuck a cigarette between my lips.
I took the cigarette and granted him the courtesy of taking a couple of puffs, enough to make it look like we were sharing it, and we both laid on the pillow looking up at the ceiling. With our libidos for the moment satisfied, and our impetuous little fuckboy urges now assuaged, we could perhaps finally talk. I had been dying to ask him.
'Chip, what happened to you?'
I handed the cigarette back to him and there was a moment's silence during which I detected he was making sense of my question, perhaps considering how to reply. Then he lifted his head and looked over, exhaling smoke.
'What do you mean?'
'What happened to you?' I asked again, 'What happened to Guus and the other boys?'
He laid back down, not immediately volunteering a reply, apparently reluctant to go into it.
'It wasn't very nice,' he said, downbeat, 'After you left, the Club was raided. Guus was arrested and we were all taken prisoner by the VLA.'
I stared at him, incredulous, especially as he said it so casually. He then turned over and buried his face into the pillow.
'I don't wanna talk about it,' he said, muffled into the pillow.
I didn't pursue it. I didn't want to upset Chip. No doubt I would get to hear the full story soon enough.
We laid there side by side staring at the ceiling and smoking, passing the cigarette back and forth, lost in our own thoughts for a few moments. When the cigarette was spent, Chip extinguished it between his wetted fingertips and flicked it expertly across the room, into the little basin in the corner. Then there was a long, long period of silence, during which I almost fell asleep. My body was aching slightly from our earlier exertions, but was nevertheless sated. I was the happiest I had been in a long time. With Chip lying next to me, still naked, still sporting the drying little stains of my kidspunk where it had liquefied and finally dried into a powdery film on his unblemished skin, it was a perfect moment. I watched the thin veil of cigarette smoke slowly dissipating in the air above us. Then, after a while, Chip piped up again, dispelling the silence.
'Y'know, after you'd gone, someone came looking for you,' he said, casually.
I turned and rolled over towards him.
'Who?' I asked, curious.
'Some trick,' he replied tersely, 'Didn't give his name. Said he'd played with you before.'
I rose up onto my elbows, interested.
'What did he look like?'
'Dark curly hair and a bandana,' said Chip.
I gathered my legs and sat up cross-legged on the bed next to him. A little stab of intensity shot through me.
'What nationality?' I demanded.
Chip glanced over at me, curious to know why this was significant, and he flashed me a look of near-annoyance, like he wasn't expecting to be interrogated over it.
'I dunno, American I think,' he said.
I look at him, stunned.
It must have been Ciggy! If that was true, then that changed everything. I had so hoped and prayed that Ciggy was alive. I had almost given up hope. But he was alive! Chip had seen him - spoken to him. My heart soared. And with that realization, the future that Ciggy had promised was now a possibility again. My only hope of salvation was once again a reality. Of course we would have to find each other first. But the most important thing was that Ciggy was alive.
I just had to check one more fact with Chip.
'Was he chewing gum?' I asked, almost breathless with anticipation.
Chip thought for a second, looking up towards the ceiling momentarily, querying his memory.
'Come to think of it, yeh, he was.'
Then I knew for sure. It was definitely Ciggy. Ciggy was alive. He was alive and he was looking for me.
* * * * * *