Date: Sat, 27 Feb 2016 14:04:07 -0800 From: Jon Hold Subject: Three Boys, and You Three Boys, and You by Jon Hold Copyright © 2015 jonhold@earthlink.net Your first trip to Europe and your brothers fucking sister-in-law just had to fuck you over. Travel agent cunt! Not only was the "cruise ship" a junk merchantman with four ratty cabins. NO services, and a cook to die for --- literally; but your "palatial accommodations in an exclusive rustic setting" were actually a small youth hostel seven (walking) miles from the small, train-stop town with the unpronounceable name here in beautiful, backwoods, frozen Norway! For some reason, "I'll kill the bitch" keeps wandering through your mind. The old man downstairs said that you were too late for dinner, and that breakfast would be served in the dining hall promptly at 5:30 AM. Five-Thirty! Christ on a crutch! The room is the only private room in the hostel, and from the size of it, it must have been a closet at one time. The small window gives a wonderful view of the cliff twenty feet from the back of the old building. Lovely view! If you have a thing for cliff faces. Well, at least the room is clean and neat, and the old iron bedstead looks somehow comfortable with its welcoming load of feather mattress and comforter. Resigning yourself to two weeks in the middle of Nowhere, Norway, you decide to get cleaned up before taking to the pristine bedsheets. Douche kit and towel under your arm, you sulk down three flights of stairs to the only bathroom in the place, in the basement. "I'll kill the bitch!" somehow wanders through your mind again as you negotiate the steep stairs. A double entry door leads to a musty smelling, poorly lit room that reminds you of the trials and tribulations of your Junior High School gym class, and a dirty leer crosses your face as you remember... HIM. Confronted with the lockerless lockers, you're glad you had the foresight to hide your wallet and watch in your room. Taking your towel with you, you enter one of the small cubicles and sit down to consider, in detail, just exactly how you intend to exact your revenge on the fat, blonde bitch that sent you to this hellhole. Slamming doors and the raucous jabber of a foreign language announce the entry of an obnoxiously noisy male group. You sigh in resignation. You are being punished, and it just isn't going to stop! You wait, but nobody's leaving. Resigning yourself to your fate, you wipe your ass and decide to take your shower and get to bed. With any luck at all maybe you can sleep for two weeks. The naked lightbulbs in the ceiling garishly light the dingy, old showerroom, it's three stalls with mildewed walls , raised wooden stall floors and a brick floor somewhat in need of repair and maintenance. The floors and lower tiles are russet and the upper tiles white, where they're not stained black by mildew. The pipes are incongruously painted sky blue with red handles. Of course, you don't actually notice any of this since all you can see is a steamy room full of naked boys showering and washing each others backs. Boner time! Your dick mindlessly leaps to attention as you stand there with your mouth hanging open and your spit almost not drooling down the side of your face. The heady smell of wetly naked male youth hammers at your brain as your dick waives in response to the smiles and welcoming sounds the boys are making to the stranger in their midst. "Uh... Hi!" You finally manage to mumble with all the eloquence at your disposal. "American?" a couple of the boys ask. "Yes. ...uhhhhh... Yes I am." A slender, short-haired boy with a ring in his left ear steps out of the center shower stall and, gesturing with his hand, says, "Please. The shower is warm." Gaping at the boys nearly perfect uncircumcised body, you reach over to the wall pegs to hang your towel and step past the slickly wet boy who reeks of lusty teen hormones. Your erection bounces across his belly just above his pubes. You blush and he grins as your towel, unnoticed, falls to the floor. The boys talk briefly in what you assume is Norwegian, and then the boy who had been having his back scrubbed stepped forward with the brush in his hand. The heavier set, more muscular boy who had been washing his back said, in pretty good English, "Lars would like to scrub your back. You like? Yes?" Embarrassed, you start to mumble something, but before you can make a total ass of yourself the boy who had surrendered the shower to you smiles and takes your hand, pulling you out of the shower. "Don't worry. Men in Norway all the time take shower together." Turning you as you step out of the shower, the smiling boy reaches up and begins soaping your neck and face. You close your eyes and feel strong, soft hands and the soft bristles of the brush on your back. The third boy's hands are active. Demanding. Feeling of your dick and balls, rubbing between your legs. You feel yourself spraddling your legs for him. Letting him feel you up. Encouraging him to grope you and probe you. Fingers burning slightly with soap enter you. You squeeze down on his fingers and he friggs your butthole in excitement. You squat down as he works a second finger into you and you seem to lose your American reticence as you grab the boy in front of you and return the favor. Feeling him. Really boning up as you let go of your inhibitions and really feel the hard, lithe young body that's squirming in pleasure in your hands. His delightful prong is only about four or five inches. None of these Norwegian boys seem to have much cock, but a quick poll tells you that what they do have is iron hard and functional. That does it! You grab the boy in front of you. You've had all you can stand from these boys. They need to learn what happens when they play around with a full-grown, mature man. The boy laughs and lets you pull him up against the fullness of your own body. He thrusts his stiffness into your leg as you grope for his butt. One finger down his crack quickly finds a tremendously hot, resistive little pucker. Laughing, the boy pushes away from you. "No! Not me!" He laughs, "Lars is the one who wants you!" Pointing behind you, he turns you to confront the shortest of the boys. You take the brush from his hands and hand it to the boy who has been eagerly fingering your butt and dick. The hard-bodied, well-built boy is trembling and limp with fear. You gently gather him in your arms, the heat of his hard body burning your nerve endings like the most wonderful acid in the world. You tilt his head up, and bend, down, time stretches, his lips seem to float up to yours. The first tentative, wary contact, lip to dry lip, eyes sparkling with fear and muscles trembling with the need to run. You touch his lips with the bare tip of your tongue. He opens to you. You hoist him up as your tongue opens his mouth and plunges within, his legs wrapping around your waist as he moans and his arms slither around your neck. You hold him. You kiss. He sighs. You feel yourself guided back into the shower, soft young hands eagerly, awkwardly rinsing soap from your bodies. Towels glissade, lips entwine, awkward teen boys guide you, still carrying your precious encumbrance, up the stairs and into your rented goosedown bed. Laughter echos from the closing door. The boy, eager, untutored, willing, afraid, timidly submits. You ensheathe, lubricate yourself. Holding, caressing the eager lust filling your arms. Touching, entering, rigid fear. Calming kisses and tender gentleness. A siding. An acceptance. Rolling on top you take charge. Beneath, he surrenders, accepts your offering, encompasses your fullness and glories in your directed passion. Fearsome in his discovery... he rapes you with his wild reaction. You ride him. Taking all he has to give and giving back all you can. You have met. You have conquered. You have both won the encounter as your private universe explodes and shatters into billions of coruscating, multi-colored fragments. The humidity of the sweat-soaked down encompasses you. You sink into his warmth. He holds you within him and, slowly, tentatively, climax becomes inception. Inception, delight. Trembling, he realizes you are not done with him and his youthful vigor matches your mature power. The brass bedstead rhythmically bangs the wall, telling everyone in the hostel, stroke by stoke, how you are taking care of the boy-man in your arms. His friends listen, vicariously joining with their good hands wrapped and pumping in time... bang.... bang... You awaken as the new sun enlightens the window. You glory in the memory of a wonderful dream... until that dream mumbles in your arms, wiggling back further into your embrace to confine the warmth of your morning stiffness more completely. The door opens and quietly closes. Two shivering youths climb into your warm downy nest, cuddling up into the warmth and laughing nervously. Straight boys who have discovered that they want to know whatever magic secret it is that their smiling friend has learned. Sighing to yourself, you resign yourself to your role as teacher. Boys will be boys, and men must teach them to be men. You listen as the boys eagerly question the boy you have already impaled. You resign yourself to your fate and, with a deep sigh, relax, smile, and begin to really enjoy yourself as you try to figure out just exactly how you're going to pay back your sister-in-law for this. ----- Well, it ain't Chaucer, but I think Chaucer might have liked it. This is less than 2000 words so, obviously, there is much room for additional, explicit whack-whack stuff, but I sort of like the balance right where it is. Let me know how it feels to you... Jon ----- A nation that is afraid to let its people judge the truth and falsehood in an open market is a nation that is afraid of its people. ---John F. Kennedy