Hartswood Priory - Toby's Story
by Pink Panther
Chapter 23
We're back at school after a week off for half term. It was a nice break; I got together with Sean and Richard a couple of times, which was great. The Robinsons were at home too. Luke's settling in well at Charterhouse. As luck would have it, he and Callum are in the same dorm; I'll leave the rest to your imagination. Piers was around for the last few days. It's been quite a while since I took one that size, well a couple of months anyway. He just about fucked my brains out. Twice. I was sore for two days afterwards, not that I'm complaining. Man! That kid can fuck!
Funny though, I could hardly wait to get back. The weather wasn't great; actually it was pissing down most of the time, so hanging out with the gang was a bit limited. In between that and the sex, things were a bit boring. Make that very boring. Actually, it was worse than that. The girls were a pain in the arse like they resented me being there, as though I don't have just as much right to be in the house as they do. And when dad was around, which fortunately wasn't that often, he just about ignored me. He never even asked if I'd got into the rugby team. So, like I say, I'm pleased to be back; for one thing there's always so much going on here, I never have a chance to get bored.
We're lined up outside our R.E. classroom. Lessons this term have been different, to put it mildly. Mr. Randall is a great teacher, hard but fair, so I've kept my head down and done what I needed to. He doesn't say that if we don't believe what he tells us we'll go to hell, and all the shit that Perky used to go in for. Actually, now that I've got into reading them properly, there's a lot of stuff in the gospels, stuff about how to live your life and how to treat other people, that's right on the money. Even so, Mr. Randall does put forward some ideas that I definitely don't agree with, under the heading of 'Christian Teaching'. When it comes to prep, that's cool. I just write out what he's told us; Christian teaching is this, or Christian teaching is that, without saying whether I believe it or not, and that's been fine. The problem is in class. Up to now I've kept my mouth shut; I haven't challenged him once. I'm just not sure how long I can keep doing it.
Mr. Randall arrives and ushers us inside. Everybody knows the drill; sit down get your books and pens out and prepare for the lesson to start. We're reading a passage where the disciples are out fishing on the Sea of Galilee when they're caught in a storm and think they're going to drown. Then Jesus appears, walking across the water. He quells the storm and saves them. I don't believe a word of it.
"That," Mr. Randall says, "Is the first real indication that Jesus gave that he was, in fact, the son of God."
This is it. If I don't challenge that I'll never challenge anything. If it gets me a caning, that's tough. I put my hand up.
"Yes Toby," he says.
"Sir, I don't believe in God," I say calmly. "I don't believe that incident happened, certainly not in the way it's described there, and even if it did, I can't believe that any man, whoever he was or whatever he did, was the son of God. In fact, I don't even know what being the son of God means."
If I'd said that to Perky he'd have exploded with rage and I'd have ended up getting the cane. Mr. Randalljust looks me right in the eye.
"That's fair enough," he says evenly. "Faith comes from within; I can't make you believe." He looks round at the other kids. "You're probably not the only one that thinks that either," he continues. "You're just the only one with the balls to say it."
A slight titter goes around the room; it stops as quickly as it started.
"But let me ask you this," he says, still looking right at me. "If Jesus wasn't the son of God, then who was he? What we can be certain of is that this man, from a very humble background, was one of the most remarkable individuals who ever lived; the teachings that he gave us and the religious movement that he started are still going strong two thousand years later. Those teachings and that religious movement that we call Christianity have had a huge impact right throughout the western world, and have played a large part in making us the sort of people we are today. No king, no emperor has ever achieved anything like it. That's why it's important that we should try to understand, as best we can, who he was and what he taught."
I'm left completely speechless. There's nothing I can say, not a word I can argue with. And he didn't put me down like a lot of teachers do; he just batted the question right back at me. I knew right from day one that he was good. He's not just good; he's fuckin' amazing.
I'm waiting at the far corner of the playground. Peter strolls across to join me.
"So how are things going?" I ask.
"Okay," he says, "much better in fact."
"No more trouble from Selwyn and Grant then?"
"No, actually they're being really friendly," he says. "Selwyn still gets a bit angry sometimes, but he doesn't take it out on Alex any more."
"Angry?" I ask. "What about?"
"Little things mainly," he says. He lowers his voice. "Look, I'm not supposed to tell you this, but I think he gets a really bad time at home."
"How d'you mean?"
"His dad drinks quite a lot, and sometimes when he's drunk he grabs hold of Selwyn and beats him for no reason."
"Fuck!" I say.
"When we got back from half term we were going into the shower. I could see he'd got marks on his bum and his back and the tops of his legs. Afterwards when I managed to get him on his own I asked him about them. He wouldn't tell me at first, but then he did. He was crying. His dad used his belt on him. He says it happened twice during half term."
"Was it something to do with, you know, Mr. Halford writing to his parents?" I ask.
"Dunno," he says. "He never mentioned that. He just said that his dad got drunk and hit him with his belt."
I feel sick. No wonder the kid's so screwed up. I'm almost wishing that I hadn't dropped him in it with Mr. Halford, but it's too late for that. I know I don't get on with my dad, but he's never hit me, not even once. People think it's the sort of thing that only happens to poor kids from rough families; they don't think it happens to kids like us where dad's got a good job and plenty of money.
"So how are you and Alex getting on?" I ask, changing the subject.
"Oh, Alex is great," Peter says brightly. "He's really opened up now he's not worried about people picking on him. We're like best mates now; we have a right laugh."
"That's good," I say, smiling at him. "Well, I guess you'd better go and find him. Thanks for filling me in."
He trots off. I'm pleased that we've got Alex's problems sorted. I'm worried about Selwyn though. No kid should have to put up with that sort of shit. But this time there really isn't much I can do, not right now there isn't. When I'm older and I've got myself established as a director, I'll make a film about it. People need to know what goes on.
It seems that Mr. Thompson's a runner, apart from being a great maths teacher, that is. He's started a cross-country team. It's only quite small, a few boys from third year and some from upper and lower fourth; about ten of them altogether, mainly kids who'll never be rugby players. Craig's joined now that he's not in the rugby team. I've seen him when they go out training; he looks pretty good. He'll do better at that than he ever will at rugby. Martin Greenhall's joined too, which is a surprise; he's never shown the least interest in any other sport.
But the one who's really caught my eye is Patrick. Well, I'd hardly miss him, now would I? They train after classes finish, much the same time as we do, so I've got to see him in the showers a couple of times. He's stunning looking dressed in his school clothes; naked he's like, wow! Man! He is beautiful, maybe the most beautiful kid I've ever seen. I'd love to give him a good bumming but I've got to be careful. He's Brian Harper's and I don't want to go upsetting things; that would not be good. So like I said before, it's strictly look, don't touch.
Rob and I leave prep and head back to the dorm. I check to make sure nobody can hear us.
"What are you doing after supper?" I ask quietly.
"Nothing much," he says.
"Half past seven, meet me by the art room," I tell him. "Don't say anything to anyone else, okay? I've got something I want to show you."
"Yeah, sure," he says, looking puzzled.
I agonised about doing this for weeks before the half term break and just kept putting it off. During the boring bits while I was stuck at home I promised myself I'd do it as soon as we got back. Well, it's taken over a week, but I'm finally going to do it.
Heturns up on the dot of half past seven; he's another one that's never late.
"So what's the big deal?" he asks.
"I'll show you," I tell him.
I lead the way to the trunk store and open the door. Rob follows me in; I lock the door behind us. His eyes are out on stalks.
"How the fuck did you get a key for this place?" he demands. "You're really pushing your luck; Halford would sling you out on your ear if he found out."
"Well, I'm hoping he's not going to," I say.
I sit on the trunk that I've placed in front of the others. Rob sits down next to me. Then I tell him, not the bullshit version I told Callum, I tell him everything; about Atkinson bringing me here and threatening to get Callum thrown out if I didn't do what he wanted, about him raping me, about how I really got the key, and finally about seeing Alex coming out of here and all the stuff that happened afterwards. He sits and listens without saying a word.
"Man, you are something else," he says finally. "If I didn't know you, I'd think you were making it up. So that's why Atkinson left." He slowly shakes his head. "That's bad, man!" he continues. "He ought to be in fuckin' jail."
"Yeah," I say, "but all I was concerned about was getting him out of here so he couldn't touch me or Alex again. I'm not sure if it was just us two; I think he may have been doing it with some other boys."
"Well, I'm glad it wasn't me he went for," he says, looking straight in front of him. "I'd have freaked; I couldn't have handled it like you did. So why did you hang onto the key?"
"It's somewhere else we can go isn't it?" I say. "And somewhere that Concrete Head doesn't know about. Oh, we can't use it all the time; the art room's open all day, it would be too risky to come here then. But Mr. Townsend always goes home before supper and there's never anyone down here after that. Even so, I don't come here that often, once a week at the most. This is where I brought Ian the first time I bummed him. I had the bed set up, of course."
"Cool!" he says, grinning at me.
"Last term, after Mr. Atkinson went, we had a foursome in here; me Callum, Russell and Dominic." I say quietly.
"You mean Dominic Lees?" he asks, his eyes almost falling out. "Russell was bumming Dominic Lees?"
"Yeah; they were together for nearly two years." I tell him.
"Fuck! They kept that quiet!" he says. "So what did you do?"
"We all messed about for a bit, then they got me and Dom bent over the trunk. They started off bumming us just like normal, but after a couple of minutes they swapped over. So I got Russell's up me. Man! He had a big one! And he came loads!"
"Yeah," he says, grinning. "I saw Russ in the showers a few times; I noticed he was pretty big."
"So how are you and Peter getting on?" I ask.
"Fantastic!" he says. "He can't get enough of it. I can't either."
"Bring him down here if you want; I'll show you how to set the bed up. You can get naked, give him a real treat."
"Thanks, man!" he says, smiling warmly.
"Just make sure he doesn't breathe a word about this place. This is ours; we don't want Concrete Head poking his nose in."
"Too right!" he says.
"So d'you fancy doing something now?" I ask.
"What do you think?" he replies.
I pass him the KY then get the pillow from its hiding place behind the bed and put it on the old desk. I bend down and wait. Rob reaches round, undoing the clip at the top of my shorts and pulling down the zip. He skins them down my legs; my underpants quickly follow. He runs his hands over my bum. A slimy finger touches my hole and pushes its way inside. He touches my prostate; my cock twitches like crazy. After a short time a second finger pushes in, the two fingers gently twisting round to open me up. They both slide out. Rob moves in close, the head of his cock nuzzling my hole. One hard thrust and he's right inside me, his tummy pressed tight against my arse.
"Oh, man!" I gasp. "That feels so good! Do it, Rob! Fuck me hard!"
He doesn't need to be asked twice; within a few seconds he's pounding my arse like it was going out of fashion. It's the first time he's done it when I haven't been on my tummy. That's good, but this is better, he can get further in, his dick hammering my prostate like you wouldn't believe.
"Play with my cock!" I moan.
He reaches down and takes it between his fingers. Man! That is unreal! I hardly know which day it is. As always, the muscle spasms start right down by my toes, quickly sweeping up my legs, making me shake all over. My bum tightens around his dick. A moment later the spunk squirts out of my cock and dribbles down the front of the desk. Rob's not quite there, but he's not far away. A few more thrusts then he grabs me round the thighs, slamming his whole length into my bum. It jerks wildly, unloading over and over deep inside me. Oh, yeah! That was exactly what I wanted!
He slowly pulls out. We get cleaned up and properly dressed.
"Maybe we could try that foursome thing sometime," he says quietly. "I wouldn't mind getting my dick up Ian's bum."
I allow myself a little smile. That's just what I hoped he'd say.
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