The Boys of S. Bees

by Rafael Henry

Chapter 5

Three years later.

I'm in the second year of my three-year college course, and I haven't left the town of Exmouth. It's just how things have worked out. I wasn't expected to pull up any trees with my A Level results, and I didn't, not with two 'C's and a 'D'. I know I answered the two questions on the set text of Milton's Samson Agonistes badly. I knew I would.

I'm sitting on a bench overlooking Exmouth beach……..the same part of the beach that Pierre and Jasper and I used that day three years ago. That day lives on in my mind as if it were yesterday, but this afternoon I'm waiting for someone else. I don't know how long he'll be, as that depends on how quickly he can get away from the same place that I've come from…….the College just along Douglas Avenue where they train would-be teachers like me.

They arrived at more or less the same time……..my Education Tutor I affectionately call Barns, which is short for Barnaby, and the instantly recognizable boys from S. Bees. They look as lovely as ever, in their neat little short trousers and duck egg blue jumpers over navy polo shirts, excited by their first look at the sea for a while and the prospect of the activities to come no doubt. They are escorted by two more figures I also recognize despite a change in their appearance over these last three years. Of course they look older and more mature…….Pierre and Jasper, but I've seen them grow up, at least until my time ended at S. Bees, and then just occasionally, from a distance, since then. So they are still friends, which pleases me more than I can say.

Barns is sitting next to me now on the bench. It's a good solid bench this one, typical of a seaside promenade I suppose, with pale green cast-iron ends with a whale motif cast into them.

'Are they yours?' asks Barns, pointing towards the group of boys.

'They were once upon a time. They look like Eights……possibly Sevens……or a mixture of both.'

'You mean Year Eights?'

'Yes. They are just known as Eights in that place. It's rather a quirky establishment.'

'Did you like it there?'

'I loved it.'

I have never said truer words.

There's silence for a while as we watch the group below us and about fifty yards away on the sand. I'm smiling as the boys get out of their day clothes as if their lives depended on it, and into their swimming kit, hovering around Pierre and Jasper no doubt demanding to know when they could 'go in'. Pierre is holding a towel for Jasper, but no such inhibitions for the boys who stand naked and beautiful while small hands arrange navy trunks and then step into them. One foot and then the other, as pink and white middles bits are covered. But there are games to be played first before a bracing bathe on the Devonshire Riviera. Rounders of course. 'Twas ever thus.

It's always a Wednesday when Barns and I can meet, stroll on the beach for a while, and then walk the quarter mile to the marital home……his home. When we arrive, we will go straight into the living room for sex. Barns, my Education Tutor, is conducting an extra-marital affair with me, one of his students. I'm sure his marriage is a happy one, but he has other needs that marriage to Jill does not satisfy. This whole thing has come to pass by accident. Although I have socialized with plenty of the girls here, who happen to outnumber the boys on my Primary Education course by four to one, I have never dated any of them and it's been noticed. I've received plenty of veiled offers for something more than a drink at the Union bar but never taken the hint. I've been here nearly two years and I'm assuming they've worked it out by now. Neither have I been to bed with any of the boys either, almost all of whom don't do it for me frankly. My Tutor Barnaby Todd worked it out too during an informal one-to-one tutorial one morning. I remember making one or two comments that made it fairly clear where I stood, and telling him I was in the habit of walking to the beach and using a particular bench to gaze at the sea. Lo and behold who should happen to walk by that Wednesday afternoon but Barnaby. He's an attractive man in his early thirties and I like him. He's married, as I've mentioned already, with one child aged eleven. His wife, Jane, works for the local Social Services Department nine 'till five. I have no commitments, like Barnaby, on Wednesday afternoons. During a frank conversation together on Exmouth beach I told him the truth about myself and he put his arm around my shoulder. Naturally I responded by putting my arm around his middle. He asked me if I was enjoying the gesture he has just made towards me and I said I was. Things went on from there. Out of sight from prying eyes, especially another student, the touching reached another level. He asked me if I would accept a light kiss on my mouth. Yes please. Then it was a hand on the front of my jeans and he felt something interesting down there. He explained his domestic situation carefully, and I accepted the offer he made me. Half an hour later we were at his home and on the sofa in the living room. The sex we had that afternoon was simple, rather like two schoolboys behind the bike sheds, but extremely pleasant, and my very first experience with an adult male. We agreed that it was entirely practical to conduct an affair, which would include a romp together every Wednesday afternoon. He now gets what he thought he never would, and my aching for sex will in all probability be thoroughly satisfied too. To my mind, it's a win win. That first afternoon, relaxing and comforted by the joy of his climax and mine, he had questions……

'Did you enjoy that?'

'Yes I did. You?'

'Very much. Thank you. You know what this is don't you……for me?'

'Yes I think so. Was that…....or is this enough for you?'

'Of course, if that's the limit for you. Is it?'

'No. That was nice but I want you to feel that you're completely fulfilled. I just want what you want Barns. You said that there's always been something missing and what has just happened was part of it but nowhere near all of it. I want you to have all of it, even if it's not forever. I don't see how you can have this forever, can you?'

He made tea in mugs…….one teabag between us which I approve of. I hate waste. We sat in the living room.

'Is that your son over there?'

It's one of those photographs they take at school soon after they start. He looks cute in his uniform with a nice smile on his face.

'He looks lovely.' I say, as I walk over to where Barns is sitting. He's in his underwear as I am, but his slightly more conservative than mine.

The tea has gone cold and undrunk and I'm sitting in Barn's lap. Although we both have very recently ejaculated, he's hard again, as I am, with his penis between my buttocks and his hands fondling my chest and tummy, and now around my genitals, outside pants if you please, his fingers running gently up and down the line…….the wonderfully named perineum raphe ……[that curious line that forms in the womb at the time when the foetus decides whether it's going to be a boy or a girl] between my anus, over my testicles and then the underside of my penis, the tip of which is nicely wedged under the waistband of my rather brief briefs…….boys ones.

'How's this?' Barns enquires quietly, as the tip of his finger lightly traces the line.

I'm wriggling about, and with my hands on his bare legs I lift myself up and just enough to settle down on Barn's hard penis exactly where I want to feel it.

'Lovely…..perfectly placed……..Sir.'

'Sir?'

'Yes. Do you mind?'

'Not at all……..boy!'

We both laughed, rather enjoying the joke, but for me it's not a joke. I see Barns as a figure of authority over me, and it's a part I want him to play. I turn to look him straight in the eye…….

'I want to be good. Am I?'

I'm lying back on Barn's chest and he's fondling me as before while he kisses me. It's with tongues and it's wet, and I'm leaking.

'Do I detect a naughty little fantasy here……boy?' he says, pulling my ear and then planting his mouth on it.

Oh yes you do!

We watch the group of boys on the beach from our vantage point on the bench some fifty yards away.

'Home time by the look of things.' says Barns, hands in his lap.

The boys are collecting all the gubbins they arrived with……rounders bat, a couple of balls, towels, wet swim suits and the rest of it. Some are dressed, and some are still struggling to connect dry clothes with damp bodies. There are always slow dressers and quick dressers. Pierre and Jasper have been in strict control throughout all the activities and have closely supervised the brief venture into the relatively calm sea, and we are both impressed. Pierre and Jasper, especially Jasper, have a natural air of authority which as a potential teacher, I'm thoroughly liking. In my last teaching practice in Exeter, I was told I had it which pleased me mightily. Barns has noticed…….

'Those two are very good with the kids don't you think?'

'Yes they are. I knew them very well as youngsters.'

'Did you? In what way?'

It's quite a complicated business explaining the Sunday Brother thing and what is expected from the older boys towards the younger brethren. I think Barns is quite impressed with the general ethos of S. Bees, but I stopped short of spilling all the beans about me and Pierre and latterly Jasper.

'We did have a bit of a relationship though.'

Barns just has to know all about that, and my goodness, will I have fun telling him. I will let all the facts of the case dribble out in bits, and always prior to, rather than during sex, assuming there will be some more. We are just two Wednesdays into our affair and I'm hoping that we have some way to go yet with this particular adventure.

Pierre and Jasper have got all the boys packed up and loaded with their individual burdens to carry back to S. Bees. The boys obviously love being with them, and no doubt they have already proved trustworthy, and up to the job of looking after the younger boys in reasonable numbers, and good for them. There are smiles and general chatter as the group sets off along a route back that's very familiar to me, in pairs and holding hands. At S. Bees, we always do a lot of hand holding. Older boy with younger boy…..such exotic frisson……..the feel of hand in hand.

'Do you ever think about it…..would you consider it……..going back there to teach when all this is done and dusted?'

'I'm General Subjects Primary, remember?'

'Sorry, yes. Silly me. But maybe they'll start a Junior Department?'

'Now that might be fun, and pigs might fly.'

Barns likes to probe at my friendship with Pierre and Jasper. I don't think he's just being nosey. I think he's genuinely interested, and I'm enjoying reliving it all.

'Do you imagine that those two are still together………in that way ?'

'Presumably, but you don't get much chance in that place. Everything is so public. You have to find places and times if you want to get down to some serious business. And there's the consequences issues. What comes out has to go somewhere. Loo tissue is virtually non-existant.'

'Like on the coach to Exeter, just before you sing hymns?'

'After usually. It's foreplay on the way, and getting a result on the way back. Since you ask, consequences were not an issue.'

'Because Pierre couldn't? Too young to…….'

' Not too young Barns. He could do that before there was any physical evidence of puberty.'

'Really? As in proper stuff?'

'Yes, the real deal, and plenty of it. I was amazed the first time. But as I said, it was never a problem on the bus. Only about a dozen boys went to the Cathedral service so the fifty-three seater coach was virtually empty. We had the whole of the back seat. Pierre was a quick responder. Once we were back on the bus after the service, we'd go for it. The uniform helped……quick release things. It was shorts down and a play outside his knickers, then inside and underneath, and then the up and down stuff with fingers and thumb. I always knew when to prepare to receive. Not much got away.'

'And that aspect doesn't worry you?' he asks, smiling.

I had no qualms about ingesting semen from Pierre, or Jasper for that matter, and it was all peaches and cream. I'm not so sure, as it happens, about the adult stuff. That might well be a bit more demanding, but if I need to, I will.

'No it doesn't worry me…….and certainly not from you Barns.' I say, looking at him and touching his hand. I noted that he used the present tense.

'That's nice. Was that Pierre's favourite pastime?'

'No. Foreplay with him was focussed in another place. Boys will be boys and it's courses for horses.'

'And what about you?'

'I guess I'm like Pierre. I know what I like………what I want. I'm sure I can cope with it, so long as you go about gently.'

'If that's what you want, I personally see no reason to deny you.'

'Would that suit you Barns?'

'Very much so. But I didn't go to a boarding school. It would be a new thing for me.'

'And me too. By the way, it's a myth about boarding schools. It would be far easier for two boys to conduct an affair as day boys than cooped up in a boarding house. The parents are both out at work and you invite your friend home after school. Then you have two pleasant hours in the bedroom before anyone gets back.'

'Speaking of which?'

We don't have two hours…….a bit more than one in fact, so there isn't much beating about the bush, so to speak. It's straight into the living room for what both of us, after talking about it, want rather badly. Barns is hugely excited as it's his first real opportunity to indulge in sex with a boy , as he refers to me. The poor chap has had these lingering thoughts all his life and finally he can have what he's always needed, and as I like him very much, I'm going to let him have what he wants. But as he says, first things first. I think his marriage will benefit too, ironically. I know I'm just the one thing, but there's no doubt he swings both ways. I always think that's a bit unfortunate. When our little affair is over, he may never need to start another. And I'm worried for little Bartal, his gorgeous son. Now don't get the idea I'm lusting after Bartal…….I'm not. But I can't bear the thought that I will be responsible for any sadness to befall him on my account. I know it takes two to tango, but I'm still responsible for what happens.

Barns, as I've implied already, is a lovely man who is desperate to make love to me, a guy ten years my senior. I can fully understand his predicament and I want to give him whatever he wants. I'm not as tall as he is, which emphasises the man/boy thing nicely, to me anyway. He has nice fine hair, mid brown, no beard thank goodness, and no excess weight either which when you look 'down there', there's interesting evidence probing nicely inside his fitted chinos.

I have to admit to some nerves when we arrived at his house that first Wednesday, but after some very pleasant cuddling on the sofa with undrunk mugs of tea nearby, things began to happen. We were both enjoying the mild fantasy of his illicit affair with the naughty schoolboy, which I am more than capable of playing up to. When I felt his mouth on my neck, I began to seriously melt, and then folded into him, we kissed properly for the first time. Half a minute later we were both breathless, surprised at how good it felt, and ready to proceed. Lying back, I let him loosen off my clothing and give him his first sight of what I have to offer him, hard now and pushing up the soft white cotton material, no different to what we all wore at S. Bees. He spent a little time looking over the 'goods' so to speak, and I enjoyed that, before running his hands over all me as I made my own discoveries. When I got my hands on it, it all felt very warm and encouragingly firm. With the thought that this is what's going inside me, hopefully in the not-too-distant future, I am not too alarmed. When he lay back, it was clear where my duty lay. Besides, I want to physically see what I am to expect to enter my body. With his shirt unbuttoned and chest visible, he's not a hairy man at all, in fact the pubic hair is minimal thank goodness because I cannot say I like it. Mine is naturally sparse, and currently non-existent, front and back. With his chinos and sexy pants down his thighs, his neatly circumcised penis is all mine to play with. When the first sign of clear fluid appears, I have a choice, but I'm not going to hold back on this one. Lowering my head, I cover the bulbous head with my mouth, and tease the very tip with my tongue. It's all good. With all four fingers and a thumb, and covering perhaps two thirds of his shaft, I gently bring him off to his first orgasm in my company. He doesn't give me any warning, but I have a good idea what's coming and when, and I angle him up at forty-five degrees from his tummy, which makes it close to the vertical. It's a game Pierre played with me to see how far I could get it, the silly boy.

I had asked Barns how often he has sex with his wife Jill. He said, what with work and early rising, and then tiredness at night, perhaps two or three times a month. Not much in other words. Before today, he hasn't come for a week at least. He has now. It's entirely my fault, and his ejaculation is an uncontrolled fountain, and dare I say it, wonderful!

My effort is far less spectacular, but blissful. He's gentle as he coaxes me with tongue and hands everywhere, and I mean everywhere, over my naked body, bringing me to a shuddering oral conclusion. Wow!

Our clothes are strewn around us as we lie together on the living room floor, somewhat amused by our first attempts to make love to one another. It all happened rather too fast, but we assure each other that we will gradually get it right one day. By the third Wednesday, we did get it right.

As usual, Barns and I met at the bench overlooking Exmouth beach. The previous week, the party of boys from S. Bees led by Pierre and Jasper, were not there to entertain us, but this week they are. We see the group walking along the beach towards us like dark and light dots in the distance, gradually enlarging as they approach us from the west. As before they settle for a site right in front of us. This time Pierre looks in our direction, pauses for a few seconds, and then looks away. As the boys stand waiting for instructions as to where to arrange their towels and games items on the sand, he looks at us again. There's a smile this time, and as he gets Jasper's attention, he looks again. There's another grin, as I raise my hand. Pierre addresses his group, points at a spot nearer us and the boys move. They are no more than twenty yards away now. It's my first chance in three years to see Pierre and Jasper as they are now, and I'm impressed and so is Barnaby.

'They make a fine pair do they not?' remarks Barns.

Indeed they do and even more so as the pair take a quick look around and see there is no one remotely close enough to notice. All the boys are changing for a sea bathe including Pierre and Jasper. Of course the younger boys aren't in the least worried if anyone sees them sans knickers, but the two older boys should be more circumspect. Pierre has decided that we should be treated to a sight of them as they are now, as opposed to what they were when I last saw them two years ago and well on their way but not there yet. Exit the sleek and smooth pubescence, and enter something entirely more advanced and potent. Thank you boys for what was a bit more than a glimpse!

'Have you seen them since you left S. Bees Ansel?'

'Once or twice……at Open Days. We agreed that we wouldn't socialize, but Pierre obviously knew where I would be……just down the road really.'

'Not a problem?'

'No, not at all. We just moved on. Simple as that. He had Jasper don't forget.'

'Looks like he still has?'

'Yes it does, and if that is the case, I'm thrilled for them both. Some loves will never die.'

We can't use any of the beds at Barnaby's place for obvious reasons, but the chair suitably protected in the living room is a good compromise, and things turned out, very suitable. By the time we have gone through the undressing ritual, coupled with plenty of mouth to mouth and fondling, we are both good and ready. Standing astride Barn's legs as he sits up in the chair, he pleasures me for a couple of minutes while preparing my 'back bottom' as he calls it. This process is a pleasure in itself as Barn's finger puts the necessary around and inside as far as he can get. Very nice too. Kneeling now, I have the pleasure of preparing him, and extracting as much of the 'Wednesday taste' I can get out of him. It's a very exciting combination of saliva and him , if you know what I mean. I know I could bring him to orgasm quite quickly this way again, but that would be ruining my day somewhat and is not the plan.

Gradually Barns has settled into me, or rather I've settled onto him, my back now resting on his chest and the side of my face next to his. With a little sideways movement of my body, we can kiss, and as he covers my mouth with his, hands smother my perineum and balls with soft and enticing gestures that have me writhing as I plant my feet high up on the arms of the chair. As the hands of my Master work their magic, I am completely given up to him as the sexual process gathers pace. I watch as my penis bounces up and down as Barn's thrusts go ever deeper. I once remonstrated with Pierre for his use of the word 'banged', but right now it's seems an apt description of what Barn's is doing to me. The thought crosses my mind that if I asked Barns to stop right now, he probably wouldn't, even if he was hurting me. Such is the total urgency of good sex, and this is good sex!

It's a strange feeling when you know you're about to come, but there's no way I can delay it. I'm entirely in Barn's hand, literally, but I neither need his help or want it, so I push it away……..and watch……and so does he. Our eyes are focussed on the very tip of my penis, which I know any moment now will bring forth the sweet fountain.

Of course the sight of it is too much for Barns, who with a desperate gasp of pleasure and relief, floods me…..but don't go Barns……stay with me……please.

We lay for minutes like this, Barns still hard inside me, and I can see the image of Barn's son Bartal looking down at me, smiling and resplendent in his new uniform, and it's making me feel decidedly uncomfortable.

'What are you looking at?'

'The photo of Bartal over there.'

'I suppose I should have turned it round. Sorry.'

'No. That would be a betrayal…….a denial of him.'

At this point I can feel the heavy presence of Barns inside me diminish, and the euphoria evaporates into practicalities. Barns carefully extracts his softened and shining penis from my bottom as I lift myself clear of his body, and at the same time stuff a couple of Kleenex between my buttocks. It's a bit like blowing your nose I suppose. You need to see what you're losing, as a significant globule pops out. Perhaps that too much information as they say……but no worse than post intercourse with Jill probably, but I certainly wouldn't know about that .

It must have been our twelfth Wednesday romp on the living room carpet. I put an asterix in my diary to mark each occasion. The sex has got better and better between us, and after trying just about everything from the manual, we had settled on the 'my-back-to-his-chest' position as our go-to, mainly because of what he can do with me whilst inside me. We reckon it has just about everything we want. Sometimes I can come if he's particularly rough with me, and sometimes that has to wait until Barns has finished with his 'boy'. All this, and spiced by the subservience fantasy that we indulge in. It's around five o'clock when I'm about to leave, and we decide on the next meeting. It's next Wednesday as usual.

It's cool and windy when Barns appears beside me on 'our' bench, and the beach is deserted. Gone is the smile that always greets me, and I instantly know something is wrong. He has some disturbing news.

'Jill has found out.'

'Found what out Barnaby?' I ask weakly, my body suddenly going cold.

'You know the photos I took of you here on this bench?'

'Yes. What about them?'

'I sent the film off to be processed……..TruPrint. When it came back, she thought it was one of hers. She didn't look at the envelope properly. She opened it and found the prints of you. She wanted to know who the nice looking boy was sitting on the bench on Exmouth seafront and smiling back at the camera. She wouldn't take no for an answer. She's made jokes about that sort of thing for ages. There didn't seem much point in denying it. I can't stand there and lie to her. She knows.'

There's a long silence as you might imagine after news like that. Finally…….

'So what happens now Barns?'

'As you can image, there was some discussion. It was a shock for her, but not entirely a surprise. She knows that I'm not one hundred per cent. To cut a rather painful story short, she's come around pretty well…..and admitted that, as I suspected, not one hundred per cent herself. When I asked her if she wanted me to stop seeing you, she said that was not necessary, and that if it made everybody happier, then I am welcome to maintain our friendship as long as you want to. Jill is a churchgoer…….forgiveness of sins and all that.'

'Does she know exactly what we do Barns?'

'Yes, pretty much, without the precise details. I just told her that we made love. Was that ok ?'

'I think that's good. Now I need to know if I actually do make you happy Barns?'

'Yes you do. I love Jill, and Bartal of course. Nothing is going to change that. It's just that I need more. I hope you don't think I've used you?'

'No! I could just as easily say that I've used you Barns.'

'There's something else too.'

'Oh. What's that?'

I was expecting the worst at this point.

'Jill wants to meet you.'

That came as a complete surprise, but after a minute's reflection, I'm pleased about it. I don't like the idea of anything underhand or deceitful. So why did I start this adventure with Barnaby? Good point. But I did, and there's no going back on that. I know I have the moral fibre to face the music with Jill, and I will do. I owe her that much at least.

'So will you meet her? I know it's a bit of an ask, but I think it's important to her…….and me too.'

'What about Bartal?'

'He will have to be a big boy about it, and anyway, he has no knowledge of what's happened and neither does he need to know. You are a family friend. It's a simple as that. Would you care to join us for a picnic on the beach on Saturday? The weather forecast is pretty good.'

What I write now is a simplification. It was all a bit more complicated than that. However, the situation is stable and all rather exciting really. Really, it is .

It's Saturday today, the appointed day when we are to meet at the beach, and I'm as nervous as the average kitten. At exactly eleven o'clock three figures are walking towards me at our favourite spot away from the crowds to the east. It's as forecast, a gloriously sunny day, and as the figures draw nearer still, I get my first sight of Jill and Bartal. The boy is just shorter than Jane, perhaps a couple of inches, and his mother to my great relief is smiling. Bartal carries a bucket and two spades and a towel over his shoulder, and he has an orange sunhat on. Like his mum, he has dark brown hair that falls forward with no parting, and his ears are slightly covered. He's simply but beautifully dressed for the beach in rather fitted pale blue shorts and white tee, no socks, and open sandals and what looks like a thin leather lace threaded through a pebble around his neck. His build, like his father's, is slight rather than anything close to stocky. He approaches me first with a lovely smile, and puts out a hand for me to shake. It's interesting that it should be him that greets me first. He has obviously been prepared to meet their guest for the day, and no doubt promised that I might just engage with him. Jill holds back, but after Barnaby's brief introduction, I join hands with her too. It's lingering and very meaningful, and there's no question that her eyes have filled. How weird is that? Barns quickly removes Bartal from this scene, and the pair of them kick off sandals and begin a stroll to the water's edge. It's an awkward moment for both Jill and I, but she's prepared, as indeed I am.

The words are few but our expressions say it all……reconciliation. I'm grateful and I'm hugely relieved. There is much bridge building to do, but it can and will be done. It is not the end.

On our walk, I tell my story, and Jill tells hers. By the time we returned to Barns and Bartal, we were in some odd kind of way, friends. It was so strange that a fragile bond between two humans could be established this way. Bartal, brandishing his spade, was the first to greet us……

'Can we make a castle……with a moat?'

Understandably, Barnaby was desperate to know how things had gone with Jill and I. They made an excuse to have a wander, which left me in charge of Bartal. I'm no stranger to sand castle building, having had plenty of experience with the boys of S. Bees over some years of our expeditions to Exmouth beach. He's good company, chattering about this and that as he beavers away shifting spade loads of sand as our creation takes shape.

'We need more over this side!' he demands, and I immediately follow his orders and shift a few more spade loads where he wants it put. Twenty minutes later, our fairy castle is complete with castellated turrets, and we stand back to admire our work, hot and more than ready for a cooling visit to the bracing English Channel.

He's already in his bathing trunks, but I'm not.

He pretends not to watch as my pants slip down my legs and onto the sand. I'm holding my towel around my middle but as anyone who has changed this way knows, it's never quite that simple. However, there are no accidents and I'm now in my trunks in front of a grinning Bart, who sits legs apart, arms supporting body, in front of me. I make a neat pile of my discarded clothes alongside his.

'Can we swim now?'

No, but we can paddle. I can't take him into deep water whilst his people are absent. You learn these things. 'Elf 'n safety they call it.

The day progresses much like any day on the beach, interspersed by a swim and paddles and the occasional bite of something nice, casual conversation and just chilling out and watching people do more or less the same thing as us. But by five o'clock and the air chilly, it's time to depart this seaside idyll. Bart changes carelessly and I glance at him. He's a very normal boy. Mum hold his pale blue pants open for him as he steps in, his hands on her shoulders. So cute. Then, another surprise……

'Can Ansel come back for tea?'

I've always avoided what I most feared………that I would acquire the nickname 'Gretel'. My name, like Bartal's, is an old family name that in their wisdom, my parents thought should be remembered. My grandparents were both from Finland which accounts for my almost silvery blond hair, and needless to say, icy blue eyes. Pierre always said my eyes made him 'melt', which is pretty much what his green ones did for me. My goodness, how I did love that boy……and still do, but in a different way now.

Jill looks at Barns and Barn's nods, so Bartal smiles, and comes out with a triumphant 'Yes!' It's safe to say that Bartal and I have bonded.

Jill had pre-cooked a tomato sauce and I was in charge of the pasta in the large pan of boiling water, with Bartal close by, giving advice. He doesn't want anything to be wrong.

With raspberries and ice cream to follow, and now all washed up, Bartal escorts me to Bartal's Patch, which essentially is his own veggy plot down the garden. He proudly points to a row of lettuce with a few gaps in it.

'The salad leaves came from there.' he says, fixing me with that smile again, brown eyes sparkling. I'm impressed with Bartal, and reminds me so much of Pierre.

At eight, we gather in the kitchen once more. It's decision time. I think there's a chance I might be invited to stay overnight. Bartal's hovering, not quite saying what he wants to say, and Jill and Barnaby are looking at each other. Then it's Jill who turns to me……

'Ansel, do you have to go back to the College tonight? There's room here.'

Actually, there isn't. It's a two-bedroom terraced house. But hang on a sec…..

'You would have to go in with Bart. Would you mind?'

With Bart in bed and asleep, we could talk shop, which in our case is education. I have quite definite views when it comes to my chosen path in life. I'm into what has become known as 'inclusivity', and to quote……'to create an environment within which all students feel that their contributions and perspectives are equally valued and respected'. So there you are.

I'm excited by my ideas, sometimes labelled as 'hairbrained' by Barnaby. Jill has her views too from her sociological angle, not that dissimilar from mine, as Barnaby throws in his judgments from on high as the educational expert. It's an interesting evening, fuelled by two bottles of wine. Jill calls a halt to proceedings at ten thirty. After using the bathroom first, I creep into Bartal's room. He's on his side in what looks like a standard double bed, and he's facing the door, mouth a little open. He's wearing a loose tee shirt, pale blue to match what I think he may be wearing unseen, and there's the faint whiff of toothpaste in the warm but clean smelling air. I check the window behind the closed curtain and to my relief, it's partially open. Bartal is just left of centre in the bed, and although there's room for me next to him, the gap between us is narrower than I would have liked. However, with half a bottle of claret inside me, sleep should come easily tonight.

I remember climbing into my parents' bed well enough, and then some months later, my brother Edward's. I loved my early morning talks to Edward, mainly about my puberty worries and sex generally. He never held back didn't the 'Confessor', as he occasionally and amusingly labelled himself. At seventeen, he already had a fair amount to 'fess up' to. He was indeed a wonderful confidant who was in those tricky years for me, my rock in life. Of course Pierre was wonderful company in bed, quite apart from what we got up to. He was the last boy to share a bed with me. Memories were made by him.

Around seven, Bartal wakes me up with his hot breath on my back. I'm naked bar my underpants, which I thought necessary last night, but not Bartal. My charming co-sandcastle builder and plant nurturer has migrated to my side of the bed. I'm right on the edge and he's breathing lustily on my back. But there's a solution to this problem. Get out, walk around the bed and get in the other side. I'm about to action this when a hand lands on my shoulder.

We are on our backs and Bartal wants to talk, but he needs to pee. I watch him leave the bed and make his way across the room to the door, left ajar all night. His sole garment doesn't cover him, and like many boys when they get up needing the lavatory, a very respectable skinny 'length' leads the way. He's so cute.

There's no sound from the other bedroom along the hallway. The bathroom separates one bedroom from the other so any conversation or other sounds shouldn't disturb anyone's peace. Bartal and I are free to talk, and I'm interested to hear whatever is in his sweet head.

It's quite clear that he's a happy boy, which immediately makes me feel desperately sorry for any child that, for whatever reason, is unhappy. Bartal is very typical, in my limited experience, of your average eleven-year-old boy. He's keen to tell me about his life…….school and his friends, his mini allotment for his summer crop of fruit and easy-grow salad items. He's such a positive little critter and such fun to be with. He really does remind me so much of Pierre.

'Have you read this?' Bart asks, holding up his latest reading book. It's 'Coral Island'. Of course I have, years ago now, but I remember it well. Edward had given it to me for Christmas.

'Yes. It's good isn't it?' I say, noticing a small pile on the bedside table. 'What else have you got there?'

He picks up another to show me. I recognize it as a standard 'growing up' text that S. Bees chucked at you shortly after arrival as a boarder, just in case there were gaps in your essential education.

'Are, that one. What do you think of it?'

No answer, but it's bookmarked at the beginning of the chapter dealing with the 'M' word.

We're sitting up in the bed and Bartal has the book open at the start of this particular chapter. I remember reading the equivalent section in the book I was given, a hand-me-down from my brothers judging by the condition it was in, particularly that well-thumbed chapter. It's a subject of endless fascination for boys of a certain age, probably any age, and now no doubt it is for Bartal.

'Do you get it then?' I ask quietly, mildly concerned that he was fully understanding the content.

'No……well a bit , but not properly. Not yet anyway. I know what it should look like though. Mine isn't anything like that yet.'

Oh dear. I think we have a misunderstanding here.

'I meant……do you understand what your reading?'

'Yes.' he says quite definitely.

'So what did you mean just now?'

'I meant that I can't yet…..not properly.'

'But have you tried doing…….what they're talking about……..in this chapter?'

I guess that's a question I should not have asked, but it got a swift answer.

'Yes, that works fine. It's just that what happens doesn't look right.'

An explanation is required from Ansel, but Bartal is not satisfied.

'I'm off to the bathroom for a few minutes.' I announce, anxious to let this situation go by without sinking further into the mire. I'm away for five minutes or so, and when I get back, Bartal beckons me over, and pats the bed beside him. There's still no sound from the rest of the house so I obey instructions and in a jiffy, I'm sitting up beside him. He's holding the bedclothes up above his middle and if I'm not very wrong, he's orgasmed moments earlier. That was not the quickest I've ever known, but not at all bad for a beginner. Slowly he lowers the duvet that covers him. He's still fully erect, and as he draws back his foreskin, the deep pink glans is revealed. His fingers grip the shaft about halfway down, and he slowly squeezes what remains of the seminal fluid from the urethra. The rest is in a small puddle on his tummy. It's clear, and when he dips his finger into it, it's very obviously immature.

'Is it ok Ansel? Should it be like that ?'

'Yes, that's just as it should be. You're eleven Bart, not fifteen, remember?'

'Was yours like that? What will it be like when I'm older? How much will there be?' etcetera, etcetera.

Unbeknownst to me, there was a conversation going on in the front bedroom between Jane and Barnaby.

'Ansel seems very committed Barns. I thought his ideas were very progressive. Is he like that in tutorials?' asks Jill.

'Yes, always. I think it all stems from his experience at S. Bunyans……that school in Lympstone he went to. By the sound of it, they've got a lot of things right there, although it all sounds a bit odd in some ways.'

'So when it comes to job hunting time, he'll need to find something that's going to suit him.'

'Yes exactly that.'

'Perhaps back at his old school?'

'No, that's not an option because he will be Primary trained. S. Bees is a secondary school.'

Then Jill changes tack somewhat……..

'You have good taste Barns.'

'What do you mean by that Jill?'

'Ansel. He's a very attractive boy. I can see exactly why you chose him.'

'I didn't choose him Jill.'

'Oh. So he chose you then? You might have resisted?'

'It wasn't at all like that. It just happened. But you're right, he's very attractive and……'

'All that lovely blond hair and nice bum. Was that it?' she says almost laughing.

'I liked his ideas and our conversations got a bit deeper than you get with the average student. We agreed on so many things. He became my protégé really……someone to get really into.'

'So when did you get into him.' Jill enquires rather crudely.

'Do you have to Jill?'

'Sorry. But you're my husband and you are the father of our child. I'm entitled to some explanation. Anyway I'm interested. How did the sex start?'

'So you fancy him too? Is that it?'

'Yes I do as it happens.' she says, smiling.

'He's gay darling.'

'It's not that that I'm after silly. Use some imagination.'

'Really? Anyway the physical stuff didn't start, as I've explained, immediately. Ok, he's physically very attractive, but it was a genuine friendship in the first place, and then there was a bit of touching…….a hand on the shoulder…..that kind of thing. I've never been to bed with another man, or a legal boy. You know that. You also know that there's something else inside me. You too. You've told me. I thought it might be my only chance to find out.'

'What it's like? Does he do it to you, or is it the other way round?'

'Try not to be too crude Jill. I was going to tell you.'

'Really? And what was it like……or should I say, what is it like?'

'Do you really want to know?'

'Yes of course I do. I might want him myself. Where did you do it? Not in our bed I hope? I suppose it was in Bartal's?'

'No. It was in the living room……mostly on the floor.'

'And was it good? I hope so.'

'It has satisfied that something in me, yes.'

'And was he satisfied, as you put it?'

'Yes.'

'Fully?'

'Very.'

'And all the way?'

'All the way.'

'Both ends?'

'Both ends.'

There's a pause in the conversation. A pause for some thought.

'I hope Bart's ok……with Ansel in there?' Jill wonders.

'Why wouldn't he be ok?'

'I don't know. Why don't you go in there and find out? Perhaps he should be in here with us?'

'Are you serious?'

'Yes. I'm curious too.'

'As a curious bystander?'

'As I've said, not necessarily. Why don't you put it to him? A menage a trois? Why should you have all the fun? Do you think his liberality would stretch that far? Or would he be a shocked little boy? Perhaps he might like to grow up a bit and demonstrate his lack of prejudice? After all, that's what he preaches isn't it?'

'You are serious aren't you?'

'Perfectly. I'm not going to stop you doing your thing to your boy, and I'll do my thing to your boy. He'll still be yours. I seem to remember you like it when I do it for you……..rather more than when we do it the baby making way. True?'

No answer from Bart, but he knows it is true. Vaginal intercourse for him, even with a nice body like Jill's, is more of a duty than a pleasure……..perfectly possible, but not really what he yearns for. On rare occasions she lets him take her up the back passage. With an image of a boy's smiling face in his mind, he never lasted long that way, and Jill is very aware of the fact that he could come quicker that way than the baby making way. But would he ever have the courage to ask Ansel such a question?

When Barnaby, just in his sleeping shorts and nothing else, came into the bedroom, I was in the process of pulling up my shorts. I had finished in the bathroom while Bart lay on his side snoozing gently and looking exceedingly pretty. No hurry to get up on a Sunday morning.

'You guys ok in here?' Barnaby asks with a smile.

'Fine thanks. Bart's still a bit sleepy. Can I make you and Jill some tea?'

'That would be fantastic Ansel. We don't get up early on Sundays. I'll come down with you.'

I'm looking in the cupboard for the tea bags, and Barnaby has just put his hands either side of my hips. The next thing I can feel is his warm breath on the back of my neck. Then a hand is fiddling with the front of my shorts and the next moment there's a hand inside. I haven't come for a couple of days, and what with recent events I would, given the opportunity, be raring to go. But this is a no-go situation and I will have to look decent when I take Jill her tea.

'Not now Barns, please .'

'Why not? Jill's cool with everything . We were going to tell you that when you come in with the tea. Look….she knows me very well. It's not a secret that I have…….other thoughts. She likes you, and anyone who is that good with Bart? You were brilliant with him all day yesterday. Last night, and this morning we had a major heart-to-heart. In a way she's glad this has happened. We might well be a happier couple as a result. We are very liberally minded Ansel. We don't have stupid hang-ups because life is just too short for all that nonsense. You could have come in with us last night, but Jill needed to talk about all this. She's fine now. Look, make the tea and come and join us. You will…….please? Be a jolly good boy and come in with us? Bart knows he has to stay in bed on Sunday mornings until we say he can get up. He knows that.'

All this time, his hot breath on my neck still, I've been enjoying what he's doing to me. His fingers have crept inside my pants and he's playing with my balls. If we were on our own I would be begging him. But what's this thing with Jill?

'So what do you say Ansel? It will square everything away with Jill. Do it to please her. By the way, we don't wear much in bed.'

That probably means they wear nothing in bed, if I know Barn's understatement.

'Bloody hell Barns, does that mean I've got to get naked in front of your wife?'

'You don't mind do you? She will be too.'

'I've never seen a naked woman before……seriously I haven't.'

'You don't have to look. I avoid it if I can.' he says, stifling a laugh.

'Well don't start on me like that will you? You know what'll happen. I would be mortally embarrassed in front of her.'

He's let me go now, and then disappears upstairs. By the time I've poured the milk into the mugs of tea, I should be decent enough to go up myself.

I place two mugs on the floor just outside Jill and Barns' bedroom, and gently knock on the door. There's an instant 'come in' from two voices. I pick up the two mugs and push the door open carefully with my foot. Inside now, I turn towards the two figures sitting up either side of a super king-sized double. There's a wide space in between them that's looks suspiciously like a space left for me.

Jill's naked from the waist up, and below too for all I know. I've seen her in a bikini on the beach, but there's no substitute for seeing the real thing, or things. If I was attracted to girls, I would say she would fit the bill nicely, and I'm sure that most hetero blokes would gladly fondle those objects…….petite and firm looking. As for Barnaby, I can see a lot more of him as the duvet is lower his side. There's that neat area of hair immediately around his penis, just the tip of which is visible to me. It's mostly hidden, but he's at least semi-erect. I know nothing about a woman's breasts but they look excited, if that the right word. In a very weird way, I am too.

'Well, come on then!' says Jill in that authoritarian voice of hers, and recognizing my retinence. 'Don't be a shy boy. You can't stay like that . It wouldn't be fair would it?' she says, trying to convince me with her smile.

I think Sunday mornings is their time. Whatever it is that they do, they do it on Sunday mornings.

I'm neither ashamed of my body, nor particularly proud of it. It's a rather average body really. I'm certainly not overweight, nor am I any sort of muscle-man. I'm just a pretty presentable twenty-two-year-old, not quite six foot tall with ordinary looking and sized genitalia. By the time I've taken off my tee shirt, dropped my shorts, and slipped my boy briefs down my legs and off my feet, my heart is beating a lot quicker than it was. Uncertain as to what to do next, I just stand there awaiting orders. I glance at Jill and I can see her studying me. Jill's command comes first…….

'Round here please.' she says, pointing to the spot on the floor her side of the bed. I walk around the end and stand still with my hands by my sides opposite her head. She looks up at me, smiling, and holding out the palm of her hand……..

'May I?'

I nod my head, as her hand approaches my groin. It's a very pleasant sensation, and despite that fact that any kind of sex with a woman would have me running a mile, my cock and balls don't know that. They just like being felt, and they have a way of showing it.

'You know you have to be a sharing boy?' Jill says, pleased that her ministrations are having the desired effect. I move closer to her as her head moves closer to my body. Then with her fingers supporting my balls, she encloses me.

Soft lips, a sliding tongue and gentle fingers just like Pierre's, trace patterns and paths between my legs. Jane is the first female to touch me there and arouse me. But it might have been anyone.

Barnaby has been watching with a mixture of interest and amusement. But he's impatient. I glance at him and the bedclothes have slipped lower now, and his penis looks very ready to receive me, as it emerges upright and hard from the dense mat of pubic hair. I look back at Jill……

'Your boyfriend needs you now Ansel. You better go to him now before it's too late.'

Lying back on Barn's chest, he can get at all my bits so perfectly……hardened nipples and hairless tummy, face and neck, but not my genitalia as he usually does. Jill will see to those.

I know it's her anointing me. I'm imagining it's a nurse taking my temperature from the anus, but of course it feels a lot better than that. She's sensitive and careful as the colourless gel is placed in and around the place where Barns will enter my body. It might have been Pierre.

I hear a gasp from Jill, louder than mine, as he slips into me. I had wondered how hard it would be this time. Apart from a natural faltering, it has been easy.

Heads turned, he kisses me deeply…….as deeply as he is embedded in me. I'm covered by his mouth as his hands run over and around my body making me so mobile yet pinned to him as I am. It's the fullest of fullness when he fills me with his love, and I'm overflowing from him. Withdrawal comes with the deepest regret that I cannot be filled forever. After the inflow comes the outflow……..his, and then mine because of Jill, her hand tight around me…….and then, at the very last, I'm enclosed by her mouth. It's the deepest satisfaction.

Jill has masturbated noisily to a finish, and sees to our fallout, and everything. Barns is out of it really, lying there as if he had nothing to do with it, head on one side and eyes closed and not wanting anything to do with the practicalities. I feel like a child being given a bed bath.

I let Jill play with me as she smiles, running her hands over my body. She's trying to get me hard again, but it's not going to work. Sorry Jill. Barns couldn't ever do anything like this. Then, as if to admit defeat, she kisses me gently on the mouth, and lies back.

'Would you like to rouse Bart? I'm sure he'd like that.' Jill says to me, pouring our second welcome round of tea into the mugs on the kitchen table.

Bart knows he has to wait on Sunday mornings……wait until he's told he can leave his room. Jane says that it's everything clean and fresh on Sundays, and it's another warm one today according to the weather forecast we saw last night.

Bart asks me to choose what he should wear today.

I bathe his face with the cool flannel, the fringes of his hair wetted by it too, as he stands naked and smooth before me. I remember sweet Pierre like this, morning excitement showing, still tingling no doubt, and arms outstretched, wanting the day to begin. It'll be the beach again today, so dress simply for that.

What shorts to wear, to cover what he stands in now…..neat and pert. The blue ones? Yes, the blue ones will be perfect. Warm hands rest now on my shoulders as shorts rise up brown legs and cover pants that cover narrow hips. Bartal…….excited boy ready for exciting day. Three cheers!

Three years later.

I'm not one for reunions normally, but this one is special. The Headmaster of my old school S. Bunyans [capital 'S' dot as the correct abbreviation for Saint, please], Proprietor and Educational Entrepreneur, Mr Alexander Ashington-Brown, makes a big thing of his Old Bees events. I suppose we could be known as 'Old Bunyans', but that wouldn't have been good marketing. It's special because Pierre and Jasper left last year, so it's their first year of being an 'Old Bee'. As you can imagine, all sort of jokes can be made from being an Old Bee, as opposed to a New Bee, as a 'new boy' known as a Seven is sometimes called as they enter the School, fresh faced and anxious about everything. Old Bees Day involves not just any past pupil, but all the current boys and their parents. There are tours [six at a time] of the School conducted by the younger boys, in two's of course, for security purposes. Everything is tickety boo, and just so. Mr Ashington-Brown, or Sir as he is known, conducts the Day in traditional multi-coloured striped blazer with his Mrs smiling by his Lordship's side. Anachronistic but nice is how I would describe it. There's a list of all attendees pinned up on an easel so everyone knows who is present, and one can check to see if anyone you know is here. Sir will make a point of talking to each and every Old Bee at some stage during the Day and duly tick them off his list as 'seen', whilst we visit various activities put on by the boys and their teachers. A nice one is the gym display, where you can watch boys climb ropes and be helped vault the 'horse', making sure they don't land a bit short and bump their bottoms painfully on the end of it. Then there's the mini concert, where boys grind away with violin bows and blow vigorously into brass instruments producing a sound like an elephant breaking wind. Everyone is on his or her best behaviour, including Sir's 'wife', and of course the boys are looking their smartest, including the boys performing in the tiny gymnasium converted from a modern agricultural barn. One can't help admiring the little tackers in their perfectly ironed white flared mini-shorts and tee shirts, and white short socks and perfectly whitened gym shoes. They all look so shiny, wholesome and totally radiant as they go through the various practiced routines for us. I notice, standing by the dangling ropes that two pretty youngsters climb with ease, that the 'no underwear under gym shorts' rule still applies to the prepubes…….a slightly derogatory term sometimes applied to the Sevens and Eights by older boys who should know better. So sweet and smooth are the boys of S. Bees. You could write a song about them.

Lunch was nice too, with a salad of cos lettuce and various other veggy bits, spiced up with a very few black olives stuffed with chilli, and even fewer cubes of Feta cheese. Then more demos and activities and finally rather an apology for a cream tea…….and my meeting with Sir.

I must have been one of the last on his list, but of course he announces very loudly that 'I have saved the best until last Ansel. How lovely to see you!'

Actually it is very nice to see him. Despite the obvious showmanship, he works very hard to steer the ship on a productive and happy course. I look back on my days here with great fondness and I have every respect for what he has tried, and largely succeeded in my view, to achieve. Good on him.

'Hello Sir. Thank you so much for the Day. It's been a joy coming back and being treated to ……all this.' I say expansively, gesturing with my arms in various directions.

'Not at all my boy. I am delighted that you could be with us.'

The conversation continues with the usual platitudes and expressions of thanks and appreciation of all the hard work that has clearly gone into the preparations for such an event. And then, after a pause………

'I've had a letter from your personal tutor at your College Ansel. In fact I received it some little time ago. He's moved now hasn't he?'

'Yes Sir. He left to take up another post Sir…..in London Sir. A more important job I think……you know, a promotion and all that Sir.'

I'm referring to Barnaby of course, the older man and my Personal Tutor at college, who until quite recently has been bonking me senseless every Wednesday apart from school holidays when his lovely son Bartal would be about, and that wouldn't be the best idea. Being 'his boy' as he put it, has been one of the highlights of my young life thus far, and since his departure, I have had no one else. But back to Sir……..

'He speaks very highly of you as it happens Ansel…..very highly……very highly indeed.'

I thought for a moment he might have recommended me as an exceptionally good lay, but Barns would never be that indiscreet. Sir goes on…….

'I had approached your College for some advice and they put me onto Barnaby Todd. I have been thinking seriously about enlarging the School Ansel.'

'Really Sir?'

'Indeed that is so. Your Mr Todd was most helpful. He also mentioned that one of his students had very innovative and radical ideas about primary education. The fact is Ansel, that there should be a Junior Department here to feed the Senior School. Talking to Todd was most enlightening. I'm determined to achieve this Ansel, so I shall be looking to appoint a dedicated individual to start things off……..just a small class of a dozen Year Fives to begin with, after a few months of preparation of course. Can't run before we can walk eh? It would all be housed in something temporary I'm afraid, but if it works there is funding available for new purpose-built accommodation. Whoever that person is would be appointing more staff to work with him…..or her of course…….in due course. It will be a marvellous opportunity for a young person with fresh ideas and ambition don't you think……Ansel? Just imagine what could be achieved. Can you imagine Ansel?'

Mr Alexander Ashington-Brown is smiling at me, and a very strange chill has gripped my body.

Thus, this story of The Boys of S. Bees concludes.

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The Boys of S. Bees

by Rafael Henry

Chapter 5

Three years later.

Three years later.