Rachel, my secret lover, cousin to my wife. Our erotic pact demands turns. Yours stirred me. Now mine. Back to 1968, post-May riots. Elite boarding school for bourgeois sons. High walls sealed our world. No girls. Just pulsing awakenings. François, my dorm box mate. Tall, lithe, blond kindness radiating. Our shared space: two metal beds, wooden nightstands, partitions rising 1.6 meters. Polished oak gleamed under moonlight. Scent of wax and chapel incense below lingered.
Nights started innocent. We turned backs to strip. Pyjamas on under sheets. But habits shifted. He’d sit, eyes tracing my ass. Caught once. Fled. Evenings, I read smuggled Teleny—Wilde’s fevered boys entwined on Persian divans. He devoured Bob Morane. Lights out after thirty minutes. Then, faint rhythmic rustle. Fabric on fabric. I feigned sleep. Snores soft. Moonlight blue. His sheet tented. Legs bent. Breath quickened. Sigh escaped. Spent.
The Privilege
My cock stirred. Imagined his pale shaft, blond crown, purple glans unveiling. Balls heavy. Cum spurting on handkerchief. Mine hardened. Pyjama pants down. Hand cupped velvet sac. Rolled testes. Drew knees up. Checked his sleep. Gripped shaft. Frenzied strokes. Girls faded. His cock invaded dreams. Exploded. Rope after rope on cloth. Then his whisper: ‘Feels good, huh?’
Froze. Legs slammed down. Turned away. Heart pounded. Slept in shame’s exhaustion. Morning rush. Hid evidence. Avoided eyes. Day dodged him. Evening library escape. My privilege: back shelves, leather-bound tomes, wax polish, incense haze. Ciceron’s Latin blurred. His satchel thumped beside. Heat flushed. ‘Sorry for last night,’ he murmured. Gentle. Disarming. ‘I knew you watched. Normal here. No girls.’ Stood. ‘Come.’ Slipped to old storeroom. Locked door. Dim light through slats.
He leaned on waxed oak desk. Smile melted defenses. Feline grace. ‘I jerk off too. Like you?’ Confession flowed. ‘Teleny?’ Nod. ‘Ever think of boys? Me?’ Fingers undid tie. Shirt parted. Diaphanous skin. Ephebic torso. Greek ideal. ‘Your turn.’ Mimicked. Ties folded neat. Shirts off. Kneeled for boots. Pants unzipped. His modern brief—silk-smooth, hugging bulge. Mine baggy cotton. Shy. Dropped mine first. He stopped me. Examined. Long, pale cock. Heavy hairless balls dangling.
The Excess
His slipped off. Bent. Ass cheeks parted. Balls swung. Mine surged erect. Glans bared. ‘Beautiful cock.’ Gripped. Cupped balls. Shocked thrill. ‘Make mine hard.’ Mine obeyed. Soft skin pulsed. Thickened. His finger in mouth. Sucked. Lips on nipples. Finger circled anus. New fire. Dropped. Tongue on balls, shaft. Swallowed deep. Finger breached me.
‘Lick my ass.’ On desk. Legs up. Balls framed hole. Knelt. Scent musky, soapy. Tongue probed. Ring yielded. Thrust hips. Fingers tangled hair. Pulled up. Collapsed atop. Cocks ground.
‘Fuck me.’ Legs hooked shoulders. Guided cock to pucker. Pushed. Ring stretched. Sank in heat. Velvet grip. Thrust synced his strokes. Faster. ‘Cum inside!’ Exploded. Filled him. His ropes hit chest. Collapsed in sweat, cum.
