New Story

Spring break’s when the action gets going.

Anonymous student

Let’s go…let’s make it happen.

Calvin harris

Residential transitions

Afzal rummaged in his things unaware of Edwin’s approach.

“Boo!”

Afzal jumped. “Sneak!”

“Fear not, for I mean you no harm.”

“Why would I think that? Are you up to something? I can’t find my…”

“Virginity?”

Sputtering with laughter, Afzal turned to hug his friend.

“Actually, I have something on my mind. First, you amaze me by your adaptation to bisexuality. I could never…”

“You’ve never met an Amy. She’s so…”

“Never mind the details, it’s about her and you that I’m about to tell you why, at least for a spell, as Aunt Aggie would say, Dalton and I would like you to move in with her.”

Again, Afzal sputtered, and looked up quizzically, all innocence.

“You’re good at that, you scamp. No wonder you can get anybody in bed,” Edwin joked before turning serious. “We need your bed for the Treydon lovebirds, your brother Shan and Jesse. Aunt Aggie wants them up here while she and friends try to deflect Jesse’s mom from marrying some gold-digging homo-hater.”

“Damn. When?”

“Like now, if you and Amy can manage it. Please,” he stressed.

* * *

Ever-willing Tom Loft met the arrivals at the bus station rather more flamboyantly than either might have wished. Radiant Shan, not to be outdone, returned his hug with bone-crushing strength. He whispered, “Tone it down. Jesse’s nervous enough.”

Sudden decorum settled upon Tom, who offered to shake small Jesse’s hand. “Welcome to Chicago,” he said, “you come highly recommended.” He bowed and pointed to the trunk of his lover’s Honda.

“I do?”

Their bags in hand to stow in the back, Tom reverted to his usual mode of ebullient devilry, “Word has reached us of your kindnesses to that hideously ugly gargoyle standing helplessly over there. Really, it’s wonderful of you. Most people can’t stand him!”

Little Jesse’s hands covered his mouth at the look on his beloved’s face. At Shan’s long tongue sticking out rudely.

Everybody giggled. The ice was broken.

Off to Dalton’s, the visitors’ gregarious driver finagled Jesse’s account of the situation in Treydon. An “Oh?” here and a “What?” there got the boy talking freely. By the time traffic allowed them to reach Dalton Brawne’s driveway, Jesse was eager for such adventure he and Shan might have with the “grand old man” and “gerontophilic Young Edwin” – married!

Aunt Aggie used those terms to Jesse’s amusement. His mind flitted for a moment with the idea he and same-age Shantanu might marry one day.

Dalton proved to be hospitality itself. He showed Jesse the house’s amenities (baths, library, stairs up and down, other rooms), his mother’s crystal, china, and silver (glistening in their cabinet), and Edwin’s attic studio (half-seen canvases not understood) - while “those other two” dealt “with the baggage.” Their tour wound up in the kitchen where Jesse was enlisted in brewing coffee and received lavish compliments.

“You are truly beautiful, Jesse, just as Aggie described. I like everything about you – especially how you’ve taken our Shan’s heart. And while you’re here, don’t you worry your pretty head about what’s going on at home. Aggie, second-dearest person in the world to me after my Edwin, and” – his voice slowed – “some others are going to handle that situation.”

Settled with coffee and cookies at the kitchen table, the four chatted casually. The strongest concern the boys had was having to miss even a few days of after-school work on Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dreamif they had to stay away for longer the Spring Break’s week.

About that time, Edwin popped in. “Hope there’s some of that for me. I need refreshing.” He kissed his husband on the mouth, his friend Tom on a cheek, little Jesse atop his head, and leaned from behind Shan to embrace him with, “Aren’t you the lucky one?”

A nod answered. Shan asked, “Is my brother really all right staying with that girl?”

Dalton laughed, “Tight as two peas in a pod. This may turn out better for them than any of us might reckon.”

* * *

That evening, their good-nights said and snugly nestled in Afzal’s bed, the temporary émigrés from Treydon embraced to kiss and caress. There, it was safe to do so more freely than ever.

Jesse murmured, “My skin loves your touch. Do you know what I realized during the trip up here and all the time we were with your friends? My body retains mysterious traces from your fingers the last time we made love.”

Shan’s nose tucked against his love’s exposed ear. “Jesse, the way you say that excites me. There’s something so stimulating – I guess it is mysterious – the way your skin surrenders to me. Your body melts or something. I want you so much. Oh gosh, your fingers!”

Attentions to his cock by Jesse’s hands sent eddies of sensation over the Malaysian’s svelte corpus. His ribs quivered. “You want me, babe?” his husky voice asked.

Jesse wriggled. A hand positioned the massive protuberance. “If you get it wet enough and go slow enough – really slow – maybe we can, you know, make it like this on our sides…without anything else.”

Secretions seeped and flowed from the head of Shan’s cock coaxed by Jesse’s seductive sphincter kisses. Whole minutes of heart-throbbing intensity – and inches entered. No more than a third, but solidly so.

Shan lingered to whisper, “Do you know this is how Dalton and Edwin sleep every night – completely locked together?”

A long sigh escaped Jesse’s lips. His body accepted more of his lover.

Shan began moving – out a bit, in a bit further; out a bit, in further, secreting the juices to do so at marvelous leisure. Jesse’s nipples were asking for it, so Shan began rolling them between his fingertips. The two boyish lovers became one, ejaculating together until both were completely spent.

“It never happened like that before, did it?”

“No, but it was wonderful.”

“Feel that? I’m not going soft.” Shan flexed and reflexed inside Jesse.

“Oh. Please. Very slowly.” Then, “All night if you want to.”

“I love you.”

Sublimity was theirs.

* * *

The opportunity felt by Afzal and Amy to seclude themselves from classmates and friends emboldened their physical love-making. Anal intercourse, to which her Turkish boyfriend had introduced her, was perfect for Azal. He could dip his wick as he had become accustomed with males – in a tight, receptive ass while, at the same time, lettings his hands discover the pleasures of soft female features – breasts, flaring hips and lips.

Amy took Afzal easily, his organ no challenge at all for her. His vibrator-fast orgasms triggered new sensations in her sphincter. Enthusiasm grew in both for as much sex as they could possibly perform between making meals together, doing laundry, talking volubly about their families, discussing possible careers ahead. When talk circled around to sex, they went back to bed.

Most memorable was the occasion, on their third day together, when vaginal intercourse loomed. Online, they had read about it and stared closely at porn videos. Mutual masturbation attuned their fingers to sensitivities of the most private sort. They gained confidence. They wanted more – the ultimate.

Amy reclined, her smile wanton. She invited, “Make me your woman, Afzal.”

His scalp a-tingle with joy, Azfal crawled up her body, relished its new prospect, and supported himself on his left arm to seek with his right her hairy womanhood.

Damp with the dew of untested womanhood, her labia fluttered under Afzal’s eager fingers. His hand had stolen upon the warm petals and toyed with them delicately, as with parts of flowers.

Amy’s legs at first clasped together, capturing his hand, but parted wider and wider under the enchantment of Afzal’s strokes. A will of its own took over her delta. It clambered unguardedly for more attention. It beckoned.

Afzal’s excitement, pressing against her hip since their play began, moved along the path from her clitoris down, lubricating the surfaces, sending small waves of heat and chill throughout her body.

She trembled, sighed, cried out, shrieked once, and lapsed into kittenish purrs that stoked Afzal’s desire.

Desire. It had slept beneath the cloak of first-time curiosity until that moment. No intention of vaginal intercourse had motivated the virginal explorations of the pair. Now, their little world of intimacy flooded with no-longer-innocent urges. Their faces reflected amazement as penis found vagina and loved it.

So wondrous was Amy’s expression that, much as he wished, Afzal could not at first bring himself to lean down for kisses to her parted lips. His eyes drank in her wide-mouthed, intoxicating stare as he thrust.

Unwittingly, he glanced to see himself emerging from and enmeshing with the hirsute softness between her legs – and surrendered to a force he could no longer stave off. His pace became the wildly vibratory buzz of Edwin’s long-ago description to Dalton.

Squealing, Amy and Afzal climaxed, exhausted and wiser. Afzal rained kisses as tributes, shuddering as he did so.

This is love with a woman!

* * *

Up early, Dalton and Edwin breakfasted together. Morning news rattled on, a background to their conversation.

“I’m going up to paint. Are you planning anything with the boys?”

Dalton looked over the top of his glasses, “If they want to go around, Shan can take Jesse on the bus, the train. I doubt Jesse’s seen the sights of Chicago. As for me, I’ll go out for an appointment or two.”

“These peach preserves are the best. If you pass the store where you bought them, get some more, please.”

“Hark!” Dalton cupped an ear. “I believe our peace is being encroached upon.”

Shan pulled shy Jesse toward Dalton. “Go on, do what I told you.”

Jesse dashed the few feet from the doorway, took away Dalton’s coffee cup, and planted a sweetly chaste kiss directly on the old man’s mouth. “Thank you, Dalton, for rescuing us.”

Shan advanced to fill the void left by his boyfriend’s backing away. He, too, kissed Dalton.

A baleful glance across the table brought forth from Edwin, “Is anybody going to kiss me? I taste like peaches.”

Jesse may not have dared, but Shan twirled around to grab Edwin’s hair, push back his head, and go in for a mouth-to-mouth kiss that Dalton likened later to the style of Rudolph Valentino.

“You’re delicious, Edwin. May I taste some more?”

All mock solemnity, Edwin dolloped peach preserves on another piece of toast and handed it to Jesse. He mocked Dalton’s style, “Let the sex-mad thing assuage his appetite from your lips.”

Fun was the order of the day as everyone’s gustatorial demands were satisfied. The boys undertook the dishes and coffee pot, while Dalton tidied the kitchen and Edwin headed for his aerie.

“Wait just a darn minute, buster,” Dalton ordered.

Edwin peered back.

“You thinking of smearing paint on that mountain-thing when that thing over there,” he indicated Shantanu, “is right here for a week and you have up there ‘in the wild blue yonder’ my whopping big empty canvas?”

Two-and-two came together as Dalton ranted, “Remember that portrait of Shan I wanted you to do for me – based on that special-most drawing you did back at Christmas or was it Thanksgiving?”

Edwin stared back.

Blank looks from Jesse and Shan. Shan’s expression changed. “I’m a professional model, don’t you know?”

The ’phone rang in precise coincidence.

Dalton’s “Hello” was followed the exclamation, “Aggie! How delightful to hear from you.”

He told her in rapid-fire order that Afzal was incommunicado at Amy’s, that “our brood” was with him in the kitchen, that Edwin was to begin a portrait of Shan immediately, and that he would see to it that the “Chaudary brats” would contact their parents. Then he listened. And listened, his eyes goggling at Shan.

Listening some more, he signaled for paper and pencil. Scribbled some lines. Thanked her profusely. “I’ll try to remember. Regards to your involved friends and best, best of luck – or skill,” he chortled.

To the kitchen’s trio came, “My dears, there’re some things for us to see. They’re on-line – and here’re the links, or whatever they’re called.”

The kitchen was abandoned. Edwin fired up the PC, typed in the first line of what was written on the paper, waited, and was surprised by what appeared – the cover of a glossy magazine in Malay. He looked at Shan who sat and began hitting the forward arrow.

A two-page spread greeted them, an advertisement for Muslim bathing clothes for ladies. Four appropriately-clad models with two dazzlingly handsome young men in the background in bathing trunks. “That’s me,” Shan pointed needlessly, “and he’s Mamet.”

“I remember when you posed for that. Didn’t you get five hundred ringgit?” Edwin asked.

His head said yes as Shan typed in the next URL. “First money I ever made.”

A different magazine – in English – its pages flipped so quickly no one could note the masthead.

Breathtaking was two-page spread advertising men’s bathing suits – well-fitted on Mamet and Shan. They seemed two friends at a pool. The poses displayed every aspect of the suits from their fronts, sides, and backs, and the flawless tan flesh emerging from waistbands and leg holes. To the side of one page a vertical strip of the suits’ different colors; to the other side the products’ promotional copy – and the information that the brand was available worldwide.

“Afzal needs to see this. He negotiated an extra five hundred ringgit for me to do it. Said he was my manager,” Shan snickered.

Jesse’s delicate hand stayed Shan from typing in the final destination. “You are so handsome I can’t stand it.”

“Oh? Well fasten your seatbelt, my precious, because if the third one of these is what I think it is…” As he typed, his voice trailed.

A French magazine, Chaleur, had a line of type running just beneath: pour les hommes.

“Heat,” Edwin translated, “for men. I know what we’ll see.”

“I do, as well,” Dalton echoed.

Edwin covered Jesse’s eyes. “Wait for the surprise.”

“My father was there and backed up Afzal’s demand for another five hundred ringgit.”

A torment of clicks raised Jesse’s expectations. Not high enough. Other voices succeeded in that.

“Hot!” (Edwin, unusually common-mouthed)

“Gloriosky!” (Dalton channeled Little Orphan Annie)

“Hey, I’d suck that dick!” (Shan caused everyone to laugh).

Hands covering his eyes opened like panel doors. Jesse saw his sleek-bodied lover packed into various pieces of skin-tight underpants – his crotch heaped into one pair, bunched bulbously together in another, to one side and semi-congested in a different cut, his muscled buttocks covered in one, almost fully revealed by a different pair, bisected by a thong. Most striking was Shan in full-frontal view, staring into the camera, palms open to either side of something resembling a large silver seashell, held to his slender hips, it seemed, by a mere silver thread.

Jesse’s heart thudded so hard he clutched his chest. Troubled breathing kept him silent.

Unaware of the effect on Jesse, Shan studied himself, felt for his cock, smiling for all he was worth. Proud.

“Ahem,” Dalton cleared gravel from his throat. A blunt, bony finger prompted Shan to turn.

The two lovers faced. An exchange by eyes alone led to Jesse’s request of Edwin, “Please paint him,” spoken in a tremulous voice.

Edwin leveled, “Do you have your black halter with you?”

The crestfallen answer was, “No. We left too fast. I forgot it.”

“We’ll get started without it. Upstairs, now,” he snapped a finger.

* * *

“Lunchtime!” Dalton bellowed toward the attic.

Three figures scrambled down.

Last to arrive, Shan, Edwin’s bathrobe over his nakedness, flexed his nostrils. “Something smells wonderful.”

“Our favorite Indian restaurant’s near my doctor’s office so, on the way back I picked up dahl soup, naan bread, Basmati rice, Tandoori chicken and, for dessert, gulab jamun.”

“Yum!”

Jesse sniffed, wary of the unfamiliar, but soon was convinced by the new tastes – and the fact that nothing was spicy and the aromas were great.

“I got to be Shan’s fluffer,” he bragged.

Dalton swallowed some soup the wrong way and coughed. “A new word for your vocabulary?”

“Yes.” He tore off some naam to dip in his soup.

Assam tea went well with everything, including the account of how Shan was posed emblematically, face-forward, eyes intensely focused ahead, jaw set firmly, with legs parted, feet slightly spread, palms out, fully erect as if to impose his rampant sexuality on the viewer.

“It’s hard work,” Shan complained. “I’ve never had to stand still like that for three hours.”

“We’ll go for two hours, take an hour’s break, then do one more hour this afternoon. My arm gets tired, too, and my neck hurts from craning around that big canvas to study you.” Edwin shifted toward Jesse who was busily masticating his chicken and rice, “Before we go up again, perhaps you might let Dalton show you some of the massage techniques he uses when I have achy muscles.”

Charm colored Jesse’s, “I have experience relaxing Shan’s muscles.”

Care to know where all this originated? Look here on Amazon.