Tales from a Boarding School

Liam

There are five houses in Headington, each with about one hundred pupils. Mine is Crawley House, one of the two original Houses of the School, the other being Stanley. I’ve always wanted to be in Wren House as it contains the most objectively attractive boys, and there are many rumours about what the boys of Wren get up to in the dark. That’s not to say there’s no talent in Crawley House: David, who has the room opposite mine, has been the subject of many a wank. Luke down the hall has the most perfect arse you’ve ever seen: tiny, pert, and hairless. The reason I know this last part is because the showers in Wren House are communal. We are the only house in the school with communal showers, which is compensated by the fact that we are also the only house where every sixth-former gets their own private bedroom. The shower room is ancient, built with the school in 1846. It’s floor to ceiling white tile, stained by time, with six rusty shower heads jutting out of the walls. The single drain at the centre of the room constantly clogs, resulting in about an inch of water filling the room after every sports session. It’s dimly lit by one small frosted window tucked in corner, almost as if an architectural afterthought. What the showers lacked in pressure they made up for in heat: the room would fill with steam within a few seconds of the showers being on, making it harder for me to perv on the bodies around me. Nevertheless, I was intimately familiar with what each of the eighteen boys in upper sixth were working with down south.

Cut to today. We had just finished a football session which ended with us beating Stanley House 3-1. Walking back through the gothic quadrants of the school, everyone is in jovial spirits, despite the frosty November day. Joe is jumping on Pete’s back, trying to throw him off his balance.

“Fuck off you prick,” snorts Pete.

We were all caked in mud that was starting to dry in crusty blotches.

“Shotgun first shower,” exclaims Mick, throwing his hand in the air. The rule of shower shotgun is that the first six boys to put their hand up after shower shotgun is declared gets to shower first, which was always beneficial as to shower second meant swimming through the first six boys’ mud, piss, and whatever else had washed off them. On this occasion, the first six are me, Joe, Sam, David, Theo, and the shotgunner Mick, which is a fairly good result. At the very least it means getting a good look at David for future wanking material.

We reach Crawley and race up to the top floor which houses the upper sixth form. I reach my room and peel my filthy football kit off, and stand looking in the mirror for a second. The cold has shrivelled my dick and swallowed my balls, so I take a moment to fluff my myself up a bit. Once I am happy with the size of things, I grab my towel and make for the showers.

I enter to find Sam already in there. Sam is a very tall boy; he had grown about a foot and a half between the ages of 17 and 18, and his back was covered in stretch marks as a result. Everything about him is skinny: his arms are like noodles, his waist is impossible small, and his cock, although above average in length, leaves much to be desired in girth.

I take my place under the corner shower, giving me the best view of the rest of the room. I turn on the water and instantly scold myself. I jump to the side and accidentally knock into Sam, sending him flying.

“Watch it!” squeals Sam from the floor.

“It’s fucking boiling! Sorry!” I offer him a hand up. His dick has flopped back and was sitting on his stomach, exposing his dark hairy balls. I have a thing for balls. I wouldn’t call it a fetish, but a nice set of balls gets me rock hard.

As I lift Sam, David walks in, towel around waist, followed by the rest of the shotgun six. David is half Mexican, and the combination of Latino and Caucasian had produced an utterly beautiful specimen: dark features, dreamy black eyes, smooth caramel skin. I watch closely as David removes his towel, letting his beautiful meaty cock spring forward, pushed up by the bulbous, taut balls. I observe him as he showers, watching the hot water coax his balls downwards, until they were hanging level with his thick, uncircumcised cock. At one point he drops his soap, which led to a chorus of prison-based jokes from Joe. David, playing along with the joke, bends over seductively, spreading his tight muscular buttocks apart in doing so. He has a very hairy arse, and a dark, tidy hole. The rest of the boys fall about laughing, and I join in, even though I’m more aroused than amused. I can feel myself getting hard. I look down to see that I have in fact got a semi, which would very quickly be a full hard-on. Usually I am quite good at keeping a lid on my arousal until I’m back in my room, but having not wanked this morning, as is my usual routine, I was untameably horny. I quickly finish cleaning myself and wrap my towel around my waist.

“Liam’s got a boner!” Joe cried. I look down to see the outline of my large erection is quite visible under my towel. I am very much a grower: I go from fairly average when soft to nearly nine inches when hard. Every one looks in my direction and starts laughing, even though I can see they’re impressed. I tell them all to fuck off and leave.

Once I’m back in my room, a shove the desk chair up against the door, throw my towel on the bed, and start rubbing. I think about David’s heavy swinging balls, the shower water running down his dick. I tease my pulsing dickhead until I explode into my hand. As I clean myself up, I notice that some one has slid a note under my door. I pick it up, unfold it, and read: “Didn’t know you were half donkey. Hope that was for me. X.” It takes me a while to absorb what I have just read. I stare at the lined paper, waiting for the words to make sense. I stick my head out the door - the corridor empty. I have an admirer. It’s obviously one of the five guys I just showered with. But who?