Little could I have known, an innocent boy from Indiana (okay, graduate student) that joining the choir would have impacted me so much. Still, my relationship with Roddy was much more than sexual. The boy soprano found joy in all things in a way that was quite frankly contagious. He had found a way to turn a first encounter into a partnership the benefited us both in multiple ways. He was doing swimmingly in math. I was earning a bit of extra cash: the checks for 50 pounds sterling arrived weekly. And of course, neither of us had any interest in stopping our non-stop sex. He would show up each Wednesday (half day) and Saturday afternoon and after a good session of math, we would quickly pull off our clothes and explore our passion with eager hands and mouths, sucking, licking and finally buggering each other with gusto. One Saturday several weeks after our first encounter, and after a vigorous session, Roddy sat naked astride my thighs, fondling my semi erect but spent penis.

“You have a lovely cock, Mickey.”

“So do you, Roddy. I’ve grown especially fond of its lovely little cover. It’s one of my favorite things, peeling back your foreskin with my tongue.”

“Mine, too, Mickey.”

“So, tell me,” I asked as I stroked his shoulders and belly, “How is it that you’re such an expert at sex?”

“Private tutoring, of course. I came to the Cathedral school at 9. The older boys didn’t take much notice of me then, but at 11 I caught the eye of the head chorister. Nigel Williams, he was. He would keep his voice to 15, but he seduced me when he was 14. He started with a trip to a snack bar in town, and ended up with his cock up my ass. But don’t misunderstand me. I loved every moment of it. And I worshipped every hair on Nigel’s body, from his blond mop to the fuzz on his legs.”

“So, what did you do?”

“Everything. Nigel knew everything. He always believed his Dad was a poufter, ‘cause he learned a lot of what we did from his Dad’s gay porn videos. He’d burn copied and kept them in the lock at the foot of his bed. It’s kind of funny—Nigel told me that when he was my age, he was the special boy of the senior chorister, but all he knew how to do was a bit of groping and whacking off. Obviously Nigel raised the standards. He could suck and fuck and revive a dead man, I swear it. I stopped at esphyxiation. God only knows why anyone would try that. Actually, when his voice broke his father got him into Eton, and he was sent down after he almost hung one of the younger boys.”

“I could never do anything to this lovely throat,” I said, stroking his neck to his chin, “Except perhaps this, “ as I leaned in and began to kiss neck, sliding to his ear, which I both nibbled and bathed with the tip of my tongue. My right hand found his silken ball sack, and in no time we were 69ing. A third ejaculation would leave me raw, but Roddy would be up to another fourth or fifth.

“Oh, next weekend is a long weekend. I have an extra special treat. Will you be around?” Roddy asked, as he tied up his Adidas.

“Yes. Actually, it’s a light weekend. My papers are graded and my research chapter is into Dr. Rubineus. Usual time?”

“No, a bit earlier. Maybe about 10. Can you save me more than an hour or so? It will be worth your while. See you tomorrow.” And with that, my lithe young lover was gone.

Sunday before church we sat and joshed. Simon came along. His curiousity seemed palpable. I took a good look at him. Perhaps he was Roddy’s special friend—they had a special closeness, as if Simon were the mirror side of Roddy. Where Roddy laughed easily and was voluble, Simon had a certain shy reserve, as if he were listening to more than your voice . . . perhaps your heart. Roddy’s hair was straight and dark brown, given to falling over his eyes. Simon’s was pale blond—not yellow but more like champagne, with soft waves framing his face. Where Roddy had lovely hazel brown eyes, Simons were icy blue, fringed with dark lashes. Where Roddy’s skin was honey colored, Simon’s was strawberries and cream, smooth white tinged with a rosy glow. Where Roddy’s expressive mouth often smiled to reveal a row of healthy white teeth, held in the silver bounds of his braces, Simon’s mouth was small and rosy, a puckered bow, given to sweet little sideways smiles punctuated with delicious little dimples on either porcelain chin. Both were lithe, but Roddy exuded a certain athleticism, whereas Simon reminded me of nothing so much as a little white bunny, waiting to be scooped up. Perhaps that Sunday the urge tugged a bit at my heart, the urge to protect him. Or tossle his lovely head of hair. Or slip my tongue between his lips like strawberries. I watched them as they lined up, but it was Simon, and not Roddy who looked back to see if I was watching. When I smiled at him, he ducked his head, as if caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and smiled his sly little dimpled smile as if to himself.

Monday’s rehearsal flew by, and when Wednesday came, I got a call from Roddy, calling from the house master’s apartment. “Not today, Mickey. I know how you love our Wednesday session, but I’m working on something and need to take the time today. Mum says your check is in the mail. I’ll see you at rehearsal, and then again on Saturday, about 10:00.”

I arrived about 15 minutes early for rehearsal, as usual. I was surprised to see that Rosy and Simon were there. Rosy was working on a solo, and Simon came over to greet me as soon as I entered.
“Hi, Michael. Can I call you Mickey? Roddy says all your friends call you Mickey.”

“Um, yeah, I suppose so.” I wondered what this sudden spurt of friendliness was all about. Unlike Simon—the familiarity and the eagerness. “So, what else did Roddy tell you?”

“Oh, just that you let him play with your play station when his tutoring is over. Though he says . . . oh. . never mind.” Simon flushed the most beautiful red, as he dropped his eyes and mumbled. I could only wonder what he didn’t want to tell me.

“Can I play your play station, sometime? With Roddy?”

“Yeah, that would be fun.”

Just then, the other choristers began to tumble in. We had begun Advent just that Sunday, and the pressure was on for lessons and carols on Christmas eve, perhaps the most important date in the Cathedral’s year, especially as this year the BBC was broadcasting the service live. Soon, the choir master was clapping and calling us to attention.

“Gentlemen, Gentlemen. I have an announcement to make. The solo for Once In David’s Holy City.” The room fell silent. “This year, the honor will fall to . . Roderick Collier Smith.” The choir all clapped, and Roddy beamed. Simon turned and beamed up into Roddy’s face. Yes, I thought, Simon and Roddy have something going on.

I found out what it was, that Saturday, when the knock came to my door. Outside stood Roddy with Simon in tow. They each had a duffle bag.

“So, what’s up?” I asked, incredulous.

“Your surprise. Come on in, Simon.” They schlepped their bags into my room. “We’re here for the weekend.”

“Here for the weekend? What will your parents say? What kind of crap are you getting me into?”

“No crap. Look, it’s an open weekend. We took a cab—supposedly to the station. Simon’s mother gave him permission to spend the weekend with me, and my mother gave me permission to stay at Simon’s. Simon’s parents are in Paris, his sisters at his grandmums. Mum and Dad are in Barbados. They called three weeks ago with a lame excuse about not being able to have me home—so we manufactured the whole thing. You said Barry next door always spends his weekends at his girlfriends, so we figured . . . what a great time for a romp.”

Romp. Little did I know how much we would romp.

“I hope you told Simon the rule. Work first, play later.”

“Yes, of course. I kind of thought about skipping it, but then Mum is paying for Wendesday.” Roddy pulled his book out of his duffle and sat on the bed, as I set Simon up with my laptop at the desk. We worked a good hour and a half, when I realized it was getting close to lunchtime. Certainly Barry would not hear any noise through the wall, and as the only adjoining room on the landing in this old building with masonry and wet plaster and 12 foot ceilings, it was unlikely we would be heard. I couldn’t very well take the boys to the great hall without attracting attention, especially two such beautiful boys.
“So, what will it be, guys? Burgers or fish and chips.”

“I think fish and chips, don’t you, Simon?” Roddy asked, to which Simon quickly assented. So we went to a little shop about 6 streets from the gate of Christchurch. A blustery, jolly middleaged lady in a greasy apron waited on us, as we sat at the counter. She went back to her work as we sat and chatted and joshed. Simon, it seems, is fond of caramels and lives with his accountant father, housewife mother, and two sisters in a boring section of Surbiton. If his mother hadn’t been “grasping,” as Simon termed it, he would have gone to the community school and missed out on the pleasures of the Cathedral School. Roddy shared that his mother was the daughter of a wealthy South American mining magnate and his father the heir to the Marquisate of Miltonbury. “Dull as death,” said Roddy, “Lots of money but absolutely no character. And my brother, Harold, a real savage. Plays Rugby for Eton and is preparing for exams. Hopes for a first to Queens in Cambridge. Bloody dull, a real wanker.” He shared about his mother’s shoe collection and obsession with the royal and semi-royal. “She keeps a scrapbook with pictures of all the great homes she’s received invitations to. A great many, actually, as mother is still a beauty and Da has a decent reputation as a bridge player.” Simon shared how his mother obsessed over the upholstery in “the lounge” and keeps the chairs and sofa covered with tattered sheets. They laughed and joked, and when we headed out, we stopped at the video rental store. The boys were torn over Fast and Furious III or Scary Movie. They settled on Scary Movie. When we got back to my rooms, I asked them what else they had in mind. Little did I know.

“Um, we thought maybe a matinee.” Roddy said.

“A movie?”

“No, that’s not what we had in mind at all.” Roddy said, throwing first his duffle coat and then his shoes across the room. Simon had thrown his parka in the same corner, and stripped off his runners. When I turned from throwing my pea jacket over the back of the desk chair, the boys grabbed either arm and pulled me to the bed.”

“No, not that kind of matinee at all,” Simon chimed in, in his chipper way, from where he sat astride my chest. He leaned down and kissed me, sliding his little tongue in my mouth. Roddy, now sitting astride me legs, slid his hands up under Simon’s shirt, caressing his back. “Simon is my surprise. I told you I was Nigel’s special friend. Simon is mine. My apprentice, you might say. He’s been eager to hear my stories ever since our first encounter—and he’s quite eager to Meet Harry Wallbanger.” He pulled Simon’s long sleeved jersey off, and then his virginal white t-shirt, revealing the rosy pink skin of his soft, rippling chest, and his lovely nipples, which I hankered to kiss. Then Roddy pulled off his own shirt, tossing it on the floor, turned around and pulled first my shoes and then my socks off.

I pulled Simon down to kiss his luscious nipples and wrapped my hands in his wavy hair. He raised his hips off my waist, as Roddy undid my belt and then began to peel my jeans and boxers off. It wasn’t long before I felt Roddy’s naked ass sitting on my thighs, as he took my penis in his hands. It responded joyfully to his agile fingers. At the same time, I slid my hand down the back of Simon’s jeans and underwear, sliding a finger up his delicious ass crack. With my other hand, I undid his belt buckle, and eagerly undid the button in the front. I pulled down his jeans, to see his lovely white briefs, his tighty whities. The only thing that kept them from coming off with his jeans was the rising penis caught in the waist band.

“Ah, tighty whities!” I cried.

“Tighty whities!” Roddy echoed, laughing aloud. He pulled Simon back so he could pull down his tight white briefs. With his left hand he slipped his hands into the back of the waistband and pulled them down to my stomach, pulling them over first one knee and then the other. With his right hand he stroked Simon’s lovely little nutsack.

“Ooh, Roddy, that’s so lovely!” Simon crowed.

“Lovely little tool, but not very big.” I said, admiring the lovely little one and a half inch boys tool, now only 14 or so inches from my face. It was sweet and white, with the foreskin bunched up like the drawstring opening of a lovely little coin purse.

“Yes, but watch this,” Roddy said, as he played with Simon’s silken ball sack with his left hand, and eagerly stroked his boy rod with the other, tugging gently on the foreskin until Simon’s boy rod almost doubled in size, and the glans began to peek eagerly out from the now snug cap. Then with a quick flick, Roddy pulled back the foreskin, and with his now free left hand, applied some spit to the swelling corona, which gave a little jerk from the sheer pleasure of Roddy’s touch. It was stiff as a board, and the glans shone red with a lovely glossy coat of spit.

“Impressive,” I said, pulling Simon back down, and shoving my tongue eagerly as far into his mouth as I could. Simon sucked with such avidity that I feared he might bite my tongue off. By now, Roddy had moved on to Simon’s asshole. With a hand on each ass cheek, Roddy dipped his head and began licking Simon’s little pucked hole, inserting the eager tip of his pink tongue as far into Simons’s pink puckered entrance as he could. I could feel Simon’s stiff little member slipping up and down on my stomach as he moved with the rhythm of Roddy’s tongue.

As Simon and I continued to explore each others’ mouths, I took inventory of the trousers. I peeled my jeans off with my feet, not wanted to dislodge Roddy as he worked his magic on Simon’s ass. Roddy, I discovered, had peeled of both his pants and boxers, leaving only his socks on. Simon’s tighty whites were stuck above his jeans on his left leg between his knee and his foot. I tapped Roddy’s shoulder, and he looked down and helped me remove Roddy’s jeans and briefs. He had peeled his socks, so Simon’s lovely pale body was now completely nude. By now my penis was erect, and slid along Roddy’s tummy, as he rocked back and forward face down in Simons’ lovely little ass.

Simon pulled away and looked at me amorously from full arms length. “So, Micky, do you like your surprise. Do you want to fuck me?”

“Oh Simon, I love my surprise. I don’t know about fucking you, though I’d love to see Roddy’s lovely cock up your butt. I think I’d worry about hurting you. Maybe later. I bet there are other things that will really make me happy.”

“So do I,” he said, kissing me on the mouth, as Roddy left Simon’s asshole and licked, sucked and kissed his way up Simon’s back. With a glancing sweep of his lips over Simon’s shoulder, Roddy whispered into Simon’s ear. Simon came up from our lip lock and gave a wicked little smile. “Sounds lovely,” he said.
Roddy put a hand on each hip and pulled Simon back, down my chest, which Simon kissed as he went, until Simon was above my rampant cock, and Simon was positioning his hips behind Simon’s ass. Simon was up on his knees and hands, arms extended. He looked back at Roddy.
“All set, Simon?” he asked.
“Fire away, boytoy.” He replied, as Roddy, with a thrust of his hips, entered Simons’ rosy, dimpled ass with his eager boy tool, and Simon gave a little cry. “Oh, Roddy, Nicky’s going to eat my insides out!” he cried.
Then Simon looked at me, and with a sweet smile said, “Roddy’s told me all about Harry, and he and I are just going to have a bit of a chat. My, what a big red hat you have, Harry!” He said, as he too the glans of my bursting cock into his hot, sweet mouth, licking the piss hole and frenulum. Then he steadied himself with his hands, as he worked his way up and down the shaft of my raging hardon, nibbling and licking. I could feel my urethra throb from his delicate but eager ministrations, and see Roddy blissing out as he pounded Simon’s little ass. I would have thought that Simon was getting left out of the fun, if he didn’t continue to moan with pleasure as he lavished attention on my now rock hard cock.
“Let me know when you’re going to blow,” I called to Roddy, as his “Ah, ah, ah, ah” rose in volume from his rhythmic assault on Simon’s perky ass. I tensed the muscles in my sphincter to resist blowing my whole wad. It wasn’t long before Roddy cried, “Now! Now!” and I let go of a ferocious spurt of cum. I had, after all, saved it up since our last exhaustive Saturday. Roddy threw back his head at the same time, and cried, “Oh Jesus! Sweet Jesus. Oh, Simon, you have the tightest most delicious arse!”
Soon we found each other intertwined on my twin bed. I wrapped my arms around Simon, and he gave me a taste of my jism.

“Ate it all, did you?” I asked.

“Not all. I saved this for you,” he said as he plunged his tongue into his mouth. He shared a string of my semen, which we passed back and forth.

“And you got left out, didn’t you?” I asked as I began to kiss and lick the lovely soft underside of his chin, moving down to nibble on his shoulders, as my hands caressed his chest and stomach. “Oh God, Roddy, what are you up to?” I asked, as Roddy began to lick and kiss my toes.

Soon my tongue found Simon’s penis. I slid back his lovely foreskin, and licked the frenulum, then moved to his lovely ball sack, which I kissed and licked before I moved to his lovely pink asshole, now oozing a bit of Roddy’s spunk, which I avidly licked it up rimming him. Simon squirmed and ran his fingers through my hair, obviously enjoying the attention. Then I remembered the impulse of earlier in the week and scooped Simon up in my arms, as I climbed from the bed, lavishing kisses all over this face. He grabbed me by the face with both hands and began to shove his tongue into my mouth. God, my little bunny was a sex tiger. I took him to the desk, where after sitting him on the edge, I slid down to where I could kneel and truly give his rigid, avid boytool the attention it deserved. I licked and slurped up and down, sometimes taking his entire boycock into my mouth, pulling his scrotum in with my tongue. After a few minutes of absolutely abandoned licking and slurping, I felt his orgasm begin. Simon’s right leg was over my shoulder by then, and his leg began to spasm, as he arched his back laying his head on the wall over the desk. “Oh, oh, oh, oh!” He cried as the climax approached and then he began to shudder. I removed my mouth to see if he ejaculated, but what I saw was the spasming of his urethra, as he had a full out dry orgasm. I slid my arms up behind his arching back, so he wouldn’t hurt himself, as his legs jerked and his pelvis rolled in ecstacy. When his spasms subsided, I threw him over my shoulder and dumped him on the bed, following him to the bed’s surface.

“Don’t worry, Mickey,” Roddy said. “He always does that. God I miss a good dry orgasm. He’ll be ready for another in 10 minutes or so. God, he’s a little rabbit, always at the ready, though he passes out at least the first two times he orgasms.” With that Roddy pulled Simon into a spooning position, and began to gently stroke him with this right hand. He gestured for me to join the spoon, but I faced Simon, so I could put my legs through both of their legs. As I did, Roddy rubbed my thigh with the silken inside of my thigh, and I settled in, with arms over both boys, for a little nap. Who knows what else I would need my energy for this weekend. I would soon find out.

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