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Bruin Fisher

Dormitory Incident

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?Atkins!?

The quiet of the dormitory after lights out was broken by a plaintive half-whisper. I snapped to full wakefulness.

?Atkins!? There it was again. Smith, the idiot. What's he up to now? I rolled over and wrapped my pillow around my ears.

?Atkins!? The pillow wasn't helping. I didn't know what to do. According to the luminous hands on my watch it was only a half hour since I'd helped Julian Smith into bed, and a quarter hour before that I'd helped him vomit messily in the bathroom, and a quarter hour before that I'd half carried him back to the boarding house from the school gym, which was doing duty as a discotheque for one night only. In a half-hearted attempt at trusting the boys to behave like adults, alcohol had been made available, strictly two drinks each. But the chaplain's wife was easy to fool, and those so inclined had drunk themselves silly on free booze. Hence the inebriated Smith.

?Atkins!? More insistent this time. I swung my legs out of bed, grabbed my dressing gown and padded barefoot down the central aisle of the dormitory, pulling the robe on over my pyjamas.

The room contained twenty-four beds, in two rows of twelve. Smith was six beds away from me. He'd been calling loud enough for the whole room to hear and I needed to shut him up.

He hadn't been sick again. His symmetrical triangular face with its high cheekbones and curly fair hair tight across his forehead was still clean where I'd wiped it over with a flannel. My flannel. He was looking up at me from his pillow and I could see him quite clearly because there was a full moon and a clear sky, and the dormitories were not fitted with curtains. A moonbeam fell across his face making it look even more beautiful and ethereal than usual. Did he know how I felt about him, I wondered?

?What do you want? You're waking the whole dorm.?

?Kiss me, Atkins.? Still the plaintive, whining tone.

?You're very drunk. Bloody well shut up and go to sleep.? I turned to go.

?Kiss me, Atkins!? Louder this time, insistent. Hell, what if someone heard him say that...

I turned back. ?Don't be stupid. Just go to sleep.?

?Kiss me, please? Then I'll go to sleep.?

And for the first time I considered it. It would be a first for me, but the fulfilment of a lot of half-formed fantasies. Julian Smith was not a nice guy. He was a self-centred prick. But he was so beautiful. Blond, compact, well-defined muscles, on the school swimming team. I could just touch those soft inviting lips and because he was so drunk he'd probably not remember in the morning. But I would.

I leaned inwards, but he grimaced and twisted his face away from me. ?Not there, stupid ? here!? - and he pulled the bedclothes back. His pyjama trousers were half way down his thighs and his groin was thrust forwards, pointed straight at me. His half-hard dick, pale and soft, rested against his blond pubes and beside his two small balls in their thin pink sack hanging across his thigh. I was spell-bound and my brain stopped working. He'd asked me to kiss it, so I did. Hesitantly, and gingerly, I kissed the very tip of his penis, kissed the foreskin, puckered over the end, matching it pucker for pucker with my lips. A momentary touch, then I straightened up.

?Not like that. Do it properly!? I looked at him, uncomprehending. I was totally unprepared for what happened next.

?Like this ? do it like this!? His hand reached out like a striking cobra, straight in through my dressing gown, through the fly of my pyjamas without any fumbling, and grabbed hold of the steel-like erection that I hadn't even been aware of until then. He pulled it, and me, to him and fed my cock into his mouth, right down to the root, in one go. I was engulfed, physically and emotionally. The sensations intense, extreme, beyond anything I'd experienced or imagined before. My knees went weak, my breathing became erratic, my hips began reflexively to convulse. He bobbed up and down on it a couple of times and swirled his tongue over the head, unencumbered by foreskin since mine retracts readily and easily. And I was transported to a new level of exquisite sensation. I came near to surrendering completely to the experience, to forgetting everything else in order to focus on what was happening to me.

He lay back on his pillow, and something clicked in my brain and I realised where I was and what was happening and I fled back to my bed. I curled up like a foetus under the covers and squeezed the pillow to my face, emotions churning in my mind which was now in overdrive. I had to process what had just happened and what it meant to me and if I liked it, and what that meant to me. Too much for an emotionally retarded fifteen-year-old to deal with.

?Atkins! Atkiiinns!?

Another voice, from across the dormitory, spoke loudly and clearly: ?Smith, shut up and let us sleep. Whatever it is you want Atkins to do, he's not going to do it, so shut the fuck up or I'll come over and shut you up!?

- which did the trick. Smith didn't speak again.

I lay awake for some time, thinking. I'd just come about as near as you can get to committing boarding school suicide. But I'd made some sort of decision. I was going to make my own choices, I was going to be my own person, I wasn't going to be an easy lay. And if Smith was going to race down the path to self-destruction, I wasn't going with him.

- by Bruin Fisher

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I went to school with an Atkins and a Smith, and our Gym was used for the 'summer ball' ... of course, nothing else was vaguely similar, and we certainly didn't get up to that sort of thing ... yeah, right. Of course we didn't. :icon11:

Good one, Bruin!

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