by Livia Ellis
It’s hot. Unusually so. I have the bedroom windows open. Elon walks past me fresh out of the shower wearing nothing but his skin.
This confuses me awfully. The sight of his naked body stirs my guts in the same way kissing the Gresham’s granddaughter did.
I’m in my underwear as I walk around turning off lights.
He jumps on the bed and stretches out. There’s just moonlight in the room. Which is good because I’m hard and I’m not certain I want him to know this.
I don’t know what to do with him stretched out naked on my bed, so I just pretend this is wholly normal. That every night for the past week instead of wearing underwear or pajama bottoms he’s just hopped into bed in the nip.
I lay down next to him. Staring up at the ceiling.
He leans over and kisses me.
We’ve made out before. Nobody knows this. We’ve kissed with our mouths and our tongues while our hands have explored the other’s body with a barrier of clothing to stop us from going too far. We’ve done this a few times. I’m not going to say Elon introduced me to the wonders of masturbation, but he certainly hasn’t discouraged me from exploring what that world has to offer.
Elon is bold and fearless. It’s dark and we’re anonymous. This is a secret world that will vanish when the sun rises.
We are both still reasonably smooth cheeked, but have the bodies of blossoming young men. Like a pair of beautiful Agathons that would make any Ancient Greek philosopher weep into his cup of watered down wine for the want of us. We are the dream of a pederast made real.
He kisses me and touches me. He takes my hand and wraps it around his erection. I’ve never touched him like this before. When he takes me into his hand it’s a second first. We’ve never done this before. We’ve touched ourselves in front of each other, but never have we touched the other.
Between the kissing and the touching I am undone.
Before I can ejaculate in his hand he stops. I never get used to this. He will do this to me from the beginning to the end.
He wants to do something different.
Different? Different how? This is already different.
I’m such a coward. He wants to do something different.
We’ve watched porn together. Gay porn. I know what different could mean. I’m not ready for different.
Stop being such a baby. If I don’t like it he’ll stop. If I do like it I can do it to him.
Or not.
Whatever.
He slides down my body and takes my penis into his mouth. We’re both novices, but the feel of the wet heat of the cavity as his velvety tongue engages is more than I can bear. I ejaculate with a cry from deep within my body as a snap and a crack of an orgasm shudders me to the core. He keeps sucking, drawing me deeper inside as wave after wave of cum shoots out of me.
I’m fairly certain I’m going to die. But what a death it will be. La petite mort. The French got that one right.
Elon leans over me. He places his mouth to mine. I taste my cum on his lips. He wants me to do him.
I can’t. I’m not ready for that. It’s too much too soon. I’m sorry.
I don’t have to be sorry. He loves me. He does. It’s true. I’m the only person in the world he loves. Do I love him?
I don’t love him like that. But I love him. He’s the best friend I’ve ever had.
Please don’t freak out on him. He loves me. He’ll wait for me. I’ll love him like that eventually. He knows I will.
I touch him without being asked. I masturbate him as I would myself. He cries and sighs in my ear as he ejaculates in my hand.
He loves me. He tells me this again.
Our limbs braid together and we hold each other. I want to love him and I think I could. Elon can be a bit of a pain in the ass, but I could do worse. We’re friends. We could be together. Everyone at school already thinks we’re kind of gay as it is. This is what my thoughts are filled with I fall asleep, his leg thrown over mine and his arm wrapped around me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
School Boy
The party’s theme on the final evening is Japanese anime characters. I’m to wear a sort of sailor suit, which I’m assured several times really is what some Japanese school boys wear. I’m not buying it. No school boy could wear something like this day in and day out and not get the piss regularly beaten out of him. It was bad enough my school uniform consisted of a boater and a cane. A sailor suit is a whole new level of twat.
Olga is a space girl. Or some kind of flight attendant. I’m not certain. There are epaulets, boots, and short pleated skirt. We are not matchy-matchy for once. Which is good. Because I cannot be around her another minute. I cannot be around her constant grooming. I cannot stand another moment of her managing my life. We’ve been stuck together the entire day. I finished the Agatha Christie before my breakfast tea grew cold. I’ve filled in just about every Sudoku puzzle in the book. The killer Sudoku’s are the only ones left and they are just pissing me off. I can’t get them. Every time I look at the solutions Olga is on me like a vengeful schoolmarm.
I don’t know why we bother with the costumes. I know perfectly well I’ll be out of mine within the first hour and take to wearing just a towel as I walk from couch to couch. It’s an orgy. Not a pageant.
What have I learned about Olga in the days we’ve spent together in this room? She takes fucking forever to get ready to go anywhere! She wasn’t like this at home. But home didn’t require doing evening make-up. Evening make-up is a whole other animal.
She is a beautiful woman that for reasons which I do not understand must airbrush on her makeup. I just don’t get it. Her skin is flawless. Why?
And the hair. I need someone to explain to me why she needs to blow-dry her hair, then use a straightener on it, and then put it in rollers only to twist the mass into a couple of pigtails poking out of either side of her head. Why?
Do I think her hair looks good or not?
Yes. Her hair looks good.
Then stop my bitching and find something to do.
I pick up the book she’s been reading. I’m maybe five pages in and I can only wonder what her criteria for choosing reading material might be. Vampires. Teenage vampires that aren’t really teenagers. They’re centenarians. That fucking go to high-school. How can she read this shit? If I were a hundred year old vampire I wouldn’t be worrying about passing my algebra exams.
I throw the book to the side.
Do not throw her book.
How can she read that shit?
It’s not shit. It’s beautiful. It’s a beautiful story.
It’s not a beautiful story. It’s Mormonism. Mormon vampires.
They are not morons.
Mormons. They’re Mormons. And morons, but that’s beside the point.
Does she call the people in my books morons?
Kafka! Kafka!
What the fuck is Kafka and why do I keep on shouting Kafka? Am I having a stroke or something? Some kind of breakdown? Because if I need a slap to bring me to my senses she’d happily oblige.
I can’t take it anymore. I can’t. We’ve been stuck in that room together for far too long.
I’m ready to get the hell out of here.
The Samurai is screwing with my head. Or at least trying to. I can’t figure out what her game is, and I’m pretty certain I don’t want to know.
I do not want to have sex with her if she truly is a virgin. I’ve thought about it and I’ve made up my mind.
I’m the first to admit I find her fascinating. Her body is a wonder. But there is a menace beneath the surface that frightens me just a little.
I will be happy to go. Olga and I were not meant to be cloistered together for long periods of time. We are people that need our space.
The moment comes for inspection.
Olga and I are given a glance. We pass.
The doors open. The party is still the same. The decorations and the music have changed.
I make my usual r
ounds. I wait for the moment when the Servant will come for me.
The Servant comes to me.
Olga and I are wanted on the platform. Fetch her and get up there.
I find Olga with a group of Japanese business men. She’s holding up her skirt. One of the men has his face buried in her bush as his fingers squeeze her bottom. I’ve noticed this over the past few nights. They love to bury their faces in that bush of hers. Personally I’m starting to find it annoying. I keep getting hairs stuck in my throat.
I signal for the hostess. Olga is wanted on the platform with me.
The hostess looks at the group. Okay. They’re just messing around anyway.
Olga is extracted after making many promises to return which she will surely not keep.
We go to the platform where we are met by a Japanese girl in the same sort of space sailor girl costume Olga is wearing. Pigtails and all.
It’s the Samurai. But only I could recognize her because to these people at the party she is either the shadowy figure behind the curtains or a peculiar little man.
We three go up on the platform.
No one really pays much attention to what happens on the platform. Especially this late in the evening.
What the fuck is this all about? Why?
Olga knows this is the Samurai. I’m sure of it. I can tell. There’s a great deal of winking and nodding.
What do we do to keep the crowd that isn’t really paying attention entertained? I stand to the side as I’m urged to do and let the women do what they want to do to me. They touch me. They fondle me. They remove my towel and toss it to the side. I’ve been sufficiently objectified to no longer care. The Samurai gets down on her knees and lifts up Olga’s skirt. Again, the fascination with the bush.
Olga moves in front of me her bottom pressed to my cock as the Samurai rubs her nose against Olga’s pubes and her tongue around her clit. I enter her from behind.
I don’t know why I was so bothered by the platform. In the end, what does it really matter? On the platform or on a couch, it’s still fucking in front of other people.
I forget about the crowd. I just concentrate on what I’m doing. Olga is responding to both my touch and that of the Samurai. In my rush to pure selfishness and making everything about me, I forget to consider that Olga might actually enjoy this. That the Samurai might enjoy this. I put in some effort. My hands curve around Olga’s breasts. I kiss her neck. I move within her like I mean it. I give her the best orgasm I can and she certainly seems to enjoy it.
We leave the platform. We go to the Dais.
Olga enjoyed that. She touches the Samurai’s cheek. He makes such an adorable girl. She was starting to think they wouldn’t have any more time together alone. He knows that if he ever wants to do anything other than touch her, that she’d welcome it.
Yes. He knows. She can leave. I can stay.
Olga goes.
Do I like my costume?
I don’t like costumes. I already wear enough masks.
Did she surprise me?
Yes. Most definitely.
I have been given sufficient time to consider her offer. I have. I’m not certain she’s truly considered it.
She has.
I’m due to leave in the morning. If this is what she wants, then we can arrange an appropriate time and place.
Because this is not it?
No. I would rather give her an experience that is personal. Not like this.
I am thoughtful.
Perhaps. Perhaps in a few days she will realize she would rather choose a different course.
Perhaps.
I’m dismissed. I find Olga. She knew that was the Samurai.
He likes to dress in drag. She’s surprised he wasn’t mingling with the guests in one of his disguises on the other nights.
This is a thing with the Samurai?
God, yes.
The gong sounds.
We go with the others. Our stamps placed on our right biceps are counted and we are paid.
Olga and I return to the room. We shower separately.
The Servant enters our room as the two of us argue about what really is the right temperature for a bedroom. Perhaps I’d be more willing to keep it cold if she didn’t steal the duvet.
I just want to go to bed. What does he want?
The Samurai would like me to extend my visit.
Olga answers for us. No. We’re leaving in the morning.
She is not being asked to extend her stay.
Olga responds for me. Then the answer is definitely no. We came together. We leave together.
The servant looks at me. The Samurai would like me to extend my visit. Alone.
No. I can speak for myself. Olga and I came together. We leave together. She annoys me, but she is right about this.
Very well. If he agrees to let her stay, would I be more amenable?
How much? Olga never forgets what our purpose is. Per day.
The original agreed rate. For each of us.
I look to Olga. I nod. She knows I need the money.
She nods back.
We’ll stay.
The Servant nods. There is much nodding going around. He will come for me when the Samurai summons me. Until then, we are to stay in our rooms.
We go to bed. I hold Olga tight to me. We whisper as quietly as we can in the dark. Neither of us certain how sensitive the microphones are. She doesn’t really want to stay. I really would like the money. What I don’t tell her is that I have not decided about whether or not I want to fully be with the Samurai. If nothing else we agree we need to be gone in no more than a four days. We need to get back to London for a few days before we’re expected in Paris for the Vicomte’s Halloween party.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Schoolboy Hijinks
I know my family is comparatively wealthy, but in fact we struggle to pay the bills. Wold Hall is a huge money suck. It is a pit we throw every spare penny we have into maintaining. The electricity goes out whenever the wind blows (which is often as we are on the sea), the hot water runs from tepid to scalding, and the whole bloody place is haunted. I spent my early years playing with the disembodied spirit of the son of the Fourth Earl who died tragically at the age of five by means of falling off a cliff.
But – home is home. And my home is literally my castle.
I sleep that night and dream of a life with Elon and all that entails.
Elon’s family owns the largest private shipping company in Norway. He is extraordinarily wealthy. His parents love him, but they love themselves better. He is the product of his father’s second of eight marriages and his mother’s first of four marriages. Giving credit where credit is due, both of his parents consistently married partners that never were older than thirty-five despite the fact they kept aging.
They have pretty well banished him from Norway after a series of incidents that disingratiated him from his parents’ respective spouses. Dad has a new family and a wife that doesn’t appreciate being called a gold digging whore. Mum has a husband that finds her son more attractive than her. Elon is permanently invited to stay in England and far away from Bergen. That he is welcome to come to Wold Hall for holidays is a privilege they’re happy to pay for. I don’t know how much they send my grandmother to keep him, but I do know there is an amount she politely refuses and that they insist she takes. I think it’s quite a lot, but we will truly never know.
Elon wakes me with kisses and caresses. What happened the night before really happened. It wasn’t just a dream.
He slips down my body as I come awake. He uses his mouth on me again. At least this time I last long enough to enjoy the experience.
I’m still not ready to do the same to him.
He doesn’t mind. He loves me. He’ll wait for me to be ready.
I marvel at how tender and vulnerable he is when we are like this. No one would believe it.
This is how we are, naked with arms and legs entwined, mouths pressed together, w
hen the bedroom door opens and my grandfather walks in.
Boys! He laughs. Oh dear!
Granddad! There is a great deal of scrambling to find any kind of covering we can.
The pure humiliation of having ones grandfather not only catch you in the act is bad enough. But couple that with the fact you are with another boy, have raging questions about your sexuality and the topper being he stands his ground rather than fleeing the room – I would say it’s little wonder I don’t have more issues to contend with than I already do.
Never mind. He’s seen more than a few naked asses in his time. He’s wondering if I’m interested in meeting with an archaeologist that will be coming by to talk about digging on the property. The man is quite certain there is a treasure to be discovered. Could be quite interesting to hear what the man says if nothing else.
Granddad!
Get myself sorted out. Meet him in his sitting room. He’ll be there waiting for me. One other thing. Locking the door is always a good idea. Imagine if my grandmother or Mrs. Gresham had walked in!
He closes the door behind him leaving a wake of laughter as he goes.
Did that just happen?
Elon is muttering in Norwegian as he puts my boxer shorts on. He’s going to pack. Fuck. We should have made sure the door was locked. He doesn’t want to leave me. So stupid.
I’m going to go and talk to my grandfather. Maybe it isn’t as bad as that. Maybe he won’t have to leave.
I pull on trousers and a shirt. I leave Elon in my bedroom after hugging him for a moment and promising him that if he has to go, I’m going with him. This comforts him.
I enter my grandfather’s sitting room where I find him sitting in an arm chair with a large leather bound photo album open on his knees in front of him.
Sit.
I do as instructed.
I can explain. I really can. We were just messing around.
