Magic InkChapter 3
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[Harper’s journal]
THIS BEAUTIFUL BOY
He stands before me, so very young but no longer a boy. He’s a man now and ready, he thinks, to make his way in the world.
He is the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen.
He smells sweet. There’s a lingering boy scent to him yet, but the heavier note of the man he is becoming begins to overpower his former innocence. He is soft, yet firm.
He’s a laughing boy, this one. I see it in his eyes and he attracts girls, and boys, easily. Men and women as well. Everyone feels good around him.
I love his ears. They are large, yes, but my eye delights in their smooth curves. His eyes, blue sometimes, grey sometimes. He’s slender, not skinny. He’s a swimmer. We are about the same height even if I am four years older. I am more solid than slender, perhaps, but like him my shoulders are strong from swimming. My breasts are full and firm and my belly is slightly rounded, but I am not pregnant. I am told I have a friendly face. I know I like most people I meet, so perhaps it’s true.
He is naked, bare but for the tiny gold stud in his right ear. It matches the one I wear. It was my gift to him the first time we ... never mind. That’s not important right now.
He is erect.
He is virgin.
He and his mother live with my family but he is not my brother.
He is my best friend.
He has longed for this moment ever since the sap began to run. It isn’t sap and the little death that comes next isn’t really death. We both know this. We relish our knowledge. We are practiced at bringing each other to the peak and we have approached this final step many times but somehow, even when circumstances invited us to realize our fevered dreams, the moment did not feel right.
Now, it feels right.
We are at a turning point. The axis of our world will shift in a matter of days no matter what happens this afternoon. He leaves with me for college on Sunday. Today is Wednesday.
He matriculates at the university my father attended and where I begin my senior year. His mother, Mama Fred, is away right now, so on Sunday we will travel, the four of us, to S--. Mom and Dad will see him settled in his freshman dorm, and me reunited with my three friends I’ve lived with since our junior year. Each of us has her own bedroom in the little house we rent not far from campus. We share cooking and cleaning and all the rest of it. Our lives are intertwined in a fashion perhaps not common to college roommates.
He and I will not live together, at least not yet, but today marks a line we cross by choice and we shall not retreat. Our bond is unbreakable and it will last until we die, we know this, no matter what or who enters our lives. Or so it appears to me now. To him as well, I think.
His cock is firm. It is fat with a lovely curve. The veins are prominent and I know from before his skin is as smooth as silk to my touch. It is the cock of a young man, not a boy. Were I to kneel or bend over to bury my nose in the tuft of curly hair at the base of his manhood I would inhale a light musk that will deepen and strengthen with each day that passes. It is the scent of a boy becoming a man. It is a male scent and it pierces me.
He is erect because he is nude, a common condition among young men. Nature ordained it this way because men are born to plunder women and plundering is best done without clothing.
We are born to be plundered, but please do not misunderstand. I do not use the term to cause offense. I use it because it is true. I hasten to add that I demand, and every woman and girl I know demands, to consent to be plundered, and woe unto the man or boy who fails to obtain my consent before he plunders me. Attempts to plunder me, I should say. More than one male, and a female or two, failed to ask and suffered the consequences. I shall not say more.
He is erect because I am inches away from him and I am also nude. We stand in the shade of trees behind our house where we are protected from the afternoon sun but not from the heat. My skin glistens and little runnels of sweat snake between and under my breasts. The perfume I wear is light but the heat and my sweat strengthen it.
He is breathing fast. His cock trembles and he sweats, not entirely from the heat. I know what he wants. He wants me to touch him. I know what will happen when I do. It has happened before, many times.
I reach forward. At my touch he opens his mouth as though to speak, but I bring my finger to my lips and he obeys. I tremble myself, now, but my fingers are steady and light but firm on him.
I stroke the underside of his magnificent erection with my fingertips once. His breath catches and he gulps and his chest heaves and the muscles of his firm stomach clench. Without voluntary effort he thrusts his hips forward. He seeks to rut on me but I take a half-step back. I deny him that pleasure. For now.
He can’t help himself. He shudders, chokes off a small cry, and erupts. His ejaculate, his cum, flies in torrents, Nature’s glorious gift to a young male. I do not permit him to rut but I pump his cock in counterpoint to coax each spurt and splash from him. His cream coats my belly, my hand, his testicles.
I laugh. With all my heart. I love him, and on the hot nights of summer when I pleasure myself alone in my bed I dream of the consummation of our love. I hear him across the garden late at night through his open window in his own bed in the little cottage he shares with his mother and I know he dreams the same dreams.
Summer is nearly spent, yet it has not yielded to fall. The leaves begin to turn but the grass remains high and the continued heat encourages us.
Our parents, mine and Mama Fred, do not know, or so we believe. We might be mistaken but we don’t care. They have not condemned us, judged us, sanctioned us, for who we are. Never. What they have done is encourage us in our dreams, in our hopes, and yes, even in our desires. Nor have they hidden their own feelings from us. Mama Fred does not always sleep in the cottage. We know this, too.
His strength ebbs after his orgasm and he sways slightly and extends his hand to the tree trunk beside him. We stand without speaking as we catch our breath and our racing hearts slow. We smile at each other. He continues to milk himself gently of every last drop and its attendant pleasure. I rest my hand on his flank.
On impulse I lean forward to lick the side of his sweaty neck. He shudders, again, but his shudder somehow transforms itself into a giggle. He’s ticklish in spots and I know where they are.
My tongue finds his salt, his sweet, mixed together in a way that is his alone. I’d know his taste anywhere, night or day.
He’s sweaty and he’s sticky yet his taste is clean, his aroma strong but not foul.
Take him, the devil on my shoulder whispers, but to my ear it is a shout. Take him now.
His eyes are open but he does not see me. Julian is still half-asleep from his orgasm a little while ago.
“Julia.”
My voice is soft but he hears me. “Julia” is my, our, pet name for him. He’s “Julia” only on special occasions and only to me. No one else is permitted to call him that. Today is a special occasion. Otherwise, he’s Julian.
His eyes focus on mine and he smiles.
“Urp.”
Another private and secret name. Only Julian may call me “Urp.” It started when he began to talk. I’ve known him all of his life. He couldn’t manage “Harper,” and “Rp-r” soon became “Urp.” To tell the truth I think it’s funny and I love it, but I almost had to deck one or two of his little friends when they persisted in using it. Julian settled their hash in whatever mysterious way four-year-olds resolve disputes.
He’s on his tummy and I reach over to draw my fingers down his sweaty shiny back from his neck to his butt. He spreads his legs a little but I don’t keep going. There will be time for that later.
“I think we need a swim, Julia. Shower first?”
Without speaking and somehow without visible effort he stands up. He extends his hand to me and pulls me up and close to him. He’s tumescent, I can feel him against me, but not yet erect. It won’t be long. He kisses me, a gentle kiss yet one with heat. We are nowhere near finished this afternoon. The axis of our world continues to rotate but it has not yet settled into its new orientation.
A minute under the cold water of the outdoor shower sluices off the grass that attached itself to our overheated skin and I follow him into the pool with a long shallow dive that takes me halfway to the deep end. When he reaches the far side he turns, treading water, and I let myself swim right into him. Fair’s fair, right? I can tease just as well as he can. We embrace and tread water for a moment or two and kiss. When I can no longer do both and am in danger of sinking I pull away and stroke easily to the shallow end of the pool. Julian follows me.
He corners me and envelops me from behind. The strength of his arms comforts me and his erection against the cheeks of my bottom excites me. He begins to rub on me and his hands find my breasts. I want him to come, I want to make him come. Nature is on my side in this and sure enough after a half-dozen strokes I feel a warm spurt against my backside. I relax back into him even as he softens. I turn in his arms and kiss him all over his lips and cheeks and neck, soft kisses, so he understands I am not mad.
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