Page 23 of The Songbird of Wychwood

Our first kiss wasn’t the soft and romantic lips pressing together that I’d envisaged in my many imaginings and day dreams. I found it an almost painful surrender to give in after a lifetime of believing that what I desired was shameful and sinful. But George’s soft lips upon mine felt so good, so right, and then I groaned involuntarily as passion erupted inside of me. His seeking kiss was a key, and I opened to George, welcoming him into my arms, and my mouth. We were men starved of touch and affection, ordinarily fearful of reaching out in case of rejection. Our joining was desperate, kissing, sucking, and nipping at one another, our hands tangled in the other’s hair. The full length of his body, thrumming with precious life was pressed to mine. Tears sprang to my eyes with the release of such intense passion. How could something as simple as a kiss undo me? I could feel the hardness of George’s slender prick pressing against my belly. I’d never experienced a sensation like it. I was sure he could feel my arousal too because he moved then, rutting against it, the exquisite new sensation making me cry out in surprise because the rocking friction felt so—damnably—exquisite!

That guttural cry pulled George out of whatever fever had led to his audacious move. He pulled away and glared at me in a strangely accusatory manner. His lips glistened and were puffy from our kisses, he was panting as he said,

“Why did you go without saying goodbye?”

I didn’t understand his wounded tone, “I…I beg your pardon?”

“At Wychwood, we danced something magical. We had a connection. I thought you’d felt it too. But then you were gone. What did I do wrong? Why didn’t you at least say goodbye?”

It hit me then that my unexpected departure had hurt his feelings. I’d had no idea. I felt rather rotten about leaving at the time, but there was no alternative.

“You did nothing wrong; I assure you. And I did feel it…the connection. I do. God forgive me.” I pressed my face into my hands, thoroughly ashamed of my bad manners and of running off without a word. I looked up and met George’s wounded glare. “Honestly, it wasn’t my intention to vanish. I was taken aside by Mr. Joshua.”

“Oh…he didn’t tell me that. He just said you’d left.”

“I have no experience of…intimacies with men. And it was my first night at a house of that nature. I caused a little drama...a social faux-pas, so to speak. I saw you and that was it for me. No one else could interest me. But you and I were…noticed because you returned my attentions. I suppose other men didn’t like me monopolizing your time and someone commented to Mr. Joshua. He took me aside and explained there could be no favoritism, and he reminded me of the house rules. I thought it best to leave so that we didn’t—”

“Oh,” George’s face was flushed pink. He bit on a hangnail and sat back against the couch. He was quiet for a moment, his gaze lowered shyly, before he admitted,

“I, um…suppose the both of you did me a favour. I would have…you know…if you’d asked me a second time.” George looked at me then and there was fire in his eyes. He bit his kiss swollen lower lip again, sending me a sultry stare that communicated more than words could say. I gulped, my Adams Apple bobbing in my throat. It was my turn to say “Oh,” as I realized what he meant. George extended a hand and without another thought I took it. He clutched my trembling fingers as he stood and pulled me up from the couch. We hadn’t even taken a sip of tea. This was the moment I’d dreamt of and written poetry about. Finally, I was going to touch another man.

George led me across the room and behind the crimson velvet privacy drapes to where a large double bed was hidden, piled with blankets and pillows. Then he dropped my hand and looked at me as if I was his next meal.

“Will you let me bugger you or do you wish to bugger me?” he asked matter-of-factly. I was rather startled to hear the candid, crude question. My chest felt tight. No one had ever spoken to me like this before. Our shared attraction was so new and fragile, and, even though I desired him immensely I wasn’t ready to go that far.

“I’ve, um, never done that before, or had it done to me,” I admitted hoping he didn’t think me an inexperienced fool. “Can we do…other things? I’d like very much to…to touch you…and kiss some more,” I said tentatively.

“Very well,” George didn’t seem disappointed at all as he pulled back the bed covers. He shrugged the braces off his shoulders and then dragged his undershirt over his head, displaying a pale, hairless, well-sculpted chest. I watched him, in awe of the acres of his pale, unblemished skin. My fingers shook as I hurriedly followed suit, scrabbling out of my garments until they were a messy pile of fabric on the floor. I didn’t care to pick the garments up and fold them, there were other, more favourable things I wanted to do with my time. I stood nervously before George as naked as he was. I licked my lips in anticipation. George’s eyes were alight with desire as we took one another in, our pricks both jutting out for the joust, displaying a mutual appreciation of what we saw.

George gripped his prick and pulled the gossamer skin back revealing the glistening plum head. He pumped it a few times as he looked his fill. My mouth watered. I hadn’t seen a boy grip and pump his stand like that since my school days. The sight of it thrilled me.

“Come ‘ere,” he said and like a marionette I stepped forward, our erect pricks facing off like fencing foils. He ran his hands over the blond hair on my chest. His were the fine-boned hands of a musician, and the trail of his fingertips sent a shiver to my bawsack. I gasped. And in Miss Georgette’s teasing voice he asked,

“Now, tell me, fine fellow. What’s your pleasure?”

“You are!” I reached up and cupped his handsome face with both hands, and then gazed into the fires of his eyes.

“You are relief, a cool breeze on a hot summer’s day. Your kisses intoxicate like wine, and as I look into your eyes, I long to make you mine.”

Oh! I’d rather surprised myself. I had no idea where those poetic words sprang from, and I was worried for a moment that I’d sounded like a ninny. But George’s expression sort of…melted and he sighed, “Oh Percy,” and then he was on me, wrapping his arms around my neck, and the glorious feeling of his bare skin pressing to mine made my thoughts white out. I was forced backward, and pulled him with me onto the bed. I lay back on the cool sheet that smelled of him, and he was atop me, his thighs straddling my hips, the soft dark hair of his calves brushing against my skin, and our cockstands side by side. The sensation of his silken prick and wrinkled sac against my skin was divine. He gathered both cocks in his hand and frigged us together. The sensation made me whimper, a sound I couldn’t ever recall making. George leaned in then, and my lips and throat were devoured. All I could do was cling on to his warm firm buttocks, pulling him closer as George chose an undulating rhythm, and proceeded to undo me, kiss by kiss.

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