The Boy Avengers (5 page)
Directly above him glittered the most ornate of the crystal chandeliers. Not far from them, on an enormous filigreed cross, a life-sized, stylishly-etiolated, crucified Christ turned his emaciated head away from the sight. Only his bony knees pointed towards it, and like Jamie Crawford, his cock was erect, but in the agony of death, not vengeful lust. No, it was no trick of light. Fortunately the Holy Erection was so subtly delineated beneath the harsh swath of cloth that arbitrarily draped the otherwise naked figure, that few noted the sculptor's clinical, earthy honesty. It was another of Cornhill's open secrets.
That Jamie Crawford was beyond showing consideration for the untried asshole was apparent to Corkie Jennings, who quickly slapped a hand over Jeff's mouth to stifle the involuntary scream he expected as with thigh muscles bulging, buttock muscles taut, Jamie thrust his cock hard through the insufficiently-resisting anus. Much like Cornhill's unique crucified Christ, his sharp agony produced a curious result: he had an orgasm, a painful one whose explosive force seemed to violate his cock much as Jamie's senseless cock violated his asshole.
The others watched fascinated as Jamie, now totally given over to lust, his handsome Christian-Youth face distorted by evil ecstasy, pounded his cock hard into the defenseless asshole. Fuck him good! called out Gordie Phillips, to remind them that the fucking was intended as a chastisement of young pride.
Fuck him
well!
corrected Tony Applegate, who was also editor of the school paper, a mimeographed sheet of unique vacuousness.
Jamie needed no instructions. Would it amaze you to learn this was the first time his cock had ever disappeared inside another person? This is an educated guess. He had rammed his cock into Jeff with no subtletyhardly a surprise when you consider the punitive motivation that was supposedly dictating the forced sodomy. But anyone who has fucked before, cunt or asshole, knows that the insertion itself can be a considerable pleasure if done with slow deliberateness. I believe that had Jamie fucked even once before, he'd have entered Jeff differently. Of course what happened later with Jamie and the others confirmed the diagnosis.
But even as he fucked his attitude changed. Hey, this is great! he said in a mixture of wonder and delight. His rude thrusts became more meaningful, more subtlenot to spare Jeff but rather to bring to his cock, which undoubtedly had known before only the coaxing of his rude hand, the pleasures of the complete friction the unwilling asshole inadvertently offered.
But if the others knew or sensed this was Jamie's first time they discreetly said nothing about it. And as for
why
Jamie would have consented to this act, I only see it as an example of flawed leadership.
Far too late, and only for his own newly-discovered pleasures, Jamie moderated his thrusts. Was this a moment that changed his life? Could he have reached the age of seventeen so ignorant of the uses of his body? But I suppose he was adept in all the
Christian
uses. Let go, he ordered the others. The newborn expert placed his hands on the small of Jeff's back, closed his eyes in pleasure, and resumed the slow, intense fucking. His cock disappeared entirely in the unwilling, helpless rectum. His fat balls pressed insistently against the exquisite prisoner balls as his powerful hips thrust with maximum force forward, as the powerful thighs so adept at driving a soccer ball the length of the field diverted to driving his cock the length of this newly-discovered field. Jamie the leader became Jamie the animal, alone in that ironic memorial with his helpless victim. Jeff's asshole had become nearly numb, the pain nearly unbearable; then suddenly, punctuating his thrusts with animal grunts, Jamie doubled their force and speed, his groin slapping hard and audibly against Jeff's buttocks and the backs of his thighs. His cock, though barely average in erect size, seemed to double in diameter as a great surge of semen forced its way up and out; but Jeff's new cry of pain was drowned out by Jamie's shout of triumph as for the first time in his life his seed was spilled elsewhere than on the ground.
His pleasure so quickly spent, Jamie became the inconsiderate neophyte again. He crudely yanked the diminishing cock out of Jeff's asshole. He gasped as he saw his cock was covered with blood. Jesus! he cried in alarm. I suspect the one fear was that the blood might be his own. Jesus, secure on his cross, didn't turn a hair; nor had his erection diminished, as had Jamie's.
It's only him, said Tony Applegate, losing his erudition in the heat of the moment.
He was a virgin, Gordie confirmed. Virgins are
supposed
to bleed. It doesn't matter.
Oh, said Jamie, reassured.
I'll go next, continued Gordie, as if to demonstrate that the proof of the pudding was in the eating. Also, he demonstrated his own lack of virginity by carefully easing his erect cock, measurably larger than Jamie's, into the bleeding asshole. Had he rammed it in, I think the pain might have caused Jeff to faint, thereby sparing him the consciousness of further pain, but removing my one available observer of the scene.
But the pain was only sufficient to cause Jeff great anguish, physical anguish that blocked, perhaps mercifully, his mental anguish, so one might say that at least his moral consciousness had fainted. In this case, Gordie's eagerness for his own maximum pleasure caused Jeff to utter a long, helpless moan of pain. It was sufficient to worry Jamie, and only Jamie, perhaps because his lust had dulled sufficiently for other emotions to assume their proper perspective. Is he all right?
If you'd fucked as much as I have... chided Gordie as he plunged exquisitely into the ravished asshole. This was sufficient reassurance for Jamie. He worried no more.
Gordie's self-control evaporated as he felt his semen gathering for its final plunge. He thrust his enormous cock with tremendous force, and this time Jeff
did
lose consciousness. It doesn't seem possible, but either his rapists didn't notice, or it made no difference to them, for when he regained consciousness, he found that he was on his back, his legs lifted high and apart, braced on the shoulders of Lloyd Waterman, who was fucking him with great gusto, sweat gleaming on his stocky, muscular body. He alone of the rapists had stripped off all his clothes. I suppose he was proud of his physique.
Mercifully, the pain at Jeff's riven asshole was now only a steady ache, not the pulsing knife thrusts that had caused him to faint. Lloyd's cock was no smaller than Gordie's, he thrust with a total lack of concern, and when he felt himself coming he thrust with such power that he had to place his hands hard on the boy's shoulders to keep him from being shoved away.
When Lloyd was done, Jeff had the desperate hope that he'd been unconscious long enough so that Lloyd was the last, but he quickly discovered this was not so.
I never saw it done like that, said Jamie Crawford.
I thought you could only fuck girls like that, said Tony Applegate.
Live and learn, said Lloyd smugly.
I think I'll reserve that position for girls, said Tony, and he moved in and rolled Jeff over.
Please, Jeff begged, realizing he hadn't been out for long.
He's
begging
me to fuck him, Tony said, and gave a harsh laugh.
I hope your cock isn't too much of a comedown for him after mine, Lloyd said.
And mine, Gordie chimed in.
It's quality that counts, Tony said. That right, fearless leader?
That's right, said Jamie.
Jeff remained limp, made no effort to fend off his fourth rapist. Either from long experience or recent observation, Tony eased his somewhat smaller but no less lethal cock with exquisite regard to his own pleasure, into the helpless asshole. Hey, this
does
feel good! he said. One might assume from this he'd never done it before, but I choose to believe he regarded this intrusion into Jeff's helpless asshole as
especially
pleasant, out of a wide range of experience. I have since learned, from a lower-former who was proud to have been fucked by the school's intellectual, that the corona of Tony's cock was unusually sharp (which seemed to give the child the most memorable anal experience he'd had), so I am certain it inflicted additional injury. He seemed to he the most deliberate, the most experienced of them all, and even when coming, kept his thrusts at the same slow, intense pace with which he'd started. But when he was done he yanked his cock hard out of Jeff's asshole.
Now you,
he said to the patient Corkie.
At this moment, and belatedly, a small sense of decency slipped into the scene. Corkie put his hands on the small of Jeff's back, for his cock was sufficiently rigid in its erect angle that it needed no guidance from his hands, but as he looked down to observe the entry he gave a half-gasp. He's still bleeding, he said.
That's all right, said the heartless Gordie, posing as an expert.
I don't know, said Jamie.
Yeah, said Lloyd, crowding in for a look.
I think maybe I'll sit this one out, said Corkie.
No! protested Tony. Everyone has to do it!
I don't know, Jamie said again, abrogating his leadership.
Jeff, I believe, tipped the scales at this moment. With a great effort, though each movement was agony, he pulled himself up and crawled away, hauling himself to a standing position at the end of the pew. Obviously he couldn't have run away, he couldn't have battled even one of them, enervated and hurt as he was, but this nearly symbolic resistance, added to Corkie's blessed reluctance, was enough. If I could have thought of some way to spare Corkie later, without hazard to my plans, I would have done so out of gratitude for his real, if minor, compassion.
Grab him! said Gordie, but no one made a move, including himself. If later, I could have made his retribution more special than that of the others, it would have pleased me. But finally I decided it was not worth the special effort, for like Corkie's compassion, his evil was a matter of degree. They were together in their mindless viciousness.
I guess we've had enough, said Jamie, belatedly reassuming his leadership. Corkie will have to take a rain check. He turned to Jeff. You may go now, he said airily, Queen Victoria dismissing a pleasant whom she'd reluctantly been persuaded to grant an audience.
Jeff had found his pants and was already struggling to pull them on. Wait! Tony called out, and he trembled anew. If you tell anyone about this...
anyone...
you'll live to regret it, believe me.
I hurt, Jeff said. I have to go to the infirmary.
No infirmary! Jamie said sharply. He saw at once the danger, and that was all he saw. Jeff's needs meant nothing to him.
You'll be all right, Tony saidTony, the asshole expert. It'll stop bleeding by itself, and in a couple of days you'll be
begging
us to fuck you again. If you go to the infirmary, everyone will find out and laugh at you.
No infirmary, Jamie repeated.
No infirmary, Jeff promised.
No one said a word as he stumbled out of that glittering house of prayer.
JEFF TALBOT RETURNED TO HIS ROOM STILL BRUISED and sore in body, but not in spirit, for I had assured him that the five who had seized him, and especially the four who had raped and humiliated him, would receive direct retribution, I was tempted to go directly to Jack Foster demanding immediate action, to dramatize how seriously I regarded the transgression. But he would not be able to take direct, unilateral action; he would have to consult with the headmaster, so I reasoned that if I approached him in the morning, he could go
directly
to the headmaster, the matter could be accomplished in the course of the day. In a matter like this, momentum could be important, nearly impossible to maintain intact with an entire night's intervening. If the headmaster were to seek
my
guidance not as unusual as you might think, for he tended to be subtly deferential to students from very rich familiesI would recommend the five be arrested, put on trial, and the guiltiest four be found guilty and given suspended sentences. I would not quarrel with Corkie Jennings being acquitted. In fact, it struck me that he could be used to testify against the four in return for a guaranteed acquittal. I understand such deals are commonplace in United States courts, used when police detection work is inferior. I would make it clear to the headmaster that I did not regard sodomy in itself a crime, or even a sin, for I believed it an entirely valid expression of sexual attraction between consenting persons of like sexes; but when inflicted on an unwilling person, then, to my mind, it became a crime. In fact, I regard no crime as more heinous than one of forcing another against his will, whether physically or intellectuallyas in imposing outmoded moralities, such as a total prohibition of sodomy, on others.
I had given Jeff an effective painkiller. In the morning he seemed rested and almost peaceful in his mind. I inspected his anus and was glad to see that though it was no longer paining him acutely it still looked ugly, medically speaking, with a terrifying bruise. I hoped the headmaster and Jack Foster would take my word for what had happened, but warned Jeff he must be ready not only to have his asshole inspected by a doctor in the presence of the headmaster, but also to answer questions of the most intimate nature. I also promised that by nightfall we would be roommates.
Foster was not in chapel, nor at breakfast, which was not unusual, though it was a liberty the masters did not exercise more than once a week. I had a moment's unease that he might be away on personal business, but as soon as I knocked on the door of his room, he called out an immediate, Come in.
He looked surprised when he saw it was I. Had he been expecting someone else? He was in bed. I seem to have overslept, he said.
Curiously, he did not immediately ask what I wanted. He threw the bedclothes back completely. He was quite naked. His cock was fully erect, larger than I had remembered. His balls seemed to bulge out spectacularly. It was difficult to keep looking at his face, for he himself was looking down at his genitals, as if inviting me to enjoy the sight with him. And I did indeed experience very strong, mixed feelings at the sight of his ostentatiously-overlarge genitals. But it wasn't the memory of my own now-dead infatuation, but rather the still active memory of the beautiful heads of my parents buried so deeply, so greedily, so joyfully in those same genitals. I could almost see them as something apart from him, with a beauty all their own.
But I said nothing. He sat up, swung his legs over the side of the bed but kept them apart, much as he had done when he had invited each of my parents to burrow in the bounty. I wondered with a sudden pounding of my heart if he had, after all, been aware of my secret lust for him, if he could have known I had spied on him, and was telling me this now.
What do you want? he asked flatly. At that moment, there was a knock at the door. I'm busy, he called out. Was it the person he had remained in bed for? Had I interrupted an assignation? Notice that he did not ask who it was. I believe he'd have asked if he hadn't already known. The knocking was not repeated:
What did you want? he asked again.
One of the new boys was brutally raped in the chapel last night.
Yourself? he asked with an odd smile. I didn't deign to answer this nonsense. Who, then? he asked. He stood up, and I noticed his cock was entirely limp, though as I have mentioned before, there was little difference in size limp or erect, the difference being only in stiffness. He took a pair of boxer shorts from a bureau drawer and put them on, then slipped into the tight, dark-blue flannel slacks he wore for his athletic classes. If anything, the boxer shorts enhanced his genitals, made them bulk larger in his slacks than if he'd worn no shorts at all. He unselfconsciously adjusted them.
How should I continue? As I mentioned earlier, there was a lot of illicit sexual activity, homosexual activity if you will, going on at Cornhill. The headmaster and others were surely aware of it, but as long as no one made an issue of it they were content to let it continue. After all, if some good-natured nocturnal sodomy kept the boys from being irascible in class, what was the harm?
But of course, now that I was about to make an issue of it, the administration would have no choice but to act as though this particular sodomy was unique at Cornhill, an unspeakable outrage.
It was Talbot, I told Foster. Jefferson Talbot. Five of your soccer-team boys seized him in the chapel and four of them forcibly discharged their penises up his rectum. They were
Don't tell me their names! he snapped with a sharpness I'd never heard before in all the time he was my tutor.
They must be punished.
For
that?
He laughed harshly.
I'll go to the headmaster, I said, losing control of the situation.
You do that, and it won't matter
who
you are, he said with deadly calm.
I beg your pardon? I was floundering.
So they poached on your preserves, he said insinuatingly.
I never fucked him! I stammered.
But you wanted to. Right?
That has nothing to do with it, I said, so confused I unwittingly confirmed his point.
I'll tell them he's yours, he said mildly, with what he obviously intended as a placating smile. No more trouble.
Then you know who they are, I accused.
I can guess, he said with a tight smile. I've only got
one
soccer team.
Perhaps Jamie asked your permission first?
Crawford, then? You know better than that.
Frankly, I was at a loss. Things had not gone even remotely the way I'd planned. I learned the valuable lesson that there was only one way to deal with the enemy. But I was too stubborn to give up without one more effort. Jeff has been hurt, I said. He needs a doctor, medical attention.
That so? He was obviously unconvinced.
His ... anus has been damaged.
Couldn't resist looking, eh?
It was fearfully bruised.
A well-fucked asshole always looks bruised. It means nothing.
I wouldn't know.
He looked at me. It's common knowledge.
I'm taking him to the infirmary.
I don't advise it, he said with ominous mildness. Why not?
Mrs. Jenkins doesn't understand these things. Mrs. Jenkins was the nurse in charge of the tiny infirmary. There was no doctor on regular duty. A local doctor was summoned only when needed, but was listed in the catalogue as though tending Cornhill boys was his sole occupation and responsibility.
I suspect Mrs. Jenkins does understand these things, I said, a wild stab. That's what you're afraid of.
I'm not afraid, he said quietly. I believed him. He put a mollifying hand on my shoulder. I resisted an impulse to shake it off. I think he
wanted
me to shake it off. Look, he said. You're new here. You don't know about prep-school life, about what boys do when they're alone together.
Obviously
you
do. As for myself, I already know more than I want to.
I suppose it bothers you that they desecrated your granddaddy's chapel.
My grandmother gave the chapel, and I wouldn't give a shit if they fucked each other to death on the high altar. But they have no right to force anyone against his will.
You surprise me, he said, abruptly removing his hand from my shoulder. I never taught you language like that.
Jeff Talbot needs medical attention, I said stubbornly.
Do you want me to take a look at his asshole?
No! I said sharply, without considering that I was thereby damaging my cause.
He smiled. Very well, then. I'll give you something to put on it. You can play doctor with him. I'm sure you'd like that. I know a lot of boysand a couple of menwho'd like to play doctor with that pretty boy.
I'm taking him to the infirmary.
I don't advise it.
And why not?
He'd never live it down. Do you want that for him?
I was silent. For all its smallness, Cornhill was not an isolated microcosm, it was very much a part of that prep-school world where it was possible to make outcasts and keep them outcasts. A word from Cornhill could make Jeff a pariah at Kent, at Groton, at St. Paul's everywhere. They had their own subtle Dun and Bradstreet. An unfavorable social credit-rating could haunt a boy throughout his entire life. As for myself, I couldn't have cared less. But my plans for Jeff Talbot called for him to have no flaws, including social.
I shall go to the headmaster, I said.
You do that. He smiled. It seemed to me he looked relieved.
I left. I went straight to the headmaster's suite. One moment, he called when I knocked at the massive door. A full minute went by. Enter, he called. I found him kneeling at a beautiful
prie-dieu
his mother had filched from a Portuguese monastery. I am not being gratuitously malicious when I mention this. She handsomely bribed the venal monks to surrender the Twelfth-Century treasure to her. There was a diplomatic flap when the Portuguese Government, which had numbered the
prie-dieu
among the national treasures, found it gone, but somehow our State Department squared it with the Portuguese, no doubt with a gift of machine guns to slaughter Angolese natives unwise enough to ask for freedom.
I had the distinct impression our headmaster had been napping when I knocked, and had hurried over to the
prie-dieu
to present a better example for an unformed mind, such as he pictured mine to be. I did not regard his display as noticeably more tasteful than Jack Foster's flashing his genitals at me, but on the other hand, age would not wither nor custom stale the headmaster's infinite piety while Foster's genitals might indeed wither in a very few years.
What is it, my son? the headmaster asked. He struggled to his feet as though reluctant to abandon his prayers. His struggle inadvertently disarrayed his long cassock, and for the briefest of moments I glimpsed not only that the headmaster wore no underwear shorts beneath his hand-spun, hand-woven cassock, but also that he had genitals of a size that put even Jack Foster's to shame!
Our headmaster was not, as one might deduce by his garb and behavior, an old man. In fact, he was only thirty-five, but had been headmaster ten years, having assumed the office at an unprecedented twenty-five immediately after receiving his Holy Orders, no doubt to spare him the necessity of going out into the cruel world of the American Anglican parish.
Actually Cornhill had been founded by a wealthy Ohio industrial family for a younger sonfor whom no other occupation seemed viable. He was thought to be totally impractical, so naturally an ideal person to teach the young. Ironically he
did
become a good headmaster. But late in life he discovered sex, apparently, for he eloped with an Irish cleaning woman. Luckily the present headmaster had already shown signs of impracticability, was already studying for Holy Orders in an obscure, tiny Anglican order, and could be rushed into the breach. The boys at Cornhill tended to believe his famous piety was part and parcel of the
call
that had impelled him to take Holy Orders. My brief glimpse of his huge genitals made me wonder if guilt could have been the directing force in his life, for I have heard that factors which, pragmatically, should turn a man or a woman into a blazing sex fiend can have the opposite effect. I have heard some of the biggest-bosomed women in the world become nuns out of shame.
But back to the matter at hand. I have come to see you because I could get no help from Mr. Foster, I said.
Ah, he said. It is, then, an athletic matter?
No, I said boldly. A sexual matter.
Ah, he said again, and backed off, as though to avoid contamination. But I would think Mr. Foster would be
far
better able to advise you on your sexual problem.
It's not
my
sexual problem, I said boldly. It's yours.
Mine? He sounded faint.
The school's, I amended mercifully.
Ah, he said again. Have you noticed that men with a religious vocation tend to say ah a lot? It is a convenient word. It seems to suggest that one accepts and one sympathizes and one understands, without making a commitment.
