Mirrors of Narcissus

by Willard, Guy

  I felt his hand on my shoulder, then the prickly brush of his beard against my chin, and finally the soft, delicate pressure of his lips on mine. After my initial surprise, I responded to the kiss. I was particularly excited by the strange juxtaposition of the prickly, scratchy beard with the soft, wonderfully mobile lips. I opened my mouth to let his nudging tongue slip in. It was warm, and tasted of tobacco.

  I let my hands explore his body, feeling a flabby softness everywhere and, to my dismay, tufts of hard, bristly hairs surrounding his nipples and covering his shoulder blades. It was quite a change from Christine’s smooth, resilient flesh.

  The kiss pulled away from my mouth only to alight on my cheek. From there it moved slowly toward my ear—alive with scratchy bristles, but with an unbelievably silky softness at its center—leaving a wake of tingly goose-bumps. His lips tugged gently at my earlobe, making his breaths sound loud and close. As his tongue probed my ear, the muffled lapping sounded liquid and underwater. Then I felt a light scrape of teeth against the side of my neck, so gentle that it sent warm flushes all down my back.

  He pushed my arm up against my head, exposing the wispy bush in my armpit. I giggled as his tongue began rooting around and searching out the salty nectar deposited there. After a pause, he moved away again, and suddenly when a moist softness closed delicately around my nipple, it was as though I’d been galvanized by pure sensation. The nerve endings there tingled rawly from the touch of his tongue.

  Naturally, I’d kissed girls’ nipples before, and knew the pleasure it gave, but I had never thought of having it done to me. I arched my back and squirmed to escape the waves of pleasure stirred up by his tongue. I’d never felt this exquisite tickle before; my throat was taut from the effort to keep from crying out; my eyes blurred with tears. His firm hand pressed my shoulder down, pinning me to the mattress as his tongue continued its sweet torture. I finally managed to push his head back with both hands.

  I lay gasping, trying to catch my breath, surprised at the intensity of my reaction to this unknown pleasure. When I saw him bend down once again, I tensed up, but he only planted a soft kiss along the inside of my ribcage. Then, in a transition so smooth as to be undetectable, his lips were replaced by the gently brushing tip of his beard—and that, in turn, by the feeblest flicker of eyelashes. The eyelash kiss made its way to my nipple, and so delicate was its caress that this time I could endure it. It felt like the batting of butterfly wings which sent tiny waves of warmth (they could hardly be called pleasure) spreading across my chest. I lay still, absorbing this new delight until it pulled away. After a short moment of rest, his tongue descended again, this time onto my stomach, where it drew tacky arabesques all around my navel before nuzzling into its shallow crater, licking it, kissing it.

  I was quite ready for the logical culmination of all this preliminary teasing—and the anticipation was driving me crazy. I felt his beard descend in a tingly dance until it merged and meshed with my own pubic beard. But with the briefest, skirmishing lick at my dick, his mouth moved away again. I felt his tongue line a narrow moistness along the transverse crease of my groin, and this time I couldn’t suppress a soft groan. My powers of resistance were rapidly melting away, and I began to give free vent to my feelings.

  His mouth moved back toward my genitals, but again bypassed my dick, working its way down to nestle and suckle among my balls. He knew that the short hairs on my balls were like hair triggers of pure pleasure. He tugged and stroked them with his lips, evoking soft cries from me. Then, with the crook of a finger he gently lifted my balls up out of the way to expose my perineum. I felt his warm breath against it, then a delicate lick. His tongue traced a line along the seam of my perineum, then darted in maddening ellipses along the rim of my butthole, making me writhe in response to its provocative dance. There was a brief moment of suspense before—I gasped—I felt it shoot up inside me. As it began to thrust in and out, I lifted my hips off the bed the better to direct the movements of his tongue to my own satisfaction. His hands cupped me under each buttock.

  Cocking one ankle, then the other, behind his back, I closed my eyes and let out a long sigh. But just as I was settling down to an exquisite tongue-fuck, his tongue danced coquettishly away again, denying me this pleasure. I felt myself lowered gently to the mattress as he shifted around.

  He bent over my thighs and with his mouth began exploring the sensitive hollow down the inside of my thigh. Because I jerked so much in response, he had to hold my leg down. At each kiss, I tried to twist away from the sweet torture.

  I felt I was learning about my own body for the first time, from a teacher who used the most exquisite of pointers. These were things Christine could never do for me, for she didn’t know my body as intimately as Golden did. Being a man himself, he understood it as no woman ever could. My body was his own, and my pleasures were his; he was in familiar territory. With Christine, no matter how intimate we became, my body would always remain alien; our otherness was biological. We were separated by a river which could never be bridged. Only another man could cherish my body like this and tap its treasures so expertly.

  Holding my right leg with both hands, he worked his mouth down its inside: the knee, the shin, the ankle, and out to the toes where he delicately kissed and sucked on each one in turn, ending by lovingly sucking my big toe. I worked my free leg back and forth across the bedspread in response to his rhythmic sucking, agitated more by a mental picture of what it suggested than by any direct stimulus.

  Unable to take any more, I reached for his dick. To my surprise, it was still soft. I sat up in order to see it better, and he lay down beside me to allow me.

  Because of the darkness, I hadn’t yet gotten a good look at his dick. I’d often stolen peeks at his crotch, but knew from experience that it is often difficult to gauge a man’s size when he is fully clothed. Now I made the thrilling discovery of his sheer bulk, much larger than any I’d ever fondled. Even flaccid, its heft was heavy in my palm.

  At my touches and squeezes, it slowly lumbered up into an even heavier state of excitement. This gradual hardening was something entirely new to me. My own erection (and those of the young guys I met in Nightworld) was almost always instantaneous.

  As I stroked it I discovered that even its hardness had a different quality. Unlike the almost inorganic stiffness of my own, Golden’s dick seemed to have a softer, more vulnerable quality which invited further caresses. I liked the feel of its heavy weight in my palms and fingers.

  Golden was touching my hair, caressing the back of my head with his fingers. I turned to him and whispered:

  “Oh please…please fuck me.”

  I would never have dared say it to a boy my own age, but the age difference between Golden and me freed me from the need to adopt a tough, masculine facade. Instinctively I knew he wouldn’t see my plea as a sign of weakness.

  He didn’t seem surprised or put off. I heard him sigh, and the floorboards creaked as he got up and walked away.

  But he returned shortly and stretched out beside me. There was almost a sadness about the gentle way he now stroked my thighs. Like a patient in the hands of a trusted doctor, I allowed myself to be turned over onto my stomach. I felt my butt cheeks pushed gently apart, then a coolness as ointment was spread in tiny circular motions around and just within my butthole. My stomach muscles tightened in anticipation.

  When he was done, he carefully cleaned off his fingers with tissue paper.

  I felt myself turned over onto my back and realized that I was going to be fucked face-to-face. The only time I had ever fucked a boy, we had done it doggie style so that (whether from shame or loathing) we didn’t have to see each other’s faces during the act.

  Now, feeling shy, I bent my knees to bring my heels up against my buttocks. When he pushed my thighs gently but firmly apart, I was overwhelmed with a feeling of helplessness. I’d never felt so vulnerable before, so completely at the mercy of another person. Strangely enough, however, the sensatio
n was far from unpleasant. In fact the feeling of surrender, of total passivity, gave me a thrill. My stomach muscles agitated and went weak. I brought my knees up to my chest, made bold and reckless by my desire.

  I closed my eyes.

  At the first touch I remembered how big he was. I began to worry about the pain and couldn’t help tensing up.

  The pressure against my hole grew, and as he began forcing his entry, my sighs turned to a whimpering. I held my breath as I felt him push into me, and very quickly the initial feeling of tightness gave way to sharp arrows of pain. I groaned. He continued relentlessly inward until finally I had to cry aloud. My whole lower back was a scintillating mass of pain.

  He stopped. “Are you all right, Guy?”

  I gritted my teeth, unable to say a word. Sweat covered my forehead. I felt him withdraw, and because any movement registered as pain, it was just as unbearable as the entry.

  “Is this the first time for you, Guy?”

  I said nothing.

  “You should have told me—” He brushed my forehead gently with the back of his hand and reached for a tissue to wipe away the sweat.

  “I bet you think I’m a real wimp now, don’t you?” I said.

  “No I don’t. You’re just a little tense, that’s all. It’ll go away. Let’s take a little rest.”

  We lay for a while in silence, side by side. I felt embarrassed at my inability to go through with it and wondered how another boy my age would have reacted to my failure.

  “Listen, Guy, I’m going to be perfectly honest with you. The first time I saw you, I was head over heels in love with you. You were gorgeous, a faggot’s wet dream. But for the longest time I was going crazy because I couldn’t figure you out. Usually I can tell right away. With you, I wasn’t sure if you were being guilelessly accidental, or whether you were deliberately provoking me.” He spoke softly in a pleasant burry tone which was like a tickle in my ear. The darkness magnified it until it was a sensual droning thrum, a hypnotic wash of sound almost void of meaning.

  His hand came to rest on my dick. His recital had given me a hard-on. I felt him stir.

  “No, wait,” I said.

  “It’s all right.”

  “Not yet.”

  “It’ll be all right, don’t worry.”

  And again I had the awful feeling of vulnerability as my thighs were pushed apart. But this time I was scared of the pain I knew was coming. There was a slight pinch as he entered me, then the long, slow thrust, deliberate and unhurried, which stretched my tightness. Although there was some pain, it wasn’t as great as the first time, and I let out a long sigh as I felt myself gradually filling up. This time he didn’t stop until he was all the way in. Then he lowered his body until he lay full-length atop me without moving.

  We lay like this for a long time, which gave me a chance to recover from my nervousness. In fact I began to revel in the sluggish, lazy feeling of being filled. The idea that I’d surrendered my defenses and let the enemy in—that my most sacrosanct spot had finally been violated—gave me a perverse and delicious satisfaction. Within the protective clasp of his big strong arms, pressed chest-to-chest in an intimate hug, I felt the stirrings of a tender submission. The secret little girl inside of me came alive and blossomed, gloriously.

  With my lips I sought out his; we kissed and held our lips together until I felt faint. His hug tightened, and I curled into it, bringing my legs up until my ankles were crossed loosely above his buttocks.

  As if this were the signal to begin, he shifted his weight up off me until he was resting on his elbows. I sighed as the long, slow thrusts began. At first, as I’d feared, there was more pain than anything else. Then gradually—to my dawning surprise—the pain gave way to something else entirely.

  The most exquisite waves of pleasure, unlike anything else I’d ever felt before, churned deep within me. Golden’s unhurried, deliberate jogging was stirring me up, drawing up from my depths hidden treasures like the oil pumps in the nearby countryside. I hadn’t realized it would feel like this; if anything, I’d thought the pleasure was mainly a psychological one, linked with the knowledge of giving someone else his pleasure. But this was so gut-wrenchingly visceral—nothing in the world felt this good—that I could see why it was so zealously, ruthlessly prohibited by society; such deliciousness was positively sinful.

  I wished the lovely feeling of being filled…and filled…and filled again would continue into infinity. My body felt so limp and languorous, and the dream-like rocking was making me delirious. I listened to the soft, rhythmic grunts of a boy experiencing pleasure as if they were a stranger’s.

  My half-open mouth was stopped up with a hot, lingering kiss, and his tongue began to thrust in and out in exact rhythm with the lower thrusting. I wallowed dirtily in the double invasion. The kiss pulled away and I felt a nibbling at my earlobe which made my whole neck flush. My earlobe turned hot and tingly, driving me into higher states of bliss. I was floating in a hazy borderline world from which I could catch tantalizing glimpses of satisfaction…of relief….

  Pushed to the limits of my endurance, I reached my hand down and took hold of my dick, stroking myself in rhythm to his thrusting. He knew exactly what I was doing, and purposely matched our rhythms. The double stroking felt like heaven.

  I could understand now why some young boys liked older men as lovers. Never before had I enjoyed the luxury of letting go of all my inhibitions, and knowing I didn’t have to play a role.

  Very quickly, I felt all my psychic forces gather at the root of my shaft and knew I was ready to let go, completely let go for the first time in my life. Golden sensed that I was ready. The slapping of his groin against my buttocks became more furious in rhythm with my own increased pace. We were one smooth machine, perfectly timed, well oiled, lubricated, functioning for the purpose of pure pleasure. I was on my way, well on my way.

  “Oh! Oh!”

  I felt my sphincter twitch in time to the spasms wrenching me open, pinching Harry’s dick in rhythm with my bliss, augmenting it, almost making me scream with ecstasy. Warm, tiny dots of semen peppered my belly, seemingly endlessly.

  Golden looked down at the glistening white drops atop my belly and increased the pace of his pumping. The expression on his face was that of one intending violence. With a fearful grimace, he clenched his teeth as his pelvis slammed into me repeatedly. My butthole burned from his furious pumping, but the massage was pleasurable. And then suddenly he stopped, his back arched upward, his face contorted, his body rigid. A look as of pain crossed his face and momentarily he was transported to another realm. And then with a soft whimper he sank down gently atop me. My body shivered beneath his, and I felt the warm paste on my belly glue our bodies together. I could feel his heart beating against my chest. His ragged breathing was like a storm raging about my ears. I closed my eyes and put my arms around him and thought of Scott.

  Indeed, at this moment, all I could think of was Scott. Strangely enough, the loss of my virginity was somehow a tribute to him, an affirmation of—even a strengthening of—my love for him. And I’d never felt closer to him than I did at this moment.

  3

  Just as I was creeping into the silent dorm, the muffled sound of the campanile bells striking four o’clock came to my ears. This was the first time I’d come back this late. I’d fallen asleep in Golden’s arms and had only woken up a short time ago, leaving him sleeping on his mattress. Without his glasses he’d looked so helpless and weak.

  The hallway was silent. The flicker of the TV screen lit up the darkness of the lounge, but its sound was turned off. Sometimes one of the guys would fall asleep in here but tonight there was no one. I turned off the TV and headed down the hall to my room.

  I’d always had a secret fear that once I was fucked in the butt, my walk would change, become the wiggly waggle of the obvious fag. However, there seemed to be no grounds for that fear. My walk was the same as ever. But my butthole was still sore, a visceral token of how pro
foundly I’d been changed. I’d given up something tonight, but gained a whole lot more, and I felt knowing, superior to my old self. For I’d finally stepped across that forbidden border and violated the sacred taboo; I’d been feminized, had discovered my double boy-girl self, and now wore an invisible gown of glorious sin. I felt exalted.

  I opened the door to my room and stepped in, closing it quietly behind me. The first thing I noticed was that the lamp on Scott’s desk was on. But he wasn’t at his desk, nor was he in bed. I went to the shower room and opened the door but it was dark.

  I went back to my bed and sat down.

  I couldn’t imagine where he would be at this hour. There was no place he could go. All the libraries were closed, and the lounge had been empty. He wasn’t the type to go to an all-night diner by himself, though we’d gone together a couple of times. There was only one place he could go, only one place where he would think to go. Christine’s.

  It was obvious what had happened. He’d become worried about my whereabouts. I usually told him beforehand if I was going to spend the night at Christine’s place. And if I felt like going prowling in Nightworld, I would tell him I was going to Chrissie’s apartment for a short visit, and he was too tactful to ever contact me there by phone. Tonight, since I thought I was only going to Golden’s house for a short while, I hadn’t mentioned it to Scott. If I had known what was going to happen, I would have told him something to cover for my absence. However, events had seemed to take a turn of their own.

  When it got late, past the time I usually came in, he must have phoned Christine just to make sure I was over at her place. And when he found out I wasn’t there, both of them must have begun to worry. So he’d gone over to her place.

  He must still be there now.

  I decided to head for her place. Better to go than call from the hall phone and wake everyone up at this time of morning.

  Outside, the sky had lightened, and the campus had been transformed into a wonderland; I’d never seen it quite like this before. The very air I breathed was fluid, in motion, its damp freshness giving me a clear vision I’d never before possessed. Wisps of fog clung to the ground, giving the illusion that the whole earth was cloaked in a wonderful new garb. Above, the sky was lightening into a murky gray, and over the tops of the trees I could make out the outline of the campanile tower. Only the very tip was clearly visible, thrusting up from the fog like a primitive marker whose meaning no one knew anymore in this white, white world.