by Young
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.”
Tears trickled down Andy’s cheeks when I finished my delivery. A sight I seldom witnessed from my chivalrous guardian. As we melted into each other’s arms, our manhood stood to attention.
“Before we forge ahead we better wait until I share you with another,” he muttered wickedly.
I quipped, “Thank you for loving me unconditionally even when you want me all to yourself.”
We broke into hilarity as we empathized with one another in a way that was uniquely ours.
Early in July 1968
Sissinghurst Court, Cotswolds, England
Although Albert’s father, Anthony Levenport was away on business, we were joined by Miss Lilian Levenport, Albert’s younger sister. This bright and fluttery female was then preparing for boarding school in Switzerland. The siblings were inseparable when growing up, but since her brother’s adversity, contriteness had overshadowed their once gregarious relationship. Even though her parents had exculpated their eldest, Lillian continued to blame her sibling for tainting her family’s good name.
Like many wealthy adolescent, egocentricity centered around her self-absorption and she feared mockery from her friends and peers. The gossipmongers in her close-knit community made no effort to curb their wagging tongues and news of her brother’s misdemeanor spread like wildfire. It caused more harm than good.
That evening, over dinner, the girl lashed out at Albert and accused him of embarrassing her. When Mrs. Levenport rebuked her daughter’s nasty assault, she reproached her mother for siding with Albert. Lillian locked herself in her room and refused dinner.
“Thanks to you, dear brother, I’ll never have friends again! I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!” she bellowed through shut doors.
Genevieve was shocked and distressed by her daughter’s incongruousness. Through no fault of her own, the poor woman apologized to my Valet and me. Our hearts reached out to her.
I escorted Albert into the expansive garden for a breath of fresh air, while my gallant lover stayed to console the distraught lady of the manor.
Apologies
The Oriental garden was a welcome divergence to the stifling atmosphere within the mansion. Tears of regret welled up in my friend’s eyes as we strolled in silence. I handed him my handkerchief.
“Thank you for coming to see me,” the boy muttered sobbingly.
“You are my friend. I’m delighted to see you,” I comforted.
“I’m humbled by your rectitude and integrity to forgive me; after what I did to you at our last household,” he cried.
“It’s our imperfections that make us perfect,” I heartened. Even when it was difficult to say those encouraging words.
“Since my expulsion from E.R.O.S. and Daltonbury Hall, it has been an uphill climb. I’m grateful for Andy and your support even if I am aware that the worse is not over.”
I emboldened my peer, “Time will evaporate our transgressions, and they will be distant memories.”
“I’m sorry for snatching Andy away from you and for my spitefulness,” the boy muttered regretfully.
“My friend, our roads are forged with victories and pitfalls. It is better to focus on our successes than the pits and the falls. I’m glad you are recuperating speedily,” I fortified.
He held my hand to his.
“I miss our time together. I’m envious of the love you share with Andy,” he confessed. “I’m sorry jealousy got the better of me.”
Without saying a word, I kissed him on the lips. He did not move away. Although he was as handsome as when we parted, his once puerile attitude had morphed into amiability, and his recklessness had matured into a youthful refinement that was beguiling.
Like blossoming blooms, we sealed our friendship with an ardent kiss. Our lips stayed locked for what seemed like an eternity.
When we finally unfettered our bond, I whispered, “Will you join Andy and me tonight?”
He nodded anxiously as we headed back to the house.
Last Week of July 2014
David’s Reply to My Email, Cc to Andy
Hi Young,
Although I was seldom jealous of my Valets and chaperones, there were times when I was envious of their authority. During my E.R.O.S./V.T.A. training, I embraced their puissance and was eager to emulate their jurisdiction when I became a Big-Brother.
When my worldliness broadened, I begrudged their twenty-four-seven supervisions. I wanted to be my own man until I faltered and ran to my chaperones for help. Like the majority of teenagers, I was full of myself and possessed little patience. There were times when my Valets had to bail me from ruckus situations I had gotten entangled.
Oh oh! My wife is yelling at me to be ready. I forgot I had a scheduled appointment to attend to. I will share contretemps with the two of you in my next correspondence.
Chat soon.
David
Ménage à Trois (Chapter Twenty)
“Siegfried exclaimed, “A three-way? You’re kidding, right?”
“Oou! A ménage à trois! Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it,” I replied.”
Young
(A Harem Boy’s Saga – V – Metanoia; a memoir by Young)
Early November 1968
Restaurant Le Saint George, Algiers, Algeria
Our entourage dined at Restaurant Le Saint George, the hotel’s French/Algerian bistro, the evening before Tad’s departure to Buenos Aires. I was sandwiched between Siegfried and Andy at the circular table while Kalf sat between Tad and Mario. The rests of our party surrounded us on either side.
I put my Master’s plan into action as dinner progressed. I stroked my foot against Siegfried’s ankle.
The German gave me a dispassionate glance and a wicked smile. He did not move his foot away but focused his attention on the chitter-chatter around the table. Embolden by his insouciance, I continued to slide my foot against his calf. He remains poised.
My astute Valet who was aware of the footsies below, slipped his hand in mine to galvanize my impudence. Before long, my toes had made its way into Siegfried’s trouser leg. Although aroused by my unbridled provocations, he stayed unfazed. Just when I was doubtful if my seduction was active, the German took my hand and placed it on his crotch.
I titillated the bulge behind his pants. Before I had time to consider my next move, both Siegfried and Andy’s hands were on my groin. Even though the German was befuddled, he remained aloof.
This hidden eroticism aroused us enormously. Across the table, Tad and Mario winked at me mischievously; a sign that my Master’s plan was progressing effectively.
By the time we finished dinner, Andy had already slipped a note to invite Siegfried to our chamber for digestifs. Although Siegfried made no mention of our offer, his impish grin told us that he had accepted our provocation.
The German had already fabricated an excuse to his boyfriend so he could disappear without suspicion. This he did with enthusiasm and guilt. It was only after our exhilarant lovemaking that his remorse took hold, and triggered Siegfried and Kalf’s passion to an end. Although the Tunisian was equally guilty of infidelity, he showered the blame on the German. In truth, both parties had harbored undisclosed fornications from one another in the past. Their hidden conundrums would soon bleed to the surface after a massive blowout. Several days after their respective three-way tryst, the duo separated in anguish discontentment.
Ménage à Trois
At the appointed hour, skittery Siegfried arrived at our suite. He relaxed instantly after he gulped down the Cognac Andy had fixed him.
I remarked, “I’m glad you are able to get away.” He kept silent.
I planted a kiss on his forehead. He did not move away. Instead, he kissed m
e passionately as if eager to cut to the chase. I dawdled to calm his nerves, yet he wasted no time to explore my oral fissure. It was evident that this man’s sexual experiences were that of the “wham-bam-thank-you-man” variety. A sexual vocabulary that Andy and I found unfulfilling and unsated in our erotic encounters.
For Tad to accomplish his conquest that was happening simultaneously in the Count’s boudoir down the hall, Andy and I had to prolong our foreplay and intercourse for this ménage à trois to play out successfully.
Siegfried did not take long to embrace my rhythmic groove. His pressing kisses soon morphed into an abiding French osculation. The digestif and Andy’s participation soothed the man’s nervousness.
I undid the German’s dress shirt to reveal a chest of alluring curls while Andy freed the man’s drumming hardness from his constrictive pants. Like a bumblebee attracted to an inviting stigma, I buried my face against his masculinity and nibbled at his protruding nipples to harden pruriencies.
I worked my lips down his firm belly to savor every inch of his heaving torso while Andy sucked the man’s throbbing length. Together, we twirled our gliding tongues around Siegfried’s glistening bulbousness to relish his expanse within our oral fissures. In preparation for his impending onslaught, my lover jabbed his curling tongue into the man’s anal cavern while the German nursed my throbbing stiffness with glee. He luxuriated at my swell when I straddled his hairy chest. Andy and I plowed into the man without reservations.
My chaperone tied the ecstatic Siegfried to the wrought iron headboard. To gratify our palpitating manhoods, we took turns to splice into his orifices. Not only did our raunchiness trigger the German’s jubilation, but his supplications also stirred us to buoyant exultations.
Andy was the first to shoot his ebullience into the man’s quivering sanctuary and prompted the submissive to blast his blossoming swells onto my stirring palm. I wasted no time to ply his deposits onto my lover’s pulsating shaft and guided Andy into my yearning hollow. My lover’s stroking hardness and caressing hand precipitated my blissfulness to gush onto his palm. My deposits, the three of us shared.
I had a presage that my Master’s plan had proceeded accordingly by the time I wrapped my arms around my lover in a peaceful slumber.
First Week of August 2014
Continuation of David’s Message to Andy and Me
Hi Young,
Forgive my rapid sign off in my previous email. I was about to relate an experience I had with my Big-Brother/Valet, Steven during our Art of Sensuality lesson at the Bahriji.
I had mentioned my enviousness of my Big-Brothers. They seem to effortlessly attract the attention of swooning males and females into their boudoirs. I desperately wanted to imitate their self-assurance and pragmatism.
I remember the training I had with Maria, a beautiful Bahriji student. It did not take long for my Big-Brother to arouse her excitement. He motioned for me to join in a ménage à trois. I was already oozing with excitement from observing Steven’s sensual tongue pry open her hot lips.
He caressed her young breasts as if he was nibbling at a couple of ripening cherries atop a rich cake. The female melted into his arms as my BB twitched and tweaked her perkiness to attention before he guided my mouth to wean on her nipples. I suckled her succulence like a newborn for nourishment while she squirmed in ecstasy. When Steven jabbed into her breach, I bit her knobs like a teething infant. Our actions prompted her vagina to flow exuberantly.
Aroused by their stimulus, I throbbed unceasingly. My BB guided the girl’s mouth to my youthfulness. She basked on my virility while Steven’s fingers probed her sanctuary. He kissed me passionately and guided my hand to stroke his protuberance. These sensual variants heightened my libidinousness to a premature release. Thanks to my tutor’s acumen, he gripped my swell to halt my sudden release and enabled me to resume our foreplay without premature ejaculation.
When his exploring fingers invaded my anus, I was in erotic euphoria. It was a sensation I had never felt before until then. I was hooked on this enticing stimulation. I imitated my Big-Brother’s actions and coaxed him to deliverance.
The sight of their eroticism hurled me over the edge. I blasted my seed onto Steven’s palm as he catapulted his load on mine. His fingers continued to nuzzle Maria’s pulsating clitoris to rapturousness. Her wetness coated our instructor’s hand.
Before our sensuality lesson ended, we shared our deposits in a tender three-way kiss.
I never forgot this effervescent experience.
Guys, I look forward to reading Andy and your narratives. ??
Best wishes!
David
Early in July 1968
Sissinghurst Court, Cotswolds, England
I crept quietly into Andy’s chamber in the stillness of the night. A golden head of hair was already bobbing up and down my Valet’s groin in the dimly lit boudoir. I knew Albert had beaten me to my lover’s bed as I looked on in awe. My chaperone beckoned and pulled me to him. Soon, our adoring touch morphed to a desirous French kiss. He stared at me beguilingly as his hands stroked my affection to attention. I was intoxicated by his aggressive masculinity. Albert, enraptured by our oral fervency continued to pleasure his ex.
As if his sexual craving had not been gratified since his expulsion, the lad devoured our phalluses in a single gulp before he caressed our heaviness with avidity. The warmth of his oral stimulation teased our salaciousness to a frenzy.
We jabbed our tongues into his anal fissure as he knelt in supplication. He welcomed our invasions into his pleasure dome before he straddled Andy’s stiffness. When I guided my manhood into his twitching hind, the teenager was already jouncing in delight at our BB’s impaling length. We glided In synchronicity into Albert’s tautness as he moaned and groaned in ecstasy. We were again united physically like we had welcomed Albert into our midst, the first time.
His hollow craved our bulbousness as we rocked our fulfillments into his affinity. His ribaldrous jubilance spurred Andy and me towards our release. We exploded into his tightness and coated the lad with our dripping rhapsodies.
Unable to withhold his deliverance, Albert thundered his libation over and above our lover’s chest. We enshrined our spritely afterglows in contentment as we shared his residuum among us. Wrapped around each other, we fell into a peaceful slumber until the sparrows’ morning songs beckoned us back to our respective chambers in silence.
Angelic Visions (Chapter Twenty-One)
“Philosophy will clip an angel’s wings.”
John Keats
Early July 1968
Thornbury Castle, Thornbury, South Gloucestershire, England
Our two days at Sissinghurst Court flew by quickly. Albert, Andy and I sat outdoors enjoying an afternoon tea at the Thornbury Castle restaurant. This eatery was operated by one of United Kingdom’s top restaurateur; Kenneth Bell, and his culinary staff that included food critic Nigel Slater and master chef Simon Gault. Mrs. Levenport had recommended this locale and insisted we spend some quality time at this historic venue.
Andy enquired of Albert, “There’s a lot to be said about country living. It helped your speedy recovery.”
Our friend replied sheepishly, “It’s been a struggle. Thanks to my guardian angel, I made some extraordinary progress.”
I chirped, “I didn’t know you believe in angels? I thought comic books is what you care about.”
My Valet gave me an unappealing glance to admonish my inappropriate comment.
“Tell us your angel encounters,” my chaperone queried. “How did that come about?”
Albert began, “It started a night when I was in withdrawal at rehab. My cocaine craving was so intense, I wanted to escape to look for a peddler. No escape route was available except to break the window in my room. I was about to wreak the glass when I noticed a transparent glow outside. I couldn’t tell if the imagery was a fragment of my imagination or for real. The light glided through the window and transformed into a winged en
tity. I was dumbstruck.
“The being wrapped his wings around my person while my inner demons incited me to break the window and escape….”
Before Albert could continue, I interjected, “How did you know the entity is male?”
The boy resumed, “The scent gave him away. It smelled like a mixture of fresh eucalyptus, musk, frankincense, and myrrh. As if I was divinely possessed, a surge of positive energy coursed through my body when I was embedded within his translucent musculature. Never had I encountered such an experience before.”
“What happened to your inner demons?” I asked curiously.
“They dissipated when the angel embraced me,” Albert answered assuredly.
“What transpired after that?” Andy queried.
“The angel held me in bed, and I fell into a peaceful slumber. He was gone when I awoke the next morning, but his scent lingered. After his visitation, I grew stronger and more resilient to future relapses,” the lad responded guardedly.
A compulsion swept over me to declare, “Shall we pay a visit to Dr. Olivier Augustin in Cornwall?”
“Who?” the duo exclaimed concurrently.
“He is the angelology professor, whom Dr. Frederick Thomason recommended we visit in Marazion, Cornwall,” I stated.
“Young, are you insane? Cornwall is a three-and-half-hour drive from here,” my guardian blurted.
Albert championed, “What a superb idea. It’ll be a nice outing for us. Michael, my family’s chauffeur can drive us in one of our cars.”
We looked to Andy for his approval, which he gave reluctantly.
Second Week of November 1968
Ketchaoua Mosque, Algiers, Algeria
The inevitable happened in this Moorish-Byzantine house of worship. Our entourage obtained permission from the Ketchaoua Mosque’s Iman, for our erotic photo shoot, the morning before we sailed to Morocco. Once again, we were hard at work before worshipers and visitors descended at this historical mosque.