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Related article: Date: Fri, 16 Apr 1999 13:05:04 -0700 (PDT) From: Bpell Subject: The Chronicles of St.Barnabas part 1 (A BL classic by Colin Murchison)1. EvensongI might as well level with you right now, since you'll find it out soon enough anyway: I have a weakness for choirboys. No, that's still hedging. I have a weakness for boys. But especially for choirboys. That explains why 1, an ablebodied man of thirty-one, found myself in St. Bamabas Choir School, an institution for boys between the ages of nine and fourteen, located about fifty miles from Boston, and why on this particular Autumn afternoon I happened to be dozing in the high-backed choir stall. It was Evensong, and I was on duty, which meant that I was supposed to keep an eye on the little cherubim, making sure they weren't chewing bubble gum, throwing spitballs, or jerking each other off under their long white surplices.I was just dozing off deliciously, with all kinds of very worldly images passing across my retina, when some sixth sense pricked me into consciousness. One develops this sense pretty quickly in a boys' boarding school; it's a matter of survival. And just then, I knew there was something I should be watching, or perhaps had just missed. My eyes scanned young nn bikini the rows of boys on the opposite side, and then, by means of a mirror located over their heads, those on my side of the choir, too. As if by a magnet, my eyes were drawn to little Georgie Candy, a very pretty sixth-grader whose soul, I had long suspected, was corrupt beyond redemption. His big round eyes met mine and he dropped his long lashes over them, but a quick blush had given him away. He was definitely up to something. I kept my gaze on him until, involuntarily, he raised his lids again, and then I fixed him with my most menacing look, a look which said, or so erotica stories young I hoped: "Your bottom will smart for this, my boy"-or something of the sort.Oh, yes, we go in for corporal punishment at St. Bamahas, though in a mild sort of a way. The Headmaster, you see, is English, and an Englishman wouldn't conceive of trying to educate a boy without occasional recourse to the cane. I daresay they have something, too. The cane is very seldom used at our school, and then only by the Head, Father Sayers; but it's always there, like an Ultimate Deterrent, and the knowledge that it can be used serves to keep the lads pretty well in line most of the time.Candy, knowing that I was giving him my "look", obliged by again lowering his long lashes and letting a suggestion of a pout form on his pretty red lips. My heart began to pound with lust at the sight of the pretty choirboy, but my head told me: Watch out! You give that kid young babies fucking a tumble and he'll blackmail you for the rest of your life.The droning of Father Sayers, the Headmaster of St. Barnabas, finally came to an end, young teen nudity and at a signal from Mr. Winters, our corpulent choirmaster, the boys lifted their voices in birdsong once again-"Sheep May Safely Graze."I let my eyes drift over the approximately forty boys of the choir. Although there are sixty boys in the school, in grades four through eight, the fourth-graders, or Squogs, as they are called for some reason no one remembers, are considered too young to be trusted in church, and so spend the first year of their training as bench-warmers (O lucky bench!); while every year about half the eighth-graders fall victim to a choirboy's greatest enemy-puberty. Thus at thirteen or so Aerosmith young lust they are washed up, finished, has-beens, fit only to be acolytes or to perform menial tasks behind the scenes, while their still treble-voiced chums continue to bathe in the limelight, and enjoy the long looks and occasional winks from the parishioners as they come very young panty up to take Holy Communion.An English choirboy is expected to last until he is fourteen or fifteen, and I have read of boys who were still singing soprano, without benefit of the knife, at seventeen or even eighteen. But today's American choirboys, stuffed as they are with vitamins, prove a constant frustration to their choirmasters by starting to croak and crack just when they have become well-trained. Our school doctor, in his preadmission physical does try to predict, by methods I love to speculate about, whether a boy will mature early or late, but despite his best efforts, we lose, as I said, about half of the eighth grade class, and occasionally a seventh-grader or two, before the year is over. This leaves about forty singing boys.It was these boys I was perusing as their high sweet voices filled the Gothic church, echoing to the vaults and mingling with the dust motes that danced in the afternoon sun which descended in shafts from the stained-glass windows. Ever higher and higher their voices rose, pure and ethereal, until I grew dizzy from the sound, very young panty and had to make an effort to remain on terra firma. My duty, after all, was to keep an eye on the choirboys.Of course, half of them had their backs to me (though I could see their faces in the mirror), but I admire the backs of boys' heads very much, and paused to enjoy the shape of little Everett Harrison's head, which curved quite far out in back before sweeping inward down to his neck. I had a passion for little Everett, but he had a crush on the history teacher, so what could I do? Then there was Allen Burns. He was Georgie Candy's great pal, young sweet schoolgirl which was why they were sitting at opposite ends of the pew. He had a very cute body, with a perky little rump I admired very much; but I didn't like to look at the back of his head. His ears stuck out, and his hair ended rather messily, instead of coming to a little point at the nape of his neck, the way Candy's did-and Ronnie Riley's, too. Ronnie was really my favourite boy. Though perhaps not as pretty as Candy, he was much nicer. Besides, he seemed young sweet schoolgirl to secrete sensuality in a manner that had me hooked from the first moment I saw him. He was very cute, and had a yummy bottom.As you've gathered by now, bottoms are very important to me. And I think few people would dispute that there is something quite appealing about childrens' behinds. Parents like to pat their kiddies on litle young russian the fanny, and one can often hear mothers refer to their offsprings'posteriors in the most endearing terms. In all fairness to the other sex, I've seen some mighty tooth-some behinds on little girls, too, but the sad fact is that unless a girl is a total tomboy, by the time she is twelve, or even sooner, her bottom has begun to sag and spread, ending that impertinent charm which boys' behinds retain at Free young strippers least until puberty and often well beyond. T'he joyful fact is that most boys of twelve and thirteen possess very appealing little behinds, and I would be guilty of false modesty if I were to deny that I am a connoisseur of boys' posteriors. Of course, with today's fashion for tight pants, most boys display their charms for all the world to enjoy; but even if a boy is bundled up in a thick overcoat, so keen and experienced is my eye at detecting what sailor young porn lies underneath, that I can tell at one glance whether he has a bottom worth chasing after.It's not only their behinds which are nice, of course. Boys' bodies in general are things of sex movies youngest rare beauty. With their slender torsos and clean straight limbs, boys combine the beauty of the masculine physique with the softness of the feminine. And while I delight in their fine barrel chests, flat stomachs and finely chiseled legs, it is their behinds which crown nature's work, a young boylove pics work so lovely that she does not permit it to last long.But enough of this. With the last notes of the "Amen" still floating in the air, the choir broke into the recessional hymn. I sat back and watched as they passed by me two by two, led by the Johnson twins, Timmy and Tommy, whom everyone was forever mixing up, not that it mattered in the least, for they were very interchangeable. They were very cute but very dull.Georgie Candy, of the long lashes and rotten soul, had his eyes (presumably) on God as he walked by. He had a bleeding mosquito bite on one calf, and one shoelace was undone. I should explain how I was able to see the mosquito bite: one of Father Sayers' rules, which he brought with him ftom Merrie England, was that all boys shall wear short trousers until their twelfth birthdays. This meant that those boys under twelve showed a charming bit of bare boyflesh below the hems of their surplices. I have always found this sight very titillating, imagining that the boys were stark naked under young child fucked their flimsy white gowns.I watched the boys go by. Allen Burns gave me what could only be interpreted as a wink. "Fresh!" Little Everett Harrison, bare-legged like Candy and Bums, gave me a big grin. O fortunate history teacher! Ronnie Riley gave me his own special glance, sly and coy, and Ericson- But I haven't mentioned Ericson, have I? Well. I'll have something to say about him later on. For now, suffice it to say that he was thirteen, but looked younger, was very, very pretty, knew it, and was the school tart.
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