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Part Seven
Trenton pulled off the earphones. "Scuse me?"
The older man gestured at the window. The bed was against the wall,
and the window was near its foot. "I always sleep in the bed by the
window, when I have a choice," he said calmly.
"Oh. Geez, I'm sorry." Trenton sat up. "I didn't know. I can
move."
The other waved dismissively. "It is nothing." He inclined his head
graciously. "You are the guest. You must have first choice." He
held out his hand. "I am Anatole."
Trenton shook hands. "I'm Trenton Vittelli, the exchange student."
"Of course you are." Anatole seemed to be appraising him. "You are
younger than I expected."
Trent felt defensive. "I'm almost seventeen."
"So old? But the exchange students are usually seniors, n'est pas?"
"Not always. Anyway, the one who was supposed to come got sick. She
got hepatitis."
"Quel dommage." Somehow, Anatole didn't really sound sorry. When he
saw Trenton's skeptical look, he shrugged in a peculiarly Gallic
gesture. "I wish no one illness, but I am glad you came instead. I
have sisters. It will be nice to have another man to speak to."
"I don't think your parents were expecting you."
"They knew I would come, but sometimes I do not arrive till
Saturday." His eyes twinkled. They were very blue, Trent
noticed. "How lax of them not to warn you that a strange man might
come creeping into your room. I might have frightened you into a
fit."
"I wasn't scared," Trent protested. "You just startled me."
"Yes. I suppose I should not have touched you." Trent started.
Anatole continued smoothly. "You seemed to be having a rather vivid
dream. No doubt my hand on your arm became a part of it."
Mention of his dream suddenly reminded Trenton that he was almost
naked, and still completely aroused. He dragged the sheet over his
crotch in what he hoped was a casual manner, saying, "I guess. I
really don't remember it." *Oo,Trenton Vittelli, you liar! You
could write a thousand word essay on how Clive's leather pants felt
when he shoved his thigh between your legs.*
Anatole nodded. "Well, I hope you do not mind if I retire now. We
will have many hours to talk while you are here, oui?" He began to
unbutton his shirt.
"Uh... yeah. Sure. I'd like that." He finished the sentence just as
Anatole opened his shirt and slid it off, revealing a nicely cut
torso. There was a thin dusting of golden hair across his chest,
swirling around pale copper nipples, which were hard.
*Oh, crap, Trenton!* The thought was frantic. *Look away! Don't
leer at the host's son.* He dropped his gaze, but that didn't do any
good. He just noticed that Anatole had a six pack almost as well
defined as Tuscon's had been, and there was a thin trickle of that
same yellow hair running from the shallow dent of his navel to
disappear under his waistband.
Anatole started to unbuckle his belt, and Trenton lay back down
quickly, closing his eyes. For good measure, he laid his forearm
over them. Anatole chuckled softly. Trenton heard the muted pop of
a snap, then the rasping purr of a zipper being lowered. There was
the rustle of cloth.
When he spoke, Anatole's voice was closer than Trent would have
expected. "I hope you don't mind, but I sleep in the nude. I
suppose I should wear something in case of fire, but they just seem
to strangle me." Trenton grunted, noncommital.
There were padding footsteps. Trenton remembered seeing a pair of
shoes and socks tucked neatly by the other single bed. Anatole must
have removed them when he came in, so as not to disturb the
household. He had been able to move very quietly. There was a
click, and the red wash across the back of Trent's eyelids went
black, signaling that the lights had been turned out. More padding
footsteps, then the rustle of bedclothes, and the sound of a body
settling into bed. After a moment Trenton said hesitantly, "Good
night, Anatole."
Again there was a chuckle. "Sommeil bien, peu Americain. Plaisants
reves"
*Sleep well? Oh, fat chance.* Trenton peeked miserably under the
sheets at his erection. *Terrific. Cock like a rock, and not a
damn thing I can do about it with him in the room. It's going to be
a long night.*
He lay there for awhile, staring up at the shadowed ceiling and
feeling sorry for himself. After a while, his hard-on began to flag a
little. That was, until he heard the noises.
At first he just thought Anatole was having trouble getting
comfortable and settling down. There was a rustling of cloth, the
sound of a sheet sliding against bare skin. Trenton glanced over at
the other bed, though, and the man didn't seem to be tossing and
turning. He was lying on his back. Then Trenton noticed the slow,
steady motion just about his groin. A lump beneath the sheet rose
and fell.
*Son of a bitch! The guy's jerking off! With someone else in the
room, right here. Right here...* A soft sigh drifted across the
room. *Sounds like he's having fun.* Trent's prick was suddenly
hard as a stone again. *Oh, shit. Shit shit shit.*
He lay there, very still, listening and watching as Anatole pleasured
himself. The movement under the sheets speeded up, and suddenly
Anatole rolled on his side, away from Trenton. The boy had been
hoping that the sheet might be dislodged by Anatole's increasingly
vigorous self caresses. Now his wish was granted.
The cloth slipped as he turned, and Trenton was presented with a view
of an ass so perfect that his breath caught in his throat. Two
perfect globes, split by a narrow crease, gleamed in the pale
moonlight that fell through the window. Anatole crooked his upper
leg at the knee, planting his foot flat on the bed, reached back, and
pried his cheeks apart. One finger traced down the open valley.
Trenton swallowed hard, and his own hands crept to shove down his
shorts. His cock sprang free, so rigid that it almost slapped
against his belly. Anatole was preoccupied. Surely it would be
safe...? His hands closed around himself, and he began to stroke.
The room was dim, and Trent could not see certain details. He
couldn't actually make out Anatole's asshole, but when his hand
moved, and one finger disappeared, he knew what was happening.
Anatole groaned happily, and Trent had to stifle an answering groan.
Trenton masturbated, watching as Anatole finger fucked himself. The
older man began to pump more strongely. Soon he worked a second
finger into himself, and shoved them in and out almost ruthlessly.
Trenton marveled. Wouldn't that hurt? Apparently not, judging from
the lustful grunts the Frenchman was making.
Anatole shoved himself back onto his probing fingers, then surged
forward into his own caresses. Trenton was sweating, trying not to
pant too loudly. *How can he not hear me? Maybe he thinks I'm
having another dream. Oh, crap, this is like a dream--a wet dream.*
Suddenly Anatole stiffened, and gave a soft cry. His fingers dug
deep, twisting, and his hips bucked. *He's coming.* Trenton's hand
worked frantically. He'd always been quiet when sexing himself,
mindful of his mother sleeping in the next room, but a small whine
escaped his throat. The thought of Anatole having his orgasm,
shooting hot, sticky semen all over his hands, sent Trent over the
edge, too.
His body bowed, hips lifting off the mattress as he thrust into his
fist, and he erupted. His balls emptied in two pulses so strong they
were almost painful, splattering his belly almost up to his chest
with his spunk.
Unable to lie there and enjoy the afterglow, Trent hastily skinned
his jockeys off and used them to wipe himself. He then wadded them
up, and stared at them for a moment, perplexed. What on earth was he
going to do with them? After a moment's thought he dropped them in
the wastebasket that was next to the bed, moving a few papers as
quietly as possible to cover them. Anatole started to shift onto his
back once again, and Trenton quickly lay back down and closed his
eyes, trying to make his breathing deep and even.
Anatole lay on his side and studied the boy lying on the other bed.
*Je pense qu'il a supposé que je ne le noterais pas masturbating.
Comment doux. Il est un innocent, je pensent. Ne serait-il pas beau
pour l'enseigner?* He smiled to himself in the dark, and his lips
moved without sound, forming the word, "Trehn-tonne." He drifted off
to sleep, well satisfied and very much looking forward to the next
few months.
Translations
n'est pas?--not so? Or, is it not so?
Roommate
Quel dommage--What a pity.
oui--yes (Duh)
Sommeil bien, peu américain. Plaisants rêves--
Sleep well, little American. Pleasant dreams.
Je pense qu'il a supposé que je ne le noterais pas masturbating.
Comment doux. Il est un innocent, je pensent. Ne serait-il pas beau
pour l'enseigner?--
I think he supposed that I would not notice him masturbating. How
sweet. He is an innocent, I think. Wouldn't it be lovely to teach
him?