Lucian Ch. 02

Why do we think in absolutes so often, like good and bad, fire and water? Why, for instance, do we insist that there only should be men and women, and call that the natural order?

Isn't that just a lack of imagination?

Lucian sat on a bench in the shadow of a big tree with a crown of flaming leaves -- a sycamore, maybe? He loved the word, but he knew nothing about trees. It wasn't an oak, surely -- there were no acorns lying around.

He looked across the vast lawn to the school building.

"So you've been here for a while?" he asked the black-haired boy next to him.

After coming around from his exhausted fainting, Harper had taken him to Dr. Kurtz. "Just to be sure," Coach insisted.

The doctor listened to his heart, and checked his blood pressure.

"You're fine, honey," she said, smiling. "Just hopelessly out of shape."

Then she'd checked on his penis.

Lucian watched it rest on her gloved hand, pink on blue, feeling an embarrassing rush of blood starting to fill it out.

"You won't need your jock strap anymore," she said. "Unless you got attached to it?"

She chuckled, flashing her weak, ambiguous grin. He knew he blushed while pulling up his shorts. The slick nylon slid over the exposed head, increasing his erection.

Harper then took him into the labyrinth of the school's belly, through corridors, dozens of doors and past halls until they arrived at what the boy called the library.

"To get your books and things," he said.

The girl at the desk was thin and blond, a Barbie, he guessed. She wore an open dress shirt over a silk top and shorts -- and ballet shoes, of course.

She could be any girl he'd seen before, and she smiled.

"You are Lucian, aren't you?" she asked, offering her long, narrow hand. "I'm Aubrey, welcome."

He grunted a reply, touching her fingers.

"We have your things here," the girl went on, turning to a cardboard box on the desk. It had a sticker with his name on it. She picked it up and handed it to him.

"Good luck," she wished. He smelled the school's standard lotion on her.

"Ehm," he said. "Shouldn't I check?"

The girl shrugged. He put down the box and went through its content.

There were books on fashion, he saw, and a book with a large, beautifully made up eye on the cover. 'Beauty 101' it was titled.

"Are you sure these are for me?" he asked. "There must be a lot missing."

The girl seemed puzzled. She leaned over to look into the box.

"Like what?" she asked. Lucian shifted through the books.

"Like math?" he asked. "Geography? Physics?" The girl's smile returned.

"Ah yes," she said. "We don't have them."

Lucian looked from the girl to the books. There was French and English. Music too. Etiquette and a book called Grace.

"I see... I guess we get those on computer?" he asked. "iPads, maybe?"

She frowned, looking from Lucian to Harper, who shrugged.

"No," she said. "We, ehm, we don't have those classes."

***

The boys already sat around the table in the small breakfast and lunch hall. They welcomed him with a lot of noise, calling him the Amazing Runner.

News spread fast.

There was a salad with crunchy bits, and a smoothie. There also was a lot of iced water -- and pills. Dessert was fruit and yoghurt.

And now they were here, he and Harper, sitting on a bench across the big lawn -- digesting. On the grass were groups of girls, lazing or studying, talking and laughing. On a distant lane he saw a number of joggers, ponytails dancing.

"So you've been here for a while?" he asked the black haired boy.

Harper smiled, turning his eyes to Lucian. They were dark and liquid, living in the shadow of his bangs.

"Been here for a year," he said. "But they have this other school. Let's call it high school. I was there for two years. So were some of the others."

"They?" Lucian asked. The boy shrugged.

"You know...," he said, letting the word dangle. Lucian watched the boy's fingers fumble in his lap.

They were long and narrow.

"I know nothing," Lucian answered. "I came here, what, three days ago, dumped by my mother, and I'm confused ever since. This school is weird man -- silly clothes and ballet lessons and no math or physics. Are we the only boys?"

"No," Harper said. "Lots of boys." He shirked a bit closer and laid his left hand on Lucian's.

Lucian removed his hand, causing the boy's fingers to fall on his thigh. They started moving on the bare skin.

"I like you, Lucian," Harper said. "Could we be friends?" Lucian looked from the hand on his leg to the boy's face.

"Are you gay?" he asked. Harper didn't respond, but his fingers drew a slow circle.

Lucian jumped to his feet.

"Fuck you!" he cried out. "Leave me alone. I'm not a faggot!"

Harper's face flushed; his eyes grew huge.

"I...," he said, bringing his fingertips to his mouth. Then he slid off the bench, stood for a second and ran off.

"That wasn't very nice, Lucian," a voice said. He turned around; Drew was standing behind him.

She must have been one of the girls he saw running.

The loose tank top she wore had dark sweaty blotches. Her chest heaved as she panted, her throat gleaming with sweat. Nipples poked into the sticky fabric.

She frowned, causing a vertical crease to appear between her eyebrows; there was no smile.

"He... he touched me," Lucian said, hating how the word rose into a whine. "I'm not a faggot!"

The smile returned to Drew's face. She stepped forward and held his shoulders. Her hands were hot.

"Of course you're not," she said, her face quite close to his. "But what if you were? Who cares?"

Lucian shrugged in a halfhearted effort to shake off her hands. Her scent rose like steam from her soaked body. He tried to avoid her eyes.

"So you prefer girls?" she asked, her head tilting as her gaze searched for his.

"Of course," he said. She chuckled.

"Ah yes... because you're not a faggot."

She leaned in and kissed his cheek. The touch felt electric. Then her soft lips found his. He trembled.

"Come," she breathed. "Let's walk a bit."

She took his hand and led him down a narrow path into a thicket of trees and bushes until they reached a small clearing. No one could see them there. The sunlight was filtered; it was like a little green and gold and copper copula.

"I bet they called you faggot all the time," she said, standing in front of him -- close. "Or sissy." She sighed. "Ah well, bullies all over the world have such a small vocabulary."

She smiled.

The place was quiet; the sounds from the lawn were distant.

Lucian felt a drop of sweat trickle down his temple. He had never been this close to a girl as pretty as Drew. Her scent, her voice and her slow smile caused tightness in his crotch. He looked down; there was a bulge in the shining satin of his shorts. Drew chuckled. He blushed.

"Let's kiss," she said.

Her lips were soft and yielding; they also were hot and moist and open. He closed his eyes; his face seemed to sink into hers, like being absorbed.

Her tongue entered, finding his. A moan vibrated inside his head. Then her body pressed into his; he was touched by every square inch of her flesh.

He'd never kissed like this.

Maybe he never really kissed. The world vanished. There were only mouths kissing and arms embracing, hands feeling.

One of her hands took his and led it up her slick belly. It slid under the loose damp fabric of her top to find her breast. It was quite modest, not even a real breast, really; just a patch of softness on her ribs. But it had a hard center -- a stiff, erect nipple nudging the palm of his hand.

Another moan caused new vibrations.

Led by hers, his hand made slow circles over her nipple. She pushed her chest into his palm, moving against the pressure.

Then she pulled it over to her other breast.

Lucian tightened at the very core of his being; a hot, sweet cramp radiated from the center of his crotch, spreading all over his body.

It was an erection and yet it felt different.

His orgasms had always been fast and hasty affairs -- lonely races towards release. But this was slow and subtle, centering at his crotch, but spreading through his body, making his fingers tingle and the hair on his neck prick.

"Good, so good," the girl's voice breathed into his kiss. He felt a pang of pride.

Her hand pushed his down her body, finding the waistband of her loose running shorts. Her belly was flat and firm under soft skin; there was no hair on her mound -- and there were no panties.

The skin felt slick, damp even, and very hot.

Then he found the nub, and as soon as he did, she stiffened in his embrace, crying out.

Lucian had fondled a girl only once before.

It had been a hurried and sweaty affair in a dark corner at school. The memory was a mixture of throat-clenching excitement and utter humiliation. He'd felt the girl's little breasts through her top, and her pussy through her panties. She'd humped against his fingers. Then her cell phone beeped.

She'd pulled it out, looked on it and pushed him away.

"Thanks," she'd mumbled, and she'd left him standing.

He hadn't felt a nub in the girl's crotch, back then, but he hadn't been into her panties, had he? He knew about clits, though. He'd read they were usually tiny, but they could vary a lot, like nipples.

What he felt on Drew was big, he guessed -- the size of maybe a finger's first joint. It was wet and slippery. And according to her reactions, it was very sensitive.

He rubbed and she humped. Then she said: "Lower." Her hand pushed his lower while she spread her thighs.

"Put it in," she panted. "Put your finger in."

Drew leaned back onto his supporting arm, pushing her pelvis forward and spreading her legs wider. An opening yielded to his probing fingers. Two of them slipped inside. Her pussy was tight around his digits, but it seemed to inhale them.

His fingers slid into a hot tunnel with moist, satiny walls. Soon he was up to his knuckles into her vagina.

Drew started humping.

"Fuck me," she breathed. "Fuck me deeper." And her open mouth found his again in a greedy kiss.

In the tight space between them he felt her fingers fondling her own nipples and her clitoris; the backs of her hands bumped against his chest and belly. She arched and stiffened. Then she cried out.

Her spasms strangled his fingers.

She came and in her throes she slipped out of his embrace to fall on the ground. Her shorts were down her thighs. Her crotch shone with a whitish liquid that still welled up from the stubby nub. It leaked into the crack of her ass cheeks. He saw the opening where his fingers had been.

The nub looked purplish and at its center was a slit, producing the milky liquid.

Drew wasn't a girl at all.

She groaned and scrambled to her feet, pulling up her shorts. She stood panting, looking at him and then turning her eyes away.

"Sorry," she mumbled. "So sorry." And she ran off, becoming a rustle in the bushes.

He was alone.

Standing under the roof of leaves, his ears seemed to pop open. Sounds returned -- the birds sang, he heard a distant airplane. His hand, still slick from the girl's orgasm, moved over the satin crotch of his shorts, cupping his bulge.

It felt like holding a hot little animal.

When he squeezed, incredible sensations spread through his legs and belly. There was no hard cock to hold onto, just this soft swollen creature rolling and roiling inside his hand. And then it started -- like a private earthquake, shaking in slow motion.

He trembled.

His knees gave in and he fell to the earth, his body feeling like a high-pressure cooker with no lid to pull off. His ears buzzed. A scream wanted out, but his throat blocked its way.

Lucian fell forward, his brow to the earth -- musky, moist earth.

One hand kept squeezing; the other pushed a fist into his gasping mouth.

He exploded.

It was the slowest explosion ever, creeping into every niche and crevice of his body. It sang in his ears and pounded in his temples, going on and on -- and on.

Sobbing he crouched on the fragrant earth. His body convulsed, his teeth bit his fist and his hot breath gushed around it.

***

Lucian had no idea how long his orgasm lasted -- or if it was an orgasm at all.

It felt quite different from what he knew.

It gathered from the extremities of his body -- his toes, his fingers, the hair in his neck -- like a summer storm on a sweltering day, taking ages to gather before pouring and thundering down.

As he lay on his knees shaking, his mind needed minutes to clear. Still squeezing his cock, he heard squelching noises. The satin crotch of his shorts looked dark and soaked. Liquid leaked down his inner thighs -- tears poured down his cheeks.

So the girl was not a girl. And if she wasn't a girl, what did that make him ... kissing her, fingering her, coming hard?

Lucian rose to his feet.

His legs trembled. All he saw were sun-dappled leaves as he looked around. How could he walk across the open lawn, looking like this -- disheveled, flushed, his crotch a big stain?

Falling to his knees again, he fought new tears.

He jerked off a homo and fucked him in the ass with his fingers. He stared down on his hand and brought it to his nose.

All he smelled was his own sperm, he guessed.

In his mind he repeated 'homo -- fucking -- ass.' The words added up to a sickening truth, and yet, he couldn't tie it to Drew; he just couldn't put her sweet smiling face on it.

Faggots were guys, weren't they, maybe with limp wrists and hysterical voices, but they were never like Drew.

Drew might not be a girl, but she wasn't a guy either, was she?

Lucian rubbed the tips of his fingers together.

There had been a knob in her crotch, a distinct nub. He had never felt a girl's clitoris, but he was sure it hadn't been that -- and not a penis either.

He knew his own penis, didn't he? And he'd seen others' in school showers -- small ones and intimidating thick and long ones. He'd felt his own penis grow and get hard in the grip of his jerking fist.

Drew's had been soft; her whole crotch had been a soaking swamp; no hardness, no hair, no... balls. No balls? He tried to retrace his chaotic memories.

No.

There had been this little slippery bump, poking up like a baby's thumb from soft, swelling flesh. Feeling lower there had been slick skin, soft like a pillow until his fingers entered a tight hole, sliding in -- no balls, no sac, nothing.

But there had been sperm.

A cold ripple ran up his spine. What did he know anyway? He'd seen the sperm; it had looked and smelled like his own. His fingers had been sticky with it. It welled up from the slit in the knob's head, flooding and ebbing like a pulse.

Lucian groaned.

The faces of elegant, ballet-shoed girls popped up in his mind; they were all smiling. He recalled Harper's smoldering gaze under the ink-black bangs, feeling the boy's fingers on his thigh, drawing circles. And he saw Charlie -- the petite porcelain puppet.

Lucian knew he had to get away.

***

His clothes were gone from the room; the suitcase too.

In his closet he found piles of neatly folded satiny outfits, pretty panties and ballet shoes. On a rack hung a number of standard oversized dress shirts in whites and pastels. His old teddy bear sat perched on his pillow, its one remaining ear bound with a satin bow.

Lucian pulled off his sticky shorts.

He'd run across the lawn as fast as he could; there hadn't been many people left. No one stopped him or even called out to him. The corridors were busier, but he ignored all passers-by until he stood panting in front of his own door.

Lucian walked into his bathroom and washed his crotch.

Studying his penis, he saw no changes but for the missing foreskin. His ball sac might be tighter, but his balls were there.

He wondered what to wear.

He could hardly see himself out there trying to hitch a ride in short shorts even if they weren't pink, or in ballet shoes either. There was no money and nothing to eat. He sagged down on the bed when knuckles rapped on the door.

"Go away!" he yelled.

The door opened; it couldn't be locked. The boy Harper stood against the light.

"Sorry for what I did," he said in a low voice. "I didn't know..." Then he took a step forward, tilting his head as he studied Lucian's face. "Have you been crying?" he asked.

"Go away," Lucian repeated, averting his eyes. But Harper didn't leave.

Lucian felt a weight depressing the mattress next to him. An arm slid around his shoulder. He jumped to his feet.

"I said go away!"

Lucian stood panting -- trembling.

Harper looked up at him from the bed, his eyes calm. He wore a tight lycra sports outfit. It made him look thin, but toned. His black hair was a mess. Why was it so hard to admit the boy was gorgeous and that his beauty touched him?

Lucian shook his head.

"They are all boys, aren't they?" he asked.

The boy on the bed said nothing.

"Aren't they?" Lucian repeated.

"Depends," Harper said, shrugging. "You mean Kelly and Mu and Jo, Cassidy and Taylor and us, the Bobs?"

Lucian groaned.

"Don't act stupid. I mean all of them," he said, raising his voice. To his frustration the boy shrugged again.

"I guess so," he said.

Lucian took a step closer, trembling from the need to shake the boy.

"You guess so?"

Harper leaned back, looking afraid.

"I don't know what to call them!" he blurted out. "They look like girls, I mean the Barbs, don't they?"

Lucian sank to his haunches in front of Harper, his hands resting on the bed at both sides of the boy's sleek, strong legs.

"Drew is not a girl," he said, slowly. "She has a penis and no vagina. I saw it."

Harper slumped, looking away.

"You knew," Lucian said, rising.

Harper looked up; his black eyes liquid.

"Yes," he said. "Drew is not a girl; but she isn't a boy either, is she? You must have seen that too."

Lucian recalled the tiny nub and the lack of balls, the softness. But he didn't want to talk about that.

"Are the others like her?" he asked. Harper was silent. "The other Barbs?" Lucian insisted.

"I only know of a few," Harper offered, almost whispering. "Just one more, really -- Nico, and Drew of course."

Lucian recalled the Asian girl waiting at the table, yesterday -- the way he'd watched her ass. He sat down next to the boy. The bed squeaked.

"What are they, Harper?" he asked. "Are they born that way? Is it an accident maybe? Or were they...?" He could not finish the thought.

"I don't know," Harper said. "You should ask them."

He rose from the mattress.

"But I came to pick you up and take you to Mamselle," he said. "We have to run."

Lucian stalled; then he followed.

***

The room Harper took him to didn't look like a room at all.

It was huge and tiled from floor to ceiling. There were no windows, just a horizontal glass slit that let the daylight in. It ran all around, high up where ceiling and walls met.

It was a public bathroom, obviously, with showerheads on two walls, maybe twenty of them. One other wall was covered by a row of open closets. Lucian saw rungs and hangers.

The last wall had wide ledges carrying neatly folded towels and piles of satiny garment.

Everything was white -- the tiles, the textiles and the closets.

The red haired boy, Kelly, was already there, naked, his skin a riot of freckles. He greeted Harper with a cry, embracing him in a bear hug. His skinny limbs were everywhere. His groping hands helped Harper to strip.