Lucian Ch. 02

They wrestled, grunting and groaning.

The redhead's pale body made a striking contrast with the dark boy's olive skin. They were both thin and hairless but they sure were boys, penises and balls swinging as they wrestled.

Their groans and screams echoed off the tiled walls.

"Come," Harper said, panting as he pushed Kelly away. "Let's get showered."

The classroom didn't look like a classroom either.

When they sauntered in, only clad in short white robes, Lucian saw a row of mirrors along three of the walls. Below them were ledges carrying all kinds of pots and bottles and things. He saw brushes and sponges.

The air was a riot of sweet scents.

In the open space at the center of the room were barber's chairs. Next to one of them stood a tiny woman and a tall, blond girl -- smiling.

"You are Lucian," the small woman said.

She pronounced his name 'Lucièn,' putting the emphasis on the last syllable.

"Lúcian," he corrected.

She ignored him, turning to the blond girl while raising her eyebrows, questioning.

"Hair," the girl said. "And the usual intro."

The woman's dark button eyes were all over him.

"Pas mal," she said. "Not bad."

She took quick, silent steps toward him. Her blanched skin seemed spotless, her round face void of any wrinkles. She might be thirty or she might be sixty. A small, bony hand reached for his hair, touching the curls.

"Si mignon," she whispered. "How cute."

Her eyes squeezed into slits as a smile touched her cherry-red lips. Then she stepped aside and pointed at the chair.

"Assied-toi, chéri. Please be seated."

Lucian looked from her to Harper, who shrugged. The boy pointed at his own hair.

"You'll get a haircut," he said. "A bob like us, the usual."

Lucian leaned back, closing his eyes as hot water hit his scalp. Fingers ran through his hair, getting tangled up in its curls.

"I'm Mackenzie. Everyone calls me Mac." He supposed the voice belonged to the hands washing his hair.

"Lucian," he mumbled. The fingers massaged his skull; it felt good.

"So thick and curly," the girl said. "You have lovely hair."

He didn't respond, having heard the compliment often before, usually accompanied by the line 'like a girl's.' Keeping his eyes shut he sank deeper into the chair's cool leather. One by one his muscles relaxed; all sounds seemed to drown in the gurgling water.

The hands started massaging the shampoo in, before once again rinsing it out with a spray of hot, soothing water.

Perfume hung around him like a cloud, stirring an uneasy mixture of arousal and embarrassment. He knew the feeling; it hit him whenever he relaxed enough to stop minding. It caused a tingling of the skin, and a tightening of the crotch, always followed by a rush of shame.

He sighed.

Then a sticky, warm fluid engulfed the fingers of his right hand. It startled him. He looked and saw the blond top of another girl's head. She knelt at his side, her fingers rubbing the stuff over and around his nails.

A freckled face looked up at him, smiling to show braced front teeth.

"Hello, Lucian," she said with a lisp. "I'm Honor; I do your nails." She started filing. He just mumbled, as a towel sank over his head and hands started drying his hair.

This was all wrong, he knew. He should pull himself free and run.

"Call her Honey," the other girl said. "We all do." The girl with the brace looked up, smiling.

Scissors snapped at his hair; a girl filed the nails of his fingers and toes. Then a blower sent hot wind through his hair; a hand lifted it, pushing it left and right. He should feel irritated, embarrassed, alarmed -- but he didn't. He just felt woozy from being handled, taken care of with so much attention.

It was all, just, well, too much.

Then hands tugged at the sash on his robe. He tried to stop them, but was too late. Cool air caressed his exposed body.

"You can't," he said, but it was a whisper, drowned in gasps from the girls.

"Il est beau, non?"

It was the voice of the petite woman. He felt fingertips run over his skin. "Doux et blanc -- soft and pale, hardly any hair at all."

As the hand reached the skin over his penis, Lucian pulled free and jumped off the chair. His hands covered his crotch; he trembled.

"Don't!" he said. "Just don't." His voice sounded higher than he intended. Closing the short robe around him he made for the exit -- pushing aside the girl Mackenzie.

The door was locked. He turned around.

"Open it!" he yelled. "Let me out."

The girls looked at him in silence; so did the boys who were in the back of the room. The petite lady shrugged.

"Don't be a fool, Lucian," she said, her accent almost gone. Her small hand patted the chair's armrest.

"Come and sit. We obviously need to talk."

Lucian didn't budge. His hand pushed down the door's handle -- to no avail.

"I don't want this," he said, glad that his voice sounded almost normal. "None of... of this." He made an encompassing gesture indicating the room.

The woman smiled. God, he got sick of the omnipresent smiling. She turned to Harper.

"Show him... 'Arpèr, please?" she asked.

Harper flicked the dark bangs out of his eyes. He rose and, walking forward, opening his robe. It fell to the floor.

"You too," the woman said, addressing Kelly as she snapped her fingers.

Kelly rose too, dropping his robe. The two stood together, arms crossed at their backs, showing their naked bodies, one slick and olive, the other spangled with a myriad of freckles.

Harper's penis was dark and quite long. Kelly's was pink and stubby.

The petite woman turned back to Lucian.

"You see what I see?" she asked. He didn't respond. His hand still held the door's handle.

"I see two boys," the woman went on, walking over to Harper on her soundless slippers. She let her tiny hand run over his shoulder and down his arm. "And they aren't ugly, not even clumsy or bony like many boys their age.

They are beautiful."

She stretched the last word, emphasizing the last syllable. It allowed her accent to crawl back in. Flashing a smile to Lucian she said:

"And you don't want this?"

Lucian watched her hand touch Harper's hip. The boy looked straight ahead.

"You make them into girls. I don't want to become a girl!"

The words left him like a hoarse, raspy groan, curling up into a whine. The silence it created lasted for two seconds before it was filled with a chuckle.

"Ah oui!" the woman said, turning the word into a hissing sigh. "Who'd ever want to be a girl?" Her hand reached for Harper's crotch, cradling his soft penis and balls. "Do you, 'Arpèr?" she asked him. "Do you want to become a girl?"

The boy never looked down.

"Of course not, Mamselle," he said.

Mamselle kept her eyes on the dark, rather plump penis. Her thumb started caressing its exposed head. Then she smiled up at the boy, whose face blushed deeply.

"Don't be ashamed of its size, it'll get better," she said, nodding. "Undress please, Mackenzie," she went on, pronouncing it Mackahnsíe. "You too, 'Onór."

There was a soft rustle of clothes when both girls obliged. They stood straight, hands on their backs like the boys. Their feet stood in a silk puddle of discarded clothes.

Mackenzie was a head taller than the other blonde; she was also more tanned, except for little pale triangles over her nipples. Her chest curved softly, but there were no breasts. And in a triangle frame of whiteness over her crotch Lucian saw a stubby knob against bare, hairless skin.

The girl Honor was all-pale and petite. Her nipples were pale too, surrounded by areolas of pink -- and in the cradle of her thighs rested a soft little penis.

They might not be boys, but they certainly couldn't be girls. They had the hair of angels and the faces of cherubs, but the crotches of a boy child.

Lucian's fingers tightened around the handle.

"I'm not... this," he insisted nodding to the naked couple, but there was a hesitation in his voice -- a question mark?

"No," the woman said, losing her thin-lipped smile. "But you will be."

"I... won't." Lucian heard his hesitation. "Ever," he added.

Mamselle nodded. Then she turned to the naked foursome.

"Please leave us for a bit, mes enfants," she asked, handing Harper the key. They picked up their robes and hurried off. Harper touched Lucian's hand as he went for the handle to open the door.

Lucian withdrew as if stung.

"Sit down, please, Lucien," the small woman asked when they were alone, giving his name a French ring. "We really need to talk."

The longer he stood, the sillier he felt. The door was unlocked now, he could leave. The woman seemed to read his mind.

"Yes," she said, walking closer. "You can run, chéri. No doubt you're good at that -- done it a lot. But what is the point? Where would you run? Or even more precise: what is it really that you run from?"

Her smile was gone now. Her eyes were big and dark. A small hand reached for his; he didn't withdraw.

"You can't keep running from yourself, Lucien," she went on.

He let her take his hand and lead him to the chair. The still warm leather sighed as he sat down. He felt the silk of the robe caress his thighs as it fell open. Hurriedly he gripped it to close it again.

Mamselle stood real close. She smelled sweet.

"Right now, Lucien," she said, "you cling to being nobody." Her voice was soft and neutral. "Do you know why?"

It was one of those teacher questions he hated. She set up the premise so only her 'why' would count. The whole question was bullshit: first she decides he's nobody and then she asks him why.

"I'm not... ," he started.

"Oh but yes," she interrupted, nodding fiercely. "You are. You are nobody because you are too damn chicken to be somebody."

All French had gone now.

"You know that you're not a real male, never will be; you'll never be accepted as one. You know you might be accepted as a homosexual -- you might even be very successful..." She smiled before going on. "But you're not homosexual, are you? You even hate them."

She held his gaze for a while.

"And you won't be a girl either," she went on. "Although you'd make a stunning woman." Another smile. "See how many somebodies you could be if you just wanted to?"

Her hand touched his forearm. He didn't pull away.

"Lucien," she said, almost whispering as her face came closer to his. "You could be the most beautiful creature I ever met. If only you would choose."

Her flowery breath washed the final word over his face. He refused to agree. Why would he have to choose? No boy had to, did he?

"I want to leave," he said, sitting up straighter. "I don't belong here."

Mamselle moved back, spreading her hands. Her unperturbed smile was killing him.

"So you run," she said, stepping further back to make room. "Well, that's a choice too, I guess. Nobody will stop you. It's easy, you know, leaving here. The gate isn't really locked. And I guess every red-blooded truck driver passing by will stop for this angelic hitch hiking doll in silky shorts and ballet slippers."

She chuckled, lifting both hands in a 'voila'-kind of gesture.

"I doubt if after he stops he'll ever stop again though, chéri."

He hated her for saying exactly what had been on his mind all day.

"I need my old clothes back," he said. "Why can't I get them? You stole them; they are mine."

Mamselle stepped closer again. Her doll-like face moved slowly left and right.

"You remember, don't you?" she asked. "Remember how it was out there -- the teasing, the bullying. It won't be different now; no... it will get worse, jeans or no jeans. So where will you go? What will you do? They'll eat you alive. We're your only chance, Lucien. We love you. We're here to protect you."

Her face was right in front of him again; the pale, immaculate skin, the dark doll's eyes, the open lips -- the sweet, sweet scent.

She was right, of course. But she couldn't be, could she? What would be left for him if she were right?

"Bullshit," he said.

Her lashes fluttered.

"Don't use words like that, chéri," she said, a little whine in her voice. "They make you look ugly."

He shuddered. Goddammit, he had to get away from this. Now. He rose. The woman didn't stop him; she even stepped aside.

The door wasn't locked.

The two blond Barbies and the boys were still in the big bathroom. They had dressed again and watched him cross the tiled floor without a word.

***

Reaching his room, he sat down on his bed, torn up by hopeless plans and even more desperate counter plans. A slight headache started building behind his brow.

Looking up he saw part of his face in the mirror.

The woman was right. He was his own trap. Even if he'd find his jeans and shirt, and a jacket, he'd never get away with it. He had no place to go to, no money. He'd have to throw himself at people's mercy.

Where could he run to? Home? His mother would bring him back at once. His father would kill him, if he were around.

Where could he hide; how would he live?

He once more looked at himself, trying to see what people would see -- and what they would think. They might not take him for a girl, but wouldn't that be worse? The styled hair, the narrow, soft face, the eyes...

"A damn faggot," he murmured.

He remembered Mamselle's words about the truck driver that might pick him up. It made him shiver.

He could wear a cap, if he could find one, or even cut his hair. Hide his body, lower his voice. But it would still be him, wouldn't it?

Lucian watched his hand caressing his thigh. The polished nails dented the skin -- so soft, slick. Damn body. What did the woman say? The problem wasn't where to run to, but where to run from.

He was his own prison.

Tears left his eyes and ran down his cheeks. Then the door opened. Against the light was the blurred silhouette of a tall girl -- Drew?

"What do you want? Go away." His voice was thick; it sounded more helpless than angry. The girl ignored his advice, stepping inside and sitting next to him, like Harper had.

Her fingers lifted his curly bangs.

"Don't cry, please, Lucian," she said.

All it did was make him cry harder, until his shoulders shook. He hated how she embraced him, pulling his face against her chest while making little sounds of comfort. But his arms went around her, holding her tight. His tears soaked her robe.

All stress flowed from his body.

Hands lifted his head; calm gray eyes studied his ruined face. Then soft lips found his, incredibly weak lips slipping and sliding on the slickness of his tears and snot.

A tongue pressed against his teeth until they opened.

He stopped thinking, feeling the headache seep away. He just let himself drown, plunging deeper into waves of sweet-smelling, careless happiness. He still shook from sobbing -- or was it sobbing?

He floated.

Lucian had never held a girl like this, or whatever the gender might be that he was clinging to right now. The body was soft, sweet. It made him feel weightless, like a wispy insect in a spider's web -- a butterfly pinned on the sweet, insisting tongue. He didn't care.

He did not care.

They kissed and hugged for minutes before coming up like exhausted swimmers. Drew smiled. It was a new smile; a smile only for him. Her fingers removed strands of hair sticking to his glowing face.

"Silly boy," she said and they laughed.

Lucian knew he was being pushed and pulled, torn down and built up. Maybe this girl took advantage of him too. He was shattered and she held the pieces. She might be taking advantage of him at this lowest point in his life. Maybe she was also used to help tear him down. He didn't know.

He didn't know if he should care any longer -- the web was everywhere.

He was tired, exhausted, and she was there. She was sweet and soft, licking the tears off his face, rocking him in her embrace. He was alone; more lonesome than even he had ever been.

Drew undressed him and planted soft kisses all over his chest.

She licked his nipples and his navel -- traveling down. The palm of her hand urged him softly to decline. He rested on his elbows, looking down the pale, narrow path of his upper body to where her blond hair obstructed his view.

But he felt her.

A familiar rush made his invisible penis swell as her lips kissed the skin around it. Then her tongue touched the exposed tip, licking its rim and the slit of its entrance. He closed his eyes and moaned. Liquid heat engulfed his cock, massaging every square millimeter of it.

"Do... don't," he muttered, but the words hardly amounted to a sigh. His protesting hand hung in the air before falling back to the bed.

Drew sucked in his penis, balls and all.

Her tongue danced a maddening dance around it. More blood rushed to his crotch, but the heat started spreading. His arms and legs tingled, as did the skin of his neck and skull.

Then a finger found the entrance of his anus, slipping in, finding hidden spots that sent currents of electricity everywhere. The sensation was too much and he came with a cry, spurting his sperm into the moist, hot glove that held him captive.

But it didn't stop.

He groaned when a new, prowling orgasm crept in on the tail of its predecessor. It started at his clawing toes and washed over his body -- only to return and flush him all over again, and again. Waves and wavelets flooded every niche of his arching body.

A spell of dizziness overwhelmed him.

Then the arch broke and he crumpled, falling into fragments on the bed -- sobbing.

"Sweet silly boy," a voice said.

There was a giggle.

***

The essence of youth is to experience things for the first time. It's an irretrievable quality, making older people desperately jealous.

When life came back to Lucian, he was alone on the bed. A cool breeze licked at the film of sweat on his body. He felt mangled -- his muscles were sore, even his bones ached. He also felt both emptied and fulfilled.

It was very confusing.

His eyes traveled down his body, where his shrunken cock lay pink and slick with moisture. Its exposed head rested on the red, glowing ball sac that contrasted fiercely with the pale skin around it.

The head still twitched, feeling hot. Slime oozed from its slit, like a snail's trail.

He reached for it when the sliding door of his shower made him look up. It was Drew, her hair damp and her body naked inside a white towel. She chuckled, when he pulled his hand back in a hurry.

"Up again, already?" she asked, grinning. He mumbled and sat up.

"Did they send you?" he asked.

The question chased the grin off her face. She grabbed a pillow and hit him with it, causing the towel to slip. She hit him again before he took hold of the pillow and pulled it from her hands. The pulling made her fall on the bed, sprawling naked. Her face was red, her eyes dark under a damp mass of unruly hair.

"Nobody sent me," she panted. "Damn, Lucian, why would you say that? You spoil everything." She crawled up until she was kneeling, staring down on him.

"I like you, Lucian," she went on. "I see how you suffer and I damn care for you, you ungrateful bastard."

As she screamed at him, his eyes automatically found her exposed crotch with the telltale knob on the smooth, bare skin. It looked as red and agitated as his own penis.

"Stop staring," she said, but a smile replaced her anger. She grabbed his hand and brought it to her crotch. He tried pulling away, but she was strong. She bent forward, searching for his eyes.