Mirrors of Narcissus Read Online Free PDF Page B

ever come to making love with another boy. Only Christine had been able to do this to me. And she would do anything for me, to stretch her erotic boundaries in an almost reckless fashion. Only with her had I not had to resort to my imagination. My excitement was what I might have felt if I were naked on a bed together with another boy.
    Her slender, boyish figure, and the androgynous, classical beauty of her face easily enhanced the illusion. When her hair was brushed straight back, as it was now, the exquisite shape of her head and the perfection of her ears made her seem like the beautiful young prince of childhood fairy tales.
    I reached up and gathered her hair in a bunch behind her head. “Now you look like a boy.”
    “Meaning you wish I had bigger tits.”
    “No way. I love you just the way you are.”
    I lay on my back and she sat atop me straddling my thighs, the better to stroke my erection. From the way she was sitting, it looked as if my up-thrusting penis were hers, completing the illusion that she was a boy.
    “You look like a young kid beating off,” I said.
    “Oh?” She smiled naughtily, immediately sensing what I wanted. Without hesitation, she began stroking my dick with smooth, practiced motions of the wrist, parting her lips and running her tongue over them. Then she opened her mouth slightly let out a soft moan. It was a beautiful performance.
    “Is this how you do it?” she asked.
    “Oh yes. You do it so well.”
    Looking at the expression on her face, it was difficult to believe she wasn’t feeling exactly what I was feeling. Yes, of course she’d seen a boy’s pleasure at firsthand. I thought of her masturbating her boyfriends by hand. I was now looking at Julian’s face….
    She refined the illusion by peering around furtively as she stroked, like a boy in his bedroom fearful of being caught at it. I thought of myself earlier in the library restroom.
    “Oh yes….”
    She closed her eyes and began sighing, moaning, grimacing, a little exaggeratedly at first, but then more and more realistically. A strange and wonderful boy-girl had been created before my eyes, and I could feel each nuance of his pleasure as he masturbated himself, for he and I were one, stroking and being stroked, boy on boy.
    The illusion was perfect.
    “Come on, baby….” She had gripped her shaft and was giving herself up to a straight pumping action, jerking it up and down in a frenzied pace which made the glans bob crazily. Her hair had come loose and now flopped rhythmically against her cheekbones to the beat of the creaking of the bed beneath us. The heel of her hand made a slight slapping sound as it hit repeatedly against her groin.
    She glanced at me wickedly. She knew I liked what I saw.
    And my excitement in turn ignited hers. She became lost in her performance, excited by it, exploring the perverse corners of her own soul. As she sensed the onset of my pleasure, she really seemed to forget for a moment that she was a girl. Suddenly she threw her head back and her thighs gripped me tighter and her lips made a tight O as she shot her warm semen all over my chest.
    I was in heaven….

4
     
    Peter Cockle lived north of the campus among the hills overlooking the city. I’d spoken with him over the phone and had taken him for just another art student. But after I’d learned more about him from Christine, I began to feel a little nervous about meeting him. Apparently he was already something of a campus celebrity, being one of the most talented artists in school. There were those who called him a genius. The art professors treated him a little deferentially, creating a certain amount of envy among the other art students.
    It was Christine who had introduced me to modeling. She’d started to model herself under the work-study program offered by the school, which gave students part-time employment around campus. These jobs barely paid minimum wages, but were convenient and easy. The fine arts department was