Chapter 3

I was nervous when I checked in. The registrar was snippy because he had to wait for me to show up. “I don’t know why you couldn’t have been here earlier,” he said. My roommate, an upper-class student by the name of Ryan Chitworth came down to take me back to the room. He was nice enough (it was part of his job to guide this pre-college student gently along).

When we got off the elevator on the 3^rd floor it opened to a large lounge area with the doors of three separated rooms surrounding it. There were two bathrooms with showers on either side of the lounge and area kitchen area. Walking into the room there was a bunk bed set up with an upper and a lower. “You’re in the upper bunk,” Chitworth said. “Your clothes go in the wardrobe over there.”

I was a young kid in a strange town far away from home but was quickly developing a different outlook on life. I had just gotten out of the cab where I had been necking with the woman who had captured me on the airplane then took me to her flat. What started as kissing in the cab morphed to being given “head” (Colette’s term for giving me a blowjob). Total enjoyment of her transportation fellatio was impeded by the cab driver’s eyes who seemed to spend more time in the mirror than on the road. I was too young to understand that such goings-on in a cab were perks for the drivers. Just a day or so ago only two girls had played with my cock in any way during my life. I had never gotten laid but on the plane from Boston to London a British Airways stewardess by the name of Colette Bentley gave me a hand job under my blanket which gave me the opinion that I was becoming a man of the world. I still could not get over it and didn’t know if I would ever tell anybody about it. They never would have believed me.

Ryan Chitworth was cool though. He laughed when I told him about the registrar. He said, “We Brits tend to be a bit perfunctory here.” On the elevator, he was looking at me a bit strangely and I caught him glancing down at my hand that was at my side. During the cab ride, I developed nasal fatigue and could only smell the scent of Colette’s pussy on my hand if I put it to my face. Embarrassed at the thought that Ryan might be noticing her scent on my hand I quickly put it in my pocket. I had this strange compulsion to blurt out to him what had gone on with my magical stewardess since she had sat next to me on the plane at Logan Airport.

“So,” Ryan said, “If the registrar had left would you have had to stay in a hotel tonight? Was your plane late?” I had washed my hands for good sanitary hygiene but more importantly to erase the smell of Colette’s pussy, hoping to erase any thoughts Ryan might have had about any misbehavior in the taxi. Maybe he was just making conversation when he said. “Surely you must have called ahead to make arrangements with the registrar, what?”

It was interesting the way Ryan ended his statement with “what” rather than “huh” which would have been the more conversational way to say it back home. I’ll have to get used to this way of speaking. But I was concerned that my new roommate and mentor were digging to find something juicy about the reason I arrived at the housing center so late. To my surprise and relief, he changed the subject.

When we got settled, he took me to the food hall where we both picked up trays and made selections along the cafeteria line. I showed the cashier my temporary card which was good for a week until I got my permanent one. After eating, during which we got to know each other a little better he said, “Shall we go over to Spike’s for a pint?”

I rarely drank at home. Besides, in the U.S. I would not even be able to be served alcohol for another three and a half years. “I heard that the drinking age here is 18,” I said. “I’m only 17 so I won’t be able to drink beer for a few more months.”

“Ale,” he said. “But don’t worry about that, I can just get two pints and bring it over to the table.” Looking at my worried face he went on. “Spike won’t ask; he and I are mates. Spike and my uncle have been mates for years but it’s pretty much the same. He will look the other way as long as I keep you in line, we’ll be ok. It will be only one pint.” Still, I felt like a major criminal walking into the bar.

When four guys (I would learn to call them blokes) yelled, “RYAN” I had mixed feelings about being a high schooler with bona fide university students. I doubted that I would be accepted by a group of college men and was quite uncomfortable. Ryan made a level wave of his hand and headed toward the group. When we reached the table he said, “Say hello to Arthur Chadwick, he’s a Yank. They all looked at each other and said nothing. “Introduce yourselves to this pathetic American teenager while I bring back a couple of pints.”

My friends and I talked that way to each other at home. But being a virtual stranger in a far-off land I was intimidated by it. At the same time, I knew I had to accept it as geographical normality, or I would definitely be excluded from the group. I was miffed that Ryan seemed to use “American” as a pejorative term. But one of the guys grabbed my hand, shook it vigorously, and said, “Not to worry Preemie, he’s just jerking your chain. I’m Giles. Say hello to Nigel, Mycroft, and Willie.” The way Giles and the others seemed to be accepting me took the chill off what I was thinking. “Preemie” was what they called all high school students who studied in the kind of program I was enrolled in. I would find that they would be nice to me on the first night but over the next couple of weeks, I would be dragged over the coals in a progressive hazing process.

Prior to this, I had little alcohol. The ale made me a bit woozy. Ryan noticed it and before he lost his resolve to make it only one pint, took me out of Spike’s and back to the residence. By the time we got back to our quarters I was bushed, the time difference had something to do with it as did the redeye flight, not to mention the way Colette had worked me over so completely all day. I went to bed as soon as I got back and conked out right away.

Some dreams are more realistic than others; this one was so vivid that there was no question it was actually happening. I was just getting on the British Airways airplane heading back to the United States. My friends: Ryan, Nigel, Giles, Mycroft, and Willie were there to see me off. For some reason they were able to accompany me to the gate, something airlines had stopped allowing after 9/11. But anything can happen in a dream. I just didn’t expect something like that to happen.

I went to sleep thinking about Colette, wondering if she was as bushed as I was. I knew she would be flying in the morning, going back to the United States, spending the night then turning around the next evening. She told me that because of her seniority she got the best routes and turnarounds. While thinking of her before I conked out, I got a hard-on and started fondling myself. But I had so much activity with my dick that day the moment I wrapped my fist around it the stinging was too uncomfortable, so I stopped. Just before I got out of the cab, she had said to me that she and I were going to have a good time together while I was in London, but she did not want to interfere with my schooling. She told me that we would put the relationship on hold ‘til the weekend after next when she wanted to take me out to the Cotswold’s, telling me how quaint and romantic the area was. I didn’t care as much about the quaintness or even romance it as I did about my getting back into bed with her. Anyway, there was no way I was going to beat my meat on my first night in town; I was both too tired to do it and too chafed down there to get anything but pain out of it.

In my dream, while my mates and I walked through Heathrow we were all laughing. Giles said, “Did you know that your mother would be working the flight back to the States? That made no sense to me. But when we got to the gate, I saw an attractive older woman standing next to the gate agent, stunned when I realized she was my mother. She was dressed in British Airways blue and looked stunning. With a smile that was like a posed advertisement, she said, “Let me show you where you are sitting Arthur.” I followed her down the jetway then onboard the airplane. From habit, I turned right. “No Arthur,” she said, “Your seat is this way.” She directed me to the left then stood just beyond the middle seat in business class. “This will be so much nicer dear.”

Just then another stewardess walked from the cockpit to just behind my mother. It was Colette Bentley. They smiled and hugged. Colette said, “He’s a great passenger Abby, you’re going to enjoy this youngster.” Casting a glance my way Colette smiled and winked.

The scene fast-forwarded to the flight. We had been airborne for about an hour half. The seats on either side of me had been empty when we took off but were now occupied. My mother was in the seat to my left. Colette was in the seat to my right. I did not hear what my mother said to Colette, but Colette responded by saying, “It’s easy enough to do but I think we’d better put a blanket over him.” She fetched a blanket and arranged it over my body. Sitting back beside me she reached under the blanket unzipped my fly and said to my mother, “Lift the blanket so you can see how magnificent your son’s cock is. Take a good look.”

Mom lifted the blanket and dipped her head so she could see. “My GOODNESS,” she said, “I can’t believe how LARGE my little boy has gotten.”

“I can’t believe you haven’t seen him before,” Colette said. “it’s AMAZING how good he feels in my hand. I had some fun with this substantial chap on the way over and I must tell you, it was a thrill to play with your boy. Have you ever tried it?”

I could feel the hand from the left—Mom’s hand—moving across my left thigh. Her fingers tentatively touched the surface of my hardening penis then quickly pulled away like she had touched a hot pan. Then after a timid, nervous chuckle her fingers tentatively wrapped my shaft. In a gasping whisper that was muffled by the blanket over her head, she said, “Oh Colette I’ve been wishing I could do this for years.”

To me, she said, “I hope you don’t think your mom is a complete pervert Arthur but ... Oh MY, this is WONDERFUL.” After a curious tactile exploration of my prominence, she began slowly stroking my cock. Goodness, Goodness, GOODNESS,” she went on, her voice squeaking in high-pitched tightness, though still too quiet to be distinctly heard throughout the cabin above the whine of the engines.

“I told you what a marvelous lover your lad has become, Colette said, “I don’t understand why you got so angry with me.”

“Yes, I know Colette and I’m sorry,” Mom replied, “I couldn’t believe that you could be doing that with MY son. I was jealous. But THIS,” she squeezed my cock like she was holding it in a death grip, “It’s more than I could have ever imagined, my little boy with a sex organ such as THIS ... and SO PRETTY.”

It was like my mother was trying to get more of herself under the blanket. I felt her shoulders next to me, then her head on my stomach. I felt the warmth of her cheek as she brushed my glans against it in what seemed like adoration. I felt Colette moving the blanket on the other side of me and lifting it slightly, “His penis next to your face is an incredible sight,” she said. “I would certainly like to see it inside your mouth.”

That was all the coaxing my mother needed. I felt the heat of her breath, the closing of her lips around my circumcision scar just behind the rim of my head, and the warm wetness of the inside of her mouth. It was like three balls had just lined up on the slot machine and coins of pleasure were dropping into the till. Her excitement was obvious but controlled as she emitted her muted moan with each thrust of her mouth, the bulge of her shoulders and head rising and falling under the blanket. My excitement was less controlled as I forgot to clamp the cheeks of my ass tightly, the way Colette had taught me in her flat the day after we first landed in London.

Colette had just placed her hand on Mom’s head as she watched my mother fellating me. From my reaction and the stiffening of my body when I shot my first, second and third loads into my mother’s mouth Colette said, “I should have warned you what short fuses young lads’ have when they are having sex with somebody new.” But my mother seemed to be oblivious of everything except what was going on in her mouth. As I relaxed from the triple ejection of my sperm, I could tell by the movement of Mom’s tongue that she was cleaning and savoring every drop of my ejaculate. I remembered thinking I would never have considered that My Mother would take ANY male’s penis in her mouth.

As she fondled my shrinking penis with her tongue and tenderly massaged my balls it seemed clear from her amazingly satisfied murmurings that she was completely familiar with the concept of fellatio. Her sighs seemed like a prayer of thanksgiving which seemed to be assessing the worth of my gift like it was in the same realm as gold, frankincense, and myrrh.

“WAKE UP FOR CHRIST’S SAKE,” Ryan said as he shook my body violently. “Is there something wrong with your mother?’

Through stubborn slits, my eyes saw my roommate standing over me with a stunned look on his face. “Wha...” I said, not able to form the word ‘what.’ “Why are you shaking me?” How can I be in this unfamiliar dorm room when I was just on the plane with Colette and my mother? Could it REALLY have been a dream? It was so REAL ... so real that I sensed the feeling of something wet and warm on my bare chest—I could even smell the musky aroma of my jizz.

“Your moaning woke me up mate,” Ryan said. “When you started yelling, NO, NO MOM, I’M GONNA...” He stopped and shook his head. “I don’t even want to repeat the last word you said, you’ll probably take a swing at me.

I knew what the word was, “cum,” but I didn’t remember being so verbal in my dream. My brain raced fast enough that my explanation was immediate. “Um, um, I was dreaming about my mother. She was in the living room at Christmas when a piece of wood in the fireplace exploded and started the Christmas tree on fire ... a dream that happens too often. I’m sorry Ryan.” It was something that actually happened. I was 7 years old ... in the kitchen when it started. My mom yelled that the tree was on fire and she urged me to bring water which I did. Actually, the nightmare happened frequently until I was thirteen and had started masturbating ... when I started thinking sexually about my mother.

“Oh, okay mate,” he said, rolling his eyes and letting out a derisive laugh, “I thought it carried a different bit of meaning, sorry mate. It was strange to be woken up like that though. Anyway, are you going to be okay?”

I told him I was alright but tended to have these nightmares. “I’ve never slept in a room with somebody else, I’m sorry.”

“No, no its okay, was just a little bit of a shocker is all, if you get my meaning. Sorry mate.”

I had trouble getting back to sleep. In the morning, when I woke up, I was groggy. I also had trouble relating to Ryan ... was unable to look him squarely in the eyes. To say the dream was shocking was a major understatement. It really shook me up. In the dream I loved what my mother was doing but why was she dressed like a British Airways stewardess? Not rocket science; I knew that my experience with Colette had gotten into my mind in a big way. When we’d talked during sex she’d asked if I ever thought of my mother in that way. Bothered by the question I reluctantly admitted that I did, “but only on rare occasions.” The fact was though that I thought of her in that way too many times, usually masturbating during my thoughts of being inside her. From the beginning of my puberty, I had unexplainable occurrences of wet dreams which went on longer than with most pubescent males. Then I just started masturbating because I was getting multiple erections. Soon I began noticing Mom’s breasts, her behind, and the form of her mound in her tighter dresses. Sometimes she was wearing slacks or jeans and I noticed the outlines of her vaginal lips and the indentation of her crack. Whenever friends talked with me about fucking nebulous sexual thoughts about my mother always brought imaginings of fucking her.

I was not sure whether Ryan’s perception of me might have changed since he had awakened me from that dream. But in my mind, he was able to see inside and knew for a fact that I told him a monstrous lie. I didn’t think he bought the Christmas tree dream though that could have just been my assumption. But when he told me how I said, NO, NO MOM, I’M GONNA...” purposely leaving off the word “CUM,” I related the Christmas tree story where I would have said “I’m coming Mom,” not “I’m gonna cum.” He could not see that under my covers I had in fact ejaculated on my belly and chest. But from my perspective, I thought he might have known that I actually did.