Virgins

Caldwell sat down on the blanket next to Brandon. He picked up the daisy chain Brandon had made and tentatively ran it across Brandon’s chest and belly and down, lassoing the young man’s half erection with it—testing Brandon. But Brandon didn’t react. All open innocence, an innocence Caldwell found disarming and totally arousing.

Brandon picked up the book of poetry and began to read.

With the kiss of the lover, the rosebud opens, petal upon petal. The sword of the lover quivers, quickens, trembling to the scent of the chase.

Caldwell reached down and gently took Brandon’s staff in his hand.

The young man barely seemed to notice.

Opening lips of ruby red o’er the marble obelisk, hard as metal. My lover, the trembling Godhead encase.

The young man seemingly lost in the poetry, not fully aware of the merging of the fantasy with reality, merely moaned a deep moan as Caldwell’s lips enclosed over his majestic tool and drank of his honeyed precum.