Andre loved bottoming for Finn, always doggie style. He particularly liked when Finn reached under and stroked Amdre’s cock as though it were his own—as he plunged ever quicker and deeper inside. On the other hand, Andre insisted on taking Finn chest to chest, with Finn’s strong legs wrapped around his waist. He loved gazing into Finn’s eyes as the blue deepened and his nostrils flared as Andre played with his nubs. Finn was a passionate boy, and he showed it in his face—the darkening tended to blend his freckles together–more than anywhere. Andre loved it—in part because he knew he was producing that pleasure. They were both good lovers. They had learned to prep and to hold back, to bring a partner along and to blast energetically. In a short week, each had progressed to expert status. And being young lads, they were able to recover quickly and go again. They were insatiable producers of spunk. Millions of seeds were scattered in those days—and not in the fields, on their sheet and inside each other.
They were still innocent in a way. But their innocence had morphed into avid athletic sex.
During the days they worked in the fields, Andre enjoyed picturing Finn’s long cock sliding inside, stroking what he visualized as a walnut-shaped fruit of deep pink. All day as he worked, he knew the nut was there, and periodically he could imagine Finn’s instrument playing with it. It sent shudders through him. His eyes would hood over and he would smile and look down at the tent behind his laced britches. The visuals turned him on—almost as much as the strikes of pleasure created by each stroke when they actually coupled. If Finn was near, he knew exactly what was going on. He too would smile and wink, if Andre were looking in his direction. He knew he had captured that boy. More even than if he had tied him to his bedpost.
Finn was quite different. He had little imagination and didn’t really daydream. He concentrated on his work. But periodically, he’d look over at Andre as he bent to a task and Finn would salivate over the tight ass, separated from him and the light by only a single layer or two of cheap homespun. But that was enough. Finn was hard within seconds. He was ready to insert and fill.
Only once during the week were they in a deserted part of the farm at lunch. They decided to take the chance. Both removed britches; Andre straddled Finn and lowered himself onto Finn’s upright spit-moistened pole. Both were already rigid and leaking. Andre squirmed in Finn’s lap, as Finn used his strong thighs to lift up into Andre’s perfect ass. Their lips and tongues met and dueled. And Andre squeezed Finn’s nipples with abandon. Together they moved in the dance of pleasure that emptied both of all tension. They quickly redressed, but that afternoon, each was boned all the time, possibly from the musky aromas that pervaded them and their clothes.
Their joint week of work was a week of incredible pleasure. At the end both knew they wanted to continue in some way, but neither saw any path.
At their last farewell, after an hour of love-making on the grassy slopes of French’s Pond, they had sworn eternal friendship (carefully avoiding the word, “love”) and decided they would write to each other. That presented a problem for Finn. He didn’t want mail from a Harvard boy, unknown to his family, arriving at his home. So Finn would write the first letter and suggest a method for the exchange. At least Harvard didn’t censor mail. And so they parted.
*******
It was two weeks into the semester. Andre had classes six days a week, but only on mornings on Saturday. Chapel was everyday at 8, 10 on Sunday, but never on Saturday. Andre was a very good student, and popular with classmates (because he was always ready to help) and instructors (because he usually had done the assignment). The first “mixer” with Radcliffe was approaching. Andre intended to go—staying away would arouse suspicions, and he still had not really determined that what he had enjoyed with Finn precluded dating young ladies. At the time, such a conclusion was pretty easy: he and Finn had sex; he and Ms. X would never—at least not before marriage—and the time between chaperoned dating and marriage tended to be very long.
On Friday, Andre received three letters. The first was a “permission” from Mama to attend a “soiree” that Madame Cartier would invite him to. The second was the invitation from Mdm. Cartier for Sunday night “next”—i.e. in ten days, “Regrets only.” And the third was a note from Finn, printed on crude paper, giving him a P.O Box for mail and hoping that they could get together. He briefly described his work schedule and where he was working—it was only about two miles from campus upriver.
Andre took Mama’s letter to the housemaster who seemed quite surprised. “You don’t need my permission to leave campus, Andre—unless you’re on academic probation. So long as you are signed back into the house by 10 Sun-Fri and 12 on Saturday, you are free to leave. You are also entitled to have guests in your room—provided, of course, they are not of the opposite sex. You’re an upperclassman now. And Harvard is trying to loose the reins a bit and get with the times.”
Andre was pleased and excited. Pleased to know of his freedom to leave campus. But excited that he could invite Finn to his room. He immediately wrote to Finn and suggested that he come by on Wednesday, since his classes ended early. He mentioned that Finn could spend the night—but that he’d need to be discrete and that Andre himself would need to be in chapel at 8 the next morning. Andre would wait in the courtyard on the river at seven, just after dusk.
Wednesday arrived and Andre hadn’t heard from Finn, but went out to wait nevertheless. He took a book and sat on the stone embankment of the Charles and pretended to read in the twilight. At almost 7, Finn appeared, sauntering, really swaggering, down the riverside walk, still in work clothes, but carrying a small bag. Andre warned him off any show of affection and led him through the large iron gates to the inner courtyard and the front door. It was deserted. Dinner had been over for more than an hour and Harvard students were either studying or playing a forbidden game of cards in one of their rooms. They quickly rose to Andre’s room and pulled the door tightly behind them.
Almost instantly they were in each other’s arms, kissing with an urgency that neither had ever before felt. “Welcome to Harvard, Finn.” It took only a few minutes before they were naked and rolling on the bed. Finn was dusty, sweaty and smelled of the day’s musk. But Andre breathed it in deeply. He loved Finn’s aroma. It was unique and sensuous. Finn was rock hard and ready. He pushed Andre onto the bed; Andre flipped and pushed his ass back toward Finn. Finn spat on his fingers and started to probe. Andre was ready almost immediately. He had been prepping himself mentally most of the day. Finn mounted, positioned and was soon plunging deeply into his favorite place. Andre felt the pressure on his prostate and moaned in pleasure. Several thrusts and Andre began to leak. He had forgotten how Finn filled him—with the size of his cock–and emotionally with the strength of his personality.