The Peter & Charlie Trilogy Read online

  “Come on. It’s up here,” Charlie said. He gave Peter a brisk tap on the back and started up the next flight. His heart was beating rapidly. He didn’t dare look at the boy at his side. Only his duties as a host made it possible for him to speak naturally and maintain a surface equilibrium. “That’s my room,” he said, standing in the upper hall. “Your room’s here and that’s your bathroom down there. There’s nobody else up here so you’ll have it all to yourself.” His voice seemed to echo in the big, dark, suddenly silent house. He felt not just that they were alone, but that they were totally isolated from the world, existing only in each other. He pushed open the door he had indicated as Peter’s and stood aside to let him pass.

  Here again, on the threshold of the bedroom, he hoped that the boy might reveal himself in some way, but he let the opportunity pass and simply entered. Charlie followed and put his hand on his shoulder once more as they inspected the room. Then, shifting his hand to the base of Peter’s neck, he retreated into comedy as he conducted an elaborate tour of the modest quarters, discoursing on the electric fan, the window, the bedside table and the books upon it. Peter laughed easily, but although he was held now in what was very nearly an embrace, he remained quite contained within himself. Charlie was suddenly oppressed by the difficulties inherent in the simple situation. All he wanted was to know. If it wasn’t going to work out, he would forget about it; but it would be too stupid to discover weeks from now that Peter had wanted it too, had been waiting only for an unequivocal move. At the same time, he couldn’t imagine risking a rebuff. He had had no experience in seduction. There had been at least an easily detected complicity on those occasions when the advances hadn’t been made by others. He had never considered himself a fairy or a pansy or any of the other words bandied about contemptuously by his contemporaries and himself. His sexual activities with other boys were a natural extension of the play he had been introduced to at school. He had always assumed that in due course there would be a girl and marriage and the usual developments of adult life; it simply hadn’t happened yet. By sixteen, his had been widely proclaimed the second biggest cock in the school and he had not been challenged thereafter. He felt quite sure that now he would have qualified for first place, although at the time he had refused to measure himself against the winner, whom he had found inexcusably ugly. His spectacular equipment had given him a certain sexual arrogance; he expected people to want to go to bed with him and to find it a not ordinary experience. He could more readily attribute Peter’s careful neutrality to shyness rather than disinclination. A hand brushing by accident against the crotch would tell him all he wanted to know. Perhaps if they fumbled together with the suitcase he would have his chance.

  “Here,” he said, relinquishing the boy’s neck. “Let me help you with this thing.”

  “Oh, lord.” Peter swung the bag up and dropped it on the rack provided for the purpose. “I don’t need help with that.”

  Check. There was nothing more he could accomplish here. Retreat was indicated to plan more definitive tactics. “Look, why don’t you unpack and then come on next door when you’re ready? Wear anything you like. Shorts would be fine. We may want to go to the club later.” In order not to break the tenuous contact established between them, he gave his arm a little squeeze and smiled into his eyes. “Don’t be long.”

  “No, it’ll only take a minute.”

  Charlie went to his room and stripped off his clothes and hurried to the bathroom. He smelled of the tension he had been through. He showered thoroughly while he considered abandoning his project. Yet the eyes had been telling him something—if not offering an invitation, at least hinting at assent. Peter couldn’t have looked at him as he had if he weren’t susceptible, even though he might not yet be aware of it himself. C. B. had chosen him with unerring taste; it was too perfect not to work out. He longed for a friend, here under the same roof with him for the weeks to come. Affection expressed physically made friendship so complete and binding. The thought of it suffused him with a piercing sweetness. Only the achieving of it promised to be a ridiculous bore.

  He must find some way of getting him out of his clothes. Perhaps he could manage something at bedtime tonight. He looked down at himself, stirring now with his thought, and smiled. Wait till Peter had a look at that.

  He finished his shower and powdered himself and splashed himself liberally with cologne. He was combing his hair, a shade less blond than Peter’s, when he heard tentative knockings at the door and his name spoken.

  “Come in. I’ll be right out,” he called. He gave himself several long-practiced caresses and then twisted the towel around his waist and went out. Peter was already seated, but he sprang up and hitched up his pants with awkward charm and stood with his head back, slightly defensive, as if prepared for flight. He was wearing a white shirt and shorts that suited him much better than his traveling clothes. In the filtered light of the big room he looked golden—golden hair, golden skin. Charlie’s breath caught at his beauty. The way his shorts were bunched at the crotch suggested that under them he was wearing some sort of jockey shorts that held him strictly confined. Charlie started toward him. He was aware that the heavy swing of his sex, partially aroused, must be visible beneath his towel and he waited for Peter’s eyes to be drawn to it, but they remained unwaveringly on his eyes. He stopped just out of reach of the boy, feeling the wide gulf between them that remained to be bridged somehow.

  “I was hot. I took a shower. So how do you think you’re going to like it here?”

  “Very much. It’s a wonderful place C. B. is fabulous.”

  “She is. She’s wonderful.” He gazed into the eyes that were level with his and only a few feet away, eyes softened by long lashes so that they seemed to melt into his, yet remained tantalizingly, maddeningly unflirtatious. It wasn’t safe to go on gazing; things were happening under his towel. He found his voice. “By the way, how old are you? C. B. doesn’t seem to know.”

  “Nineteen. Practically twenty, really. My birthday’s in August. I lost a lot of time at school when I was a kid. We were always moving around.”

  “Well, hell, that explains it. I knew you couldn’t be all that much younger than me. Just a little over a year’s difference. Has C. B. been going on at you about how much alike we are?”

  Peter smiled. “She has mentioned it.”

  “I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Mind? Why?”

  “I mean, being told you look like me.”

  “Gosh no. You’re terrific looking.”

  Charlie’s throat tightened. If his damn towel would drop off, if the two or three scraps of cloth covering Peter would vanish, they would know each other and there would be no more problems. He attempted laughter. “Well, thanks. The same to you. A mutual admiration society. Hey, I know what.” He turned and strode to his desk, finding relief in activity. This was going to be a fairly obvious play, but better that than to go on wondering. He could imagine it rapidly becoming an obsession. He wasn’t used to being at such a disadvantage with anybody; if he could satisfy himself that there was no chance of anything happening between them, he could dismiss Peter as just a pleasant enough guy to have around.

  He fumbled in the drawers and found a tape measure and turned back with a smile. “Before I get dressed, let’s see how much alike we really are. Come on. I think I’m a little taller than you. Of course, not when you have those things on.” His eyes traveled down the long, smoothly fleshed legs to the big feet strongly molded by sandals.

  “I can take them off,” Peter said simply with a smile and a shrug, going along with the game. He stooped and unfastened the buckles and kicked them off. Charlie’s heart accelerated as he watched this small prelude to stripping. He went to Peter and took his arm and moved him to the door and backed him against the jamb. Now that he had an excuse for touching him, he was less fearful of betraying himself. He inhaled the smell of him, fresh and scrubbed and faintly animal. He lifted his hands and straightened P
eter’s head, carefully avoiding his eyes but letting his fingers linger in the silk of his hair. He flattened the shoulders and felt the firm muscles of Peter’s chest under his shirt. He dropped his hands to his hips and adjusted them. Here, he was within inches of his goal, but he could take his time now. Touching Peter in this way dissipated somewhat the potent mystery of his body, and Charlie’s nerves eased.

  He placed the end of the tape on the mark and gave Peter a little pat. “OK, I’ve got it.”

  Peter moved out, and together they measured the distance to the floor. “Right.” Charlie gave the tape to Peter and took his place, still avoiding his eyes. Standing flat against the door brought his sex thrusting forward beneath the towel, but Peter took no visible notice of it, nor did his hands explore as Charlie’s had. He simply placed the tape and nodded. They measured the jamb once more.

  “I thought so,” Charlie said. “But the difference is damn little. Barely a quarter of an inch. OK. Take off your shirt.”

  “My shirt? What for?”

  “So we can do our chest measurements.”

  “Oh, sure. OK.” Peter remained noncommittal and placidly cooperative. He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off. Charlie stood before him with the tape, inhaling once more the smell of soap and fresh linen, his vision filled with the boy’s nakedness. He was superb—wide-shouldered, slim-waisted, smoothly muscled, hairless.

  “You’ve got quite a build,” Charlie said, openly admiring him. This was permitted.

  “If it’s anywhere near as good as yours, I’m satisfied.”

  “The mutual admiration society. Well, come on. Let’s get on with it.” He was still able to be brisk and matter-of-fact, but it required all his control to refrain from taking the golden body in his arms as he moved in close to make the measurement. Peter stood before him looking touchingly attentive and willing. Willing for what? Charlie still wondered if he had an inkling of where this was leading. Willing only to have his chest measured? Peter raised his arms away from his sides. Charlie slipped the tape around him, and as he lifted it into place he ran the backs of his hands over his nipples and felt them contract and harden. Something was going on behind that untroubled exterior. He marked the tape with his thumb and showed it to Peter. “OK, my turn.” He handed over the tape and lifted his arms, all his nerves alert to the contact of Peter’s hands. If desire was stirring in him too, surely some hint of it would now insinuate itself into his fingers. Peter’s hands moved nimbly, scarcely touching him until they joined the tape on his chest.

  “Practically the same. Maybe a hair more,” he reported. He laughed briefly. “That is, if you had any hairs.”

  “Fine. Now, you’ll have to undo your top button.” Peter did so, revealing the secret little coil of navel in the flat stomach. Charlie eased the top of the shorts down as he circled his waist with the tape. So close now. He had never wanted anybody so much in his life, nor gone to such lengths to conceal it. “Twenty-nine. That’s about what I should be. I’m beginning to think we’re the same person.” He allowed his hand to press against Peter’s as he returned the tape. His mind was whirling, but he could see no reason to postpone the next move. There could be nothing suspect about getting rid of the towel that was bunched around his waist. On the contrary, it would seem foolishly modest to go on hiding behind it. The moment had come. If Peter could get through this without any loss of composure, he would give him up as hopeless. He gave the towel a tug and dropped it from him and stood boldly, confidently naked. His sex was extended to its fullest limits before actual erection, prodigious but blameless. He had walked through locker rooms this way and had felt all eyes on him. He thrust his hips forward and lifted his arms slowly and sought his eyes, coming as close to an outright offer of himself as he dared. Peter’s eyes met his with a curiously stricken look—pleading for a further clarifying move? Appalled at Charlie’s advances? And then Charlie saw the long lashes flutter against his cheeks as Peter lowered his lids. He saw the color rush to his face. Peter lifted his hands hesitantly, perhaps reluctantly, and there was a tremor in them as he fumbled with the tape. He had trouble getting it around Charlie’s waist; he seemed unable to complete the circle against his abdomen.

  Charlie laughed with growing certainty and anticipation. “Hey. Come on. It’s twenty-nine, isn’t it?” Peter nodded dumbly, without lifting his eyes. “Wait a minute,” Charlie exclaimed. “We’ve forgotten something. We ought to see if we can wear each other’s hats.” He was backtracking deliberately, giving himself a moment’s respite before making the irrevocable move. He retrieved the tape and took a step closer, directing his body so that his sex brushed against Peter’s hand. The hand shot away as if it had been scalded, but he saw Peter’s mouth and throat working as if he were having trouble swallowing and a pulse in the base of his neck began throbbing visibly. As he placed the tape around the golden head, it was without design that his sex kept nudging Peter’s thigh. He wasn’t going to be able to play this game much longer.

  “Plenty of room for brains in there,” he said rather breathlessly.

  Peter took the tape and moved back slightly and to one side. His eyes seemed no longer to focus properly. His face was drawn, his breath rapid. As he lifted his arms Charlie saw sparse golden curls in his armpits. A single pearl of sweat was rolling down his ribs. His fingers trembled against Charlie’s brow as he announced the result.

  “Good,” Charlie said, struggling to maintain the hearty tone he had used throughout. He moved around behind Peter. He didn’t want to be caught with an erection until Peter had definitely committed himself, and he knew he couldn’t hold himself down much longer. “You’re going to have to pull those shorts lower,” he ordered. “It’d be simpler if you’d just take them off.”

  “Well, I—” Peter mumbled.

  “It doesn’t matter. Just so I can get the hip measurement.” Nobody could say that he had insisted; he had stuck to the rules he had laid down at the beginning.

  Peter unfastened something, and the rich curve of his buttocks slid into view. Charlie’s sex instantly swelled and rose heavily before him. He had to step back to give it room.

  “Talk about slim hips,” he said to steady himself. “I’m afraid you have me there.” He felt terribly exposed, fearful that Peter might turn and see him. He checked the position of the towel on the floor. He could always grab it and run for the bathroom if it turned out that he had misjudged his companion after all. He took a deep breath and made an effort to steady the trembling of his hands. Peter was gripping his lowered shorts. Charlie slipped the tape against his hips and led it around along his lower abdomen until his hand encountered crisp coils of hair. He paused, pretended to straighten the tape, fumbled skillfully, retrieved it with a quick flip of his lowered hand. It encountered a hard knot of sex contained in the shorts. He expelled a long sigh of relief as the knowledge of victory burst over him, and felt no longer exposed but proudly prepared. His sex surged up in complete, straining erection. He completed the measurement quickly, but instead of following the routine they had established, he said, “While I’m at it, I might as well see about this.” He slipped a hand within the shorts and grasped hot, hard flesh. He pushed at the elastic, freeing Peter’s sex, and it sprang up and burst its bonds. Peter uttered a gasp that was almost a cry, but he didn’t move.

  “I can’t help it,” he muttered thickly. “Your touching me and—”

  Before the staggering fact of Peter at last revealed, Charlie thought for an instant that he had been surpassed. A quick glance for comparison reassured him. It was more slender than his and an inch or two shorter, just the way Charlie would have wished it, big without threatening his supremacy. He laughed exultantly.

  “Don’t worry about helping anything,” he said with laughter in his voice. He moved around so that they were facing each other again. “Look at me. Anyway, we have to be like this if we’re going to measure everything properly. That’s part of the whole thing. Look. We’re tremendous.”
/>   Peter kept his eyes averted, his mouth working. “What’s the point of measuring? I’m not as big as you are,” he managed finally.

  “That’s nothing. I’ve never met anybody who was. You damn nearly are. There’s probably less difference than you think.” To ease Peter’s evident distress, to relieve him of self-consciousness at the start, he maintained the pretense of cheerful, scientific detachment. He crouched down, and Peter’s sex leaped and quivered before him, the head as taut and smooth as ripe fruit. He ran his tongue over his lips and opened his mouth, but checked himself. He would wait another moment before any direct love play. Everything that had happened up to now could be written off as a physiological accident, without erotic significance. Peter still hadn’t made any overt move. He pulled down the shorts and scanty underwear and lifted each big foot in turn to disentangle them. He applied the tape to the leaping sex, allowing his hands to become cautiously caressing and making no attempt at accuracy. It became as rigidly immobile as steel under his touch, and he saw the boy’s knees begin to tremble. He straightened and handed over the tape, his thumb on the mark, giving him an extra inch. He took Peter’s arm and guided him around and backed him up, their sexes playing against each other as they moved, and forced him gently down on the edge of the bed. “There,” he said, “you can get at me better that way.”

  As Peter sat uneasily on the edge of the bed and leaned forward with the tape, Charlie swung his hips slightly so that his sex struck Peter’s cheek and brushed down across his lips. Peter’s eyes closed, his mouth dropped open. He looked as if he were going to faint. Then he flung himself back on the bed with a great cry as he was gripped by the paroxysms of orgasm. His hip thrashed, his sex leaped up with a wild life of its own, his arms beat the bed, his whole body was shaken by the spasms of an enormous ejaculation. Charlie stood over him, amazed, close to orgasm himself. At last, with a groan and shudder that ran through his whole body, Peter lay still.