Free Fifty Shades of Gay Spice (Fifty Shades of Spice Erotica) by Ramsay Sweetman

 
    BOARDING SCHOOL DAYS SERIES
     
     
    BOOK 1
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    KYLE SWEETMAN
     
    All rights reserved;
    copyright@KyleSweetman2013
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
                 
     
    Boarding School Days 1
    ‘Please don’t make me suck it!’
     
     
    I can remember it like it was yesterday. I was hiding behind a heavy theatre curtain, breathless and frightened. It was a game of indoor rugby, which had gotten out of hand. Paul Farrah was three years above me and he was an American kid who had more faces than Big Ben. They made him Head Prefect of the boarding school, which was like putting the wolf in charge of the sheep. He was tall lean and tanned all year round with a smile, which wouldn’t look out of place on a cinema screen. His father was a surgeon and wanted him schooled in the UK. He had a dark side though. I had heard the rumours about Farrah and they frightened me and excited me at the same time. I was just becoming sexually aware in an all male school. Hormones and curiosity blurred my view of the world back then. I was confused about my sexuality. I was attracted to girls but there was something about Paul Farrah, which attracted me. He was incredibly handsome, charming and polite with the teachers but he was an arrogant bully to the rest of us. He had two sidekicks, Werner Cooke, a white South African kid, who had almost albino features and Edson Adekoya, who was a black kid from Somalia.
    Anyway, that summer evening, the weather was bad. The Housemaster set us up playing six-a-side rugby in the gymnasium, which doubled as the assembly hall and the school theatre too. It was always a rough game, which usually ended in tears but that night Farrah seemed to be on a mission to hurt someone. Ten minutes into the game he ran towards me with the ball. I was slightly built; he was taller and much heavier. The thought of him knocking me down like a skittle didn’t appeal to me and in a moment of madness, I stepped aside and stuck out my foot tripping him as he ran at full speed. He hurtled head first into a stack of chairs and ended up on his back staring at the ceiling.
    The other boys laughed loudly but Farrah didn’t see the funny side of it. I decided to make a quick exit and ran for the main doors. Werner Cooke realised what my plan was and he cut off my escape by blocking the path. I turned and sprinted for the stage at the other end of the hall. Farrah was on his feet and I could tell by the tirade of expletives that he wasn’t best pleased with me. Boarding school was a tough environment at the best of times but making a fool of the Head Prefect was only going to add to my woes. I felt sick to my stomach as I vaulted the stage and headed into the wings looking for somewhere to hide. I headed to the stairs at the side of the wings, which led to the prop cellar beneath. I heard a clatter as Farrah mounted the stage and then suddenly the clamour of voices in the hall went quiet.
    “What the hell is going on?” The familiar voice of our Housemaster boomed. He only had one volume level, full blast.
    “Nothing, Sir.” The boys said together.
    “Well if you can’t play properly without acting the goat, you can get back to your dorms and get showered right now!”
    “Yes, Sir!” They droned in unison as they filed out of the hall. He obviously hadn’t noticed that I was missing.
    I heard them tramping out and I hid behind the stage curtains, which draped into the orchestra pit and hid the trapdoors in the stage too. They were dusky pink velvet with heav y brass rings sewn into the hems to weight them. They smelled dusty and old as I tried to get my breath back. My heart was pounding and the blood was pulsing through my veins as I waited for the all clear to come out of my hiding space.
    “ Sweetman, you little bastard,” Farrah hissed from the darkness behind me. “You’re in big trouble!”
    “I’m really sorry,” I mumbled.