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Bubble and Squeak

by Jolyon Lewes

"Oh God! It's bloody bubble and squeak again! This school's trying to turn me into a vegetarian!"

This was Sebastian Crotombe, an unpopular prefect in Trafalgar House, one of four Houses in a Leicestershire boarding school. He was always complaining about the school food and particularly hated bubble and squeak, the combination of leftover potatoes, cabbage and sprouts that was usually served up for lunch on Thursdays.

On the adjacent refectory table was Howard Hollinghurst, a popular prefect in Agincourt House. He turned round and leaned towards his fellow–prefect, saying loudly "For God's sake stop moaning, Scrotum! It's not a vegetarian dish cos they cook it with fat and I've even got a bit of bacon rind in mine!"

Crotombe hated lots of things but most of all he hated being called Scrotum. He cursed his parents for giving him a solitary Christian name, one beginning with 'S.' He looked sullenly at the youthful faces at his refectory table and saw one boy smirking. This was Bunbury, a delicious, fair-haired fifteen-year-old with a face and body as smooth and unblemished as the marble statue of Michelangelo's David Scrotum had seen on a school visit to Florence. Scrotum was now seventeen and his acne was worse than ever. He'd gazed at David, three times life-size, and looked for spots but none could he see. Maybe the sculptor had sort of airbrushed away any spots the model had on his face or maybe, like Bunbury, the model was blissfully spot-free. Scrotum was jealous. Angrily, he turned to address Bunbury.

"Stop smirking, Bunbury. It doesn't become you!"

"Sorry, Crotombe," said Bunbury, blushing slightly at being admonished by a prefect.

Scrotum felt his cock stiffening. David was supposed to be the most beautiful male ever sculpted but Bunbury was far prettier. For one thing, he was slimmer and had less of a shock of curly hair. He had, in Scrotum's opinion, a far more attractive face, more clean-cut than David's and with a much nicer chin. He also had a much more interesting bottom. David's was in proportion to the rest of his body but Bunbury's was somehow more pert, more prominent and with more extravagant curves. Scrotum had observed that Bunbury's bottom more than filled his white PE shorts. Indeed, alone among the other boys in the school, Bunbury had shorts with big V-shaped slits at each side, as if designed to accommodate that delightful bottom without bursting at the seams.

Scrotum naively thought he was the only boy who'd noticed Bunbury's beautiful bottom but cohorts of other boys had carefully considered its exquisite proportions and had secretly wanked over it in bed. Or, in some cases, not so secretly. Bunbury was not a flirt, however. He was a sweet-natured boy of modest demeanour, seemingly unaware of the tempting sight he made, especially when dressed in his thrillingly brief PE shorts.

"Well, I like bubble and squeak," said Hollinghurst, and the boys on his table responded with little grunts of disapproval. Except for one boy, another fifteen-year-old, slimmer than Bunbury, dark-haired and named Squire. He liked bubble and squeak too. He also liked Bunbury, rather a lot, and thought of him whenever he needed mental fuel for a wank.

Squire was a God-fearing boy who thought wanking was evil and might even make him blind. He'd never dream of wanking on the Sabbath but felt it was safe to do it on Saturday nights, so long as it was all over by midnight. Usually, the dorm was quiet by about eleven o'clock so he committed his sin when he was sure the other boys were all asleep, with Bunbury invariably the object of his desire. Of course, he'd never had the courage to tell Bunbury how much he liked him and in any case talking to boys in other Houses was strongly disapproved of.

As for Bunbury, he knew lots of other boys liked him but he hadn't yet worked out that it was mostly for his bottom that boys like Scrotum liked him. He suffered more than most from what the Housemaster called horseplay in the changing rooms but took it in his stride, much as he did the groping in the showers. It wasn't so bad when nice-looking boys did it but there were some repellent boys, even uglier than Scrotum, who liked to slap and stroke his gorgeous bottom. That was something Bunbury most assuredly did not enjoy.

Like many boys growing up in the hothouse society of a 1970s boys-only boarding school, Bunbury had feelings for other boys but the unwritten rule that you never fraternised with boys in other Houses meant that he couldn't express his affection for a couple of other fifteen-year-olds in another House, Agincourt. One was a pale, Jewish boy called Lerner and the other was Squire. Lerner was studious, serious and intellectual, attributes that Bunbury admired, while Squire was witty, sporty and quite frankly, beautiful. These were attributes powerfully admired by Bunbury.

Squire loved nature and knew about all the birds that lived in the woods and parkland that surrounded the school. It was early June and in the evenings swifts were seen cavorting about the ancient school buildings, screaming as they sought insects for their supper. Squire could imitate the call of the swift (Apus apus) and even though his voice had broken, could produce the high-pitched screams they made as they darted about. He became known as Mr Swift, or more usually, Squire the Squeak. When Bunbury heard Squire imitating the swifts he thought it enchanting. He'd like to know more about nature and would like to learn it from Squire.

The big problem was that Squire was in Agincourt House and Bunbury was in Trafalgar House. Separate dormitories, separate dining tables, separate sports and even separate classes. The only approved contact between boys of different Houses was when competing against each other on the sports field. Bunbury didn't want to compete against Squire and the feeling was mutual. They wanted to get to know each other, not to be opponents on the sports field. But neither dared tell the other.

Meal after meal, Squire would gaze at Bunbury, seated on the adjacent table. But he could gaze only at the back of Bunbury's head because Bunbury wasn't facing him. Hollinghurst, a kindly soul, noticed this and suggested to Scrotum a change of positions on his table.

Scrotum smirked and said "Is that so you can gawp at Bunbury, you pervert?"

"Yes, actually," lied Hollinghurst.

Next morning Squire found himself looking at Bunbury's face and he liked it. And Bunbury evidently liked looking at Squire's face. Neither made a show of it, of course. But Hollinghurst noted the frequent eye contact and it gave him a warm and bubbly feeling. Could he engineer it so that the boys were in the same House? That would mean they'd sleep in the same dormitory ...

After breakfast Hollinghurst spoke quietly to Squire. "You like Bunbury, don't you?"

"Yes," said Squire, blushing vividly.

"No need to be embarrassed. He's a very nice boy. I think he likes you. Would you like to find out?"

"Oh, gosh, Hollinghurst, I'd love to know what he thinks of me. I mean, he's got so much going for him; all I've got is my imitation of swifts."

"And you're very well known for it, my dear Squeak but don't underestimate yourself – you've got lots going for you! If I could fix it so he joins Agincourt House would you like it?"

"Yes!" squeaked Squire. "I'd really like that, Hollinghurst!"

After speaking to both Housemasters Hollinghurst wangled it for Bunbury to transfer to Agincourt House and another boy would transfer to Trafalgar House to maintain the status quo. As it happened, Scrotum was especially enamoured of this boy and would warmly welcome him to his table to sit beside him for all meals.

So now it was up to Hollinghurst to tell Squire the good news.

"My dear Squeak," said Hollinghurst at the next meal, which was tea on Saturday. "I've good news for you. Bunbury is to join our House and will be sitting at this table. I assume you'd like to sit beside him."

Squire burst at once into some highly realistic swift-like screams, too high-pitched for some boys' ears even to register. Hollinghurst looked at Squire in admiration; they were very authentic swift impressions.

"So I take it you approve," said Hollinghurst, smiling. "After tea I'll give you instructions."

"It's a gorgeous evening," said Hollinghurst to Squire, after tea. "Far too warm to be in uniform. Why don't you put on your tennis kit and sit in the colonnade by the Gatehouse Café? You're looking a bit pink so why not settle down with a cool drink and wait to see if Bunbury appears. As of seven o'clock he'll be a member of our House."

A few minutes later Hollinghurst was addressing Bunbury. "Bunbury, my dear old thing. Welcome to Agincourt House. I think you'll find we're a jolly lot here. Tell you what - there's a fellow Fifth-Former eager to meet you. His name is Squire but we call him Squeak, on account of his uncannily accurate impressions of the swift. As it's such a warm evening why don't you hasten into your PE shorts and trundle down to the school café by the Gatehouse? I gather Squeak will be there, hoping to make your acquaintance."

Excited beyond measure, Bunbury whizzed to the changing rooms and swapped his uniform for a pale blue T-shirt and PE shorts, choosing the shorts with the biggest V-shaped slits at the sides. The prospect of meeting Squire as fellow-Housemates was almost overwhelming and he sat on a folding chair, left elbow on his knee and chin perched pensively on his left hand, wondering whether Squire would really want to speak to him. Anxious to make a good impression he made sure his long white socks were pulled properly up. A woman was sitting on a nearby chair, smoking a cheroot and looking at Bunbury approvingly.

"Such a lovely evening, young Bunbury," she said. "You look as if you're waiting for someone special."

"Oh, just a friend, Matron," said Bunbury, suddenly worried that Matron could read his thoughts.

It was indeed a lovely evening. Sunset was two hours away and swifts were shrieking as they charged about, catching their prey of midges. Squeak was silent, enjoying the frenzied activity of the little birds and feeling cool in his pristine tennis kit, with its navy blue piping on shirt and shorts. On his face was that gentle smile, the one he used when he thought of pleasures to come. He steepled his fingers, hoping Bunbury would soon arrive and soon found he needed his right hand to attend to a certain stirring in the front of his shorts. He hoped nobody had noticed. There were lots of boys relaxing in the shade of the colonnade and Squeak couldn't see Bunbury among them. His drink sat unwanted on the little table before him. He waited patiently.

The waiting went on.

Scrotum was sitting some distance away, talking to another prefect. "There's Bunbury, talking to Matron and looking like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. Gorgeous little thing, isn't he? If he stands up you'll see his bottom. Very pronounced it is. It makes me very excited. Oh look - he's standing up - see how his bum sticks deliciously out! Bloody scrumptious! No wonder he needs those V-shaped slits in his shorts!"

"That is one superb bum!" said Scrotum's friend. "I do believe that in America they call it a bubble-butt."

Bunbury was tired of waiting. He needed to distance himself from Matron, from her foul-smelling cheroot and her inquisitive mind. He could wait somewhere else. Then he spotted Squire, seated by himself at a small table and his heart missed a beat. Two beats. Tentatively he walked over to where Squire was sitting, still with a hint of the smile on his pretty face.

"Hello, I'm Bunbury. I'm in your House now. I've noticed you at meals. May I sit here?"

Squire's smile broadened. "Yes, I've noticed you, too. Too many people here. Let's go for a walk."

So the two boys made their graceful departure, walking swiftly towards the parkland that surrounded the ancient boarding school. Bunbury found his tight little shorts straining more than ever for he had now had a hearty erection, inspired by the way Squire's smile seemed to be growing ever more suggestive. 'Could he want my body?' wondered an increasingly agitated Bunbury.

Squire was in heaven. The boy he'd admired and fantasised about for months was walking with him to the wooded parts where boys went if they wanted privacy. They'd soon be out of sight of the great old building and in the woods, safe from prying eyes. Aware of the tent in Bunbury's shorts, Squire suspected it wouldn't be long before they'd be lying together, squirming delightfully on the forest floor, squeezing and sucking, stroking and cuddling. How sensible to be in sports kit and not in school uniform. Squire hitched up his shorts, exposing the lowest curves of his bottom and Bunbury's tent responded accordingly. Bunbury's shorts were too tight to hitch up but no matter - thanks to the V-shaped slits Squire already had a thrilling view of the creamy flesh of Bunbury's hips and the tantalising crease where his bottom began.

Bunbury was getting dangerously close to climax and could wait no longer. He dragged Squire down to the ground and began to caress, kiss and lick. In no time the boys were thrusting their pelvises together and climax was achieved by both boys almost simultaneously.

"Oh, God, Bunbury, you're the nicest thing on two legs! I've wanted this for so long!"

"Me too," said Bunbury. "And it's even better than I could ever imagine. You're fantastic!"

"Worth waiting for?"

"Yeah," said Bunbury, as he kissed Squire's slender neck. "Definitely worth the wait!"

"So your boy's Bubble and the other one's Squeak," said Scrotum's companion. "I like it."

"Not as much as I do," said Hollinghurst, who'd just appeared, holding a pair of binoculars. "Bubble and Squeak is my new favourite meal and I've just seen the human versions enjoying themselves hugely in the woods, bless them!"

"I knew you were a pervert!" said Scrotum.


This story is part of the 2018 story challenge "Inspired by a Picture: Waiting". The other stories may be found at the challenge home page. Please read them, too. The voting period of 22 June to 12 July 2018 is when the voting is open. This story may be rated, below, against a set of criteria, and may be rated against other stories on the challenge home page.

The challenge was to write a story inspired by this picture:

2018 Inspired by a Picture Challenge - Waiting

Bubble and Squeak

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