The Wild Boy Prince

It was bath time. There was a big tub in one of the chambers that I would use; the process of first boiling and then cooling the water for me always took most of the day. I took baths for fun. I loved collecting the bubbles in my hands and letting them run down my body. I loved the curtain of steam that would form over me, partially covering my skinny white figure in the midst of that large, ugly room.

I stood naked in the tub while Nanny soaked a sponge in water and rubbed it over me -- first my chest, then my back, then my legs. Somewhere in the process I procured myself a sizable erection, one of the biggest yet. I smiled slightly; it stood so strongly it could have been asking for attention. Nanny blushed and laughed.

"You're going to make one young princess very happy, I think," she said, but I didn't think so. Girls seemed utterly uninteresting. Indeed, the princesses who were supposed to be so majestic and stunning in their regalia were typically nothing more than giggling, nervous whelps. I found our sessions together unbearably tiresome.

"I miss bathing with the other boys, Nanny," I said.

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"Well I see that you are a man now. You have to stop that silly business, eh?"

This, I was sick of hearing. But it seemed to be true. I was being asked to choose a bride from one of the other kingdoms -- my father wished for strengthened foreign bonds, if not for the happiness of his only child. I supposed I would soon be attached to somebody I didn't care for.

Nanny handed me a thick, fluffy towel and left the room. Drying myself off I felt a spasm of pleasure when I ventured between my legs. I dressed myself in my white nightshirt, and left my hair slightly wet: I loved the way it clung to me, and turned slightly darker in color. On the way to my chamber I raced through the vast hallways as quickly as I could, feeling my nightshirt stretch out like a cape, and enjoying the feeling of my tender feet on the cold stone floor. I jumped so that I could come face to face with my father in the massive painting outside my door, giving him a joyful salute, and hardly stopping movement before entering my room and diving under the covers of the massive bed, panting, momentarily exhausted, but happy in my exertion.

The bed was great. It was large enough for four people, and yet belonged only to me; on three sides it used slightly transparent material to hide me from all else, and the remaining side was against the wall. I could lie in that bed and pretend that I was the only person on earth, or that I was the king of my own country, and formed its entire population.

But these fantasies were better enjoyed before I discovered other things. That day, as I arched my back and thrust my groin up into the air, my mind filled with thoughts of my best friend Rowan. It was magical -- all I had to do was imagine the times we had washed together, or trained naked for some competition or other, and my hand could produce such overwhelming pleasure that it was hard to keep still. Considerable friction would build in that area, and then, bang! My organ would produce wasted fluid, and I would be exhausted. I had heard older boys talking about this practice as if it was shameful, but I thought, arrogantly, they needn't worry about shame. They were doing something their young prince did often.

I soon drifted into sleep, and this was where the trouble began. I dreamt about a boy, one wholly unlike Rowan. He had features and complexion that suggested a different race; skin a warm brown, slightly lighter than his straight hair, with dark, searching eyes, and full lips. His high cheekbones added delicacy to his appearance. A wreath of leaves adorned his head like a crown, resting gently. Apart from this he was naked, yet completely at ease.

I dreamed he came into my room through the window, although I did not witness this. Before my awareness settled over the idea of an outside presence he was already sitting over me in bed, smiling kindly. He whispered into my ear: "William." This slight locution of my name echoed from the dream to reality; it was still with me as I awoke.

Fencing lessons with Rowan didn't bring me much enjoyment. He was too slow, too eager to give in. Any time I felt like delivering a thrashing, he would put down his defenses. That morning I was in no mood for holding off. Charging in with alacrity, I found hidden energy in my body, and sprang from place to place, my long blond hair crossing in and out of my vision. Soon enough I was cold with perspiration, and peeled my shirt off, ready to fight like a hero in my storybooks.

"Come on, Will," Rowan said. "Lay off, I'm getting tired."

"No, you dastardly villain," I said, in the deepest voice I could manage, "first you must submit to me, and rid this nation of your kind." He hung his sword up on the wall behind him, standing on his toes to reach. Looking at him, I realized he was a little bit chubby, and I found this quite becoming. I thought of the little prick he had between his legs and how useless and unthreatening it looked, dwarfed by the tummy above it, and gave a little laugh. I imagined he would rather spend the day sitting and eating than doing the things I dreamed about.

"What's funny?" he asked.

"Nothing," I said.

"Aw," he said.

Later, I was made to prepare for ceremony. My father dressed me in courtly robes that hung on my body like a smock. I liked the feeling of them, though. They were so soft, made from expensive fabrics, and made me feel princely as I stood and regarded myself in the mirror.

"You'll grow into them soon, William," my father, the king, said. "You're still a small boy, there's lots of growing to do."

I danced around in my robes, getting the feel for them, but had to take them off quickly. I wriggled out of them and let them drop to the floor, and saw my full image in the mirror. My body was a stark white, but not sickly pale; it was slightly bronzed around the edges. I noticed something of a ripeness to my form, especially the limbs, as if you could actually see that changes were about to take place. Each muscle was defined, small as they were.

My father approached with my hunting garb, and helped me into my trousers first, then the thick black tunic. Did I look like a hunter, I wondered? No, not really.

Being dressed by my father made me realize that I had, in fact, almost never been in a state of undress by myself. There was always the presence of someone, usually Nanny, or my father, or the court boys when training or playing in the heat. My body was not a private thing. But I thought it was beautiful.

The hunt proceeded as normal. I rode alongside my father in his company on my own horse, Blackseed. There was the usual excitement of the chase, deep in the wood, when a deer was spotted by a lookout, and the hunters chased her down. I enjoyed this, but never could watch the kill.

I once read a poem, or rather, had a poem read for me, on the subject of the woods. In it, there was an allusion to the idea of tree-speak, a suggestion that the wood was unlike any human place; that it was strange and friendly. "The woods, they whisper to us," the poem went, as I recalled it. Listening to these whispers was how I became lost.

Blackseed had been stubborn most of the time; I hadn't the heart to kick him, or dig a spike into his splendid body. After a while, I fell away from the company and dismounted alone, an act decided upon with the kind of childish carelessness adults sometimes wish to regain. I walked slowly over fallen branches and through rugged patches of rough grass, opening my ears to all around me, trying to immerse myself, and in the process losing all feeling of my own significance in the world I had come from.

Following the sound of rushing water I came to a waterfall, and then I came to him. His presence stopped my heart, and time along with it; I felt as though I was gazing into a screen revealing my own fantasy, rather than taking part in the display myself. He walked gracefully through the filmy water, barely disturbing it. I saw him from behind first, and then he turned to the side, completely unsurprised at my presence, and raised a finger to his lips, pre-empting me from making a sound. Then he turned to face me, and I saw the beauty of his form, more real now than in my dreams, although still exactly the same.

Without thinking, I disrobed there in the wet grass, and joined him in the water, my nakedness feeling wonderful in the cool water. He beckoned me to approach, and when I was there in front of him, placed his full lips over mine, and kissed me softly. One warm hand found the cleft of my supple buttocks and my penis slowly came alive, running along the middle of his belly, aching with a mix of pleasure and pain. He released my mouth and smiled kindly, still holding me in my arms, leaning back so as to regard me properly. With an extended forefinger he gently stroked my penis, and I came dangerously close to orgasm then and there, but was somehow able to stop it.

He bent forward and kissed and sucked the skin of my chest, licking a nipple, and gripped my stiff organ gently, caressing it. I closed my eyes as if the experience was painful. It was more pleasure than I'd ever felt.

Then, I felt the warmth and damp of his tongue over my sex, enveloping me, savoring me, and the earth turned a little faster. My knees buckled under the pressure of the enormous wave of pleasure pushing through me, and I fell backwards, into the water. The boy watched me, standing straight again, and continued to smile, this time with a hint of mischief. I allowed myself to float, watching the boy before me, regaining my composure. But I saw him quickly depart at the sound of my name being called -- a servant had come to collect me.

The boy quickly left the water and disappeared into the woods.

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