The Poppycock Papers

The Poppycock Papers - 2: 1120 by badboi666

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If sex involving piss and shit, usually with boys, isn't your thing, go away. If, as is much more likely, you've come to this site precisely to get your rocks off reading about raunchy and wet sex with young lads then make yourself comfortable - you're in the right place. Don't leave, however, without doing this:

Donate to Nifty - these buggers may do it for love but they still have to eat. http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html

The Poppycock Papers is an occasional series of short stories inspired by Margaret Thatcher (not a name you come across too often on Nifty), who failed to understand what her favourite word for "balderdash" actually means. It's from the Dutch: pappekak, literally, soft dung.

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William of Malmesbury, in his "Gesta Regum Anglorum" of 1125, describes the sinking of The White Ship outside Barfleur on 25 November 1120. The crew had been drinking before setting sail and the helmsman steered the ship onto rocks just outside the harbour. William says:

"The water having washed some of the crew overboard and entering the chinks drowned others, the boat was launched, and the young prince [William, heir to Henry I] getting into it might certainly have been saved by reaching the shore, had not his illegitimate sister, [Matilda] the countess of Perche, now struggling with death in the larger vessel, implored her brother's assistance, shrieking out that he should not abandon her so barbarously. Touched with pity, he ordered the boat to return to the ship, that he might rescue his sister; and thus the unhappy youth met his death through excess of affection; for the skiff, overcharged by the multitude who leaped into it, sank, and buried all indiscriminately in the deep."

Whether William of Malmesbury - a monk, and thus perhaps sheltered from the sinful world - knew what actually happened, or sought tactfully to cover it up, is lost to us. Until now ...

My name is Anselm. It will not be long now until the Lord calls me to Him, and I must needs make a confession, though not to a priest: what I have to confess is far too dangerous to be spoken, even within the Confessional. England is split from end to end and no man can be sure that his friend is indeed a friend and not an agent of the enemy. Even priests cannot be trusted. In a way it is a mercy that the events that night happened the way they did, for if I had perished as my master did I should never have become a monk and learned to write. "My master!" Strange words, but they convey little of what he meant to me. Be patient, my friends, and all shall be revealed.

It is Midsummer 1154 and King Stephen is ailing, they say, though more slowly than I. He is around 60 - no bad age for a man, particularly for a king who has been at war with half his kingdom. I am not yet 50, and my leprosy will see that I never reach that milestone. Come, Anselm, they do not want to hear about your affliction. Tell them about William, about the only person - apart from Our Lord - whom you have ever loved.

My father was a brewer - not just any common brewer, but Brewmaster to His Grace King Henry. I was his fourth child, and the only son. My mother, God rest her soul, perished not long after I was born, and I was nursed by one of the serving-women of the Court. My childhood is neither interesting nor important, and when I was 7 years old I was put to work with my father, cleaning vats and burrowing into all the narrow places which needed attention. I was a happy child despite the lack of a mother's love. One day, when I was almost 10 years old my father told me that my services were no longer needed in the brewhouse. I was dismayed - was I to be thrown out of the house to make my way alone in the world? He saw my distress. "Nay, lad, 'tis not bad news. You are to serve the King's son as one of his pages. Someone will come and take you to him on the morrow."

I had seen the King once as he rode away. He looked very grand on his horse. Would I live with him and his son in their castle? I knew he had many bastard children - grown up now, most of them, but only one son, William Adelin. He was three years older than I. Why had I been chosen? I could hardly sleep that night with a mixture of excitement and dread.

My father scrubbed me vigorously at dawn. "Got to have you clean for the Prince," he said, "can't have you stinking of the vats." He told me to put on my cleanest garments - there was little choice as a brewmaster's boy had few things in his wardrobe. I broke my fast with him - the last time I would do so - with yesterday's eel pie and small ale. We had only just finished when a man came to fetch me. "God go with you, Anselm," said my father, kissing me on the cheek.

"Come, boy," said my guide as he strode from our quarters in the clutter of dwellings outside the castle walls. I could hardly keep up with him. My heart was a mixture of excitement about going into the castle and serving the Prince, and dread that I would be letting my father down if I failed to serve properly. I hoped that my father would not be punished if I was found wanting.

I will not weary you with details that are not important. Suffice it to say that I was not found wanting; that I learned quickly the things I needed to know - whom to bow to, whom to avoid if I wanted to keep my hide untanned, whom to ask when I knew not where to go - all the things that any boy of not quite 10 years has to learn as he starts on the road to being a man.

I had been taken to the castle's kitchen where I had been inspected by a man who turned out to be one of the King's chamberlains. "He'll do," said this high official, having satisfied himself that I was not verminous or diseased. "Take him to the Prince." The same man who had collected me from my father now led me up out of the kitchen (the biggest room I had ever been in) into one a great deal larger. "This is the Hall, where your master eats with the King and the Court. You will not eat here, but you will attend him. You stand against that wall behind his seat." And he pointed to where I would be stationed. "Please, sir, where do I eat?" "In the servants' Hall beside the kitchen. You eat with all the rest of the under-servants before the proper folk have their meals. Can't have you slavering like a dog at the sight of food if your belly's not full, can we?" Satisfied that I wasn't going to starve I followed him along a cold corridor. He stopped outside a door. "You call him 'Your Grace', and if you ever have to speak to the King you call him 'Your Grace' as well. Understand?" I nodded. "Well then," and he opened the door and ushered me in. He did not follow.

A boy not that many years older than I was sitting by the window. He got up. "You must be my page." I stepped a few paces towards him and bowed. "Anselm, Your Grace." I felt I had successfully negotiated the first hurdle. "And you are the brewmaster's boy?" "Yes, Your Grace." "Well, you're not the brewmaster's boy any longer, Anselm. You are now my page, and that's a great deal more important. Let's get you some proper clothes to fit your new status. Follow me."

Fifteen minutes later we returned to his room. In that time he had taken me to a chamber high in the castle where a group of needlewomen were busy. They stood up as we - or to be precise, as he - entered and bowed. "Your Grace," said the older woman in charge. "This is my page, mistress. Can you find something suitable for him to wear. Not too grand or my father will think me proud." He grinned as he said this, and the woman smiled back. He leaned against the wall while the women bustled about, holding various clothes against me to judge the size. When we left my arms were full of garments - enough to clothe half a dozen boys.

Back in the Prince's room he told me to put my burdens on his bed. "Why do I have so many clothes, Your Grace?" I asked. "Because you are my page, Anselm, and your clothes must be fresh and not stinking after several days' wear. This is not the brewhouse. Besides, I like my page to look pretty, and -" He broke off. "Get those things off and we'll have them sent away for the poor." I was startled - my clothes could go to the poor as far as I was concerned, but the idea of taking them off in the Prince's presence was surely wrong. "Here, Your Grace?" I said timidly. "Yes. Now."

As well as being the Prince, and my new Master, he was also a bigger and older boy than I. At this time - August 1116 - he was newly 13, I discovered later. That was why he had been given a page to be his body-servant. My task would be to attend him at every hour of the day, to dress him, to do everything he wanted, to accompany him everywhere so that, were he to discover he had needs, I could fulfil them. As instructed I was to stand behind him at his meals - a very wearisome task as sometimes the meals went on for hours as minstrels or bards would entertain the Court - and at the end of the day I was to undress him and send that day's clothes to the laundresses. All this he explained to me while I slowly took off my mean brewmaster's son's clothes and folded them neatly. My face must have burned with shame as I stood almost naked in front of another human being - a thing I had never done since I was a tiny boy. All I had on was a strip of cloth covering my intimate parts. Tiny parts, a tiny strip of cloth, an immense shame.

The Prince grinned, amused at my shame. "Come now, Anselm, you can't keep that rag on. Off with it." Dread filled me: I knew I must obey, but I knew that the shame would never leave me. "Yes, Your Grace," I whispered as I loosed the knot and removed the cloth. I stood naked before the Prince, my eyes cast down. I knew I would never be able to look him in the face. I heard him step towards me.

He lifted my chin. He was standing only inches from me. His blue eyes looked at my face, studying it. "They chose well," he said softly. What could he mean? At that moment my entire life changed. I felt his hand on my member. I shuddered. Could he have known about my wickedness? I had been so careful. The priest was insistent about wickedness and how the Devil put evil thoughts into a boy's mind. I knew well those thoughts and I knew well how hard I had resisted them when first they had assailed me many months earlier. I knew too how guilty I had felt as I found myself unable to resist them any longer. And worst of all I knew how joyous it was when resistance gave way to indulgence. And the Prince was holding it!

The shame only grew when it grew, and as it grew the Prince's hand stroked it. Please, God, let me die now before the shame is too great and my father is whipped for having whelped a satanic monster. My eyes were tight shut, so it was a shock when I felt lips on mine. So great was the shock that my eyes sprang open. The Prince was kissing me! I must have gasped because moments later my mouth was open and the Prince's tongue was licking mine. Sinful Anselm's sinful tongue responded - Satan had taught it well! - and I so forgot myself that I reached out my arms to clasp the Prince to me. When he did the same I knew that I must have died and gone to Heaven - no such joy could exist on Earth between a brewmaster's son and a King's son.

He drew back after a short while. "Well, Anselm, are we friends now?" Did he mean that we might do this again? I nodded, unable to speak. My naked shame had faded, but my member still showed a great keenness for further adventure. I was astounded when the Prince knelt in front of me. "No, Your Grace, you must not kneel ..." But words left me when he took my member, harder than it had ever been, between his lips. "Ah!" I said softly. I took the dreadful liberty of gently stroking his hair - soft, soft blond hair, the loveliest hair I had ever seen - while he abased himself (as I understood it) on his knees in front of me.

All too soon he drew back and stood up. "You do it, I suppose? In bed, I mean?" Shame returned: my secret was known. Had he sensed it while he was tasting my member? "Don't be silly, Anselm, all boys do it. Didn't you know?" I nodded, my eyes cast down again. Again he raised my chin. "Listen, Anselm, your duties don't end for the day when you have undressed me, you know. That's when the fun begins." His eyes glittered. My member knew what he meant, though I had no awareness of anything which might pass between two boys other than what had already happened. But if he wished to lick my member at night I was not going to demur.

"And now that's all settled," he said, becoming business-like, "let's get you inside some of these things."

Five minutes later his page stood before him. "Not a word outside this room, Anselm. You don't speak to me unless I speak to you first. You call me 'Sire', not 'Your Grace' - that's what you call my royal father if ever he deigns to speak to you. In this room it will be different. What you call me here is something we will think about as the days - and the nights - go by. Are you able to be two page boys, Anselm? The quiet servant outside and the lusty bedfellow in here?" In all truth I had no idea, but the prospect of having my member licked, and of being kissed, was so exciting that I would have agreed to anything. "Yes, Sire," I said with a smile. "Good boy." And he kissed my lips lightly. My member gave a little twitch. "Later," he said, seeing movement in my breeches, "I promise."

I attended him throughout the afternoon, keeping as unobtrusive as I was able, until he dismissed me. "You are due to eat soon," he said as we left another huge room, "and you must be back in my room - our room, Anselm - " (I blushed again) "- in one hour. I shall need you to dress me for the Hall."

I made my way back down to the servants' hall where I found a place with other boys. They were older than I for the most part, and I was nervous, being new. One boy, around 12 I guessed, greeted me. "You're the Prince's new page, aren't you?" I nodded. "I'm Anselm," I said quietly. "Well, Anselm, I'm Edwin and you are to sit by me." I was glad that someone had sought to make me welcome and Edwin and I chatted about the kind of life I would lead. Edwin, it transpired, was one of the lowlier pages to the King, whose personal servants greatly outnumbered those of his only son. Still, I comforted myself to think, I was the senior page to the Prince if I was the only one. Food was brought in a large trencher and set on the long table in front of us. Instantly hands were stretched out and handfuls of meal grabbed. "Go on," said Edwin, "grab some. You won't get served here. It will be gone soon." Quick as a flash I took two handfuls and plopped them into my dish. At home we ate with a knife to cut up the meat, but here there were no knives, nor any need for them as the pieces were already small enough even for my mouth. A flagon was set down. I looked at Edwin. "Is that for us as well as the men?" He shrugged. "No-one's stopped me yet, and I've been here since I was your age. How old are you anyway?" "I shall be 10 soon - on St Bartholomew's Day." "Why aren't you called Bartholomew then?" I had no idea: it wasn't a question I had ever asked myself. However it was clear that Edwin had not sought a reason for my being named as I was as his interest was entirely taken up with eating. And drinking the ale he had poured for himself and - having thought about for a moment - for me as well. I decided Edwin was my friend.

I liked the ale. It made me feel very grown up. I decided not to tell Edwin that my father had brewed it and that I had washed the vat in which it had been made. We weren't that good friends yet.

Benches were scraped back. The meal was suddenly over. "Sit by me again tomorrow, Anselm," said Edwin. I felt a great rush of happiness: I had been accepted, shrimp of not quite ten years that I was. And my member had been stroked - by the Prince! I recalled that he had wanted me to be two pages, and one of them - what had he said? - was to be a lusty bedfellow. My member knew only too well that that aspect of being a page was one of which the learning would be pleasant. Now, however, it was time for the other part. I had to attend on the Prince and prepare him for the evening meal with the rest of the Court. What would that entail?

When I entered the Prince's room he was sitting by the window, as he had been when first I saw him. He got up smiling. "Well, Anselm, this is where you learn the tasks for which my father has sent for you to carry out." When I made no reply he added that naturally his father had no inkling of the other tasks I would be called upon to perform. He stood upright, his feet apart and his arms outstretched. I approached, wondering what to do. I knew I was to dress him, but first I had to undress him, for surely his Court clothes would not be donned over those he was now wearing. My clothes were held together more simply than his, I soon discovered, and my fingers fumbled with ribbons and little ties. The Prince grinned. "You'll get used to it soon enough, Anselm. Look," and he showed me how his breeches were fastened. "Undo this," he said softly, "and these." I did as I was told and as soon as his breeches were loosed they fell to the ground at his feet. I knelt to ease his feet from the pooled cloth. As I did so I felt his hands on my head as mine had held his while he had knelt before me earlier. My eyes were level with a swelling in his undercloth. "Shall I undress this part of you, Sire?" I hoped with all my heart that he would say 'yes', but I was to be disappointed. "Nay, Anselm, not now. Later, but you must wait ... and so must I. Take the clothes and fold them neatly, then bring me the ones from my bed. Tomorrow you will lay them out for me, but today there is not time."

Ten minutes later he was robed - fit for a King, I thought, and then realised that that was exactly what he was. I was glad I had not given voice to the foolish thought in my head. "Come, Anselm, it is time to parade before the Court. Walk one pace behind me, bow if you see me bowing, help me settle in my chair then stand behind me against the wall. If you ape the other servants you will come to no harm. Do you need to piss? You may not have another chance for hours." I was glad he had thought of it, for it had not crossed my mind. I nodded. "Over there," he said, pointing to a hole near the floor in the wall in a corner. I fished out my member and pissed. As I did so I marvelled at the change that had happened in less than one day. Here I was, pissing in the presence of the Prince, unashamed that my member was visible to him, unashamed that he could hear the splatter as my piss arced into the gutter.

"Next time you do that we shall do so together," said a voice in my ear. I jumped - luckily I had finished pissing - for I had not heard the Prince walk softly towards me. Truly my life had changed!

Three hours later we were back. The meal had lasted most of that time, with several platters brought in and a great deal of minstrelsy in between. I was glad that my family ate without musical entertainment, for the whole business was very wearisome, particularly to a boy of almost 10 who had to stand unmoving throughout it all. I cast glances to either side of me from time to time, and saw that the two servants next to me - both men - moved a little to ease the stiffness. I was ignored throughout - the Prince had no need of me while he ate and joked with the other men of the Court. I studied the rest of the people eating - men for the most part, but the Queen and three other women were there. The King's pages - his rank seemed to call for two - stood much closer than I or any of the others, one on either side two paces behind him.

(You will remember that I am a monk now, and that all these things happened a long time ago. After that terrible night my life changed, as I shall relate, and I gave thanks to God for sparing me - sparing me to serve Him while spending every waking hour grieving for the other him. I now know the names for the things we did, he and I, but then of course I knew only the childish names I had used at home. I was about to learn new words, as well as new activities. Since it would be foolish to continue to refer to my 'member' in the telling of this tale I shall use the words the Prince taught me to use while he was telling me the manner in which we would pleasure each other. I was, as you will recall, almost 10 years old, and the Prince was newly 13.)

"God!" he said as the door to his room closed behind us, "that went on far too long. Those bloody minstrels don't know when to stop. I've been longing to get up here with you for hours." He drew a heavy curtain across the door and another across the window. He had instructed me to bring a candle and I used it to light two more, one at each side of the rich pillows on his bed. There was a truckle bed at the foot where I was expecting to sleep - my father had told me that this was how it would be.

He stood before me, his arms outstretched. He smiled. "Undressing me will be more fun that dressing me, Anselm, more fun for both of us, I hope." I was nervous. All through the interminable meal I had revisited the moments earlier when he had held me and kissed me and taken me in his mouth. I had been hard almost all that time, hard with excitement and wonder at what we might do, for I had no idea of the things which lay still hidden from me. But in my breeches what lay there knew only too well that it would be exciting.

I undid the fastenings of his clothes and carefully folded them for the morrow. It took only a few minutes for the only garment still to be removed was his undercloth, and I could see that, like me, he was hard within. I began to unloose it but he stopped me. "Nay, Anselm, for you must shed your clothes now. We must be naked together." He stood glorious before me while I took off my clothes as quickly as I could. When all that remained was my undercloth I stopped, not knowing how he wanted me to proceed.

We stood facing each other. My heart was beating so hard I feared he could hear it. "Is it time now?" I said, "for I must undress you as I was bidden." He smiled. "It is time, Anselm, but you must be naked when you undress me," and as he had done before he knelt and unloosed the only thing that kept my modesty. "Mmm," he said softly, "it's perfect. What do you call it?" I knew only the baby word that my wet-nurse had used, and I was not about to use it. I said nothing. "I call it a cock," he said, "although the Court has another word - une bite. But since your cock -" (and he had it in his hand, harder than it had ever been) "- will never see any of the Court we will just call it a cock. It's a nice cock, Anselm, but it's lonely. I think it would like to see mine. It's time for you to be my page again for a moment." He stood up, smiling. "Kneel, Anselm," he whispered.

At last! I knelt. I could feel the heat coming from his ... cock. Was his a cock, or was there a special word for a royal one? Whatever it was called it was very clear that, like mine, it was hard. I reached forward and stroked it with both hands. He sighed. "Ah! Yes, that is so nice." I unloosed the knot and the cloth fell to the floor. There it was!

It was bigger than mine, but not by very much. It was very hard. I looked up at him. He was looking down into my eyes, smiling. I remembered how he had taken mine into his mouth. Was this what I was to do? Without waiting I opened my lips and closed them round it. "Mmm." His hands held my head while my tongue explored its new friend. We stayed like that only a few seconds - I wished it had been longer - but he raised me up. "It's much nicer in bed," he said, and he took me by the hand and led me to his bed. "Am I not to sleep there?" I said, pointing to the truckle. "Good God, no. That's just for show. You sleep in my bed - that's what you're here for."

He lay on his back and I lay on my side looking at him. I wasn't sure what I should do, so I decided that I would await instructions - instructions I was sure would be issued without delay. We were both still hard, after all.

"Have you done this before - with another boy, I mean?" I shook my head. "None of that," he said, "I need to hear yes' or no'." "No, Sire." "Forget the Sire' in bed, Anselm. Now, what have you done. Done with that nice cock of yours, I mean." My face reddened again. "I pull it and it gives me a feeling. Is there anything else it does, apart from that and pissing?" He chuckled. "You are about to find out. What you did is called wanking (the Court have a word for that too - they say se branler) and the feeling is called coming (they say juter). And now, my little puppy, I am going to welcome you to my bed by giving you the best wank you have ever had." "But Sire," I said, "should I not be serving you?" "All in good time, Puppy. And you called me Sire' again. "What shall I call you then? When you make me ... come I will need to thank you properly." He thought a moment. "Call me Nicky." That seemed odd, for I knew that his real name was William Adelin, but he was hot beside me and I was on fire and if he had told me to call him Sunbeam I would willingly have done so. "Well, Nicky, I am ready," I whispered.

When I had wanked myself it was a matter of several minutes while my hand did what was needed; when Nicky wanked me it seemed wrong to use the same word for such a much greater deed. He moved down the bed so that his face and my cock were next to each other. This naturally meant that his cock was in front of me and I could study it closely. "Do to me what I do to you," came an instruction from lower down. A hand stroked my cock ... a hand drew the skin back - something I had never done - and the sensation was indescribable. He blew gently ... I remembered that I was to copy him. I was very careful in drawing the skin back, for I had no idea what to expect. "Here, let me," he murmured, and his other hand - clearly used to what it was doing - drew it back. For the first time I saw what lay inside - purple, moist, the piss-hole glistening. Was that piss? I had no time to debate the matter for my cock was in his mouth and I had no option but to take his into mine. I licked the purple head as he licked mine and a thousand lights exploded in my head. Was this what coming was like with another boy?

No. The lights faded but his tongue continued to bathe my cock. His cock slipped from my lips as he moved slightly. "Let me do you first - it will be better that way this time," he said, and I felt his hand grasp me and start to ... what was it? ... wank me. I sighed. It was much nicer being wanked by somebody else.

Moments later it became a great deal nicer as I felt a hand stroking my balls. Was that what they were called by boys our age! I made a mental note to ask him once we had finished - which I hoped would be as prolonged as the meal had been). Much sooner than I was expecting I suddenly knew that my feeling ... no, I must use the correct words. Much sooner than I was expecting I knew I would soon come. I moaned "I'm near, Nicky, don't stop." His hand moved faster as he knew what was about to befall me. Then I was there! "Aah! Aah!" I sighed as my cock painted the inside of my soul with rainbows. His hand left me and I felt soft lips caress my cock while it still pulsed. I felt his tongue was the red-hot end. Too soon his mouth left me ... only to be fastened to my mouth where our tongues danced, greeting each other like frolicsome puppies. Was that why he called me `Puppy'? "Now it is my turn, Puppy. Was it good for you?" "Oh, Nicky, yes, yes," I murmured foolishly. The feeling - the coming - had been so much more thrilling than any comings had been in my bed at home, and the thing I wanted most in the world was to give Nicky a come as wonderful as the one he had given me.

He was lying on his back, his cock pointing at his chin. I moved down the bed to feast my eyes upon it. It was so hard! His piss-slit was still wet. "Is that piss?" I said. He laughed. "No, Puppy. Would you like it if I pissed in the bed?" "No, but if it is not piss, what is it?" "It comes from my cock when I need to come - yours will do the same in a year or two. I think it makes fucking easier." Here was another new word, but I was in no mood to discover what it might mean: my mind was bent on giving him the come I owed him.

I took his cock in my mouth, licking the hot length of it. He shuddered. I felt his balls as he had felt mine. They were bigger than mine. He shuddered some more. "Use your hand," he whispered, "then when I tell you I'm about to come get it in your mouth again." He knew, but I did not, what would happen.

I wanked him as he had wanked me - sometimes slowly, sometimes quickly. Not two minutes passed before he groaned. "Now," he panted. My lips were round his cock, my hand still wanking the root of it. He thrust upward, burying his cock deep in my mouth and I felt something fill my mouth. Over and over again there was a sensation of ... not piss, surely? I had not pissed in his mouth - I would not have dared - yet he was pissing in mine. "Swallow, Puppy," he murmured, "it is not piss, I promise." My mouth was so full that I had no choice, but as I swallowed I was excited by the taste of this not-piss. It was warm and much thicker than milk or ale, and it tasted sweet, almost like honey. I decided I liked whatever it was that had gushed from his cock. Why did nothing gush from mine? Had it gushed the first time I had wanked and I had wasted it in my bed?

His cock grew softer as mine had done, but my tongue and my lips were loth to bid it farewell. The decision was his. "That's enough, I'm too sensitive for more. Anselm, that was the best come I've had. You are a good page," and he pulled my head to his and we kissed again.

"I can taste my spunk. Did you know what it was?" "No. You said it wasn't piss and it tasted of honey. Piss doesn't taste of honey. What was it? Did I do it in your mouth?"

Five minutes later I was possessed of the knowledge I had sought - or at least I was possessed of what William Adelin's understanding of such matters was at the tender age of 13. As the years went by we both became aware of the precise nature of what had happened, and indeed what we shared in his bed that night became a very frequent delight for both of us. Naturally our repertoire expanded, and that, I'm sure, is where the interests of a reader will lie.

Before we reach that state, however, there is one further thing to relate about that first night together. We had lain together, I in his arms resting on his chest, for some minutes after our exertions. "Up, Puppy, I need to piss," he said. I recalled what he had said earlier when I had pissed in his presence for the first time ('next time you do that we shall do so together') and I - who was almost asleep - reminded him. He smiled, "yes, I remember. Come with me," and he took me by the hand to the hole in the corner. We stood very close together. He put his arm on my shoulder and I put my arm round his waist. With our free hands we aimed our cocks at the hole and watched as piss gushed forth. When we had finished and shaken our cocks he turned to me and again touched his lips to mine. I saw that his cock was beginning to harden again, and my hand strayed - no, Anselm, it did not stray, for that would imply that it was trespassing - my hand returned to where Nicky and I knew it now belonged. He smiled at me. "Again, Puppy?" I nodded.

The next morning set the habit for the next years of my life. I awoke at dawn in a strange place. It took me some moments to remember where I was and why there was another boy in bed with me and when I did my heart was filled with joy. I moved carefully out of bed, trying not to wake him, but he slept lightly and his eyes opened. "God give you good day, Puppy." "God give you good day also, Sire." I grinned as I said it. "I hope I gave you good night." He grinned. "Yes, Anselm, since we are being formal, and so it will be for many nights to come." He got out of bed and scratched himself. Although we had shared so many moments of intimacy - kissing, sucking each others' cocks, swallowing his spunk - I was still startled when a great fart escaped him. "God's blood, that stinks," he said happily. I was relieved, for I knew a fart was waiting in me. He looked at me. "Go on, Puppy, let it fly. Everybody farts when they rise from their bed." It felt as though the last barrier between us was breached when I did as he bid. I giggled. "Mine stinks too." He went to the hole to piss again, with some difficulty as he was half-hard with morning need. Above the hole the stonework was stained - I had not noticed it in the candle-light the night before. When William held his cock and pissed two or three feet above the hole the stain was explained. I was about to piss also but he stopped me. "Can you wait a few minutes, Puppy? It will be worth it." When he had finished he said, "that's where we shit as well." I had wondered about that: at home we shat in the straw behind the cottage and a man came with a cart every week to remove it. Nothing would induce me to shit in his presence, I decided - pissing was fine, but my noise and my stink were things I had no wish to allow him to experience. Luckily I felt no need, not then.

I began to lay out his clothes: I should resume my daytime duties and dress him so that he could break his fast in the Hall. As I turned to begin I saw to my horror that he was squatting over the hole, unconcerned about my presence. "Sire!" I said, "should I not leave while you ..." "Don't be silly, Puppy. We've pissed together, I've come in your mouth, everybody shits, why should you be worried? Does the stink offend you?" I was alarmed - I had perhaps offended him by implying that what he was doing disgusted me. "Nay, Sire, Nicky," (I was confused) "I just ... felt you might not wish me to be present." "Come here," he said, still squatting, "you and I are close in years, closer than anyone else with whom I spend my time each day. We must share everything - everything, Puppy. Do you understand?" I nodded, then remembered his instruction. "Yes, Nicky." "Then you must do what I say. Bring your fine little cock over for me." "Now?" "Yes, Puppy, now, while I am sitting here waiting for more shit to appear." Nothing had prepared me for this, but when my cock was in my hand it was no longer little. Though it shames me now, more than forty years later, to dwell on the scene before me it most certainly did not shame me then. He whispered, "I need to see you naked again." My cock, revealed to his gaze, was hard. He smiled. "Now do exactly what I tell you. Promise?" I nodded, wondering what he might want.

"Piss on my chest, Anselm."

It was hard. All my being cried out in my head that it was wrong for so many reasons. Yesterday I could not have pissed in front of anyone, but that wall had been breached. Today I was being told to piss on someone, and not just anyone - a Prince of the blood royal. "You promised," he reminded me. I closed my eyes and murmured a prayer in my head, asking that God would understand that I was obeying a command and that, if He was to smite me, it would be swift. I opened my eyes. He was still smiling. Piss flew from me, leaping the few inches to splash on his chest where it ran in rivulets down his belly, parting as it flowed round his cock (now as hard as mine) and ran into the hole down to the pit which I assumed lay below. As I pissed he frowned and another great fart escaped - as stinky as the earlier one. "Aaah!" he groaned, "that's so good, Puppy." I could see a turd squeezed from him, long and stinky. "Piss on my cock," he whispered, "while I heave this one out." I did so, though I had little left with which to satisfy his need.

A minute later he was done. At least, he was done shitting. "That's better," he said, "now it's time to clean me." He looked at me expectantly. I was at a loss. At length I found my tongue. "How?" I whispered. He stood up. "Through there," he said, and he led the way through a curtain into a little stone-floored chamber. There was a trough to carry water away and a large ewer stood in a corner. "Wet the cloth in the ewer and wash my chest and belly," he said. The water was cold, and I was glad (for his sake) that it was August. I shuddered to think what such washing would be like in February. When he was satisfied that all my piss was washed away he turned round and bent to touch his toes. "Now my arse. Is it shitty?" "A little." "Use the cloth again. Always arse last, Puppy, I don't want shit all over me. Well, not -" He stopped himself. I plied the cloth, wiping him clean as best I could.

"You are clean now," I said, "but I need to dry you." I had seen a rough cloth in the other room which would serve the office of a drying cloth. I ran to fetch it and when I returned seconds later he was still standing as I had left him. The sight of his arse was too much. I knelt and, as I had done only a few hours before with his cock, I licked hungrily between his globes. "Mmm," he murmured, "you are a find, Puppy, and no mistake." I know not what drove me to do what I was doing, but the heat in my bowels drove me on. My tongue made certain that there was no trace of shit on him, nor - to the small extent it could reach - within his body. The cloth finished the task. He stood up and embraced me. I was overwhelmed with a feeling I had never felt before - a feeling for which I had no name. All I knew was that to serve William Adelin - Nicky - was the only thing which had any value, and that being in his presence - his bed - was the only place I wished to be.

The poets - and not just the poets - have a word for this condition, but if the poets have ever recorded its presence in a boy not yet ten years old then I have yet to find their writings. As an old man near the end of his road I have neither the resources nor the inclination to search the poets; as a boy of not quite ten years old my head, my heart, my very soul, were too full to have any thought for what the poets might have to say. Nor, in truth, could I have given words to him - or to myself - about how upside-down I found myself.

My reverie was interrupted. "Time to put the night away, Puppy. The day beckons and my belly lusts for meat." He grinned. "But tonight, who knows?"

I dressed myself quickly, then I dressed him. "You don't attend me in the Hall while I break my fast," he said, "go down break your own fast with the other servants. Come back here when you have done so." I nodded and followed him, two paces behind as usual.

Edwin greeted me like an old friend, and I fell into a place beside him. I had not realised how hungry I was - how much the activities of the night and the recent minutes had given me an appetite. I reached for meat from the trencher and poured myself a cup of small ale. I drank it quickly. "That's better," I said, pouring myself a second cup. "Looks as though you have been busy, Anselm," said my friend, and I must have blushed because he looked at me with respect. "You and the Prince? So quickly?" I managed to restrain myself from making any reply by stuffing a handful of meat into my mouth. By the time I could speak Edwin no longer seemed to be interested. Instead I asked him something which, in the few minutes since I had left Nicky, had begun to be pressing. I whispered a question. "Where do I go to shit, Edwin?"

He laughed. "Has no-one told you? Follow me when you've finished stuffing yourself ready for a busy day with the Prince." He was grinning, so I knew that I was being teased as my sisters were wont to teasing me.

The arrangements were somewhat grander than the pile of straw we used at home. Grander in that seating was provided and no-one had to squat. Rough planks were laid over a pit with holes allowing a number of men to sit and shit together. The stench was indescribable. Our straw had smelt bad, but it was fragrance itself compared with this. Edwin lowered his breeches and sat unconcerned. "I thought you had to go," he said. I nodded. "Well then, sit by me - or shit by me," and he fell into a great gale of laughter. I did as he bid me, sitting a little distance from him. He laughed some more. "You had better get used to shitting next to someone, Anselm, because in the winter this is the warmest place apart from the kitchens, and dome of us spend as much time in here as we can, even though it stinks. You get used to it after a year or two." He could hardly stop laughing, and I confess I found his teasing less wearing that when my sisters joined in making life tiresome for their baby brother (as they liked to call me). As I shat I could not help recalling how Nicky had shat and to my horror my cock started to recall it as well. Luckily I had almost finished. I don't think Edwin saw ... but would I have minded if he had? I did not know.

He showed me how to wipe myself with the cloth wound round the rod. "You put it back in here," he said, pointing to the hole from which he had drawn it. "There's some stuff down there which keeps it fresh. Sometimes it even seems to work." I applied the cloth to my arse - it was cold and stung. I resolved to inform my sisters about how much better the shitting arrangements were here compared to the straw.

I made my way back up to what I was already thinking of as `our' room, but he was not there. I busied myself folding his clothes again and stowing them neatly. I took his undercloth to the laundress (after I had secretly inhaled his scent) and she berated me for not having done so hours earlier. When I returned he was there. "Where have you been, Anselm? Not still feasting, I hope." I told him about the laundress, omitting to mention the heady bouquet I had sampled.

I should tell you that, apart from a tiny number of occasions when Nature called me unexpectedly, I never shat in the place where I had shat alongside Edwin that first time. When, after our second night together, Nicky repeated the early-morning emptyings of his cock and his arse, and I anointed him again with my piss, he asked if I needed to shit also. After two nights of intimacy and two mornings of what outside of our room I would have called foul behaviour I had no qualms about telling him that a shit was not far away. He grinned. "Can it wait an hour until we have broken our fasts?" "I think so, why?" "Well you must come up here as usual and you can shit here. It will be more fun that whatever they have in the courtyard." His eyes twinkled.

Rarely had I eaten breakfast with less relish. Edwin asked me why I was so quiet, so I roused myself to be the chatterbox he expected me to be. I must not let him think there was anything on my mind. I told him that serving the Prince was exhausting, that I had so much to learn. It was perhaps not the wisest thing to have said because he looked slyly at me. "Already? He's a quick worker then." I said no word, but my blushes must have confirmed his suspicion. I comforted myself with the thought that if he had worked out what Nicky and I were about then it could only have been because he and his master - whoever that was - were equally occupied. I merely smiled as enigmatically as I was able at almost ten years old.

I made myself tarry as long as I could, but as we were all servants of some kind leisure was not something we could enjoy, even while eating. "I'm off to the jakes, Anselm, are you coming?" said Edwin. I shook my head. "I have no need at present." "Well, God go with you then," he said, and he was off. I made my way back to where the next intimate exchange (as I hoped) would happen. I wasn't sure that God would approve.

God's approval would have surely been withheld, not least because I had lied to Edwin. I was in great need of shitting and my insides were most uncomfortable. I opened the door to find the room empty. God's blood, I said to myself, aping the expression William had used the day before - I felt grown up using such words which would have doubtless earned me a whipping at home - as I kept moving about the room. I feared that if I stopped I would find myself shitting willy-nilly. God, make him come, I muttered to myself - and lo! - my prayers were answered. He grinned when he saw me in evident discomfort. "Just in time from the sight of you, Anselm. Let's to business. Undress me." I managed to do so without soiling myself, and I tore off my own clothes, undercloth and all. We were naked again, He was hard and I was bursting.

"Squat as you saw me squatting, Puppy," he said softly, "but hold it in as long as you are able." I almost ran to the stone and sat on it, heedless of the piss and shit stains that might have been found there. "Sitting is better," I said, "squatting is for women and old men." "We will sit when we shit, Puppy, for much more fun is possible that way." I was confused - all I needed was to shit. "It's coming," I groaned, "I can't hold it back," and a turd fell from my arse down the hole. A fart followed, booming, echoing, the loudest fart I had ever heard. We both giggled. "It does that," he said, "hold the rest of what you have in there - I am sure there is more." I nodded. There was a lot more, and my cock had awakened to the possibility that shitting might not be the only reason I had removed my clothing.

"May I piss on you, Anselm? Piss on you as you did on me? It's very exciting." I nodded. "yes," I breathed, "all over my belly. He came right up to me and stood with his legs either side of mine, so that his cock was almost touching my chest. He closed his eyes. I wished I could kiss him, but his mouth was out of reach. I felt another turd beginning to poke out and I must have grunted. I felt piss on my chest, running down my belly, soaking my cock and beginning to trickle between my globes. The turd fell, followed by another - long and soft and very stinky. The piss continued to pour onto me. I suddenly knew that I needed to piss and that, were I to do so without warning onto Nicky he would either have me thrashed, or he would wish me to do it again. My brain was too excited with what was happening in my arse and on my skin to make a thoughtful decision, and my bladder made it for me.

"Oh fuck!" he cried, "Puppy, that is so evil. I love it." I was not going to be thrashed then. We pissed on and one last turd fell, with a farewell fart to speed it on its way. "I'm done, Nicky," I whispered. He held me tight: two boys soaking wet with each others' piss sitting shit-arsed above a stinking cess-pit. It was not the most romantic of situations, but it was one that neither of us wished to bring to an end. Eventually William leant forward to give me a quick kiss. "Nice, Puppy, we will do this every day. Are you in agreement?" "Your every wish is my command, Sire," I said grinning.

As we had done the morning before we washed each other again.

I will not weary you with how the days were spent - that day or any other. I learned a great deal about life at the Court, but none of it belongs in this confession. St Bartholomew's Day was different, however. William had remembered that it was my birthday and, though the night before had been spent as had every night in his service, the morning was different. When I awoke it was to find Nicky already awake, propped on his elbow looking at me. "Now that you are ten, Puppy, you are so much more desirable. I must feast upon your body." I giggled; I loved it when he said foolish things like that. He burrowed down and my cock was soon in his mouth. I relaxed, knowing that he would make me come. Sometimes he made me refrain from doing anything to pleasure him, though I always did so when he had brought me to Paradise, and I knew that this was such an occasion.

Suddenly he threw off the bedclothes. "It's too hot under there, and your cock is so hot today." I grinned. "Lift your legs, Puppy, I want to get at your arse." This was new. He took my cock in his mouth again, but with my legs lifted he was able to run his fingers between my globes and touch my arse-hole. In the days since I had first shared his bed his fingers had often traced that path (as mine had his) but had never sought to penetrate me. Today it would be different.

I had often hear my father cry 'fuck!' if something had gone amiss, but the word itself had no meaning other than as a cry of annoyance. I recall having said it myself - a year or more before I left home - when I stubbed my toe, and I recall the whipping the use of the word occasioned. Evidently you had to be a grown-up to use it, or if not, then well out of earshot. If only all Life's lessons were so easily learned! That day - St Bartholomew's Day in the year of Our Lord 1116 - I learned the more common meaning of the word and, like the earlier learning, it was accompanied by a considerable pain.

Nicky brought me to a high state of excitement with the use of his fingers and tongue. He spat on my arse-hole and pushed a finger in. I instinctively clenched myself. "No, do not resist, Puppy, push and I shall slip in." I was alarmed - it hurt and besides, if I pushed I was afraid I might shit in the bed. My muscles remained taut. "Push, Puppy, nothing nasty will happen, I promise." "How do you know?" I whispered. He made no immediate reply, but I could not maintain my tightness and as I relaxed his finger entered me. To my astonishment it was a wonderful feeling as his finger moved around inside me - it was much more thrilling than being tickled, although that must have been what he was doing. My eyes were tight shut (as so often during our fun moments in bed) so when I heard him spit again I had no idea what he was planning. "Aaah!" I cried. The second finger was uncomfortable and again my muscles tightened. "Sssh!" he whispered, "it is all right - trust me, little one." He had not called me that before, and it was odd, for had my father or one of my sisters called me 'little one' I should have been very cross. But Nicky ... he was special, after all. I relaxed, warm in the glow of having two fingers - his fingers - in my arse ... and the fingers themselves made me glow. The discomfort was forgotten. I heard a whisper. "I want to fuck you, Anselm." "Mmm," I murmured, having no notion of what he was proposing to do, but happy that if he wanted to do it then I would find it as pleasing as having fingers in me. "What do you mean?" I said softly, "what is fucking?" His fingers were suddenly out of me, and I felt a wave of regret: the heat had been so great and so wonderful. He moved up the bed and lay next to me, his face only an inch from mine.

"You must have seen the animals fucking, Anselm, when the stallion mounts the mare or the dog his bitch." I nodded - did he think me an ignorant boy? - of course I had seen those things, and had found my eyes drawn to the sight (especially the stallion). "Well, that's what fucking is, making foals and puppies, Puppy." We giggled. "You want to make me have a puppy?" "No, not quite. For a start you aren't a girl and so you don't have a cunny, so whatever else happens you won't have puppies - or babies, come to that. And the only hole you've got in which I can fuck you is your pretty little arse-hole - and it is pretty, Anselm, because I've been gazing at it for days now, waiting for you to be ten and ready to be fucked. You have had two royal fingers up inside you, and you seemed to like that -" (I nodded vigorously) "- well then, the royal cock will be even better, won't it?" I nodded. "Will it hurt?" "A bit, I expect, but you'll get used to it."

Although he prepared me carefully with more spit it did hurt - dreadfully - and I groaned. I did my best not to cry out, nor to let him see the tears, but I was unsuccessful. My eyes were shut but the tears escaped: the next thing I felt was his lips kissing the tears away. "It won't hurt for long, Puppy, I promise." His cock was deep inside me and I tried hard to relax - to push, as he had told me. With the experience of the hundreds of fuckings we had shared since then I know that my pushing had the effect of sucking him more deeply into me - a feeling I had no words to describe then, nor have I now - and quite suddenly the searing pain was fading. I opened my eyes to see his face immediately above mine - I was on my back - wreathed in smiles. "Happy, Puppy? Better now?" "Yes," I sighed, "do it now, but gently."

He tried to be gentle, but it was his first time as well as mine, and he was not able to control his urge. He fucked me fiercely and I was pounded mercilessly. It hurt again but I was determined to show no sign of it. I was pleased that within a minute he made the sounds he always made when he was nigh to coming. Then, with a mighty groan he pushed his cock into me even further than he had done before and I felt his cock swell and surge. Was he filling me with spunk? Of course he was, Anselm, you fool, just as he filled your mouth, only this time he swelled and surged over and over again. He rose from my body - we had been clasped together like toads - and grinned down at me like an ape. "Wank yourself while I am still inside you. I bet you come within a few seconds." I reached down - I was as hard as I could remember and we were both aglow with sweat and in his case fulfilment and in mine, need. My hand flew, he was right, for it was less than twenty heartbeats before I convulsed with a great come - the biggest of my life. "Ah! fuck, Anselm, your arse clutched my cock as you came," he moaned.

I should like to have died then, I thought: nothing this side of Heaven could ever be so sweet as that moment. And yet it was all so unseemly. The Prince had his cock up his page's arse; his spunk was seeping out and trickling down the page's arse crack; when it slipped out (please, God, let it stay in for ever) it would be caked in shit ... but I knew that however unseemly it was something that I would welcome whenever William wished to repeat it. An imp pricked my soul, telling me that were William to have forgotten to suggest another fuck I should be sure to remind him.

I have recounted those first weeks in William Adelin's service in some detail, not to seek absolution for my childish sins but to give some explanation of why he entered my soul and my heart as readily as he entered my body and (as you may expect) I his. The next important milestone came over two years later. During those two years he fucked me on most nights, but always refused to let me fuck him, though I begged him to. "Not yet, Puppy, but soon, I hope." My irritation at this constant refusing did not last long, for lips, fingers, cocks, arses all conspired to drive such petty thoughts from my mind. And of course I was in love.

You must not think that the Prince spent all day sinning with me. On most days he went, an hour or so after he had eaten breakfast, to knightly training. I was required to attend him while this was going on - not that I received training of this kind, but to assist him should he have need of it in aspects other than those in which he was being instructed. As the weeks and months went by I could see, even with ten-year-old eyes, that he was developing both skills and bodily strength. The boy I loved was growing towards the young man I would love.

After the midday meal he spent some hours with his father, King Henry (or if not with the King, with his advisers and the Chamberlain) learning about kingship and what he would one day be called upon to do. I was not required at such meetings, so my afternoons were largely mine own. On one occasion another servant, thinking me idle, set me to a tedious task (cleaning the cooking pots) and I resolved that I should never again be seen with nothing to do. In the afternoons I repaired to `our' room where I busied myself tidying, sweeping, making sure that his clothes were clean and sweet-smelling, taking soiled or frayed garments to the women for attention. "My, you are a busy lad," one of them said.

When he came back from an afternoon's instruction I was always there for him. On most days he flung himself on the bed, tired, as he put it, `with all that listening.' "At least in the tiltyard I get up a good sweat. My fucking brain doesn't like sweating over all this kingship stuff." I found that I could restore his good mood by bathing him in the adjoining room. I had discovered that the boy - not much younger than I - who brought the ewer would bring hot water if asked. At Nicky's suggestion I offered him a penny to do so each day. Our bathings were thus much more welcome than in the cold water supplied before pennies changed hands.

That was the pattern of our days - feast days and saints' days apart, naturally - for two years. The next landmark occurred a few days before my twelfth birthday. I had been in William Adelin's service (and his bed) for a little over two years. That night began as countless others had. After much kissing and stroking he fucked me, and as so often before I swam enraptured as his spunk poured into me. He had fucked me so often that my cock had learned to come while he was coming in me. That night it felt different. I looked down. "Nicky! I've made spunk, look." Sure enough there were three white drops on my belly - drops which could only have come from my balls. He was as excited as I was. "Well done, Puppy, you are on the way to being a man now. Each day your balls -" (he stroked them) "- will make more spunk." Tomorrow morning, after they have had a busy night making more, you will come in my mouth at dawn and I will taste your essence as you have tasted mine." He looked into my eyes. "This is a magic moment, Anselm," he said gravely, "we are for each other now." I did not know what he meant. As far as I was concerned I had been his for two years. But was he now mine? Was the Prince his page's? I could not fathom it out. All I knew was that I had come proper spunk, and that both he and I were joyful.

He kissed me. The spunk - such as there was - cooled on my belly. He bent to lick me. He was licking my spunk! Swallowing it! He moved back up the bed and whispered in my ear. "Your spunk tastes of everything sweet, Puppy. I love it." There was a contented silence as we lay close together. "I love you, Anselm," he whispered. "I love you, Nicky. I have done since I first came here." "I know. And tonight, Anselm, Puppy, I want you to fuck me. Now that you can make spunk I want you to make it inside me."

That night - the first of many when we each fucked the boy we loved - will always remain in my mind. My body may be decaying almost before my eyes, but (thank the Lord) my brain is still as agile as it ever was, and that night is as fresh in my memory as though it were yesterday.

One day the following spring - it must have been not long after May Day 1119 - William told me that a small number of the Court was to visit Norfolk - there was a shrine, apparently, and the King wished to pray there - and after they were to spend some days at a place called Guella. "It's on the sea, Puppy, so we can swim. Can you swim?" I shook my head. "Nor can I, but we can at least get ourselves wet," and we both grinned at the thought. At that time he was 15 and I was approaching 13. Our frolics both in bed and on the stone shit-hole were well established, enjoyed by both of us. "If we are lodging away from London who knows what mischief we might find, Puppy," he said as we lay in bed after a boisterous hour one spring night.

The day before we set off for Norfolk William asked me whether I could ride. "How could I?" I said, "I'm a brewmaster's boy. The only horses my father has are for pulling the dray, and he has a man to manage them." "Then you shall ride with me. Don't worry, I can handle the beast." I liked the idea that I would ride behind him, clutching him by the waist and feeling the heat if his body next to mine.

The journey was tiring, even though riding behind William was exciting. My poor cock was hit and hard after so many hours pressed against his body. Our Lady's shrine of Walsingham was where we were going. It had been founded some fifty years earlier, just before the King's father came to England and had already acquired fame as a place where miracles could be expected. "Do you believe in miracles, Nicky?" I asked. "No, not really. I don't say my prayers any more. I'm far too keen on getting my page into bed and my cock up his arse than I am in kneeling on a cold floor. It will be different when my father dies and I am king. I will have to be very holy then." I hoped that would not be for a very long time.

The monks and priests at the shrine had made several rooms available for us, doubtless hoping that the Court would endow them. The King rose early the next morning and the Court, including William, were all obliged to accompany him on their knees as he spent hours praying. When William returned he was most vexed, and it took some time before my lips and my tongue (and other parts of me) were able to improve his mood. "That' s enough praying for a year," he grumbled, "I can't think what my father sees in it. Tomorrow, my fine Puppy, we are all to rude to Guella." "What is there?" I said. He shrugged. "I don't know. There are healing wells apparently, but since neither of us is suck we shall not bother visiting them. The Court will have to accompany my father, but I have persuaded him to excuse me from such things. I wish to see the fisherfolk there, and talk to them about their trade. Whenever I have been into France I have been afraid at the sea crossing, but these men go every day, come rain or shine, they say, and I wish to understand more of the sea and its perils,' I told my father. "What did he say?" He grunted. That means yes'.

Naturally I accompanied him to the fisherfolk, or to be precise to their women - the men were at sea. He talked to them and I stood a respectful few paces away. I was glad when he turned to me and said that he had had enough converse, and now knew all he felt he would ever need to know about the fishing trade. "Come with me, Anselm," and we rode a mile or two out of the hamlet along the seashore. There was a little cove, sheltered from view. "This looks ideal," he said. He hobbled the horse and we walked down to the water's edge. "Undress me." I hoped he would say that - I had looked forward to our playing in the sea from the moment he first mentioned it.

Very swiftly we were both clad only in our undercloths. "There is no-one to see," he said, "and besides, I am a prince. Who will dare to say anything if they see us naked?" and he took off his undercloth and reached over to unfasten mine. Two naked boys relished in their nakedness and in the heat of the sun on their bodies. We walked together into the sea. It was a strange feeling, at once chilling and thrilling. The sensation of the water on my balls was exciting.

Though neither of us could swim we frolicked about, forgetting his status. We might as well have been a young fisherman and his apprentice. We ducked under the surface, braving death by drowning. Soon he whispered in my ear. "I need to shit. Shall I do it in the sea like the fishes?" Quick as a flash I shook my head - a truly wicked thought had entered my head. Indeed it had been in my head for many months, but I had never before seen how it could have been accomplished in our room in the castle. "No, Nicky, keep it in. We'll enjoy it in the dunes." He looked at me. "You have an idea, don't you." It wasn't a question. "Come on," I said, "I need one also."

Two minutes later we had found a spot completely hidden among the grassy dunes. "We'll do it here, then we can go back in the sea to clean ourselves," I whispered (though why I whispered when there was no-one within a mile of us I know not. Perhaps I was too excited to speak properly). "I can't hold it any longer, Puppy, what am I to do in your great plan?" I lay down on my back, heedless of the sand sticking to my wet back. "Squat over me, Nicky, and shit on me." "You are mad, Puppy. Are you sure?" "Of course I'm sure. I've been wanting you to shit on me for months when we've shat together. Please." He grinned. "Very well, Puppy. I think you can guess that I am just as keen," and he squatted with his arse just below my chin, facing away from me. "Shuffle forward as you do it, then it will lie on my belly."

He squatted as I had asked him, his arse only two or three inches above my chest. He sighed and I saw his arse open and the shit appear. "Oh yes, Nicky," I breathed, "it looks so hot. Let it fall on me." It was long and thick, a pale brown stinking delight as it slowly left his body to lie glistening on mine. It was soft: I knew that in a few seconds he would turn and lie on me, squashing it between our bodies as our mouths joined in a frenzied battle of tongues. The shit, all one long piece, lay from a point between my nipples - erect with excitement - to an inch or so above the root on my cock - hard with anticipation, so much so that it lay under the last two inches of his turd. As he quickly rose from squatting he looked at what he had done. "God's blood, Puppy, that is a filthy mess." He grinned, "and we are going to make it filthier, are we not." In the instant before his body was lowered onto mine my hands had grasped my cock, coated as it was with royal shit, and spread it down over my balls.

His body was on mine! His shit was plastered between us. My hands - shit-covered - were around his body, pressing him as close to me as was possible. Shit squished from our bodies. "Piss if you can," I whispered, "and I will also." Seconds later I felt the heat of his wetness on my belly. I too was pissing. Soft shit was mixing with our piss and running off my body into the sand. We must have lain like that for some time, kissing, kissing, kissing as the stink rose about it. We could not have cared whether they smelt us in Norwich!

He took his lips from mine. "It's your turn now," he said, "what is next in your disgusting mind?" As he could hardly contain his mirth I knew that his words disguised the truth of what he felt: he was no more disgusted than I about our shitting on each other. Even if he had not been laughing his cock gave the lie, for it was hot and hard (and, like mine, covered with his shit). "Your cock is soiled with shit," I said, "but it lacks any coating of the shit of a commoner. Sit on the sand while I put that to rights." We both stood up and, to my delight, he cast around for a place where he could place his royal arse. "I like this place," he said, pointing to the shitty area in which I had been lying, and which was by then well-covered with the pissy soup that had cascaded from my belly. He sat in it and looked up at me expectantly.

Instead of squatting over him, as he had done to me, I straddled him, my legs a foot or so either side of his body. I was facing away, naturally, so that his view as my arse opened was the same as he had afforded me. I had found it highly stimulating to see how his arse opened like a rose to allow the foul (but not to us!) maggots to drop, and I wanted him to see the same thing happening to me. But I did not squat. I placed myself so that when the turds did drop they would do so on his cock, as near as I could judge. I hoped that mine, like his, would be long and soft. I relaxed my muscles, knowing that whatever lay within me - and there was a great deal, I could tell - would soon make its way out into the world. "Ready, Nicky?" "Mmm."

My wish was granted. I passed one long turd and a smaller one followed. I could not see where they had landed, but his cry of delight as my arse opened and delivery was made was enough to tell me that what had fallen had fallen where it was expected. "Look, Puppy, it's huge," he whispered, "you must have been keeping it in for days." I turned to admire my handiwork, glistening as his had been, stinking as his had been, ready for being squeezed between us as his had been. I dropped onto him.

Our hands were busy anointing each other with the residue of our bodies. By some unspoken agreement the filth reached no higher than our necks, but by the time we had exhausted ourselves there was not an inch of clean flesh to be seen below there. All the time we could feel our cocks hard against each other's belly. "Fuck me, Nicky, please," I moaned, "I need you in me, shit, spunk and all. Fuck me as hard as you can." Neither of us had fucked the other while covered in shit, but our arousal was so great that doing so seemed the most natural conclusion to our wickedness in the dunes. "Kneel then, like a dog, for I will have you from behind." We had fucked like that sometimes before, and I knew that he became very vigorous when doing so. He plunged his cock into me with little preparation - I needed none - and his arms clasped me tightly as he fucked me fast and deep. He lasted only a minute before he groaned and I felt the familiar joyful swelling of his cock as the white-hot lava was pumped into me. He knew enough about how I liked to come while being fucked like a dog for his right hand to grasp my cock, hard, hot and shitty, and bring me very swiftly to the same height of ecstasy as himself. His cock was still deep inside me as mine swelled and cast my spunk into the shitty sand.

Almost immediately he slipped out. "Come on, Puppy, the sea will be our salvation lest anyone smell what we have been up to." We ran, shitty from neck to foot, our cocks softening but still leaking spunk, into the sea where we ran our hands and arms over each other to cast the shit into the waters. "Fuck, but that was the best surely," he said softly when, several minutes later, we lay in the warm shallows up to our necks. I nodded. "But it's not something we can do at home." 'At home!' I thought as soon as I had said it. It was presumptuous, I knew, but we both knew that we loved each other, and therefore that his home was my home. "We will find a way, Anselm," he said, tenderly stroking my face.

William Adelin was required to pray with his father, the King, again at Walsingham three days after our adventure in the dunes. I and other attendants waited outside the shrine while they and two priests did whatever had to be done. When they emerged an hour later William was as pale as a ghost. I went to his side in case he had need if me, but he remained silent. The King and his train rode towards London, and we followed close behind. "What's wrong, William?" I said when we were out of earshot of the procession in front of us. He remained silent, still pale. As I held on to him I felt that every muscle in his body was taut. I leaned forward and said softly, "please tell me, Nicky, I know something bad has happened. Let me share in it." He sighed. "My father wishes me to marry Matilda - she's a French noblewoman - and it will happen in France next month." I was as distraught as he was, but I dared not show it. "Will she live with us - with you, I mean?" "I expect she will at some time, but she is too young, I think." He turned his head to look at me. "Anselm, my father wishes it, not I. I have never seen her. I have no desire for her, but I will do my duty and fuck her do that when I am king there will be heirs to carry on after I am gone. My father made that clear at Walsingham. The first time he prayed to the Holy Virgin that She would bless the marriage. Today She seems to have given a sign that it would be a successful union. Don't ask me what the sign was - it was something the priests could understand apparently. Be that as it may, the marriage has Heaven's blessing and neither I nor Matilda have any say in the matter. You are lucky, Anselm, being a brewmaster's boy. You will be able to marry who you like, if ever your cock decides it needs to bury itself in some woman." He broke off. I felt him shake. "Don't weep, Nicky," I said softly, "we will still be together until she is old enough for you to do your duty, and when you have done it I will still be warm in our bed to make you feel better again." I only dared to speak in that way because it was the only way I could think of to shake him from his despair. I was relieved when I heard the familiar chuckle. "You are an impertinent rascal, Puppy, but I think I shall keep you." By the time we reached London we were both in a merrier mood. After all, he would not be sailing to France for some weeks.

We did find a way to shit as thoroughly on one another in London as we had in Norfolk, though the outcome was much less total that it had been that day. If he sat towards the back over the stone hole and I sat in his lap facing him, our mouths at their usual business, I could shit between his legs and - were he to hold it in the right position - onto his cock. (It was possible the other way round also: you must not think that he never shat on me!) The shitty cock was then put to good use as it was by then well-slippery and could return some of the shit deep inside the arse from which it had so recently escaped. Cleaning ourselves was not easy, but the ewer was put to good use, and I made sure that hot water was brought up from the scullery if we intended to perform together in that manner. After the first occasion we had done it that way it was very hard to dispel the stink afterwards (the stink of our bodies, that is: there was always a stink from the stone hole) and I obtained some fragrant oil with which to mask it. William asked me what it was for when I came up after breakfast. "We stink, and this will mask it. Here," and I rubbed a tiny amount on my hand. He sniffed. "It's a bit better. What are we to do?" I reached inside my undercloth and rubbed my sweet-smelling hand over my cock (I had fucked him that morning). He sniffed carefully. "Very well, you had better undress me, Puppy, and do the task properly." Soon his arse was as sweet-smelling as it was delightful in other ways.

I went with the Royal party to Lisieux. Matilda was not yet 13, and she seemed as unwilling as William was about anything beyond the lengthy ceremony in the church. There would be feasting and courtly formalities, but the only person being fucked was me. The chamber set aside for the Prince William Adelin was considerably better than the one he - we - had at home, and the bed in which he - we - slept (and fucked, and did all manner of other things) was both larger and softer. Not knowing how the chamber would be attended I made a great play of lying in the truckle bed provided for me, and crumpling the linen so that no-one might think it had not been chastely occupied. William watched gravely while this charade was performed. Alas, there was no opportunity for the play with which we now routinely occupied ourselves as bowls were provided for our necessities. We were amused that his was of fine porcelain while mine was of unglazed earthenware. "Never mind, Puppy, I'll shit on you when we get home," he said as we held each other. I had never held a married man before.

When he took his leave of his new wife the following morning she seemed pleased that the whole business was over - a feeling he told me that he shared. "She will come to London when she is 14, and she and I will live together then." Seeing my face he quickly went on, "but I shall still need a page, or rather a body-servant. You will be too old to be a page next year. I have no idea what arrangements my father will make, but we don't have to worry for a long time. While my wife is not at my side you will be."

Back at home we resumed, at night at least, the habit we have each grown to enjoy. We shared the disgusting fruits and juices of our bodies as often as we could. During the summer months when the King was out of London on Progress we rode with him, and when his Progress took him into Kent to inspect the ports that lay in that part we found the opportunity to seek out dunes in order to do again what we had done in Norfolk in May. We were fortunate that each time we escaped from the Court we were undiscovered. Once in Folkestone and once in Rye we lay together and emptied ourselves.

The Rye occasion was particularly memorable, for it was a hot sultry day when it seemed likely that a storm would come upon us. It was the last day before the Progress was to turn inland and head through the Weald for various towns on the way to London. William and I both knew that it was likely to be the last chance we would have that year to do what we both longed to do, and to do it without any need for caution or carefulness. Neither of us knew then that it would be the last time we would ever do those things together in that abandoned way.

The shore at Rye is very muddy when the tide is out, and neither of us found the idea of wading through dozens of yards of mud to wash shit off ourselves a very pleasing one. We were fortunate that as we explored the littoral we saw that the tide was near full, perhaps an hour away judging from where the wrack was lying. We found a place at the foot of a bank which could not be seen. "Thank the Lord," panted Nicky," for if I do not shit on you in one minute it will run down my legs." We were out of our clothes in an instant. As he had the more urgent need I lay on my back ready to receive what he was about to lose. On this occasion it was most plentiful as it lay down the centre of my body. He was about to turn to lie on me as he had done in Norfolk, but I stopped him. "Lie on me, but with your arse at this end so that I can see it." "You want my shitty arse under your nose, do you?" "Yes, and not just under my nose. Now lie on me before the flies get wind of you."

The squelching was as great (and as delightful) that way round. His arse was in front of my eyes as well as my nose, and I reached up and gradually drew his globes apart. "Is there more?" I said. I felt his stomach tighten as he strained, and I was rewarded as his arse opened and another turd was visible. Soft, brown, stinking, it was a heady sight. I put two fingers into him and felt the turd. It was only an inch or two long and I soon had it out lying on my chest. My fingers searched for any more, but he was empty. We had long ago ceased to warn each other of the need to piss, so when I felt hot liquid flowing from his cock onto my chest and running down towards my belly I allowed my cock - hard, like his - to piss up. Instantly his mouth was on it, swallowing greedily as fast as I could piss into him. We lay together as we always did, knowing that shortly it would be my turn to shit on him. The heat was intense, and we were both sweating heavily.

At length he sat up on my chest. I felt his hand grasp my cock. "I need to shit," I whispered, "wank me after." He leant forward again. "Shit in my hand," he whispered. This was new. For some reason it felt wrong to shit in someone's hand when it had not felt wring to shit on their belly. Truly the mind has some strange ideas. I decided to ignore my mind, not least because my arse had an urgent need to do what had to be done. I raised my hips off the sand and parted my legs. "It's near," I said. Seconds later I pushed and a great quantity of soft shit emerged from me. "My God! That is the biggest you have done, Puppy," and I felt his hands smear the contents of my bowels into my arse and all round my cock and balls. I pushed hard and there was more. The feeling as it was applied to my skin was indescribable. He turned and lay on me again, his hands grasping mine so that mine too were soon reeking of shit. "That was the best, most wicked thing we have done, Puppy," he said, "and I want you to fuck me first this time."

He got off and was about to kneel like a dog. "No, Nicky, lie on your back. I want to fuck you as you will fuck your wife." He chuckled, but he did as I asked. My cock, slippery with shit, eased into him as though it were designed to do so, and I plumbed his depths for several minutes before I was overcome and pumped my soul into him. I fell forwards onto him as my spunk ceased to spurt and as always his arms enfolded me. A few minutes later he said his need was now pressing. "I shall fuck you in the same way this time."

I lay on my back in the shitty sand. It was almost dark, though nowhere near nightfall. He lifted my legs and gently slid his cock into me. When it was as far in as could be he paused. He looked into my eyes. "Here is a present." I looked at him curiously, then felt a feeling I had not felt before. He was pissing in my arse! The heat of it was very great, as was the quantity, and as he kept on pissing it began to leak out of my arse into the sand. He pissed on ... and on ... but at last he ran dry. "Now you are going to have the best fuck of your like, Puppy. Not for nothing did I ask you to call me Nicky." "I do not understand. What do you mean ... aaah!" (for he had plunged deeply and had started to fuck me hard, how I love it best). "Niquer means to fuck in the French tongue."

The weather-gods must have a high sense of humour, for at the very instant that Nicky's cock swelled and delivered the first blast of his juices deep inside me there came the brightest bolt of lightning and the mightiest thunderclap I had ever seen or heard. They came from right above us it seemed. We both jumped with surprise and the effect was that another inch seemed to pierce me. We both cried out in shock and joy. Nicky's cock continued to pulse within me, and the heat of his coming seemed greater than ever. I believe that at that moment I enjoyed the greatest happiness of my life.

Mere seconds after the thunderclap the skies opened and warm rail fell onto our stinking bodies. We held each other tightly until Nicky's cock slipped from my arse followed, as it always was, by a trickle of spunk. "Come on," he whispered, "we have never been in the sea in a storm," and climbing off me he raced naked and shit-covered into the sea. I was only a pace or two behind. I was to remember his words before too long.

The lady Matilda - Princess, I must call her - travelled to London the following year, 1120, and was installed in fine chambers in the castle. William had gone to Dover to greet her and rode with her through Kent. I was not with them as the King decided that knights should accompany them. "Never mind, Puppy," William had said in bed the night before he set off, "it will only be a week or so. Then when I have done my duty she will be as pleased as I that we shall sleep apart. This bed is where I truly wish to be, and this -" (he pushed a finger into my arse) "- is where this belongs." (And he placed my hand on his cock, soft after I had made him come in my mouth not minutes before). "I shall miss you," I whispered. "And I too, Anselm, but we must be brave. England requires us both to do our duty." We both smiled at each other. Our lips and tongues sealed our love yet again.

Ten days later he returned to our bed. I had decided that I should not make any enquiry about what had passed between husband and wife, but would wait until he raised the matter. "Here I am, back with you, Puppy. If her courses dictate I shall lie with her again in a few weeks. She is sweet enough, but since neither of us has any experience in fucking she is somewhat timid. Fucking your arse is not the same as fucking her cunny - my aim was not always of the most decorous." We giggled like a pair of little boys.

That was the pattern of our life for the next few months. Matilda's courses - whatever they were - gave no indication that William should not do his duty for a few nights each month.

Late in the year the King made a visit into France. He insisted that the Court accompany him, as well as a few hundred bowmen. As this was a military occasion neither the Queen nor the Princess were with us - yes, 'us' because William insisted that I was with him. I had no idea what was going on between the King and the French King, and William never offered to tell me. I was content to remain in ignorance: being with him every night was pleasure enough, and attending him during the day when there was feasting or merriment allowed me to see how the French did things differently from us. As I was then 15 a French boy was told to be the Prince's servant for the duration of our stay. It became clear that his were the menial tasks - cleaning our chamber, emptying the slops and so on. Nicky and I soon discovered that Pierre, who had a merry face and a quick wit (I could not understand a word, so Nicky, who could speak French, had to tell me what the boy had said), was a gamesome lad. "He says he is 12, Puppy, just like you when you first came to serve me. Shall we see whether French boys of 12 are as full of mischief as English brewmasters' sons?" I nodded. A part of me was a little jealous that Nicky had eyes for another, but a larger part of me (a growing part) quickly decided that as we were to be here for only two weeks there was no risk that Pierre would be more than a passing adventure for both of us. Besides he had a very nice arse.

By the time we left France twelve days later Pierre knew several English words and I had learned several French ones (though I knew niquer already). He was a very active boy in bed - neither of the truckle beds in William's chamber was put to much use beyond a superficial tousling of the linen - and allowed us to penetrate him in interesting ways. It had never crossed my mind that being fucked in the arse by a Prince while having a serving-boy enjoying one of his early spunkings in my mouth at the same time was possible. So evident was my eagerness to repeat it that my two companions refused, saying that each of them wished to be in the middle before I enjoyed that position again.

We arrived in Barfleur to take ship home on St Catherine's Day - 25 November. The King was anxious to return to England, so boarded with most of the Court and sailed before dark. William and many of the others, including the bowmen, tarried, saying that they would follow in the other ship soon after. I have spent every moment of every day since that fateful day wishing that the King had insisted that William Adelin, his only legitimate child, his heir, should be with him in the leading ship. But it was not so. The bowmen, knowing that they would soon be in England and subject to much greater discipline, spent the early hours of darkness carousing and wenching. By the time the White Ship set sail it was nigh midnight and the steersmen and crew were drunk as well. William and I, and a number of the King's illegitimate family, had kept clear of the drunkenness, and we were alarmed that we were to sail through darkness with such an ill-disciplined ship.

Only a few minutes after the ropes had been cast off the vessel caught the wind and was swiftly on her way, but no sooner had she left the shelter of the harbour than there was a mighty crash and the ship stopped dead. She heeled over and it was clear, even to a landlubber like me, that it would sink. It was pitch dark and the sea was rough. William clutched my arm. "Come," he said, "if we do not make our way off this wreck we shall drown. Forget the bowmen, they must fend for themselves." We went to the side and looked down. The sea was no more than ten feet below us, and as far as we could tell the shore was no more than two hundred feet away. "Look," I said, "there is some wreckage. We can cling to it and try to make our way ashore." He nodded and we jumped. Had we paused to think we might have drowned there and then, I think. We were holding hands when we jumped, but the shock of hitting the water caused our grip to be lost. I was on my own, under the waves. Luckily when I rose to the surface there was a piece of the ship beside me and I clung to it. I looked for William ... there he was, but a few feet away. He reached for my piece of wood and our hands clasped. Thank God! The waves took us towards the shore and soon we were able to stand, though the water was almost up to our mouths. "We're safe!" he cried, "God be thanked." We were slowly making our way to safety when there was a cry from the ship. "William," came a voice. "My sister Matilda," he said, "I must go to help her. You go on and wait for me, Anselm."

I saw it all from the shore. They were in a boat ... men clambered onto it to save themselves ... the boat tipped over ...

There were only two who survived that terrible night. I lay on the shore, soaked to the skin, desolate that the love of my life had perished before me. I was in a foreign land, knowing no words - none that would be of use to me, that is - and with no master. The Lord had spared me, but for what purpose? I wandered for hours that night. At dawn I fell to my knees - I do not know whether it was exhaustion or grief - and prayed with an earnestness new to me. I vowed that I would serve God; I would keep the secrets of my heart safe in my heart; I would remain in France where a new life could be made: France near where William Adelin - Nicky, my Nicky - had gone to God.

Later that morning I heard that a butcher from Rouen had survived the wreck, and I sought him out. After some time, using signs and with the help of a citizen who had some English, the good man agreed to employ me as his servant for his journey back to Rouen. When we got there I went to the monastery where I was accepted as a novice. I remained there for over ten years. I was sent back to England, to a brother monastery in Sussex in 1132. I was loth to leave France, but William was in my heart, not in the sea.

I have been a monk here in the monastery since then. No-one has called me 'Puppy' for over thirty years. Soon I shall be with my Nicky again in Paradise. I doubt whether they do the kind of things in Paradise that we did when we were boys though.

===================================================================== There will be further instalments of The Poppycock Papers. Drop me a line at badboi666@btinternet.com - that is after you've dropped nifty a few quid. =====================================================================