The yellow key Part 4

by Amaranth.

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Lancelot awoke with two erections.

One was hard and throbbing between his legs, and the other belonged to
Dove, who lay curled up against his side, one leg thrown over Lancelot's
with his sex pressed against Lancelot's thigh as he nuzzled happily, the
corners of his mouth tilted upwards every so slightly. He was a picture of
contentedness. He was a tiny kitten who had found happiness snuggled
against his owner--except that Lancelot was the slave.

Lancelot was loathe to move, and yet embarassed by his arousal. This was a
*man* for crying out loud. Well, okay. Not really a man... more a youth--a
very pretty androgynous youth. But still, the fact of Dove's gender was
pressed most obviously against Lancelot's thigh and could not be ignored;
so Lancelot quickly lept out of bed, startling the sleeping Dove to
wakefulness.

Dove stretched like a little cat, contented amongst the cozy bedsheets, and
yet irritated at having been startled awake in such a brusque manner. He
looked up at Lancelot with his pretty blue eyes, wondering what was up....

Lancelot fled into the bathroom before he could lose any more control of
his body, and as he quickly took care of his erection on the bidet, he
thought to himself, (I have *got* to do something about that boy... If i
don't make him into a man, I'll lose my sanity.)

And so the task of making Dove into a real, masculine, Sylvester Stallone
kind of man was begun.

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Lesson number 1: How to dress like a man. Dove was sprawled upon the bed on
his stomach, wearing a white lawn shirt and not much else, showing
incredibly long slender legs that were too muscular to belong to a woman,
but far too shapely and hairless to belong to a man. He was twirling a lock
of fine red hair around on one finger as he read Wuthering Heights.

Lancelot walked into the room, having come from the library, and cleared
his throat quickly, feeling a quick spark down below his waist at the
innocent yet erotic sight. "Dove, it's time we taught you how to handle
yourself in the real world."

Dove looked up and blinked. "Oh, does Ms. Tuttle want me to go and learn
how to use the phone again? I don't like that thing... it's scary."

Lancelot looked pained for a moment, then shook his head. "No. We're going
to teach you how to be a man." He dropped a stack of thirty magazines onto
the bed beside Dove, and they both coughed and hacked at the dust that flew
up into the air. Dove stared at the pile with ill disguised apprehension.

"The paper's all yellow, Lancelot... they don't look very current."

Lancelot sighed. "This was all they had in the library. They're about 15
years old. They really keep you insulated in here, that's for sure." He got
onto the bed beside Dove and tried not to stare at the globes of Dove's
ass, which curved so nicely beneath the tails of one of Lancelot's white
shirts. He reached for a magazine instead and put it down over Dove's book.
"This is what a man looks like."

It was a picture of Burt Reynolds, circa 1979.

Dove wrinkled his nose. "He's.... got hair all over his chest."

Lancelot nodded. "A lot of men do."

Dove looked at Lancelot. "You don't have hair on your chest. Does that mean
you're not a man?"

Lancelot blinked. "N-no, not at all. Some men don't have hair on their
chest... and some do."

Dove shrugged. "Then I'm one of the men who don't have hair on their
chest." He continued to study the picture. "He's got hair on his face
too... that's really gross. I bet that he gets a lot of food in it. it
looks like there could be things living in it."

Lancelot snorted beside him, amusement welling up. "Yeah, I suppose. I
don't really like facial hair much either."

Dove turned the page and looked at more pictures of men with hairy chests
and faces. "Lancelot, these guys don't look anything like us."

Lancelot sighed... "I suppose not." He grabbed the magazines and pushed
them away. "We'll teach you how to dress, then." Dove sat up and looked at
Lancelot with trusting eyes, the front of the lawn shirt gaping open a bit.
Lancelot tried his hardest not to look down and stare at the bare flesh.

"First of all... you can't go around dressed... like that."

"Like what?"

"With so little clothes on."

"Well, I thought no one was supposed to walk around without any clothes
on."

"Yeah... but guys should wear pants and shirts."

Dove blinked. "But I do wear pants and shirts, Lancelot... Ms. Tuttle makes
me." He looked forlorn for a while, trying to figure out how to make
Lancelot happy, and then brightened. "Okay! I'll go put some on right now."

He ran into the bathroom.

Lancelot sighed some more and sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for Dove
to come back. And waited.... and waited.... and waited... and finally, Dove
came in.

He was... definitely wearing pants and a shirt. As to whether or not he
looked masculine... well, that was a completely different story.

Dove certainly looked good... the clothes were impeccably tailored, but
then Lancelot expected nothing else from that Tuttle woman who dressed like
she looked down on Rodeo Drive—nothing but specifically tailored for that
ice queen.

However, he looked far from manly. Who ever had made up that old adage "the
clothes make the man"…. Well they definitely didn't know what they were
talking about, that's for sure.

The grey slacks fit him perfectly, being just baggy enough not to be
ridiculous, yet showing off his slender legs. The white button down was cut
to fit, not a stitch loose or out of order, everything in its place. Dove's
hair had been tied back neatly with a velvet bow, of all things. Lancelot
could only shake his head and tap on the thong that held his own hair in
place.

"Dove? The bow?"

Dove sighed. "But I like it... it's pretty and it feels nice." But he did
as told, releasing the velvet bow, letting his fine red hair free to tumble
around his face.

Lancelot stared again. With his hair down, Dove looked even more the
androgyne than before. His eyes looked big and blue and the hair cast wispy
shadows on his cheeks that emphasized his fragility.

Lancelot threw his hands in the air and gave up.

Dove merely grinned. "Sorry Lancelot... I'll try harder next lesson."

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Lesson number two: How to talk like a man. They sat cross legged across the
bed from each other. Lancelot was still frowning, wondering how the hell he
was ever going to survive these lessons. Dove was so... *un*masculine that
it wasn't funny. It was making his head... as well as other parts of his
body hurt watching Dove's graceful movements. Lancelot worried for his
sanity... and his sexual preference.

"Okay, Dove. You have to pay careful attention to this, all right?"

Dove nodded, his eyes serious and studious.

Lancelot deepened his voice and grinned. His words were short and succinct,
occasionally monosyllabic. "Men have to talk like men. We can't be all
girlie and out of breath. Nor can we talk in continuous babbly sentences.
Men should use sentences that are short and to the point."

Dove blinked. "You sound really... strange..." he eyed Lancelot with an odd
look. "I don't know if I *want* to learn how to talk like that." Lancelot
gave him the evil eye and Dove quickly snapped to attention. "Okay...
okay..." He sighed.

Lancelot *ahemed* loudly. "Men do not sigh."

"But... you sigh all the time..."

Lancelot merely glanced at him with a "don't talk back to me, you young
hoodlum" look on his face. "Don't interrupt me when I'm lecturing you.
Also, men do not trail off their sentences in that way."

Dove nodded, scared to say anything more, and just stared at Lancelot with
big frightened eyes.

Lancelot almost sighed but caught himself in time. "Okay, you try it."

"Okay. Like this?" Dove croaked.

Lancelot stared incredulously for a few moments. Dove sounded like a dying
frog. "Uh... yeah. we're getting there."

"Okay. I can see why men have to keep sentences so short. This hurts my
throat." Dove erked out with a pained look on his face.

Lancelot stood up, shaking his head, and walked into the bathroom to pound
his head into the wall for a couple minutes, listening all the while as
Dove practiced his new "manly" voice. Even sounding like kermit the frog,
Dove managed to be deliciously adorable, and Lancelot began to *really*
worry about his sanity.

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Lesson number 3: How to Act like a man. They stood in the center of the
room, Lancelot tall and upright, his legs planted firmly on the ground,
feet apart in a position of power, charisma, and confidence.

Dove stood with his arms folded behind his back, gazing up at Lancelot, one
hip jutting out to the side, a small sweet smile on his face.

Lancelot frowned and reached down to push Dove's hips straight, but quickly
took his hand away when he realized the minor contact was turning him on.
"Dove, stand up straight."

Dove did what he was told quickly, bolting upright with his hands plastered
against his sides, feet pressed together tightly so that you couldn't even
see a single dot of space between his legs.

"Okay... that's better, I think. Now, we're going to learn how to walk.
Follow me." Lancelot strode across the room with long purposeful strides,
his hands swinging only slightly, shoulders squared as if to say "don't
mess with me, unless you want to get what's coming to you."

Dove felt kind of queasy because he didn't think he could walk that way.
But Lancelot stood on the other side of the room impatiently waiting, so
Dove sucked in a huge gulp of breath and plunged across the room.

Dove had basically lost any grace that he once possessed, as he trudged
across the room, the top half of his body leaning forward and moving at a
faster rate than the lower half as he tried his best to imitate Lancelot's
long, easy strides. Lancelot kept leaning forward, scared that Dove would
trip and fall face first on the ground. Every step, Lancelot came closer
and closer to hopelessness. Dove was obviously *not* going to become a
paragon of masculinity. It was hopeless, all so hopeless. He was plunged
into the pit of despair, as Dove trudged up to him and croaked, "so, how
was that?"

Obviously, he'd have to take a different tactic.

He just shook his head and told Dove to go back to reading Wuthering
Heights, as he slipped out the door again, hurrying to the library.

Perhaps he'd try a little sex ed.

End Part 4.