Squirt and Paul
Andrew Jackson High 6
by George Gauthier
- Paul
The name tag stuck to the blond boy's shirt announced in big red letters: "Hi, My Name is Sprout!". Underneath, in a much smaller font, was the top of a mailing label with his full name, which is William Pierpoint Tagliaferro IV. That is quite a mouthful, too much really for such a little guy, one who stands only five two. Which is one reason why we call him Sprout. The same logic applies to my boyfriend Squirt aka Alex Conlon who matches him in same height. The remaining two members of my coterie also have nicknames: Brandon O'Rourke de Lyautey, aka Squirrel and Zach, i.e. Zachary Taylor, like the president. I greeted both with a hug and a peck on the cheek.
Physically Sprout and Squirt are very much alike, slightly built youths with wiry physiques. Both are blessed with fine-boned featured, blond hair and green eyes. Both boys are impossibly cute. Sprout has a chiseled jaw line and killer cheekbones that makes him look slightly more masculine than Squirt who is more your gamin type, more into the androgynous look which turns me on unbearably. He has that effect on a lot of guys, but especially yours truly.
As for me, I am Paul Hansen, tall dark, and classically handsome, a jock standing six-foot three. So Squirt and I make an odd couple given a difference in height of more than a foot but we are item nevertheless. But I have to say that I dearly love that boy. It was his beauty that lured me not so long ago away from my exclusive interest in the female half of the species. Thanks to Squirt, I am now also interested in guys.
We were attending a social at Andrew Jackson High School in South Florida, an occasion where students in the senior class and their parents could meet the faculty outside the formality of a parent-teacher conference. Actually I myself am an alumnus, a college freshman, one year older than my four friends, who are soon to turn eighteen. But my primary social group is the five of us, those whose names I have mentioned. Which is why I was there with my boyfriend and our three close friends.
I found myself being chatted up by one of the new teachers this year, a veteran English teacher who had transferred in from another school recently closed because of budget cuts. A well-preserved man in his fifties he nearly six feet tall, with neatly coiffed dark hair now greying at the temples and brown eyes. With his seniority, he had bumped a very much junior teacher, a nice young lady who had made English grammar come alive for me, no mean task, I can tell you, back in my junior year.
Anyway Oswald Chambers, to give the man his name, had basically cornered me and plied me with questions about my friends and the exploits for which they had gained some local notoriety. Truth to tell, I had taken an instant dislike to the man for his role in getting my favorite teacher let go. I mean, the man could have retired at three-quarters salary and let her keep her job. I happen to know that she is a single mother of twenty-six with two young kids and has student loans outstanding.
I was also turned off by his first name. Call it a silly prejudice, but no one named Oswald has ever made his mark in this world. I would go even farther and say that with the possible exceptions of Owen and Obi-Wan, given names that start with the letter O are just awful: Oscar, Osbert, Otto, Omar, Odo. They are also far down on the list of popular first names. Also I didn't like the predatory way he looked at my younger friends.
"So, Hansen, last week, when I was a chaperone at the spring dance, I saw you in the company of a stunning female student; her name was Brenda Simpson, I think."
"Simmons."
"Brenda Simmons. You looked like a dating couple -- a real couple I mean, with all that implies. Yet now I am told you also have a gay boyfriend, that investigative reporter for the school paper with the strange nickname."
"That would be Squirt. And yes, I am a switch hitter as far as that goes. I like to think it doubles my chances for a date on a Saturday night."
Seeing I needed rescuing, Squirrel, i.e. Brandon O'Rourke de Lyautey. came over to give me a chance to disengage from old man Chambers. The old man was not going to make that easy.
"Now who is this delightful youngster approaching? Why he is even tinier that the two boys you were talking to just now. Those were Sprout and Squirt, so this stunning red head would be the notorious tree climber Squirrel. Who's next?"
"That would be me, Zach" the fifth of our party of five said decisively. "Zachary Taylor. Like the president."
"Ah! The entire clique assembles ranks. My cue to leave, or I miss my guess. Good evening young scholars, and have a nice evening."
We rolled our eyes as he walked away and started to circulate among the grown ups.
"That man gives me the creeps." I said to no one in particular.
The others nodded their agreement. So I knew it wasn't just me who felt that way.
"Let's try not to be alone with him, if we can help it. The buddy system."
Zach nodded then added: "And if we can't do that, then record the audio of any encounter on your cell phone, inconspicuously of course."
Zach is an IT wizard. He is always thinking of such stuff.
Zach is the tallest of the little guys, as I think of them, though he does stand a respectable five-nine. His raven locks and hazel eyes made him a natural for coming in costume as Superboy in the body paint outfit I created for him for last year's Halloween party. Basically he and the other three guys were stark naked under a colorful layer of paint. They were the sensation of the party and each won top prize for best "costume" in his category.
Squirrel is a red-head, or auburn really. The very smallest of the group, at five-foot-zero and 100 pounds even. Like the others his is arguably too pretty for a male, though a chiseled jawline and strong chin keep me from looking totally androgynous. He has spiky red hair cut short at the sides with long narrow sideburns reaching below the ear lobes. They frame a cute face with a high forehead, straight eyebrows with almost no curve to them, sky blue eyes, and a perky nose slightly turned up at the end in keeping with his Irish heritage.
Unusually for the five of us, especially the younger four, we were neatly dressed in polo shirts, slacks, and sandals. Usually the guys snatch at any excuse to run around stark naked, whether at the nudie beach beyond the jetty, at the Sprouts' residence including the back yard (they have understanding neighbors) and on their bare-ass botanical safaris to the nature preserves in the region.
The usual drill for those expeditions is to first coat the body with citronella oil to keep the bugs off then hoof it over to the woods barefoot (or drive over) dressed only in skimpy running shorts which they strip off and stash before spending the rest of the day communing with Mother Nature in a state of nature. Quite often the boys commune with each other, if you take my meaning.
Actually both Zach and Sprout have the excuse that as budding botanists there is a legitimate scientific purpose to these collecting expeditions, though really, after so many trips, the nearby preserves must be thoroughly exploited. And there is no scientific reason for their habitual total nudity. That is what I think, though I keep my mouth shut about it for the sake of group harmony.
Squirt is more open about why he goes along and immediately shucks his clothing, skimpy as it was to start with. While the botanical duo search off-trail for specimens and occasionally a nice bed of grass to lie on and commune with nature, he runs along the dirt trails, to build stamina, he says. A second purpose of his outings is to encounter targets of opportunity, lonely boys looking for a shag. Truth to tell, the nature preserves are known as places of assignation for male sex. All the more these days, with both Sprout's and Squirrel's nude adventures there turned into books and made-for-cable movies.
In the nature preserves, Squirrel adopts yet a different approach and takes to the high ground, the trees. He is a climber and very much into the climbing sport of parkour. Trees, construction sites, walls, buildings, it is all the same to him, an endless obstacle course, a fresh challenge wherever he looks.
Parkour is a fairly new sport imported from France. The name is a variant spelling for the French word for obstacle course, parcours. Only the runners in parkour do not negotiate purpose built obstacles. They treat our whole built up environment as an obstacle course. The idea is to move from point to point as quickly and efficiently as you can, using the innate abilities of the human body to run, climb, jump, fall, swing, slide, and tumble. All done without ropes, hooks, or grapnels or other climbing aids.
Normally, on his runs in built up areas, Squirrel wears low rise canvas shoes plus a pair of abbreviated bicycle shorts -- very low rise and with a short inseam. They are made of an airy, lightweight, porous, and nearly sheer tan-thru fabric. Colorful patterns printed on the fabric fool the eye into focussing on its surface rather than looking through the flimsy cloth to see the boy beneath. In the preserves, Squirrel prefers to go bare ass. The folks he runs into do not seem to mind at all. Many take his picture and ask about his three months of exile in the preserves while hiding from the police and the Mob, all the while totally nude except for body paint camouflage applied by yours truly. Squirrel is totally blase about public nudity and lets folks chat him up and take pictures.
I prefer at least minimal clothing while in public. Not that I am a prude. I do let the others coax me out of my Speedos at the nudie beach and in the Sprout's back yard though I slip on shorts when I go inside. Unlike the others who stay naked, except when they sit down for meals. Otherwise they stay naked studying at their desks, watching TV, doing chores, or in bed. Especially in bed.
In his role as live-in houseboy, Squirrel thinks nothing of strolling down to the mailboxes in the rude nude to pick up the mail. By now the neighbors are used to it, and many look forward to it. And why not? The boy is just so damn cute and sexy. Same thing when he takes out the trash or mows the front lawn. I have even seen him out front helping Sprout plant flowers, both of them in the state of nature. More power to them, I say. With bodies that lovely, they were born to run around in the nude.
- Squirt
With the warm weather forecast for the long Thanksgiving weekend, the five of us made plans for a short vacation to Central Florida. Following a traditional turkey dinner at the Taylor home, we got up early Friday morning and drove to the first of the attractions we planned to visit: Busch Gardens in Tampa. We already had our tickets, ordered on line beforehand. Armed with their official map and my own unerring sense of direction, ahem, we intended to explore the entire park in one day. And darn if we didn't, with one interruption I will describe later.
Busch Gardens is a combination of zoo and amusement park with an African theme. It has rides and animal exhibits spread over a wide area, all linked by a train ride that serves as both transportation and an attraction in its own right. There are five roller coasters and several water slides. Animal exhibits too like elephants and cheetahs and giraffes and a good choice of places to eat.
It is well laid out and doesn't have the interminable lines at Walt Disney World. You can see all of it in a single day if you start early. We did just that, but I would still go back there again before I went back to WDW, and there is lots I haven't seen at Disney. It's a fantastic place for kids of all ages, as they say, just perfect for a bunch of exuberant youngsters such as ourselves.
We knew that, at a family resort, some patrons might not take kindly to our usual carefree life style, so we dressed conservatively enough in form fitting bicycle shorts. Very low rise and with a short inseam, they are made of an airy, lightweight, porous, and nearly sheer tan-thru fabric. Colorful patterns printed on the fabric fool the eye into focussing on its surface rather than looking through the flimsy cloth to see the boy beneath. If they only knew how next to naked we really were. All in all these shorts were a great way to display our bodies without being totally blatant about it.
On top, and you must have something on top in a family amusement park, we chose different options: midriff baring tank top, mesh tank top, tan-thru T-shirt, and, for me, an open Aladdin style vest, more decoration than garment really, to show off my pecs and abs. Paul wore a grey cotton tank top which highlighted his muscular shoulders. I looked pretty puny standing next to him.
One thing we did not dial back was our exuberance. We are all gay and made no attempt to hide our orientation. How could we. Just one look at us, our body language, the way we interacted, and you knew. It was obvious that Paul and I were a couple as were Zach and Sprout. Still we did nothing overt that anyone could object to. No French kisses or naughty groping. Oh there were some arms draped over shoulders and enthusiastic hugs, and Paul did pick me up and whirl me around, but those were chaste embraces, expressions of joie de vivre rather than lust. Just teenage friends and schoolmates having a good time at an amusement park.
Still some people get uptight about openly gay guys no matter what their behavior. Our very existence offends them. As I was chowing down on a hot dog, I found myself under the stern gaze of a grey haired man in his late thirties. With him were two women, who looked like sisters with five children with them. As he stared at me he was joined by several strapping teens about 18-19. Too old to be his own offspring, their T-shirts said they were in some church youth group.
Not wanting a confrontation, I turned my gaze away, giving him a chance to do the same. He continued staring at me fixedly. OK, if that was the way he wanted it I was willing to oblige. Luckily I knew that the way to win a staring contest is to keep facing your opponent but don't really look at him. Let your eyes get crossed and day dream. It leaves you calm and unselfconscious while the other guy gets nervous at your equanimity. Eventually, he folds. As this man did.
Chagrined at his psychic defeat at the hands of an inferior creature, as he viewed it, he raised the ante, briefing the teens on the situation, having them form up behind him to back his play. Then he sauntered over to us, a sneer on his face.
"Bunch of fags like you ought never to have been let into the park."
"It's a free country." I returned evenly.
"Too free, with your kind on the loose, mixing with decent folk. Going around in super skimpy clothes, all lightweight and form fitting to show off those willowy fag physiques."
"I like to think I have a pleasing physique, as so many have told me. Actually, yours is the first complaint I have ever had about it."
"Harrumph. And all that grab ass action just now . Carrying on right in front of my young kids and nephews, not one of them over 11. You ought to slink back into the closet where you belong and stay there, sissy boy. Back in the day you wouldn't dare carry on like this in public."
"Times change. In this case, much for the better. The bad old days are done and gone and good riddance to them."
I said all this in a flat, almost unemotional tone, holding my ground without being deliberately provocative. That was his department. Then Paul stepped between us.
"You're doing good, Squirt, but better let me handle this now."
I nodded just as the bully let out a guffaw.
"Haw! Squirt. Now ain't that just so right, fellas. This here sawed off runt, they call him Squirt. So who are you big man?"
"Squirt's boyfriend. Call me PH. And these are our good friends, Zach, Squirrel, and Sprout."
Paul was deliberately provoking him, using our overly cute nicknames. I wondered why.
"Cute names for faggots. Now git or else."
"Or else what?"
"We thrash you then throw you out of the park. You are outnumbered nearly two to one and your backup is all little guys. Mine are strapping young men. Now move."
He punctuated his statement by slipping his belt from around his waist then doubled it and snapped it threateningly, like a father fixing the give his wayward son a beating. Several of the teenagers followed suit though a couple of them wrapped a fist in leather the better to deliver a punch.
They advanced toward us, belts and fists raised threateningly. Just then security showed up and got between us.
We told our story. They told theirs. The gray haired man who named himself Wilber Jenkins spun a tale of fags gone wild. We were carrying on licentiously, dancing and kissing and petting, even rubbing our groins together. When he objected, we mooned him and his family. We even pulled down our shorts and wagged our cocks at him.
The upshot of it was that the security goons took us into custody.
Suddenly a stranger stepped forward. He said he was an attorney though he was speaking up only as a witness, not as the legal representative of either us boys or the church folk. This attorney did point out that it behooved the company to get written statements from the complainants before it voided the contract they had made with us when they sold us our tickets. It wouldn't be prudent to kick paying customers out of the park, much less ban them, without documentation.
I was furious at what looked like an invitation to pound another nail in our coffin, but Paul motioned for us to play this cool. Obviously he was working some angle. We all trusted Paul, not only his loyalty but his uncommon good sense. So we followed his lead.
The parties were directed into two separate rooms at Security HQ. After an hour, that lawyer man asked Security to bring everyone together including a sheriff's deputy and the park manager. It seems the man wasn't just a lawyer. He was with the FDLE (Florida Department of Law Enforcement).
With the written statements of the complainants in his hand and copies in ours as well he dropped his bombshell.
"Let me introduced myself. I am Lyman van Zant, attorney and an special agent at the FDLE. I heard and saw everything that went down. These fine boys, these so-called fags, are completely innocent of any wrongdoing. You folks are a bunch of liars and shame on you for it. Your statements are worthless except as proof of your own criminality, namely making false statements to law enforcement. If you had repeated your lies in front of a judge, it would have constituted perjury.
"Son of a bitch...", the grey haired patriarch began. Mr. FDLE cut him off.
"Exactly, That is just what you are, Jenkins, a sorry son of a bitch. And all of you are liars. Not only that, you could be charged with assault or menacing. Those belts in your hands count as weapons under the law."
"You are so wrong about us." one of the women complained. "We are good people, church going folk."
Our lawman ally cocked his head back.
"Oh? Do good people bear false witness as you just did? Isn't there a commandment against that? Do good people assault innocent citizens going peaceably about their lawful business?"
"My suggestion to Busch Gardens, is that if they want to avoid a lawsuit, bad publicity, and possibly a gay boycott, to blackball all these miscreants from their parks for the rest of the year at least."
The park manager nodded and promised it would be so. We got an apology and a free pass for future use, with free refreshments any place in the park or another of their parks if we chose to go elsewhere. Fair enough.
"What made you take their side?", the patriarch complained. "They're just a bunch of faggots."
"So was my son. He was a Marine rifleman till he got killed in a firefight in Afghanistan. I am proud of him for his service to our country and glad he had come out to me beforehand as a proud gay teen."
"Which was your war, sir?" I asked.
"Desert Storm." he replied. "I was a tank commander in the Army's Third Armored Division."
So things worked out well for us. Paul told us that he had met Lyman two or three years ago, when he enrolled in a course to learn sign language, ASL. Paul was dating a deaf girl at the time. The FDLE agent was a student there too. He explained his own motivation.
"I once stood by doing nothing while local law enforcement arrested an excited man with blood on his shirt. He wouldn't go peaceably but kept trying to get his arms free. Turned out he was mute and was trying to sign. To get the cuffs on him the cops put him in a choke hold, which lead to brain damage. Turned out the man was trying to get help for his injured six year old who had fallen out of a tree."
"I blamed myself. Oh it isn't FDLE business to interfere with local law enforcement, but if I had known then what I know now, I would have stepped in anyway. That is why I took that sign language course. Now I am able to tell a deaf man to stay calm, that we know he is trying to sign but first he has to let the police take him into custody."
Van Zant had chuckled when he learned that the Paul was taking the course to impress a girl. Anyway, that is why van Zant remembered him. Recognizing him at Busch Gardens the FBI agent signed to Paul that he should give the bigots enough rope to hang themselves. Which is just what happened.
That night I rewarded Paul for his cleverness and gave him some of the best sex of his life. I rode him cowboy style, astride his hips like I was on a Western saddle, posting up and down as if we were trotting down the trail. All the while he played with my big cock and tweaked my nipples, and tickled my ribs. He liked it a lot when I bent forward and licked and kissed his pecs and nips and abs.
It isn't that often that little guys like me get to be on top like that and with a super-masculine type like Paul. Usually I am on my back, heels in the air or rolled back onto my shoulders as I get drilled and reamed out. Or I am put on all fours, taken doggy style, my small body nearly engulfed by Paul's so much larger physique. He comes at me like a stallion mounting a nervous filly, first bracing his arms on my shoulders, as he impales me on his prong, then drops to all fours as he pumps away at me. Gods how I love it when that big guy mounts me.
That evening, our lovemaking was so enthusiastic, the folks in the next room pounded on the wall. Oops. Sorry.
The next morning, we made it up to the folks next door, a husband and wife pair of optometrists, treating them to the deluxe breakfast buffet which included unlimited free refills for their mimosas.
And I finally got my very own war story. Not so dramatic a story as the others could tell, but I stood up to bigotry and had the satisfaction of seeing them get their just desserts.
- Paul
The next day we went out to a water park. It was an unusually warm day for a time of year which even in Florida is often cool. Remember our climate is only sub-tropical. Anyway it was their very last weekend before the park closed till spring. With a low attendance that day, it was like we had the park to ourselves.
I am so glad that hygiene at water parks is much better these days thank to automatic gates to the pool area. Their people sniffer technology simply won't let swimmers pass until they take an adequate shower, discretely redirecting them back to the showers. That keeps all sorts of body gunk out of the pool water. Not that we needed such reminders. As gay youth we are always conscientious about personal hygiene.
Despite the near naked bodies and the grab ass games, a water park is just good clean fun. Even more than the wave pool, I loved the water slides best though I was surprised and even alarmed at how fast we shot down the tubes. The first couple of times, I half-expected to be flung right out of the slide or slammed into a wall as it bent in a different direction.
Then I realized the reason we could go so fast was that our hard muscular bodies slip along the wet surface of the slide with minimal friction. With the softer bodies of females or fat people their flesh spreads and sticks to the surface acting like a suction cup. Our Speedos helped too; very little fabric and that very smooth so very little friction. Board shorts are just the wrong thing to wear to a water park; they hang you up. And then there are those really baggy shorts that extend below the knee. I call them knickers for the short pants kids wore a century ago. Board shorts and baggy shorts, Ugh and Ugly for short.
For the occasions we had settled on a style of Speedos with a little more coverage than our swim team wore at school. These trunks had liners in front to soften the outline of our manly parts. Squirt looked great in his yellow Speedo, the color chosen to match his corn silk hair and to contrast with his bronzed skin. The fabric was printed with white polka dots. Liner or no, the nylon could not really soften the outline of the boy's huge schlong which slanted upwards and to the left toward his hip, the knob almost poking out of the waistband. Shameless boy!
Damn exhibitionist that he is, Squirt relished the way that so many pairs of eyes gazed at him hungrily, persons of both genders and a full range of ages right up to a guy in his sixties who could not hide the look of unbridled lust that swept over his features when he caught sight of the boy in the tiny tight yellow Speedo with the white polka dots, a male incarnation of that gal in the old song about the Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny Yellow Polka Dot Bikini. Only Squirt was more shameless than shy about showing off his trim body.
Squirt loved all the attention, as he stood waiting his turn at the top of the slide, hands on his hips, fingers pointed to his groin, all bright eyed and bushy tailed, Squirt was the little cock of the walk, a super cute twink strutting his stuff and challenging anyone else to match it. For me no one else can.
Words fail me in describing my feelings toward the guy. Yes, he is impossibly cute and sexy, a walking wet dream with a hard athletic body. But it is is more than his physical attributes that make being with him so exciting. He is so much fun just to be around, to see that pretty face break out in a smile as he delivers the punch line of a joke he has interjected into the conversation or lays one of his truly terrible puns on his latest victim. His verbal agility, his exuberance and joie de vivre are among the chief aspects of his charm. And always there is that tight little body of his, looking so athletic and healthy and inviting. To me Squirt is the epitome of the male teenager, a boy in the full bloom of his youth.
I am so lucky we got together when we did. For all he always says that I took his cherry, he took mine as well. He introduced me to male sex as much as I did him. I was just as much a virgin in that department as he was, that afternoon, under the stands at school. We still chuckle about the scene that awaited him at home with his pops and his uncle when he showed up next thing to naked, in a pair of shorts I had lent him. Eight sizes too large, he had to clutch the waistband to keep them from sliding off his narrow hips.
We are talking about a boy who would be a mini-flyweight (under 105 lbs) if he ever took up boxing. The hickeys and love bites showed what he had been up to and the label in my shorts, gave away the who with. Not that his pops had not already guessed it was me.
Since then I have frolicked with the other boys. Sprout and Zach are a couple but with an open arrangement, like mine and Squirt's. The four of us sometimes trade partners. Or we make a three boy daisy chain. Occasionally we go all out with a four way orgy of boy flesh. Good thing for that sturdy futon at Sprout's house. Only Sprout goes over to Zach's for a sleepover.
Squirrel for one is always up for a shag with any of us, and is conveniently to hand at the Sprouts. As their live-in house-boy and cook he shares the nude life style of the younger generation there. Though he has his own room with a half bath, he often shares a bed or a shower, with Sprout or Zach or both at once. As the smallest, he often finds himself inside a boy sandwich, spooned from behind, fondled and stroked from in front. He loves having two boys make love to him at the same time. While one addresses his front, the other addresses his back.
I can tell you from personal experience how sweet that boy's kisses are. And like Squirt his small body is a delight to grapple with and to hold on to as he gives in to the good feelings coursing through him. Once he gets going, his whole body shakes and shudders in an internal orgasm as his body responds to the stimulation of his prostate by my fingers or my a cock up his quim. Like Squirt, this is a pretty boy born for male sex with caring lovers.
I just don't understand males who get rough with their boys and treat them meanly. Boys like Squirrel and Squirt are meant to be cherished as lovers and friends and made a part of your life. I am so lucky they are part of mine.
Squirrel goes about the Sprout premises as unconcernedly naked as Sprout and Zach and Squirt. Four pretty boys without a stitch on, reading, studying, working at their computers, sunning in the back yard, or gardening. About the only time anyone except me puts on shorts is when they sit down at the table for a meal. And none of this grab a bite and run business. With a cook on the premises, whichever of the boys are over there gets a proper hot meal, which often includes breakfast, when they sleep over.
In the kitchen Squirrel wears a blue striped apron like those in French bistros. It does little for his modesty, open at the back as it is. Which is fine with me. He has the tightest buns of all of the boys, from all that climbing, no doubt. They are a delight to behold.
I am really getting into boys, but don't get me wrong. With me girls will always be on the agenda. Only now they have to share me with the fellas.
Back at Andrew Jackson High, Squirt had a confrontation with that creepy teacher Oswald Chambers who tried to blackmail him into sexual service. The aging lecher knew that all four boys, Squirt and Sprout and Squirrel, and Zach, had to pass his course to graduate with their contemporaries in June. He kept Squirt after class and locked the door. Then he threatened to flunk all four boys if Squirt did not surrender his sweet body to him. Squirt's vehement protests and heartfelt pleas fell on deaf ears. The man would not be dissuaded. He wanted Squirt and would take him, right then and there. Squirt reluctantly agreed.
"Good! Now you are being reasonable, my young friend. Cheer up, it is only a couple of times a week till the end of the school year. Then I will retire, and you will be free of me."
"My oh my, Alex, you do look ever so sexy standing there in these poplin shorts with the five inch inseam which show so much leg. I have watched students of both genders ogling those clean limbs of yours, wishing they could look up those shorts too, knowing you don't wear underwear."
"You usually top with a very loose-fitting sleeveless shirt like this one, no collar and sides split all the way to the hem. No doubt you chose that style for the way it affords glimpses of your entire chest when you lean forward and let it billow out. Anyone can see those corrugated abs and small teats crowning your flat pectorals. I approve of that too. I just adore tiny teats on a boy, which look like twin beauty spots."
"But now, it is time to unwrap this scrumptious package which I have arranged as my own birthday present to myself. Please raise your arms above your head that I may lift this top off your torso and lay it aside. Now kick off those flip flops. Good. Now the unveiling as I pop the button and unzip you and let these shorts slide off your hips to the floor. Kick them out of the way, will you?"
"There, now I have you properly naked, totally on display in all your boyish glory. My oh my, you really are hugely endowed. On so small a youth as you, it looks like it hangs halfway to your knees. So long and thick and pendulous. You are blessed, my boy, blessed."
Squirt let the older man feel him up, hardly able to keep his gorge down as the man petted him. Not from physical repulsion; the man was not ugly by any means. For a man in his mid fifties, he had quite a decent body. No Squirt's revulsion was a physical reaction to humiliation and blackmail, his body's rebellion at what it was being forced into. Squirt didn't know which was the stronger emotion in him, anger or disgust. The kisses the man pressed on him were unwanted. The attentions he paid to Squirt's outsized virile member were even worse. This man had no right to put his gnarly hands on it in the first place. Ignoring Squirt's obvious displeasure, Chambers hefted and stroked his heavy pendulous cock and slicked the foreskin back to uncover and thumb its sweet spot.
"I have been dreaming of this moment since long before I arrived. You know I am one of your biggest fans. Oh, not just you alone but all four of you including Sprout, Zach, and Squirrel as you call yourselves with those endearing nicknames. I set aside Paul Hansen as just a fifth wheel in your group. As a college freshman, he is outside the picture and beyond my power."
"You boys just don't realize the extent of your notoriety in South Florida and on the web. So many videos have gone viral depicting you in your various misadventures and escapades. Why two of you spent last summer as virtual sex slaves in that reforestation camp in Haiti, stark naked the whole time. Last year, one of you turned fugitive from both the police and the mob, hiding out in the woods for three months stark naked except for body paint camouflage. I bought Squirrel's ghosted account and the video of his movie from that cable channel's on-line store. Getting Brandon to portray himself was a master stroke of casting. He spent weeks in the same locations as during his real life exile only this time a whole movie crew was around to watch him cavort in just body paint makeup or just his skin when the took a shower at the end of a day's shooting. Lots of fine shots of him nude in the 'Making of' Video.
And there is Will or Sprout as he calls himself, kidnapped and carried by a leather master to be trained as a sex slave with much candid video seized from his captor. His story was in all the media. Not to mention so many lesser episodes, like those outrageous costumes for Halloween and Mardi Gras or your salacious antics at the nudie beach."
"I think they should devote a whole section of your class yearbook to the four of you. You make fantastic copy. The four of you are why I transferred to Andy Jackson High instead of putting in my retirement papers. Mind you, I am not a callous man. I would otherwise have stepped aside for that young teacher and taken my comfortable pension. But the chance of getting to you four or at least to one of you made me change my mind and stay with the school district for one more year."
"You see Alex. You are my first. The very first student I have hit on. In all my years as a teacher I never touched a student, no matter how strong the attraction. Why? Ethics, really, though you may find that hard to believe under the circumstances, but it is true. But every man has his limits. Came the day I turned fifty-five I decided that thirty years of self-denial was enough. I lost interest in my occasional rent boys and turned my thoughts to you and your friends.
"Now I have you Alex, naked and compliant, ready to bend over my desk, so I can impale you on my manhood. If you will do the honors..."
The boy complied laying his small frame over the man's desk. Chambers rolled his wheeled desk chair directly behind the boy and began to play with the tight ass he had so long coveted. He rubbed the fleshy globes delighted at the lack of any tan lines, the sign of shameless show off. Chalmers weighed the buns then grabbed and squeezed hard enough to leave bruises. Alternating left and right, he slapped them hard and watched the buns tremble nervously. Strong fingers probed and lubed the channel in preparation for penetration then Chambers reached between the boy's legs, his hand slick with lube and milked the boy's turgid cock like a cow's teat. Kicking the boy's feet farther apart he stood and brought his cock to the entrance of the boy's hole. With a slow but steady thrust he impaled Alex to the hilt.
Surprisingly there was nothing spongy or old-mannish about the man's cock, whether from his general good health or from Viagra. He got it up and kept it up as he drilled in and out rhythmically punctuating his rhythm with slaps to the boy's ass. His stroking even got Squirt aroused though not to orgasm. In his eagerness, Chambers climaxed too quickly. Given his years, once was all the man could manage during a short tryst, so the teacher insisted on a reprise that evening at his house.
Which is when Squirt drew the rest of us into it. You see, the reason I can quote both of them at length even though they were alone together is that Squirt recorded the audio of their entire encounter. He did it again that evening. At the climax of their tryst the four of us burst into Chamber's bedroom and took pictures with him naked and his cock up Squirt's ass.
The man tried to bluff and bluster his way out of it, but he was condemned by his own recorded words. My boyfriend's verbal agility had lead the unsuspecting teacher into blurting out everything during their assignations.
The administration hushed things up for the sake of the reputation of the school. Anyway Squirt did not care to testify at a public trial, and the man might have raised a defense of entrapment, for that evening session anyway. Investigation showed he had been truthful about this being his first offense. Temptation had finally proved too strong, as it has done for many middle-aged men who feel their lives slipping away unfulfilled.
So Chambers got a walk and his pension, but he did leave our school and good riddance to him. My favorite English teacher got her old job back. We gave her a big welcome, her and her kids. There wasn't a dry eye in the place.
As for Squirt, he is gratified that he now has two war stories to tell potential grandchildren, though mine more likely than any of his own. I am a switch hitter. Squirt most definitely is not.
Author's Note
If you have enjoyed this story and others like it, I hope you will consider making a donation to the Nifty Archive. It is so easy. They take credit cards.
This tale was inspired by my recent story 'Squirt' and is the sixth in a series set in and around a fictitious Andrew Jackson High School in South Florida.
Meanwhile, good news for readers disappointed at how few stories I have published of late. Folks, help is on the way. I have written my first novel-length story some 125 thousand words. Mostly I publish novelettes of 10 -15 thousand words.
The novel is in the genre called heroic fantasy. Like so many stories in that genre it is set on an imaginary world where wizards and druids and others work real magic, a world populated by several sentient races including humans, elves, giants, and dwarves. Unlike most such worlds, this one has an awful lot of cute young guys running around in the skimpiest of costumes or even nothing at all, and taking every opportunity to hop into bed with each other and to switch partners.
Sorry, no dragons, but I bet you never read a tale that featured a naked teenage druid leading the charge of a herd of brontotheres against an army of Amazons. What is a brontothere? Look it up, but not in the dictionary. Try the Wikipedia instead.
Look for publication of my very first novel this summer on most of these same stations.
Readers who like this story might want to try my two series 'Daphne Boy' and 'Naked Prey' in the Gay/Historical section of the Archive or my 'Jungle Boy' series of tales in a modern setting, posted in the Gay/Authoritarian section. Also available are my older 'Track and Field' stories in Gay/College and my 'Mer-Boy' stories in Gay/Beginnings. For links to my stories, look on the list of Prolific Authors on the Archive.
Comments and feedback welcome.