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Old School

By: Sanichi



Suzanne pulled the suitcase from under the bed. She had been meaning to go through it for some time. It wasn't locked but the catches were a little stuck before they snapped open.

She smiled as she lifted out her old school blazer. Here were all her school things, including the uniform; books, framed photographs, reports and certificates; a sporting trophy or two. The case had come with her when she got married, and somehow never got emptied.

Mike seemed to have kept a good deal of stuff for which they would never find a use; all sorts of books and toys that he thought their own children might like, but they had two girls under ten, and neither seemed interested in model railways or military history. Perhaps there was something worth keeping in here.

She found a grey pleated skirt under the blazer, and held it up. How could she ever have worn such a thing? There was a tie, a hat and a scarf, with one or two bits and pieces. She looked at the skirt again. "I bet I could still fit into that," she thought.

Moments later she had whipped off her top and pyjama bottoms, and stood in front of the bedroom mirror, wearing only the skirt. With her tongue to her lip she sucked her tummy in as she strained the zip at one side and fastened the top button. There.

She turned in front of the mirror and admired the effect. The pleats swished as she leaned a shoulder to look at her long legs and pretty pert backside. When she last wore the skirt she hated its length and tried, as often as she could, to keep it hitched up, but now she was taller it looked scandalously short. Much shorter than anything she wore these days, even though she had great legs.

"That is so 1980s," a voice came from the door.

Suzanne squealed, and grabbed her top to cover her naked breasts.

"Too late, I saw them," her husband grinned mischievously.

"Mike, you startled me."

"You want me to knock in our own bedroom?"

"My mind was elsewhere, it's funny," she shook her head. "For a moment I felt like you were my little brother or something."

"Thanks a lot. I think I'm right about the skirt, though."

"I was just going through this case." Suzanne pulled on her top, but left the skirt.

"Hey, is this your school things?" Mike turned the case.

"Leave it alone, there's nothing to see."

"Can I read your diary?"

"I don't think I kept one."

"Love letters from boyfriends?"

"Nope."

He rooted hopefully. "Gym knickers?"

She slapped his back. "Nothing whatever to interest you."

Mike pulled out a framed photograph. "And who is this studious girl?

She snatched it from him. "I hate that picture."

"You look kind of big."

"Yes, well, I was carrying some puppy fat."

"What kind of puppy, a Great Dane?"

"Shut up." She smacked his arm.

"Old English sheepdog."

"Get out."

"Airedale?"

She pushed him towards the door. "Out!"

Mike worked at the computer in his study. Everybody knew not to disturb him in there. A knock came at the door.

"Come in," he called over his shoulder.

After a few seconds the knock came again.

"It's open?"

He stopped typing. The girls were with their grandmother, so it must be Suzanne. Perhaps she had her hands full? But then, he realised as he went to answer, she wouldn't be able to knock. He swung open the door.

Suzanne stood in the hall, fully dressed in the school uniform. She wore the grey skirt and blazer with crest; a white blouse with a tie; and white knee socks with black shoes. Her hair was tied in bunches on each side, and a straw boater completed the look. Mike laughed. That's why he loved her; she was always doing crazy stuff like this.

"OK, I was wrong. That fits you perfectly."

She kept a straight face but didn't answer.

"My Suzanne. You're adorable."

"Please, sir," she spoke in a shy thin voice. "My name is Suzy."

Suzy? She hated to be called that; she said it made her feel about fifteen. Only her mother still used it.

"Miss Bolton sent me here, and told me to give you this."

She handed him a folded piece of paper. Mike looked bemused. It appeared to be a page torn from an exercise book. Suzanne had written something in neat tidy script. She waited expectantly. Mike read the note.

"Headmaster," it began, "I am sending Suzy Atkinson to your office-" that was her maiden name, nice touch, "-because she refuses to behave. She constantly disrupts the class and requires disipline. - Miss Bolton (History Senior)"

Mike nodded sagely. "You misspelled discipline."

"Oh, please, sir," Suzanne lisped slightly. "Miss Bolton wrote the note."

"Then I shall see her about it. Well, er, Suzy, you'd better come in."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

The would-be schoolgirl brushed shyly past. Mike looked out into the hall as if he expected it to be a school corridor lined with classrooms. What the heck, he didn't have much to do this afternoon. He shut the door firmly.

Suzy stood with her hands clasped demurely in front, twisting one foot as she looked about the office with clear apprehension.

"Now then," Mike took his seat at the desk. "Why don't you tell me what this is all about?"

"It's not fair, sir. All the boys keep looking at me."

"And why would they do that?"

She hung her head shyly. "I don't know."

"There must be a reason."

Suzy sighed, and rolled her eyes. "They want to see my chests."

"Your chests? Oh," Mike cleared his throat. "I see."

Suzy thrust her breasts proudly. They pushed open the front of her blazer and strained against the blouse. Mike couldn't tell if she was wearing a bra.

"They say mine are the biggest in the class. Caroline Evans says hers are, but I've seen her in the changing rooms and she stuffs her brassiere with tissue. Mine are real," she said fiercely. "See?"

She pushed her breasts closer. Mike felt himself flush. Somehow he wanted to look away.

"Yes, that's very nice, Suzy. Um, you're standing a little close."

"Go on," Suzanne said in her little girly voice. "Touch them. Then you'll see that Caroline Evans is a liar."

"No, no, I believe you. You can, er, put them away."

Suzanne stood and looked at him, and then leaned over. "Mike," she said in her own voice. "I'm 34-years-old for chrissakes, we've been married for ten years. Now fondle my friggin' tits."

Mike was a bit disconcerted. The uniform seemed to cast a spell, its purpose as much as to say "Keep Off", the uniform defining the wearer like a policeman or soldier, and he certainly had no interest in schoolgirls. Yet he felt a guilty rush as he cupped his hands under his wife's breasts, as if he were touching the forbidden.

He jiggled them comfortably and felt their weight. She was wearing a bra after all, in plain cotton like one worn for training or sports. He tentatively thumbed the nipples, and felt them stiffen.

"Ooh, no, Mr. Lane." Suzy backed away. "My mummy says I must never let a man do that to my chests."

Mike was confused. What did she want? He had felt, sucked, played with her tits thousands of times. She had teased him, smothered him in their fullness, masturbated him by pressing them together and sucking him off, he had tit-fucked her many times, sprayed spunk all over, she loved it, and now she wouldn't let him feel her nipples outside her clothes?

He began to get it. The uniform made Suzanne into this whole other person. This wasn't his wife, mother of his children, the sometimes wildly lascivious sex kitten that could keep him up all night with mind-blowing sexual creativity. This girl -- Suzy -- was most probably a virgin.

"Quite right, too," he blurted. "So what is the problem in class? Have the boys tried to touch you?"

"No, sir."

"Miss Bolton tells me you disrupted her lessons."

"The boys try to look up our skirts."

"Do you let them?"

Suzy nodded shyly. "Sometimes."

Mike felt himself becoming aroused. "What do they see?"

"I don't know," Suzy giggled. "I always wear knickers."

"Perhaps that is what they want to see."

Suzy moved her toe, swinging her leg a little. She stood in front of him and began to waft the hem of her skirt playfully. Mike caught a flash of white panties.

"But, sir, why would the boys want to see our knickers?"

Mike's voice was husky. "Because they aren't supposed to."

"Even so, it can't hurt to look, can it? You wouldn't mind."

Suzy took the hem of her skirt and lifted the front, showing him her tight knickers in all their glory. Her dark bush showed slightly through the white cotton.

"After all," Suzy continued, "it's just like being at the beach, and nobody minds there."

"No, but that is when you are wearing a swimming costume. Your knickers are private. I mean, you shouldn't show them. Be showing them."

Mike had almost lost his train of thought. He stared at his wife's legs, in the long white knee socks, her smooth creamy thighs, the tight white knickers under the grey pleated skirt, and it was as if he were seeing her for the first time.

"You like to look, don't you, sir? All the boys do, so it can't be wrong, can it?"

"No, Suzy, you mustn't. Showing yourself there is something very private that only mummies and daddies do."

Suzy reluctantly dropped her skirt down. She was an amazing actress.

"Miss Bolton said it was wrong. She said I had to be punished."

"Yes, Suzy, I'm afraid that you do."

Mike stood up. His erection caught him by surprise, and he quickly adjusted his trousers, but Suzanne had clearly seen.

"I know what to do," she sighed.

Mike gasped as she bent forward, hands on her knees, bottom pushed out. The pleated skirt rose up, showing a tantalizing glimpse of the white knickers. God, Mike didn't know when he was last this excited.

"That's right," he said sternly. "You keep your head down, and think about what you've done."

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir."

"I think you are going to be."

Suzanne glanced up at that. What was he up to? Mike put his hand to her head and pushed it back down. She felt a thrill through her body.

She stood bent for what seemed a long while. Mike was behind her. Was he looking at her arse? She wiggled suggestively.

"Be still," he ordered.

There was the sound of a drawer opening and then a brisk: Swish! What was that? Suzanne's long hair had fallen over her face as she kept her head down, and now she felt her skirt being rucked up. She moved her feet apart slightly, knowing that Mike would enjoy the view.

Swish-CRACK!

Jesus Christ, that hurt! Her buttocks stung unbelievably. What the hell was he playing at? Suzanne shot upright and grabbed at her backside, hopping foot to foot and rubbing herself furiously through the knickers. Mike held what looked like a riding crop. 

"Bloody hell," she said. "That hurt."

"I'm sorry, Suzy, this is more painful for me than it is for you."

She doubted that, but in fact the sharp sting on her buttocks had now eased to a warm tingle that sat deep inside. She rubbed her bottom some more, and pouted. "Well, just watch it."

"Bend down again, please. This isn't over."

Without thinking, Suzanne bent down again. She felt as if she was in a dream. What seemed to be a game was now something real. Was Mike still only acting? She thought he was going to give her a light spanking, just for effect, but this was-

Swish!

Ow! Ow, ow, ow.

The second was just as painful, but this time he stopped her from rising with a firm hand. Her arse was on fire. Even through the knickers the whip felt like it cut. Bent forwards her muscles were stretched taut, and this time the sting seemed to travel further and last longer.

Swish!

She gasped at the blow. Each stroke seemed to overlay the last, so that as the pain faded to a tingle it rose sharply again. Yet now that she was ready, the pain was not as strong, or as unwelcome.

"Did you want to say something?"

"Yes, sir," she gasped. "Sorry, sir."

"I don't think you are."

Swish-CRACK!

"Oooh-ooooh," she groaned. "I am, sir. I am sorry."

"I think you need a sharper lesson."

Sharper than this? What did he have in mind? Suzanne wondered if she should stop this now, but in fact she was quite enjoying it. She gasped again as Mike grabbed the top of her knickers and rolled them down. She felt herself laid bare, with naughty bits exposed. Helpless, vulnerable.

Suzanne bit her lip. Was he going to whip her bare arse? That could be dangerous, leaving a mark. She trembled a little, waiting for the blow.

Her cheeks felt raw. This was more than she bargained for, she never thought of the pain, just...what? What did she expect? If she wanted him to use his bare hand was the crop any worse? Where had he got that from, anyway? He didn't ride, and she was pretty certain he had no previous experience with this sort of thing. Neither had she, come to that.

What was taking so long? She was tired after bending all this time. Her buttocks now throbbed with a dull ache, yet the tingling sent delicious waves of heat deep inside her stomach. Come on, then. What was he waiting for?

Suzanne realised with a shock that she was actually looking forward to it. She craved that intense stinging pain. How odd.

"Suzy, you may pull up your knickers."

He had been playing with her. That sweet anticipation. She straightened, with a little difficulty. The knickers were bunched at her knee, and as she slid them up, she felt their comforting coolness soothe her throbbing backside. She gingerly rubbed her cheeks.

"What do you say?"

"Thank you, sir."

"Have you learned your lesson?"

Suzy nodded.

"And you won't be naughty again?"

She shook her head side to side.

"Good. Now, you've been a brave girl. Would you like a lollipop?"

Suzy smiled a little and nodded shyly. Mike unzipped his fly and sat on the edge of the desk.

"That's good. Reach in here and see what you can find. I keep a nice big lollipop in there just for you."

THE END

Old-School Mayor Of Bi-Cameral Town



for thegreatmuppetcaper, sweaty_briefs, Sneu, & mt1rosie

When I retired from the Army, I was taken care of--medical care, a little income--but I would have to get a civilian job. After 20 years in Special Forces, I was ready to lay down my sword. I'd been in firefights, wounded a couple of times, chased through jungles, attacked in the desert. I was ready to take life easy. The old-fashioned way.

The problem was that I wasn't sure what I would do. The Army was the only job I ever had--unless working in a drugstore counted. I knew one thing: I want to settle down somewhere quiet. I was tired of cities, tired of huge organizations like the Army, tired of a thousand voices telling me what to do. 

Then I did something that swung the constellations around. I bought Florida lottery ticket number 69-69-1-2-3-69. 

I won. Not a super-fortune, just $5 million, but it would certainly sock me away in comfort for as long as I lived (or as long as I could keep from blowing it, whichever occurred first).

Once out of the Army with an atta-boy from Uncle Sam, I decided to make a clean break with my old life. I decided to be born in a "birthday suit" of what I wore in the previous life (first time, bare skin; second time, an Army uniform). I packed a few changes of uniform into a duffel bag and burned everything else in the incinerator behind the barracks. Everything about me would be new from then on.

Wearing my cammo fatigues (the Army allows a couple weeks' leeway before switching to civvies), I took a taxi to the airport and bought a plane ticket to Los Angeles. There I bought a 1965 Austin Healey 3000 Mark III on Ebay--I swamped the owner with a cash offer that could not have been outbid.

Fabulous car. Instantly my baby. Fit my personality perfectly. Old-school sports car. No digital displays. No computers. Bright red. Completely restored. Like new.

Like me. 

Next goal: a house in a small, quiet, laid-back town. I set off to drive across the country in search of one. No freeways. Country roads all the way. Hundreds of little towns. 

Finally I came to America's smallest town, Tenny, Minnesota, population: 6. By then I was tired of looking. That does it. I'm taking the next place that looks small and quiet.

Not far away was Cosquex, Minnesota, population 1000. Done, damn it! I've got to settle down somewhere!

I pulled into a gas station outside the town limits. I'd just had the Healey washed, and it was looking good. I learned the Healey had different appeals for different genders: girls liked it, but they didn't know what it was, just a "red sports car"--something to be seen in, something to hold their clothes while they got fucked on a blanket nearby--or on its long hood. 

Men were enthusiastic about it: "Oh, wow, man, I haven't seen one of these since I was in college!" Sure enough, as I pumped the gas, a man walked out of the station, looked over the car, and, "Is that a '65? Beautiful!"

Wow, a car guy. "Yeah, 1965 3000 Mark III."

"Does it get pretty good gas mileage?" Weird question about a sports car. Who gives a damn?

"Not that hot. Only about 18 miles per gallon."

The guy looked at me and smiled. "You're a big 'un, Sarge. Lot of weightlifting in the Army? Wow, Green Beret, too."

We got into a little conversation. I told him I just got out of the Army, planning to move into Cosquex. He told me about the neighborhoods of the tiny town--it had three.

We talked on for a while. Nice guy. Invited me to go fishing. Told me about a couple of favorite spots. 

Then he asked if I wanted to see a scenic spot just behind the gas station, a beautiful view that would help me to fall in love with the place. I told him yeah; I had nothing else to do. 

He led me behind the building, where a path cut through the trees. We went a short distance back, finally ending up looking out over a beautiful lake. Quite a view. "Nice place."

He stood close to me. "You're such a big guy..." He reached between my legs and cupped my balls, and I looked at him with a "what the hell" look. "Let me do something for you, Sarge." 

With that, he dropped to his knees and pulled down my zipper. He fetched out my cock--"Damn, look at the size of this thing! We don't get guys your size around here much."

He bent over and kissed my cock, which had swelled up into a surprised but delight erection. Back in the Army I managed to keep all my gay whoopee on the sly. Never hooked up with guys in the cities where I was stationed. 

But what luck. First guy I met in Cosquex kissed my cock and then proceeded to a very respectable suck job. "Yeah, suck it deep, man. You know you want to." I pushed it down his throat, and he made no objection--knew how to deep-throat. He took my throbbing fuck pole all the way to feel my nuts bobbling on his chin. 

I pulled out to let him catch his breath, but the guy wanted it bad, his tongue buzzing over my cockhead like a vibrator. It had been a while since my last guy, and he got me bucking like a motorboat still tied at the dock. 

Excellent cocksucker. Got to me in just minutes, and I let loose with a scrotumful of cum. Gulping for dear life, he got down every last drop--none of the usual leaks from the sides of the mouth. I couldn't believe it. Before I even got to Cosquex I got a blowjob! What a great sign.

He'd pulled out his own cock early in the ceremony, jacking along with his mouth action, and I'll be damned if he didn't cum at the same time I did. In fact I had to spread my legs to keep his jism off my fatigues. 

When my climax burned down and I pulled out, he stayed on his knees, panting, still enjoying his afterglow. "Good salty cum, man." He looked up at me. "Ahhh, yeah, you're such a big bastard, Sarge. One powerful fucker. If you're moving to Cosquex, I want to get together with you--regular."

"Hey, that's okay with me. Let me get your telephone number."

"Got some business cards back in the station."

I drove away satisfied. Talk about a full-service station! I stopped the car at the top of the valley and looked down. Nice little village. The road led into a lowland around the river, and Cosquex nestled on the bank. 

Old-school town--simple wooden houses, small town square. Nothing new-looking, no modern split-levels, no southwestern-style estancias. It was not a modern bedroom city for Minneapolis, it was an old place. Maybe once a riverboat landing and freight center. But no more.

But Cosquex wasn't tacky, either--no rotting, empty buildings, no house trailers. The grass was cut, bushes were trimmed. No trash in the streets.

I guess the first thing is to get a room. At one corner of the center square was the Cosquex Motel. The Biltmore it ain't. "Whoa, you're a big one, aren't ya!" The desk clerk got up from his chair as I walked in. 

"Yeah, just got out of the Army." Can't you tell by the uniform?

Tiny motel. Ten rooms. Not much business, apparently--they weren't worried about readying the rooms: "Go ahead and lie back on the bed while I finished making the other one."

I sat on the bed, and man, I could see he had a hardon deluxe. Maximum bulge. Could almost see the blood pulsing through it. I thought, What the hell, maybe I can score another one--"Making beds gets you horny?"

He looked down at his crotch then back up at me, blushing. "Ah, no!" He chuckled, trying to laugh it off. "I don't know, it's just--" He looked straight at me. "You're such a big man. Never saw muscles like yours."

Damn, he is another one! I lowered my voice. "Come on over. You can feel my muscles if you want."

He caught his breath, then moved closer. His hands trembled as he reached out to caress my shoulder. Then he felt down my arms, over the biceps. 

He swallowed, licked his lips, and his hands moved to my chest, cupping my pecs through the cloth, and when his fingers found my nipples and tweaked them, I let out a little encouraging moan.

He sank to his knees as his hands slid down my belly. By then I had a hardon, and he saw it. Stared at the bulge, in fact. "Go ahead. Touch it. You know you want to. Hey, it's okay, man, you can admit you're a bitch. You need a cock up you to be complete, right?"

He gasped. "Ohmigod, yes! You're right! You're raising the hair on the back of my neck!" His hands cupped my crotch bulge, kneading it, feeling the shaft, rubbing it.

As he pulled down my zipper--Damn, it's wearing out!--I reached down and unbuttoned his shirt. He gasped but made no resistance. As he pulled my cock out into the open air again, I interrupted him for a moment as I pulled the shirt off over his arms. Then he bent back over and went straight to a blowjob.

Whoa, yeah! Another pro cocksucker. I debated lying back and letting the guy go to town, but I wanted a little more. I stood up, pulling him up with me, and as I stared into his eyes, I stepped back, unbuckled my belt, opened my pants, and shucked down pants and underwear in a single stroke--I'm getting good at stripping. 

My voice was a soft caress: "You, too."

Staring back at me like I hypnotized him, the guy undid his belt, and moments later both of us were naked--wearing only shoes/boots and socks. A sex act while wearing clothes is somehow unnatural, against the rules. Again the soft voice: "Want to fuck?"

"Yeah, oh, yeah!" He crawled onto the bed, presenting himself to me on hands and knees with a happy little grunt. 

I wriggled a finger into his asshole, working it to loosen him up, and a couple of minutes later, I pulled the finger out, then worked back in two fingers. He let out a moan. 

Using the same technique--and accompanied by louder moans--I finally got four fingers in him (grouped together in a bundle a couple of inches across). It must've hurt. His moaning was constant, and his erection had gone down.

Then I took over. Seizing his legs, I rolled him over onto his back then dropped over him. "All right, man, now you give me what I want, and you'll get what you need." He sucked in his breath. "I'm going to stretch that asshole of yours so big, you can smuggle gallon jugs of Pepsi." Another gasp. I gave him my "devil's laugh," deep, bass, and dangerous: "You'll be too loose for any other man after I'm done with you."

Grabbing his legs again, I raised them up to hook his ankles on my shoulders. "Like my muscles? Here, feel them with your legs." I moved forward over him, rotating his ass upward--his loosened asshole was in range of my cock, lubricated with his own spit from the blowjob. "Hold onto my thighs." He did, letting out a last, surrendering sigh.

My cockhead pressed against his asshole, and with just a little resistance, he opened to me and let my cock pop in. Another groan, gnashing his teeth.

"We'll pause here a bit while you do the Green Beret Stretch." Panting and sweating, he looked up at me, his face screwed up in pain.

I smiled. "What's your name?"

"Marion!"

"Mine's Paul. You're a hot guy, Marion. Never dreamed I'd get laid in the motel before I even signed the guest book."

"--You--made me hot--big--muscles--turn me on--gotta suck--big cock--"

"How you doin', Marion? Pain going down? Getting' accustomed to me?"

"--Yeah--not so bad--"

I sank in another couple of inches, and he stiffened up again. Again we paused. He closed his eyes. "--Love--fucked by big--big cock!--"

"Want me to stop and let you stretch?"

"--Nah--ram it--in!--Fuck me--hard--big bastard!--"

Big bastard. Second time I've been called that today. Was it something I said?

So I started stroking, short ones as I got more slimed up from his gut juices, gradually longer as the trip was easier. I think it also got easier for him. Slowly he relaxed, and in a few minutes he was enjoying himself. "--Fuck yeah!--Big cock--in me--make me--bitch!--"

I love fucking. I wonder who invented it. It's the only fun I can think of that's free, so whoever invented it must've retired rich and turned the patent over to the people. It's been around for a long time. Must've been invented back in the '50s. 

My cock was really getting through to Marion. I'd dropped my hands to tweak his nipples--which brought out some excited gasps--and his feet slipped from my shoulders, slid down my arms, and when I pulled my arms from under them, his legs wrapped themselves around my lower back. His hands reached around to grasp my ass, kneading my buttocks, and he groaned--"--Motherfucker--even your--ass-cheeks--hard as iron!--FUCK ME!--big muscle-GOD!--"

Hey, give the customer what he wants. I ramped up the rutting and started long-stroking, popping my cockhead out and back in each time, giving him those extra snaps of pain, but by then any pain was only salsa on his pleasure.

Marion liked fucking so much, it was a little scary. He was panting like a racehorse, sweating so much our bodies sleazed back and forth on each other whenever I let myself rest down on him. He writhed under me, wriggling and undulating, a hot little guy matching me stroke for stroke. He clamped his fingers on my butt like he wanted to cram my dick all the way up to his throat

He got to me. Almost before I intended to, I got that little mosquito-bite in my balls, and it grew rapidly into the familiar explosion. Going over the falls, I lunged into him so far I almost got my hips up his ass. I let out a long groan, and a river of my jizz flowed into him.

And I'll be damned--another country heard from--when Marion realized I was cumming, it pushed him over the falls, too, and I got boiling jets of his slime all over my belly. All over his, too.

Good one! Yeahhh, good one! We crouched there in a simmering afterglow for a long time. I released his legs and relaxed onto him, and when my head dropped beside his, he murmured in my ear. "You are the fucking greatest! Never thought I'd have sex like this in Cosquex. Anytime you come through town, you just call me--I'll spread my legs for you anytime you want!"

"I'm moving here. Getting this room while I find a real estate agent." About then my softening cock slid back out of his ass.

"No shit, you're moving to Cosquex? That's fabulous!" He nuzzled my ear. "If you're moving here, this room is on the house while you get settled. And"--he reached down and squeezed my slimy pecker--"anytime you want the management to show its gratitude for getting a big hunk like you as a guest...I'll bring the lube."

We stood up. Still naked, he began to change the bed we just fucked on. "I'll be finished here in a couple of minutes. Then I'll leave you alone--as long as you promise not to leave me alone."

I smiled. "You're a pretty horny guy."

"Oh, hell, this town is the fucking Sahara Desert if you like men." He look back at me. "I have never been fucked as good as what you just did to me. My last fuck was two--three months ago, and then I had to drive all the way to Minneapolis!" 

He reached out and tweaked one of my nipples. "Fuck, what a stud you are! I can't keep my hands off you! Where did you get all those muscles?" He bent over and kissed the nipple then suckled it.

Damn, I'm reloading! Hey, what the hell, might as well! I let him nurse until my cock was full-up hard, then I grabbed him under the armpits. With a big lift--Ooomph!--I tossed him straight up, so high his head almost hit the ceiling. I quickly grabbed his thighs as he came down--"Hold on, Marion!"--and as he held onto my neck and shoulders, I lowered his spread ass down over my cock (again). 

I thrilled as I sank into his already loose and prepped hole in one stroke, and hanging on for dear life, he groaned, "Oh, my motherfucking god, you are fabulous!"

Holding a man off the ground while you're fucking him is an exertion, but I was up for it. Hunching away at him, I got Marion puffing horny little grunts, and he started nuzzling at my face, squeezing my shoulders--finally bending down to nuzzle at my neck. 

Something new: ever had anybody suck your Adam's apple? He groaned loud into my throat, and--motherfucker!--his voice came out of my mouth! Hey, that did it for me. Never met an applesucker before. He got my balls so turbocharged, I turned into a geyser of sperm, showering his guts with the family home-brew. 

He did it again, too, apparently got off on feeling semen surging up inside. Splattered white slime all over my chest and belly. When we finally disentangled, and I lowered him to the floor, I had sticky globs and strings of jizz matted in the hair on my chest. "Tell you what, Marion: I'm going to go take a shower while you finish making the bed."

"Anything you say, man. Anything. Anywhere. Anytime."

Damn, a fucking nympho. "You're a horny dude. Can't you find any other partners in this town?"

"No, man. There are no gays in Cosquex. You are the hottest thing that has ever happened to me here."

I went into the shower. Hasn't this guy ever gone to the gas station? I half expected Marion to climb in the shower with me, but I washed off and shaved in peace.





Old-School Mayor Of Bi-Cameral Town



So when I went out drinking with a few of my team brothers--and the balls were in my court when the babes stripped down for action--I found switch-hitting could be fun. Bi has the best of both worlds.





Old-School Mayor Of Bi-Cameral Town



Back in my new "home town," I found Cosquex had one grocery store. I recognized it because it was called The Cosquex Grocery Store. Inside, I started buying toothpaste, salt, beer, salsa, and potato chips (the basics of bachelor life--everything else is "side dishes"). A woman showed up in the aisle. "Are you finding everything you need?"

Woosh. The oldest woman so far, but damn. Is there a nuclear power plant around here radiating the town's titties? Old-school woman. Hourglass shape. Boobs like torpedos waiting in the tubes. No sag. How can she do that? I wouldn't be able to stand up straight!

Boobs. I've always wondered about that word. I mean, look at it--BooB--it's three views of tits: from above, from the front, and from above again. For my money, it beats the hell out of "tit," "breast," even "hooter." 

The woman snapped me back to reality. "I'm Ms. Lebsojkevic. We have, ah, a 'special' area of the store." She took me to a dark corner and showed me an "adults-only" display of condoms, lubes, and creams. She looked up at me with a mischievous look. I smiled back. What now?

She pushed the display rack, and it swiveled aside, showing another, more erotic display of dildos, vibrators, butt-plugs, and "edible underwear."

I smiled. "So far, Ma'm, I haven't needed 'modern enhancement.'"

She smiled back as she reached out. "I'll just bet you don't."

Well, to skip the pinch-unbutton-fondle-grope-unzip-suck foreplay, we ended up in the storeroom, where I demonstrated my old-fashioned ways. Lube was on the house, an exciting type I'd never seen before--had cinnamon in it or something. Once I spread that stuff over my cock, it turned my dick into a blowtorch. Whoa, shit!

One side of me worried I might burn her cunt lips, but the other side would've fucked the drain in the concrete floor if she managed to escape. We rutted on the rough floor like two sex maniacs, my knees scratched and bloody, and when I helped her up, her back was a roadmap of scratches, but she embraced me, holding tight, "God, I loved that," she gasped. "I swear to god, you give me that on a regular basis, and your groceries are on the house."

"That's okay, Ma'am. I'll pay for them." I paused. "Can you toss in a bottle of iodine--and maybe next time we can bring in a blanket?" I had the groceries delivered. I was too fucked-out to lift the bags. On the way back to the house, I wished the Healey had an automatic transmission. 

But it wasn't over. Back home, the delivery boy turned out to be an 18-year-old from high school, a hunky kid. 

"You play football?"

"Yeah, for the Tatttersfield High School team."

"There's a high school around here?"

"Naw, I take the bus to Schuffington."

"Go ahead and put the groceries on the table. Want a Coke?"

"Yeah, thanks." He took things out of the bags. "I see Cinnimagic Lube here, but it's not on the receipt." He looked up at me. "Ms. Lebsojkevic must've tossed it in on the house." He gave me a knowing look. 

Next thing I knew, a hand cupped my package. For the first time in my life: Oh, no. Not again! I haven't got one lunge left

But neither would my balls allow me to escape, and once the bull was out of the barn again, with the usual "Jesus Christs, fucks, and sonofabitchs," I realized I had an obligation: I lay back on the bed with my hands behind my head. Hint-hint. 

In no time, Jerry--his name--had my pants down, and after a couple more damns, he sucked me like no novice. "You're a great young cocksucker, Jerry. Where'd you learn that?"

He didn't answer. Mouth full of cock.

"Ever suck off the coach?"

He looked up at me, surprised, caught. I'll be damned! "You did??" He nodded.

Shortly later, Jerry went out to his car. I'd tipped him-- about two tablespoons of my jizz sweetening his breath. 





Old-School Mayor Of Bi-Cameral Town



I turned toward the sauna. The big cop leaned against the door. "Get back in here, shithead, and let me stretch out that asshole!"

"What the fuck did you do that for?? That kid's a third your weight!"

"You don't back-talk me, Pussy-boy!" and I'll be damned--the motherfucker threw a punch at me! I smiled. Hey, cocksucker, now you're in my world.

I squared off with him, but my hell, he was awful. A soldier just out of Basic Training could've handled him--might not be able to outpower him, but Sneumann was like a Pamplona bull running down the street. Murderous if he made connection, but not too hard to avoid.

Sneumann obviously didn't get his muscles in military service. I'd been practicing Judo and Kung-fu for 20 years, though, and he was just too easy. With Sneumann, I was a hummingbird to his tree sloth. I blocked a couple of roundhouse punches like shading my eyes from the sun. Almost boring. This is a guy I was going to let fuck me??

"Fucking soldiers!" he grunted. "Keeping me out for fallen arches!" and he landed one on me. Wham! Lucky punch. I'd gotten a little overconfident. But when the stars cleared, I floored him with a Judo hip-throw, and as he tried to get up, I gave him a chop at the nerve at the base of the neck, at the juncture of the shoulder.

Paralyzed his right side for a moment, and he went back down, sprawled out on the wood. The magnificent body. I had wanted it. Craved it. 

But his cock was soft--blood siphoned off to feed the muscles in his combat emergency. I glanced down at mine. Hard as an iron bar. Putting Sneumann in his place turned me on.

Yeah, motherfucker, yeah!yeah Suddenly I had my balls back! 

The feeling was coming back to Sneumann's right arm and leg, so I had to work fast. I rolled him over onto his belly. As he struggled to get up, he realized he was in my power, and suddenly with the thrill of the hunt in my blood, I decided that with this cocksure, arrogant motherfucker, I would take off the gloves. 

"Hey, who's the pussy-boy now, motherfucker? What's wrong? Didn't I turn out to be some poor Serviceman you can fuck with?" I slapped his ass hard! "Let's just see, Pussy-boy, just how much of a man you are." He growled and struggled, but I was furious, and the anger was just the ignition I needed. 

A swipe from the Jergens lotion spread over my own asshole was all I needed to grease Sneumann up, and throwing all my strength to contain his struggling legs, I mounted him, wriggling my cock between his buttocks. Holding him down with my hands at his waist, once my cock located his terrified asshole, I pushed.

Then he really went nuts, thrashing and flailing, but pushed into the corner of the sauna wall, he had nowhere to go, and I suddenly felt the strength of Superman--this cruel motherfucker was going down! Needless to say, he was panicked. "Nothing to worry about, Pussy-boy, thousands of cocksuckers before you have gone through it."

He let out a bellow like a raging bull, but I held on and kept shoving--and finally, like a sprinter breaking the finish-line tape, my cockhead popped inside! Fuck, what a thrill! This is the hottest bronco-breaking I've had in years! I forced my voice to be calm and in-control: "Gotcha, Pussy-boy. Got your cherry. Your ass belongs to me. For the rest of your life you'll remember me and this moment."

He let out another roar, almost like a sob. "--Kill you--motherfucker!--"

I held onto his hips. He was in the perfect fuck-trap: nowhere to go but back into me--backing up to skewer himself even more on my throbbing meat. "When I'm finished with you, Pussy-boy, you'll love being fucked so much"--I lowered my voice--"you'll beg me for it!"

"NEVER!" More thrashings. But not quite so violent. I'd stopped moving in him, and I knew the pain would ease a little. And he had to notice that, too--the less he moved, the less it hurt.

My voice was a purr: "Feel that, Pussy-boy, you're getting used to my cock. Stretching out to fit me." 

Another groan, but this time no thrashings. He just crouched there and took it.

Over many years of collecting cherries, I'd learned that the ones I wanted to keep as permanent bottoms required patience and endurance. If I could keep my cock in them long enough to take them all the way to the epiphany--"Ohmigod, I love this!"--they would be turned!

And of all the cherries on my belt, I wanted this one definitely, permanently, irremediably turned, a cocksucking bottom for the rest of his life. I slid in a few more inches, and he gasped, stiffening in pain. Again, the purr: "Good boy, you took another two inches. Work with me, Pussy-boy, and you'll be the world's biggest cock-hungry slut."

He let out a mournful groan and dropped his head in shame. Good, good. The more I can shred that male ego, the more he'll learn the biggest use for his asshole--and the less he'll be the world's biggest asshole of a cop.

Again the pause. His rectum was a hose-clamp around me, so tight it almost hurt. This was one tight, anal-retentive virgin. I couldn't resist. "Got a scripture for this moment, Pussy-boy?"

He said nothing. 

I sank in a few more inches. Again he stiffened, groaned, froze in place, gradually relaxed, started breathing again. Sneumann learned fast.

This went on for a while until, "You did it, Pussy-boy, took every last inch of my cock! Feel my crotch hair scratching your butt?" I slapped his ass. "I'm proud of you boy! Not many men can take my whole length!"

No groan this time. It was a classic breaking-in. 

"You're proud of this, aren't you, Pussy-boy! You just took my whole length! Tell me!"

"(Gasp!)--Bastard!--Kill ya!--all--your cock?--whole thing?--in me?--" Sneumann, against his will, found himself just a little proud that he'd done what others couldn't. 

Good, good.

This was the tipping point. If he were just a "ram, bam, thank-you, man" fuck, I wouldn't have done any pauses, and once in all the way, I would've short-stroked myself to a quick orgasm and pulled out, leaving him aching, sore, and pissed off--still a top if gay or still a straight.

But I vowed Sneumann would live on as a cum-slut, so I had to be careful--almost gentle--but at the same time keeping the Dungeon-master demeanor. I had to let him adjust fully. The poor guy's asshole was already at max-stretch because like nearly everybody, my cock was thickest at the base, but I was quiet, unmoving, making it as tolerable as possible.

But I had to keep up the propaganda. "You smell great, you know that, Pussy-boy? I love your after-shave." He crouched there, quiet under me, so I took a chance. I bent over him and kissed his back, right between his shoulders. I lowered my voice: "Anybody ever tell you that before."

His voice was a hiss. "No! Nobody!"

"And you smell of sex. Your body oozes it. You were made for this, Pussy-boy. And you know it."

I heard him growl. Not there yet. 

Then began the great Parting of the Red, Aching, Sore-Asshole Sea. Slowly, millimeters at a time (praying my cockshaft was lubed-up, slick, and slimy), I pulled back. Pressure, and the friction of a too-tight fit had pulled his guts up inside, dragging it along with my invading cock, but suddenly, miraculously, as I pulled back, everything inside him returned to its original position--releasing the pain--and as I pulled back even more, his guts moved slightly the other way, completely relaxing the earlier deformation, and there I waited, anxious--would he give it up to me?

I heard a gasp. He held his breath. "No!" he hissed.

YES!!

It still hurt a little (hell, maybe a lot), but suddenly the big cock in his ass felt wonderful! I could afford to pull out a little faster. Slick with his juices, my cock would not drag his guts with it anymore, and once I was back out, most of the pain was over. If I could keep him under control, everything from then on would be crescendoing pleasure.

Just about out, keeping my cockhead inside to spare him the pain-jolt of an out-pop, I began his life as a cum-slut. I sank my cock back inside him, and (1) he did not struggle, and (2) he let out a long, low, astonished-but-ecstatic moan. 

"Feel that, Pussy-boy? Welcome to the world of fucking. See what you've been missing all these years?"

He was breathing hard. "--God!--Who knew!--"

Excellent! Sneumann's taming was working out better than I could've dreamed. Fast study. Must've been a repressed gay for decades. I moved up the training schedule and went right into long-stroking. 

That was another hard part--I couldn't let myself cum and thus lose my erection before I got the newbie to his first orgasm with a cock in his ass. But fucking Sneumann was such a forest-fire turn-on, I gritted my teeth. Dirty diapers, dirty diapers, dirty diapers!

Didn't work! I bit my lip to halt the growing orgasm! Oh, fuck. I tasted blood. It was getting scary; I had to hang on.

Sneumann, on the other hand, was off to the races. Damn, he's lunging back at me! And his voice was blissful moans, grunts to accent each of my lunges, and (I couldn't believe it) words the like of which new sluts didn't utter until after long experience: "--fuckin'--goin' crazy--make my--blood boil!--can't--believe how--how fuckin'--fabulous!--"

Unbe-fucking-lievable! Sneumann really was a natural! Who woulda thunk?? And I realized I wasn't going to make it. No, NO! I can't let him get away without cumming!

But Mother Nature stepped in. Sneumann let out a long, agonized bellow, his body trembling. No! Can it be? I looked underneath him. YES! He had ejaculated onto the wooden bench. Instantly I breathed the smell of sperm. He was so fucking horny he reached a climax from being fucked!

I could relax. My job was done. Instantly shifting to the short strokes, the last steps to the top of the pyramid, I jackhammered him, knowing it would raise his pain level, but he was a done deal.

Sure enough, when I grunted, "--awright--Pussy-boy--cumming--in ya!" he had an unbelievable reply:

"Ungh--ungh--ungh--ungh--No! God! Not again!!"

And as I went over the top and slid down the other side of the orgasm pyramid, jolting gushes of ecstatic sperm into him, I realized he had gone into another one! Two ejaculations in a fucking row!

Disbelieving, I reached under and groped for his cock--and felt new slime! He had unloaded with the first one, so there was not as much left for the second orgasm, but I felt like thumping myself on the chest: When I fuck 'em, even the men get multiple orgasms!

By then the need for self-defense was gone. The cow was out of the barn--or the bull inside it. I let myself slump onto him. Hey, he was the strongest; he could hold me up.

Wonderful afterglow. Lying atop the muscular back of a sweating, panting, fucked-out man as he looked around at the wreckage of his self-image. This had been a 100-year hurricane. Memorable. A high-water mark.

Couldn't resist sprinkling a little salt on his wounds: "Feel my cock in your ass, Pussy-boy?" In response, he tightened his asshole around it. Excellent! That still must hurt, but he did it anyway! I went on: "Your ass is mine now. When that cock slides out of your ass, it'll pull your manhood out with it"--he gasped--"and you will be a Pussy-boy forever more."

He groaned long and loud as I pulled out, and as my cockhead popped out his backdoor, he dropped his head in shame. As I got up, I slapped his ass. "Not to worry, Pussy-boy. No shame in learning what you really are. I'll always have a use for a big piece of ass like you." He looked back at me. I'll be a son of a bitch. His expression was actually hopeful!

"You got a shower in here, Pussy-boy? I've got you all over me."

He led me down a hall to a shower. "Get in here with me and wash me off." He did. Grabbed soap and started rubbing me all over, hurrying, of course, southward. When he finally reached my cock, he lifted it worshipfully--Amazing, really. I have to admit he's better hung than I am, but there he is, a-goggle over mine! 

When he had it all washed off, I stood over him, hard again, my throbbing dong casting a shadow over him. I smiled. "Go ahead, polish it, Pussy-boy. Show me what you've been dying to do." 

The second the words left my mouth, he slurped my cock into his mouth, slobbering and spitting. "Hey, slow down, cum-slut, your time is over." He let out at deep moan, still sucking.

"But I'm going to climb onto you on a regular basis!" He made a happy grunt. He was signed, sealed, and delivered. I raised a knee and shoved him back, off-balance, and he splashed back onto the shower room floor, instantly raising his legs and spreading them, hopefully available.

I looked down at him and growled, "Get up and come with me!"

We toweled off in the locker room, where I'd noticed an electric razor on the sink. "Close your eyes." Expecting something else, no doubt, he closed his eyes in bliss. But they shot open when he heard the buzzing sound. "Hear that, Pussy-boy? I'm shaving off your pubic hair. You don't want something obscene hanging out of your bikini, do you?" He gasped. "Feel that? Manhood shaving away." The buzzing went on. "I'm leaving you a sexy little triangle--just like women trim themselves to."

I brought my face close to his. "You like it, don't you, Pussy-boy? Body hair gone--just like your masculinity."

Silence.

"Don't you??"

His voice was a squeak. "Yeah--your bitch--just want--please you--" He looked at me hopefully.

"Oh, but not just me, Pussy-boy. You're going to serve any US Serviceman." His hopeful look turned to horror. 

"That's right, bitch, you'll keep your job as police chief, but"--my eyes bored into his--"from now on, whenever you pull over some speeder, whenever you arrest some perp for shoplifting, whenever you interview a prisoner in his cell"--I looked at him. He was holding his breath--"if the guy turns out to be a soldier, sailor, airman, or Marine, you will submit to him!"

Another gasp, but he was excited. I smiled. "This, your first bareback, was your last. If you're fucking every GI who comes through here, I want you to give the man a rubber. Me, too. You're soiled goods from now on." He bent his head.

When I hopped in the Healey for the ride home and pulled out of the parking lot, it about snapped my neck! Came off the line like a GTO, smoking the tires all the way down the street! "Son of a bitch, boy! No more ethyl for you!" But the Healey and I were proud. The sky was as blue as Issoire's eyes. 





Old-School Mayor Of Bi-Cameral Town



The Cosquex town meetings were the most exciting, lascivious get-togethers imaginable for a while. Human nature being what it is, though, the town soon had a flush of divorces. Old people moved out, new people moved in, and life settled back into "normal"--with extracurricular sex back to being sneaky and in the shadows (the way it's supposed to be). 

Cosquex is still a hot place to live, though, if you have a big beet and know how to tip the grocery-delivery guy. As they say further south, Y'all cum, hear?



Old School, New Lessons



My stomach was churning and a headache was starting to form just above my eyes. Nearly 20 years later, that building still gave me fits of trepidation:

Bradford James High School; home of the Fighting Navajos. 

Of course, here's a tip for the people that name schools and figure out the mascot names: think like a high school kid. Going to school at Bradford James and being called the Navajos is a problem when you're always referred to as the "B J Hoes" by the other schools and kids. Oh, yeah. Talk about a way to build confidence and pride in your school and to get school spirit...

"We're here to fight; we'll 'cause you woes,  you're gonna succumb to the BJ Hoes!"

I graduated from the place and was back for a Parent-Teacher conference to talk about my son and how he's getting along in class. I'd taken Scott in when he was just a few years old, when his parents -- my best pal Sam and his wife, Janet, had been killed in a car crash. Now I was a 38 year old gay man with an 18 year old son.

Memories flooded my head as I remembered the times I'd had as a "B J Hoe"; the years of torment as I was slowly realizing that I was gay. I'd been one of the popular kids in school, voted "Most Likely to Succeed" and "Most Likely To Get the White Picket Fence"; I'd been part of the Royal Court for homecoming, but not the king. That had been my best pal, Sam, the football quarterback and nearly straight-A student.

I'd been attractive enough during high-school -- I never had a problem lining up dates for the dances -- but I was never going to get "Cutest Guy" or "Hottest Student" awards, either. It was through my 20s that I finally grew into my body and figured out how to make my better features -- my eyes and my smile -- more noticed. Now, I was tall and good looking. I never failed to get the looks when I was out and about. At 6 foot, 2 inches, I had the body of a football player -- broad shoulders, thick arms and muscular legs. Working out in the gym 3 times a week and having a high school aged son to keep after helped, too.

My eyes were still the bright, startling blue that they'd always been. Think of Paul Newman and those are my eyes. And my hair was still the coppery shade of red it had been since I was a kid. But now it was shorter, straighter and worked with my face, instead of looking like the flared and flaming tip of a match, just lit.

I sat in my car, looking at the building. It hadn't changed much in the last 20 years; the trees were taller, the paint had faded some, and the parking lots were now surrounded by block walls and wrought iron. There were still a lot of the same teachers on staff, but many had moved on, as well. I knew that Mr. Adams was still here, because that's who I was here to see tonight.

Mr. Adams had been my English teacher when I was a junior and taught everything from basic grammar and spelling to English Lit and Creative Writing. He was a young man -- maybe only in his late 20s at the time. He had been about 6 foot tall, with dark hair and green eyes. When I'd seen him sometimes, he'd been wearing shorts and a t-shirt, showing off toned and long legs and a muscular chest and arms. And all of it had a light covering of dark hair. 

He had also been the advisor on the year book and had also headed up the drama club and helped out with the twice-yearly productions. And he was my first crush.

Well, my first crush on a living, breathing, real, live person. My first crush had been on a member of some music group -- I couldn't remember his name or the group's name, either. But Mr. Adams; he was the fuel for many a late night fantasy, jerking off in my room, keeping quiet so I didn't wake up mom or dad with my teenage lustful actions. 

I'd imagine him asking me to stay late after school so we could work on some essay I was writing or I'd stay late to help him put together our yearbook; his cologne would tickle my senses and I'd lean in closer, feeling his warmth and heat, looking into his deep, Emerald green eyes; then his lips would be on mine, our bodies would intertwine and we'd make passionate love, taking turns sucking on each other's cocks and finally, he'd plunge his cock in my ass, and I'd cum all over his desk, again and again, until he came -- hot, thick and wet loads across my back; we'd collapse in sheer satisfaction on his desk. We'd clean up and he'd give me a ride home, giving me a kiss on my cheek and tell me "Until tomorrow".

Or I would be finishing up my swimming and diving practice and heading to the locker room. Mr. Adams would have worked out in the school gym and would be showering in the locker room, his tall and muscular body, covered with dark hair, his cock and balls dangling as he soaped his body, slipping his fingers along his cock and in his ass. He'd ask me if I could wash his back and then we'd be fucking in the shower, my young and overly hard cock slipping in and out of his ass, water splashing over us, washing away the soap we used as lube and then cleaning our bodies of the juices from our cocks as we both came. And again, he'd kiss me on my cheek and tell me "Until tomorrow".

Well, tomorrow never came. I continued going to school, he continued to teach. He continued to be the object of my youthful and lustful desires; each time I'd jerk off, he'd be in my mind, holding me, hugging me, kissing me, sucking me, fucking me. Then I graduated and went off to college.

Now, today, I was a network administrator for one of the big hotel resorts in town, pulling down a decent salary and raising a teenage son. I didn't have a lot of time to date and even less time for sex. Instead, my lust was taken care of the same way I'd taken care of it in high school -- with my own hand. I was still jacking off at least once a day, my cock slipping in and out of my hand. Sometimes, I'd be online, checking out a porn site or looking at pictures; doing cam-2-cam with some guy or even just reading hot and kinky sex stories on the web. As long as it got me up, I was able to get off.

I got out of the car and headed towards the school -- my stomach still churning with apprehension and my head still aching. I walked through the front gates and stepped back into the quad of Bradford James High School. There were still people moving about -- teachers, coaches and a few students heading home after a long day; janitors getting their gear together to scrub and clean the rooms again and a few parents heading out after their own Parent-Teacher conference. I would probably be the last one of the day.

I headed down the corridor and found room 212 -- Mr. Adams' class. The door was closed. I was about to knock, when a deep voice came from behind. "Mr. Marius? Bill Marius? Is that you?" I turned to see a slightly older -- but still just as sexy -- Mr. Adams walking up to me. He was still just as tall, dark and handsome as he'd ever been. His dark hair was now threaded through with some silver. His eyes still had the same intense green shine, and his smile was still as bright.

He walked up and extended his hand; we shook hands as he reached behind me to open the door. "Well, I can't believe that it's been 20 years since you were one of my kids. And now you're here about kids of your own. Time does have a way of marching on." There was a wistful smile as he ushered me into his room.

Nothing had changed -- much -- in the intervening decades. The walls were still covered with boards and images of some of the great writers of history -- Shakespeare, Oscar Wilde, Shaw. Books lined a row of shelves in the back -- Mr. Adams still had his "literature lending library" so students could read the great authors of our time; and from centuries before. The A/V set up in the corner had given way to a flat screen TV and a DVD player, replacing the big old TV and VCR set up from my youth. His desk was still set towards the corner, at an angle, so he could keep a close watch on all aspects of his classroom. He sat on the corner of that desk, now.

He motioned to a chair and I sat. The old smells of chalk and books -- and his cologne -- still hung in the air; more memories flashed through my head. My cock started to stir a bit and I could feel heat deep in my balls, as I thought back on those fantasies of youth and looked at the man of so many of those desires. He still was handsome.

"So, tell me what's been going on with you, Mr. Marius" he said.

I told him what had been happening; of how Scott was my adopted son, the events leading to him being with me; I told him of my work. I told him so much, covering 20 years in about 20 minutes. He'd nodded and made small comments and gestures while I spoke; calling me Mr. Marius.

I told him to call me Bill. He told me to call him Todd.

With just a simple gesture -- that first name basis -- we were now equals; adult grown men, no longer teacher and former student. The unease I'd been feeling washed away as we spoke and I began to wonder why I'd felt that way before.

We talked about Scott and how he was doing in class; how he could improve and how well adjusted he seemed, given his past and the circumstances of his life. I told him that I acted not only as his father, but also as a friend. I treated him more as an adult than as a child. Todd suggested that may be because I was not his biological father and didn't have that view of him as just a child. It made sense.

I told him how we both still did things together -- as buddies. I told him how I still swam and dove and how Scott was getting into that with me; but he never wanted to get involved with it at school. I noticed his eyes when I'd mentioned about my swimming; as though he was checking me out. After this many years as gay, you know when somebody is looking at your body in that way. My dick stirred again in my lap, filling with heat and growing. Old lusts die hard, I guess.

We continued chatting about school and Scott and how things were. He mentioned how he still had the programs from the plays we'd done in high school -- he kept them all -- and he went to the shelves in the back. I rose and followed him. He pulled a small book from the shelves, and opened the cover. Inside, he had placed all of the programs -- including my foray into the dramatic arts -- and there I was, 20 years younger in the costume of a strolling entertainer. In the same plastic envelope, he still had the pictures he'd used to make the program. He pulled them out and sifted through to the one of me.

I had been standing there on the stage, wearing a pair of green tights and a green, blue and purple tunic. You could see my legs, snugly outlined in the tight fabric, muscles and definition from years of swimming; the bulge of my ass, even then being nicely rounded, lifting the back of the tunic. The front showed a slight bulge, as well, but we all had worn padded jock-straps under the tights. He looked at the image and then back at me.

"You've changed some," he said, placing his hand on my shoulder. A shock of teenage longing and lust shot through my body from that touch -- nothing had changed in 20 years. "But I wonder if you still have those legs." His hand then slid down my body and slid along my thigh. That jolt of lust became a nearly all-consuming current. My dick stiffened and hardened, shifting in my pants; my balls responding and beginning to churn out the sexual fluids my body thought were needed.

I stammered with an attempted reply, but nothing came from my lips. It was as though my cock was sapping the strength from my voice, leaving me speechless as the old fantasies crossed my mind.

"And I see you still have a big package, too," he said, his hand sliding up and cupping my still hardening cock. "I could often catch a glimpse of you in the locker rooms after you finished swimming. I had to wait until you left, so I could take my shower and jerk off to thoughts of your body. But I was your teacher; something I could never do would have been to touch you."

He stood and looked deep into my eyes. "But now that we're both adults, I can take those liberties." He leaned forward and kissed me, his hands caressing my back and shoulders. I could feel the pressure of his chest against mine; his cock -- also hard -- pressing against my hard cock. His tongue slipped along my lips and I opened my mouth to let him in.

My nose filled with his aroma as my mouth filled with his tongue. The shock of his revelations was being replaced by the lust of my youth; I eagerly returned his kisses, pressing my body against his and grabbing for his head, his back, his ass. I pulled him to me, forcing my tongue deeper into his mouth, passion fueling my movements; desire became all important.

We were kissing and groping, feeling each other's bodies, like a couple of high school teenagers. But we were both adult men, grown men, gay men; this time, fantasies could become real.

His lips tasted sweet and his body firm and solid. His cologne was still as fragrant and was fitting; he smelled good, he looked good, he tasted good; my senses overloaded with his inputs. I could feel the firmness of his ass; the shape of his back; the strength in his arms. I pushed back to take a breath and to gather myself. "Wait. This is ... is this real?" I was able to gain my voice and ask. He simply looked into my eyes and nodded his head. 

He stepped back and asked "Do you want it to be real? Do you want this to happen? I could tell, even back then, that you'd noticed me; you'd noticed that I was not just a teacher; that I was a man. And I was a man you had thoughts about; thoughts of carnal desire; thoughts of lust and passion and longing. In your mind, you had thoughts of raw, animal and primal sex."

I nodded my head slowly in agreement, feeling my face heat with passion and desire; blush covered my face completely, admitting to those long ago desires.

"We can now follow through on those thoughts; that passion.... Unless," his voice grew quiet, "there's another reason why you can't?" His eyes looked at me, beseeching an answer.

There was no reason I could not -- would not -- should not -- give in to those long ago desires; I should rekindle that flame that burned so bright and so hot when I'd dream of his naked body and the things we'd do. I just had to slip from teacher and student to man and man. My cock yearned to be free of my clothes; my body burned for his; but my mind still threw blocks in the way.

A hesitant moment can seem like an eternity. He cast his eyes down and started to turn.

That's when my desires rammed through the blocks my logical head created; I reached for him and pulled him to me. I kissed his face, cupping his chin. "I can't even begin to tell you the number of times I dreamed of this -- of you, Mr. Ada... Todd. How many nights I ... I did things ... thinking of you. You mentioned the shower before. I, too, had those fantasies, of you and me making love -- fucking -- in the shower, our bodies entwined, water, lust and desire washing over us." I leaned and kissed him again.

I reached to his chest and began to unbutton his shirt; I slid my hands to his belt and his pants. I could feel his body tremble and his muscled contract as I slowly worked at undressing him. After a moment, his hands began to do the same -- pulling at my belt, slipping down the zipper, tugging at my shirt.

Soon we were standing, naked, body to body, kissing and holding each other; our tongues explored mouths, necks, chests. Our hands explored torsos -- legs, stomachs, ass, cocks. Sex and lust mingled with passion and desire, our bodies responding to each others. I kissed my way down his body -- from his neck to his wonderfully furry chest. I licked his nipples, shudders of rapture coursed through him. My lips followed a trail of fur to his navel; and beyond. 

Soon, my lips and tongue were just above his cock, his musk and sweat filling my nose, his tastes filling my mouth. I slipped my tongue across the head of his cock, tasting his sweet pre-cum; a drop glistening before the onslaught of my mouth.

He moaned as my lips slid over the head of his cock and down the shaft. I cupped his balls and rubbed them, my other hand on his pelvis, fingers slipping through his pubes. His cock slipped down my throat and fit well. Long, hard and with a surprising thickness, it filled my mouth and rocked my senses. My tongue danced across the flesh and swirled around the head, slipping into the slit, tasting more of his flesh and his pre-cum.

His hands rubbed my scald, rubbed his abs, teased his nipples. My mouth worked his cock, flashes of fantasies splashing across my mind, driving my actions. I sucked and swallowed his cock for all I was worth, wanting more from him. I pulled my lips from his cock, grabbing his waist, and turned him around. My hands grasped his ass, pulling the cheeks apart and I leaned in, licking and tasting his round ass. My tongue slipped in his hole, tasting his depths. Gasps and guttural grunts escaped his lips -- for an English teacher, he was short of words to describe his feelings. Primal urges, instead, powered his voice. My hands pulled on his ass, his balls, his cock. Each movement brought forth more primal grunting from this well spoken man. He leaned forward, using the bookshelves for support as I ate his ass.

My own cock was hot and throbbing and dripping pre-cum. I wanted to bury that rod deep into his ass, pressing and pounding, living out the images of my youth, making him moan, driving him to reach new heights of desire and lust, as he'd driven me to new heights of thought and learning so many years ago. His legs quivered and trembled with the onslaught of my tongue, my hands. I could feel his balls tense and grow hard, filling with hot cum, yearning to burst free.

And burst free it did. The first shot of cum from his cock brought a cry to his lips, "Oh, fuck!" His sphincter tensed and tightened around my tongue as I licked and sucked his ass; another shot of cum exploded from his cock, landing on the floor, under the drippings of his first shot onto the shelves. My hand continued to pump on his cock, pulling more and more of his creamy white liquid, pooling it on the floor as it left his spurting cock. His breath came in deep, short heaves and his body trembled with the force of his release.

The stream of cum from his dick slowed to a trickle of white hot ooze, running over my hand and down his cock before dripping to the floor. My own cock yearned for release, throbbing and dripping pre-cum, slicking my cock and the floor. I began to stroke my cock, feeling my own balls fill with cum, wanting freedom.

Todd turned around and pulled on my shoulders, standing me up. He kissed me hard and his hand joined mine on my cock, pulling and yanking on the shaft, driving me closer and closer to cumming. With a groan and a grunt, the first wave of orgasm wracked my body, spasms running through my legs as cum exploded from my cock, spraying his cock and abs with my fluids.

Wave after wave of cum burst forth from my cock, covering him with my sticky hot juice; he continued to stroke my cock and his own, pulling my climax from me. Soon, drained of cum, my cock slipped from hand; he raised the hand to his lips and tasted the remnants of our mingled orgasms. I did the same, tasting the sweetness of our cum, mixed and melded on my fingers and his.

We recaptured out breaths and came back to reality. We were standing in the back of his classroom, splotches of white cum marking where our orgasms had impacted our pasts. A sudden flush of embarrassment crossed his face, as he realized what had just happened. I pulled him close and hugged him, reassuring him of my own desires for our adventure.

We embraced that way for minutes before pulling apart and dressing. We were quiet, but I didn't know if the silence was good or bad; whether embarrassment or memories powered the somber sound; only the ticking of the clock was the only sound we could hear. We dressed, wiping cum from our bodies as we did, cleaning cum from the floor and the shelves. Books had been spared his release; no cum had touched a Shakespeare spine.




Old School, New Lessons



After we were dressed, I looked at Todd -- Mr. Adams -- trying to gage his reaction. He was still quiet and seemed to be avoiding my eyes. I could not tell from his face -- passive as it had been in my youth -- what emotions flared inside of him. As a teacher, his passions had been the great literature and his emotions would flow and glow from his face as he read certain poems, chapters, passages; he lived for the literature and it showed.

Finally, I could take no more of the silence. I reached for him, touching his shoulder. I was about to give words of encouragement and approval for our actions, when a single tear slid from his eyes. I pulled him close and held him as sobs wracked his body.

"I ... I ... we," he stammered, trying to put words to the war of feelings inside. "I've wanted this for so long, but now that I've done it -- done what we did -- I can't help but feel it was wrong. That I've broken some kind of trust that should not be breached."

I could feel the conflict within him; comforting words seemed to elude me. He clung to me and I held him tight. Finally, I said "Todd. This is something we've both wanted for so long. I wanted you when I was a kid. And you wanted me. And now we've found each other -- as adults -- and we've been able to find a moment of clarity from the jumbled passions we've had."

He stepped back from me; his eyes bright and clear, his cheeks traced with tears. "But, what if I want more?" he asked simply.

I was taken aback for a moment. Here was a man that I'd desired and yearned for, so many years ago, for so long, and he was wanting more than just our quick slip into primal sexual urges. Here was a man I knew the so much about and yet so little; here was a man I'd wanted for 20 years, admitting that he'd wanted me -- he still wants me -- and I'm finding that I want him.

"Let's talk about that over dinner, wine, and after we've examined our bodies in the softer light of candles, in a warm, soft bed. Let's go." I held his hand and headed towards the door.

Hours later, we were in my home, in my bed, Scott just down the hall. His teacher and his parent were having another conference -- a joining of our bodies -- a joining of our passions -- as we had wanted for so long. We had eaten and had probably consumed too much wine. Our passions were reignited and we were following those desires. Just after getting home, we'd gone to my bed, stripped naked and allowed our bodies to touch again.

We climbed into the bed and began to suck on each other's cocks. I slowly ground my pelvis against his face as his cock slipped in and out of my lips. Silent moans and groans slipped from his mouth into my cock, driving my desire and fuelling the flame. He admitted that he wanted to feel my cock in his ass, filling him with my lust. I obliged.

I rolled onto my back as he squatted above me, his own cock jutting hard, throbbing with desire; he slowly descended down, taking all of my cock inside of him. Pre-cum oozed from his cock and dribbled on my abs; I used my fingers to capture the golden fluid and brought it to my lips. It tasted as sweet -- if not sweeter -- than it had just hours before in his classroom.

He slid up and down the length of my cock, his eyes closed and a smile on his face. A look of even more pleasure would cross his face each time he slipped to the bottom of my cock, taking it all deep inside. I was wracked with my own pleasure, snugly encased in him. I leaned up to kiss him, to hold him as we rocked together. We rolled over, and my cock was able to go deeper into him, filling his ass completely, my balls touching his body. His cock throbbed and twitched with lust and fire.

As he lay on his back, his ankles on my shoulders, his ass warmly consuming every inch of my cock, I could see that I was now the teacher, he was my student and I was teaching him how to live his dreams. We rocked together, slowly and lovingly fucking our past into our present.

As he stroked his cock and began to cum, another load of white juice on his abs, my own climax released, filling him with my cum; our futures were now melded into our past and present as we drifted in our desires and our satisfaction.

Tomorrow had come and would be here forever.



Old School Ties



Two unrelated real events brought together and romanced up provide the basis for this little tale.

***********

 Dave thought her name was familiar when he got the letter asking him to attend a job interview. When he saw her he knew she was the same woman who ten years previously had been a student teacher for his last term at school. He did well in the interview and she stood and shook his hand at the end saying that he'd got the job and that confirmation in writing would follow in a day or so.

"Excuse me for asking." Dave said as he stood ready to leave. "But you are the same Miss Victoria Henderson who taught English for a term at Ashton Moor High School aren't you?" 

She looked at him surprised but nodded.

"Yes, I did teach for a short while, but I gave it up because it was obvious that all the girls hated me and all the boys just stared and learnt nothing." She looked hard at him. "You do seem familiar Dave, is there any reason I should remember you?"

Dave looked down for a moment then looked back into her deep blue eyes.

"Probably not. I have to admit to the staring, but you gave me a tremendous boost one afternoon, said something that has helped me ever since."

She motioned him to sit again. He did, wondering whether this was a good idea.

"I think I recall you now, but tell me anyway."

He nervously began to recount what she had said.

"A group of us, three boys and a girl were talking about something, I can't remember what now, but Lisa asked you what you thought we'd be doing in five years time. You said we'd probably all be married. We all laughed and John said that I wouldn't be because I was gay. You just took one look at me and said there was no way I was, that just by looking you could tell, that I was more masculine than most of the boys in the class."

"How did that help?"

"I'd always had trouble getting a date, I couldn't talk to girls, they were scary creatures." She smiled. "Anyway, Lisa must have told half the girls in our year. After that I had no trouble getting a date, even after I left."

"I still don't see how that was my doing."

"I was the only one who saw the wink, Miss Henderson. You were lying." 

Now she laughed.

"So how did that help you then?"

"Suddenly I realised that not all females were scary, that they didn't all think I was out for one thing only. That was a huge boost to me."

"But you were! You all were."

"I was only sixteen; the world was suddenly full of desirable females. I'm sure girls felt the same way." Dave looked away for a moment.

She looked him straight in the eye.

"Yes, we did. And you think I took pity on you?"

"No, more hoped. Anyway it gave me a new outlook and for that I thank you now." He got up to leave again. "I'll never mention it again to anyone here. Thank you for the job too."

------

 As he left Victoria Henderson sat back and let her mind wander back to those days as a student teacher. That one term had been enough to convince her she wasn't teacher material. There had been too many young men, full of testosterone, full of the naivety of youth. She wasn't much older than most of them and the temptations had been enormous. The girls hadn't liked her because they saw her as a threat, and the boys! The boys had only one thing on their minds and it wasn't the lesson. She smiled to herself. Dave had been the one who had caught her eye though. She did remember that incident. The others had always been teasing him and he always took it with a shrug. To this day she didn't know why she'd said what she did, or why she'd winked at him as she said it. Victoria sighed. Water under the bridge. He was still kind of cute though. No! She admonished herself. He was now an employee of the company and she was a representative of the company, nothing could happen. She picked up his file and put it away.

--------

 Dave soon settled into his new job. It wasn't complicated, just checking and filing reports as they came in, but he was conscientious and gained a reputation for reliability. His six month probation was nearly up when he was asked to do a special report and e-mail it to 'Miss Henderson'. He completed it and sent it off, finding her company e-mail address in the computers contact file. Pleased with himself he went home. After turning on his home computer he checked his inbox. As he did he noticed that his server was offering valentine day greetings e-cards. Mischievously he decided to send one to Victoria; after all, she didn't know his personal e-mail address did she? So it would still be anonymous. He added a flirty message and sent it.

He was a bit worried the next day at work, but no summons to see his supervisor arrived and he relaxed. He got home and checked his e-mails as he always did. He'd got a reply from Victoria! The message was one of curiosity and was also a little bit flirtatious. He replied in kind without thinking too much. The next day he worried all day again, but when he got home once more there was another message. This exchange of e-mails went on for nearly three weeks. Then on a Saturday night, when he'd had a little too much to drink, he sent Victoria a message that went beyond flirting. That Sunday was agonising for Dave as he realised what he'd done. As he lay awake that night, unable to sleep, he decided he'd better confess first thing in the morning, before she opened the e-mail, and take whatever happened.

------

 Victoria was a little surprised to see Dave outside her office when she arrived.  

"Hello David, I didn't think we had a meeting today. You finished your probation a couple of weeks ago." She smiled as he jumped.

"Yes, yes I did. This isn't about that."

"Come in and tell me what it is then." She said, opening her office door. Dave reluctantly followed her in. "Sit down." She indicated the chair.

"I think I'd better stand."

"What is it then?" Victoria said, sitting at her desk and turning on her computer.

"Errrr, can I ask you not to open your e-mails Miss Henderson?" Dave stuttered.

"Why ever not?"

"Because." He took a deep breath. "Because it's been me sending you those e-mails. And the one that I sent Saturday when I'd had too much to drink, is a little, well, racy."

"Oh, it's too late for that. I accessed them from home yesterday." She smiled. Dave's shoulders slumped. "I knew they were from you anyway Dave, but thank you for your honesty." He looked up in shock. "Don't look so surprised, you gave me your e-mail address when you applied for the job."

"I did? So why haven't you had me sacked?"

"Why would I do that?" She saw the surprise on his face. "It was nice to read ALL of your messages. Everyone here sees me as some sort of ice maiden, but you don't seem to. Why is that?"

"I suppose I still see you as that student teacher who helped me out. Will I get into trouble for this?" 

"I don't think so, but it might be better if you used my home e-mail address." Victoria pushed a piece of paper across her desk. Tentatively Dave picked it up and carefully opened it; still a little afraid she was pulling his leg, but it was just an e-mail address. "I'll look forward to your next message then." Victoria smiled.

Dave stumbled out of the office and found his way to his own desk, his head spinning. He hardly dared to believe it; she actually seemed to be enjoying the attention. Somehow he managed to get through the day after he got his mind back onto his work. He went home and turned on his computer; he had mail. Victoria had replied to Saturday's message. He sat and tried to think what to write back, but nothing came. When he'd thought she didn't know who was sending them it had seemed easy; now however he just couldn't think. A long forgotten piece of advice came back to him. "Write as if you are talking." Where had he heard that? At school.... And then he remembered; it had been Victoria. He smiled to himself and began to type, a totally different sort of message to the ones he had been sending.

------

 Victoria was wondering if she had done the right thing by encouraging Dave, but his messages had been witty and intelligent and fun to read, although that last one had been a bit near to the knuckle. It was the teacher in her, the one that couldn't cope with a class, but could recognise a talent for writing however it manifested itself. There was a ding from her computer, she had left it on with the e-mail alert enabled and had sat down to look through some reports. It could be from anyone, she thought, after all lots of people have my e-mail address. Nevertheless she felt her heart beating a little faster as she hurried over to her machine. This is stupid she told herself, I should not be applauding him, but he has such a sweet way with words. I don't remember that from my days teaching him, I wonder how he developed it. It was from Dave. She opened it up. It was a bit longer than usual. She began to read....

------

The e-mails passed to and fro between them for many months. Sometimes Dave just wrote messages or replies, but sometimes he included a story he'd written. Victoria looked forward to reading those. More and more he asked her advice on what he called his 'long story'. It was something he'd been writing on and off for many years, but he was close to finishing it now, well the basic storyline anyway. Victoria was more than happy to suggest alternatives or additions. There was a huge info dump in one chapter that he wasn't happy with and she tried to think of some way to spread the information out without destroying the pace of the rest of the piece, but nothing came to either of them, so it stayed in.

Then one day Dave got a message asking him to come round to Victoria's flat. Puzzled, he typed a quick reply and then made his way over there. He rang the bell and was let in.

"Thanks for coming over Dave. I have some things I need to ask you and some information too." Now his curiosity was piqued as well. Victoria showed him into the lounge and went to make coffee. "The first thing I need to know is are you happy at the company?"

"Well, yes, I suppose so."

"Good. Then there is a post coming up that I think you should apply for. You can do the job, and I want to make your position safe."

"Why? What's happening?"

"They want to make some changes, and some of the jobs in your office are going. But if you get this new post, you'll be all right. Here are the details and an application form. Just don't mess up the interview, because I won't be there." 

Dave had a nasty suspicion forming in his mind.

"Why not? What's happening to you?"

"My post is going completely. But I don't mind because I want to go back to teaching."

"You do?" Dave asked in surprise. "Why?"

"Yes. Helping you has reawakened my desire to teach. I want to try teaching again, all the problems I had before should have gone."

"Oh, I don't know. The boys will still stare and the girls will still see you as a threat, you're still a looker you know." He grinned.

"Thank you for that unsolicited praise." She laughed. "But I'm better equipped to handle that now. My ice maiden will help there." She paused. "The truth is, I've been thinking about it for a couple of months, and now they want to lose some middle management, me, the time is right for me to try again."

"I wish I could say I won't miss you, but I will. Is there no other post you could fill?"

"Maybe, but I want to try this." She smiled at him. "Anyway, we can still keep in touch can't we?"

"Sure. I still need help."

"No you don't, but thanks for thinking that." They both grinned. 

Dave wasn't sure about what was happening; it felt like Victoria was trying to push him away.

"You said 'questions' when I came in, what else is on your mind?" 

This time she looked away for a moment. When she looked back he could see that she was blushing.

"I've always wondered, those 'secret' e-mails, did you mean what you wrote in them?" 

He sat next to her and took her hand.

"I meant every word, even the smutty ones." He hesitated, but this seemed as good a time as any. "You see Miss Henderson; I've had a crush on you since that wink."

"An older woman too?" She grinned. He grinned back.

"Not that much older, you make yourself sound ancient."

"It feels like that sometimes." She sighed. "I think I ought to tell you, you caught my eye too, back then."

"I did?" There was genuine surprise in his voice.

"You did. You always stood out from the other boys, more serious, more considerate than the others. I always enjoyed teaching you, then and now." Another sigh. "And then you turned up in my office." 

"What are we going to do about it?" Dave asked. 

"There's not much we can do is there? I'll be leaving soon and going away to teacher training college. Maybe one of us should have said something sooner?"

"Maybe. We'll still keep in touch though, won't we?"

"Of course! I want to read everything you write, and you need to get that novel published."

"Novel? Oh, the long story. I still think it needs polishing."

"So send it to someone and see what they say."

"I didn't write it for that, I told you."

"Why ever you wrote it, I think its good enough to be published, so try, for me if not for you."

"All right already. You don't need to nag."

"I think I do. I know you need pushing." There was a twinkle in her eye. Dave had a sudden feeling and on impulse acted on it. He kissed her. She didn't pull away as he had feared, but instead kissed back.

------

They had a small party at the office to say goodbye the day Victoria left. Dave wasn't the only one who knew she'd be missed, but he felt worse than all the others, mainly because he felt he was losing a soul mate. He tried to put on a brave face and failed abysmally. Well-wishers came and went, everyone toasting Victoria and hoping she would be happy. Dave waited until the last moment and asked her how she was getting home, offering to take her. She accepted and he drove her home. She would have been merry but for the fact she was leaving behind so many good friends. He helped her to the door.

"When are you leaving for the college?" He asked, finally allowing the misery he felt creep into his voice.

"Tomorrow. I got lucky with the way the terms fell."

"Will I ever see you again?"

"Of course you will. And once you've settled into your new job and I'm sorted, we can send our e-mails again."

"I'm going to miss you Miss Henderson, who else can I have a sensible conversation with?" He kissed her softly and hugged her.

"This isn't the end you know? Look on it as a new beginning." She whispered in his ear.

"I liked it as it was." Suddenly he couldn't bear it any longer. He hugged her again and then turned away and left, tears starting to form in his eyes. He couldn't let her see him like this. "Goodbye Victoria." He whispered.

She caught his words.

"See you around Dave." She said quietly.

------

 It felt strange for Dave, going into a classroom again, but this was where the writing club was meeting. Since the success of his two novels he had managed to get all his short stories published in one volume. This in turn had led to the invite to speak to this club back at his old school. He would have come anyway, but the fact that Victoria was in charge of the club had guaranteed it. Three years had passed since she'd decided to go back to teacher training college. In those three years she had still helped him hone his first two novels until they were published. The things she'd taught him had made the second one much easier to write, but she had still been the first one to read it, he'd wanted her approval before sending it off to the editor. Though they were still in constant contact, this would be their first meeting for over a year, since she had somehow managed to get a teaching job back here at his old school. Victoria met him at the door.

"Hello Dave. Long time, no see." She said, kissing him on the cheek. He responded by kissing her properly. She looked at him in surprise.

"Sorry about that, but it's been too long." He smiled.

"Thanks for coming; everyone is so looking forward to meeting you."

"How could I refuse my muse?"

"Will you be all right? With the talking I mean. You said you always hated talking in public."

"I've got used to it on the signing tour. Now lead on Miss Henderson."

She introduced him to her club.

"Well people, I'd like to introduce an old pupil from here. I actually taught him for a term before I left teaching for a while." 

He received a warm welcome. The members of the club were all interested in finding new ways to write. Before the questions started though Dave pulled out several slim new books. 

"This has just been published." He said. "It's a collection of poems, companions to the short stories. I'd like you to share them." He passed them out to the eager novice writers. "This one, however, is special." He passed it to Victoria. She opened it and read the inscription he'd written and smiled at him. Then he began to talk. He told them some of the tricks he had picked up. He even told them about writing an ending if they got stuck and working towards it, explaining he sometimes did this when the characters seemed to be steering the story, that way he had some way of controlling them. He knew Victoria wasn't fond of this method, but she didn't seem to mind about him telling them about it. They asked questions about characters and storylines. He explained as much as he could remember, carefully skirting the fact that half of the women in his short stories at least were based on Victoria. He told them not to be afraid of using real people and situations, but to try and disguise them. The hour flew by and Dave was surprised when Victoria called a halt to the questioning. 

"So, are there any last questions?" She asked.

"Actually, I have a question that I'd like to ask you." Dave said, moving to where she was sat.

"All right." She said, a hint of uncertainty in her voice.

"Will you, Miss Victoria Henderson, marry me?" He said, dropping onto one knee before her. There was a cheer from the club, one or two of them having an inkling that Victoria was the subject of more than one story and poem. She looked embarrassed, but held his outstretched hand.

"Of course I will." She said, kissing him.