The following fictional story deals with sex among males. If you are offended by such material, are too young, or reside in an area where it is not allowed, depart. Though not observed in this story, care enough about yourself and humankind to practice safe sex.
The author retains all rights. No reproductions or links to other sites are allowed unless the author consents.
Ebradley33@Excite.com
Chapter 2
The Bait
End of Chapter 1:
I realized just before drifting off to sleep that one of two possibilities would occur. Either I would never hear anything again from the mysterious stranger, leaving me wondering the rest of my life about that unfinished script that the sketch of the nude teen initiated, or, having worked up the courage to activate his plans, the mystery man would communicate again. I hoped for the latter.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
I was staring out of the windows in my classroom, watching the scene below as students streamed into the entrance of the school. Two weeks had passed since I had received the sketch of a nude male, immediately opening a mental horizon of possibilities I'd never known. For the first week, I walked taller, was more upbeat, talked, joked and laughed more with students and colleagues-in short, felt less closed in, less alone. I was happier than I'd felt in a long time. Then the weekend afforded me too much time to ponder, wait, and worry; the hopeful aura began to fade.
Monday, I eagerly checked my faculty mailbox-to no avail. The rest of the week it was the same. By Friday, I just walked past the main office without even checking my mail. I was not looking forward to another quiet, solitary weekend. Too much time to think, to beat up on myself for buying into a practical joke. Well, at least I hadn't tipped my hand to anyone.
I felt someone watching me, so I glanced over my shoulder. There sat Susan Connolly, coolly appraising me. When had she entered the classroom and settled regally at her desk? What a woman she was going to become! In an irony that could occur only in the USA, while her name was anything but Greek, her Greek heritage blessed her with stunning beauty at 17 years of age. Her full, raven-black hair flipped up at her shoulders, perfectly framing her olive complexion. A slight blush highlighted her delicate, high cheekbones. Her slim, straight nose complemented black eyes that were entirely capable of reading anyone's soul. Her lips harbored a red hue.
Susan dated, but none of the young men would ever claim her; instead, it would be just the opposite. She would choose a man she deemed worthy of her and capable of subjugating himself to her dominant personality. And if he were wise by submitting, they would both have a happy, fulfilling ride through life. What category of domination was that? Domination with a velvet glove! Was it possible in a relationship between two men? I doubted it. Between two women? Yes. But a genuinely dominant male, in any of the fiction I'd read, would always place himself first. His image and control seemed to depend on it. No velvet glove here. The submissive male would come off a poor second, if at all, for that power dynamic seemed almost definitive to a dominant male. Not with Susan. She would not have to come first to be dominant.
I wondered if she would raise daughters as formidable as she. I always wanted to meet her mother to see if Susan were cast in her mold. More to the point, would Susan raise her sons to be as submissive as their father? I thought not, for I doubted Susan would believe they would be lucky enough to encounter other versions of herself. Susan wasn't conceited. She just possessed full knowledge of herself and her strengths. Probably her weaknesses, too. I'd have to sound her out about those sometime. I really liked Susan. I laughed to myself that she might even be able to turn me from being gay to straight. "Yeah, right," that irreverent voice in the back of my mind taunted. "You're on another mind trip!"
Realizing that I had been studying her without saying anything, I nervously popped off with, "Hello, Susan. Big plans for the weekend?"
Smiling, she responded, "That depends on what homework you have in store for us overworked juniors this weekend."
How like Susan. Sometimes it seemed one didn't chat with Susan; rather, she quietly challenged you to see how you would recover from her "serve."
"Good-you have no plans; I'm pouring on the homework for this weekend. I'm getting a little bored with so much free time, so I need to keep myself busy. You know: idle hands are the Devil's Playground," I shot back in my most controlled albeit smart-ass manner.
Didn't faze her. Capturing me in the cool depths of her dark eyes, she teased, "Instead of looking bored, you've been looking awfully unhappy this week. Must we suffer for your unhappiness?"
I chuckled ruefully. "Don't be so observant. Does anyone ever get ahead of you? By the way, define 'impudence' for me, please."
She just smiled quietly. Strong women colleagues had acquainted me with that ploy years earlier; they just smile when they don't intend to answer a question, and no amount of pushing will evoke an answer.
Just then Kathleen Burge, whose classroom was next to mine, burst through the door with her hands full of mail. "Hi All. Evan, I noticed you hadn't picked up your mail when I got mine, so I thought I'd bring yours along too." Susan's gaze shifted to me.
"Oh thanks, Kathleen. It's Friday; I must have my mind so focused on the weekend that I walked right by the office." As Kathleen handed me my mail, some of it slipped onto the floor. When we both knelt to pick up what had fallen, I saw a long, plain white envelope bearing a computer-generated label with my name upon it. My heart picked up several beats as I grabbed for it. I could feel that it was much thicker than the envelope that had arrived two weeks earlier, if it were from the same sender, that is. A sheaf of sketches? "Dirty Old Man," that interior voice charged.
I placed the mail on my desk as Kathleen left my classroom. Other students began to enter the room, so I quietly began to sort through the mail, taking the envelope and placing it in my attach‚. Turning around, I saw Susan studying me. Damn. She's just perceptive enough to wonder why I knew enough about that envelope not only to put off opening it now but also to put it out of sight.
"A love letter?" Susan asked.
I had to recover quickly. "No, just a draft I asked someone to critique," I blurted out.
"Hey, Mr. Halsey, I can critique your love letter-give you the benefit of my high tech approach to putting the moves on the babes," popped off Jeremy Wilder. I heard Wendy Fielding snort derisively at Jeremy's offer.
Bridling slightly, Jeremy explained to Wendy, "Old guys like Mr. Halsey are out of touch. They can benefit from a stud's knowledge." The students settling into their seats laughed, looking at me for a response. (I thought, "I could teach you a thing or two about touch, Jeremy.")
With eyebrows raised, I began scribbling on a notepad. "What are you writing down?" LaRonda Hughes asked.
I replied tersely,"8:47 a.m.-Jeremy Wilder demonstrated irreverence toward a hallowed instructor. Drop next essay grade one letter." The students roared with laughter.
"Aw, Teach, what can I do to make it up to you," Jeremy pleaded archly.
I snapped back, "Name your firstborn son after me."
"I have to name my first son 'Percy'?" he asked in mock dismay.
"Lower next essay grade two letters," I stated aloud as I scribbled on the notepad. The class hooted gleefully.
"You're going too easy on Jeremy," chimed Matt Townsend.
"And Mr. Matt Townsend is trying to prolong this banter to keep us from our appointed tasks today," I replied. "He thinks his teacher is so addled that you all can spin out this nonsense for an entire class period, saving yourselves from homework over the weekend. Speaking of the next essay, let's do just that." A universal groan ran around the classroom. I looked shocked. "What's this? Halsey's troops are reluctant to assume their positions on the battlements, ready to beat back the darkness of ignorance?"
"I usually feel like I am digging ditches instead of standing in the battlements," Beth Walker observed drily.
"That's because you have adopted the wrong perspective. All you have to do is change your perspective to assume your proper place in the battlements," I explained. "So let's discuss what that will be for this essay." A more resigned chorus of moans ensued.
We moved into the day's business. The demands of classes and meetings latched onto me, so I was not able to open the envelope during the day-but the possibilities that it presented filled my mind. Was I going to be disappointed if it wasn't from my Mystery Lover. "You've elevated him into a Mystery Lover?" I heard from that snotty voice in the back of my mind.
I raced home and worked out, but with the envelope in front of me all the while. I wouldn't allow myself to open it until I had completed my hour (I knew I would spend the evening rereading and thinking about the letter, allowing no time for a workout otherwise).
Finally, I sat in the kitchen over a bowl of soup and pulled out the contents of the envelope. It was a three-page letter, but with sketches of a cock, both cut, in each of the top corners of the first page. I scooted into my bedroom to retrieve the larger sketch. Yeah, the cock in the left-hand upper corner was that of the model's. The new cock in the upper right corner was shorter but fatter, and the halo of hair around it wasn't as thick or as dark. Most likely the artist's cock. I could already feel the hair on my shoulders bristling with pleasure.
The letter began . . .
Hey, Mr. Halsey,
We thought we had teased you long enough after sending you the sketch. This letter will relate how that sketch occurred and ended up with you.
My fuck buddy and I keep a low profile. Too many of our friends would not only ditch us but also out us if they knew we were into guys. We've been getting it on for about a year now. One weekend, while we were together, just to jazz things up, we started creating scenarios while we were having sex. It really made our sex hotter. Sometimes we would create the scenario together; other times we'd take turns, surprising each other with a new scene. Over several months, we discovered that one of our favorite scenarios was overpowering a hot policeman to show him how much we appreciated his efforts in protecting us citizens. He was grateful when we were done building him up. In another scenario a fireman came to the house to conduct a fire prevention inspection, but we all three helped each other put out other kinds of fire. Then a couple of Mormon missionary guys communed with our spirits. We became really creative with landscapers, city linemen, UPS men, joggers-you name it, we created it.
One of our favorite scenarios concerned a teacher who was used to being in control. But we snared him, showing him what he could learn from us. On this Saturday afternoon, we started by just holding each other. I'm taller than my bud, but we like it that I look down on him and he looks up at me. We were tracing the muscles in each other's backs and asses but making ourselves go really slow (gets steamier quicker that way because our imaginations have to slow down to match the pace of our feelings). As we pulled our shirts off each other, my buddy was grousing about a writing assignment in an English class taught by Mr. X. I eased him back on the bed, lapping and sucking on his nipples. To keep us from losing the heat of the moment, I told him, "Mr. X is here with us now. Where is he and what did we do to him?"
"He's over there tied to the chair. We've removed his all his clothes except for his briefs. Both of us ran our fingertips just over the hair on his chest, legs, crotch, and balls. As lightly as possible, we ran our lips over his neck, then his cheeks, really more allowing our soft, warm breath to flow out over his skin. For a few minutes our actions mirrored each other in the same area of his body, but then one of us went low on the teacher while the other went high. The teacher began moaning because the sensations were coming in from all over. I whispered softly in the teacher's ear, "You're hot." Then you whispered, "I want to make love to your dick." In no time the teacher's prick was tenting his briefs, and a wet place was growing at the tip of the tent."
"Then we move to the bed while the teacher watches us. He can't talk because he has a handkerchief stuffed in his mouth. We start making love, but for his benefit, we keep up a running commentary about what we're feeling. I am moaning over your skilled nipple work, your tongue sliding over my pecs, my abs, down my flat stomach to my belly button where you do that soft suction thing that curls my toes and makes me pull my knees together. I can't help it. That suction sets a current running through me. I look over at Teach'; his eyes grow larger as he stares at us."
"Then you begin lapping from my perineum up to my balls, then up my cock to the cap. You pause and gently run your teeth from the fold under the cap just up over the edge of the cap and back, making me call you a diabolical torturer. Then you gently slide your teeth down my cock stem while swallowing me. I love it! I describe to Teach' the feelings your loving is creating, especially how you remind me that I am gently held prisoner by your teeth. My legs are stretched out down the bed, but I keep moving them excitedly. I hear Teach' moan, noticing that he can't hold his legs still, noticing that he is straining against the ropes tying him to the chair. Then you lunge up and stick your face in my pits, loudly tasting me there. Teach' jumps, moaning in sympathetic torment."
"Suddenly I roll you over and jump on top of you, sitting on your hard cock which is flattened against your stomach. While I hold your hands down, I scoot my ass up and down your cock, wet with precum, making "slick" noises. Teach' is wiggling more, moving his ass around as though he were mimicking me. Poor guy. He is so turned on he can't help it. Then we kiss, long and slow, allowing our hands to move along each other's body. You nibble along my pecs and the top of my shoulders.
I slowly rise, placing the head of your cock under me, pausing, looking into your eyes. Slowly we smile at each other. Teach' has quieted, studying us carefully, but I can see the sheen of perspiration on his face and chest. Almost imperceptibly I begin to lower myself on your long dick as I watch Teach' push back into the chair as though I were sinking down on his dick. As you ease into me, my head falls back, I close my eyes and smile, telling Teach' that you are now possessing me, making me yours, asserting your sexual power over me, filling me with yourself, with your love. I can hear Teach' breathing louder and faster. Now I raise up a bit and you begin to slide your cock up into me, playing with my balls and then my cock. Teach's eyes are squinting, and he is moaning quietly, wishing he were with us, wishing that one of us was sliding our cock in and out of him. He is so wet that one can begin to see his hard dick through the cloth."
"Now you begin your patter, telling Teach' how hot my ass feels, how wet it is around your hard cock. When I suddenly squeeze down on your cock, your ass rises involuntarily and you groan, telling him that you nearly lost it then. Then I flatten my ass as much as possible on your groin and slowly rotate it around your cock. You writhe with pleasure, trying to gasp out to Teach' how the increased skin-on-skin feeling is pushing you to the edge, how much you love it that I have turned the tables and I am running the show. I slowly lower myself toward you, gently running my fingers around your nips. As I reach your lips, I suddenly twist your nipples and you rise to me, biting my lower lip. We are both moaning. Your cum jets up my ass; I explain to teach how it heats up my channel, how it feels running down to where your cock enters me, how it tickles your balls and ass as your cum slowly runs over them. Suddenly we hear a muffled exclamation, and we see Teach's ass shoot up off the chair as he comes. I scoot up to your mouth and you cap my prick. Immediately I shoot off in your mouth, stifling a scream."
When we finished making love, Mr. Halsey, my bud suggested that he do a sketch of me to show you what a teacher in our scenario would see-at least in part. It took him half an hour to complete the sketch. We hope you liked it. We hope you used it to get off. Would you care to guess who the teacher in our scenario was?
Two friends of yours.
P.S. Oh yeah, we're going to have your ass too, Evan, and not in any imaginary scenario either!