Harrad High Sex Ed. One Week Before Christmas
Pt. 7
By
Timothy Stillman
(For P.J. who has been extraordinarily helpful in many aspects of these recent chapters; a huge section of this one was inspired by some of his brillant ideas--the flaws in the story are of course solely mine)
My, how time has flown. The snows have come and the final day of class ended today. A long Christmas and New Year's Break. And why am I so cheery? Because my homework is sitting right beside me in my cozy bedroom--I emphasize BEDroom--at my desk. His name is Jordi. And we are--pardon the expression--lovers. Well, I always knew my parents were as liberal as all get-out. They approved of Harrad, of course. As did Jordi's parents. But when one of us got our knock-kneed courage up to spill the beans--I was too nervous to realize which of us it was or to which parents the beans were so spilled first--but all four of them hugged us at different times and said that was great. My `rents said, "Hey, Jordi can spend break with you if you want, Timmy."
OMG. So my little space heater is toasting the room nicely. Jordi and I are sitting here naked as can be and we can be pretty darn naked, to tell you the truth. And we're studying the sex manu--sorry, the Sex Ed. Text book, and reflecting on the whole half term so far--and of course we are manipulating our penises like flicking a Bic, unconsciously, sometimes and we kiss now and again. Our legs touch and we look occasionally out of my window, to watch in back yard lights and street lights and lights from houses next door, that big ass huge snow fall, tumbling down making everything out there look like Sugar Town.
We have cocoa in front of us. "I even like the word, cocoa" from a TV ad. We don't walk along the beaches however. We have none. We walk in the snow a lot. It's been a crisp cold leaf brown and gold crackle of an Autumn. Truly a stained glass window of a season. And a to-die-for Winter of all Winters. God, I love you.
We're talking now about Sex Ed. What else? And about wondering what happened to Bobby. After his bomb shell on the sixth day of class, long long ago, which might have been the second or third month of class-time expands and contracts differently here somehow--that he had had sex with his brother. Mr. Morgan asked him to stay after. And that was the last we saw of Bobby. Some of us asked Matthew, who you may recall was getting rather chummy with Bobby in class, but Matthew wouldn't talk about it and had begun to sit in the back row, having pushed his chair to the back wall as far as he could go, being glum and not participating in anything.
We tried. But no go slow mo. We couldn't call Bobby at home. We didn't dare. We never saw him or his family--not that we'd recognize any persons in his family---again.
We lay off.
Mr. Morgan wouldn't talk about it. Not that we asked. He told us once that Bobby was okay, but wouldn't be coming back. And added--he and others had tried to convince him otherwise---just know, he reiterated, Bobby was okay. We sure hope so.
Then the awesome topic came up:
Video cameras. And what homework assignments they proved to be the golden doorway to. A neat idea. Mr. Morgan mid-October or so, hard to say when, brought a basket load of video cameras to class one morning and told us we were going to have some after school projects to do. We were sitting there naked of course, as he passed out the video cameras to those who didn't already have one.
He said, once every class period for five consecutive days, a pair of us, he didn't care who, would pretend we were on a date--the date didn't have to be real-we could play it any way we wanted it--we could pretend one of us was a girl and one a boy or any way at all.
He told us the girls would enter our class soon. And he would not be our teacher anymore. Well that was quite a kick in the boy beanery. We audibly gasped at that. Someone asked, What? He said this was one of the objectives of the class--to get us ready for interacting with girls as well as boys--that, and he explained this most carefully, with the same sex, actually in emotions and thoughts and feelings, well, it's similar--and if we were used to doing sex stuff with boys, then maybe it would be easier for all of us, both sexes, to really "relate" to each other; not use each other as sex objects; not to see all boys are the same, therefore all girls must be too. He would be a reminder of the past.
We needed to get on with the present and especially the future. So by the end of January, he would be no more. We asked who the new teacher would be. He said, wait and see.
We got pretty lost on this philosophy of the course he was talking about. That in this class, we see we too have emotions. We can be made happy and sad and confused and sexually turned on in at least some one way by this, even the heterosexuals. So you won't lord it over girls like you are the Lords of the Universe who have no need of feelings. To see that you too are as fragile and as breakable and as tender and as full of the need for love and understanding and passion and commitment as they. He said it would become clearer. Again, though, my mind was on Mr. Morgan leaving. What would we do without him?
"Mr. Morgan, please don't go," and Jordi put his head on my shoulder now in my room and I stroked his beautiful hair and played with his tits which got hard, as he held closer to me, his penis hardening more, and us now in bed, under quilts, sixty nining each other and taking each other's cum in our mouths, like water from the Fountain of Youth Ponce De Leon washed out on, but we didn't. I tongued Jordi's balls for a while, and Jordi kissed mine, making them feel like melted butter. And we then lay, crooked in each others arms in my bed, and watched the snow sift downward.
Mr. Morgan had gotten two of us to try out the first date in class. It was Albert and Jordi who raised their hands to volunteer first, neither knowing the other would raise their hand in concurrence. So that was embarrassing. Jordi and Albert very reluctantly came to the front of the room. Mr. Morgan told someone to go first and the other to follow their lead. Jordi and Albert looked somewhat alike, and though Albert had a gamin look to him, it was sort of a flat, worn down, watery kind of look that made me feel very--I don't know--unpleasant,, if I looked at him for more than a few seconds.
Jordi was the lovely form and face that Albert just missed out on. Albert looked a laugh down at me. And Jordi smiled at me wryly, like he was saying, "Well, here's another fine mess I've gotten myself into." I smiled back just as wryly. I guess. That was how Jordi described it. I'm not sure what wryly means. But it sounds right at least. He also, very snootily, I might add, explained to stupido me, what Mr. Morgan said about the purpose of the class and where it was headed. Jord-Mr. Big D--bastard. Put heart here.
Jordi and I were holding each other and then he was on top of me and he felt and smelled warm as baked bread, Jordi style. We laughed and remembered how Albert sat his naked rear on Mr. Morgan's desk, and patted the place for Jordi to sit too. Pretending to drive a car, Albert said, "My clothes okay for you?" Jordi, falsetto voice, responded, "I couldn't care less. Mine okay for you?" Albert said then, lowering his voice an octave, "Don't give a damn. Wanna go by the Dairy Queen?" "What? She's up for sale? What's the asking price?" So what it evolved of devolved, Jordi said, into was Albert telling Jordi he was ditching her for another babe. And Jordi saying, "Can you drive faster? There's this rerun of `Dukes of Hazzard I'm dying to see. Boss Hogg is just-well I can't get enough of Sorrel Booke destroying his actor rep. But getting hopefully a lot of money for selling out."
"Yackety yackety," saith Albert. Then, "can we go to the park?" "Why for?" asked Albert."Well, you're ditching me--this is the first date I've been on with you so there's no relationship to be ditching. Man, you men. Always so goddam selfish. Let me out here. I'll walk home."
"Look, the park has magically appeared," saith Albert. "Let's fuck." Jordi doubled his fist and slammed Albert with an upper right cut that knocked the boy totally off the desk and onto the floor, leaving him rubbing his jaw and the back of his head where he had come down hard. We were stunned to say the least. Then Jordi jumped down from the desk, his dick giving a wild throb bob, and his balls and it were so cute, as he leaned over Albert who didn't know quite what country he was in at the moment and subject to change at any time, pulled Albert on his back and grabbed his detumsecent dick.
Jordi said, discarding the falsetto voice, for which we were all truly grateful, "hey, Ace. It's a dick. That's all it is. A piece of gristle. Lots of em around. We were wrong about Ralph, but you really are like that in your own way--think about it, Albert, and stop hurting people with your victim tude that is a pretty thinly made cover for being spoiled and arrogant and sometimes just flat out mean. As we just saw in our little play. Now get up on your hands and knees, for I am going to fuck you."
My heart lept at the words and especially at Jordi knocking him silly, but then I heard the last words and my heart sank. Oh god, Jordi's gonna fuck Albert. I began feeling my stomach heave.
Those final words brought Albert around too. He started fish floundering and trying to butt scoot away. His eyes widened. Jordi said it again, stopping him with hands on Albert's shoulders, determined. "I want you to know what it feels like. I really really want you to know. You've been asking for it for one helluva long time, so get up on your hands and knees and I am going to stick my dick up your sorry ass and you'll be walking crooked for a month."
Albert turned a fearful face to Mr. Morgan, who smiled, and said, "Cut. Print. Kind of got out of--hand-didn't it, Albert?" Then he walked back to the front of the room.
Jordi, out of breath, and Albert scared to death--rhyme's free--both still in their suddenly assumed acting roles that weren't acting, and kind of cloud stumbled back to their chairs.
Jordi kissed my navel now, in bed, and I kissed his and we were warm together in my warm room keeping us safe and secure from the cold night air. And now we stopped talking desultorily and lay for a while, getting sleepy.
It was a Christmasy kind of sleepy feeling I think only kids get. The tree was in the living room. A big beautiful green tree with stars and glittery ornaments. An angel on top. Presents for all of us underneath wrapped gaily in Sunday newspaper comic strip pages. All sorts of hidden, interesting shapes and sizes. I would not tell Jordi, no matter how much he tickled me (I didn't let him know I liked being tickled--Jordi knew though) and he wouldn't tell me even if I told him, unless he did, I'd never blow him till after Christmas day, when he would have to come clean. Jordi laughed. Yeah, laugh clown laugh. Oh hell, okay, after this blow job, no more `till you tell me what you got me for...."
Christmas cards on the mantle. Warm fire in the hearth in the living room. Large house full of interesting shadows and corners to search in, play hide and seek in, kiss and never tell, attic rooms to roam around in, tons of books and comic books and the complete set of all the Famous Monsters of Filmland, movies on DVD galore, and outside cold and diamond snow glisten, me and Jordi walking hand in mittened hand, holding each other all the way, so we would not slip on the ice.
And We Never Did Not One Single Time