Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories Organization: America Online, Inc. (1-800-827-6364) Lines: 395 Message-ID: 3m3ggg$b19@newsbf02.news.aol.com Reply-To: xfiction@aol.com (X Fiction) NNTP-Posting-Host: newsbf02.mail.aol.com
The following short story contains a graphic description of consensual sex between two males. If this subject matter offends you, then just DON'T read it.
"Literary Dreams" by Dan Vickery (with selections taken from Walt Whitman's "Leaves of Grass") Copyright 1995
Work was slow. Work was always slow. There wasn't much to do unless we had customers...and with the weather like it was, people just weren't interested in venturing outside. On a miserable day like that we'd usually just stand around and talk. You know, guy talk. David would tell dirty jokes, Tom would tell us how he wasn't getting any from his wife, and I would constantly remind them that if they had time to lean, they had time to clean!
This day was different though. We had a new employee who just finished training and was now in that shaky stage of trying to get a handle on everyone else. We had to be friendly and have fun, but also try not to offend his sensibilities (if he actually had any).
It's always the same topics. Where are you from? Where'd you go to school? Have you tried the new restaurant on 136th yet? Thank God for David and his silly streak. "Enough of this bullshit," he said, "hey Tom, who was your first serious crush?"
Tom's face reddened, as it always did when the topic was even remotely sexual. "Ah shit...why do I always have to go first?"
"Okay, okay. How about you, Kenneth? You're the rookie, spill it," David said with a glint in his eye.
Kenneth shifted from foot to foot, crinkled up his nose and put his hand to his chin. Obviously deep in thought, I laughed to myself. Then suddenly, "That's easy!!" We all looked at him in anticipation of this great tale. "I was in high school," he began, "and I had this English teacher..."
As soon as he said that, sweet (and spicy) memories from my own high school days in English class flooded my head. I'll never forget the first day of school my senior year, 1st period American Literature, room 112, Mr. McLean. Now I knew why the entire female population frantically tried to get their schedules changed to his class. He was tall, with wavy dark hair, and penetrating brown eyes. His body was tight, his features classically handsome, and an air of confidence that just fascinated me. I remember watching his lips move as he spoke, I remember the tingling feeling I got when I heard him read a passage from his notes about our first author of study aloud:
"Afternoon, this delicious Ninth Month, in my forty-
first year,
I proceed, for all who are, or have been, young
men,
To tell the secret of my nights and days,
To celebrate the need of comrades."
I had never been a very good student. Most of the time I'd rather sit in a quiet room, a room filled with my own dreams, than study. I always squeaked by with passing grades, and never gave school a thought after the final bell rang. Jeff McClean changed all that.
We sat at these long wooden tables with six chairs around them. Mr. McClean had a habit of sitting on the corner of the table in the back of the class. I noticed this on the first day, and made sure I got there early the next morning so I could take the seat nearest that corner.
Each period started with him sitting on the edge of my table, close enough for me to feel the heat radiating from his body, and reading something from the lesson plan:
"No longer abashed--for in this secluded spot I can
respond as I would not dare elsewhere,
Strong upon me the life that does not exhibit itself,
yet contains all the rest,
Resolved to sing no songs to-day but those of manly attachment,
Projecting them along the substantial life,
Bequeathing, hence, types of athletic love,"
Then the class would make a weak attempt at a group discussion. I say it was weak because most of the boys in the class could care less, and the girls were to busy drooling over Mr. McClean to pay attention to what he was reading. The words that fell from his lips fascinated me.
I sat in my seat and read and reread these passages over and over again. I saw so much more than the other students saw when they read them. "What's so interesting," I could feel Mr. McLean's words in the form of moist warm air brush past the side of my neck. His tie tickling my back as he leaned over me from behind, "The bell rang three minutes ago."
I jumped, startled, "I...I...I was just reading ahead a little." We were alone in the room.
Mr. McClean leaned closer, I could feel the heat in my body rising. If he got any closer, his chest would be pressed against my back and I remember thinking that I'd have to just die right there. He began to read:
"Or, if you will, thrusting me beneath your clothing,
Where I may feel the throbs of your heart, or rest
upon your hip,
Carry me when you go forth over land or sea;
For thus, merely touching you is enough--is best,
And thus, touching you, would I silently sleep and be
carried eternally."
"I don't think they understand it," I said.
Mr. McClean pulled out the chair beside me, and sat down. I could breathe again. "And you do?"
"It's...um...very...ah...erotic," I said.
"Yes, it is," he replied with his eyes locked onto mine, "Read to me."
The tension in the room was almost unbearable. I couldn't take my eyes from his, my palms were sweating, I could feel my face getting red. I was never a good reader, especially when I had to do it in front of other people. Just as I really started to panic, students for his 2nd period class started coming in. Mr. McClean stood up, squeezed my shoulder, "Maybe another time then," and left me to pick up my things.
This brief encounter was etched in my mind, and it was all I could think about. I couldn't decide if there was actually something there, something in the smile he gave me every time I walked into his class, or if I had just imagined the whole thing. It's certainly not the kind of thing you ask the guys about after gym class. I ended up going to the library when I knew he went there, I joined Literary Club that he ran at the school, and I even started doing my homework!
Similar exchanges went on for weeks. They gradually became less nerve-racking, and I felt more and more comfortable with, what I thought of as, 'our situation'. One Saturday night, after a day of drinking and partying I was feeling rather brave (not to mention horny), and decided that tonight was going to be the night. If there was something there between Mr. McClean and I, then I needed to know.
I found Mr. McClean's phone number in the book and dialed. With each ring I became more nervous. Finally, on the fourth ring a mixed feeling of relief, and disappointment washed over me as I heard his answering machine click on...
"Hi, this is Jeff. I can't come to the phone right now, but leave a quick message and your number, and I'll call you back."
Too nervous to speak, I hung up. Upset and disappointed at myself for not at least leaving a message, I picked up my English book and started reading. An idea! I quickly hit the redial button on the phone and waited for that magical beep that would begin my journey.
Beep.
"Hi, um, this is John, um, you know, from 1st period English? Anyway, I was just reading, well, and thinking. Shit, I wish I could start this over. Anyway, I wanted to read this to you, cause, well, you said I could sometime.
O YOU whom I often and silently come where you
are, that I may be with you,
As I walk by your side, or sit near, or remain in the
same room with you,
Little you know the subtle electric fire that for your
sake is playing within me."
The hairs on the nape of my neck stand up as I hear the sound of the phone being picked up. "John? You still there?"
"Oh, hi, yeah, I'm still here. I didn't think you were home..."
"That was an interesting passage you chose. I'd like to hear more. You want to go for a drive or something?"
"A drive? Sure."
"Great, I'll meet you in the parking lot of the library, okay?"
"See you in a few, Mr. McL...um...I mean Jeff."
I hung up the phone and raced to the library. Being 10:30 on Saturday night, the parking lot was deserted. I paced back and forth waiting for Jeff to show up. I had a million things racing through my mind about what the night had in store for me.
Just as I was getting completely lost in a fantasy, I saw Jeff's car pulling into the lot. He drove up to the curb and pushed the passenger side door open. I got in. We didn't talk much, he was obviously as nervous as I was. I watched him out of the corner of my eye, his profile highlighted by the passing street lights. He reached over and put his hand on my leg, slowly rubbing his thumb back and forth. "What do you say we go somewhere quiet," he asked.
"That'd be cool," I said, putting my hands in my lap, trying to hide my excitement.
We drove to a small, secluded parking lot by the beach. "Are you sure this is okay with you," he asked.
"Yeah, sure," I said and placed my hand on top of his.
He turned off the car and we sat looking at each other in silence for what seemed like hours. He was incredible. Finally he reached over and slowly started to unbutton my shirt. I watched his hands work on the buttons, brushing against the smooth skin of my chest. A shiver ran through my body at his touch. He traced my jaw with his finger, then my neck, then my lips. He leaned towards me and placed his lips where his fingers had been. Jaw, neck, lips. I spread my lips apart, welcoming him inside. Our tongues wrestled inside our mouths, and I began exploring his body with my hands.
Jeff pulled away from me and started working his mouth down my neck. I leaned my head back and let him bite and lick his way to my chest. He ran his tongue in circles over one of my nipples, sometimes flicking it back and forth, sometimes biting it and sending little electric shocks through my entire body. I looked down and watched him fumble with the buttons on my jeans, and ran my fingers through his hair.
Not wasting any time he reached inside and pulled my hard cock out of my pants. He spit in his hand and rubbed the saliva up and down my shaft. I moaned and wiggled around. He licked his tongue out, barely touching the head of my cock. I thrust my hips up trying to force my cock in between those lips, but he pulled away. He reached down and brought my balls out of my jeans. It was ecstasy, and torture. He licked and sucked on my balls while his hand stroked the shaft of my cock. Eery once in awhile he'd flick his tongue around the head just to tease. I couldn't take much more.
I grabbed the base of my cock and squeezed it hard. He let his lips surround the swollen head. I put my hands on the back of his head and pushed him slowly down the length of my cock. I could feel his warm, hot mouth engulfing every inch. He slowly bobbed his head up and down. The head of my cock scraped against the roof of his mouth, then popped into the back of his throat. I could feel his throat muscles constricting around my cock head. Then he'd pull his mouth off and plunge it all the way back on. I pushed his head down once more until he had my whole cock buried deep in his throat. He bit down on the base and slowly pulled off of me, scraping his teeth gently against my cock.
He looked up at me and kissed me again, pumping his hand up and down the length of my cock, twisting his fist around the head. I started to thrust my cock in and out of his fist. He pulled away from me and watched as his hand slid up and down, and my cock head poking up through the top of his fist with every thrust. He bent down again and took the head of my cock into his mouth. He took his hand away and sucked hard on my cock, pulling it all the way inside him. I thrust in and out of his throat and he sucked on my throbbing cock. With one final thrust, he squeezed my balls and I came hard down his throat. He slowly licked my cock from base to head and then sat up, almost as out of breath as I was.
I reached over to free his cock from the restraint of his pants, but he grabbed my hand and stopped me. "You don't have to," he said.
"Huh? But I want to..."
"No, let me just take you back to your car." And with that he had started the car and we were already backing out of the parking space.
At this point I was really confused. I didn't know what to say, so I just didn't say anything. Jeff seemed very agitated, I wanted to comfort him, but he no longer seemed like the person I thought I knew. He dropped me off at the library, and we never again had those tense moments that made me think we had 'a situation' or anything else. As a matter of fact, after that night, he stopped sitting on my table, and I stopped going to the Literary Club meetings.
Snapping out of my daydream, I heard David ask, "Okay John, it's your turn...who was your first crush?"
I glanced at my watch and said, "Sorry guys, time to close up...maybe you'll get to hear about my crush next time."
As I went through the motions of closing, I entered that daydream again. Remembering the day I met Mr. McClean's wife of 5 years, and 3 year old son at the homecoming game. In a way I was disappointed, in another way I was relieved. Meeting his family made me understand that strange night a little better.
I still think of him every so often. Especially when I flip through my senior yearbook and read what he wrote to me:
"And that night, while all was still, I heard the waters
roll slowly continually up the shores,
I heard the hissing rustle of the liquid and sands,
as directed to me, whispering, to congratulate
me,
For the one I love most lay sleeping by me under the
same cover in the cool night,
In the stillness, in the autumn moonbeams, his face
was inclined toward me,
And his arm lay lightly around my breast--And that
night I was happy."