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Remember, this story is fiction. The author does not recommend you try this stuff at home (Unless you absolutely must)
My Student Writes A Porn Story. C-2
After I finished reading, grading, and writing that comment on Foster's paper, I needed another beer. I placed his paper in the middle of the stack of student writing and went to gran one. I felt beads of sweat on my forehead. I also felt my hardness pushing at the front of my jeans.
Returning with my beer, I opened my pants to gain relief before I sat. I stared at the papers, my mind not knowing what I should do next. I could still lose Foster's paper, though that would be a dick move. If he met me after class as I had asked him to, what would I say to him? What could I say now that I knew what he desired?
"Shit," I thought. "That kid desires me. He wants me. His paper was a way to tell me that."
I needed time to plan. I wished my brother was here. I could always ask Hudson. He listened and told me like he saw it.
I wondered how he was doing up at the University of Michigan. He probably was gearing up to play Summer ball for some wood bat league. These leagues used college players to fill their rosters. Hudson was a scholarship player, and he hoped to play major league baseball someday. He confided in me that his goal was to be drafted by the Detroit Tigers.
Hudson was nineteen. Oh, my god. Hudson was the same age as Foster. I really needed Hudson's advice. Hudson defended me when dad found me kissing Jimmy Williams in our garage. Dad went ballistic. Hudson heard dad's rants about me being queer. Those were dad's words. My brother, twelve at the time, told dad to. "Shut your face. You don't talk to my brother like that." Then my brother added, "If you can't accept Parker as he is, I'm calling grandpa to ask if we can move in with him."
I remember how angry Hudson looked, his hands on his hips, his face red, glaring at my father. Hudson took no crap from anyone and would fight if needed at the drop of a hat.
I remember dad's words. "Now I have two queers for sons."
Hudson flipped my dad the middle finger and launched at him, fists ready. I stopped Hudson before he hit our dad, but for a twelve-year-old, Hudson was hard to contain. Dad sent us to our room without dinner.
Hudson's parting words were, "That's child abuse."
If things were not serious, I would have laughed at what Hudson yelled.
We shared a bedroom, though we had our own beds. We wanted it this way ever since mom died from complications of some disease called Lupus, a disease where the body's immune system recognizes its own organs as invaders and tries to shut them down. Dad was devastated and turned to his boys in his time of grief. We grieved as well. The three of us became closer. Now, I feared his love had ended.
Hudson lay on his bed with a smile on his face. "Jimmy Williams, huh?"
I smiled, seeing the humor in Hudson's eyes. "Yeah."
"He's a dick, bro. You could do way better."
"You offering?"
"Not me. Girls are my thing. Take all the guys you want, pull them out of competition with me." Then Hudson's tone turned serious. "I know about this gay stuff. I tried it with a couple of friends last fall. We just messed around. Not my thing. You are my brother and if you like the guys, I'll be your wingman."
Hudson saying that sobered me. "Thanks, bro. You went kinda ballistic on dad down there."
"No one, not dad or any dirtbag better mess with you Parker. I love you too much to see you put down for who you want to love."
Even at twelve, my brother was not one to mess with. He was a muscular guy physically, a jock. He used his strength to protect those weaker who got bullied. Emotionally, Hudson was compassionate.
"Some girl will be lucky to get you, Hudson." I said these words as tears filled my eyes.
I shook my brain, returning to the present. Hudson would give me advice. One time when I was in college, he visited and stayed in my dorm room. He let me know the guy I lusted after tried to feel him up and I should look elsewhere. He always called things as he saw them. One thing I knew. Hudson totally loved me and I loved him. No brothers were closer. Dad backed down and eventually came around, all because of Hudson.
I reached for my cell and called.
"Hey, bro. What's up?" Hudson asked.
We got the usual, "How are you doing stuff," out of the way before I launched into my situation.
Hudson said nothing as I related what Foster did in class and about what he wrote.
"How does that make you feel?" Hudson asked.
I hesitated. "He is only nineteen and a student."
Hudson did not speak for a minute. Then, "Wow, my big bro likes to rob the cradle. You like the young meat?"
"Get serious, Hudson. This could be an issue. Besides, he is your age."
"You get serious, Parker. He is four years younger than you. No biggie. Besides, nineteen is an adult these days. You can even marry the guy. What's his name?"
"Parker. No one said anything about marriage."
"You totally want to marry him."
"I don't even know him, other than as a student."
"So ask him to meet you for coffee. If anyone asks, you were explaining English crap to him."
"English isn't crap, jockhead. Do you use your brain for anything other than something on which to hang a baseball cap?"
"Seriously, bro. Talk to him. Keep it light, as you would with any student. Meet in the library to help him study or whatever teachers do when students need help."
"Thanks, bro," I said. We talked about his Summer plans. He told me he had a contract to play with a college team in Traverse City, the Pit Spitters. He signed on as a closer. I knew that was a tough position for a pitcher. Often you came in to pitch with bases loaded, no one out, your team up by one, and this was the ninth inning. Shut them down and your team won. That fit my steel driving brother. Heart of gold. Balls of steel. We said goodbye with me promising to keep him informed.
I sat planning what I would say to Foster the next day before heading to bed.
I usually returned papers at the start of class to give students time to read my comments and ask questions if they needed. I placed Foster's paper upside down on his desk without eye contact or comment. As I returned to my desk, I could feel his stare. The rest of the class went as usual. Soon the bell rang. Foster waited for most of the kids to leave before approaching my desk.
He stood there waiting, not talking. I broke the silence. "Quite a topic you chose."
"Yeah."
"Want to tell me why, that topic?"
"It's what I wanted to write about."
"Yeah, that still does not answer my question."
Foster looked around to be sure the room was empty.
"I wrote about my feelings for you. Are you so dense that you don't realize I have feelings for you? Tell me you don't feel the same for me."
"I have another class in a couple of minutes. I'll give you a pass."
"Screw your pass. Answer me. Do you like me?" His voice was low, but it was intense.
I wrote a pass for Foster to get into his next class. As I handed it to him, I held his gaze. "I do like you like that. Meet me after school in the library. We have a few things to go over. Bring your Lit. book."
I had said I had feelings for Foster. I sensed I had begun a journey whose outcome was yet to be determined. I knew there were troubles if we were not careful.
The end of day routine took time. When I entered the library, Foster sat at a desk out of the way. The librarian was preparing to shut down. "Mr. McNeal said he had asked to meet you to go over some literature issues he had. Be sure the door shuts when you leave, Parker."
I nodded, then walked to where Foster sat looking at me. He looked so cute. So help me, I wanted him.
I sat. We stared. Finally he said. "Thanks."
"This can't go anywhere, you know."
"Not yet. Until I graduate, we are teacher and student. We can be friendly, right?"
"Right." I paused. "You write well. Good grammar and syntax, spelling and punctuation."
"Screw that. What about the content? How did you react to my content?"
I kinda laughed. "Pretty much as you might think I did."
He narrowed his eyes. "Did you get hard? I bet you did. What else did you do? Did you rub yourself?" Parker licked his lips. "I think you did. Did you dream of me, of us together while you were doing it? Did you think of the stuff we could do to each other, with each other? Did you moan my name as you released? I know you did. I bet you came strong. I thought of you last night. I rubbed out a good one, thinking of you. One of my best."
This kid had no filter. "You watch too much porn."
He laughed. "Maybe I do. I bet you watch it too, don't you?" He saw my reaction and laughed. "Oh baby, you do. I want to watch some with you. We could do it at my apartment. No one would know. We would be on my couch, next to each other. Nothing between us. We would be without our clothes."
I stopped him with a wave of my hand. "Parker, I admit I like you like that. It's just not happening, not now."
"I'm a legal adult. Yeah, I know about the student teacher part. No one would know."
"I'd know and so would you. If, and that's a major if, we are to have anything between us, we can't start on a lie. Give us time."
He stared at me. "Okay, teach. For now, we wait. I'm okay waiting. Just know that I will up my game during class. I want to see your reaction. I bet I can make you release in your pants in from of the entire class."
"You are a little shit," I teased. Then I said, "What if you happened to be at the sweet shop, say at noon Saturday and you just happened to see me there and you sat and we talked, student and teacher, just talked?"
He grinned. "I like how you think teach. It's a date. Our first date. See you Saturday. Course you get to watch me during class. We might talk about your reaction to what you see when we meet for our date, Saturday."
Parker blew me a kiss as he rose. He grinned like he had won a prize. Then the little shit strutted for the door.
***Every so often, a reader gives me an idea for a story. The idea for this one came from Jeffery B. Maybe he or someone else can suggest further escapades for Foster and his teacher. The idea of Parker's brother came from Jeffrey B.
Comments and suggestions at: acgib1943@protonmail.com.
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