by kev_bot
buzzbooks217 @ yahoo.com
9/2003
XXX
How does something step out of your fantasies and into real life like this?
Two weeks since it began, two weeks to the day. Mr. Moore stood at the front of the class, orating about orators. Every word he spoke was music. Every time he made a point, or got the class buzzing with some new discussion, Dennis felt a flush of admiration and pride. And every time Mr. Moore looked at him, huddled by his computer at the back of the classroom, Dennis’s heart would skip.
After all these years, he thought, with me playing the stud-wannabe and Arvid playing the hopeless romantic, who would have thought that this would be me thinking like this? He grinned inwardly while scribbling down everything Mr. Moore had to say.
Love! Who would have thought he, Dennis Blunden, would be in love? All those late nights, cramming with Arvid and talking about girls he didn’t really want. Then, when Arvid would leave, up to his room in the dark, vague thoughts of his gym coach or of Starsky and Hutch on TV, vague, shameful thoughts he kept hidden, must keep hidden.
Then his old history teacher, Mr. Thomas, got sick, and Mr. Moore came in to sub. Just for a few weeks, Dr. Samuels told them. Just for a few weeks? Dennis had screamed inside, carefully maintaining his jaded demeanor. Just for a few WEEKS?
The second Mr. Moore had stepped through the door and assumed position as the leader of the IHP, Dennis had been able to finally put a face with his feelings. Here was a man of radical authority, a man who stood up for what he believed in and who didn’t take crap from anybody. The kind of man Dennis pretended to be. The kind of man he wished he was himself. It had been that authority, that assured authority, that had attracted Dennis in the first place.
But then something different had happened. Pure admiration began slowly slipping … into something considerably more upsetting. When? When had that begun?
“When Mr. Thomas came back,” Dennis muttered. Arvid turned over to him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Arvid shook his head and turned back to look at Mr. Moore. Dennis, left deep in his thoughts, plucked the moment from the past. Mr. Thomas had come back, and for a whole week, it seemed that he’d be back for good. Dennis had been paralyzed at the thought: Mr. Thomas had been a great teacher, but Mr. Moore was … special.
These thoughts had accompanied him to bed that night, and in bed, that was the word that came haunting: special. Dennis had closed his eyes and pictured Mr. Moore in his head. Those lively, yet stoic eyes. Authority, but authority that listened. And suddenly, without provocation, Dennis had imagined Mr. Moore with his shirt off.
His eyes had opened and gazed deep into the dark. One betraying hand had crept down to his dick, and found it stiff. Licking his lips, Dennis felt his eyes slip closed again, and found himself capturing that still-shot of Mr. Moore half-naked while he jacked his penis as quickly as he could. And when he shot, thick streams over his enormous belly, he knew everything. For the first time, for the first real time in his life, Dennis Blunden knew lust. For the first time, Dennis Blunden knew love.
* * *
And now, three hours after class and wrapped in the warm blankets of Mr. Moore’s bed, the object of that lust and love rolled over and smiled at Dennis with lazy eyes.
“Getting late, kiddo,” he said. “Don’t you have to get home?”
“My Mom’s working late tonight,” Dennis answered. “I could stay another hour.”
“Another hour’s good,” Mr. Moore said, and kissed Dennis lightly on the lips. That same thrill shot through Dennis’s body like lightning, as he supposed it always would.
“Can I ask you something, Mr. Moore?”
“Go ahead.”
Dennis hesitated, then asked, “Do you remember when … when you first started liking me? I mean this way liking me.”
Mr. Moore smiled and casually rolled on top of Dennis. Mr. Moore was older and maybe stronger, but Dennis outweighed him by a good hundred pounds, and easily held his weight. His eyes, his lips: so close. Dennis could feel his breath on his chin. Stomach to stomach. Crotch to crotch. Dennis felt his own begin to swell again.
“I always liked you this way,” Mr. Moore said. “The second I stepped into the classroom and saw you sitting at the back. You looked so alone.”
“I was so alone.”
“But it’s confusing. Teacher, student, student, teacher. I’ve never thought that way about a student before, and it scared me to think I was doing it now.”
“You were scared?”
“Of course I was. Dennis, they send people to jail for stuff like this.” Then Mr. Moore smiled. “You know what pushed me over the top, though? Made me not care about being scared?”
“What?”
“That music video we made. You in the baseball uniform. God, Dennis, you nearly gave me a heart attack that day.”
Dennis flushed and smiled himself. He remembered that day, too: Mr. Moore wearing those dark sunglasses. Absolutely beautiful.
“I’d like to try something, Dennis, if you don’t mind.” Mr. Moore pushed up on either side of him and struggled to a sitting position. At once, Dennis missed the shared heat on his stomach and chest. Suddenly, the air felt too cold against his skin.
“Try what?”
In lieu of an answer, Mr. Moore reached behind himself and grabbed the shaft of Dennis’s dick. That shiver like lightning, like a tornado ripping his insides apart in the best way, bolted through him again. Mr. Moore shifted … arched his legs … and then Dennis felt warm skin touch the head of his dick.
“Mr. Moore?” Dennis gasped, trying to look up, not wanting to move.
“I want you, Dennis,” Mr. Moore said, his own dick shooting up from his thicket of pubic hair, precum dripping delicately onto Dennis’s abundant belly. “I want you … inside of me.”
Dennis’s breathing hiked up, became rapid. “Inside? Mr. Moore, do you think that’s such a great… Ohhh.”
Mr. Moore’s eyes never left Dennis’s. Slowly, so slowly, he let his legs relax. Sunk down. So slowly, and inch by inch, Dennis felt his penis enveloped in soft, pleasant warmth.
“Oh, Mr. Moore…”
“Charlie,” Mr. Moore whispered huskily.
“Charlie. Oh, Charlie. Oh, God.”
Dennis closed his eyes, letting sensation rather than sight guide him. As gently as possible, he raised his hips, and slid into Mr. Moore even deeper. His teacher let out a shuddering gasp.
“Did I hurt you?” Dennis asked, not opening his eyes, not believing this was even happen, that this could happen, how does something step out of your fantasies and into real life like this? It happened on Star Trek all the time but not in real life, especially not to nerds like him. But…
“No, Dennis. Oh, no, you feel great.”
Now Mr. Moore was rocking, up and down, slowly, rhythmically. Mere moments had passed before Dennis began feeling the surge in his balls. It’s too soon, he thought frentically. No, it’s too soon.
“Easy Dennis. Keep going. Let it happen.” When they were this close, Mr. Moore could almost read his mind. Dennis had slowed down, trying to prolong this amazing sensation for as long as possible. Now, going by instinct alone, he sped up. His dick thrust into Mr. Moore’s ass harder, filling him, then pulling out only to immediately slam back up. Mr. Moore moaned, and without opening his eyes, Dennis knew that his teacher was jacking off with the same furious intensity.
I am fucking my teacher, Dennis thought in between thrusts. I am fucking him hard, and he loves it. I am fucking Mr. Moore, the man I love. Oh God. Oh GOD…
“Open your eyes, Dennis,” Mr. Moore said, and there was no arguing with that authority. Dennis’s eyes flew open and there he was, the most beautiful man in the world, riding Dennis’s dick and masturbating. That was all it took. One more thrust and he was spurting, shooting, filling Mr. Moore with his hot, young semen. A split-second later, Mr. Moore was shooting as well, spraying thick white gobs across Dennis’s flesh.
“I love you, too,” he heard Mr. Moore say. “Dennis Blunden, I love you, too.”
And then, heaving with exhaustion, he collapsed to Dennis’s chest. Dennis felt his dick slide out of Mr. Moore’s ass and felt sorry for the loss. I love you, too, that’s what he had said. Dennis Blunden, I love you, too.
With shaky arms, Dennis reached up and encircled Mr. Moore, holding him tight against his body. In that delicious shared warmth, they drifted off in each other’s arms.