Rules are rules, and have to be obeyed, even when they're not really
that sensible. That was the view of Gordon Webber, headmaster of
Hillview, and my boss. Gordon was a stickler for rules, following them
even when it seemed utterly pointless to do so. His attitude had
stemmed from a childhood spent among institutions such as our very own
Hillview, and that will either make you a rebel or a sheep, and Gordon
baa'd like the best of them.
It was for this reason that I found myself in the school dark room
(this was back the days of 'real' photography) with Mike Summers, one
of our art teachers, and fourteen twelve and thirteen year olds, four
greater than the maximum allowed for one teacher in the dark room. That
the place could hold fourteen kids and two teachers was a miracle in
itself, but necessity had forced our hand - two separate fire alarms
had meant that three lessons' worth had to be crammed into one session,
or the boys would miss out on vital information.
To be brutally honest, there are nicer places to be than an enclosed
space with that many young boys - the only saving grace was that the
smell of the photo processing chemicals soon overpowered the
interesting aroma of the boys. There were fringe benefits for a pair
boylovers, too, though I knew for certain that Mike's interest lay in
older pupils - having your own developing lab leads to all sorts of
pleasant situations for a keen amateur photographer, and I'd seen
evidence that Mike took full advantage of the situation with some of
the fourth and fifth formers. But for me, the class in front of me was
perfect.
One boy in particular stood out from the others, and not simply because
he happened to be the boy directly in front of me at that moment.
Tomasz Radzic was of mixed Czech and Norwegian parentage, though he'd
lived his whole life in the UK. He was willow thin and achingly pretty,
and had shown no sign yet that puberty was close to destroying his
clear-skinned beauty. He had the pale skin of a true Nordic blonde, and
blue eyes to match, and I wondered if his archetypal Slavic father had
donated a single gene to his make-up. I'd met Milan Radzic on a number
of occasions, and though he was a handsome man there was nothing of his
appearance in his son, who was much more elfin.
It's fair to say that of all the boys in that particular class, Tomasz
was my favourite. Another teacher had told me that Tomasz had flirted
with him on occasion in order to get a poor grade re-evaluated, and
indeed when I had recently given him only a C+ for an essay he had
informed me, with a smirk on his lips, that he would do anything to get
a better mark. When I'd raised my eyebrows in response, he'd smiled and
walked from the room. He knew full well what he was doing, and that
only made me want him more.
Since then I'd not taught him, but here he was in front of me in the
darkness. Though the dim red light barely reached us at the back of the
room, I could still recognise him, his almost white blonde hair shaded
pink by the lights. At one point he turned round to look at me, though
I couldn't discern his expression in the gloom. A few moments later he
glanced around again, and then, with his eyes facing the front of the
class he shuffled backward until his back came into contact with my
chest and stomach. I enjoyed the warm contact, and thanked god for the
dark, confined space in which we found ourselves.
He began to rock ever so gently from side to side, and the pressure of
his back below my waistline had exactly the effect you might imagine.
My heart raced as he rubbed up against my now engorged shaft, the
gentle pressure at its tip almost more than I could cope with. He moved
away fractionally and a hand snaked up behind his back to tug at my
zipper. Eagerly I helped him pull it down, and felt a hot little hand
make its way into my pants and pull me about half way free of my cotton
confines. He turned slightly sideways on, head still resolutely facing
forwards, and I felt a gentle up and down motion beginning, sliding my
foreskin back and forth over the head.
As the tension built within me I began to double over slightly, having
to hold the nearby frame of the door to remain upright. I was fearful
that when I did reach my inevitable peak, in the not too distant
future, I would coat both Tomasz and the boys near him. I tried to lay
a hand on his to slow him down before the inevitable, but he would have
nothing of it, pushing my hand away with his other, and intensifying
the speed. I gave in to the sensations, aware that there was nothing I
could do to forestall my orgasm.
Just as the peak approached he turned even further sideways on and
somehow unnoticed in the crush of his classmates, bent at the waist and
dropped his mouth over the head of my penis, instantly applying the
kind of suction which spoke of serious practice. Only half of my modest
manhood fitted his hot little mouth, and I desperately fought the urge
to groan as his skilful tongue wormed its way inside my foreskin to
rasp against the sensitive underside of its head. With a gut-wrenching
spasm I reached my goal. He pulled back, suckling on the very tip like
a nipple, eagerly letting his mouth fill until, with no more to come, I
felt and heard him swallow.
When the lights came on at the end of the lesson, I smiled to myself at
the sight of his cheeks, flushed from being bent double, and his
glistening red lips.