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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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WARNING!
This text file contains sexually explicit
material. If you do not wish to read this
type of literature, or you are under age,
PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!!
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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2012. Please
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Mr. Gilling and Me
by Dean Rogers Fuller (deanrogersfuller@aol.com)
***
A sexually maturing small town teenager gets a major
surprise from an old teacher. (Mm, 1st-gay-expr, oral)
***
I was born and raised in a small, conservative, and
somewhat isolated agricultural town. The great changes
that were taking place in American society during the
late 1960's and early 70's apparently bypassed our
community, or at least it appeared so on the surface.
The subject of homosexuality was almost never discussed,
and on the rare occasion when it did come up, people at
one extreme thought queers should either be shot or
locked up, while the more compassionate viewed
homosexuals as mentally ill and in need of "help."
Occasionally there would be a newspaper story about an
event in some far-off place like New York City or San
Francisco, but as far as most people were concerned it
might as well have been on another planet.
This was the world where I lived, but especially as I
got older and entered puberty I sensed I was different
from most of the other guys, though it was a rather
vague feeling. I knew that I liked to see naked guys,
and the chance to do so was the only good thing about
Junior High PE class, in which I really sucked (mostly
due to very bad eyes), and consequently detested. There
was actually one other good thing about the class which
happened to be the teacher, Mr. Gilling, who was also my
math teacher.
He stood about six feet tall, had dark hair on rather
light skin, broad shoulders, and was quite handsome. I
hadn't yet progressed far enough in my own sexual
journey to judge when a man was sexy, but I was
beginning to get an idea. If I recall correctly he had
to contend with more than one case of "schoolgirl
crush," which at least indicated that I wasn't the only
student who found him attractive. He was married and had
one child. He probably wasn't older than his late
twenties, but of course to a Junior High student, that
seemed to be an impossibly far-off age.
Despite the fact that I hated PE, Mr. Gilling knew that
I could be depended on, so one afternoon he sent me on
an errand to another part of the big, rambling school
building, and I was more than happy to get away from the
usual P.E. activities. I can't actually remember what he
wanted, but I do know that I needed keys to do it. When
I came back from my errand I headed towards the coaches'
office to return Mr. Gilling's keys. The office was
located at one end of the long, narrow locker room, and
was glassed in. It also featured a private shower for
the use of coaches and other faculty. Little did I know
that I was about to have one of the defining moments of
my very young life.
Mr. Gilling had just stepped out of the private shower
area and was standing in the middle of the office, stark
naked except for a towel he was holding in one hand
without covering much of anything. He almost took my
breath away, and I'm sure that I stared, but not at his
face, as I handed him the key case. As I've already
mentioned he had rather fair skin, but dark hair, and
the combination was stunning.
Hair fanned out across his upper chest, then narrowed to
a trail about five inches wide down his stomach and into
a jungle-like pubic bush. The same color hair covered
his legs, but wasn't as heavy as it was on his chest. He
had big pink nipples, and his cock and balls seemed
enormous, hanging very low. Mr. Gilling was in good
shape, but remember that this was a time when not even
professional athletes were expected to have the kind of
mostly-for-show muscle definition they do today. He was
filled out and trim, but not a bodybuilder.
I couldn't think of any further reason to linger in the
office area, so I changed into my street clothes and
left for my next class. However, from that point onward
I was constantly on the lookout for any chance to get a
glimpse of Mr. Gilling without clothes. I think I only
managed to do so twice, and neither time did I get as
close of a look as the first time. This was probably the
point in my life that my appreciation for hairy guys
first defined and asserted itself.
At the time I'd managed to grow a fringe of hair on my
pubes, and had only recently discovered the pleasures of
jacking off. My memories of handsome, hairy, and naked
Mr. Gilling enhanced my jackoff sessions for a very long
time, though in a rather undefined way.
As anyone reading this has probably figured out by now,
I was completely hopeless at any sport, but I did
volunteer to be team "manager" for the junior high
basketball team. This meant that I took care of the
balls, towels, first aid equipment, team roster, and
most anything else up to just short of actually playing
basketball. It also meant spending more time around Mr.
Gilling, though the team practiced in a smaller, older
gym that had no facilities for coaches, so there was no
chance of getting a look at him in the buff.
However, there were some compensations. I didn't need a
reason to wander in and out of the shower rooms, though
I still had to be discreet in looking around. Though
they couldn't compare with Mr. Gilling, at least a few
of the guys on the team were showing promise. One guy in
particular named Duane was very hot-- young muscular
body, wavy brown hair, gorgeous eyes, and probably the
hairiest pits and thickest bush on the entire team.
Another guy, Tom, already had a hairy chest and
additionally was the only Non-Hispanic on the team with
an uncut cock. Most others now had pubic bushes of
varying thicknesses and colors.
As I've already mentioned, this meant spending more time
with or at least around Mr. Gilling. Even though it was
a small town and distances were very short, he always
gave me a ride home after practices in the old Jeep
pickup truck he usually drove. This may have been
because we only lived a few blocks apart, or it may have
been for other reasons I did not yet have an inkling of.
Time moved on, and I finished Junior High and moved on
to High School, though the two schools were at opposite
ends of the same sprawling building. I took an after-
school job, and heard that Mr. Gilling had left town,
but I didn't know where he went. It really didn't matter
where; I had no legitimate reason for any further
contact with him. I still hated PE but now had the
occasional glimpse of a naked senior, many of whom
seemed like fully grown men to my young teen eyes. One
in particular was almost as hairy as Mr. Gilling, so I
had one more mental image during my late-night j/o
sessions.
And so a couple or three years passed. I managed to grow
a good-sized and rather thick bush around my average-
sized cock, had hair starting to grow on my legs, ass,
around my nipples, and I was shaving my face every other
day. My body began to fill out, and long bike rides on
country roads plus many hours working in an onion
packing shed had taken some of the boyish look off of my
body.
Furthermore, at the beginning of a certain summer I
experienced one of the major rites of passage for most
teenagers; I got my driver's license. Early one summer
afternoon I was driving down the street where Mr.
Gilling used to live when I noticed a familiar old dark
green Jeep pickup truck parked in front of the house. I
had to stop at an intersection, and while waiting for
the cross traffic to pass, I spotted him walking up to
the truck carrying two big plastic buckets. What really
got my blood pumping was the fact that he was wearing
just a pair of athletic shorts with no shirt, and as far
as I could tell, looked better than ever.
As my heart rate just about doubled and my cock twitched
in my cutoffs, I watched him dump the buckets into the
truck bed. I decided to at least say hello, and pulled
over about ten feet behind the truck. He looked up with
a puzzled expression on his handsome face, but
recognized me and smiled when I stepped out of my car.
As I approached, he stepped towards me to shake hands.
He immediately apologized for his dirty hands, but I
said it didn't matter to me as I stared directly at his
big, pink nipples surrounded by that pelt of dark hair..
When I asked what he was doing, he explained that he'd
been re-hired at my old school, and he and his wife
still owned the house, which had been rented out during
their absence. The tenants hadn't been much good at
upkeep, and he was now in the process of cleaning out
the plugged and overflowing rain gutters.
It was rather slow-going, as he had to climb the ladder
with a bucket in one hand, fill it with rotting leaves
and muck, climb down the ladder, get the other bucket,
climb back up, fill it, then climb down again, and carry
the buckets to the truck. His wife was staying with her
parents for a couple more weeks, and she expected
certain chores to be done by the time she arrived. He
was definitely concerned about the fact that he was
behind schedule.
Mr. Gilling was a good coach and a good math teacher,
but wasn't always very practical about other matters. I
suggested that he back the truck over the curb and park
it closer to the house, and the expression on his face
was slightly sheepish when he realized he hadn't thought
of such a simple action. I stood by the house and guided
him into place, then pulled off my t-shirt and stood by
to give him a hand.
At first he protested, but I told him I didn't mind
helping him out, especially since my parents were gone
for the weekend, my younger brother was staying with a
friend, and my older brother probably wouldn't even
notice, let alone care, if I wasn't around. I couldn't
be sure, but did his eyes quickly trace the "trail"
running down my abdomen, then disappearing into my
shorts?
The job progressed much more quickly with two of us
working together, basically meeting somewhere near the
middle of the ladder to make a tradeoff of buckets. He
went up the ladder to fill the empty bucket and I went
down to dump the full one, then we repeated the process.
We worked our way around the house, moving the truck
when necessary, and in about an hour had all the rain
gutters and downspouts completely cleared.
While this was happening, Mr. Gilling was still wearing
just his athletic shorts, old athletic shoes, and socks.
I tried extremely hard not to stare, and the fact that
we were working in such close proximity helped somewhat.
Frequently, it wasn't a matter of staring; it was a
matter of just seeing what was in front of my face.
Several times as we were making our handoffs on the
ladder I brushed against his leg, and was intrigued to
learn that the thick hair on it was rather soft. It took
a lot of concentration to keep my teenage cock under
some kind of control, especially when to my shock I
realized he wasn't wearing anything under his shorts.
Fortunately the cutoffs I was wearing were on the baggy
side and helped conceal things.
On the back porch of the house sat an old worn-out brown
enamel oil burning heater, about the size of a washing
machine. Mr. Gilling asked if I'd mind helping him load
it into the truck, and I said not at all. We got the
heater into the truck, added some more yard debris, then
covered the entire load with a tarp held down with
yellow nylon rope. I was a little disappointed when he
pulled on a t-shirt, but I put mine on also.
Shortly we were on a back road headed to the County
Dump. The drive gave us a chance to chat and catch up a
little. I learned that he had left to complete his
master's degree, but spent the last year substitute
teaching in the northern part of one of the "Mountain
States" because permanent fulltime jobs were very hard
to come by (there was a surplus of teachers in the late
1960's and early 1970's). He therefore jumped at the
chance when offered his old job, even though his wife
wasn't thrilled at the idea of moving back.
In fact, she set a number of conditions before she'd
agree to it, and improvements at the house were at the
top of her list. Mr. Gilling explained that the oil
heater had been the only source of heat in the house
before, and it was nearly worn out anyway. Consequently,
he had the attic insulated and electric baseboard
heaters installed in all rooms. I agreed that it would
make the whole house a lot more comfortable, but I
sensed something in his facial expression that I
couldn't quite define. There seemed to be traces of
tension or worry, especially when he talked about his
wife. Of course I didn't dare mention it or pry.
Before long we reached the dump and dropped our load. On
the way back into town Mr. Gilling asked if I had to be
home anytime soon, and I answered that my parents were
out of town and I was more or less on my own. After I
said that, he made a detour to the grocery store and
bought a couple of frozen pizzas. A few minutes later we
were back at his house.
The summer heat and the kind of work we were doing left
us both hot, dirty, and sweaty. Mr. Gilling put the
pizzas on a kitchen counter and said "maybe we should
get cleaned up before we eat. Want to come downstairs
and shower?"
I said "OK," not really sure what he had in mind as I
followed him down the basement stairs, but definitely
noticing that he was pulling his shirt off as he went.
Once in the basement, I understood. There was a
primitive shower setup consisting of some pipes, taps,
and a showerhead attached to a basement wall near a
standard floor drain. Mr. Gilling said "the water heater
doesn't last long, so we'd better do this locker room
style, and share." He was already stripping out of his
clothes, and my heart began to pound. He noticed me
looking when he dropped his shorts, and somewhat
sheepishly said "I kind of like to let things flop
around sometimes. My wife doesn't like it, so I do it
when I can."
I pulled off my own clothes, both excited and scared
shitless. I'd been fighting my hard teenage cock all
afternoon, and I was really worried I wouldn't be able
to control or hide it at all now. Mr. Gilling was
already under the showerhead getting wet and soaping up
his hairy body, which looked better than ever.
As I approached, he moved aside and let me get wet. I
kept my back towards him, and it came as a shock when I
felt him soaping my back. My resolve collapsed
completely, and my cock went hard as a rock.
Automatically, I reached for it, then stopped myself
after a couple of strokes. I knew I'd have to turn
around eventually, and I finally did so, hoping Mr.
Gilling would just ignore it. I really don't know what I
was expecting, but I was NOT prepared for what I
actually saw.
Mr. Gilling's big, hairy cock was as hard as mine,
arching up against his hairy pubes. It was soaped up,
along with his hairy chest and stomach. To this day, I
don't know how I mustered the courage, but I wrapped my
fingers around his cock and slowly stroked. Instead of
slapping me or pushing my hand away, he closed his eyes
and let out a long, contented sigh. I took that as a
sign of encouragement, and continued to jack him.
After a few moments he took my cock in his soapy hand
and started to stroke. The feeling was incredible, and
in almost no time my overworked teenage glands caused me
to shoot the biggest load of jizz I had ever seen. Part
of it landed on Mr. Gilling's hairy stomach, and part on
his hand. I was embarrassed and started to apologize,
but he just smiled and said "don't worry about it."
We quickly rinsed off, then dried ourselves with towels
from a nearby shelf. Despite the enormous load I had
just shot, my cock stayed hard as a rock, and Mr.
Gilling's hadn't gone down much. He put his hand on my
shoulder and guided me across the basement to a corner
were a mattress and box springs sat directly on the
floor. Then in one combined movement, he laid down and
pulled me with him so that I ended up with my face
inches from that beautiful furry chest. I instinctively
slipped one leg between his and felt the amazing
sensation created when two hairy legs brush together.
Mr. Gilling moaned softly as I ran my fingers through
his chest hair and found one of his nipples. I knew my
own were sensitive, and was happy to find that his were
too. My fingers continued to work one while my tongue
and lips went to work on the other. After a few moments
I felt my head being gently pulled off his nipple. I
looked into his eyes, afraid I'd done something wrong,
but he just smiled and softly kissed me on the lips.
This was my first kiss in a sexual or romantic context,
and I tentatively kissed him back. His arms pulled me
close as our kiss intensified and I thrilled in the
sensation of another man's naked body against mine. Mr.
Gilling rolled me on my back, and his lips started a
downward journey, giving special attention to both my
nipples, the following the faint "love trail" to my
light brown bush. My cock was so hard I think I could
have hammered nails with it, and he held it up against
my pubes with one hand while his tongue flicked around
my peach-fuzz covered balls.
He had me practically lurching on the mattress when I
finally felt the soft, wet warmth of his mouth envelop
my cockhead. The feeling was incredible, especially
after he started stroking and sucking with his tongue
working around my shaft and head. Now I understood why
he wasn't concerned about me shooting my load in the
shower. With that load already gone, I was able to take
my time and really enjoy his attentions to my cock. Mr.
Gilling probably worked on me a good ten minutes when I
felt my balls pull up and I knew it was too late.
He knew what was happening, and sucked faster and
harder. Cum shot out of my cock like a cannon blast in
wave after wave, my head actually bucking off the
pillow. Mr. Gilling didn't let a single drop spill,
carefully licking my cock clean. It finally went soft
for the first time in at least two hours.
He moved up and lay on top of me. He was a big man, but
he rested part of his weight on his elbows so I could
enjoy the sensation of his body on mine without feeling
like I was being crushed. His fingers gently stroked my
hair back, and his lips pressed onto mine. This time I
accepted his kiss greedily, my arms holding him tight.
Getting bolder, I put my tongue in his mouth, tasting
traces of my own cum. I'm not sure how long we lay in
each other's arms, but finally he rolled on his back and
took his beautiful cock in hand.
It was fascinating and amazingly erotic to watch another
guy jack off, but I wanted to help him as well. He
moaned approval when my lips and tongue worked his right
nipple, and my fingers gently cradled his balls. I
raised my face to his, and we kissed passionately as he
continued to work his cock. My lips and tongue then
followed that wonderful hairy train down his stomach,
and I couldn't resist rubbing my face in his thick bush.
It smelled fresh and clean from the shower, which is
probably where my lifelong preference for the "just
showered" scent originated.
As he continued to stroke, I licked his hairy balls
carefully, and was rewarded with a groan of pleasure. It
was at this point that I literally came face to face
with my first cock. To this day, I don't know its exact
size, and it seems that everyone in these stories has at
least eight inches. Possibly he had eight. All I knew
for sure was that it was bigger than mine and I wanted
it at that moment more than anything before in my life.
Moving up from the base, my tongue licked up the length
of that beautiful cock, catching a drop of pre-cum near
the head. I repeated this action several times before I
took hold of the base and worked my tongue around the
head. Finally my mouth opened wide and I took Mr.
Gilling's cock in my mouth. Almost immediately he
flinched, causing me to immediately pull off.
"You have to watch the teeth," he said to me. I
apologized, and he said "it's alright. Almost nobody can
suck me all the way off anyway." His fingers wrapped
around his cock as if he was going to start jacking
himself again, but somehow I found the nerve to replace
his hand with mine, and I again took that beautiful cock
in my mouth, this time being very careful of my teeth. I
took it as far down as I was able, then slowly moved
back up, working my tongue on the underside. A third
repetition caused a groan of deep pleasure, which
prodded me to work harder, establishing a rhythm.
Before too long, Mr. Gilling's started breathing harder,
his balls pulled up tight, and he started to thrust into
my mouth. I increased my speed, knowing what was about
to happen. Nearly simultaneously, the normally very
proper Mr. Gilling shouted "FUCK!" and his cum blasted
into my mouth so hard I almost couldn't swallow it all.
However, I was determined, and got most of it, with only
a small trickle down my lower lip.
Mr. Gilling took me by the shoulders and gently pulled
me onto him. The sensation of snuggling into that soft
furry body was exquisite, and his kiss was slow, hot,
and probing. He held me in his arms as I rested my head
on his chest, and our heart rates slowed down. His
fingers gently stroked my hair.
After a little while he said "I thought it would go
away."
"What?" I answered, rather puzzled.
"I thought my desire for guys would go away after I got
married."
Unsure of my response, I finally said "it sure SEEMS
like your desire is pretty strong."
He chuckled softly, saying "I think it's stronger than
ever."
Slowly his story came out. He grew up in a religious
family where the subject of sex was never mentioned, but
his first sexual encounter happened when he was 14, with
a college student whose family lived next door. They
carried on for most of the summer, and he learned a
great deal about the then very-closeted homosexual
world. One of the biggest shocks was that the youth
pastor of his church had some "special" boys.
When the time for him came for him to go off to college,
he knew where and how to find guys who liked other guys.
However, it was necessary for him to date girls
occasionally to deflect suspicion, and his religious
upbringing still created a certain amount of guilt. He
also felt pressured to carry on the family name.
Finally, he went to his pastor and confessed his
attraction to men (though not the extent of his
activities with them). The pastor told him the best
thing to do would be to get married, and those feelings
would go away. Consequently, he married one of the girls
he had dated casually shortly after they both graduated.
Their wedding night was the biggest disappointment of
his life, and his wife got pregnant soon afterwards. He
found himself married with a wife and child to support,
and once their daughter was born, their very
unfulfilling sex life almost ceased completely.
Opportunities for him to hook up with guys were also few
and far between, and he always had to have his guard up
in locker rooms and showers.
However, he possessed a well developed sense of what is
now known as "gaydar," and he had picked up on me almost
immediately. I hadn't realized I was so obvious when I
caught him naked, but it pretty well erased any doubts
he had. My sudden appearance three years later looking
so grown up came as an unexpected and very welcome
surprise. Even then, he remained cautious, but he was
very aware of how closely I was watching him as we
worked together.
We lay quietly for a few minutes, but I happened to
glance across the room and noticed a brand-new sixty-
gallon water heater. "So is THAT the water heater you
said wouldn't last long," I asked. "That was quite
smooth of you!"
Mr. Gilling laughed softly and admitted "I guess you
caught me on that one, but I had to think of SOME way
for us to get naked together. Do you really mind my
little fib?"
I answered by planting a long, passionate kiss on his
mouth.
To be continued?
Comments, constructive criticism, and feedback are
welcome: DeanRogersFuller@aol.com
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The author does not condone child abuse, this story is
meant as an erotic fantasy not depicting anything in
real life. Anyone acting out such scenarios in "real
life" can look forward to many unproductive years
getting it up the butt by a fellow convict in their
local prison system.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 72