The Good Teacher Ch. 01

"Can we try something different?" I asked. "Could we try anal?" I knew that I was only doing it so that I could pretend to be fucking Matthew.

I felt dirty for wanting to fuck my student, especially instead of my wife. But that's part of the very reason why it turned me on so much. It felt wrong and I liked that. Virginia was absolutely against anal. So I fucked her pussy and imagined I was in Matthew's room, on his bed, with him. I was as careful as I could possibly be not to say his name aloud. The orgasm was good enough, but not great. And at least Virginia was satisfied that I had kept it inside.

* * *

Later that night I crept out of bed. It was 1:30 in the morning. I snuck quietly by Mason's room and went back into my study, already sporting a raging hard-on. My senses were reeling and as I once again opened google.com and entered Matthew's address, finding his page again, I swooned with the lust I had for this boy. I clicked on one of the images this time. Matthew had an artistic pose and a fake expression of blank sadness as he sat against the wall of his room with an erection. I stared at it, wanting to suck his cock. I'd never before felt any desire at all to suck a cock. It was strange to me, but I was enthralled by the notion of having Matthew's boyhood in my mouth. Another picture was of him smiling and flexing, again showing off his boner. And another was of him crawling on the floor, his hole facing toward the camera. I was already jacking myself off and had to back off from an orgasm several times so as to prolong my enjoyment. I replayed the video, watching Matthew again.

"Hey Lana. I thought I'd, uh, make ya a new video. And I, uh, hope you enjoy it. Ok."

And once again he was on his bed, kicking off his briefs, then exposing that sweet butthole again. I watched, stopping my masturbation just before orgasming. I reached the point where I had closed the video earlier that day when Virginia walked in. Now Matthew flipped onto his back again, stroking his cock. A few minutes later he was sitting on the edge of his bed. Then he walked over to the camera for a closeup shot of his dick. His hand was blurred as he masturbated himself faster and faster. And then finally a stream of white goo dripped from the tip of his penis and fell out of sight of the camera. I came along with him, shooting another decent load onto my chest heaving with my quick breath.

When it was over, Matthew turned off the camera and the video ended. I sat there in my chair in the dark, just breathing. With my eyes closed, I saw Matthew in the room with me, smiling at me. I reached my hands forward to him and he came over to me, sitting in my lap with his arms around my neck. Looking into his face, I grinned in the dark study, and then kissed him. Passionately, as I've only ever kissed few people before in my life. All of them women and including my wife. But it was just a fantasy. And the boy wasn't really in my arms kissing me like an adult. A melancholy came over me. I cleaned up my cum from my chest, bookmarked the site, and went back to bed.

The rest of the weekend was like this as well. I couldn't make love to my wife and orgasm unless I was thinking about that boy. I graded the critical papers with great difficulty, distracted by my thinking about Matthew. And when I came to the last essay, Matthew's, I put an A at the top before I even read it. When I finished reading it, I marvelled at how brilliant he was. Even despite the spelling errors and information gaps, he was a wonderful writer. And a wonderful boy. I kissed the front page where his name was printed.

And finally Sunday night came and passed. Virginia and I made love again. She had used a home pregnancy test with negative results and was adamant about having as much sex as possible. More than once, out of about eight sexual episodes that weekend, I couldn't get off with her. I ended up jacking off with my eyes shut tightly to close out the image of her lying naked in our bed. When Monday morning came, I was awake before Virginia was. Excited about going to school and seeing Matthew live in person.

I got dressed quickly and ate my breakfast in a hurry. I picked out my favorite blue shirt and black trousers and found myself hoping that they would catch Matthew's eye. I kissed Virginia and Mason goodbye and drove to East Side High twenty minutes earlier than usual.

* * *

At 7:10, five minutes before class began, I was more anxious than I could ever remember being in recent memory. My hands shook when I drank coffee at my desk in home room, waiting for Matthew to show up. I heard one of the girls in the corner mention his name and listened intently but they quickly went back to talking about some new movie they had seen over the weekend. Three minutes later and just in time for class, he walked in. Beautiful, so incredibly beautiful. I stared at him, looking at his sweet brown eyes.

I was shaken back to reality when he noticed me looking at him and said, "Hey there, Mr. McPherson. Did you get my paper?"

I choked for just a second and spat out, "Yes." It sounded like someone else was talking. All I could do was look at him. When he passed my desk and took his seat near the back my eyes went straight to that beautiful butt. Concealed by his jeans, I knew those perfect spheres were underneath, tempting me, wanting me to kiss each one.

When the bell rang I stood up and started handing back papers. When Matthew got his he said, "Score!" and I smiled at him. I was glad that I could make him so happy. I wondered if it had any affect on his affection for me.

The rest of the class period went by slowly. I wasn't really sure what I was doing. I followed my lesson plan but I was too distracted to do much. So I at last made everyone read quietly out of a book for the remaining class time, all the while I sat at my desk and watched him, with his sleek blonde hair bowed down to me. When the bell rang for class to be over it was like waking from a dream. Everyone got up quickly and shuffled noisily out of the door. I didn't want to lose him. I needed another reason to see him again. I thought quickly. Extra credit work? No, he doesn't like work. Detention? No, I love him too much to punish him. Wait. I love him?

There was no time to delve deeper into it. Matthew was nearing my desk on his way out. "Hey, Matthew," I said awkwardly, still thinking of an excuse to say something to him. "You still on the soccer team?"

"Yeah," he said smilingly, always eager to be wholesomely pleasing. "We're not as good this year as last year, but we practice after school every day so we're getting better."

I smiled, half listening to what he was saying and half listening to the mere sound of his voice. Boyish and gentle. "Well, see you later," he said. I nodded and he left with everyone else. Then was when I realized that I could go watch him at soccer practice after school. The sorrow at seeing him leave for the day was lessened greatly by this. I'd not only get to see him again before the day was out, but he'd be in his element, on the soccer field, and in those shorts. I bet his ass would be delightful in those blue shorts.

The rest of the day passed agonizingly slowly. I kept my eyes on the clock, ticking by each hour after hour until one period passed followed by another until the school day was out. I packed up my papers and sorted through all the work I'd need to take home with me, putting everything in my case bag and zipped it up. Then, I headed out to the field behind the school. By then it was 3:00 and soccer practice had been going on for a while now. I didn't sit on the bleachers in fear of being seen by Matthew. The last thing I needed him to think was that I was stalking him. So I stood by a tree, trying to look casual even though I was oogling this young boy.

He ran across the field, kicking the soccer ball back and forth. I watched his legs, strong and tan. He showed off a lot, too. He liked to do tricks with the ball like bouncing it on his feet, one to the other, without letting it drop. I smiled in my adoration of him. He was so innocent. Just another boy, having fun with his friends after school. And this time by myself, watching him out there, gave me a chance to analyze what I had thought to myself earlier. That I loved him. Was it true? It couldn't be. It was absurd. I looked away from him just then, suddenly unable to lay an eye on him. It was ridiculous, that I would have any sort of feelings for a person so young, especially one of my students who were like my children. More than that, this was a boy. I had never shown any inclination of homosexuality in my life. So, no, I couldn't be in love with him.

Yet there I was, standing outside just out of view, watching Matthew on the soccer field. I remembered the rush I got from seeing him walk into the classroom that morning. My heart fluttered. It was fluttering now, too! I blushed slightly when I thought of him and realized that I was smiling. And this weekend, I must have watched that video twenty or thirty times by now. I didn't love him, though. I just saw him as a sex toy. Something with a hole for me to fuck.

I glanced down at my bag and remembered something. Last night I printed off the pictures of Matthew that were on his site. Naked pictures of one of my students that I printed off were tucked neatly inside one of the pockets of my bag so that I could look at them on my breaks. And I had looked at them. And I had loved it, appreciating the fact that I had pictures of him and that I could see that blonde hair, those brown eyes, that smile any time I wished. And yes, I did love him. In a tremendously different way than I loved my wife or had loved anyone. I wanted Matthew to want me back. I wanted him to be part of me and me to be part of him. Not just to be a part of his life but something more. As if I could jump into him and be him. Yes, I wanted to have sex with him too. The idea of penetrating his ass thrilled me more than anything. But in addition to the physical pleasure of it, I anticipated the connection, the unification of two bodies, his and mine. I wanted that with Matthew and no one else.

And I loved him.

* * *

The next day at school was much the same as the day before. When Matthew came in I stared at him and my pulse quickened. I had to exercise great self control to restrain my hand from caressing his ass or touching his hair. I wanted to touch him with every bit of myself. I wanted to lean down and kiss him on the lips when I walked by him in the classroom (which I did often now). Then class ended and he left. And I waited for the day to hurry up and be done so I could go back to my place beneath the tree and watch him. And when the time came, I went outside and watched him practice. This time I sat down and took out my pictures of him, comparing the images I held in my hands to the one out on the field. He was like an angel. My angel.

A week passed like this. It was unbearable and wonderful at the same time. My relationship with Virginia was taking a strain that she eventually confronted me about. I blamed my lack of sexual interest in her on all the sex we were having. I told her I was just tired and needed to take a rest. Meanwhile I had started to take a camera with me to school. When I went to the field to watch the practice, I would zoom in on Matthew and take pictures. Within two weeks I had well over 200 pictures. Most of them were of him bending over or of him lifting his shirt to wipe sweat from his face. And I'd take these home and jack off over them. And of course the video never got old. I burned it to a disc so that if anything should ever happen to the site, I'd at least have my own copy. This also allowed me to watch the video in the teacher's lounge during breaks when no one was around. Of course I couldn't jack off, but there was a computer in the room where I could see him again.

It had nearly been a full month since I first discovered Matthew's site. Despite that I was getting tired of seeing the same images of him over and over again, I still maintained a healthy lust for the boy. Matthew continued to be my secret idol. My rapacious lust for him burned me, scalded my insides without relent. I needed him. I needed to do something more than just watch him from afar.

On friday night, I tore open a condom that I had bought and masturbated. When I was done, the condom had a fair wad of cum in it and I twisted the condom closed to prevent the air from drying it out and hid it. I did this all weekend, ejaculating into the same condom until there was enough spunk in it to cause it to bulge out like a waterballoon. By Monday I was ready to do, "something more". When practice was just about to end, I went to the coke machine by the field and put in a quarter. I took the can back out to the field and opened it under the tree where no one could see me. I took one gulp and then spat into the dark liquid. Then I removed the condom from my bag and poured the contents into the drink, mixing my cum around in the coke until it no longer fizzed and looked natural. The excess amount of cum compensated for the gulp I had taken. I was sure Matthew would taste that much semen in his drink, but perhaps he would just think the soda was flat.

I saw the boys heading off the field and hurried over to them where I spotted Matthew.

"Hey, Matthew!" I called to him.

He stood waiting for me to catch up and I pretended to open the already open coke. "You look hot," I said pleasantly. "Here, have this, I just got it" and I handed him the coke.

"You sure?" he asked, being considerate as always.

"Yeah, go on." I said.

He raised the can to his mouth and put his lips where mine had just been. I saw the drink spill into his mouth and watched his throat with wide eyes as he gulped it down.

"Thanks, Mr. McPherson," he said.

He put the cold can to his brow to cool himself down and I stared. He was so beautiful. And here he was, drinking my cum. Drinking my cum. Drinking such an intimate part of me. This, I was convinced, helped bring us closer to together. As if by having my jism slide down his throat into his belly, it would serve as a love potion. I half expected Matthew to turn to me just then and express his deep love for me.

"Finish it all, you don't wanna get dehydrated," I said kindly. He took another long swig.

"Well, I should go hit the showers. Thanks again for the drink," Matthew said and caught up with the rest of the team.

The mere mention of him showering, naked with those other boys, was enough to give me an instant boner. I put my bag in front of me and walked around the corner of the building. I looked for a window to the boy's showers but the only ones were thin and high and made with distorted glass.

* * *

It was a Wednesday when I asked the class to compose a poem about anything they liked. Most of them composed love poems about their crushes, usually bitter and poorly written sappy pieces. One boy wrote an exceptionally wonderful poem with a political slant to it.

When it was Matthew's turn to read his poem, I was on the edge of my seat. He stood up at his desk and read aloud.

"I love you so much, Your skin, your touch, And I love the way you are.

I love your hair, And the way you care, And your eyes that shine like stars.

I love when we're together, And hope to be forever, And I promise to always be around.

Lana, my love, An angel from above, The one that my heart has found."

The class applauded and the girls gave off an, "awww", in unison. But I was infuriated. Lana. I hated her. I hated that Matthew liked her. I wanted to storm out of the room and kill her. Yes, kill her. I wanted her to die because Matthew was mine and mine alone. I wouldn't share him. When class ended, I collected the poems to grade and didn't speak to Matthew when he passed by my desk. Even when he said, "see you tomorrow," I ignored him coldly. How dare he write such a poem? How dare he?! He needed to be punished.

I immediately went through the stack of poems and found Matthew's. I took out my red pen and wrote a large, "F", on it.

"Cliche and poor diction. Bad choice of topic." Is what I scribbled at the top, doing my best to hold back my fury.

I circled Lana's name in the poem and wrote next to it, "What makes her so great?"

I was so incredibly angry at him. And if I had come across Lana I would have hurt her. Without hesitation I would have hurt her as badly as I could. I would have choked her, torn her arm from her frail girlish body. But Matthew should have known better, too! He should be punished for this. But there was nothing I could do about it at the time. So instead, I was harsh to my following classes, assigning extra work and readings. During my lunch break, I took my anger into the bathroom in the teacher's lounge and jacked off over my pictures of Matthew. The orgasm was more intense that usual, fueled by my rage. My load shot farther than it ever had before, leaping from my cock a good three feet and landing on the metal stall wall. The orgasm broke my frustration and finally anger subsided, and I was once again able to think of Matthew and feel good.

School let out that afternoon and instead of heading to the soccer field, I went to the boys' locker room. I waited until all the boys had gone out for practice and went inside. It smelled awful, just the way boys' locker rooms always do. Unclean and filthy. The lockers were old and the paint was chipped so that each one was covered in metallic patches. The lights were dim and orange, having not been updated in years while the floor was dirty reddish-brown tiling. I walked around slowly. I yearned to know which locker of all the ones there contained Matthew's clothes. If only I knew then I could find a souvenir. Just then someone walked in.

I didn't recognize him from class but knew he was on the soccer team. He must have come in early to pick something up.

"Excuse me," I said to him. "Can you tell me which locker belongs to Matthew Honeycutt? I just need to leave a letter for him."

The boy didn't look suspicious and pointed to one near his own, 336. It was in the back of the room.

"Thanks," I said.

As he opened his own locker I pretended to shuffle around in my bag looking for the letter I would leave him until the boy had gathered all his clothes and left. At last, I was alone in the locker room.

I reached for the handle that, like all the other lockers, was without a combination lock. Opening it up, I found a duffle bag that contained a pair of shoes, some socks, two t-shirts, one of which he had been wearing earlier that day, and two pairs of white briefs. I reached for one of the briefs and brought it to my nose. Closing my eyes, I inhaled the scent. I stuck out my tongue and licked it. The smell of his sweat and his penis was in them. I wondered if these were the pair that he had worn in his video. Then I stuffed the briefs into my bag. I dug deeper into the duffle bag and found a CD player with some headphones, a chemistry book, and a jock strap.

"Yes," I whispered silently to myself.

I pulled out the jock strap. It hung limp and light in my hands, white but frayed in places from obvious wear. The cup must be in the bag too, I assumed and put my hand into the locker again and found it. I put the cup to my nose and mouth and sniffed it as well. It smelled like sweat. There were a few pubic hairs in the material of the jock strap as well. I put it and the the cup into my bag, fixed the duffle bag to hide any signs that someone had been in Matthew's locker, and closed it. I left in a hurry and went outside to my tree where I watched the rest of practice. I didn't take any pictures that day, but I kept one hand in my bag to grope the jock strap and briefs as I watched Matthew on the field.