This story is a work of fiction, meaning it did not take place.  It contains sexual content involving persons under the age of consent which may be inappropriate for you or illegal where you live.  If this is the case, please read no further.  I do not condone the actions or choices of the fictional characters contained within this story. 

Comments should be directed to Mark Adams.

...From the last chapter...

"Goodbye, Ian," I told him, turning toward my desk to get some tissues.  I heard him walking toward the door, and my mind was racing to think of something 'grown up' to say.  As I turned around, I saw the classroom door swing closed behind him.  All I could think about was how absolutely reckless I was becoming.  Sucking a ten year old boy's cock in my classroom during lunch, and masturbating in front of him?  I had a feeling this scene in my classroom today would thrill and haunt me for the rest of my life.  And I knew one thing for certain-- it could never happen again. Ever...

Into Ian - Chapter 3

The rest of the school day had been a blur.  Although I loved teaching, my classes were almost a distraction today.  I had known Ian for only two days, but something had gripped me so deeply that I seemed to have lost interest in everything else.  I had lived my life so cautiously and carefully, and now it felt like it was all unwinding.  And, although I'm by no means an adrenaline junky, I was... loving it.  At least that's what I told myself.

I knew my feelings for Ian were irresponsible and wrong.  That's what I'd always been taught to think.  But how could feelings be wrong?  And who made those decisions?  Every society makes its own rules, I know, and there are always outsiders.  It's almost an unwritten law-- someone must serve the role as the black sheep to make the rest feel... normal.  But most outcasts in society at least have some sort of community where the suffering can be shared.  But I, of course, had nobody to help carry my burden and I thought it might be precisely that void that had allowed me to do what I had done.  Living in that void for so long had left me desperate enough to do something I knew was wrong.

I sat alone in my classroom for quite a while, riddled with guilt and thinking long and hard about everything that had transpired over the last couple of days.  Surprisingly, however, the part that kept coming back to me was the bizarre (and unsettling) interaction with Josh in my kitchen.  What was it I felt for him?  Or was it even him? 

I was tired, but I didn't feel hungry, at least not for food.  I hungered for a boy, though I knew without a doubt I could not continue down that path.  So far as I knew, I had gotten away with it, but now I was now at a point where I had certainly pressed my luck.

I looked out the window and saw it was already beginning to get dark outside.  I looked at my watch and realized it was much later than I thought, though I still didn't feel ready to go home.  I was nervous Bonnie would know something had happened.  I hadn't just broken my vows and cheated on my wife after fifteen years of marriage-- I'd done it with a ten year old boy.

I retrieved my cell phone from my desk drawer and it was still off . I'd forgotten to turn it back on after school ended and I wondered if Bonnie had called.  But I didn't turn it on to find out.  I just gathered my stuff, deciding I couldn't delay the inevitable.

As I left the school, there were only about fifteen cars remaining in the parking lot, most of those probably belonging to the cleaning crew.  As I approached my parking space, I noticed Coach Carr's truck was parked next to my car.  I stood there, rolling my keys around in my hand and thinking about Ian's tardiness earlier in the day.  I turned around and looked at the school from the parking lot.  The gym was on the opposite side of the school from my room, but as I looked at it, they weren't really that far apart.  There should be more than enough time to make it from P.E. to my class during the passing period if Coach Carr let his students hit the showers a few minutes early.  At least that's how it worked when I was in school.  I decided I would time it for myself and, if Coach Carr was still inside, maybe talk to him about the problem with Ian.  It was time to start acting like an adult.

I headed back in to the school building and made my way down the hall to the gym.  The doors to the gym were locked and I figured Coach had locked up and was probably on his way out the back door and getting in his car at this exact moment.  That was fine with me, since I didn't really know how to ask the gruff, giant of a man if he was letting his students out on time without pissing him off anyway.  But I still wanted to see how long it took to get from the locker room to my class.

I used my school keys and entered the gymnasium, my shoes squeaking on the laminate floors and echoing in the cavernous room.  I had only been in here for assemblies or for registration, but it seemed almost eerie with only the low security lights on.  I headed for the locker rooms and entered the Boys' area.  The fluorescent lights hummed above me in the quiet locker room, and I found it surprisingly clean with just the faintest hint of that sweat sock smell, and it occurred to me I'd never been in this part of the school.

Everything was still pretty new since the school had just been built recently.  I had started teaching there the first year it was open, just after we'd moved in to our new house.  I thought the locker room was pretty classy, with nicely tiled floors, oversized benches and lockers, and everything painted in the school's colors, and there was no graffiti anywhere that I could see.  It was nice to see my exorbitant tax dollars were being put to such good use.

I peeked into the toilet area and found it just as clean.  The only thing that caught my eye, however, was the lack of dividers between the row of urinals.  Now that was curious.  Maybe only a gay man would notice something like that right away, but I still thought it was odd.  "Who designed this area?" I wondered.  In the teachers' toilets, there were enormous dividers and I'd laughed when I first saw them, but seeing the lack of them in this space was somehow mildly erotic.  The thought of fifth and sixth grade boys lined up there to pee, sneaking looks at each other flashed through my mind.    The toilets at DFW (where I've secretly spied a lot of pee pees) were the same, and I wondered if the same architect had designed this school.

I left the toilet area and headed over to the shower area next to it.  After seeing the toilet area, I was only mildly surprised to see it was a group shower, just a large, tiled room with spigots lining the wall.  I was certain now that only a sadist or a boy lover could have designed this locker room.  I remembered my own school days and the dread I felt upon seeing those gang showers in Middle School and chuckled to myself at my excitement in seeing them now.  This was only a fifth and sixth grade school, however, so perhaps it wasn't the testosterone-filled playground.

Perhaps...  but I did know of at least one horny little fifth grader in one of my classes.  "Maybe I could switch from Math to Physical Education," I thought briefly, and then, remembering my recent vow and the predicament I was in, I thought that probably wasn't the best idea I've ever had.

I backed out of the shower area and, as I turned to my left, I saw an interior window I hadn't noticed before.  It faced toward the changing area and was covered on the inside by venetian blinds, which were mostly closed, a little light shining from behind.  I looked over at what was obviously the door to that room and noticed the shadows of movement in the light coming from under the door.  I heard a drip from the shower area, and turned my head and looked back into the shower.  There was nobody there.  It was just a drip.

I looked back over toward the window, and I thought I must be going crazy.  The blinds were completely closed and there was no light behind them.  I looked back at the door, and there was no light under there, either.  I felt my heart pounding a little, but I didn't know why.  Was I afraid some killer lurked behind that door?  No, not at all.  Was I afraid of being caught traipsing through the Boys' locker room after hours, with no legitimate reason to be there?  Yeah, that was probably a little closer to the truth.

I thought about what to do for a moment.  Whoever was on the other side of that door (almost certainly Coach Carr, since it looked like it was probably his office) had almost certainly seen me through the blinds, so I decided to knock on the door to have that discussion about his dismissal procedures.  At least that would lend credibility to my being here.  I stepped toward the door and, after hesitating briefly, I knocked and took a step backward.

There was no answer.  "Should I knock again, or just leave?"  I wondered.  I opted for the latter.  If someone was in there and didn't answer, they obviously had a reason.  If nobody was there and I was just imagining things, then what was the point?

I remembered why I'd come in here in the first place, and looked at my watch, noting the time (and just how late it was getting).  I left the locker room and left through the gym at a leisurely pace, heading back to my classroom.  I reached the door to my room and looked back at my watch.  It took me just over three minutes.  Allowing for a generous changing time, that meant it should take Ian no more than 8 minutes to get to my classroom with a couple minutes to spare.  Just what did I hope to do with that information I had no idea.  My entire experiment was just a waste of time, it seemed.

I sighed and headed back out toward the main doors to the parking lot.  As I approached the door, I heard quick footsteps coming from the other direction.  I slowed my pace and walked quietly.  Suddenly, Jason Ball came bounding around the corner.  He froze when he saw me, and the little turd looked guilty.  The image of him holding the knife in my dream flashed through my head.

Now, I don't have time to go into anything in detail (perhaps another time), but I've not had the best of luck with 'Jasons' in my life.  My first sexual encounter with a boy was when I was nine years old.  You guessed it-- his name was Jason.  Let's just say that didn't go so well.  My next encounter, when I was 11, was with a boy named... oh, I'll spare you.  I've had sex with three boys named Jason during my school days, and spent a good deal of High School longing for a connection with a fourth-- two and a half years of hell spent dealing with unrequited love.  So call it coincidence, superstition, or just plain idiotic, but I've never had the best of luck with them and I was always on guard whenever I met someone named Jason.

I raised my eyebrows at him as I looked him over.  Short, auburn, straight hair, powder blue eyes, and a rugged masculinity with soft, succulent lips and incredibly long lashes-- the little shithead was sexy as hell.  I'll give him that much.  He was wearing a baby blue polo shirt, the buttons undone and the tail of the shirt was untucked from his half-zipped navy blue Dockers.  His left shoe was untied, the lace trailing behind him.  He looked like he'd just been mugged, but his look of surprise and guilt made him somehow attractive, and I put myself on guard.

"Um, Mr. Adams..." he fumbled, tucking his shirt in behind him.  "I forgot an assignment... in my locker.  Here at school... but I got it now, so I guess I'll see you tomorrow," he said as he turned hastily toward the front door.

"Which class?" I asked him.  He held no papers or books in his hands and I saw no backpack.


"Your assignment," I said to him calmly.  "For which class?"

"Uh..." he said, thinking.  "English?  Yeah, English.  I forgot my English assignment."

"Oh, I see," I told him.  I was enjoying watching the little fucker squirm, and I thought about letting him go.  But that image of him in my dream... I know it was just a dream, but I couldn't shake it from my mind.  "So your locker is back that-a-way?" I asked him, pointing toward the gym.  The gym?  I wondered if he was the one who had been in the locker room.


"Oh.  I thought your locker was over near my classroom."

"No, sir," he said cautiously, "I meant my gym locker."  And then he locked onto my eyes and smiled-- a Jason smile that sucked me back to when I was nine years old, and I couldn't meet his stare.  I thought about confronting him with the fact that I was just in the locker room, but decided it was best just to leave it be.  Probably neither of us should be here this late, and I was tired and flustered.

"Oh, ok," I said, looking toward his shoes.  "I won't keep you from your homework, then.  See you tomorrow, Jason."  I looked back toward his face and saw he was still smiling.  It was just a smile; nothing sinister.  Kind of sweet, actually.  I guess I'd transferred some of my own baggage onto him.  I turned and pushed on the door.

"Good night, Mr. Adams," he said from behind me.  As I exited the building, I headed for my car and Jason headed for the bike rack.  From the corner of my eye I saw him squat down by his bicycle to tie his shoe.  I got into my car and sat, gripping the steering wheel.  I needed sleep.  I looked into the rearview mirror and saw movement toward the back of the gym.  I turned around in my seat and saw the unmistakable hulking form of Coach Carr as he made his way toward his truck.

Coach Carr just left from the back of the gym.  Jason had just come from the locker room where I hadn't seen either of them.  Had they been together?  I couldn't think why that would be.  I shook my head, started my car, and pulled out hastily to avoid talking with Coach and headed for home.


When I got into the house, I headed for the family room where I heard the television.  I made sure to put on a happy face, but I made sure it didn't look too happy.  There were two topics, both intertwined with Ian, that I needed to avoid.  First was Bonnie's parting comment to me that morning about Ian.  I did want to know what she'd meant, but I certainly didn't want to have that conversation.  Not yet, at least, since it was tied to the other topic-- that of my infidelity.  My infidelity... the words somehow sounded less profound than the reality of what had really taken place.

I saw Bonnie on the couch as I rounded the corner, and Josh was sitting at the breakfast table working on his homework.  Well, he seemed to be watching TV more than doing his homework, but I wasn't so concerned with that at the moment.  He saw me first.

"Hey, Dad," he called out to me as he got up from the table.  Bonnie turned to look at me as I rounded the corner.  She didn't seem upset, so that was a good sign. 

"Hey, buddy," I said as he trotted up to me, already in his pajamas, and hugged me.  "Hi Bonnie.  Sorry I'm so late."  It occurred to me that I hadn't thought of a plausible reason for being so late.  Josh turned around in my hug and I instinctively rubbed his hard tummy.

"Hi, honey," she replied.  "Long day, huh?"  Again, she didn't seem upset, but with women you can't always tell.  I knew she wouldn't be upset with my being late, but I hadn't called or had my cell phone on.  That wasn't typical behavior for me.

"Yeah, I lost track of the time."

"I figured," she said.  "You missed dinner."  It was just a statement, but I felt some disappointment in it.

"I'm not really hungry anyway."

"Good," she replied.  "because there isn't any left.  Josh and Ian left you nothing."  There it was, the name I didn't want to hear.  The name that kicked up my pulse a notch.

"Then it worked out for everyone!" I said, trying to be lighthearted.  Was it too much?  Probably.  Josh looked up over his shoulder at me, grinning.

"Ok..." she said.  Alright, so she was upset, but so far as I knew it was only because I was late.  She didn't know.  She couldn't have, and since Ian was here, at least she knew I wasn't with him tonight.  Why would she think that?  "Josh, you need to finish up your homework."  I swatted him playfully on his butt to send him on his way.

"Yes, Mom," he answered, heading back to the breakfast table.

"So what had you 'stuck at the office' on the second day of school?" she asked me.  I thought I might have gotten off the hook, but knew it couldn't have been that easy.  I still had no response, so I opted for the truth; at least a portion of it.  "I just had some thinking to do."

"Oh."  I saw her think that one over and I guessed she had thought I would have concocted a more elaborate story.  I felt the need to elaborate, but chose not to for obvious reasons.

"Where's Tigger?" I asked her, shifting the conversation to my benefit.

"He's out in the backyard," Josh answered for his mother.

"Josh," she said, a little miffed.  "Take your homework up to your room."  Uh-oh.  I needed to get out of there quickly!

"But Mom..."

"Upstairs, mister."

"Listen to your mother," I told him. 

"Yes, sir."  He picked up his papers, putting them into his book before closing it.  I turned back to Bonnie.

"I'm going to take a shower."  Josh looked up at me as I said that.  I could be reading too much into it, but I thought I could tell by the look on his face that he knew an 'adult' discussion was going to be had and that I was trying to get out of it.  He looked over at his Mom.

"Josh," she said without even looking at him.  I think she really does have eyes in the back of her head sometimes.

"I'm leaving, Mom," he sighed, picking up his book and heading up the stairs.

Once he was upstairs, I started to turn to head back to the bedroom.  "Mark," she said, and I paused, looking back at her.  "Is everything ok?"  She reached over to the remote control and turned off the television.

I thought about the question for a moment, and I wondered what she meant by it.  Was she asking because I looked tired?  Or because I came home late without calling?  Maybe it was about my reaction to her comment that morning, or perhaps Ian had made some comment over dinner.  I was quite tired, and I thought I wasn't really prepared for a long discussion about anything.

"Yeah," I replied.  "I'm fine.  I'm just really tired.  I didn't sleep well last night."

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked, sounding a little concerned as she scooted over to the edge of the couch.  She didn't sound angry, just concerned.  I really did want to talk, but with whom?  Certainly not Bonnie.  She got up off the couch and made her way toward me.  "Come on," she said.  "Let me run you a bath.?"

I actually just wanted some quiet time to think.  Alone.  But I thought that might raise a flag in her mind if I said no, and  I certainly didn't want any red flags being raised.  "Sure," I said.

After letting the dog in, we headed to the bedroom and she closed the door behind us.  She took my hand and led me to the bathroom where she sat on the edge of the garden tub and turned on the water.  It hit me again for the millionth time that I'd cheated on my wife earlier that same day-- maybe even the day before, depending on how you defined it, and the woman I'd just cheated was concerned for and taking care of me.  I felt two feet tall.  I leaned against the sink.

"Are you going to take a bath in your clothes?" she asked jokingly as she looked over at me.  I forced a chuckle, and stepped out of my shoes and then took off my shirt.  My mind flashed over the day's events at light speed, to Josh's reaction to the matted hair below my navel and to my ejaculating in front of Ian.  I wondered if I had any telltale signs I'd cheated.  No, none that I could think of anyway.  But I didn't know if my cock was crusty, if there were cum stains on my underwear... something to that effect.  The water droned on and echoed in the room as the tub filled with water and she added some bath crystals.

I stood there, delaying the removal of my jeans, but Bonnie stood from the edge of the tub and walked over to me.  "Need some help there, Casanova?" she asked, hooking her fingers into my jeans.

"I think I can manage," I told her, again forcing a chuckle. 

"You sure?" she asked, raising her eyebrows and slipping her fingers to the button of my jeans.  "I have some more time now..." she said with a lusty grin.  I felt dread and yet I smiled as she unbuttoned my jeans.  She lowered herself to her knees on the rug beneath my feet and my sense of dread heightened.

"Bonnie," I said, and my voice caught in my throat.  "I... I'm really sweaty and nasty."  I felt we were playing a game of chess.

"I'm feeling a little... nasty," she said as she started to slowly unzip me.  She knew I was hiding something and had a counter to my every move.  Queen to e8.  Check.

"Please," I said, putting my hand over hers, blocking the downward motion of the zipper.  "Let me just rinse off first?"  King to a7.

"Ok," she said, and I saw she looked disappointed, but for what exactly?  She returned to her feet and moved back to the tub, swirling her hand in the water to blend it.  "Just throw your clothes in a pile and I'll take them to the laundry room."  I knew what that meant.  Queen to e3.  Check.

"Alright," I said.  "Thanks."  I moved over to the water closet, unzipping my jeans the rest of the way, ostensibly to take a leak.  I inspected Mr. Happy and the front of my drawers, pleased to find everything copasetic.  King to b8.  Draw?


I eased into bed after my long bath, still tired but a little more refreshed and clear-headed.  I gently nudged Tigger off the foot of the bed with my feet, hoping not to wake Bonnie if she was already asleep.  I felt Bonnie scooting over to my side of the bed, spooning me as I lay on my right side, facing away from her.  "Feeling a little less sweaty and nasty now?" she whispered, running her hand down along my abs and cupping my crotch, which didn't react.

"A lot less," I answered, "but still very tired."  She fondled my flaccid penis, reaching in through the fly of my flannel sleep shorts.

"Good."  She ran her middle finger under my glans and rubbed the top with her thumb for a little bit.  It felt good, but I think my guilt or tiredness prevented my penis from becoming erect, which was fine with me.  She pulled her fingers out of my fly for a moment and, when they returned, I could feel they were wet with her saliva.  It felt great, but more like a non-sexual massage.

"I think I may be a little too exhausted," I informed her, justifying my lack of response.

"Don't worry about it.  Just relax."  As she said that, I noticed my muscles were tense as she continued to fondle me, running her fingernails lightly along my stretched scrotum and playing with my pubic hair.  Still nothing.  I felt frustrated, both at my lack of attaining an erection and with her for pressing the issue.  I remained on my side.  She tugged my sac out gently from where it was trapped between my thighs.  She continued to gently handle me for several minutes, and I felt myself begin to drift off to sleep.

"I don't think Ian was wearing any underwear today," she said quietly, and at first I thought I dreamed that.  My eyes shot open and, at the wrong moment, I felt my cock begin to stir from its slumber.

"Huh?" She detected movement in my growing cock and pulled the skin along my shaft backward with her thumb and first two fingers.  I tried to will my cock back to sleep, but it seemed to have other plans.

"I was just saying that when Ian was over, I don't think he was wearing any underwear."  I felt the blood pumping into my shaft, and I was about half hard at that point.  I was fighting a lost cause, and I wondered if she was doing this intentionally.  I couldn't think of any other reason she would be talking about a ten year old student of mine not wearing underwear while playing with my manhood.

"What made you think that?" I inquired, my curiosity getting the best of me.  My penis continued to thicken and lengthen.

"I don't know.  It just crossed my mind for some reason..."

"No," I said, "I meant what made you think he wasn't wearing any... underwear?"  She increased the stroking motion on my cock, which was now almost fully erect.

"Oh.  You know those nylon shorts he was wearing yesterday?"  I didn't know if I could say I hadn't noticed them without her laughing out loud.

"Uh... I think so."

"Well, he had a white pair on today and... let's just say they didn't hide much," she said.  "I swear I could see the outline of his penis shifting in his shorts."  His penis.  What was my wife doing checking out a ten year old's penis?  Or, more accurately, admitting she had?  My cock, fully hard now, betrayed me and jumped between her fingers.  She wrapped her hand around my shaft and just held it.

"He was probably wearing boxers," I said, remembering I'd had the same thought when I saw him yesterday.

"I don't think so.  But he could've been, I guess," she conceded.  She released my cock and pulled my left leg over toward her, exposing my erection fully as it stuck out through the fly of my shorts.  Just what the hell was going on here, I had no idea.  Was she testing or teasing?  Both?

"What does it matter, anyway?" I asked as if the subject was boring me.  It mattered more than she could have known.

"I guess it doesn't" she said.  "But I seem to have your attention."  She chuckled and squeezed my erection in her hand.  I swallowed hard.

"What are you doing, Bonnie?"  Her comment about having Ian over, my cheating on her, and now this.  I wasn't at all comfortable with being so exposed.

"I could ask you the same thing, Mark.  Or I could ask why one of your students would come over in silky shorts without any underwear."

"I guess you'll have to ask Ian that," I snapped, but that was of course the last thing I wanted her to do.  I pulled away from her and rolled back onto my right side, pulling my legs up toward my chest, making my penis a more difficult target.  I felt Bonnie sit up in the bed.

"I'm not accusing you of anything, Mark."  She placed her hand on my shoulder.  "But are you telling me you have no interest in that child?"

"Seems like you're the only one admitting that," I chided and she laughed a quick, sharp laugh.  It felt like my marriage was spontaneously dissolving along with my own self identity.

"Maybe I'm the only one being honest," she said, and I wondered what that meant.  Of course I knew she was insinuating, correctly, that I was attracted to Ian.  But was she saying she was being honest about admitting she was interested in... a child?  I knew that was certainly not the case, but it made me wonder all the same.

Just like the ladies in the teachers'lounge, it crossed my mind that my wife could notice that sort of thing.  Maybe a boy's penis flopping around would make almost anyone take notice, wouldn't it?  Maybe everyone sees the youth and perfection in a child but either deals with it maturely or deceives themself.  Or maybe I was truly alone and unable to see things from another perspective.  The normal perspective...

"Whatever," I told her, the most perfect male response.  I felt Bonnie flop back into a reclining position.  This was going to be a long, lonely road-- for both of us, perhaps.

To be continued...