Date: Sun, 7 Sep 2008 06:19:09 -0700 (PDT)
From: Bill <bil47_new@yahoo.com>
Subject: Boarding School Teacher

Boarding School Teacher -- Part 1
By Bill

[AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is VERY loosely based on the first
porn novel I ever read that had an adult/youth plot.  I
had it in the anything-goes days of late-1970s, but I
haven't seen it since then. I think it was titled "Boarding
School Master", but I'm not sure.  If anyone remembers the
book (or HAS it!), write to me at Bil47_new@yahoo.com ]


Time: January 1978.

Mark Jenkins returned to his room on a dormitory hall at
the Hardcrest School for Boys.  This would be his home for
the next 5 months, until the semester ended in June.  He
had arrived late that afternoon, traveling first by train
from Cleveland to New York City, then the Greyhound Bus to
this middle-of-nowhere town in upstate New York.  No sooner
had he arrived than he was whisked off on a tour of the
dormitories, classrooms, his office, and the athletic
facilities... and then dinner in the dining hall with all
the faculty and administrators.  It had been such a whirl
of activity that he hadn't even opened the two suitcases
that still sat on his bed.

His room wasn't nearly as small and basic as those assigned
to the boys he would be supervising when they returned from
their Christmas vacation -- 7th, 8th, and 9th graders along
one corridor, and upper-classmen along another.  Mark's
quarters had a private bathroom and a sitting area with two
comfortable chairs and a small coffee table.  But it was a
considerable step down from the rented townhouse he'd
shared with two other recent college graduates back in
Cleveland.

By tomorrow afternoon he would be surrounded by boys, and
he was determined not to screw up like he had at the other
school. He wouldn't let himself be tempted this time.
"Self discipline," he mumbled to himself yet again as he
locked the door behind him.  "Look, but don't touch."  He
knew he could do it.  After all, he had made it all the way
through his high school and college years without ever
touching a boy in a sexual way.  He would do now what he'd
done then -- be content to masturbate to memories of the
wonderful adventures of his early puberty, and fantasize
about the boys around him now.

Maybe he should try to develop a sexual attraction to men.
At the faculty dinner from which he had just come, he had
gotten a definite vibe from a couple young teachers that
they might be homosexuals.   Not that he could fully trust
his instinct on such matters... after all, he'd gotten the
same vibe from a married teacher too.  The lingering
handshake, the slight effeminacy, and the piercing gaze
combined with a warm smile had given Mark the feeling that
the man was coming on to him.  What was the guy's name?
Henson?  Hansen?  An English teacher.  And his wife was a
young Asian woman who taught French at the school.

It was warm in his room; the old building's heating system
over-reacting to the bitter cold of the outdoors on this
January night.  He removed his jacket and tie and walked
over to open his suitcases.  There they were!  The thought
of them had been tantalizing him all day.  Now, in the
privacy of his room, he would finally be able to see what
he had bought. They were still in the flat paper bag from
the porn shop he'd visited earlier that day in New York
City... still in the clear plastic shrink-wrap that had
prevented him from seeing anything but the front and back
covers.  But the covers promised the kind of erotic images
would make his masturbation sessions incredible mind-
blowing experiences.

He removed the plastic wrappers and laid the three
magazines side-by-side on the bed, shivering with
anticipation as he read the titles and examined the cover
pictures:

"Danish Boy-Party", with its cover showing three perfectly
beautiful boys -- shaggy-haired blonds, right on the cusp
of puberty -- cavorting nude.

"Grade-A Chicken", showing a naked boy of perhaps 13 or 14
years, blatantly displaying a stiff young-adolescent cock
that was adorned with only the slightest fringe of pubic
hair.

"Rough-Trade Hustler", with the picture of a pimply
adolescent boy of no more than 16, with a 50s-style
pompadour of dark hair.  He was trying to look sinister,
posing in front of gym lockers wearing only a jock-strap.
A dramatically large and fully-mature erection extended
three inches above the jock's wide waistband, its length
and girth wildly out of proportion to his still-maturing
body.  At the bottom left corner of the cover was another
picture in a small circular overlay, showing a middle-aged
man on his knees sucking the cock of the same boy, with
the caption: "He'll dominate you... and you'll pay him for
the privilege."

Mark quickly removed his trousers, shirt, and white briefs.
His cock was already totally stiff in anticipation.  There
was second small bag with another purchase he had made
earlier that day from the adult bookstore.  He removed the
bottle of clear lubricant.  "Stroke!" said the label in
bold letters.  It was the first time he'd seen lube that
was explicitly marketed for masturbation.  He poured some
on his right hand, then spread it onto his straining
circumcised cock.  Oh, man!  That felt incredible!  He
looked again at the three magazines arrayed on the bed and
chose the one with the Danish boys.  Taking it over to the
sitting area of his room, he settled into one of the chairs
and laid the magazine on the small round table in front of
him.

Jacking his slippery cock up and down as he slowly turned
the pages, he knew immediately that he had hit the jackpot.
The pictures showed a roomful of totally naked boys -- he
counted seven in all, around the ages of 10 to 14 -- engaged
in every sexual act that boys can possibly do. He felt the
wonderful sensations of masturbation making his whole body
glow, and he let his imagination put himself in the middle
of the magazine's hot boy-orgy scene.  He would have given
anything to be there with them, having these boys as his
personal boy-harem... instructing his seven beautiful blond
young friends how to pleasure him with infinite varieties
of sexual techniques and combinations.

Mark was stroking urgently by the time he reached the end
of the magazine.  He stopped jacking himself for a minute,
calming his lust so that he could make this a nice long JO
session.  He turned to the front of the magazine and
started over, concentrating on the hottest pictures as he
began to stroke again.  But just then...

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK

"Mark?  Are you home?  It's Dick Hanson.  Can I come in?"

Mark jumped up from the chair in a panic, stuffing the
magazine under the seat cushion.

"I'll be right there!" he called out in a flustered voice.

He ran into the bathroom to wipe the lube off his hand,
then quickly pulled on his pants and shirt.  Breathing
heavily, his heart thumping in his chest, he opened the
door.

"Hello, Mr. Hanson!  Please come in," he said, trying to
sound casual.

"Call me Dick. Please! Oh, I hope I'm not disturbing you.
Should I come back later?" said the other man, who was
holding a bottle of wine and two wine glasses.

"No.  It's fine.  Really."

"I brought a nice Bordeaux and thought we could talk a bit
about life here at Hardcrest."  His eyes scanned around the
room.  "You'll want to get some pictures on these walls.
There is a nice little art store in town that I can drive
you to if you'd like."

Hanson was looking right at the bed when Mark suddenly
remembered the two boy-porn magazines that lay there, along
with the bottle of porn-shop lube.  His chest tightened so
hard and quickly that he felt he was having a heart attack.
"Uh... let me straighten up a bit," he said anxiously.
"Have a seat over there."  Mark pointed to the chairs,
hoping the man wouldn't sit in the one with the magazine
under its cushion.  He quickly stuffed the incriminating
material into his suitcase and slid it under the bed.
Taking a deep breath and trying to compose himself, Mark
turned around.  Hanson's face betrayed no sign of alarm or
anger; just a friendly smile.  Perhaps he hadn't seen the
magazines after all.

Hanson, a slender and delicate-looking man in his mid-40s,
pulled a corkscrew from his jacket pocket and expertly
extracted the cork.  Pouring two glasses, he held up his
glass for a toast.  "To teaching, to Hardcrest, and to
boys," he said.  Their glasses clinked together, and Mark
found himself gulping three-quarters of the smooth red wine
in just a few seconds, trying to calm his nerves.

"Here; let me refill your glass," said Hansen, leaning
forward.

They spoke for a while about the school... how it used to
be exclusively a boarding school, but now had a substantial
majority of day students.  The older man lowered his voice
theatrically to note that the school had fallen on hard
times in recent years, operating at only two-thirds of
capacity, and was just barely staying afloat financially
from year to year.

"But enough of depressing matters," said Hanson.  "It's
your first day here, and we should talk about the joy of
teaching fine young boys.  I think the ancient Greeks had
the right idea," said the older man.  "In order to be an
effective teacher of boys, you have to admire them... truly
enjoy being around them, even when they are silly and
crude.  Too many teachers -- most of them women -- don't
really like boys; they only tolerate them."  He poured more
wine into the younger man's glass.   "Do you like boys,
Mark?"  He settled back in his chair and awaited the answer
with an enigmatic expression on his face.

"Uhhhh...."  Mark was momentarily at a loss for words.
"Well, sure.  I'm pretty young myself -- just turned 23 - so
I guess I can identify with kids."

"Do you prefer older boys or younger boys?" asked Hanson,
with a slight edge to his voice.

Mark blushed.  A completely honest answer would have been
embarrassingly revealing.  He adored young boys around age
11 to 14, but also had shamefully kinky fantasies about
dominant and athletic older boys, around 15 to 17.  "Uhm; I
guess the 7th and 8th graders.  They are so inquisitive."

"Aren't they, though!" replied the other man as he sipped
his wine.  "So tell me a little about yourself.  Do you
have any romantic interests?"

"No; none at all right now, I'm afraid," said Mark.  The
only relationship he'd ever had that could have been called
romantic had lasted only a month, back when he and Bobby
were both 13.  The image of kissing Bobby, as they lay naked
on his bed, flashed through Mark's mind, and he sought to
banish it. "I understand you're married to a French teacher."

"Yes.  Her name is Tam.  It means `heart' in Vietnamese.
She escaped from Saigon just before the Communists took
control, three years ago this Spring.  She had worked in
the American embassy... very well educated... and a friend
of mine in the Foreign Service asked me to sponsor her so
she could come to America.  As you can see, I did much more
than just provide a sponsorship!  I had never envisioned
myself getting married, much less to a woman such as she."

"I saw her at dinner, and she looks very....."  Mark was
suddenly at a loss for the word he was going to use.
Pretty?  Exotic?  The truth was that with her petite body
and short hair she looked...

"Boyish, I think the word is," offered Hanson, with a sly
grin.

"Well... yes," said Mark, taken aback.  The only straight
pornography that Mark had ever been aroused by featured
young Asian women, with slender hips and nearly-flat
chests, giving blow-jobs and getting fucked by handsome
young Caucasian men.  "It must be, uh, fascinating to be
married to someone with her, uh, background."

"Asian women make quite satisfactory wives," said Hanson.
"They are submissive to their husbands... in all manner of
things.  I hope I don't offend you with my bluntness, but I
can't resist bragging about Tam being entirely compliant
with everything that I desire in our bedroom... including
the accommodation of a third participant now and then."

Mark was too flustered to think of any suitable reply, and
in any case probably wouldn't have been able to get the
words out.

"She is quite popular with her students, and will often
invite one over for dinner at our home.  We live in one of
the school-owned houses right on the edge of campus."
Hanson took a sip of his wine.  "She teaches an 8th grade
class, for example, and we're very fond of hosting a few
select boys from the class.  Lads at 13 and 14 years old
are quite remarkable, don't you think?  Perhaps you'll come
to dinner yourself sometime, when we are hosting a boy."

"Uh... well... thanks!  That's very kind of you, Dick."

"I should be getting along now.  I suspect I interrupted
you when I came here, and I want to let you return to
whatever you were doing."

When Hanson was finally gone, Mark collapsed into his
chair, his head buzzing from mental overload and from a bit
too much wine.  "God!  That was so bizarre!" he muttered.
Hanson had surely seen the boy-porn magazines on the bed,
and he was sending nearly-unmistakable signals that he was
a boy-lover too.  And that he does threesomes with his wife
and students!

Mark closed his eyes and tried to calm his nerves.  His
rational mind told him that he should avoid Hanson like the
plague.  This was his second chance to get things right
with his teaching career, and he couldn't blow it again.

At the other school, where he had begun teaching last
September, he had been like a child set free in a candy
store.  The boys idolized him, and he felt free to hug
them and playfully roughhouse... and sneak a feel when
they got their ineveitable boners while wrestling with
him.  Three of the boys - his favorites - had been all
too willing to let him go farther... MUCH farther.  It
had seemed so easy to finally satisfy his erotic
cravings, so long as he played his cards right.  But he
hadn't, and it had gotten him fired.  It had been
foolishly risky to take a shower with that cute 7th grader
in the locker room late in the afternoon, after the other
boys had gone home.  When the custodian had walked into
the shower room with his mop and bucket, the two of them
were just getting started, jacking their own boners with
soapy hands.  At least the old man hadn't arrived a minute
later, when Mark and the boy would have been jacking each
other off... or 5 minutes later when Mark would have been
on his knees sucking the boy's beautiful 4-inch [10cm] boner.

Mark had been allowed to resign from the prestigious
private day school without a scandal and had finished the
semester doing substitute teaching in various public
schools.  Sending out his resume (which excluded his 8
weeks at the prep school in Cleveland), he would have
accepted just about any full-time teaching job.  He'd never
heard of Hardcrest when he responded to their job ad, but
he jumped at the offer that was extended after just a phone
interview.  They needed to fill a mid-year vacancy in the
faculty and hired him to teach history, coach wrestling for
the younger boys, and to be a "hall master" in the dorms.
The pay was low (he'd made more as a substitute teacher),
but room and board were included for free, and he didn't
need a car.

"Self discipline," he told himself again.  "Look, but don't
touch."

He pulled his suitcase out from under the bed and opened
it.  He picked up the bottle of lube and the porn magazines
and took them over to the chair, extracting the one from
beneath the seat cushion.  After pouring some lube onto his
palm, he opened "Rough-Trade Hustler" and stared at the
first picture -- the same mid-teen punk as on the cover,
standing in a low-budget motel room, masturbating.  He was
naked except for the jock-strap, which was pulled down to
his mid-thighs.  A small bush of dark pubes appeared to be
his only body hair.  Damn, he has a big cock, thought Mark.
He paged ahead to see if there would be pictures of him
being sucked off by a man, as the cover suggested.  Sure
enough, there were.  The boy was in the same motel room,
wearing the jock-strap, with the pouch pulled to the side
to allow his whopper of a cock to stand up unimpeded.  A
man in his mid-40s was on his knees, deep-throating the
cock, with an ecstatic look on his face.  Mark paged ahead
quickly -- he'd come back to do it again slowly -- and saw
pictures of the boy whipping the man's butt with a thick
leather belt, and then a variety of shots showing the boy
fucking the man.

Mark sat back in the chair, holding his slippery cock in
one hand and the New York porn shop magazine in the other.
It was all he could do to keep from groaning out loud as he
jacked himself in slow, firm strokes.  His imagination put
him in the place of the submissive man in the pictures, on
his knees sucking the dominant teenager, getting spanked by
him, and getting fucked by that 9-inch [23cm] cock.


End of Part 1.

Want more? Write to me at bil47_new@yahoo.com