My Math Teacher
Copyright ã 2012
By Lee Mariner
This erotic short story is intended for ADULT readers only. If you are not of legal age in your locality to be reading this story or, should you disapprove of this type of material, PLEASE LEAVE.
This story is assigned to the Nifty Archives for posting in accordance with there guidelines. It is not to be reproduced, copied or posted on any website or blog without the written consent of the author.Mariner1931@cox.net
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I was fourteen-years old and in the ninth grade when I had my first sexual encounter. Mr. Tricot had been my math teacher when I was in the sixth, seventh and eighth grades but, I never suspected and, I don't think any of the other students knew that, he liked boys. In the ninth-grade, I learned different.
Mr. Tricot was in his thirties. He was always well-groomed, clean cut, attractive and well built. He had strawberry blond hair, that was always neatly trimmed, jade green eyes, full lips and an always ready smile. It was natural for the girls in class to swoon over him but, it was a lot more difficult for a horny, gay teen-age boy.
From the time that, I was able to use the bathroom by myself, I knew that, I was different. In my early school years, boys interested me more than a girl. Oh, I liked girls but becoming intimate with one was out of the question.
There were a lot of good looking boys in school and some of them; no, several of them were well endowed. During showering after physical education, there were a few of us that would lag behind the other boys and after the coast was clear we indulged our teenage desires in quickie jerk-off sessions. I didn't have anything to be ashamed of. I was as well built as most fourteen-year old boys and my thick, uncut six-inches matched most of the other boys. While the other guys would be talking about the girls that they had seduced and fucked, I was thinking about Mr. Tricot, wondering what he would look like naked. I found out in the ninth-grade.
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Mr. Tricot was young and fresh from college when I first met him. We kids didn't know it at the time that, he would be our mathematics teacher for several years. But, that didn't stop us from testing him. His patience and understanding proved to be more than we had thought and but for his patience, a lot of us probably would not have done as well as some of us did in his classes. I know I wouldn't have but, I learned a lot more than just mathematics from Mr. Tricot.
The school year was in full swing when, I began noticing that Mr. Tricot seemed to be paying more attention to what I was doing, He would stand behind me and sometimes, I felt his hip pressing against my shoulder or he would place his hand on my shoulder squeezing lightly as he was telling me something. His aroma was intoxicating and my cock would get hard every time he stood beside me. A few times, I became so excited that, I almost popped my nuts. It took a lot of will-power to stop it from happening.
The strange thing is that whenever he looked at me and smiled, I had a strong hunch that he knew how he effected me. The look in his eyes that gave me a sort of 'I know' look.
We were required to take an elective in addition to the basic physical fitness exercises. I elected swimming. Two other boys in my class, Mark and Jason, both the same age as me had elected swimming. Of the two, Mark was the better, physically. His ash-blond hair was a mass of curls, and his ice-blue eyes seemed to twinkle every time he looked at you. I had never seen him naked but, it was obvious from the way his clothes fit, he was well built. His biceps filled the sleeves of his shirts, his jeans were always tight and there was an undeniable bulge in his crotch. Looking at Mark made me feel the same way as when, I looked at Mr. Tricot. I later learned that it was called lusting for someone that was attractive.
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It was Friday and, I was looking forward to the afternoon physical education period. Most of the other kids around me in the cafeteria were jabbering on about what most teenagers jabber about...boys and music. I was sitting alone and thinking about seeing Mark naked in the locker room when him and Jason eased onto the empty chairs.
I could see that Mark was excited about something and, I automatically greeted them in the usual manner. "What's up bro?"
"Hey, Paul," Mark exclaimed, glancing at Jason as he spoke. "Haven't you heard that Mr. Tricot the math teacher is going to fill in for Coach Thompson?"
""What for?" I replied. "He teaches math."
"From what Jason and me heard, the Coach is having an operation to remove an ulcer in his stomach and he wont be able to coach for awhile."
Any number of sexually racy scenarios filled my brain and automatically, my cock would get hard. But, the thought of seeing my math teacher wearing only a bathing suit sent my sex drive into overdrive. But, being on the cautious side, I said, "I wonder why they picked Mr. Tricot?"
"Because he is younger than the other men teachers." Jason said with a grin on his face.
"That could be true," Mark replied.
Jason was a little slower than Mark and not nearly as good-looking. I often wondered what their relationship was, seeing as how Mark was the all-around boy-next-door type and Jason was not the guy that would stand out in a crowd. I had heard, in my limited gay circle, that what some guys lacked in their outward physical appearance, they made up for it by having larger than usual endowments. Jason might be in that group...he was.
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I was opening my locker in the gym's dressing room when Mark and Jason came in chattering like magpies. When they saw me undressing, both of them threw me a high-fiver and went on to their lockers. After that, more of my swim class filled the locker room and, I got an eye-full of a large variety of young teenage cock in various stages of flaccid and semi-flaccid. Every now and then, I heard a ribald comment or two that were indicative of teen-age boys eager to show their sexual prowess in the male world.
I lingered at my locker a little longer than usual in the hopes of seeing Mr. Tricot pass through on his way to the coaches locker room. But, no such luck so, I rinsed off and doused my feet in the antiseptic foot bath before entering the pool area. I heard a loud ear-splitting whistle as I pushed the door to the pool area open.
Mr. Tricot, holding a whistle in one hand, was standing on the three-foot spring board wearing a black spandex swim suit and a towel around his neck. There was a couple of boys doing laps in the lanes but most of the boys were in the water just out of the ten-foot diving depth of the pool.
I had wondered what Mr. Tricot would look like naked. His shoulders were broad, his waist was small and the skin-tight spandex suit may be helpful in reducing friction while swimming, it did nothing to hide a rather impressive bulge in his crotch. I felt the tell-tale pressure in my loins of an eminent hard-on and, I jumped into the pool just as Mr. Tricot blew another blast of his whistle and hollered, "all right boys, Coach Thompson had scheduled diving exercises for today but, since I am an amateur coach, let's concentrate on our swimming and turnaround times."
All of the teams gathered at the head of their swimming lanes. Mr. Tricot took a position in one corner of the pool with a stop watch. As we swam the back-stroke, butterfly, breast-stroke, free-style, he offered different comments too each boy as they finished their part. He marked all of our times and when we were finished, we sat on the edge of the pool with our feet dangling in the water. At first Mr. Tricot, who had stayed in the water, was moving from boy to boy while he discussed what he had observed in the performance of the individual and team performance. I was listening to what he was saying but, my eyes were absorbing how well-built he was. His shoulders were broad and his chest muscles were full with dark twin nipples surrounded by large light brown aureoles`. His strawberry blond hair and his chest hair was darker because of the water and, there was a very distinct growth of hair from his sternum downward between the twin ridges of abdominal muscle too his naval and then, on below the water line.
I hadn't absorbed much of what he was saying but, when he dismissed the class, I heard him say, "Paul, why don't you stick around for a few minutes and we can work on the butterfly stroke?"
"Yes sir," I gulped, nervously.
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When the door closed behind the last boy, Mr. Tricot moved to the pool's edge and placing both hands on the coping, he bent his legs and sprang up to sit on the coping beside me. The water that followed his leap fell on both of us and, I felt his thigh touching mine. Shaking his hair free of the excess water, he hand wiped his arms and chest. The twin nipples of his sculpted chest muscles were surrounded with large brown aureoles and there was a layer of water darkened, silky, blond hair covered his chest and merged at the sternum.
His chest hair sort of grouped at his sternum and then flowed downward between twin ridges of hard abdominal muscles like a cascading waterfall, too his inny belly button before disappearing into the elastic waistband of his swimsuit. He had strong thighs and well-developed calves and feet.
Before, when he was in the water and I was swimming laps, the undulating water prevented seeing any bulge in his crotch but, sitting beside me, it was more than obvious that, he was well-endowed.
When, he placed his hand on my thigh and then ran his fingers along the seam of my swimsuit and across my stomach, I inhaled sharply and, he said, "are you uncomfortable, Paul."
"Not unless you are but, we could be in a lot of trouble if someone walks in."
Squeezing my rigid cock, he looked into my eyes and said, "That is easily taken care of."
Jumping up, he removed the lanyard from around his neck as he walked to the door and locked it with the key. When he jumped into the pool, I could see he was removing his swimsuit. Leaning back slightly, I started to remove my suit when he stopped me and said, "let me do that."
He stood in front of me in the pool. His eyes glistened and, placing hishand on my chest, he gently pushed and I fell back on my hands. He slowly removed my swimsuit and my aching cock sprang free and then flopped back on my flat stomach.
"Mmmm, nice, Paul, very nice," he whispered as he slipped his fingers under my turgid cock. A feeling of excitement swept over me as he slowly moved the skin of my cock up and down it's full length. Little pearls of pre-seminal fluid emerged at the urethral opening in it's ruby red crown with each upward stroke and, I knew it was only seconds before his pumping motion would empty my balls.
Up to a point, I had developed some control before my passions took over and I drifted in the surreal atmosphere of teenage bliss but when I felt his mouth enveloping my cock, any semblance of control was lost and I grabbed his head, entangling my fingers in his thick blond hair.
"Suck, it, please, drain my nuts," I moaned softly. In response, he forced the full six-inch length of my cock down his throat. The hot feeling of my burgeoning cock encased within his throat sent me into sexual overdrive. My upward thrusting hips automatically responded, thrusting my cock back into the depths of his throat. The pressure of his lips squeezing the base of my cock, his tongue lapping at the crown of my cock melded together as a hot stream of molten semen raced up the urethral canal and exploded with volcanic force into his mouth. It felt as if gallons of my teenage cream was flowing from my testicles down into his throat. He gulped two or three times, hastily swallowing the thick elixir that flowed unimpeded.
Moaning softly, I fell onto my back while Mr. Tricot sucked my slowly deflating cock. After several seconds, he released my cock and rested his head on my stomach, his lips only millimeters from the soft prize that he had desired for so long.
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I didn't know it at the time, what fourteen-year old boy would. But, the relationship between Mr. Tricot would be sustained until I graduated high-school. Verbally, he taught me many scenarios and positions of what two men could do for each other. Physically, he was an expert and, he had the tools with which to teach any novice in gay sex.
Oh, remember Mark? He became a member of Mr. Tricot's class quite by accident and it was my fault but, if I hadn't made the mistake of not locking the door to the coach's office, I would have probably never learned that Mark was gay and just as horny as me. We engaged in our first but by no means the last ménage a trios`.