Date: Sun, 31 Dec 2006 16:55:50 -0500
From: J T <jtauthor@gmail.com>
Subject: A Teacher of Boys -- chapter 2

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction.  The characters,
incidents, dialogues, settings, and businesses portrayed in it are
products of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as
real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is
entirely coincidental.  This story is an attempt at envisioning what
might have happened if one of my dear friends had decided to remain in
the teaching profession (which, to his credit and likely good fortune,
he did not).


It was Friday afternoon, and I was preparing for our first basketball
practice of the season.  The boys would start arriving in about five
minutes or so.  As if on cue, right after I finished adjusting the
last hoop to the right height, a boy named Grant walked in.  My eyes
ran appraisingly over him.  With naturally well-tanned skin, gentle
but angular features, a chiseled nose, bright green eyes, and just
slightly mussed rich brown hair, Grant struck quite the figure.  And,
of course, he was bedecked in his school clothes: a navy blue blazer
and khaki pants.  His shirt was undone three buttons, and his
well-formed Windsor knot tie hung loosely around his thin neck.

"Heya, Mr. Kastan!" he called, setting his sports bag down.  "Pass me
a ball!"  I loved the boy's enthusiasm, and I especially loved his
voice -- an unimposing soprano that would have been perfect except for
the slight whine that occasionally crept into his tone if he was
speaking too loudly or passionately.

Shooting a quick chest pass off to Grant, I greeted him by name and
asked, "You ready for a pretty intense season?"

"You bet!" was his enthusiastic response as I watched him catch the
pass.  He set the ball down for just a second as he shrugged off his
blazer -- of course not caring where it landed -- and then started
taking some baseline jump shots.  As he was shooting I noticed that
he, though already tall, had grown even taller since I last saw him
five or so months ago.  He had been about 4'10" at the end of last
year.  Now he was easily 5', maybe even 5'1".  My eyes drank Grant in
as a slight sheen of perspiration began to appear on his neck and
upper chest, causing a slight glint to appear on his collar bone
(visible because of his undone collar and upper buttons).

By this time some of the other boys were trickling in.  Jay, Cobey,
and Nat walked in together, of course, all in their school best.  I
loved Jay's outfit.  The blond-haired, blue-eyed, 10-year-old devil
was wearing a light pink dress shirt with a pink and black
broad-striped tie highlighted with occasional slices of white.  His
pants weren't quite kahki, more of an off-white.  Each boy had a
sports bag of some type, which was immediately dropped as they picked
up or asked for a basketball (requests which I promptly granted).

Good, I thought to myself, I was hoping everyone would shoot around a
little and not head straight for the locker room to change as quickly
(and unnoticed) as possible.  I didn't want that precedent to be set.
Once everyone arrived, I blew my whistle shrilly (a simple pleasure
which I never lost satisfaction in partaking of) and called for
everyone to meet me in the locker room with their practice gear.

Once everyone was assembled, I showed them our nook in the locker room
and explained, "All right, guys.  This is our part of the locker room.
 You can take any of the lockers in this pod, but the other areas are
for other teams and sports."  I looked around to make sure everyone
understood or to see if anyone doubted my claim (which, actually, was
untrue; they could have taken any open locker).  No one even batted an
eyelash, so I continued, "Anyway, I'm happy we're all back together
for another season.  We did some great things the past two years, and
I'm confident that we're going to do even better this year.  I also
want you guys to realize, though, that you're getting older;
expectations are increasing.  I'm going to expect you guys to play
harder, practice harder, learn more, expand beyond the basics, and be
more mature.  You guys aren't in lower school anymore, remember.
You're becoming young men, and that's a big responsibility on the
court.  We're going to have fun, but you're going to see a more
serious, stricter Mr. Kastan.  You guys understand?"

A chorus of, "Yeah, coach," "Of course, Mr. Kastan," and "Sure thing,"
greeted me.  Things had already stepped up for them at school, so they
probably saw a more serious sports venue as just a natural progression
of that.  Good, it made things much easier, I thought.

"All right.  You guys get changed now."  Glancing around, I warned
them, "It ought to take you only a couple minutes.  I don't want to
waste practice time."  Cobey was the first to doff his jacket, right
onto the floor.  I immediately raised my voice, "Hey, guys, I don't
know what you do in the locker room at school, but these are nice
clothes, and I'm sure you didn't pay for them and don't have to clean
them.  You've got plenty of locker space, so use it."

Some of them grumbled a little; a few stared at me blankly.  "Here,
this is what I mean.  Cobey, hang your jacket up."  He did so quickly.
 "Good.  Now you take your tie off and hang that up, too -- yeah, just
like that.  Great.  Now take your shirt and fold it."  His eyes
flickered among his teammates for a second, his cheeks ever so
slightly red as he clumsily unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged it off.
He did a right haphazard job of trying to fold the thing, so I took it
from him, saying, "Here, like this."  I slowly showed everyone how to
fold the shirt and put it in Cobey's locker.

I sighed, raised my eyebrows, and asked, "Okay, you guys now how to
fold your pants?"  They looked at each other and shrugs.  Some said,
"Sorta," or, "I dunno, maybe."  I rolled my eyes and looked back at
Cobey.  "Hand me your pants, and I'll show everyone how to fold those,
too."  The red stains on Cobey's cheeks deepened significantly, but he
did as he was asked.  He awkwardly undid his belt and slid off his
pants, leaving him in just a pair of white socks and briefs.  He
looked smaller without his clothes on.  He was totally hairless, and
his just slightly tanned skin showed pale against the locker room
lights.  I could tell he was chilled, as he had goose bumps on his
arms, thighs, and chest.  He was a skinny kid but fairly well built
for his age.  I loved his pert little nipples and the foreshadowing of
some fine musculature.  His briefs were fairly tight, but even so, I
didn't notice any sort of telltale bulge in their front.  He shifted
slightly, and -- ah, there.  It was nice to know that he had a penis!
(Though, thankfully, it didn't seem too large.  I wasn't much of a fan
of large dicks on angelic little boys.)

My scrutiny was fast and subtle, but it must have seemed like a long
while for Cobey.  I peered at him oddly and said a bit sternly, "You
know, you really ought to get dressed, Cobey."  He giggled nervously
and thankfully pulled on his athletic shorts and Under Armor t-shirt.
The other boys started changing then, almost all of them following the
steps that I had modeled exactly.  That's a little bit of a trick I
learned from teaching.  When you shown children how to do something,
they almost always try to do their best to imitate exactly what you
modeled.  I had learned from a New York Times science article that
there was actually genetic basis for that kind of behavior.

I paid particular attention to Grant and Jay as they changed.  Grant
was quite skinny, but he had a bit of lean muscle on his body.  He
faced me for a few seconds full-on with just his loose, short boxers
on display.  He put his leg up on a bench as he started to take off a
sock, and I could see all the way along his thigh up to where his leg
met his crotch.  But alas, I wasn't able to get a look at his penis or
balls, just the hairless telltale fold that was right next to where
his little dick's root would be.  My eyes flicked from his thigh to
his torso, admiringly his narrow, flat chest, dime-sized nipples, and
small innie belly button.  When he reached up to put a watch in his
locker, I breathed deeply at the sight of his slender arms and
perfectly smooth, light brown armpits.  Like Cobey, he was obviously a
bit embarrassed, too, as I could see him looking quickly around and
then hurriedly donning his shorts and t-shirt.

Jay, well, of course he looked gorgeous.  The fun thing about Jay was
that he wasn't all that modest.  He stripped off all his clothes
(except for his boxers, of course) and stayed like that chatting with
some friends for quite a few moments before slipping on his athletic
shorts.  Then he went to take a piss and came back and put on his
shirt.  Needless to say, I snuck as many casual glances as I could at
Jay, admiring his pale, smooth, and prepubescently muscled body.  And,
of course, every time I saw his tiny little nipples, it reminded me of
the glands of the same color atop his neatly circumcised penis.

As I looked back at Grant, I noticed that he had a jock hanging out of
the bag he was stuffing into his locker.  "Hey, Grant," I nodded at
his bag.  "You know what that strap is, right?"  He blushed and
replied, "Yeah, of course."

"Why aren't you using it?"

He shrugged and mumbled, "I've never before, and I've never gotten hit there."

I arched my brows and shrugged back.  "Whatever, it's your ability to
make children."  I smirked and winked, which alleviated any tension
that had built up and caused Grant to snicker.

God was I hard by time we got out of that locker room.  After all that
eye-feasting, I have to say that I was proud of how facilely I
transitioned into my actual coaching role.  We started off doing some
passing and lay-up drills.  The boys were looking pretty good:
straighter and harder passes, more bounce passes, better lay-up form,
increased accuracy.  We were definitely going to have a good year, I
figured.

Assuming, of course, if we could make some improvements on the
offensive side of our game.  In elementary school basketball, offense
almost always lags defense.  It wasn't too hard to teach kids a basic
zone-defense and man-to-man.  Once they got those down, shifting to
various hybrid defenses was usually a walk in the park.  Offense was
harder, though.  Everyone wanted to get open, wanted the ball, wanted
to score, wanted to be point-guard.  Offense was where the glory was,
and that was a big distraction for 10-year-old boys.  They didn't like
watching the action, setting picks, or acting as a decoy.  They wanted
their hands on the balls.  Baskets, assists, rebounds -- that's what
is was all about in these boys' minds.

We worked on pick and roll drills and plays for at least a half hour
before I decided that the guys were ready for some scrimmaging.  I
made the teams and, as I did most of the time, put Grant, Jay, and
Cobey on skins.  They stripped off their shirts without any
hesitation, and everyone got into position for the jump.  Grant was
playing center for the skins, so he had his arm up, giving me another
perfect view of his underarm.  I blew the whistle, and they were off.

The shirts had the ball first, which gave me a great opportunity to
shout, "C'mon, defense, get your hands up.  Let's see some good
positioning."  Immediately, four pairs of smooth, hairless armpits
came into view.  As the scrimmage continued, I became lost in watching
the naked torsos of cute boys sweating, glistening, gyrating, and
bumping up against other boys.  As I signaled that we only had a few
minutes left, the game's intensity quickly ratcheted up a couple
notches.  As Grant was going up for a lay up, he was leveled by
another boy and landed unnaturally on his leg.

He sat up, face read and tear-ducts wide open.  I blew the whistle to
stop play and asked Grant, "Can you get up?"

He shook his head, "No, I don' think so."  He winced as he tried to
push himself up and bear some weight on his injured leg, but he
quickly dropped back to the ground.

I sighed and flashed a mild glare at Ian, the big kid who had leveled
Grant.  "This is why we play like gentleman and don't screw around," I
grumbled.  Then I turned back to Graham, both my face and voice soft
again.  "All right, Grant.  I'll get you out of here and see if
there's any serious damage done."  I lifted Grant up as if he were a
bride, my hands and arms making full contact with his ever-so-soft and
smooth, exposed legs, bag, side, belly, and -- briefly -- armpit.  His
skin was like the most extravagant of finely woven silk, its texture
divine.  I gently set the boy down beyond the out-of-bounds and turned
back to the rest of the team.

"All right," I ordered, "Ian, you're out until Grant can come back in.
 The rest of you guys, go ahead and carry on.  Tone it down a bit,
though.  I need to make sure Grant's all right."  I turned back to
Grant and asked gently, "Where does it hurt?"

"My knee and thigh," he grimaced and shifted uncomfortably.  "I just
hurt me knee the other day, too."

"Man, that sucks."  He looked over his body.  He was sitting with his
knees up, legs spread just slightly, nothing on but a pair of loose
athletic shorts that looked like they were still from when he was a
few inches shorter.  God, I thought, 90% of his body is bare.  I let
my hands wander over his body as I said, "All right.  Just relax.
Let's see how bad things are."  I carefully put pressure on his knee
and thigh and asked him how it felt.

"Not too bad, but it hurts a little," he near-whispered.

"Hmm, let's check your range of motion," I stated authoritatively.  He
put one hand under his knee and the other on his calf and slowly
pulled his leg out and up.  I got a great view down his boxers, but no
jewels yet.

"Lay down," I murmurs as I gently put pressure on his leg and almost
imperceptibly rubbed them.  He acquiesced without a word as I pulled
his leg up and out.

"Well, your knee seems all right.  No permanent harm done.  You said
your thigh hurt, too?"  Grant nodded slightly.  "Okay, let's check
that out then."  I let both hands wander slightly up his shorts and
put pressure on his thigh.  "Hurt?" I asked.  He shook his head.  "All
right.  Range of motion then.  This might hurt just a little even if
you're not seriously injured.  Just to warn you."  He nodded, and I
could tell he was tensing and thinking mostly about the potential for
real pain.  I took my left hand off his outer thigh and put it under
his leg, just above the knee.  I let me right hand linger where it was
so that my fingers would hook the inside of his shorts and boxes.
Then I pushed up and out with my left hand and let Grant's calf rest
on my shoulder.  I suddenly had an absolutely perfect view of his
balls and penis.

God, I thought, he's gorgeous.  The kid was Jewish, so I already knew
he would be circumcised.  His ball sack was almost entirely
unwrinkled.  His testicles hadn't dropped yet, but his sack was a
little loose, neither particularly large or small for his age.  His
balls themselves were small marbles held close to the penis that was
nestled above them.  His penis was thin and not yet two inches in
length, maybe an inch and a half, a third of that his exposed head.
His genitals were a light brown color, just a bit darker than the skin
around them but paler than most of the rest of his body.  The glands
of his penis were almost exactly the same color as the rest of his
dick except for a slight tinge of pink.  I was so tempted to reach my
hand further down his leg and fondle him.  I wanted to know what his
erection looked like so badly....


Author's note:  First of all, I apologize for taking so long in
getting to the second part of the story.  I hope to upload future
chapters in a more timely manner.  Given that I don't get paid for
this, though, sometimes my motivation is limited. :P

Some of the people who sent me feedback seemed to express an interest
in seeing hot and steamy man-boy sex start up right away.  I'm sorry
to disappoint those people whom I haven't indulged.  While there will
be some sexual activity in upcoming chapters, don't expect super
hardcore man-boy "action."  If anything, you're more likely to see
some boy-boy activity of that sort.

I look forward to hearing additional feedback.  I'm considering
experimenting a bit with perspective (maybe a boy's perspective, maybe
third person) and voice.  Let me know what you think.  I've found that
erotic fiction can be quite a bit different than typical creative
writing, and it's a new genre for me.  Ideas, comments, and criticism
certainly help.     -- JT/jtauthor@gmail.com