Date: Sat, 27 Aug 2016 14:13:21 +0000 From: Andy Brown Subject: Tutoring Dylan - Chapter 1 Tutoring Dylan - chapter 1 Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction which features sexual activity between a teenage boy and a grown man. If you do not want to read such a story, or it is illegal for you to do so because of your age or where you live, then I recommend you go read something else instead. The characters in this story do in fact exist. However, none of the things in this story have ever happened. Also, clearly to protect the characters, I have changed their names and some facts about their lives. *** It had been a long week at work and I was crashed out on the sofa. Working in a call centre wasn't the most fun or glamorous job around, but it paid the mortgage and was a damn sight less stressful than my previous job. I was munching my way through a pizza and half watching a t20 cricket match on TV when my phone rang. No one usually rang on a Friday evening, so I checked to see who was calling. It wasn't anyone from my contacts, but I recognised the area code as it was around where I used to work. "Hello," I answered. "Hi. Is that Mr Brown?" came a woman's voice on the other end. "Yes." I was worried for a moment that the use of my surname may mean it's someone trying to help me claim back PPI that I hadn't taken out. "Who is this?" I asked. "Hi, sorry. It's Mrs Williams, you used to teach my son Dylan." Interesting, I thought. Dylan left the school I used to teach at the year before I did. And it was now a year since I'd left the place. I wondered what his mum wanted. "Hello Mrs Williams. Yes, I remember Dylan. What can I do for you?" "This probably seems really weird me phoning you up like this, but we were hoping you'd agree to tutor Dylan," she replied. "Yeah, it does a bit. The tutoring..." I hesitated. "The thing is I left teaching nearly a year ago - I'm not really sure I'd be much help these days. What is it you want me to tutor him in?" "Well, the thing is... it's a bit complicated to be honest. Is there any chance we could meet with you, to talk about it face to face. I think that would be easier." "Mmmm, I'm not really sure," I replied. "I've sort of left that part of my life behind. I'm sure you could get someone else to do it - maybe George Maddox or Jane Fielding, they both used to tutor a number of the kids from school." "I thought you may say that," Mrs Williams responded. "But as I said, this is a complicated situation, and neither George or Jane would be quite right. Please. Just come over one evening. We can have dinner together, and then we can talk over the situation." This sounded very strange. Both George and Jane were ex-teachers and experienced private tutors. I couldn't understand why Mrs Williams was being so insistent that she wanted me to tutor Dylan. I ummed and ahhhhed for a few moments, but in the end my curiosity got the better of me. "Ok. I'll come for dinner and a chat." "Excellent!" she replied with an obvious sound of delight in her voice. "Can you do one evening next week?" "Yeah, I suppose so. How about Wednesday?" "Wednesday would be great. That's excellent news! Dylan will be thrilled! We'll eat at 7. See you then." "Ok. I presume you're still living in the village?," I questioned. "Yes. 24 Maple Avenue. See you Wednesday." "Thanks. Bye." I put my phone down and slumped back in the sofa. Why on earth did she want me to tutor her son? And why would Dylan be so thrilled at me accepting? It seemed very strange. On the one hand I didn't really have the time or inclination to start tutoring someone, especially someone who lived so near to where I used to work. But on the other hand I was intrigued to find out what this was all about, and I suppose the extra money would come in handy - plus Dylan was a very cute 11 year old the last time I saw him; he'd now be 13 and I had my fingers crossed that he'd now be even cuter. *** It was Wednesday evening and I was sat in my car outside the house of my ex-pupil Dylan Williams. 101 thoughts were racing through my mind. Why was I here and what on earth was this all about? I couldn't understand why Dylan would need a tutor. When I had taught him two years ago he was bright and usually worked hard. By no means was he top of the class (that was his friend Jack) but he was certainly above average for his age. Perhaps he'd fallen behind, but he was at a good high school and I'm sure his new teachers wouldn't have let that happen. Maybe his parents wanted to push him so he would get top grades at GCSE? But his parents weren't like that, as far as I'd seen over the years. Sure, I'd only really seen his dad at parent's evenings but he seemed fairly laid back and was always just glad to hear that Dylan was doing well and was happy. His mother I saw more regularly - particularly when I'd taught Dylan in Year 4 and he'd had his operation - and she'd always been so cool and calm, a stark contrast with so many of the other pushy parents at the leafy laned village school. And then there was that Mrs Williams had said about it being a "complicated situation" and how "neither George or Jane would be quite right." I mean George and Jane had both been tutoring kids in the surrounding villages for over 10 years each. Why on earth did she not consider either of these suitable. I suppose Jane may have been out of her depth trying to teach Year 9 work as she'd mainly specialised in the infants and lower juniors classes as a teacher, but George had taught both upper primary and in the old middle schools - surely he'd be perfect. I thought about starting the car back up and heading back home, but a part of me was still intrigued about what this could be all about. And then there was Dylan. Even when I'd taught him as a 9 year old in Year 4 he was cute. A little taller than average, skinny, with a mop of messy brown hair, olive tanned skin, and rich brown eyes that I regularly got lost in. He was often quite a serious lad but when he did smile it used to melt my heart (and I imagine I wasn't the only one). When he got changed for PE I tried to stop myself from staring, but I couldn't help it. My eyes were drawn to him. He had that beautiful olive coloured skin all over (genetics I think rather than time spent sunbathing) and his body was lithe. He used to do a lot of gymnastics and swimming and it showed. His body wasn't muscly - a 9 year old shouldn't look that way anyway, in my opinion - it was thin without being over thin, and taught. He always wore tight (and usually brightly coloured) boxer briefs which showed off his little bulge and hugged his plump rear. Towards the end of the year Dylan was off school for a couple of weeks after undergoing a circumcision operation. I missed him greatly whilst he was off, and I couldn't help but envy the doctors and nurses who got to see and handle his young penis. At the end of that year Dylan moved up into Year 5 and I was moved up to teach Year 6. Obviously I still saw Dylan around school but it felt like a wrench to be away from him. There were a couple of cute boys in my class but none were in the same league as Dylan. Though that didn't stop me from checking them out as they got changed for PE! Eventually Dylan moved into Year 6 and it was a wonderful year, though I did require a huge amount of restraint and self-control to get through it. Dylan had naturally grown taller and had started to bother more with his appearance, with his hair usually styled with a little quiff at the front. His eyes and skin tone remained as beautiful as ever, and there remained not a hair on his body apart from his head and a light dusting on both his forearms and lower legs. I was glad to once again be able to watch him as he changed for PE, noting how he was still wearing figure hugging boxer briefs but had traded up from the M&S ones he had worn in year 4 to now wear Next or Calvin Klein. His butt had, if anything, become more pert, and his bulge had definitely grown and continued to do so over the course of the year. His thighs and biceps had both become a little bigger, which was clearly a result of his continued gymnastics work and his newfound discipline of jogging before school in a morning (which I made it my mission to find out where he went and at what time, and ensure that I passed him on my way into work). His torso was also slightly more developed with pecs beginning to appear and some definition to his abs. This I put down to his switch from swimming to diving. During the year I developed a close bond with Dylan, as often happens with any class. Towards the end of the year we began rehearsals for the end of year musical and Dylan was picked to play the lead part of Tarzan. We decided it would be easiest if we got someone to make his costume and I volunteered to measure him for it, reasoning to the other staff that at his age he may be embarrassed if a female teacher did the measuring. It was the most glorious 10 minutes of the year by far. I allowed him to remain fully dressed to start with as we measured his height and his head circumference (he needed a headdress for one scene). But for the most part, I had him strip down to his underwear - a nice pair of black Calvin Klein's on this particular day. Naturally I took the opportunity to touch his 11 year old body as much as possible and took far more measurements that was necessary. I started by measuring his neck, which obviously required me to stand very close to him and crouch down a little so as to be almost face to face (and lip to lip) with him. How I found the willpower to resist kissing him, I'll never know. Next came his arm span from finger tip to finger tip, which allowed me to see his armpits which were still smooth as ever. With his arms outstretched I was able to inhale that heady mixture of boy sweat and Lynx bodyspray and by this stage I was hard as a rock. I then measured him from armpit to finger tip, discovering that he was rather ticklish in his armpit area - jeez his boyish giggle was cute. I also discovered that he was sweating as my finger came in contact with a moist patch in his armpit - was it the heat from the late Spring day or the fact that a man was touching his body that caused this? I carried on further down, this time measuring his chest. My finger 'accidentally' grazed one of his nipples, and maybe I imagined it but I swear I heard him let out a small moan. Going down further I measured his slim waist which was a perfect combination of being both hard and soft at the same time, before moving on to measure the distance from the bottom of his neck to his cute innie belly button. I then got on my hands and knees to measure from his knee to ankle, my hand running down the soft downy hair on his calves as I did so. It was then time to take his inside leg measurement. I was torn. I was very tempted to just stick my hand into his groin with the potential of feeling his dick and balls, but I knew that if he told anyone then my career would be over and I'd likely end up in jail. Instead I decided to get him to move his equipment out of the way, and perhaps embarrass him at the same time. "Dylan?" I said. "Yes Mr Brown." "For the next measurement I need to do your inside leg, do you know what that is?" He looked confused. "Do you know where your groin is?" I asked him. Dylan's face began to redden. "Isn't it your...your...private bits?" he said in almost a whisper. "Nearly Dylan. It's the muscle that runs from your 'private bits' as you say, down the inside of your leg." I showed him by tracing a line using my finger on myself. "To measure your inside leg I need to measure from your groin all the way down your leg." Dylan looked at me wide eyed. "Um ok," he replied. "So Dylan, obviously I can't touch your private parts." His face was now even redder. "So what I need you to do is hold them to one side so that I can push the tape measure right into your groin and then measure your inside leg. Once I've done one side, then I can do the other." Dylan visibly gulped, clearly embarrassed that he would have to touch himself 'down there' in front of a teacher. "Ok," he meekly responded. He then moved his right hand down to his groin and cupped his dick and balls, pulling them to his right hand side. They looked like they filled his hand fairly well. I took the tape measure between the thumb and first finger of my left hand, pushing it into his left groin and then let it unravel down his leg so I could take the measurement. His groin was warm and a little damp, and I could feel what I was sure was his ballsac against the back of my left hand. "Thanks Dylan," I said once I'd finished measuring. "Time to do the right leg now." With that he let go of his package. It looked like things were a bit plumper down there than before. Was he springing a boner? Quickly he cupped his tackle with his left hand and moved it over, allowing me to measure his right leg and once again brush against his ballsac. "Ok Dylan, just one more measurement to do now. This time I need to do your hips." "That's fine," Dylan said, looking relieved that it didn't involve his 'private parts' again. Boy was he mistaken. I decided to push my luck. "The thing is...I need to measure your hips without any clothing getting in the way and affecting the measurement...so..." I left the sentence unfinished and simply inclined my head down to his underwear. Dylan caught my suggestion and looked shocked. "I...I...I can't..." Dylan said, his voice cracking. I could see a tear forming in his eye. Clearly this was pushing things too far, and the last thing I needed was for him to run out of the classroom in only his pants and tell someone I tried to force him to get naked. "Ok," I said. "Don't worry." I put an arm round his shoulder to comfort him. "How about you just hitch your boxers down a bit so they're off your hips but they're still covering you up?" Dylan didn't reply, he simply hooked his thumbs into his waistband and pushed them down several inches until they were clear of his hips. As he did so his V-lines came into view, as did a few light brown wispy hairs. Pushing his boxers down also had the effect of causing the material to bunch around his penis. He was definitely hard and probably about 3 inches long. I sank back down onto my knees and took the tape measure in my hands so I could measure around his hips. This position forced my head to be positioned directly in front of his crotch. I took a deep breath. The smell was pure boy! Sweet yet musty at the same time, sort of like honey mixed with cinnamon. As I breathed his scent in and stared at his crotch I almost came, but managed to control myself. Once I'd measured his hips, I told him he could get dressed again and then sent him out to enjoy the rest of lunchtime. Suffice to say I blew a huge load that evening as I lay on my bed thinking about what we'd done earlier in the day. *** There was a knock on the car window and I jumped up with a start, awakened from my recollections. I looked up and saw a girl at the window. Tall, tanned and with long brown hair. I thought I recognised her, so I wound down my window. "Hi Mr Brown. It's me Imogen. Mum thought she saw you parked outside so she told me to come out and get you." Of course, it was Imogen, Dylan's older sister. "Thanks," I replied. "Let me just get out". I closed the window back up, took the keys out of the ignition and stepped out of the car. Imogen walked ahead of me up the drive, giving me the chance to look at her plump rear which was hugged by the tight shorts she was wearing due to the sweltering June heat. I wondered if Dylan's rear would be just as plump. Stop fooling yourself, I thought. You're being hired to tutor him. It's unlikely you're ever going to see him in his boxers again, never mind seeing him naked. I was snapped out of my thoughts as we got to the front door. Imogen held it open for me and I noticed she had a peculiar grin on her face. "Come on through to the dining room," she said, opening a door to her right. "Mum says dinner will be ready in a few minutes." As we entered the room I looked around. There was a large round wooden table in the centre of the room, surrounded by 6 chairs. The table was already laid with plates, cutlery and glasses, and there were school photos on the wall of both Imogen and Dylan, as well as a few whole family shots. Mr Williams was already sat at the table talking animatedly with Tommy, their youngest son, who must be about 5 by now. "Hello Mr Brown," the father said, turning away from Tommy and extending his hand to me. "Good to see you." I took his hand and shook it. "Thanks Mr Williams. You too. And please, call me Andy. I'm not a teacher anymore and Mr Brown sounds way too formal." "Will do. And call me Dean. Dinner won't be long. Please, take a seat." I sat down next to Tommy with Imogen sitting next to her dad. "Would you like a glass of wine...Andy, we've got red or white?" "No, I'm fine thanks. I've got to drive home after we've done," I replied. "Oh, don't worry about that! I'm sure you'll be here a good while this evening. One glass won't hurt. And you may find it helpful once we've talked about the tutoring." Now my mind was in overdrive. What were they going to ask me to do with the tutoring? Why would I need a drink to hear this? "Fine," I replied. "A glass of white would be lovely. It's a bit too warm for red." Dean went through to the kitchen and returned moments later with a bottle of white wine and a jug of orange juice. He poured a small glass of wine for Imogen, and then poured two large glasses for me and himself. "Can I have some wine too daddy?" asked Tommy. "No darling," Dean replied. "You'll have to stick to orange juice." And with that he poured some juice into Tommy's glass. "But that's not fair. Why does Imogen get some and I don't," the young boy whined. "Because your sister is 15 and you're only 5 that's why." Tommy still looked unhappy but took a sip of his juice anyway. "Imogen, isn't Dylan down yet?" "Not yet dad. I think he's still trying to make himself look good for our guest," she replied to her father, with a wink. What was that all about? Why is Dylan trying to make himself look good for me? "Well, tell him to get himself down here. Your mum'll be serving up anytime soon." Imogen went back into the hallway and I could hear her footsteps as she bounded upstairs. "So Andy, I presume you must be a bit confused about what we've asked you here for?" "Just slightly. Your wife said something about Dylan needing a tutor but that it was a 'complicated situation'. So what is it you're wanting?" I asked. "All in good time Andy. Let's say we eat first, and then we discuss the tutoring afterwards." I was about to object and ask him to tell me now when Mrs Williams walked in from the kitchen carrying a couple of serving dishes and placing them down on the table. One had a green salad in it, the other some steaming hot lamb chops. "I'll be back in a minute," she said, dashing off into the kitchen before returning with two more dishes. This time she had mini potato rostis in one and what looked to be homemade coleslaw in the other. "Wow, Mrs Williams!" I said, staggered at the food she'd brought out. "Thanks, this looks great." "My pleasure. And call me Sandra." "Great, and please call me Andy." "Well you may as well tuck in," Sandra said. "And can you pour me a glass of wine Dean?" she asked her husband as she sat down opposite Tommy. "Shouldn't we wait for Imogen and Dylan to come down?" I asked. "Don't be silly," replied Dean. The way those two wolf it down, we'd be best starting without them - that way we might all get something to eat too!" he chuckled to himself. With that I started to spoon food onto my plate and then picked up my cutlery and began to eat. Imogen soon came back into the room and began to spoon mounds of food onto her plate (the appetite of teenagers, eh?) and within moments the door opened again and in walked Dylan. And my, what a sight to behold he was! *** And so ends the first chapter. I hope you liked it. This is my first time writing on Nifty and so any feedback would be greatly appreciated - andybrown2000@outlook.com