The following story, although drawn loosely from some of my own experiences as a bi teen, is a romantic fiction. Any resemblance of the characters to real persons is merely the result of Dame Fortune's random spin of the wheel of life.
The story contains explicit descriptions of sexual activities between consenting teens. If that offends you, I guess it's your loss.
If you like the story, let me know and please come back for more. It may be a long one. If you don't like it, feel free to let me know that too, but watch out for thr panther, heheh.
"Mr. Hathaway ... Mr. Hathaway!!"
The sound of my name being repeated shook me out of my warm, sensual, Trevor daydream. I looked around and came back to the reality, or should I say unreality, of another stiffling 6th period history lecture from old man Fleming.
"Uhh ... Ummm, yeah, Mr Fleming?" I managed to mumble, hoping that he had asked a yes or no question and that I had guessed the right way, a reasonably safe gamble since he usually asked his lecture victims for their agreement with whatever diatribe he was delivering.
"Mr. Hathaway," he sneered at me, "'Yeah' is not the answer. Now that you are awake , can you tell me the answer?"
"Probably, Mr Fleming. Can you tell me what's the question?"
Around me, my braver classmates snickered at my flippant response. They had listened with amusement all year whenever I managed to sarcastically turn back one of Fleming's verbal assaults.
Fleming's ratty eyes narrowed even further as he hissed, "Hathaway, stand up!!"
I slowly unwound my wiry body from its slouch at my desk and raised myself to my towering 5 and a half foot stance, flashing my patented "cute kid" grin and meeting his glare with wide open, innocent, hazel eyes. Years of practice had made me a master at maintaining a nonchalant mask to cover the fear and anger that stormed inside.
"Mr Hathaway, you were not paying attention. How do you expect to learn anything if you do not pay attention? Class, look at this boy -- a prime example of the failings of our permissive society. He has talent. He has all his material needs provided. He has a free education that gives him the opportunity to learn life's impotant lessons. Yet he squanders it all. He's lazy, disrespectful, slovenly. Our liberal media has taught him that he can just relax --think what he wants, dress like he wants, and act as he wants -- and still be entitled to a free lunch, free love, and 150 channels of sports, music, sex, and sitcoms. Mr. Hathaway, where are your VALUES, young man?"
Inside me, I could feel the panther come to life. Dark, powerful, primal. Fleming had yanked me from my dreamy thoughts of Trevor -- his olive skinned, muscular body pressed close to mine, his strong arms wrapped around me, his rich brown eyes gazing longingly into mine, his warm hand stroking my rigid cock -- and had thrust me into the spotlight of ridicule.
"Shit," I thought, "its the last week of school. Shouldn't a horny sixteen year old at least be able to dream of the exquisite pleasure he would probably never be able to actually experience without being harassed by a petty right-wing tyrant."
My panther inside was not happy, and this time Panther would not be contained. I was just too tired and fed up with school, with assholes like Fleming, with life, to hold back the beast any longer. So I loosed him, climbed onto his sinewy back, and felt his raw energy course through me. Possessed now by Panther, I leaned forward, fire in my eyes, and growled out my words to the pompous little stuffed shirt leering at me from the front of the room.
"Mr. Fleming, I have sat here through months of your facist sermons and I have learned. I've learned that you are a pathetic, shallow little man with values I detest. Despite that, I have ace'd every one of the mickey mouse multiple choice quizes you give us because you are too unimaginative to create, let alone grade, a real test. I will ace your fucking final on Wednesday. That's all you get out of me, Man. Don't tell me how to run my life. You're not my dad, you're not drunk enough. You're not my guardian angel, angels don't spew out the kind of narrow-minded hatred and bigotry you lay on us. As far as I'm concerned, you're just another brick in the wall. And I don't need to listen to anymore of your shit."
The electric silence of the room thundered in my ears. Fleming stood beside his desk, transfixed, mouth gaping, for once at a loss for words. Some of my classmates stared up at me in amazement, others looked down at their desks in embarrassment. Heart racing, I shook my shaggy brown hair back from my face, picked up my book and my backpack, and allowed Panther, satisfied and serene inside me again, to saunter me toward the door. Still not a sound in the room. As I passed by my good friend, Will, I glanced over his lanky six foot frame, square shoulders, and tousled, sandy hair and my eyes met the brilliant blue of his.
"Ah, Will," I mused, thinking of his strength, his quiet confidence, "if only you knew how much I really love you, how much I need you."
Perhaps Will read the neediness in my look. A crooked grin broke out across his usually stoic face. His hands came up in front of him and started slowly, rhythmically clapping. Another clap sounded behind me. Then several more. By the time I reached the door maybe half the people in the room were clapping. I grasped the handle.
"Mr. Hathaway!!" Fleming bellowed, struggling to regain his composure and quell the mini-rebellion threatening his reign over his classroom kingdom. "Here is your detention slip. Please have it signed while you cool your heels there the rest of the day and return it to me tomorrow."
I turned to him, smiling sardonically, took the paper he held out to me, bowed with a flourish, and walked out the door to meet my life.
- To be Continued -