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Tom And I Begin, Part 2
by Greg Scott


All the usual stuff about you must be old enough in your jurisdiction, etc.  In other words, if you are underage, don't read this unless you have a really cool teacher who assigned it.  Otherwise, come back in a few years, when nobody will yell at you.

This is a true story.  I haven't changed the names, because the truth is the truth until it is altered.  This story is sacred to me, so I couldn't bring myself to alter it in any way.

After spending most of the movie that we watched at the school assembly on the previous Friday with Tom's hand vigorously exploring my lap, I was both excited and a bit apprehensive about seeing him in Latin class on Monday.  You probably remember the feeling from some experience in your life.

I spent the weekend in between Friday and Monday with my normal activities.  That is, I played a little baseball, as that was the season, went golfing to sharpen my skills for the next high school golf meet and, of course, managed to jack off my usual two or three times per day.  I figured that was about average for a fourteen year old.

I always tell people that I am not superstitious, but my actions often say otherwise.  As a kid, I avoided stepping on sidewalk cracks because I had been told that if I did, I would break my mother's back.  If you're not familiar with that rhyme, then you didn't spend your childhood anywhere near me.

On a few prior occasions, I thought I had received clear signals that particular guys might be interested in a little extra-curricular, same-sex exploration.  I used those clues to fantasize madly about them in my sessions of self-pleasuring, only to find later that I had misinterpreted their intentions.  Thus, I came to the only logical conclusion that a self-proclaimed, non-superstitious boy could:  Jacking off imagining some boy spoiled any chance of actually having sex with him.

I wanted to jack off to splendid fantasies about Tom all weekend.  I knew that I would achieve spectacular orgasms.  However, I didn't want to take any chances with him.  He was just too cute for me to jinx with a few seconds worth of extreme solo pleasure.  So instead, I just fantasized about other boys in my class who I knew weren't interested in playing with a guy.  Of course in the fantasies, they had changed their minds.  

I had to actually concentrate to keep Tom as far from my imagined escapades as possible.  I'm sure that distraction crippled the force of the orgasms, but it seemed a small price to pay for a real chance with the cutest guy in school!

I do remember that my first venture into self-pleasuring, after the movie experiences with Tom, happened in the bath tub.  Despite my strong concentration on keeping Tom out of my thoughts, I still had to wipe away the evidence of a new personal distance record from the ceramic tiles lining the tub.  Man, can teenagers achieve powerful liquid projectiles!

As the clock moved closer to Monday, I had to concentrate harder on not producing images of Tom and I having fun with each other in the way that I had in mind.  And, as my level of concentration increased, my distance decreased.  However, I was perfectly content to let the distance record remain in the books a while longer.

When Monday arrived I wondered if Tom would be too embarrassed by his Friday actions to greet me.  I hoped that he would remember his invitation to go on his youth group outing on the coming Sunday afternoon.  What I hoped for even more was that everyone in the classroom didn't turn to me, as soon as I entered, and start chanting, "Greg is queer; Greg is queer," or some similar and even more derisive comment.

I steeled my nerve for my entrance.  Tom and Danny were having their usual before class conversation.  Then, Tom caught sight of me and came over instantly.

"Are you allowed to go with me to Indian Mounds," he asked.

"Yeah, my parents said it was okay."

"Great," Tom was actually enthusiastic!  "My dad and I will pick you up at about one o'clock on Sunday."

About that time, Mrs. Hornung, in her charming way, started squealing for us to take our seats.  Tom walked to a desk next to mine and sat, rather than taking his usual place along side Danny.

I was thrilled, even though I was sure that he would somehow manage to get me into trouble with Mrs. Hornung before the fifty minute class had ended.

Things were looking good.  Obviously I needed to continue not jacking off to images of Tom.  My superstition was being least, it seemed as if it were on the way to being confirmed.  In my alone time, my mind was filled only with other boys as we did unspeakable things.  Six days to go.
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