By Dashiell Walraven
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I laughed quietly and muttered a little, "uh oh".
"What's the 'uh oh' for, Oliver?" Mr. Morris asked, hovering over me as I peered at Saturn through my telescope.
"I think my eyelashes are frozen to the eyepiece," I replied, trying not to move my head. Mr. Morris chuckled, gently patting my back.
"Okay, hold still Oliver," he said, leaning in close to my face. Very gently, he blew warm, minty breath over the lens, and I felt my eyelashes come free of the eyepiece. I blinked involuntarily and then stood up. He took a cloth out from his pocket and wiped at the lens. "Yup," he said, "Lost more than a few lashes that way myself." I smiled my thanks to him, and found my eyes making their way down to the front of his trousers. I don't even know why I did it, but I look at him and was rewarded with a glance of a shifting mass rippling beneath his bulky trousers as he turned away to talk to another kid. When I realized what I was doing, I shook my head vigorously and looked away. Still, the image persisted in my mind and I couldn't help myself wondering what it Mr. Morris looked like under those trousers.
Out on the frozen lake, the night was perfect for observing the heavens. The hard surface of the ice provided a level, stable surface to stand our telescopes, and afforded a near-panoramic view of the night sky. The cold, still, winter air made the stars twinkle brightly; the planets and their satellites became easy to view through the vast array of lenses pointing up from our little cove. The constellation Orion held his shield and spear over our heads, surrounded by the jewels of the Pleiades and the many other objects around him. I loved Orion, mostly because I pictured Garrett like that, all heroic and stuff, battling the Peter Gilberts of the world.
My father came up with the idea of hosting the Astronomy Club at the lake for a star party. Of course, Mom took care of the particulars; inviting us all up to the Lodge afterwards for hot cocoa, with marshmallows of course, and warm cookies. Mr. Morris took some time, with the warm fire crackling behind him, to speak about some of the objects we observed, and talk about our upcoming trip to an observatory. Mr. Morris, our science teacher, had an obvious passion for the subjects of cosmology and astrophysics. Whenever he talked about those things, he became animated, moving around and gesticulating like some crazed mad-scientist. Younger than most of the teachers at my school, I connected with him more. He spoke to us without condescension; it was less him teaching, than it was him sharing something amazing and cool with us. It didn't hurt that Mr. Morris was a very handsome man; he seemed very fit and athletic, and I wondered why he hadn't been drafted for the war. I understood Mr. Morris' desire to pass-on the gift of knowledge too, remembering the feeling I got while teaching Neal the some of the things I had learned from Garrett; a nearly indescribable emotion that made my heart and guts go all quavery.
While Mr. Morris talked, I let my mind drift, and soon found myself imagining Neal and I, naked somewhere, while Garret and Mr. Morris explored our bodies. Lizzie, seated next to me, discretely moved a sweater from her lap over to mine. To my absolute horror, I realized she was helping to cover my obvious boner. She patted my knee and grinned devilishly at me as I blushed furiously. I silently thanked her and she winked at me. I tried to focus my attention back to Mr. Morris, who was passionately describing a new , but decidedly implausible, theory of the beginning of the universe, calling it the "Big Bang". My gaze seemed to keep returning back to Mr. Morris' body. Without the heavy winter gear on, he looked tall, lean and rangy. I guessed him to be about 24 or 25 years old, yet he seemed clean shaven, with slightly curly, lustrous chestnut colored and slightly longish hair. Once more, my mind went off on a little stroll on it's own, and I found myself wondering if he had hair like that anywhere else. This, of course, did nothing to help my aching erection. I quietly excused myself to Lizzie, made a silent, awkward beeline for the bathroom, and managed to shut the door behind me without it making too much of a racket. I really did have to pee, but my raging hard-on made that all but impossible.
I pressed my hand against the wall, forcing my penis to point down toward the water, but I couldn't pee at such a strange angle. Frustrated, I leaned my forehead against the wall, trying to calm my nerves and settle down. I heard the door to the bathroom squeak quietly as it opened and then closed. Standing up straight, I pressed in closer to the urinal to hide my turgid state.
"You okay Oliver?" Lizzie asked. I almost jumped a mile.
"Lizzie, what the hell?", I hissed loudly, "Do you mind?" Lizzie didn't retreat, moving a little closer instead.
"It's okay Ol," she said quietly, "you got a woody, I understand, happens to all the guys."
"Oh, so you're an expert now?" I groaned, unable to get physically any closer to the urinal. I turned my back to her, trying to stuff my uncooperative dick back into my pants.
"Can I see it?", she asked in a demure, quiet whisper. I found my heart taking up residence in my throat; I froze.
"Wha? Huh?", I babbled, still turned away from her, "You wanna what?"
"C'mon Oliver," she said, "I've never seen anybody with a hard-on up close before. Please?" I felt the air go out of me. My dick, half-stuck in and out of my fly, pulsed mightily and demanded to be completely freed.
"Uhm... I don't know...", I said quietly, my voice suddenly tremulous. "I uh... I'm not sure..." I felt her approach and stand directly behind me.
"Oliver, we've been friends forever," Lizzie breathed into my ear, "Besides, I saw it a couple of times when we were younger. I wouldn't tell anybody." I stopped breathing while I considered all the ramifications of showing her my rampant, non-compliant penis.
"You're gonna laugh, " I said, morosely. I heard her take in a deep breath.
"Oliver, I swear that I will not laugh at it," she said calmly, but I could almost hear the sardonic grin in her voice. In the interest of getting through an already awkward moment, I relented.
"Promise?", I asked, in a whisper.
My shoulders slumped in resignation and after moment's hesitation, I stepped away from the urinal. Releasing my cock, it raged and bounced in all its tumescent glory; I slowly turned around. Lizzie's eyes lit up in gleeful surprise; her hands flew to her mouth as she gasped aloud. Her expansive smile grew out passed the edges of her hands and the corners of her eyes crinkled in delight. She looked up and down several times, between my face and the stiff rod sticking out of my fly. I spread my hands out from my sides and whispered loudly.
"Well? Are you done yet?" She shook her head and I let my arms drop in frustration. Lizzie took her hands away from her mouth and fixed her gaze directly on my throbbing member, which only seemed to encourage the damned thing.
"Oh Oliver!" she exclaimed, "It's so... so...". I was prepared to be very put out if she described it as "cute", but she didn't. "It's beautiful," she said finally, "better than I ever even imagined." I stood there, stunned.
Remember when I said that Lizzie and I had always been close friends from the time we first met, and that things never got weird between us? Yeah well, this is where it got weird. There we were, in a bathroom; me with a roaring woody, and her staring at it. We stood like that for what seemed like a long minute or two, my dork throbbing in the open air between us. Finally, a long, clear string of fluid drooled from the end of it, making a small, sparkling pool on my shoe.
"Oh look," she said sympathetically, "you're all charged up, you can't go back out there like that."
"I can't seem to pee either," I said, shifting from one foot to the other. Without any warning, Lizzie reached out for my dick; I flinched and backed away. "For Pete's sake, Lizzie!" I breathed out, "What are you doing?"
"Please?" she begged quietly, "let me touch it, I want to know what it feels like." A hollow quickening filled my stomach as I stopped backing away, and surrendered to her gentle grasp. Lightly and softly, she wrapped her hand around my penis. "Omigosh!" she blurted, "It's like, blazing hot!" Her touch almost buckled my knees, I could not suppress the moan that escaped my throat. I felt my nipples stiffen and my scrotum tighten, my whole groin felt ablaze. Slowly, she reached into my fly with her other hand and I felt her fingernails graze my balls as she cupped them warmly.
I couldn't say anything; any words I might have said were blocked by the pounding mass in my throat. My thoughts flew apart as I felt my dick pulsate in her hand.
"Lizzie, I... uhm," I gulped hoarsely, my head swimming, "I think you better stop." Lizzie's instincts were spot on. She pulled away and jumped aside, just as the first bolt of semen shuddered out of my body. "Oh geez!" I growled, grabbing my dick tightly in my fist in a futile attempt to make it stop. I quickly turned and sagged against the urinal as the rest spurted and dribbled into the bowl. I breathed out several heavy sighs as the rhythmic contractions slowed and finally subsided. Luckily, as my breathing gradually returned to normal, my erection started to wane enough to let me pee; I groaned aloud as the flow splashed its way into the water.
"Ahem," came the sound of somebody clearing their throat; it didn't sound like Lizzie. Alarmed, I picked up my head from where I'd rested it on my arm, to see Mr. Morris standing there. My eyes darted around, there was no sign of Lizzy-B anywhere. "You alright Oliver?" he asked, very clearly concerned.
"Uhm, yeah," I replied in a shaky voice, "I'm good now. I really had to go I guess."
"You sure?" he said, quietly approaching to touch my forehead, "you're red as a beet and you look all sweaty, sure you don't have a fever or something?" Mr. Morris brushed my brow with the back of his hand. "Good Lord Oliver, you feel like you're burning up, are you sure you're okay?"
The touch of his cool hand on my forehead was electric to me, and without thinking, I closed my eyes and leaned into it a little bit. My dick, which had wilted in my hand, started to plump in my fist again. Realizing what I was doing, I backed up hastily, tucking my tackle back into my fly and zipped it shut.
"Yeah... sure," I said, licking suddenly dry lips, "I must have sat too close to the fire and got overheated... or something."
"Okay Oliver," he put his cool palm behind my neck, I felt my eyes roll a little bit, "as long as you're alright now."
"I'm good," I said, nodding my head perhaps a little too vigorously. Mr. Morris regarded me for a moment or two, as I stood before him, staring holes in the floor. He patted my back gently and guided me to the sink.
"Here, while you're washing up, splash some water on your face," he said, gently. As I soaped my hands under the cold water, he pulled a couple of paper towels from the dispenser on the wall and set them down on the counter. "Here Oliver," he said quietly, "make sure you clean up the floor over there before you go. We wouldn't want anyone to slip, now would we?" It took a moment to fully understand what he meant; I felt the color rise in my face as the teacher flashed me a grin and hastily exited the bathroom. My mouth agape, I looked down at the floor, and saw three generous dollops of semen, glistening on the tiles. Quickly, I tried to mop it up with the coarse paper towels, but that did little more than move the slimy mess around. Finally, I wet one of the towels, which seemed to do the trick, and then followed up with a dry one. Tossing the gooey papers into the trash, I left the bathroom, feeling somewhat bewildered.
After everyone had gone home, I helped Dad and Mom straighten up.
"Well that went very nicely I thought," Mom said cheerfully, sponging up the crumbs left over from her cookies and brownies.
"I thought the kids were just great," Dad chuckled, "it's good to see kids your age all excited and wide-eyed about something.
"Here," Mom said, "you men get the trash over to the dumpster and I'll meet you back at the house." She handed us both a generously full plastic bag. We hustled the bags out into the cold night, our breath forming large plumes of frozen vapor around our heads. We walked the length of the driveway in silence, our boots crunching in the snow. Dad helped me sling my bag into the bin, and then he tossed his own in easily; the metal cover clanged so loudly when he closed it, we could hear the sharp sound echo off the mountainside on the other side of the lake. A startled doe burst from the underbrush on our side of the road and launched herself over the stone wall on the other, bounding off into the field. In the moonlight, her tail flashed as she quickly receded into the distance.
"Holy cow!" I exclaimed, "I didn't even see her there!"
"She gave me a bit of a start too," Dad chuckled. We turned back to pickup my telescope at the lodge and turn off the lights before we started trudging up the drive to the house. Mom was already in her nightgown, reading a book with a blanket wrapped around her knees, in front of the fireplace. The TV stood silently in its cabinet, as it normally did. We rarely watched the thing except during important times, like Apollo missions or stuff like that. Dad watched the news occasionally, but not much lately, because all they seemed to talk about was the war, and he didn't like that much.
In my room, while I changed into my pajamas, my Dad gently rapped the door with a knuckle and walked in.
"Mind if I join you for a moment, kiddo?" he asked, as if he needed to ask.
"Sure Dad," I shrugged, pulling my night-shirt over my head. Dad sat on my bed and patted the mattress beside him, I took a seat next to him and looked up into his face.
"So ah..." he started, "I guess you must really like Lizzy Barnstable, huh?" I narrowed my eyes a little at that, wondering just what he knew about the night's little "incident".
"Yeah," I shrugged again, "I guess so. Why?"
"Well, because your mother tells me she saw you sneak off into the bathroom with Lizzie tonight, that's all. I was just wondering if you managed to steal a kiss from her." He had that proud-dad glimmer in his eye. For myself, I was horrified and relieved at the same time. If all he thought I'd gotten was a kiss, as opposed to an impromptu hand-job, then I probably wasn't in trouble. The very thought, however, caused me to blush furiously again, which Dad took as a sign of confirmation. I looked awkwardly down at my feet, not knowing what to say. "Attaboy Ollie!" he said proudly, clapping an arm around my neck and giving me a noogie.
"Dad stop!" I protested, wrestling away from his playful grip. "It's not like that."
"Oh, I know son," he breathed with a nostalgic look in his eyes, he patted my knee. "Look, I know we've had the basic talk, you know, about 'where' babies come from and all that, but..." I groaned aloud and threw myself face first into my pillow.
"Dad, please," I pleaded, "not now, I really don't want to talk about rubbers and stuff now."
"Alrighty then, my boy," he laughed, "I'll leave you alone." He stood and then hesitated by the door. "Just remember, when you need anything like that, you let me know and I'll get you some from the pharmacy."
"Okay Dad," I said, rolling my eyes skyward, burying my face in the pillow once more. He snapped off the light and shut the door as he bade me a good night and sweet dreams. I heard the stairs creak as he made his way back down to mother by the fire. Before I went to sleep, I decided to go to the bathroom one last time. As I tip-toed across the loft to the other side where the bathroom was, I heard a fragment of my parent's conversation.
"So what do you think went on before Mr. Morris got in there. Do you think they kissed?"
"Nope," my Dad said firmly.
"Really," Mom's voice registered surprise, "then what do you suppose was going on?"
"Nothing to worry about," Dad said, in all seriousness, "probably just a blow-job."
Thankfully, the sound of my little choking gasp got covered up by the loud crack made by my mother's paperback book as she smacked my father's head, and their subsequent laughter.