Disclaimer
This story is a work of fiction, meaning it did not take place.  It contains sexual content involving persons under the age of consent which may be inappropriate for you or illegal where you live.  If this is the case, please read no further.  I do not condone the actions or choices of the fictional characters contained within this story.

Comments should be directed to Mark Adams.



...From the last chapter...

"I'm not accusing you of anything, Mark."  She placed her hand on my shoulder.  "But are you telling me you have no interest in that child?"

"Seems like you're the only one admitting that," I chided and she laughed a quick, sharp laugh.  It felt like my marriage was spontaneously dissolving along with my own self identity.

"Maybe I'm the only one being honest," she said, and I wondered what that meant.  Of course I knew she was insinuating, correctly, that I was attracted to Ian.  But was she saying she was being honest about admitting she was interested in... a child?  I knew that was certainly not the case, but it made me wonder all the same.

Just like the ladies in the teachers'lounge, it crossed my mind that my wife could notice that sort of thing.  Maybe a boy's penis flopping around would make almost anyone take notice, wouldn't it?  Maybe everyone sees the youth and perfection in a child but either deals with it maturely or deceives themself.  Or maybe I was truly alone and unable to see things from another perspective.  The normal perspective...

"Whatever," I told her, the most perfect male response.  I felt Bonnie flop back into a reclining position.  This was going to be a long, lonely road-- for both of us, perhaps.



Into Ian - Chapter 4
I was up and out early Wednesday morning, not interested in putting either of us through the strain of an  argument with no immediate resolution.  I must have been tired, because I had fallen asleep relatively quickly, despite the stress.  I couldn't even remember having any dreams, but I felt much more refreshed, at least physically.

I was standing at the window, enjoying a hot cup of coffee at the window in the teachers' lounge that morning, looking out to the parking lot and the houses beyond.  I watched as the kids made their way to the school and the endless stream of cars as parents dropped their kids off at school.  My eyes were scanning aimlessly over the vehicles when I saw Coach's truck, and I remembered the strange happenings in the locker room the night before.

"Good morning, Mark," I heard behind me as a hand briefly touched my shoulder.  I recognized the voice as Larry Scharff, one of the school counselors and a fairly good friend of mine.  I turned and saw him smiling as he sat down at one of the small tables next to me.  Larry was about ten years older than me, a man with pale green eyes which always seemed to smile.  It was really easy to talk to him, and I suppose that was one of the reasons he was such a good counselor.

"Hi there, Larry," I said, giving him a smile.  "How are you doing today?"  I sat down at one of the empty chairs next to him.

"Better than I deserve," he said, his usual response, one which he invariably repeated.  "Yeah... better than I deserve."  I  couldn't help but smile.  "And you?  I haven't seen you around too much this week."

"The first week is always a little strange," I told him.

"Ain't that the truth?"  He smiled and raised his cup of coffee, as if toasting me.  "So, did you get a good group of students this year?"

"As always," I told him truthfully.  "But we always seem to get more than our fair share."

"I couldn't agree more," he said, taking a sip of his hot coffee, and I sipped on mine.  "How are the newbies adjusting?  Any standouts?"

"They all seem to be doing well," I answered, and thought about the second half of his question.  Certainly Ian stood out, but I wondered whether to mention him, but then I remembered I was talking to Larry.  "As far as standouts, I guess there's one.  His name's Ian Conaghan, a new student from Austin."

"Ah, yes.  How's he adjusting?"

"As well as any of the other fifth graders," I told him.  "Seems like he's already made some friends, and Josh has sorta taken him under his wing.  He lives in  the house behind ours."  He knew Josh and Bonnie from various activities the school had arranged and  been to our house a couple of times for our regular cook-outs.

"Handsome boy, that one," he added, taking another sip of java.  And then he winked at me.  Or at least I thought he did.  It could have been a squint from the intense morning light filtering in through the window blinds, but I thought it might have been a wink.

"Yeah.  I guess so," I replied, looking down at my cup. 

"He's in your fourth period class, right?" he asked.  With anyone else, I would have found that question strange, but Larry seemed to know every student's name, schedule, and something about each of them from day one.  Another skill that made him among the best I've known.

"Yeah," I replied, not really having any additional response.  At least none I wanted to share.

"Seems like a very pleasant boy.  His father's an attorney, right?"

"Oh," I said meekly.  "I don't know.  Ian's been over to the house a couple times, with Josh, but he never mentioned that.  I guess I didn't think to ask, either."  Larry chuckled, but said nothing.  I looked up and he was smiling still, but I felt like he was studying me.  That was just his way, but I decided a subject change was in order.  "Larry, do you know Coach Carr?" I asked him.  It was the first thing that popped into my head, and I looked around to see if Coach was in the room.  He was like a troll who rarely left the gym area, so I doubted it.

"Of course I do.  I know all the teachers, Mark.  Why do you ask?"

"Oh, I don't know, just wondering.  I saw him when I was leaving last night, and I guess it hit me that I don't even know him.  I know most of the teachers, but not him.  I don't really know a thing about him.  I don't even know if he's married."

"No, never married.  Good guy, though.  He seems so rough and tough, but it's just part of his persona.  He's really a gentle giant."  Larry smiled at me.  "Know what?  You should get to know him.  I know you'd like him."  I wondered why Larry would think that, and what Coach and I could possibly have in common.

"Hmm."

"Like you, he's very dedicated to his job, but he has layers to him you wouldn't expect."  Larry set his arms on the table, holding his coffee cup in both hands, as if to warm himself up on this warm morning.  He leaned in toward me, as if he were about to let me in on a secret.  "You know, he's an artist, a photographer, even a gourmet cook.  He also designed his own home.  Heck, he even designed the entire gym complex when the school was being built."  My mind wandered back to the locker room with it's row of urinals, gang showers, and window looking over the changing area.  Did he design that, too?  Maybe one of those layers was taking care of his students after hours, but I hoped that wasn't what Larry thought I had in common with Coach.

"Sounds like an interesting guy," I said.  I wouldn't have expected Coach Carr had more than ten brain cells.  "I guess I just assumed he was a muscle head."

"Well, that's the image he portrays, so you shouldn't feel guilty for thinking that.  I know him pretty well, though, and for some reason that's what he wants people to think.  But... he did used to be an an amateur bodybuilder."

"He looks the part," I responded, chuckling lightly.  Coach looked like... well, a coach, only healthier.  I remembered the first time I saw him and just knew he was the school's P.E. teacher.  It wasn't just the 'coach shorts' and the lanyard around his neck, whistle swinging at the end.  He was massive, perhaps 6'4", and well muscled.  He had short, sandy blond hair, steel blue eyes, and a chiseled jaw.  As a gay male, I noticed his rugged handsomeness, but I've never been into macho straight guys, sexually or as a pal.

"So, Mark, are you doing alright?" he asked, his eyebrows raised slightly as he suddenly changed the subject.

"Sure.  Why do you ask?"

"I don't know.  Just seems like you have something on your mind is all.  Sorry if I'm intruding, but it's my job."  I glanced around the room, seeing all the other teachers chatting.  I looked him in the eyes and saw warmth and compassion there.

"I'm ok," I said quietly.  "I just had an argument with Bonnie last night, no big deal.  I'm fine.  We're fine."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said earnestly, his volume adjusting to mine.  "If you want to talk about it, you know where to find me, right?"

"Yeah," I said, knowing I wouldn't be visiting him.  I wanted to, maybe even needed to, but the help I needed couldn't be provided by the school counselor-- or anyone else I knew.  "Thanks, Larry."

"My pleasure, Mark.  I'm here for the teachers, too" he informed me, "not just the students."  He reached over an squeezed my shoulder and gave me a compassionate smile, his light green eyes smiling as always.  He released me and leaned further on to the table.  "And I know you've already decided not to take advantage of the offer, but that's ok.  Just remember the offer's there, ok?"  I smiled, admiring his ability to read my mind.

"I appreciate it, Larry.  Thanks for the offer."  He slapped my shoulder and stood, leaving me looking at the shafts of light as they spread across the table through the small wisps of steam rising from my coffee.

***

Ian made it to class with a minute or two to spare that day.  Third time's the charm, I guess.  Since I was more rested, class went smoothly.  I was even able to focus on the class instead of just Ian, and I began to think I was getting back some control.  There were times, however, when I thought about the lunch period yesterday.  Seeing the window in the door or the tile where I spilled my seed in front of Ian began the flood of memories, but I was able to shake the thoughts off fairly quickly and keep plugging along.  As long as I didn't make eye contact with Ian I would be fine.

I saw him, of course.  I even looked at him a few times, sitting there in his white polo shirt and khaki shorts.  His hair, his pink cheeks and that mouth, those beautiful white teeth and... the braces.  And those parts of him I knew were concealed beneath his clothing.  But mostly, it was those eyes which threatened to break me.  I just didn't make eye contact.  I didn't want to like him.  I didn't want to notice how absolutely beautiful he was.  And, though I didn't want to hurt him, I could tell my ignoring him was bothering him.  Hell, it was killing me.

He seemed to be a little sad, withdrawn, and so... small.  He raised his hand timidly a few times in the beginning of class to answer a question.  I never called on him.  I didn't think I could be unaffected if I heard his voice.  After the first few attempts, though, he stopped trying.

Jason made eye contact with me throughout the class, as if studying me.  But I also noticed he occasionally glanced over toward Ian.  What was the deal with this kid?  What was he thinking?

When class ended, Ian slowly put his stuff into his backpack, but remained at his desk as the last of the students left the room.  I was seated at my desk, pretending to look over some papers.  "You need to get going to lunch, Ian," I said without looking up.  I heard no movement.  I hoped he wasn't looking for a repeat of yesterday, but I doubted that was why he was hanging around.

"Mr. Adams?" I heard him say quietly after ten or twenty seconds.  I glanced up briefly, and noticed his greyish blue eyes looked moist.  I forced myself to look back down at my papers immediately.

"Dear God, please don't let this child cry," I prayed silently.  If he did, I knew I would soon be following right behind.  "I need to get some lunch, Ian, so you should probably head to the cafeteria."  Still I heard no movement.  My heart was in my throat as I waited, wondering how long it would be before he took the hint.  This was absolutely tearing me apart.

"I know I shouldn't have done what I did," I eventually heard him say-- so quietly that I could barely hear him over my beating heart as it pounded in my ears.  "I didn't think it would make you so... sad.  Or mad, or whatever.  But I didn't mean to, Mr. Adams."  I felt the tears forming at the edges of my eyes.

"Ian, please... don't."  And then I made the mistake of looking into his eyes.   A single tear trickled down his smooth, flushed cheek.

"I'm just sorry," he sniffled as he stood from his desk, grabbing his backpack and wiping his eye with the sleeve of his shirt.  "That's all I wanted to say and I'll leave you alone now."  He started heading toward the door.  I couldn't believe what I was doing to this precious boy.  Ian had come to me a happy and self confident young man on Monday and by Wednesday he was a sad and confused little boy.  Whatever I'd gotten myself into, Ian didn't deserve to suffer for my own immaturity and guilt.

"Come here," I told him, my own eyes a little moist now.  He stood there, holding his backpack by the straps with both hands, his eyes moving between me and the floor.  "Ian, would you come here for just a minute?" I asked again.  He shuffled over, slowly.

"Yes, sir?" he said meekly, stopping a few feet from me.  I could tell from his body language he was withdrawn, and the backpack dangled between us like a protective barrier.

I rolled my chair toward him to close the distance between us and took hold of his backpack and lifted it from his small hands, setting it up against the wall.  I reached over with both hands and lifted him onto my left thigh, supporting him from behind by placing my left arm around his back and my hand on his his left hip.  He was looking down at his shoes as his smooth little legs dangled between mine.  He folded his hands in his lap atop his khaki shorts.

"Ian Conaghan," I said.  His eyes raised to about my chest before returning to his feet and he wrung his hands together nervously.

"Sir?" he said again, but continued to stare at the ground.

"Ian," I repeated, moving my right hand to his chin and lifting his face toward mine.  His eyes flicked up to meet mine and again I felt that drowning sensation.  "Listen, Ian," I heard myself say.  "You have no reason to feel sorry.  Or sad.  I didn't mean to make you feel that way and I had no right to do that.  I think you're the most amazing boy I've ever known."  I thought for a second before continuing.  "No, you're the most amazing person I've ever met.  Ever.  But I felt bad about what I did to you."

"Mr. Adams, you didn't do anything to me," he said somewhat angrily.  "I wanted you to.  But I wanted you to do it... with me.  Not to me."

"I know, Ian.  But I'm an adult, your teacher.  And you're only ten..."

"No," he interrupted.  "Please don't say that stupid dumb stuff!" he pleaded.  I recoiled at his words, but remained silent as he thought for a moment before continuing.  "I'm sorry for saying that, but we did it.  You can't change that.  And I don't feel bad about it.  Well, at least I didn't until you made me feel bad about it.  All 'cause of some dumb rules.  Didn't you like what... what we did?"

"Well, yes, of course..."

"Then why are you feeling so bad?" he interrupted again.  "I didn't tell anyone, so why are you punishing me?"

"I never asked you to keep any secrets, Ian."

"You didn't have to.  Gosh!  Who would I tell?  Nobody," he said, shrugging his shoulders and raising his palms up in the air.  "I thought you liked me."

"I do like you, Ian.  More than I should, in fact."

"Then why are you treating me like a baby?" he implored.  "Maybe I'm littler than you, and so what if I'm only ten.  You're the one acting like, well..."

"A baby?" I asked, finishing his sentence.  He laughed nervously, looking down at his naked knees.

"No, I'm sorry.  I didn't mean that, Mr. Adams."

"Yes, you did.  And you're absolutely right," I assured him.  "I am acting like a baby.  But you see, Ian,  I did something very serious.  I'm married.  I'm an adult.  And I'm your teacher.  I felt very guilty about what we did, so I tried to push you away from me.  It's not the same for you.  You were just having fun."  At that, I felt him tense up under my hand.  His scowled as he looked at me.

"So, because I'm ten, you're saying I was playing a game.  You have feelings, but I was just... having fun?  Just because I'm not 18 or whatever?  Well, that just sucks for you to say that."  He was shaking his head, a disgusted look on his face.  Even with that sour look on his face, I noticed he was still gorgeous.  "I thought you were different, but you are not who I thought you were.  Mark."  He emphasized the last word as he started to climb off my leg, pushing away from me with his hand.

"Wait!" I exclaimed, gripping him by his wait.  "Just wait a second, Ian.  Now you are acting like a little kid.  Give me a chance to explain!"  His struggling eased, but I could still feel his tension as he squirmed in my lap.

"What?" he asked, exasperated.

"Just relax a second," I told him.  I moved the arm that was around him up from his waist to his left shoulder and my right hand to his left thigh, holding him in a better grip.  I felt the warmth of his leg as I rubbed it gently.  "Just listen, Ian.  Only for a minute, ok?"

"Yeah," he mumbled as he slumped over in my lap.

"Ok," I started, wondering where to begin-- I had to get this right the first time.  "Ian, I need you to know that I care for you.  Very deeply.  But every society has its rules.  Right now, what we did is illegal.  Very illegal."

"I know that," he said.  "My Dad's an attorney, Mr. Adams."

"Please let me continue," I said, ignoring his comment.  What we did was illegal for me.  Not for you.  That's all I was trying to say.  Does that make more sense?"

"Yeah.  A little."

"You see, most people think that children don't have sexual feelings.  Or, if they do, they're so young they can't make those decisions for themselves.  And while the term 'child' is debated all the time, ten is pretty much considered a child by everyone.  So when an adult and a child do something sexual, it is always the adult's responsibility, even if the child wanted to-- or said they wanted to do it.  And that's what I meant about doing it to you."

"That makes more sense."

"When I was sad, it was because I did something I knew was against the law, and I don't even speed, which most people do."

"My Dad sure does," he offered, and I smiled despite the very serious nature of the conversation we were having.

"Yeah, well most people do.  But I don't, and yet I did something I have never done, something I never thought I would do in a million years.  And I was sad because I felt guilty for that, and I tried to push you away so it wouldn't happen again."

"Oh..." he said, tilting his head and looking off toward the blackboard, thinking.  "I think for most ten year olds the law may be right, but not for everyone."

"You're saying you know what's involved in having a relationship, Ian?  You're ready to get married and raise children yourself?"

"Well, no.  Not that."

"That's why those types of laws exist.  You're a super smart guy.  You're smarter than many adults."  He laughed quietly at that.  "But you're still young."

"But I wasn't planning to marry you.  I hope you didn't think that."  Now it was my turn to laugh.

"Oh, Ian..."

"I know, I know.  I was trying to be silly."  He looked up at me and flashed those braces at me.  "So?" he asked after a while of silence.

"So what?" I asked.

"So there may be some people where the law doesn't make sense.  Maybe that's me.  And you've already broken the law anyways.  How much more could you break it?"  Yeah, his father was obviously a lawyer.  I really didn't have an answer for that.  Of course, there was my wife to consider.  My son, too.  Hell, there were a million other reasons not to break the law, but I guess I didn't think of those at the time.

"I guess I couldn't," I replied.

"So?"

"So let's stop talking.  You're hurting my brain."

I felt him laughing into my chest.  He wrapped his left arm around my ribs, hugging me from the awkward position.  I lowered my face to the top of his head, breathing in the scent of him as I felt his chest expanding and contracting as he breathed.  I kissed him on his forehead as he let his right hand drop, coming to rest on my crotch, and I felt my cock begin to harden.  I assumed he was telling me he what he thought of the law, and how it applied to him.

My right hand moved up his silky smooth thigh, under the hem of his khaki shorts.  It moved ever so slowly, further up his thigh, feeling the warmth increase as it reached the crease where his thigh met his groin.  My hand moved to the left, where it encountered his velvet soft skin protruding at the end of his penis and, because of the way he was seated, only the tip of his hard boy cock poking up from his lap.

No underwear.

"Ian," I said, drawing the word out a little longer than normal.  "You're not wearing any undies?"  He giggled quietly as I squeezed his glans tenderly, causing his legs to squeeze back toward each other briefly.

"Nope.  For exactly this reason."  He flexed his little poker and I chuckled.  "It feels real nice."

"You naughty boy," I said seductively.  "But you know you're not so little, right?  People may notice."

"Uh-huh," he cooed as he spread his legs slightly, fondling my now erect cock against my thigh through my slacks.

"Maybe not in these shorts," I continued, "but almost definitely in others... like your white shorts yesterday."  He looked up at me, a touch of concern on his face.  I rolled his foreskin between my thumb and index finger, but he stopped his fondling, just holding my penis in his small hand.

"How'd you know I was wearing my white shorts?" he asked.  "I didn't see you last night."

"Like I said, people may notice."  I felt his penis twitch, which made mine do the same.

"Josh?" he asked, a little more concern in his voice now.  "Oh, man!"  He released my hard cock and raised his hand to his chin.

"Nope," I said, using his term.  I rubbed a spare finger along a smooth testicle bunched up in his tight scrotum alongside his little rod.

"Oh my God..." he breathed.  "What did she tell you?"

"She... told me," I laughed, smiling at the sweet torture I was inflicting.  I felt my way around his foreskin, working a finger into his tight, precious prepuce.

"She said she wouldn't tell anyone, especially not you."  My hand stopped its exploration of Ian and I was suddenly very aware of my heart as it beat in my chest.

"Wouldn't tell me... what?" I thought.  I tried to replay the conversation with Bonnie in bed last night, wondering what I'd missed-- what my dear wife had left out of the conversation.

"Well, I guess it doesn't really matter," he said, though I begged to differ.  He leaned his head back, a grin spreading across his face as he looked up at me.  His glance shifted to the left and he jumped.  "Oh, no!" he squealed, pulling my hand out of the leg of his shorts and hopping off my lap.  His tiny shorts were now visibly pressed out behind the stretched zipper.  "Lunch is almost over!"  He bent over to pick up his book bag and I checked out the seat of his shorts and admired how his muscled rump molded the material so perfectly, while at the same time wondering what secret my wife and my lover shared.

I looked over at the clock.  I seemed to have lost all track of time.  I lifted my right hand to my nose, smelling Ian's special perfume on my fingertips.  "What did he tell Bonnie not to tell me," I wondered.  I glanced back toward the door and, as I started to look back at Ian to ask him, I did a double take as I realized I had seen a smiling face at the window-- a Jason smile.

When I looked back, there was nobody there...

To be continued...