Disclaimer and preamble:

1. This story is fictitious and any resemblance to persons living or dead is pure coincidence.
2. This story depicts acts of physical intimacy between boys, as well as between men and boys. If this content is anathema, distasteful or otherwise illegal for you to consume, please take necessary steps to surf elsewhere.
3. This story is about deep and enduring friendship, but also about "hot, sweaty, lust driven passion sex" that transcends friendship in as much as it can be born from it.
4. I wrote this story for me, that is- my enjoyment. I hope that you enjoy reading it as much as I hope you will.
5. This has been uploaded to the Nifty Erotic Stories Archive and may not be reproduced with express written permission from the author.
6. The author welcomes constructive feedback and critique from readers. I can't promise to do requests, but I welcome reading what you would like to see in stories- maybe I can incorporate those ideas into future work.

Charles Rubin
December 2016

 

Grey and other boy colours

Chapter 1- Grey eyes see their prize

 

There's something to be said about how one's first year working their full time job simply knocks the life out of you. Eugene "Gene" Tanner was no stranger to work, having bussed tables through high school as well as done innumerable odd and seasonal gigs to help pay his way through college and teaching school. Yet, at the end of his second month teaching math and music at Clement Woods Middle School, he felt like he needed a vacation like never before. The pay was neither good, nor great. He did not have crippling college debt, on account of his industry through his college years, and between his regular salary and some summer tutoring jobs he made enough to live comfortably if he was sensible. Stork Ridge was a small town on the western shore of a lake. Once an open pit mine, it had been rehabilitated and now more closely resembled a bird sanctuary. Nonetheless, the townsfolk these days were a combination of old families from the mining and ranching days, and newcomers like Gene who moved in to take up jobs created by the expansion of the local tech district in recent years. Unlike many other former mining towns, Stork Ridge's proximity to the artificial lake made it popular with property developers eager to cash in on `new' lakefront property still within a ninety minute drive from larger nearby urban centers.

Gene eased his briefcase, bulging with assignments to be graded, onto the couch and threw an assortment of fruit chunks into his blender. Tired as he was, he didn't feel like firing up the kitchen this evening but he needed to have something. Twenty seconds later, he poured himself three glasses of blended fruit smoothie. One he stuck in the fringe for later, another he downed in several hungry gulps and the third he carried with him into the living room to sip at as he prepared to unwind from his long day.

Two quick buzzes told him that his phone wanted his attention. It was just a news notification; some truck had rolled over on a nearby highway causing major obstructions and headaches for the local fire department. Feeling bored, Gene then opened up his `secret' apps- Grindr, Jack'D and Surge. Mindful of his role and image, he never used these anywhere near school premises or while at work. A small town was a dangerous place to be gay, and Gene knew that if he could at least recognize some of the faces that scrolled across his screen, he knew that the reverse could also become true. As such, he resolved himself to never being comfortable putting his face on his profile. At 26, he still had many of his natural youthful looks including a body that, while not ripped in the way of health magazine models, was respectable enough for someone who worked indoors and did not work out regularly. He knew that he could just be a few years away from `dad bod' status but careful eating and regular, if light, exercise, kept him trim enough for now.

"Hey". A message came in through Jack'd. Profile was mostly empty. Age 20, generic twink body picture, probably wasn't even the real thing. Gene ignored it, he really wasn't in the mood for one word chats.

Pulling up his favourites list, he scanned down to see if any of his previous contacts were online. In the three months he had lived in Stork Ridge, Gene had met only a few guys for hook ups. As a known figure in a small town, he preferred visitors and guys living outside his social circle. One of the contacts in his favourites list lit up green, showing that it was online. Tyler, a community college student from the next town over, smiled at him from a selfie taken overlooking the lake.

"Ty! You there?" Gene typed the message as he clicked resume on his Breaking Bad DVD. About ten minutes later, his phone buzzed in response.

"hey Gene. Sup?" Tyler was a nice guy, and legal, and discreet. One day he would make some girl or guy a good husband but for now he was, like Gene, happy to swing.

"The same I guess. Doing anything tonight? I got the feels." Gene used his lingo for feeling horny, putting out the invitation for a booty call.

"Haha I get off work in a few hours, not sure if that's too late for you. Car?" Tyler gave pretty good road head, but it was a forty minute drive. Gene wasn't sure if he wanted to make the trip.

"Awww, didn't know you were working tonight. I thought you only delivered pizzas on weekends?"

"I do," replied Tyler. "Babysitting for my neighbor last minute. Sweet forty bucks for playing Xbox with a kid". Gene felt his semi-hard on deflate slightly at the prospect of sex that evening diminish. Tyler was a nice guy, as well as a good lay, and Gene was not in the mood for dancing with a stranger.

"Cool man. I guess we'll try another time."

"Sorry man, make it up to you."

"You're all good Ty. I mean that". Gene had bedded Ty a few times since moving into the area and hoped that he would be able to enjoy that company as long as was mutually agreeable.

"Heya". The unknown profile buzzed in another message. Gene contemplated banning the user but simply replied curtly.

"Hey back. Sorry, not looking for anything this evening. Have a good one man."

"K", came the reply followed by a picture of what was probably a butt taken so up close it was deidentified. "Next time maybe". Though mildly curious, Gene stuck to his guns and put his phone down.

Two episodes of Walter White later, he cracked open his briefcase and graded papers for another two hours before finishing his remaining glass of fruit smoothie and turned in, thoroughly exhausted.

 

The morning sun shone warmly and gently onto Gene's face, the sound of leaves rustling in the wind coaxing him lovingly from dreamland back to reality.

OH FUCK, SHIT, I overslept! Gene bolted out of bed like a jackrabbit that had been hit by a tazer.

Oh fuck fuck fuck... this is going to be bad. Gene disrobed faster than a popstar on a wardrobe change in between acts and bounded into the shower. Seven minutes and thirty two seconds later, he was out his front door and driving toward school as quickly as he could without losing his license. Pulling into the parking lot just as the first bell was ringing, Gene thanked the Gods of smooth traffic that he had avoided being tardy.

The day wore on normally enough. Gene was on recess duty in the gym, monitoring the students to make sure they played nicely and didn't kill themselves or each other. As his eyes dutifully scanned the crowd for signs of foul play, a familiar pressure on his right shoulder told him that his personal pest had arrived. He spoke without turning or looking up.

"Davis, you know what I said about getting so close." The 14 year old boy laughed playfully as he removed his chin from Gene's shoulder, as he did nearly every recess. For the last few weeks, this cheeky overgrown munchkin had regularly visited him during various times of the school day. Sometimes it was just a "Hi Mr Tanner" in the hallways while others, like today, it was some form of sneaking up. Harmless enough, but there were school rules against physical contact between staff and students for good reason.

"Got something for you today, GENE." Davis flashed his trademark impish smile. At five feet two inches, he was a handsome boy with Vitruvian proportions. Honey blonde hair worn in medium bangs framed his face perfectly. He was losing the roundness that characterized a purely childish face and was beginning to show the defined jawlines of am athletic boy in puberty. Most striking, perhaps, were his laughing eyes which were grey and flecked with what Gene could only describe to himself as stars dancing.

"Davis," Gene responded in as controlled a friendly voice as he could, "I have asked you repeatedly to address me as Mr Tanner." Gene knew his heart wasn't in the reprimand but finished it anyway, "If this continues you are going to end up getting a detention." Rather than appear stern, Gene softened his facial express to appear earnest, appealing for cooperation rather than compliance. The boy's smile didn't change one iota and instead he reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, which he handed over to the teacher.

Give me detention, 4pm, the music room, today. The note was written in Davis' familiar teenage scrawl that Gene had often proclaimed in class heralded a bright future for the boy either as a medical doctor or a farm hen, so illegible could it appear at times. Gene was intrigued and taken aback at the same time. This wasn't defiance in the traditional sense, nor did it have the feel of a joke. Glancing up from the note, Gene saw Davis staring back at him, no longer smiling, but with an intensity in those grey eyes he had never seen before. Pleading, urging, demanding, commanding.

"Ahem," Gene cleared his throat briefly, "Davis, I'll see you at detention later." Davis stepped back in mock shock and theatrically held his hands over his cheeks in a caricature of young Maculay Culkin in the Home Alone movie, before turning tail and dashing off in the direction of the basketball court. As Gene watched the boy join some of his other friends in a pick up game, he decided that neither Davis nor he was going to take what had just transpired seriously and went back to watching the ebb and flow of students at recess for signs of overly rough horseplay.

The band was winding down their afternoon practice and the eleven students who made up the school's tiny but proud musical ensemble went about their routine of packing their instruments away before filing out the door in their usual chatty fashion. Gene himself then settled in at the teachers' desk to continue his lesson preparations for the next week as well as make a start on a fresh set of math assignments he had collected earlier that morning. It was three thirty in the afternoon and the school was increasingly deserted. The music room, a regular classroom that had been renovated into sound studio, was located at the far end of the school building in order to minimize noise disruption to the rest of the school. Gene had come to prefer this room to his other classroom where he taught math for the peace and quiet it offered. Having a piano to jam on when he felt like it was also a welcome bonus. By now, his routine was well known to the school custodian and the other staff members, most of whom were older, married, and seemed at least as eager to get out of the school building as the students were at the end of each day. Malcolm the school custodian popped by to clear the trash bins and they exchanged the usual small talk.

"There's a student waiting for you at the front office, Gene". The grandfatherly custodian mentioned in passing.

"What? Who?" Gene replied, surprised. He had not remembered.

"It's Davis, 8^th grade."

Gene's eyes widened as he remembered, still surprised. "I gave him detention as a joke because he asked me to during recess." Malcolm shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, he's been there since school finished. Just been on his phone".

Now Gene felt bad. Guilty even. "Oh crap. Well, when you head back there could you tell him he's off the hook? I don't really want to walk all the way back there just to send him home." Malcolm nodded and left, heading back to the main school building where he would, true to routine, lock the main school doors before heading off himself. Gene typically used the side fire exit door when he was done, which automatically locked behind him. It was an arrangement he and Malcolm had come to amicably in his first week at school.

Over an hour later, Gene heard a tapping on the glass at the window facing the garden. Looking up, he saw Davis waving at him, pointing at the fire exit door. Now more puzzled than anything, Gene made his way over to the door and let Davis in.

"Davis, what are you still doing here? I told Malcolm to tell you that you could go home over an hour ago."

Davis walked straight past his music teacher and went into the music room. Gene followed him in, finding him sitting astride the teacher's table with his feet dangling in the air. The impish smile was back.

"Okay, Davis..." Gene pulled up a chair from the orchestra section and sat across from Davis, looking up at the boy from his lower seating position, "what seems to be the problem?". Davis smiled and pursed his lips, giving a knowing glance before he spoke in a voice more solemn than usual.

"You should check your phone, Mr Tanner."

"Huh?" Gene looked at the boy.

"Just check your phone silly."

Gene pulled out his phone and looked for anything unusual, of which there was nothing. No missed calls and no unopened texts. Then, the life of Eugene Tanner changed forever.

 

Hello Mr Gene Tanner the music and math teacher at Clement Woods Middle School.

 

The message was earmarked with the Jack'D icon. Gene felt his skin go cold and the silence of the music room was now pounding in his head.

"Davis... there's no..."

"You really shouldn't use the same pictures on your Jack'D profile as you do on your facebook, even if you did crop your face out, dude. That beach photo from last summer totally gives you away." Davis' stood up and ambled closer to Gene, bending over slightly to rest his hands on his knees. Beautiful grey eyes seemed to suck Gene in, he couldn't look away. Feebly, the teacher tried to extricate himself again.

"I don't know what you're... Davis!!! NO don't..." Gene found himself taken aback and cut off as Davis leapt mid sentence at his teacher, parting his legs as he landed squarely in Gene's lap, groin to groin and wrapped his arms around Gene's neck. Man and boy were now eye to eye, smelling each other's breath. Gene put his hands on Davis' shoulders and tried to push him away, but the boy leaned forward, his hands cradling the back of his teacher's head, and planted his lips over his teacher's, tongue plundering the undiscovered delights within.

As if under a spell, Gene felt his will and resistance melt away as he surrendered to Davis' kiss, responding and reciprocating with the gusto of the blue-balled, closeted gay man that he was. Gene was no boy lover, but having been a boy himself not so long ago, he knew well the unbridled, primal purity of a boy's sexual desire. The voice of his conscience turned into a siren song of lust and Gene inhaled deeply, taking in the sweet scene that was a teenage boy in heat. Gene let his hands slip from Davis' shoulders to the front of the boy's chest, feeling the small firm pecs through the t-shirt, running his fingers over the little nipples beneath the thin cotton. Davis moaned softly even as he continued to French kiss, and tightened his thighs to grind against his teacher's crotch. There was now a distinct hardness in the boy's nether regions that was not there a moment ago. Gene felt his head start to spin and broke the kiss briefly to catch his breath.

"Davis...dude... I..." Gene was again unable to finish his sentence as the boy placed a finger over his lips, calling for silence.

"I know what I want, I know what you want, I won't tell anyone, nobody is left here and in this room, nobody can us." Davis, 8^th grade, indifferent math and music student and now master seducer of men. It was true, though. Gene mentally assessed the situation as best he could. If Malcolm had locked up for the day, the building was secure and empty. The music room's window faced the internal school yard, not the outside, so pedestrians would have no line of sight. The room itself was insulated enough to reduce band practice to a distant muffle, the sound of two people making out... or more... would have no chance of escaping. Gene looked up at Davis, to see the boy with new eyes. The youth was the same as before in so many ways. Cute bangs, young teenage face, just the barest wisps of a blonde moustache beginning to form on his upper lip, and those grey eyes were like oceans of desire into which Gene longed for more and more by the heartbeat. There was more now, Davis' breath was hot, smelling of mint. A lingering smell of hand soap told Gene that the boy had been to the washroom and the very light down of boy fuzz along his arms tickled Gene's neck. There was so much to want here, so much to desire. And the boy did say that he wouldn't tell...