Date: Thu, 16 Sep 2010 01:52:58 -0700 (PDT)
From: Aihu Fist <aihufist@yahoo.com>
Subject: Haply Whore

He arrived a week later than the other students, to start another term of
highs school class of general English. He was late to begin with and that
would the first of many late comings. I looked at him and felt a pang in my
abdomen. The ones I used to get so often when I knew I was being hit
on. But those pangs were years ago. My libido, being what it has been for
the last four years, seemed to have found ways to manifest itself again. I
looked briefly at him as he hurried to sit himself in the left corner of
the classroom. His hair was a pale orange and the style was one that is so
popular with emos around the world. The Cambodians like the Thais share a
fascination for hairdos, nail polish-yes for some boys, particularly
ladyboys. However, real boys look down upon sissy boys, better known as
Kathoeys. The small body frame and hairless skin makes them a nice
substitute for the forbidden fruit. Strangely enough I couldn't take my
eyes of him and yet, there were more boyish boys in my class than I could
care for. His shirt was pink and as fashion dictated, tight to the body and
loose over the hips. This years jeans all decorated and dashing was what
nancies like him chose to wear. He pulled at his hair that went in a
straight line over his ears to his mouth and ended up in what looked hairy
arrows. Under the desk he had his legs crossed for a short while which made
him even more effeminate. I have to say that no one paid attention to him
and neither did he to anyone else in the class. He had virtually no
friends, or so it seemed.

As I said earlier on, he rarely attended the class and when he did, he came
half an hour late and in doing so disturbed my teaching. I picked some
advice from another more experienced teacher who suggested that I should
have the latecomers apologise to me. After all, this was not a disco or a
pagoda where you walk in and out, and for each and every absence or
latecoming they had to come with a serious explanation before a permission
was given.

Three weeks ago, I had him do that and told him that latecomers always sit
in front in my class: I kept a few desks free, and it works. Not so many
dare come late anymore. But he did and he was really annoyed with his
public apology in front of the class.

-Do you really want me to do this in front of everybody, he smirked.

-Yes, I do, I said with a similar smirk on my face.

He was wearing a silver crucifix earring, encrusted with tiny sapphires:
His collar of his striped shirt stood open, so I could see his collarbones
and a few necklaces around his neck. Again that pang hit me with crushing
power. I averted my eyes, I realized he might pick up the signals. His thin
mouth became a straight line, his eyes narrowed to fine slits. His body
warmth was overwhelming. Suddenly I realized that every other student was
waiting for me to carry on with the lesson.

-I want you to sit here, that's what I do with latecomers.

He didn't say a word for the next hour; he had already missed half an hour.

Three times he did this to me, coming late, that is and always a good
story. He worked late and could only leave at five-my class started at 5.30
pm- or the monsoon rains did, and last but not least he was stuck in the
traffic jam. I admit these things do happen and many students use that
excuse and not always unjustified. But he just did not show any interest or
motivation to come an d learn, any excuse was quickly found. The last time
I told him that if he came late again he should not walk in to my classroom
anymore. So, he didn't. I found him at school hanging around talking to
girls and boys half an hour when class was long finished. He apologized and
and explained that he did what I had told him: to stay out of the class if
he was late.



I had to see the administration about it: I was told they would ring the
parents, but I learned he was a difficult student who had been spotted
drinking alcohol. Now, he was only sixteen going on seventeen, I believe.

We were approaching the first exam; everyone else participated, but
him. The next day he found out that he had 'missed' the exam and nearly
begged me if he could do it another day. He ended up the day after in my
other high school class doing the exam with his desk facing the wall, his
back turned to me and the other students. All went fine until it was time
for all the students to leave, I had had no time, or it simply slipped my
mind to keep a watchful eye on him. Without asking me he turned his desk
around and continued to write. As he got up to hand me his examsheet, I
noticed his cell phone on his chair.

-What is that Hor? Gosh, the way I said it nearly sounded like 'whore'. But
that's how you pronounced it in Khmer. His full name was Hap Ly Hor. When I
read his name the first day I almost choked on it; was he a Happy wHORre?

-I put (it) on silent, teacher, he said in Khmer English.

- That's not the point, you know the rules, one cannot use anything that
can help you in the exam.

-I am sorry, teacher he said, in a very innocent way and made a deep bow. I
didn't know whether that was meant seriously or as a joke.

I was speechless, I really did not know what to do. I should have said:
sorry, the policy is zero tolerance, thus, you deserve 0 percent. But, I
said nothing and he just walked away. I walked home, as I always do. Most
teachers take a motodop (taxi motorbike); I walked. I wanted to get as thin
as a Khmer could get. I wanted my slender youthful body back. In bed I
tossed and turned, fretting about my indecisiveness, my desire to be
Mr. Nice guy and have all the boys like me. I wasn't to be a friend of
theirs, but a teacher who earns respect through his honest work and
teachings. I was getting there and suddenly wHOre came on my way, sending
me bodily, not-to misunderstand-messages. I could have told him to stay, I
could have, I could have? nothing, damn! But I could have made him wait and
ask him questions, interrogate him about why he had tried to cheat, about
why he was out to defy my rules and the school policy: we were the last
ones on the floor. What would have happened?

Then the other day I walked into the toilet and did not pay much attention
to who was standing next to me. I shook my dick and zipped up, went to the
sink to wash my hands and the bloke who has stood next to reached out for
the tap. I looked at him and saw it was wHore. I hadn't recognized him and
hadn't seen him for two days after I had told him I'd fail him for this
exam. Once again, he tried to bail himself out, trying to bend the wrong to
the right. I told him that I didn't even want to discuss this, as he was
aware of the strict rules. However, had he been a good student, doing
homework, coming on time for class, etc, I could have considered to let him
off the hook as a one off. But he had screwed up. This exam, I explained,
was not an important one, so he could still change course and study hard to
make it to the final exam at the end of the term and pass.

He walked away as usual, uninterested, picking up his phone and call
someone while walking away. he had changed his hair colour back to black
with highlights of blond by the crown.

-Hi teacher, he quipped.

-Hi Hor, I replied and slurred his name into a long vowel.

I looked back into the mirror and saw that he walked to the door. He closed
it silently.

Teacher, he whispered.

-We are alone again. They will switch off the light in a moment.

I looked at my watch, it was seven o' clock. School was out for high school
kids. I was late, I had to hurry down a three flights of stairs and get
past the gate and watchman.

The assistant teacher had done his round on this floor, so there was really
no one around anymore.

-I have to go wHore, honestly. By the way, what are you hanging around in
this godforsaken toilet at this time of the day.



-Look teacher, why do you hate me?

-I don't hate you and you know that, so cut the crap. I see you tomorrow at
5.30 pm with the other students on this floor.

I inched forward to the door when the lights were turned off.

wHORe blocked the exit and said:

-Teacher, come on, you got to let me pass, don't fail me. My parents will
kill me, he whined.

-You should've thought of that before, kiddo, now let me go.

As I said this I felt his hand on my crotch. He literally got me by my
balls. I froze, this couldn't be true. He actually had the nerve to grab my
private parts?

-What are you doing?

-What you have desired for a long time, teacher. You are a Kathoey, just
like me. A small child can see that you darken your eyebrows and paint your
eyelashes with mascara. I have watched you from my desk. You are a dirty
bugger, just like me. The difference is that you are getting old and I am
young. Are you having trouble getting it up or keeping it up?

I had no answer, my heart raced, my mouth got dryer by the minute. I was
dark all around, but not dark enough to hide our bodies. I looked in his
eyes; they were flickering with a lust for power. He was right, I was
getting old and this was now or never, when would I have such an
opportunity again, and I could feel no guilt, for he was the one who jumped
the gun and was holding mine this minute.

-Oh, teacher, you didn't anticipate this did you? I feel some life force
here, and it is big now. I tink you tink a lot about me. I think you like
fuck student? Do you ever use Viagra, teacher? I have pill for you. You
like?

-What do you want wHORe?

-Teacher, please, don't mind, but we not rush now. I have all
night. Actually, no I do not, I forget my parents will pick up me in half
hour. So, must hurry. I give you my cock, and you let me pass exam. Deal,
teacher?

I grabbed the Viagra. I wanted the experience. He took a head start; he
didn't wait for my answer. He opened my fly, unbuckled my belt and undid
the catch. I had not been prepared for this event, hence I had not changed
my underwear for something more traditional. It was too late, when I
realized I was wearing a thong endowed with another fly zip.

-Oh, teacher, you are so handsome and sexy man. I like your underwear. I
felt embarrassed. I used to wear this solely for myself. It gives me a kick
to teach in thongs, or jockstraps. The students don't know that I dress
lewdly for them, it all remains hidden under my black teacher trousers.

-Don't say that wHORe, all Khmer students say that about their
teachers. Just a way to lick teacher's arses, isn't it?

-You want me lick your arse teacher? No problem, sir. First I smoke you,
Ok?

As he peeled the thong from my dick and balls, I got more excited. He was
going to see the leather strap around the base of my cock. My dick sprang
up ready to shoot in his face. Swiftly, his fist latched onto it and
started rolling my skin back and forward.

-You have nice bracelet on your cock, teacher, he squealed, while milking
me frenetically.

-Oh, I really like that; I haven't had that feeling since my last fuck in
Brazil.

My teacher trousers were lying at my feet, I couldn't resist fondling
myself; squeezing my own bottom,whilst his hands warmed up my balls. Also,
he molded them, and occasionally kissed the head of my cock.

My wHORe was HAPiLY honouring his name. The friction of his tongue wanted
me to kiss him and, and yes?I wanted to fuck him.

-Enough! I said. I am in charge, aren't I?

I will decide what I want in exchange for good exam marks.

-Yes, sir, he piped.

-Get up you whore, cause that's what you are, isn't it. You'd pimp yourself
for anything wouldn't you? For an IPod, a cell phone or grades, what does
it matter? Then come and take it like a whore then, you bitch.

I pulled myself together and made him get up. I unbuttoned his shirt slowly
off his body, pressed my nose against his tiny nipples. I wanted to chew
them so badly, savour the flavor of young blood. I lapped my way from one
to the other. I got the shirt over his shoulders and sucked his
neck. Wouldn't we all like to suck them raw there? There is something of an
animal in us when surrender to our most primitive senses. He moaned a
little. I grabbed his earlobes; he wasn't wearing the crucifix today. My
fingers ran through his shock of hair: I wanted hair like that too; I
wanted to be a Dragonball figure and squeeze his slim frame there and then.



-Oh teacher, you sexy man, he murmured.

He pulled his arms out of the sleeves. It was my chest against his. We were
both hairless and it felt insanely good. He continued kneading and
stretching my ball sac; I was cooking. I had to have his jeans down and
fast. They were hanging half his butt, anyways. Those kids asked for
it. Here, take me, I am available! Was there any difference between a girl
slut on MTV, showing of her bitchy looks next to a nigga rapper? This
fashion follower wanted to show off his latest boxer's brand, imitating the
5o cents crowd. That was done in not time. The blacks call themselves nigga
and bitch, so why not call their fans sluts? This whole thing made me only
madder. I didn't want to come in his mouth. He deserved it up his fresh
young arse. Nine and a half Weeks came to mind.

He released my cock.  I looked him in the eyes, then back down at the fuzz
on his bare bottom. It was such a prize winning booty, I couldn't resist
tearing up his boxers; I hated boxers-the sport and the clothes. However,
his butt was so white in contrast with the black Lycra boxers, that I
lowered myself to inspect it more closely. I took a bite of the flesh
around his boy hole, through the tear I had made; the seams hanging loose
by his crotch. His anus was now up for grabs, and so were his balls and
dick.

-Get up here, I said and pointed at the sink. Lie down and lift your legs
and put them on my shoulders.

This was just what I needed. His student pussy was ready to receive a big
foreign barang (foreigner) banana, made in England.



-I am going to give it to you wHORe, like you never had it before -But had
he had it before?  Was he a virgin, still?.  No time to waste.

Wham, the boxers went over his hairless legs; my hands on them, rubbing,
feeling, skidding, planting my nails in the soft pores of this
juvenile-turned-sex delinquent. Viagra was working the juice flow to my
balls, and I was going to prove my strength to him. My dick was standing
like a ship's mast, my balls hot with millions of sperm cells, ready to
shuttle to a better place.

I had my fingers looking for his hairless hole. He wanted it so badly; he
held his cheeks wide open for me thrust his boy bottom up and downwards,
whispering hoarsely:

-Take me, teacher.

And I did. I hooked that crooked index finger and pulled to the left,
crammed my hard dick head in it and pushed with all my might.

-Use this, teacher, please.

-Lube, he really was prepared for this event, he must have planned it
meticulously and followed me. I went in and out like a madman; I banged the
grades out of him.

-How much do you want for your exam, wHORe?-but I thought whore.

-Eighty, sir.

-Eighty bangs that is, I retorted.

I counted each and every bang up his arsehole like blowing candles for a
birthday, and stopped exactly at eighty. I told him to turn round, his arse
in the sink and his head hanging down.

-Now suck me dry.

I saw the stars when I did, his tongue just lapped each nook and cranny of
my sac, cock and arse.

Now get down here and bend over.

He got hold of the sink and I got hold of his hips, planted my dick once
more up his hairless crack, and gave it to him. I had barely shoved in
twice and released five shots. He made my day and I could take on the world
again.

We left the premises in a normal way. The gate opened up for us after I had
bribed the watchman with two fucking dollars. Mum and dad were waiting in
their Saab and thanked me graciously for the time I spent on teaching their
son after the school hours. My wHORre had told them that I had done it for
free as a one off.

 I mused about that at home. Was it going to remain a one off?

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