A gay story: My Instructor, My Lover (This is a one-part story written in the first person)
There’s an instructor that I like. His name is Mr. Moore and he’s the chief. He’s tall and slim. But not overly so, for his snug-fit clothing showed off toned arms and legs. He dresses like a gentleman, fashionably yet professionally. He walks with elegance, like a prince, and his soft, mellow voice makes butterflies roam in my stomach.
He’s a painfully handsome man with mocha skin; with midnight-sky eyes that tell stories of all the grief and trauma he witnessed in his career as an officer.
He maintains a low haircut. His strikingly thick and dark eyebrows and mustache are interspersed with grey strands while the rest of his face is clean-shaven and smooth.
He’s so articulate and intelligent. In the classroom, he makes the most complex topics seem easy. And he’s patient too. He will not stop until every student fully understands every aspect of the syllabus.
There’s just something about an older man that lures me in.
Is it because they are more attractive than boys my age?
Is it that they are more mature and more established financially and professionally?
Or is it that I yearn for a fatherly figure in my life since mine was absent physically and emotionally? Someone who can take care of me and romance me and give me everything my father failed to provide?
Who knows? But one thing is for certain. I like Mr. Moore. It is my little secret and a silly crush. Nothing would come of it, or so I thought.
*****
Who knew training to become a police officer was so grueling? Sometimes, it feels like I’m training to join the foreign legion rather than a police force.
I feel like this place violates one of my human rights. What’s it called, again? The Protection from Cruel and Other Inhuman and Degrading Treatment and Punishment Convention? Bloody hell! Can you imagine waking up every morning at three a.m. for roll call? Can you imagine exercising for over three hours straight? From said three a.m. until six a.m.? And during these exercising hours, we must run a mile and a half and engage in push-ups, sit-ups, pull-ups, squat thrusts and any other rigorous exercise you can think of? Can you fricking imagine drilling and marching in the skin-blistering sun for the following two hours after breakfast while holding an eight-pound M-16 rifle? I mean, surely these conditions amount to cruelty and torture. Right?
What makes matters worse is that the environment in the male dorm is too intense. Somehow, these degenerates figured out that I’m gay. “Why do you talk like that bro, like a girl?” “Why do you use your hands so much when you talk?” Then, as time went on, the insults came. “What up faggot?” “Come and suck this,” one recruit said while flashing me his penis by the lockers. Things even got so bad that whenever I went to the ablution, one of the males would shout “HOMO ALERT!” Subsequently, they’d all make a big show of covering up and dramatically pulling the shower curtains right across and making sure the toilet stalls are locked and their guffaws echoed in the white-tiled room. It was so embarrassing and humiliating. Being around them makes me feel sick to the point where I have to go outside and take deep breaths so the nausea can go away. I constantly feel as though I’m suffocating. I hate them.
So, it’s no surprise that at the beginning of the third week of training, I walked into Mr. Moore’s office and sobbed with snot leaking from my nose. He looked up from his desk in shock. I cried and hiccupped for no less than five minutes before I calmed myself down to be coherent enough for him to understand what I was saying in the first place. I told him I wanted to leave and I don’t think I can survive the training regime any longer. “Douglas, let me tell you something.” [He offered some tissues so I could clean my face while listening to him.] “You’re a lot stronger than you think you are. It’s only been twenty-one days. Give your body a chance. You’re not accustomed to this lifestyle but in the next few weeks your body will adapt. Not only that but your mind as well.”
He went on, “this police force needs you more than you need them. You have a Master’s degree in Counseling Psychology for God’s sake. You’ve already gone onto a deeper level of policing in terms of understanding people while the rest of them out there haven’t even touched the surface. Most of em’ got…probably…what…four A levels at most while the remainder got in through…shit…what’s that ‘n’ word?”
“Nepotism.”
“Yes, yes, nepotism. Their daddies and uncles and grand-pappies put in a good word with the superintendent and bam [he smacks his palms together] they got a job. But you, you’re different. You deserve to be here. Cut yourself some slack and in time, you’ll see you had it in you all along.”
*****
Thereafter, Mr. Moore pushed me to become better. Over the next few days, he invited me to the gym at night. He introduced me to one of his work-out routines involving the treadmill (so I can have more stamina while running) and the weight machine (for more strength in my back and arms). That was nice of him, I found myself getting a tad bit stronger.
On weekends during my free time, we went to the aquatic center. I thought I could swim pretty well but he introduced me to a new technique where I could preserve my energy for longer periods of time. He helped me with my posture in the water which obviously involved touching, and whenever his hands touched my skin, a flush ran right through my entire being. We often did laps together and he made a note of my times because he always said “you have a chance to get the ‘best at swimming’ trophy at graduation.” He never wore pants while swimming. Always a speedo, and I tried my best not to stare too long at the basket of goods between his thighs.
Moreover, he also invited me into his quarters on several occasions. Here, he became my mentor and unpaid therapist where I could just rant to him about my days and what I was going through and he always listened and offered encouraging words. I appreciated that greatly.
On another instance, he helped me with a road traffic project. I remember knocking on his door and he yelled come in.
“Doug, is that you?”
“Yes.”
“Look in that black duffle bag by the door and hand me a towel. I forgot to take it out.” I surmised he’s in the shower.
I retrieve it and take it to him but I was not expecting the sight before me.
Why is he just standing there… wet and exposed? With the shower curtain pulled aside?
I give it to him and turn to leave.
“Wait, what’s up?”
With my back to him, I stammer “uhhh…I…just…this project…I just wanted some guidance.”
“Oh, I could do that.”
“Yes Sir. I’ll just wait outside.”
“Don’t be daft, Douglas. Stay right there.”
I face him.
“Okay, so it’s a road accident and you need to outline…”
I zone him out and take in the sight of him. All of him. For a man in his forties, he looks spectacular naked. His soft penis is pleasingly plump and I watch as it sways from side to side as he talks and dries his skin at the same time.
“Do you understand? Douglas?”
I didn’t even notice he put pants on. He’s still shirtless though.
“Huh? I mean, yes, I’m grasping it now. Thank you, Sir.”
Mr. Moore is looking down at something and when I follow his gaze, I’m horrified.
I’m so deep in my thoughts that I didn’t even notice the discomfort in my pants.
The front of my shorts juts out; my boner that’s pressed against the fabric eager to be set free.
When our eyes meet, a devilish, toothy smile spreads across his face.
*****
From then on, whenever I’m in the same room as him, I can feel his eyes on me. I don’t even have to look. I always got that prickly feeling at the back of my neck.
His ghastly and all-consuming gaze makes every fiber of hair on my flesh hackle. It makes my heart hammer against my sternum and it makes me feel extremely claustrophobic.
The way he looks at me means one thing and one thing only. He wants to fuck me.
It was just a silly crush. I never expected that our feelings would become mutual. It felt too real. It felt too soon. This is crazy. I do not have the emotional capacity to undergo a romantic relationship. Furthermore, have sex.
Nevertheless, his desire for me radiates from him in waves. It feels like—the bogeyman; that demonic creature that parents would mention to their small kids when trying to deter them from wandering around at night. “Wherever there’s darkness, he’s near.” It makes night time terrifying because the fear gnawed at you. You obsessively check under your bed and in the closet a million times right before you close your eyes, to make sure that he wasn’t there to take you away. Fortunately, he never came.
But with Mr. Moore, I can feel its presence all the time. Almost like it’s tangible.
It never got me as a boy, but the bogeyman took me when I became a man.
*****
It’s a Wednesday night, two hours after lights-out and I can hear my roommates snoring loudly, like grizzly bears.
I turn onto my stomach and am about to doze off when I feel a tickling sensation on the sole of my right foot. I look to see what it is and there, right outside my window is Mr. Moore. He tilts his head slightly to the right.
I get up and sneak outside. My body knows what is going to happen before I do. My cock lengthens in my black track bottoms, my nipples bead in the cool night air and the blood beneath my skin races with anticipation. I follow him to his room and when we’re inside he locks the door. He turns the lamp on and he comes into view. He steps to me, takes my face in his hands and seek out my lips with his own.
Seconds later, his hands release their hold on my face and find another purpose. He gropes my behind and squeezes each cheek hard.
Jesus!
Soon after, he moves away from my lips and sucks at my neck and ear, making my legs buckle in the process and so, he pushes me across the room and forces me to sit on the edge of his cot.
Am I dreaming or is this really happening?
Mr. Moore leans over me and we continue to swap saliva; biting at each other’s lips, lapping our tongues together and forcing them down one another’s throat.
After a while, he pulls his pants down and rests his hand at the back of my head. He soothingly rubs it while at the same time, he slowly pulls it toward his erection.
“Come on, Doug. Suck it like the good boy you are.”
Its odor is strong and pungent. Frowsy yet savory. It makes saliva pool in my fucking mouth.
I take a deep breath and oblige him.
“Ooooouuuuu, yeah.”
I serve him with my throat, lips and tongue. While trapped in the heat of my mouth, I feel its hardness. I feel every vein. Every pulse. Every twitch and jerk of satisfaction. His meat is so flavorsome. I can suck it for the whole day if he wants me to. I’ve never sucked a man before, but hearing the moans and praise from above assures me that I’m doing an excellent job.
“Take it all in that dirty mouth of yours.”
It’s beyond me how I got it done in light of his penis being so long and thick but…
“OUUUU, MMM-HMMM! JUST LIKE THAT,” he groans, when I swallow its entirety.
“Lick my balls.”
“Aaaahhh, fuck!”
It doesn’t take long for him to get impatient. He cups my chin and starts to dance his hips in my face, going in and out of my mouth like he would a pussy. He makes sure that he’s all the way in so that my face and lips make contact with his pelvis; holding me there for a moment or two before retreating.
He then lifts me off the bed and continues to kiss me open-mouthed and heavy. Somewhere along the line, I’m nude and his fingers worm their way inside of me. Good thing he’s holding me against him because the pleasure coursing through me is making me lose all feeling in my legs and knees and I would’ve dropped to the floor at any moment. I’ve never felt anything like this. His fingers graze something deep inside of me every now and then and the contact makes my dick quiver in hot impatience. With his other hand he starts to stroke me and I immediately bust.
“Mmmhmm, you’re too eager, you know,” he chuckles.
When he starts to put the condom on, I panic.
“What’s wrong?”
The words are trapped in my throat so I just frantically shake my head, enough to give myself whiplash.
He advances towards me and I push him away.
“I can’t, Sir.”
“Why not?”
“I’m…scared. It…it just feels like too much right now,” I murmur, avoiding his eyes.
“You don’t have to be scared with me, Douglas.” He holds my face and forces me to look up at him and continues: “I’m not going to hurt you. It’ll feel amazing, trust me. And we can stop at any time.”
Finally, he places me in the center of the bed and bends me right over, so that the side of my face is resting on the mattress. My back is arched and my behind is high in the air. He hits his iron against my entrance a few times, almost like he’s knocking a door asking for permission to come in. Next, I hear him spit and just like that, he is shoving his way between the valley of my cheeks, into the hollow depths of my anus. I immediately grip the sheets.
He’s a big boy so I wail and start to make a fuss but he holds me down.
“Relax. Just take it easy.”
He pulls out and goes back in and it feels like he’s splitting me in two. I grit my teeth and try to steady my breathing, try to calm myself down and relax into the motions.
“Yeessss, let daddy make you feel good.”
My penis is hard again and I can feel the stickiness of residual semen from my previous orgasm running down my inner thigh.
Ever so slowly, my rectum opens up to him and the more accommodating I become, the more he picks up the pace. The agony is soon replaced with spine-tingling pleasure; so good that I start to rock back and meet him stroke for stroke.
The way he fills my hole makes me feel whole.
The sound of my name on his lips brings me a sort of contentment. Knowing that my body can provide such blissful pleasure to him makes me feel gratified.
Eventually, we get into the missionary position. His rhythm becomes slow and delicate as he continues to have his way with me. I latch onto his back and enjoy the way it shifts and arches as he drives in and out of me.
“I bet that dick feels good, mmmh?”
“I bet you wanted it for a long time. And you wanted to run away from me? I’m gonna make you take every inch.”
He starts to speed up and I start to cry out. I start to thrash my head left and right and he rests his palms over my mouth to shush me.
“You wanna wake everyone up? Be quiet,” he whispers.
He starts to slow down again but then minutes later, he lets loose and starts to pound into me with such ferocity until eventually, my asshole becomes inundated with his sperm.
*****
For the rest of the training program, Mr. Moore and I became lovers. He took me wherever he could get me; On the firing range, in the bathroom, in the storage room. One time he actually snuck me out of camp and we parked by a lake in the middle of the night and fucked in his car. It was like he couldn’t get enough.
Apparently, neither could I.
I found myself falling in love with him and as the training course came to a close, I knew deep down that the curtains will be drawn on our relationship.
It couldn’t work because we’ll be thousands of miles apart and it was unrealistic for us to move in together seeing as he’ll always be stationed at the academy for when the next batch of recruits join.
*****
“Award winners, take post.”
I come to attention and hand my rifle to the person behind me and march to meet the Commissioner of Police, Mr. Smith and the Chief Instructor of police training, Mr. Moore.
There are five awardees and we all line off in front of the squad. I’m at the far right which means that my name is going to be called last.
“For best at weapon’s training, Timothy Black.”
The audience cheers as he salutes both senior officers and accepts his trophy. He poses for a picture and marches back into the squad.
It doesn’t take long before it’s my turn.
“For best at swimming and lifesaving, Julian Douglas.”
I Salute and accept my trophy. It’s ginormous.
“Mr. Douglas also receives the award for best at constitutional Law.”
I accept yet another trophy. Oh my God! This is amazing.
“And lastly, the moment you’ve been waiting for, ladies and gentlemen. To the recruit who maintained an outstanding and diligent work ethic, who showed exemplary behavior and noble character traits; to the best recruit…Julian Douglas!”
What the fuck? Me?!?!
Wow!
I accept yet another trophy and feel the tears of joy slowly move down my cheeks.
Instead of shaking my hand, Mr. Moore takes me into his arms. “Congratulations. I knew you could do it. I’m so proud of you.”
The crowd cheers loudly when they see this.
“Thank you, for everything,” I say, crying against his chest.
I continue to cry as I march back into the squad.
I cry as I pack my bags after the graduation ceremony.
I cry as my mom helps me lift my luggage into the car.
She thought I was crying because of all of my accomplishments and so, she cried too. But my tears are for Mr. Moore.
His absence disturbs my soul.
The distance between us makes it difficult to breathe.
He is my oxygen.
He is my flashlight in times of darkness.
He picks me up when I feel down.
Now that he’s gone, how will I survive without him?