He walked up and extended his hand; we shook hands as he reached behind me to open the door. “Well, I can’t believe that it’s been 20 years since you were one of my kids. And now you’re here about kids of your own. Time does have a way of marching on.” There was a wistful smile as he ushered me into his room.
Nothing had changed — much — in the intervening decades. The walls were still covered with boards and images of some of the great writers of history — Shakespeare, Oscar Wilde, Shaw. Books lined a row of shelves in the back — Mr. Adams still had his “literature lending library” so students could read the great authors of our time; and from centuries before. The A/V set up in the corner had given way to a flat screen TV and a DVD player, replacing the big old TV and VCR set up from my youth. His desk was still set towards the corner, at an angle, so he could keep a close watch on all aspects of his classroom. He sat on the corner of that desk, now.
He motioned to a chair and I sat. The old smells of chalk and books — and his cologne — still hung in the air; more memories flashed through my head. My cock started to stir a bit and I could feel heat deep in my balls, as I thought back on those fantasies of youth and looked at the man of so many of those desires. He still was handsome.
“So, tell me what’s been going on with you, Mr. Marius” he said.
I told him what had been happening; of how Scott was my adopted son, the events leading to him being with me; I told him of my work. I told him so much, covering 20 years in about 20 minutes. He’d nodded and made small comments and gestures while I spoke; calling me Mr. Marius.
I told him to call me Bill. He told me to call him Todd.
With just a simple gesture — that first name basis — we were now equals; adult grown men, no longer teacher and former student. The unease I’d been feeling washed away as we spoke and I began to wonder why I’d felt that way before.
We talked about Scott and how he was doing in class; how he could improve and how well adjusted he seemed, given his past and the circumstances of his life. I told him that I acted not only as his father, but also as a friend. I treated him more as an adult than as a child. Todd suggested that may be because I was not his biological father and didn’t have that view of him as just a child. It made sense.
I told him how we both still did things together — as buddies. I told him how I still swam and dove and how Scott was getting into that with me; but he never wanted to get involved with it at school. I noticed his eyes when I’d mentioned about my swimming; as though he was checking me out. After this many years as gay, you know when somebody is looking at your body in that way. My dick stirred again in my lap, filling with heat and growing. Old lusts die hard, I guess.
We continued chatting about school and Scott and how things were. He mentioned how he still had the programs from the plays we’d done in high school — he kept them all — and he went to the shelves in the back. I rose and followed him. He pulled a small book from the shelves, and opened the cover. Inside, he had placed all of the programs — including my foray into the dramatic arts — and there I was, 20 years younger in the costume of a strolling entertainer. In the same plastic envelope, he still had the pictures he’d used to make the program. He pulled them out and sifted through to the one of me.
I had been standing there on the stage, wearing a pair of green tights and a green, blue and purple tunic. You could see my legs, snugly outlined in the tight fabric, muscles and definition from years of swimming; the bulge of my ass, even then being nicely rounded, lifting the back of the tunic. The front showed a slight bulge, as well, but we all had worn padded jock-straps under the tights. He looked at the image and then back at me.
“You’ve changed some,” he said, placing his hand on my shoulder. A shock of teenage longing and lust shot through my body from that touch — nothing had changed in 20 years. “But I wonder if you still have those legs.” His hand then slid down my body and slid along my thigh. That jolt of lust became a nearly all-consuming current. My dick stiffened and hardened, shifting in my pants; my balls responding and beginning to churn out the sexual fluids my body thought were needed.
I stammered with an attempted reply, but nothing came from my lips. It was as though my cock was sapping the strength from my voice, leaving me speechless as the old fantasies crossed my mind.
“And I see you still have a big package, too,” he said, his hand sliding up and cupping my still hardening cock. “I could often catch a glimpse of you in the locker rooms after you finished swimming. I had to wait until you left, so I could take my shower and jerk off to thoughts of your body. But I was your teacher; something I could never do would have been to touch you.”
He stood and looked deep into my eyes. “But now that we’re both adults, I can take those liberties.” He leaned forward and kissed me, his hands caressing my back and shoulders. I could feel the pressure of his chest against mine; his cock — also hard — pressing against my hard cock. His tongue slipped along my lips and I opened my mouth to let him in.
My nose filled with his aroma as my mouth filled with his tongue. The shock of his revelations was being replaced by the lust of my youth; I eagerly returned his kisses, pressing my body against his and grabbing for his head, his back, his ass. I pulled him to me, forcing my tongue deeper into his mouth, passion fueling my movements; desire became all important.
We were kissing and groping, feeling each other’s bodies, like a couple of high school teenagers. But we were both adult men, grown men, gay men; this time, fantasies could become real.
His lips tasted sweet and his body firm and solid. His cologne was still as fragrant and was fitting; he smelled good, he looked good, he tasted good; my senses overloaded with his inputs. I could feel the firmness of his ass; the shape of his back; the strength in his arms. I pushed back to take a breath and to gather myself. “Wait. This is … is this real?” I was able to gain my voice and ask. He simply looked into my eyes and nodded his head.
He stepped back and asked “Do you want it to be real? Do you want this to happen? I could tell, even back then, that you’d noticed me; you’d noticed that I was not just a teacher; that I was a man. And I was a man you had thoughts about; thoughts of carnal desire; thoughts of lust and passion and longing. In your mind, you had thoughts of raw, animal and primal sex.”
I nodded my head slowly in agreement, feeling my face heat with passion and desire; blush covered my face completely, admitting to those long ago desires.
“We can now follow through on those thoughts; that passion…. Unless,” his voice grew quiet, “there’s another reason why you can’t?” His eyes looked at me, beseeching an answer.
There was no reason I could not — would not — should not — give in to those long ago desires; I should rekindle that flame that burned so bright and so hot when I’d dream of his naked body and the things we’d do. I just had to slip from teacher and student to man and man. My cock yearned to be free of my clothes; my body burned for his; but my mind still threw blocks in the way.