by JL Merrow
Sean was laughing helplessly by the time I’d finished. “Oh my God. That song, in your accent… Have you heard yourself? Bloody fantastic.”
“Thank you,” I said modestly. “It always seemed to go down well when I was at school.”
“Man of many talents, aren’t you?” Sean said, getting up from the sofa. “Budge up. Nah, shift back from the piano a bit.” As I did as he asked, he joined me at the piano stool, but instead of sitting beside me (which would have been something of a tight squeeze) he swung a leg over my lap to straddle me and squeezed me tight in a rather more pleasant way. A growing hardness in his jeans left me in no doubt he’d found my performance stimulating.
Good. Determined to take a more active role in today’s proceedings, I slid my hands up under his shirt, tracing the flat, muscular planes of his back. Sean made an appreciative sound and pressed closer to me.
“C’mere,” he said, using one hand to cup the back of my head and angle it up for a kiss. It was slow and deep
“I’m already here,” I pointed out a bit breathlessly. “If I was any more here, we’d merge into one.”
“Mm, that sounds good. Ever had sex on a piano stool?” Sean raised a copper eyebrow suggestively.
“Erm…” My face grew unaccountably heated. “Possibly.”
He laughed, clearly delighted by the thought of my debauchery. “You dirty bastard.”
“It’s a lot less fun than you’d think. Not enough room to do anything properly, and they’re usually placed on very hard floors. Agony on the knees. And elbows too, if you should happen to tumble off. We should go upstairs. I, er, went shopping this afternoon. For, um, supplies.”
I’d made the trip into Bishops Langley specially. It hadn’t been that I’d been too desperate to wait another night without condoms (or at least, it hadn’t been just that). Something had told me that waiting until Monday and paying a visit to the village chemist would just be asking for embarrassment. I’d probably have turned around from my purchase to find the Head looking over my shoulder. And half of class 2E peering underneath my arm.
“Yeah? Surprised I didn’t bump into you.” Sean reached into his pocket and drew out a slim pack of condoms. “Snap.”
“Lube?” I challenged.
“Other pocket.” He gave me a triumphant grin.
I frowned. “I see how it is. One blow job and now you’re taking me for granted.”
“Would I?”
“Well, I was hoping you were planning to eventually,” I huffed. “But we still seem to be sitting on this piano stool. Up,” I added, lifting him with both hands to encourage him off my lap.
Fortunately for my pride, he took the hint and scrambled off me, then took my hand to yank me to my feet. I followed him upstairs with alacrity—in fact, it turned into a sort of race which ended in us trying to barge through the bedroom door at the same time. We were both laughing when we flopped onto the bed.
“Seeing as I won, I get to choose who does what, yeah?”
I rolled over on top of him and pinned his shoulders with my hands. “You did not win. I was ahead of you by a nose.”
He rolled me off him and onto my back with embarrassing ease. “Yeah, right. Sorry if this is a blow to your ego, but it’s not that big, you know.”
“You’d better be talking about my nose,” I warned.
“Why? What else would it have been?” Sean belied his ignorance with a press of his hips that drove his erection against mine with delicious force. “Nope. Nothing small about that.”
“I think you should take a closer look to be certain. It might have shrunk since last time.”
Sean raised himself up onto his hands and knees above me and peered for a moment at my groin. “Can’t see a bloody thing,” he announced finally. “Too many clothes in the way. Shit.”
“What?”
“You’re wearing a belt.”
“And?”
“No braces.” He pouted ridiculously.
“Well, I wouldn’t want to risk you getting bored with them.”
“Huh. Still don’t like it. Nope, it’s gotta go.” He undid the buckle with deft fingers, and slid it out of the loops with a sensuous slithering sound. “Yeah, that’s better.” He raised an eyebrow. “Course, these things have their uses, too.”
“Sounds kinky.”
“Good kinky? Or bad kinky?”
“Depends. A little light bondage: fine. Beating me on the arse until I can’t sit down? A little too reminiscent of the horror stories the older pupils at prep school used to scare the new boys with.”
Sean looked alarmed. “Yeah, definitely thinking on the light bondage side, here. Um. Maybe not this time, then, yeah?” He chucked the belt over his shoulder and onto the floor without waiting for a reply.
I laughed. “You do realise they were only stories? Nothing like that actually went on.”
“Glad to hear it. Seriously.” He sat back on his heels and ran his hands up my legs, ending with a squeeze. “Don’t like to think of anything like that happening to this arse.”
“Mm, why not? Have you got plans for it?”
“Thought I didn’t get to choose?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Depends what you’d choose.”
“Think you know what I’d choose. What’d you choose?”
“I’d choose this,” I said, leaning up on one elbow so I could massage the appropriate part of him through his jeans. “In me.”
Sean shuddered. Hopefully not in revulsion. “You’re gonna kill me,” was all he said, so the jury was still out. Then he pulled off his shirt with one swift motion and unbuttoned his jeans.
Revulsion was probably not a problem. I struggled to get out of my trousers, hampered partly by my supine position and partly by the strapping young man seated on my calves.
“Want a hand?” Sean scrambled off me, grabbed the ends of my trousers and whipped them from my legs with impressive sleight of hand. Or, as it were, of trouser.
“You’re supposed to wait for an answer,” I complained, clambering to my knees to work on his jeans. “And stand up, damn you. Or I’ll never get these off.”
He stood, and in seconds I had him naked but for his socks. “Your socks have cartoon mice on,” I pointed out, momentarily distracted from the matter in hand.
Sean shrugged, his face a little pink, and started toeing them off. “Gag gifts, what can you do?”
The matter in hand having been Sean’s cock, which, as I was still seated on the bed, was bobbing nicely in my eye line, I had to think for a moment before I could remember what we were talking about. “I like them,” I said, taking hold and enjoying the velvety feel of him in my hand.
“Yeah?” Sean sounded distracted too. Good.
“Mm. I like this better, though.” To prove my point, I plunged my mouth over it. The drop of moisture on the tip was an explosion of saltiness on my tongue, a piquant contrast to the musky maleness of the rest of him.
“Fuck, yeah,” Sean gasped, encapsulating my own thoughts succinctly. His hands were on my head, fingers combing through my hair. “God, the way you look doing that—I mean, fuck, still in your shirt and that bow tie…”
I’d have thought I looked faintly ridiculous, but clearly it was a matter of opinion. I peered up at him, still sucking, and something stuttered in my chest at the raw emotion in his eyes. I was releasing him from my mouth and standing before I’d even registered consciously just how imperative it was right now to kiss him on the lips.
Sean’s tongue invaded my mouth as if seeking out his own taste in there, and his erection jabbed insistently into my belly, aided by my hands on his arse, pulling him in close. We broke apart, panting, and he reached up trembling hands to pull at the ends of my tie. This time, he kept tugging on one end, sliding it from my shirt in a susurration of silk. We both worked on my shirt button
s, I from the bottom and he from the top, until our hands met in the middle. Slowly, Sean reached up to push the garment from my shoulders. “God, you’re gorgeous,” he breathed, as it fell to the floor.
He cupped me through the cotton of my boxers, squeezing gently, making me moan, then carefully eased them off me, over the head of my erection and down thighs that tingled where he touched. Crouching down, he removed my socks one by one. I let out an undignified yelp as his fingers brushed my sole.
Sean grinned. “Ticklish?”
I eyed him warily. “If I say yes, are you planning to take advantage?”
His smile turned devilish. “Trust me, I’ll be doing that anyway.”
“Oh. Good,” I decided, then immediately regretted it as he licked the bottom of my foot, causing me to yelp again and fall on the bed. “Bastard!”
Sean clambered on top of me, his erection tantalising inches from mine. “You love it really.”
“Smug bastard.”
“So where’s all this stuff you bought, then?”
I raised an eyebrow. “I thought you’d brought your own?”
“Yeah, but it’s down on the floor now, buried under a heap of clothes, innit?”
“Fair point. Bedside cabinet. Top drawer.” I inclined my head in the appropriate direction.
Sean leaned over. “Aren’t you worried I’ll find something embarrassing?” he asked, opening the drawer.
“Such as?”
“I dunno… Mills and Boon medical romances?”
“No. They’re in the bottom drawer,” I couldn’t resist adding. Mendaciously, in case there should be any doubt.
“Prefer the historicals myself,” Sean said, returning with condoms, lube and a triumphant look. “All those tight breeches.”
I had a retort on the lines of breaching something tight right on the tip of my tongue, but the words flew out of the window as he reached one slippery finger behind my balls. “Oh God!” How long had it been since anyone had touched me there?
Well, technically, Sean had touched me there only yesterday, but this was different. This was touching with intent. This was— “Oh, God,” I said again as his finger penetrated me.
“Okay?”
“O-okay.” It was good, but it was so very much not enough.
“I’ll go slow—”
“Don’t!” I flushed. “I mean, you don’t need to, go slow, I mean, don’t. That.” Sean was laughing at me. “Please,” I said, pulling him closer.
“Yeah? Something you want?”
“You. In me. Now.”
I seethed in frustration as he insisted on stretching me out a little longer, then rolled on a condom with glacial slowness. “Sure?” he asked, as he lined himself up, the tip of his erection rubbing tantalisingly at my hole.
“No, I’ve taken a vow of chastity. Yes, of course I’m sure.” I pulled on his hips—then he breached me, and all I could do was let out a long, low sound. The stretch was incredible, and I felt every contour, every vein of him as he pushed into me. “Oh Lord.”
“Okay?”
“Very much. Yes.” Bent almost double, my legs high around his back, I pulled him down for a kiss. It was perfect.
Sean thrust in and out a few times, his pace cautious—and then he changed the angle, kneeling up and placing my left ankle on his shoulder, and then, God, then it was perfect.
He played me like a Stradivarius, all long, smooth strokes and gentle fingering, and all too soon I felt the crescendo building towards a rousing finale. My climax slammed into me with Wagnerian intensity, all complex harmonies and crashing chords, and when I looked at Sean’s face I saw he’d let go too. He was beautiful, his expression heady and abandoned and somehow surprised, as if he hadn’t believed sex could be like this.
I hadn’t either.
We fell into each other’s arms, trembling with a subtle vibrato. Sean was the first to recover the power of speech. “God, that was…”
“Yes,” I agreed.
We lay there for a few minutes longer, and I could feel myself slipping towards sleep. “Will you stay the night?” Knowing it was unlikely, I tried to keep hope from my voice.
“Wish I could. Nah, I’d better be going. Early start tomorrow.” Sean stroked my hair. “But it’s been a great weekend. You know, the bits I spent with you. Really enjoyed it.”
“So did I. When are we going to…um, assuming you’d like to, of course…”
“Friday night,” Sean said firmly. “Wish I could make it before then, but I’ve got a heavy week coming up. I’d only end up having to cancel. But we’ll do whatever you like. Got any ideas?”
“How about the evening in we didn’t get tonight?” I suggested sleepily. “Maybe with a takeaway? Fish and chips, perhaps. After all, it is traditional.”
“Sounds great. I’ll see you then, yeah? I could make it early, if you like. Six o’clock okay?”
“Perfect.”
We kissed one more time, slowly and languorously, and then he got out of bed.
After he’d gone, I rolled over into the warm patch he’d vacated. It still smelled like him. Comforted, I drifted off to sleep.
Chapter Nineteen
The week passed in something of a happy blur. Sean’s week must have been as busy as predicted, as he didn’t appear at the classroom door to pick up the twins even once, but we exchanged texts and the odd phone call—although the latter had to be kept strictly suitable for any prying childish ears. Debs, when I saw her at school, was almost friendly. Rose’s complaints about my obnoxious good humour became a daily occurrence, although, as she still shared her lunch with me, she couldn’t have been too put out about it.
Friday afternoon, it was, as usual, just Charlie and me left at the end of the day. He stared at the open door with his clear blue eyes as if he could conjure up his father simply by wanting him desperately enough, and swallowed.
I crouched down in front of him with a determined smile. “Right, young Charlie—”
I broke off as the classroom got suddenly darker. Were we experiencing an unplanned solar eclipse? Apparently not, as a deep voice rumbled out, “All right if I have a word?”
I turned my head to see Charlie’s father standing in the doorway, the proximity to child-height coat pegs enhancing his already marked resemblance to a giant. He had his sleeves rolled up to display his muscular, hairy forearms, and the buttons of his worn, somewhat grimy work shirt strained to contain his bearlike paunch.
From my position on my haunches, I felt in imminent danger of being stepped on and crushed like a bug. I straightened hurriedly.
Charlie’s pale face split into a smile, and he ran to fling himself on one tree-trunk leg. “Daddy! I got a gold star for my writing today. And we had fish fingers for lunch. And George H was sick, and Jodie trod in it.”
Mr. Mason—who did, as it happened, work in the building trade—folded his bulk with obvious difficulty into a crouch. Together, they would have made a perfect illustration for a cautionary tale concerning a small boy about to be eaten by an ogre. I’d always presumed Charlie took after his mother but, as I’d never met her, couldn’t be sure. Perhaps he was just a slow starter and would one day reach his father’s epic proportions, which was an alarming prospect.
“That’s great, Charlie-Farley,” Mason père said gruffly. “Why don’t you go and run around the field a bit while I talk to Mr. Enemy?”
Charlie’s lip trembled. “But I’ll get muddy.”
“Tell you what, young Charlie,” I broke in quickly. “Why don’t you pop into the library and check that Mrs. Blundell’s shelved all the reading-tree books in the right order? And when you’ve done that, you can pick out a book to read while you’re waiting.”
“Can I?” Charlie beamed and scurried off.
“Right,” I said as the door closed quietly behind him and
Mr. Mason heaved his way back up—and up—to standing. “What seems to be the problem?”
Mr. Mason coughed. Then he wiped his size fourteen feet very thoroughly on the door mat.
Then he coughed again.
“Shall we, er, sit down?” I suggested, thinking that might put him at ease. Any considerations of evening up our height difference were purely secondary, of course.
“No. Thanks. I’ll stand.” Actually, given the relative size—and weight—of Mr. Mason and the classroom chairs, that was probably just as well.
He fell silent again.
“Has Charlie been having some problems with his reading?” I asked to prompt him, knowing full well that Charlie was streets ahead of most of his classmates.
“No, no. He’s doing great.” Mr. Mason heaved a sigh and scratched the back of his head, his triceps bulging.
I blinked and looked away, hoping he hadn’t noticed me staring. It wasn’t that I found him attractive, per se, but there was undeniably an earthiness about him that never failed to fascinate. “Has there been a problem with one of the other children?” I’d hoped Destinee had finally seen the error of her Charlie-baiting ways, but perhaps she’d relapsed?
“No, no. It’s, well, it’s a bit of a…” He trailed off, and looked at his feet.
I waited.
Taking a deep breath, Mr. Mason looked me straight in the eye. “You’re one of them gays, ain’tcha?”
“Er, yes.” Did the entire village know my sexual preferences? The pink bow tie was going to be taking a one-way trip to the charity shop, soonest.
“Charlie, he talks about you a lot. Always going on about you, he is. Mr. Enemy this, Mr. Enemy that.”
I went cold. Was this going where I thought it was going? “He’s, ah, an affectionate little chap.” Oh God, had I just made things worse? “Not…not in a physical sense, clearly.”
Mr. Mason frowned. “I mean, he looks up to you.”
That was better, wasn’t it? No harm in a child looking up to a teacher, was there? “I, ah…” My mouth seemed to have somehow become filled with cotton wool. Mr. Mason was still frowning. Oh God. It was going to be just like with Oliver all over again. Except worse, because while the thought of any impropriety with a seventeen-year-old pupil was morally repugnant, any suggestion of such a thing with a seven-year-old was utterly unspeakable. “I think… Please tell me what it is you wanted to say,” I managed.