Date: Thu, 13 Jan 2011 11:33:54 -0800
From: Zack McNaught <zackmcnaught@hotmail.com>
Subject: Hillview Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Oh, whatever. If you're going to read it, you're going to read
it. A man and a twelve year old boy play the sort of games men and boys
have been playing for millenia, and telling you not to read this won't stop
it happening. Just enjoy the thing, and please email me if you liked it:
zackmcnaught@hotmail.com

Cheers,

Zack


Chapter 3 – The Czech

Rules are rules, and have to be obeyed, even when they're not really that
sensible. That was the view of Gordon Webber, headmaster of Hillview, and
my boss. Gordon was a stickler for rules, following them even when it
seemed utterly pointless to do so. His attitude had stemmed from a
childhood spent among institutions such as our very own Hillview, and that
will either make you a rebel or a sheep, and Gordon baa'd like the best of
them.

It was for this reason that I found myself in the school dark room (this
was back the days of 'real' photography) with Mike Summers, one of our art
teachers, and fourteen twelve and thirteen year olds, four greater than the
maximum allowed for one teacher in the dark room. That the place could hold
fourteen kids and two teachers was a miracle in itself, but necessity had
forced our hand - two separate fire alarms had meant that three lessons'
worth had to be crammed into one session, or the boys would miss out on
vital information.

To be brutally honest, there are nicer places to be than an enclosed space
with that many young boys - the only saving grace was that the smell of the
photo processing chemicals soon overpowered the interesting aroma of the
boys. There were fringe benefits for a pair boylovers, too, though I knew
for certain that Mike's interest lay in older pupils - having your own
developing lab leads to all sorts of pleasant situations for a keen amateur
photographer, and I'd seen evidence that Mike took full advantage of the
situation with some of the fourth and fifth formers. But for me, the class
in front of me was perfect.

One boy in particular stood out from the others, and not simply because he
happened to be the boy directly in front of me at that moment. Tomasz
Radzic was of mixed Czech and Norwegian parentage, though he'd lived his
whole life in the UK. He was willow thin and achingly pretty, and had shown
no sign yet that puberty was close to destroying his clear-skinned
beauty. He had the pale skin of a true Nordic blonde, and blue eyes to
match, and I wondered if his archetypal Slavic father had donated a single
gene to his make-up. I'd met Milan Radzic on a number of occasions, and
though he was a handsome man there was nothing of his appearance in his
son, who was much more elfin.

It's fair to say that of all the boys in that particular class, Tomasz was
my favourite. Another teacher had told me that Tomasz had flirted with him
on occasion in order to get a poor grade re-evaluated, and indeed when I
had recently given him only a C+ for an essay he had informed me, with a
smirk on his lips, that he would do anything to get a better mark. When I'd
raised my eyebrows in response, he'd smiled and walked from the room. He
knew full well what he was doing, and that only made me want him more.

Since then I'd not taught him, but here he was in front of me in the
darkness. Though the dim red light barely reached us at the back of the
room, I could still recognise him, his almost white blonde hair shaded pink
by the lights. At one point he turned round to look at me, though I
couldn't discern his expression in the gloom. A few moments later he
glanced around again, and then, with his eyes facing the front of the class
he shuffled backward until his back came into contact with my chest and
stomach. I enjoyed the warm contact, and thanked god for the dark, confined
space in which we found ourselves.

He began to rock ever so gently from side to side, and the pressure of his
back below my waistline had exactly the effect you might imagine. My heart
raced as he rubbed up against my now engorged shaft, the gentle pressure at
its tip almost more than I could cope with. He moved away fractionally and
a hand snaked up behind his back to tug at my zipper. Eagerly I helped him
pull it down, and felt a hot little hand make its way into my pants and
pull me about half way free of my cotton confines. He turned slightly
sideways on, head still resolutely facing forwards, and I felt a gentle up
and down motion beginning, sliding my foreskin back and forth over the
head.

As the tension built within me I began to double over slightly, having to
hold the nearby frame of the door to remain upright. I was fearful that
when I did reach my inevitable peak, in the not too distant future, I would
coat both Tomasz and the boys near him. I tried to lay a hand on his to
slow him down before the inevitable, but he would have nothing of it,
pushing my hand away with his other, and intensifying the speed. I gave in
to the sensations, aware that there was nothing I could do to forestall my
orgasm.

Just as the peak approached he turned even further sideways on and somehow
unnoticed in the crush of his classmates, bent at the waist and dropped his
mouth over the head of my penis, instantly applying the kind of suction
which spoke of serious practice. Only half of my modest manhood fitted his
hot little mouth, and I desperately fought the urge to groan as his skilful
tongue wormed its way inside my foreskin to rasp against the sensitive
underside of its head. With a gut-wrenching spasm I reached my goal. He
pulled back, suckling on the very tip like a nipple, eagerly letting his
mouth fill until, with no more to come, I felt and heard him swallow.

When the lights came on at the end of the lesson, I smiled to myself at the
sight of his cheeks, flushed from being bent double, and his glistening red
lips.

Perhaps a C+ was a little harsh after all...