Date: Wed, 24 Jan 2007 02:18:35 -0500
From: Jeff A <parrafan@ureach.com>
Subject: Hypnotism for Beginners

Disclaimer: This story is for adult consumption only. No minors allowed! It
is fiction, and should not be regarded as any kind of prescription for a
long and healthy life. Any resemblance between its characters and people
you have encountered in your own life is probably coincidence, unless you
attended St Mary's School between '63 and '68. I was the kid that sat
behind you and tickled your earlobe.

Dedication: I dedicate this story to Michael M, a recent correspondent.
Cheers, Michael! To Kent, my constant gardener, of course; and to Crispin,
Bobby, Brett from Canada, Rick, Cy, and most especially, Pijito. Ola!

Author's note: It takes forever to get to the sex bits, so you might need
to be patient. To be honest, there's not much sex anyway.

* * *

Hypnotism For Beginners

a story by parrafan

Last hour on Friday. He found this to be by far the hardest part of
teaching elementary school. Grading tests, writing lesson plans, checking
homework, meetings with parents, all of those are mere fleabites when
compared to the dreary drudge of that last sixty minutes of the school
week.

Not that he hadn't tried alternatives. Oh, no. He had tried putting Gym in
the last period. What happened? So many boys turned up with excuse notes
from their parents about dental appointments and martial arts training and
extra-curricular language lessons that it had quickly gotten beyond a
joke. The class was two-thirds empty. Their excuse? Well, if you're only
going to do Gym, my boy doesn't really have to be there, does he?

Having failed with the Gym experiment, he tried to put Mathematics in the
last period. The school cracked down quickly on that. Research has shown,
lectured the Deputy Principal in his office at a special disciplinary
briefing, that boys' minds are at their most active between the hours of 8
and 10 a.m. So, no more Math after lunch, for any reason. Same went for
English.

He tried slotting Art into last period Friday. That idea only lasted one
week - six o'clock Friday evening, and he was still cleaning up - never
again!

He thought of a nature study period for Friday afternoon. Get the boys
outside, breathe some fresh air, capture some bugs in plastic jars, strip a
few leaves from the trees...another disaster. Other classes saw his boys
leaving their classroom and thought they were going home early. There was
nearly a riot.

Drama - what about Drama? He was required to include in his syllabus one
hour per fortnight of 'human movement studies' (that's Drama to us
old-timers). But as everyone knows, boys take to Drama like ducks take to
sump oil. The resultant excuse notes from parents covered the whole of
Friday afternoon, not just the last hour.

What to do...

A more experienced teacher colleague took him aside one lunchbreak and
suggested he try a question box. The boys could put written questions in
the box anonymously during the week, then on Friday, empty out the box and
answer the questions. The first Friday this was attempted, there was only
one question in the box: "Why do we have to do this crap on a Friday
afternoon?" Since there were still fifty-eight minutes remaining after
disposing of that non-question, he improvised, opening the floor for live
questions. He made only one proviso - the question had to be something you
couldn't find out just by Googling it.

A solitary hand went up. I hope he's got something worthwhile, or I'm a
dead duck, he thought.

"Mr Hardy?" the boy began.

"Yes, Francis? You have a question?" the teacher responded, almost too
eagerly. He enjoyed having Francis in his class. Studious, never a
discipline problem, and cute as hell: long streaky blonde hair falling over
pale blue eyes, slim build, pianist's fingers and a toothy smile.

"Those hypnotist guys on TV, the ones that get people up on stage and make
them act like chickens or sing or imagine they're naked...is that real, or
are they all just acting?" The boy's eyes were trained on his teacher,
watching him intently from under his long fringe.

"I'm afraid I can't give a simple answer, Francis, because I just don't
know. I've never been hypnotised myself, or been to one of those hypnotism
cabaret shows, but I've seen them on TV too, and it does look real, doesn't
it. But it is hard to believe they're not just acting, as you say. You know
what, Francis? You've given me an idea. Between now and next Friday, I'm
going to learn all I can about hypnosis, and we'll try to hypnotise someone
right here in the classroom, and prove it for ourselves one way or the
other. Good question Francis, thanks for that. Anyone else?

Not a single boy stirred. "Perhaps I should have said, 'Any more questions,
or else we'll have to go back to writing out poems from your English
Literature textbooks' ". That stirred them into action. The balance of the
hour was nicely filled out with discussions about how traffic lights work,
why big sisters have to be such jerks, whether Superman would really beat
The Flash in a race, where would be a cool place to go if you could live
anywhere in the world, and other important matters for eleven year
olds. The teacher tolerated these abstruse topics because the whole point
was to get the boys thinking and using sentences - the subject matter was
secondary.

* * *

The following Friday somehow arrived more quickly than it usually did. The
teacher had combed the Net for websites and devoured library books for
information about hypnosis, and by Thursday evening he thought he could put
on a good showing the next day. The boys, for their part, actually seemed
to look forward to their once dreaded hour of torture. As soon as the hour
hand of the clock reached 2, several hands shot up.

"Sir, are we doing the hypnotism stuff today?

"Mr Hardy, who are you going to hypnotise?"

"I bet you can't hypnotise me. My big brother tried once"

"Gentlemen", the teacher quelled the seething mass, "I expect to satisfy
all of your enquiries. I have delved into the deepest, darkest secrets of
the art and science that is mesmerism, or hypnotism as we call it in this
country, and am ready to put my arcane knowledge at your disposal". The
boys didn't understand half of what he was saying, but it sounded pretty
good. The teacher wished he had brought a black opera cape, to swoosh
around his shoulders theatrically, but no matter.

"We shall begin immediately. In order to find out if there are any students
here who are capable of being put under my mental spell, I must conduct a
couple of simple tests. These tests will demonstrate to me whether your
minds have the requisite flexibility and receptivity to be a suitable
hypnosis subject". He pulled out a sheet of paper from his desk drawer.

"On this sheet is drawn a symbol. The symbol might be a triangle, a star, a
wavy line, or a square. I will concentrate on the symbol. You will
concentrate on picking up my mental vibrations. In one minute, I will ask
each of you to tell me what you think is on the paper. Those who speak
correctly will progress to the next level. Those who do not, will be our
audience. Ultimately, it will be up to them, our audience, to judge whether
hypnosis is real or not. Now concentrate".

A minute passed in silence, the teacher reflecting that it was the longest
some of these boys had gone without fidgeting. For that reason alone, this
hypnosis crap was already proving its worth. "Now, gentlemen, tell me what
your minds have discerned". He went up and down the rows, pointing at each
boy in turn, who gave out the words 'triangle', 'star', 'wavy line',
'square', more or less at random. One smartass said it was a circle, and
several of his classmates gave him pained looks.

"Behold!" he declared, turning the sheet around with a flourish. On it was
a star. Seven boys had guessed that. All seven grinned with delight. Of
course, the purpose of the first test was to reduce the size of the subject
group, and to make the selected group feel like they belonged to an
'elite', making them more amenable to suggestion, more pliable, and thus
more able to be 'hypnotised'.

"Now, the seven remaining candidates must sit together, so that I may
concentrate my mesmeric power in a small area", the teacher pronounced
pompously. Boys scattered everywhere, but quickly resumed seats as a block
of seven desks at the front of the room was now occupied by the seven
'stars'.

As soon as the class settled, the teacher resumed his performance. "The
second test will only be undertaken by these seven before me. I want each
of you to remain seated, with your left arm on your desk, but with your
right arm resting straight by your side. All in position? Good. Now, listen
only to the sound of my voice. Disregard any other sounds you may hear. I
am speaking to your subconscious mind. Allow your eyes to close. Your right
arm is getting heavy...heavy...so heavy...it is like lead...you cannot move
it, it is so heavy. Now, when I click my fingers, your right arms will
begin to feel lighter".

The teacher clicked his fingers softly once. All eyes of the other boys
were on the seven subjects. He continued. "Your right arms, which were once
so heavy, are now getting lighter all the time. Lighter...so light they can
almost float away...lighter and lighter..." One of the observing boys let
out a stifled gasp as, before their eyes, the right arms of two of the
seven began lifting upwards. The two right arms floated upwards until they
were vertical, their owners seemingly untroubled by what their limbs were
independently doing. The other five subjects simply sat without moving.

"Your arms are now returning to normal...they are getting their normal
weight back and are slowly settling into position alongside you...gradually
getting a little heavier...getting back to normal". The observing boys sat
goggle-eyed as they watched the two raised arms slowly drift down to lay at
rest beside their owners.

"At the count of three, I want each of you to open his eyes and return to a
state of consciousness. You will feel relaxed and
refreshed. One...two...three!" Just in case any of the seven had dozed off,
the teacher accented the word 'three' with a clap of his hands. The
observers were further impressed to see all seven pairs of eyelids flutter
open on the word 'three', and did not think to wonder whether it was as
much the handclap as the command that caused their awakening.

Every boy wanted to say something at the same time. Hands shot up
everywhere, whispered conversations between classmates broke out like acne
on the afternoon of a teen's first date. The teacher put a finger to his
lips and looked sternly at his class, and after a minute or two, the
commotion died away.

"I believe we have two suitable candidates for hypnosis, gentlemen, Philip
and Josh". Hands shot up again all around the room, nearly every boy eager
to hear what the two selected boys had felt during their second
test. "Gentlemen, there will be time for questions afterwards. For now, I
would like all desks moved back around the walls, save for the desks of
Philip and Josh. They shall remain here at the front. Boys frantically
moved their desks into a horseshoe-shaped plan, worried that the afternoon
bell might soon signal the end of the week's lessons. Order was quickly
restored.

The teacher addressed Philip and Josh. "Now, you two boys have demonstrated
that you have, at this time, the proper mental state to participate in our
hypnosis research. I must ask you, do you both voluntarily wish to
continue? It may be that on other days in the future, other boys will reach
the level that you have reached, and be our subjects, but today, it is
you. What is your decision?"

Being eleven-year-old boys and believing themselves indestructible, they
both agreed immediately. "Excellent", the teacher whispered loudly, tenting
his fingers. "First, move your chairs back about three paces and leave your
desks where they are", he instructed, so that the two boys were now exactly
in the middle of the open ring of desks, at which sat their expectant
classmates.

"Now, I want you to sit comfortably, letting both your arms dangle by your
sides in a relaxed way. Breathe in slowly, breathe out. Continue breathing
slowly. Your eyelids are getting heavy...they are starting to close...you
cannot stop them, they are so heavy...they are closing...when I count to
three, you will be deeply asleep, but you will still be able to hear my
voice...only my voice, no other sound...one...two...three!" The two boys at
the centre of the class's attention seemed to slump a little in their
respective chairs, eyes shut, not tightly but almost serenely. A hush fell
over the room.

The teacher's voice became more droning, yet more insistent. "I am now
talking to Philip. Josh, you will wait until I speak to you
directly. Philip, when I count to three, you will be...a chicken. You are
in your fowlyard, scratching around looking for nice insects and seeds on
the floor...You will remain a chicken until I tell you that you are Philip
again. Your eyes will be open, but you cannot see anything except the floor
of the fowlyard, and all the nice yummy seeds...one...two...three!

Boys gasped aloud as Philip got off his chair, tucked his hands into his
armpits, bobbed down into a crouch and began waddling around the floor,
clucking and pecking. "Baaaak, buk, buk....buk, buk...buk, buk, BAKAW!"
sounded the boy, his lanky auburn hair flopping around on his head every
time he 'pecked' at the linoleum floor. Mr Hardy was no less amazed than
his students - he never really believed that this 'hypnosis' lark would be
anything other than a five minute giggle. Now, here in front of his, was a
boy acting and sounding just like a chicken! The teacher wondered whether
the other boy, Josh, was equally suggestible.

"Philip, when I count to three you will stop being a chicken...you will
stand up straight and return to your chair...your eyes will close and you
will rest until I awaken you...one...two...three!" The boy rose to his full
height of four feet six, then walked as if in a trance to his seat, sat
down and allowed his eyes to shut. The whole class now stared fixedly at
Josh. What would their teacher make him do?

Mr Hardy's relentless whisper resumed. "I am now talking to Josh
only. Josh, you can hear only the sound of my voice...you are powerless to
resist...you will do exactly as I say...when I count to three, you will be
in your own bedroom...it is late...you are tired...so tired...you are going
to bed, to sleep, but you will still hear my voice...one...two...three!"
Josh let out a huge yawn, making some of his gawping classmates stifle
their nervous laughter. He stood up, stretched his arms out in a 'Y', and
arched his back as he gave out another huge sigh. Josh then lifted one foot
up to the chair he had just vacated, and unlaced his shoe (or more
accurately, unvelcroed it, as it was a jogger). He dropped the shoe, and
pulled the sock off that foot, then followed the same sequence with the
other foot. He sighed again, smacking his lips, and began to pull his polo
shirt over his head, draping it on the chair's back. He wore no undervest,
making one boy in the watching audience gasp as it dawned on him what Josh
was about to do.

The atmosphere in the classroom was electric with tension. Would Josh
continue? Some of Josh's classmates were clearly bursting with the desire
to say something, either call on him to stop or urge him to continue, but
Mr Hardy's stern gaze made them hold their tongues. Philip sat serenely in
his seat, seemingly blissfully unaware of the drama unfolding alongside
him. Had the afternoon bell sounded now, not one of the boys would have
budged. Josh, now bare-chested, yawned again, a dopey half-smile on his
face, and dropped his hands to his belt buckle. Eyes closed, his fingers
nimbly pulled the tongue of his belt out of the buckle. He lowered his zip
in one casual movement, then shimmied his waist, letting the weight of his
jeans pull them down to his shins. Utilising the chair once more, humming a
few tuneless note to himself, Josh pulled one leg out of his jeans, then
the other. He carelessly folded the jeans and sat them on the chair, then
ran his thumbs around the inside of the hem of his boxers, as though they
were about to join the jeans.

To Mr Hardy's relief (mingled with a dash of disappointment), Josh pulled
his thumbs out, yawned again, then lowered himself to the floor and
stretched out resting his head on his forearm and doing a very fine
impression of a boy who has just settled in to a deep sleep. The two
hypnosis subjects were now inert, one sitting and the other lying down. Mr
Hardy stood up, put a finger to his lips, and executed a small bow to the
audience of boys, who applauded as softly as they could. He toyed with the
idea of waking Josh while the boy was almost naked - he was sure it would
be no big deal, since the boys were well used to seeing each other in only
shorts. There were still fifteen minutes to go before the afternoon bell,
and that statistic decided the matter for him.

"Josh, when I count to three, you will stand up and put your clothes back
on...you will then sit down in your chair...you will be refreshed from your
sleep...Philip, you will also be refreshed...you will both remember nothing
of what you have done during your trance". Josh dressed himself without so
much as a sign that he was aware of being anywhere except in his room, then
sat, dressed and shod, alongside Philip. "Josh and Philip, when I count to
three, you will both awaken, refreshed and cheerful...you will not remember
what you have done in the last half hour...one...two ...three!" The two
boys blinked, then looked around, a little bemused by the barrage of
questions plied by their eager classmates.

"What did it feel like?"

"Did you know you nearly stripped off?"

"You make a great chicken!"

Philip just laughed their questions off. "You guys are full of it. We just
sat down, an' now we're waitin' for Mr Hardy to try to hypnotise us", he
declared.

"Yeah", concurred Josh, "yer makin' it all up. What's all that crap about a
chicken?"

Mr Hardy permitted another thirty seconds of uproar before calling the
class to order. "I'd like to gauge the audience's opinion with a straw
poll", he stated. "Hands up those who now believe that a person can
actually be hypnotised?" About six boys (not including Philip and Josh) put
up their hands. "Very well. How many of you still think it's all acting?"
Seven boys, including Philip, raised their hands gingerly. "Hmm. And how
many aren't sure yet?" The remaining eight boys slowly lifted their arms
into the air, looking around the room to see who the other agnostics were.

"What are we doin' next Friday, Sir?" a boy named Jeremy asked. Mr Hardy
was quite miffed. He had put a lot of effort into this whole hypnotism
exercise, and he was planning to milk it for another five or six Fridays,
at a minimum. How fickle boys can be!

"Next Friday?" he questioned. "But we have barely begun to scratch the
surface of the mysterious science of mesmerism!' The boys looked blankly at
him. "Very well. Another poll is called for. How many want to learn more
about hypnotism so strongly that they would be prepared to form a lunchtime
club to explore it with me?" Only five boys, among them Josh, also Francis
(who asked the original hypnotism question last Friday) raised their hands.

"Excellent", Mr Hardy declared, trying to talk up his own disappointment at
the lack of interest. "For the remaining-" he looked at his watch- "seven
minutes, I need to hear constructive questions from you, any one of which
might be turned into a Friday Afternoon Special next week. On Monday right
here at lunchtime will be held the first meeting of...The Mesmerisers!"

* * *

Of the five boys who said they were interested in hypnotism, four actually
turned up to their lunchtime assignation. Richard would have, but he had
his regular violin lesson at that time (as Francis reminded the
teacher). He asked Mr Hardy to catch him up after school.

"I'm glad you guys turned up" Mr Hardy began, opening his bag lunch and
pulling out a ham and cheese sandwich. "Maybe we can start our inaugural
meeting by hearing what each of you wants from this little club..."

Francis spoke up right away. "I guess this is all my fault, Sir. It was my
idea, after all. I s'pose what I really wanted to find out was whether
hypnotism is...real, or not. I didn't mean to put you to all this trouble,
Mr Hardy".

The teacher was taken aback by this blunt declaration of guilt. "Hey,
Francis, it's cool, nobody blames you. As for me, I was glad you asked
about it, because I had the chance to learn something new out of it".

"Yeah, Francis", spoke up Brendan. "If we didn't think it was cool, we
wouldn't be here. I wanna learn how to hypnotise so I can...uh...well, I
just wanna!"

"Can we hypnotise someone else right now, Mr Hardy?" piped up Stephen, the
smallest of the group. Mr Hardy suspected he was only there so he could
avoid being out in the playground at lunchtime. Stephen was the frequent
target of bullies. In fact, as he looked around the group, Mr Hardy
realised that these four boys (including Richard, make that five) were far
and away the least masculine boys in his class. Richard, already mentioned,
was absent at his violin lesson; Stephen was permanently excused from all
sports because of his delicate physique; Francis was the only boy in a
family of five girls, and had been daily dressed as a girl by his sisters
until he turned nine; Brendan had been asking all year when the class was
going to put on a play for Drama (sorry - 'Human Movement Studies'); and
Josh, who was one of last Friday's hypnosis subjects, apparently did not
mind stripping in front of his classmates. Their little club could have
passed for a gay youth support group. Which gave Mr Hardy a very naughty
idea.

Like most males who taught elementary school, Mr Hardy had an interest in
his boys which went way beyond what the school board would have regarded as
wholesome. He hid it well, or so he thought, and had managed to sublimate
his desires for the past six years, since landing this position fresh out
of college. But his resistance had begun to wear thin in the last few
months, and this hypnotism club had 'opportunity' written all over it.

"Certainly, Stephen, in fact I think this is the perfect opportunity for a
session of group hypnosis", the teacher agreed. "I think the best way to
understand our subject is by first being a subject oneself. That way you
will know about your topic from both sides. So, everybody try to sit
comfortably, and we will begin".

The boys and their teacher arranged their chairs in a loose circle before
he commenced his line of patter. "You are getting drowsy...so drowsy...you
are relaxed...you are at peace...completely relaxed...dropping off to
sleep... the only sound you can hear is my voice...your eyelids are getting
heavy...so heavy...so sleepy...soon you will be asleep, but you will still
hear my voice...you are powerless to resist...when I count to three, you
will be asleep, but still under my control...one... two...three!" The boys
were still seated, breathing deeply, arms loosely hanging at their sides,
all eyes closed. The teacher decided to test their limits.

"You are preparing for bed...you are tired, and grimy from a day at
school...you are going to take a shower before bedtime...when I count to
three, you will stand and prepare to get under the shower
...one...two...three!" Chairs scraped softly on the linoleum as each of the
five boys slowly rose and began unbuttoning their shirts. Brendan just
pulled his straight over his head. The teacher sat in awe of the sight of
five eleven-year-old boys undressing right in front of him. Of course he
had seen flashes of skin before,when he took his class to the swimming pool
for example, but never this... close, this...real. It was as if they were
stripping just for him.

Francis was the first to pull down his zipper, followed by Stephen. All the
boys had by that stage removed their shoes and socks, and Mr Hardy's mouth
had gone dry in anticipation of the revelation of four sets of boy bottoms
and fronts, when a stifled giggle came from one of the students in front of
him. Mr Hardy thought it might have been Brendan. The giggler tried to
muffle the sound, but that only turned it into a guffaw, which then became
a bray, and finally a full-blown hoot as one by one, the remaining three
boys joined in the laughter. Bare chested, with their trousers around their
ankles, they staggered around the small space between the chairs, laughing
so hard that they could not even stand up. Indeed, Josh was lying on the
floor convulsing with laughter, his eyes wet with tears.

Mr Hardy took a few seconds to catch on to the joke - and the joke was
himself! The boys had been only playacting at being hypnotised. Francis
tried to catch his breath as he pointed at his teacher. "You sh- sh- should
see your f- f- fahahahahace, Sir", he gasped between sobs of laughter. It
was probably fortunate that Mr Hardy could not see his own face, as he may
have frightened himself with his angry visage. He could take a joke as well
as the next man, but this went beyond humour. These were boys whom he had
defended from bullies all year, and now they pull this stunt!

"Okay! You got me! Now that's enough. Pull up your pants and put your
shirts back on", he shouted, no humour in his voice. Still cackling, the
four boys slowly dressed themselves and sat down. "Right!", Mr Hardy
ordered. "Who wants to explain themselves?".

The boys, their sides still hurting from laughing so much, looked at each
other. Francis spoke up. "We're sorry, Sir. Once I heard Josh start to
laugh, I couldn't help myself, hee hee hee ha ha. I just couldn't stop, heh
heh", he explained.

"I don't think we were really hypnotised, Sir", Stephen remarked, "Because
I could hear the other boys laughing, and you said we would only be able to
hear your voice".

"I couldn't help it, Sir", Brendan whimpered between giggles. "I told my
parents on the weekend I was going in a hypnotism club today, and my Dad
said to watch out the teacher doesn't try any sex stuff on me, and when you
said we were gonna take a shower, I remembered what he said, and I thought
it was so funny, ha ha ha ha".

Mr Hardy was taken aback. "Your parents warned you that - er, I might - um,
try something sexual with you? Under the cover of hypnotism?"

"All our parents did, Sir", Josh replied. "We talked about it at morning
break. My Dad's always going on about pedo teachers and pedo scout leaders
and pedo priests. He's always telling me to be careful. I sleep over at
Brendan's sometimes, and once I heard the lecture his Mom gave him as
well. She's a social worker. She sure didn't pull any punches".

"My Dad keeps printing out these stories from online newspapers and leaving
them around the house for me to find", added Stephen. "They're always about
kids who've been abused and molested by some grown-up. He's afraid that
'cause I'm puny, I'm more likely to be a target".

"You're not puny", interjected Mr Hardy.

Stephen looked at his teacher ruefully. "Dad said that only a pedo would
say that. Normal grown-ups don't care what a kid looks like, except their
own parents".

Mr Hardy worked his tongue to get some saliva going. "So, what happens now?
What are you going to do now you know your teacher's a...a..."

"We don't care", Francis rushed to assure him. "Our parents don't care
either, not really. My Dad said it's like having a friend who's got
HIV. They can't help it, and they don't mean to hurt you, and they won't,
if you don't give them a chance to. My Dad said he's glad so many pedos are
teachers, 'cause let's face it, who else could stand being a teacher?"

"Yeah", Brendan seconded. "You're still a good teacher. So what if you're a
pedo. Some people are racist, or religious nutcases, and they still let
them teach. I bet they do a lot more harm to kids".

The other three boys murmured their assent. "My Mom said that there's a lot
worse people in the world", Josh agreed. "There's terrorists that kill
women and kids with bombs, and there's assholes who drink too much and then
have car crashes and wipe out whole families".

Mr Hardy felt strangely light-headed at hearing the candid acceptance by
the boys of his deepest, darkest secret. Added to which he was also
mightily pissed at having been led on by a bunch of geeky kids. "So, I
still don't get why you came here today in the first place. If you knew it
was all... a big act?"

The boys looked at each other, a hint of shame on their faces. Francis took
the role of spokes-person again. "We kinda felt sad, for you, 'cause you
try to do all this interesting stuff for us and hardly no-one pays any
attention. You do all kindsa cool lessons, and you stick up for us a lot,
and you looked really interested in this hypnotism stuff...I guess we
didn't want...you...to be unhappy that nobody cared".

Silence reigned for an awfully long minute. Mr Hardy had a lot to think
over. "All right guys, why don't you go outside, get some fresh air and
sunshine, have lunch...I need a minute or two here, huh?" he suggested. The
four boys filed out slowly, leaving their newly unmasked teacher alone in
his empty domain. What could be more pitiful than receiving the pity of the
piteous?, he wondered.

The bell signalling the end of the lunch break tolled eventually, the boys
filed back into their room, afternoon lessons took their inexorable
course. But his heart wasn't in it. He couldn't even remember how he got
through the last hundred and twenty minutes of the day. Autopilot,
probably. Then came end of school, and the boys trooped out. Only the
'sensitive' boys knew what had caused his after-lunch malaise, and no-one
cared what they thought, anyway.

Twenty minutes had passed since the end of school. Mr Hardy had never been
one of those teachers that treated the last bell as some kind of race
start, busting their guts to get off the school's property before the
echoes of the bell had died away. "More evidence against me", he thought
dejectedly. "Who else but a pedophile would still be in a deserted
schoolroom after all the students had gone?"

But the classroom was not quite deserted. Richard, one of the five nominees
for the hypno-club (who had missed the lunchtime meeting because of his
violin lesson) sat at his desk, watching his teacher. He had waited for
twenty minutes for the right moment to approach the teacher's desk, before
it dawned on him that he had no idea how to recognise the right moment when
it came along.

"Uh, Sir?" Richard mumbled tentatively. If there was a boy in the class
even more timid and puny than Stephen, then it was Richard. He crept out of
his seat and cautiously edged towards his teacher's desk. "Sir?", he
repeated. Mr Hardy, whose head had been in his hands, elbows resting on the
desk, looked up but did not speak.

"Uh, Sir? I...I missed the lunchtime meeting about the hypnotism - er,
could...could you tell me what happened?" Richard whispered, his natural
mode of speech.

Mr Hardy's anger overrode his self-loathing for a moment. A red mist rose
up before his eyes, and all he saw was another tormentor. "What happened?
Tell you what happened?" he snarled. "You want to make fun of me too, is
that it? Pretend to be hypnotised? Have a good laugh?"

Of course, the last thing Richard expected was this tirade from a man whom
he had regarded quite fondly (until then). The timid little fellow had not
the emotional resources to withstand his teacher's vitriolic attack.  Big
hot tears welled up in each of his pale blue eyes and spilled onto his
cheeks and down, wetting his school shirt. His bottom lip quavered, a sob
burst forth, and poor Richard simply crumpled to the floor weeping.

"Shit!", muttered Mr Hardy. "Trust me to make things worse", he thought,
reaching down to pick up the little fellow off the floor and hold him like
an oversize baby in his arms. "Shh, it's alright, I'm sorry, shh", he
comforted the sobbing boy.

Richard's tears slowed to a trickle, and Mr Hardy, who had backed onto his
chair, opened a drawer of his desk to pull out a facial tissue from a handy
dispenser to wipe Richard's snotty nose for him and mop his
cheeks. "Richard, I'm really, truly sorry for what I said. You didn't
deserve that. The meeting about the hypnotism went badly, and I was angry
and I said stupid things. I hope you can forgive me, because you're a good
kid and...and I like you". There. He said it. There were plenty of boys in
his class, and in previous classes, that he wanted to say that to, those
three little words, but every teaching instinct that had been drummed into
him told him never to play favourites or have individual boys as special
friends.

Richard's sobs had moderated down to an occasional hiccup. "You ...like
me?" he eventually whispered.

Mr Hardy gave the boy in his arms a gentle squeeze, fearful of crushing the
boy's ribs with too much ardour. "Of course I do. You're one of my
favourite people. You've got plenty going for you, Richard, plenty of good
attributes, and I'm awfully fond of you. I hope we get to know each other
**really** well", the teacher said, emphasising his final two words. "So,
you stayed after school so I could hypnotise you, eh? Do you think you'd
make a good subject for hypnosis?"

Richard nodded vigorously. "I been looking forward to it, Sir. I heard that
when you're hypnotised, and you get asked questions, you always tell the
truth. I want you to do that, ask me questions".

Mr Hardy was puzzled, to say the least. What was Richard trying to say? But
his motto in life was, 'when in doubt, go with the flow'. "Would you like
me to hypnotise you Richard, and then ask you questions?", he hazarded, to
which the boy responded with an even more vigourous bout of nodding. "What
shall I ask you about?", the teacher pressed, still not sure what Richard's
intent was.

The boy's voice dropped in volume still further. "Ask me about my violin
lessons". The teacher stole a glance at the clock on the wall, noting that
it was now thirty minutes since school finished.

"Do you have to be getting home soon, Richard?" Mr Hardy asked gently. The
boy shook his head in the negative, snuggling down even further in his
teacher's embrace. "All right, close your eyes, and listen to my
voice...you are getting sleepy...soon you will be asleep, but you will be
able to answer my questions...you are powerless to resist...you will tell
only the truth...your breathing is getting slower...your eyelids are so
heavy you cannot open them...when I count to three, you will be asleep, but
you can still talk...one..two...three!"

Following Richard's suggestion, the teacher began his interrogation on the
subject of Richard's violin lessons. He had read in his online research
into hypnotism that 'closed questions' - ones which require only a yes/no
or single-word response - work best in these situations, so that was where
he decided to start.

"Richard, do you learn the violin?", Mr Hardy commenced, expecting an
affirmative response.

"No", the boy whispered.

Hmm. Where to now? "Richard, did you have a violin lesson at lunchtime
today?"

"No", the boy answered evenly.

"Do you own a violin?"

"No", the boy murmured.

"Do you ever practice the violin?"

"No", came the sombre reply.

This wasn't making any sense. Every boy in the class knew that Richard had
violin lessons with the Deputy Principal Mr Slade every Monday at
lunchtime. "Did you see Mr Slade at lunchtime today?"

"Yes", came the boy's answer. At last, we're getting somewhere, the teacher
thought.

"Does Mr Slade give you violin lessons?"

"No"

"Does someone else give you violin lessons?", he asked in desperation.

"No"

A sudden inspiration took hold of Mr Hardy. "Richard, does Mr Slade do
something else with you on Mondays at lunchtime?"

"Yes"

"Can you tell me what he does?"

"Photos", came the boy's sleepy reply.

"Mr Slade takes photos of you?" the teacher asked, incredulity lacing his
voice.

"Yes"

Another inspiration burst in the teacher's mind. "Richard, do you ever take
you clothes off for the photos?"

"Yes". Richard continued to lay calmly in his teacher's arms

That explained a lot, Mr Hardy thought. It certainly explained why the boy
could only reveal this under the guise of being hypnotised - it would be
far too awful for the timid boy to tell such things openly. A wave of anger
spread over Mr Hardy, this time a righteous anger. How dare Slade take nude
shots of one of my boys? If anyone was going to do that, it was going to be
me! But then he had another horrible thought.

"Richard, does Mr Slade do anything else besides take photos?"

For the first time, Richard's face showed some concern. "Yes", came his
forced whisper.

"Can you tell me what he does?" Mr Hardy asked. The boy tightened his lips
and shook his head in the negative, eyes scrunched tightly shut.

"Can you show me?" the teacher tried. In response, Richard slithered off
his teacher's lap to land on the floor under the teacher's large desk. The
substantial piece of furniture had been in the classroom since before Mr
Hardy started to teach at that school; it was too large to get out the door
or Mr Hardy would have gotten rid of it years ago. It had a spacious well
in the middle, between the drawers on either side, big enough for Richard
to sit comfortably on the floor between Mr Hardy's feet. Just as the
teacher was about to terminate the 'hypnosis session', not understanding
what Richard was doing down there, a knock sounded at the
door. Simultaneously, the teacher felt the zipper of his slacks
descending. He had the disconcerting sensation of feeling his dick being
pulled out through the opening at the front of his trousers at exactly the
same time that Mr Slade's face appeared at the doorway.

Mr Slade interpreted Mr Hardy's look of surprise as being due to his own
sudden appearance. He could not have known that at that precise moment,
Richard's hot little mouth settled on his teacher's knob.

"No, no, Mr Hardy, don't get up", reassured the Deputy Principal. He didn't
know that the teacher's sudden jerk was not an attempt to rise, but an
automatic reaction to the shock of feeling Richard's little tongue swirl
all around the head of his engorged penis. Completely invisible to the
Deputy at the doorway, Richard was giving Mr Hardy an excruciatingly
exquisite blowjob, running first his tongue, then his teeth, lightly over
his teacher's sensitised glans.

"I was looking for Richard, my violin pupil", the Deputy explained. "He's
usually waiting at the front gate for his mother at this time. I was hoping
to catch up with him before he went home".

"Uh, yes, Richard..." began the teacher.

"Yes, I thought he might still be down here", Mr Slade replied,
conversationally.

"Er, oh! Ah, Richard, of course. Um, I couldn't say where he is right now",
Mr Hardy gasped, as two little hands pulled his scrotum out through the
same opening and started to gently squeeze the balls it contained, while
maintaining a light suction on the teacher's dickhead. "If I see him, do
you want me to give him one- er, give him a message?", Mr Hardy wheezed.

"It's not important", the Deputy reassured him. "I'll catch up with him
some other time. Good to see you still at it so late in the afternoon, Mr
Hardy. Dedication. That's a commendable quality", he lectured, turning to
leave.

"Thank you, Mr Slade. I don't think I'll last much longer here, though",
the teacher muttered towards the Deputy's departing back. He squirmed in
his chair as Richard changed his grip from balls to shaft and alternately
squeezed and pumped his teacher's prong. A loud gasp and arched hips from
Mr Hardy signalled a violent climax, safely swallowed by the boy under the
desk. Mr Hardy helped the boy out from under the desk and carefully
adjusted his slacks.

"Well now, Richard. I guess we really are friends after that", Mr Hardy
smiled at the boy who had resumed his position on the teacher's lap. "I
have to tell you, that was the best blowjob I ever had", he confessed to
the boy, who blushed modestly. "But we have to talk plainly now, just you
and me. Have you ever had a violin lesson? With anybody?"

"No Sir", admitted the scrawny lad. "I've never even seen a real violin. Mr
Slade just told me to use it as an excuse in case anybody asked why I go to
his office every Monday at lunchtime".

"But...but what about your parents? Don't they tell you to practise? I
remember my father was on my back every afternoon to practice the piano
when I was your age".

The boy sighed. "There's only Mom. She doesn't care".

"But how did it all start? The photos, I mean", Mr Hardy urged.

Richard sighed again, almost theatrically. "Mr Slade caught me...er,
playing with myself in the boys' bathroom. He made me go to his office, He
took some photos, as evidence, he said, and then he said I was never to
tell anyone, but I had to have more photos taken. Every Monday".

"And he makes you blow him afterwards?", the teacher asked.

"Not always. Only if the photos are...really sexy, like. He makes me wear
makeup sometimes, you know, lipstick and girl stuff. He makes me dress up
in these weird clothes sometimes, and I think he takes movies of me 'cause
I've seen him use a different camera. I've only...you know...sucked him
once. He was really, um, excited that day. I wore a pair of pink girl
undies-"

"Panties?" Mr Hardy interrupted.

"Yeah, and a really tiny bikini top thing, and lipstick, and some stuff on
my eyelids, and he told me to lick my lips a lot", related the boy.

The thought of Richard dressed as a girl in a skimpy bathing costume and
makeup translated itself directly into testosterone for Mr Hardy. He picked
Richard up under the armpits to resettle him on his lap more comfortably,
and thought fast. "This might sound stupid, Richard, but do
you...er... like...your photo sessions with Mr Slade? Or do you want to put
an end to them?"

"Mr Slade said if I ever stopped, he'd show everyone in the school the
photos. And my Mom", Richard sighed yet again.

Mr Hardy pursed his lips in consternation for a minute. He knew the Deputy
could hardly reveal the photos without incriminating himself, but poor
Richard would not have worked that out. "So, our problem is that Mr Slade
has a bunch of photos of you, and you have to let him take more, even
though you'd really rather be doing sexy stuff with, oh, let's see, maybe
your favourite teacher instead?", he suggested, with a smile. Richard
permitted himself a little grin, which quickly widened to light up his
whole face.

"I wouldn't mind if you saw the photos, Sir", Richard declared in his soft
voice. "Maybe the boys can help", he added.

"Boys?" Mr Hardy replied stupidly. "What boys?"

"The boys in our club", Richard explained patiently. "You know, Stephen and
Francis and the others".

Mr Hardy sighed. "There isn't any club, not any more. It was all a farce, a
practical joke. There is no hypnotism club", he admitted.

Richard wriggled excitedly in Mr Hardy's lap. "Not that club, silly. Our
club. We had a club a long time before Francis said that question about
hypnotism". The teacher thought that he must be especially thick on
Mondays, because he couldn't make any sense of Richard's words.

"What club?", he asked, still feeling very dumb.

"Well, you know, the boys that came at lunchtime when I was, um, with Mr
Slade. The gay boys' club", Richard elaborated. For a teacher, Mr Hardy
doesn't catch on very fast, Richard thought.

"Gay boys?" Mr Hardy echoed, becoming more and more confused.

Richard sighed, a little exasperated that his teacher was so dense. "It's
our club. There's five of us. We're the boys in your class that're gay. We
knew who each other was right from the first day of school. It was Francis
made us into a club. For our protection, he said. We eat lunch together,
walk to school together, line up together, you know, so nobody picks on
us. Francis is really smart. He had the idea of getting you into the club
by asking about the hypnosis. He thought you probably would like to do sex
stuff with us, but only if you didn't do anything really bad to us. He's
always looking out for us".

Mr Hardy had to mull over what Richard had just revealed. It appeared that
he had gravely underestimated Francis, and the other boys, too. The
'revelations' about his true nature, and its easy acceptance by the four
(now five) boys, also became more understandable, now that he could see
where it fitted in with Francis' grand design. "But if Francis looks after
you, why didn't you tell him all about Mr Slade, and get his help?", he
pondered aloud.

"Francis is clever, but he's only a kid, like me. Mr Slade's a grownup",
Richard replied, as though it should have been obvious.

Mr Hardy sighed. "Well, I guess I've got a few days to think about it
before next Monday. I'll put my thinking cap on and try to figure out a way
out of your problem, Richard. On a different subject, do you, uh,
guys...er, fool around, you know?"

Richard gave his teacher a look that was halfway between a smirk and a
scowl. "Just because we're gay don't mean we're...uh, what's that word for
someone who does sex a lot?"

"Um, promiscuous?", Mr Hardy suggested.

"Yeah, that's it! We ain't pro-mischievous. Josh and Brendan have
sleepovers at each other's place about every weekend. They only jack each
other off, though. And Stephen's got an uncle he likes, that he does stuff
with sometimes. And Francis hasn't done anything with anyone yet, he
says. Actually, I think he's got a bit of a crush on...you, Sir".

For the first time since his teenage years, Mr Hardy actually blushed. He
had heard at college during his teacher training that sometimes an
adolescent boy will form an innocent fondness for a teacher. Such crushes
were not to be taken too seriously, wiser heads advised. But Mr Hardy was
not the fresh-faced college student he once was. He was a career teacher,
with self-admitted pedophilic tendencies, and if he learned that one of his
students had an emotional interest in him, why, he was going to milk it for
all it was worth, provided he didn't hurt the student concerned. In any
case, he already had copped the best blowjob he'd ever had from the boy
nestled in his arms, so he was already ahead of the game, he thought.

"Richard, I don't know how to say this properly...I want to make sure you
get home on time, so I won't keep you too long. Do you think, if we all
work together, me and all the, er, gay boys...that we can get you out of Mr
Slade's clutches? And would you mind if I, um, did sex stuff with Francis,
if he wants to, of course, sometimes, maybe?"

Richard gave his teacher a condescending smile (which looked amusingly
out-of-place on the face of an eleven-year-old). "I know that grownups
think about sex a lot, they think it's important I s'pose, so I guess it's
okay if you do stuff with Francis. I think he wants to. I hope you still
want to do stuff with me, though. I liked...what we did before. And I don't
want pictures of me all over the school, especially the ones where I'm,
uh... well, you know, some of the photos were kinda...uh..." The boy's
voice trailled off, but Mr Hardy had a fairly good idea of Richard's
meaning.

"Do you like kissing, Richard?" Mr Hardy asked unexpectedly. "Because I
think it's time I gave you a kiss and sent you on your way home. Then I can
go home and think about our problem".

The boy looked at his teacher blankly. "I've never been kissed, except by
Mom when I was little, I guess. I s'pose it'll be okay", he opined. The
teacher decided to take that as a 'yes', and slowly lowered his face to his
pupil's, brushing his lips against the boy's. As soon as he realised it
wasn't so bad, Richard flung his arms around his teacher's neck and
responded actively to Mr Hardy's attempt to insert his tongue into the
boy's mouth. Mr Hardy could feel the boy wriggling in his arms, and broke
the kiss.

"Whew! Stephen said it felt good, but-"

Mr Hardy pressed. "But...?"

"Well, Stephen told me once that kissing was okay, but he never said it was
that good!", Richard enthused. "Can we do it again?" For an answer, Mr
Hardy dropped his head to a level with the boy's face, and kissed him
again, more slowly and passionately this time, rubbing his hands up the
boy's back as he did so. His hand reached right up to the back of the boy's
head, which he grazed lightly with his nails. Richard's hair was kept
permanently short all over, presumably by his mother, and the boy enjoyed
the little scalp massage his teacher gave.

"I guess I can see why grown-ups like this stuff. It's pretty good!"
Richard commented, smiling, when he surfaced for his next breath. "I guess
I gotta go now and meet Mom at the gate".

"Try to avoid Mr Slade if you can", the teacher suggested. "In fact, I'll
go with you, and if I see him, I'll distract him while you get your ride."

"Thanks Sir", the boy replied, lightly hopping off his teacher's lap and
grabbing his school bag. Richard met his Mom without any further
entanglements with the Deputy, leaving Mr Hardy to return to his home to
try to think a way out of the whole mess.

* * *

When no brilliant schemes had occurred to him by nine thirty that evening,
Mr Hardy decided to sleep on it. Sometimes his best thinking was done in
the early morning. Rather than sit about his apartment, after breakfast he
headed straight for school, arriving a little after seven. The only other
person he saw on the way to his classroom was Francis.

"I thought you might be early today, Sir. Richard told me about yesterday".

Damn! These kids have better sources than the Washington Post. "I'm trying
to come up with a way to get Richard out of his...er, dilemma, and still
keep my job", Mr Hardy replied. "He told me about you guys. Listen, I'm
really sorry I, er, sorta lost it yesterday. I'm not really like that. I
wasn't actually trying to...you know, get into anyone's pants, not
really..."

"That's okay, Sir, we, uh, shouldn't've played that, uh, trick on you. I
guess it was...pretty mean". An awkward silence followed. The two arrived
at their classroom, Mr Hardy retreating to his comfort zone behind his
desk. Francis pulled up a chair.

"So, Richard told me that Brendan and Josh are...an item; Stephen's got his
uncle; so, are...**you** seeing anyone...at the moment?"

Francis blushed and lowered his eyes. "I'm...um, saving myself for, er, the
right person".

"Really? Have you met the person yet, or...is it some unknown mystery
person somewhere in your future?" Mr Hardy bantered.

"Uh, yes, I've met hi- uh, the person. I know who it is. But the person
doesn't know that I, er... like them".

"Must be very lucky, this person", the teacher mused, "to have such a fine
boy as yourself as their...secret admirer. Tell me", he paused, "...are you
ever going to tell...this person...your true feelings, or just go on
waiting for them to...somehow read your mind?"

Francis thought for a moment or two. "I guess I'll, uh, let...the
person...make the first move. That way I'll know they really...like me, and
not just, you know, doing it 'cause they feel sorry for me, or something".

"Ah, the first move", the teacher sighed. "It's an age-old problem, that
first move. You see, both of the two people would be worried about
rejection, they're worried about whether they'll measure up to the other's
expectations, they're worried, oh, about all kinds of things. Until one of
them is brave enough to make...The First Move. Did you have any particular
First Move in mind that you were expecting, or do you think you'll
recognise it when you see it?"

"I...I'm not sure. Um, do you...happen to know what a typical first move,
er, might be, Sir?"

The teacher grasped his chin lightly, as if pondering his student's
question. "Well, you know, they say experience is the best teacher. Maybe I
can help you experience what a First Move might feel like, so's you'll know
it when it comes along. Why don't you come a bit closer, Francis. Stand up,
that's it".

The boy stood obediently, just at the side of his teacher's desk. Mr Hardy
stood in front of him. There was no sound from the hallway outside the
room, and in any case, the footsteps of anyone approaching would have been
clearly audible on the linoleum floor of the hall. "Now, Francis, hold your
arms out from your sides a bit, that's it", he instructed. "No, just a sec,
that's not quite right. Here, stand on these phone books. Yes, that's
better", he remarked, as the boy's height increased by about eight
inches. The top of Francis' head now reached Mr Hardy's eyes.

"Yes, that's good. Now lightly put your arms around me, and I'll do the
same to you. Let your chest rest on mine, that's it. Lay your head on my
shoulder, that's the boy". The two males, teacher and student, stood
leaning against each other, both of their hearts thumping. Francis was the
first to speak.

"This is a...first move?" he asked tentatively. "It feels nice".

"This? This is just a hug. Anyone might give you one of these - a parent, a
relative, someone you haven't seen for years. It becomes a First Move when
they drop their hands down to your bottom and sort of gently rub and
squeeze - like so". Mr Hardy carefully groped the boy's bottom, alternating
between cheeks, softly squeezing and kneading with his fingertips.

Francis sighed contentedly as his teacher stroked and squeezed his fat
little bottom through his school shorts. "So that's a first move? Is that
all there is to it, Sir?"

"Well, there's quite a bit more, actually. The person making the First Move
might leave your bottom alone for a moment to run his fingers through your
hair, like this-" He dragged his fingertips through the boy's longish hair,
ever-so-lightly scraping his fingernails on the nape of the boy's
neck. "Or, he might playfully flick your earlobe with a finger, like so-"
He tickled the boy's earlobes, first on one side, then the other. "He might
rub his cheek against yours - this is especially effective if he's got a
bit of a stubble, so you can feels his bristles scratching your smooth
cheek- " He drew his cheek down against the boy's. Francis even tilted his
head to one side as the teacher did this, to allow Mr Hardy a better angle.

Francis sighed again. "Mmmm. Anything else, Sir?", he murmured.

"Oh, yes', the man reassured. "There's the expressive gaze into the
eyes. You know, you can always tell someone likes you, because they give
you these really long looks in the eyes, not a stare, but just a kind of
unspoken communication, with the eyes". He looked deeply into Francis' pale
blue eyes, the boy holding his head still to return the look. "And of
course, you would shut your eyes for the soulful kiss, otherwise you might
go cross-eyed. Not good".

"What's the soulful kiss?" Francis whispered, a little too urgently.

"Well, I'd best show you", Mr Hardy suggested. "Trying to describe a kiss
in words is a bit like trying to explain a Mozart piano sonata. Some things
in life can only be experienced. For the soulful kiss, he would lean you
back like so, just far enough so that you're a little off-balance, so you
have to cling to him, then he brings his lips to yours, just like I'm doing
now, then he-" The blow-by-blow description that Mr Hardy was detailing was
interrupted, as he had joined his lips to the boy's, and was engaged in the
meekest tongue-wrestle he had ever enjoyed. After a minute that seemed to
go on for every one of its sixty seconds, they parted, Francis panting
with...desire?... breathlessness?

"Is there anything else, Sir? Please?" He was still leaning back in a half
swoon, supported by Mr Hardy's strong arms.

"There's one more thing", the teacher counselled, bringing his lips close
to the boy's left ear. "No First Move is complete without the Sweet
Nothings. He will lick softly at your earlobes, while whispering
endearments directly into your ear. Things like 'I will love you forever my
darling', or 'you set my heart on fire, my angel'. He might even say
'Francis, I have desired you with all my being since the first day I beheld
your exquisite beauty in my classroom' ". Mr Hardy carefully set the boy
back on his feet, but still held him close.

"Oh!" was all Francis could say. Did Mr Hardy really mean that? What does a
boy do when his secret love makes The First Move? A single tear rolled down
the boy's cheek, but his eyes, his lips, were smiling.

"What's the matter, my love?" the teacher murmured, their foreheads lightly
touching, his arms still around the boy.

"This...this is the first time in my...my life, that I'm...glad I'm
gay. Otherwise I would never have... fallen in love with you, Sir", Francis
whispered. His eyes flickered momentarily to his teacher's, nervous to see
whether his declaration of love would be rejected (he still half feared it
might be), but his fear was groundless. Mr Hardy gave him another quick
squeeze and a peck on the cheek (right where the tear stain was) and said
that they must now get ready for class, after all there were some straight
boys who might not understand, should they blunder into the room, and there
was still the problem of Richard and the Deputy's photos. Their own
pleasures would have to wait. But Francis was used to waiting - he had
waited all year for this: a few more hours was not going to kill him. He
skipped back to his own seat, his feet never touching the floor.

* * *

"What about an anonymous letter to the School Board, saying he's a pervert,
or something?" Josh suggested. The rest of the group shook their heads
despondently.

"Teachers and school boards get those letters all the time", Stephen
said. "They wouldn't do anything against a Deputy without some kinda
proof". The gay boys, together with Mr Hardy, had gathered in their
classroom at morning break for an emergency meeting. Ideas, such as Josh's,
were being tossed around, and just as quickly discarded. All the boys
wanted to help Richard, now that they knew the full extent of the Deputy's
perfidy.

"You could hypnotise him, Sir, and make him hand over the photos, then
resign", Richard chirped. All the other boys just gave him a disgusted
look.

"Why don't you just confront him?" Brendan demanded of his teacher. "He
can't get away with taking rude photos of Richard, especially if he's
supposed to be teaching him the violin!"

"Well, that might work with someone who was less sure of himself", Mr Hardy
ventured. "But Mr Slade thinks he's completely immune to accusation. If I
challenged him, even if I was lucky enough to prove our case - without any
hard evidence, I might remind you - the school board would certainly find
some way to get rid of me, because the one thing they hate as much as
perverts is whistleblowers. I'd hate to leave you guys now", he added,
looking directly at Francis.

Stephen offered his two cents' worth. "What if one of us could get him in a
compromising position, you know, with his pants down or something, take a
photo, and threaten to show everyone unless he resigns, you know, do back
to him what he did to Richard?"  He looked around the group for support.

Mr Hardy was quietly impressed that his students were using such big words
as 'anonymous' and 'compromising'. At any other time, he would be voluble
in his praise. "It's a good idea, Stephen, but there would still be the
photos hanging over Richard's head. No, we need a master stroke, a single
brilliant manoeuvre, that leaves all of us in the clear and Mr Slade in the
shit. Sorry, excuse my French". The boys giggled. Their teacher said the
'S' word, hee hee.

Francis spoke up, his eyes engaging everyone in the group. "I think we need
to attack on a number of fronts at the same time". The other boys looked at
him, waiting for him to explain. Mr Hardy was again impressed with his new
young lover's ability to command the respect and attention of his
classmates. "First, we need to find out where Mr Slade has hidden the
photos of Richard. Then, we need to get them back. We also need to get some
hard evidence-" (here he glanced at his teacher) "- against him, evidence
that can't be explained away, like a blurry picture of a UFO that NASA says
is a weather balloon. I've thought of a plan - it'll need everyone's
co-operation, yours too, Sir, but I think it will work..."

* * *

Richard presented himself at the desk of Mr Slade's receptionist, Miss
Prissy, at the beginning of lunch-hour.

"Why, hello Richard - but it's not Monday, you don't have a violin lesson
now, what could you possibly be wanting here?", the withered old spinster
challenged.

"I, er, hello, Miss, I need to see Mr Slade, please", Richard whimpered, a
sickly grin on his face.

"Well, he's in, but you don't have an appointment, do you, Richard"

"Er, no Miss, but I need to see Mr Slade, it's urgent", he replied.

"Oh, very well, if it's so important, I'll see if he's free". She pressed a
button on her intercom. "Mr Slade? It's young Richard here to see you....He
says it's urgent....Very well, if you say so". Turning to the boy, she
frowned and announced "You can go in".

Richard turned the knob on the door that had led to so many of his
degradations until now. He steeled his courage, and entered the Deputy's
domain. The Deputy glared at him from behind his desk (the same model that
stood in Mr Hardy's classroom), then put on a false smile as he realised
who it was that intruded on his sanctuary.

"Ah, Richard, and what can I do for you today. Not Monday, is it?", he
sneered, glancing at his desk calendar.

"Uh, I thought you should know, there's two boys, uh, doing n-naughty
things with each other, uh, in the boys' bathroom, uh, Sir", he
stammered. Francis had insisted that he practise that stammer, so it would
sound authentic, but he was so terrified of Mr Slade, the practice was
superfluous.

"Indeed!" riposted the man haughtily, rising to his feet. "We'll see about
that!". Mr Slade rounded his desk and strode through the doorway, telling
Miss Prissy on the run that he would return directly. He had instantly
forgotten all about little Richard, in his zeal to catch the two miscreants
in the act. As soon as the man rushed out, the boy scuttled around the desk
to hide underneath in the dark well.

* * *

"I saw everything!" Richard declared excitedly. "I got it all on the video
camera! Josh and Brendan were great! Mr Slade forgot I was there!

Brendan and Josh sniggered. "It was my greatest performance ever, Sir!"
Brendan declaimed proudly. "We let him catch us in the boys' washroom, and
we pretended to be frightened. I had my shorts down to my ankles, and Josh
was pulling my dick. When Mr Slade 'caught' us, he took us up to his
office, just like he did with Richard, and made us do it again, while he
photographed us".

"Yeah, and then he put the camera in the drawer of the big desk, just like
Francis said he would. I saw a whole bunch of stuff in there - I bet my
photos are on those CD ROMs he's got in there".

"I'm willing to bet that the key that locks the bottom drawer of your desk
will also work on Mr Slade's desk, Sir", Francis predicted.

"I think your plan is coming together wonderfully, Francis. I'm proud of
you. But it's nearly the end of lunchtime, the rest of the class will be
returning soon, you guys better scatter. Francis and I will handle Part B
of the plan tonight".

* * *

"Your Mom didn't mind you coming out with me tonight?" Mr Hardy asked as
the boy climbed into his teacher's car, parked discreetly around the
corner. He gave Francis' hand a quick squeeze.

"It's cool. I told her I was going over to Stephen's to help him with some
schoolwork. Stephen's uncle will back us up if she phones up".

"Ah, yes. Everyone believes an adult voice on the phone over a child's", Mr
Hardy reflected. "Are you sure Slade will run?"

"Wouldn't you?" the boy retorted. "What teacher, even a Deputy Principal,
would have a million bucks in ready cash lying around?"

"I hope you're right. After we...uh, get the stuff, would you like to stop
over at my place for a while, so I can show you my, um, second move?", the
man asked, a note of hopefulness in his voice. He was determined not to
take Francis for granted in any way, and besides, he still could not quite
believe his good fortune in having found such a tolerant bunch of boys,
right in his own classroom.

Francis smiled. "Stop it! You'll make me horny, and I'll get nervous. Keep
your mind on the job, uh, Sir, please".

And the job was simple enough. Break into the school, break into Mr Slade's
office, break into his desk (they didn't bother trying Mr Hardy's key), get
the disks with Richard's photos on them and the camera with Josh and
Brendan's star performance on it, leave the note demanding a million
dollars (to be sent to a post office box chosen at random) or the Police
would be given the disks. A snack. And it all worked surprisingly well. Mr
Hardy had often wondered why some folk turned to burglary, and now he had
an insight - apart from the financial gain, it was very exciting!

Back at his apartment, the two villains breathed a little easier. "So, do
we destroy these now?", Francis asked, referring to the disks and the
camera's memory stick.

"Well, Richard did say he wouldn't mind if I saw the photos. And there's no
rush. There's absolutely nothing to connect me with the robbery..."

"And Mr Slade can't go to the cops, or he'll have to tell them what was
taken", Francis concluded. "So, what was that you mentioned about second
moves?", he added, a hint of nervousness giving his voice an edge.

"Ah, yes. Second moves. We've got about half an hour before you should
probably be getting home from 'helping Stephen with his homework'..."

"Well, I wouldn't have to help him if we didn't have such a strict teacher,
always making us do more work, never letting up..."

"Your right. I'm a big meanie. Now I think it over, maybe I should give you
a refresher of the first moves before we tackle the advanced stuff. Just so
it sticks in your mind, like. A good teacher, even a strict one, always
builds on a firm foundation".

Francis grinned on hearing this. He edged along the sofa to sit in his
teacher's lap, clasping his hands behind his teacher's neck. "I think I
know what you mean by 'a firm foundation', " he smirked, wriggling his butt
in his teacher's lap, and feeling his teacher's hard penis
underneath. "Enough talk, you meanie", Francis added, lifting his face to
his teacher's.

Mr Hardy responded in kind, again marvelling that he had found a boy in his
very own classroom who wanted to be intimate with him. With his spare hand
he pulled at the lower part of the boy's t-shirt to release it from the
waist of his shorts, then ran that hand lightly up the boy's tummy and
chest. When he found Francis' right nipple and grazed it with his
thumbnail, the boy arched his back and moaned into his mouth. Taking this
as approval, Mr Hardy drifted his hand over to the other nipple, giving it
the same treatment. Francis responded by straightening out his legs, which
had been bent at the knees, to give Mr Hardy access further south.

"That feels nice, Sir", Francis whispered as he broke lip contact to
encourage his older friend. "You can do that a bit more if you like".

"More?" Mr Hardy enquired lightly, still fluttering his fingertips from one
nipple to the other.

"Only lower", whispered Francis, the urgency of desire in his voice.

"More?", Mr Hardy repeated, this time in a much deeper voice.

Francis scowled, getting the joke right away. "I mean lower down,
silly. You can touch me...down there...if you want", his voice, already
soft, trailled away as he opened his legs a little wider.

"Thank you", Mr Hardy replied sweetly as he resumed his kiss. The hand that
had been arousing Francis' nipples now drifted down to the boy's navel,
then to the waist of his shorts. The boy flinched a little as Mr Hardy's
fingers crept further down to the small protrusion in his school shorts,
lightly outlining the boy's erection.

"Can I put my hand under, please?" Mr Hardy whispered, taking scrupulous
care not to go further than Francis sanctioned. Francis thought he was
overdoing the permission thing a bit, so he simply lifted the elastic
waistband of his shorts himself. He thought that should make his approval
amply obvious.

"Oh, yes, but please don't-"

"Hurt you?" Mr Hardy breathed. "I would never, ever do anyth-"

"No, I was going to say 'laugh at me'. I know you wouldn't hurt me",
Francis gave a small smile.

Mr Hardy reached his hand into the proffered space between waist and
waistband as gingerly as if he were reaching for a frightened mouse in a
corner. His fingertips slipped underneath the hem of Francis' undies, then
encountered the hot, silky-smooth but rigid organ lying within. "Why ever
would I laugh at you, my darling?", he breathed, when he could speak. The
sensation of holding a boy's dick for the first time filled him with a kind
of reverence, an awe, that made him mute for a few seconds.

"Because it's deformed. It's hideous!", the boy spat vehemently, overtones
of self-loathing making his voice bitter and raspy. "My big sisters told me
that every day: 'It's hideous, Francis', they told me over and over. 'It's
deformed, it's ugly', they teased me. 'Why don't you cut it off, and be
beautiful like us?'  I nearly did once, when I was about nine. But Mom
caught me and stopped me. She made them quit dressing me up, too. But I
still can't stop thinking it's...not nice. My...my dick, I mean", he added,
in case Mr Hardy wasn't following.

Mr Hardy kept up his gentle fondling of Francis' stiff tool while he
thought of what he might say to the boy. "Francis, I can't wipe out nine
years of mental abuse with a few sentences and a grope or two. What your
sisters did to you was cruel and wrong. And this isn't just your teacher
talking. It's not even just 'Mr Hardy the pedo' talking. It's just
me. Talking man to boy. Your penis feels just fine to me. It's got a kind
of nice bend to it, like a banana, and it sort of curves upwards to the
right a little. I can feel a cute little bit of foreskin at the top, and a
nice healthy glans underneath that. If you let me, I'd like to show you how
nice I think it is".

"Okay" came the softest of replies.

Mr Hardy withdrew his hand carefully, then edged his butt along the couch
out from under the boy so he could bring his face down to the level of
Francis' waist without wrenching his back. The boy was now propped up
against a cushion in the corner of the couch, watching his teacher's every
move. Ever so gently Mr Hardy pulled the waistband of Francis' shorts
outwards. He raised his eyebrows at the boy, who lifted his butt in
response, allowing the man to pull the shorts down and off. He did the same
with the underwear, even though it wasn't strictly necessary to get access
- it was symbolic of his desire to possess the boy in his entirety.

"Now, Francis", Mr Hardy whispered, his eyes fixed on the boy's. "May I
suck your cock?". The boy could only nod as his teacher hooked a finger
around the stalk of his fleshy pole, pulling it gently away from his body
to a near-vertical position before lowering his open mouth on it.

"Mmmm", the man hummed as he worked his tongue on the head of Francis'
little prong. Seized with desire, the boy grabbed his teacher's head to
force it down even further, but Mr Hardy was too strong for him, keeping
his face at a set height from the boy's crotch. Francis groaned, trying to
urge more of his dick into his teacher's mouth, but still Mr Hardy
resisted. Finally, when Mr Hardy felt the boy's hips begin to pump of their
own accord, he allowed the boy to push upwards as deeply as he wished,
groaning again as he reached his dry climax.

Mr Hardy quickly scrambled up the sofa to a kissing position, covering the
boy's face with pecks and whispering little endearments of love. His hand
was not idle, stroking the boy's still-erect phallus, and providing a few
aftershocks of sensation which registered as twitches in the surface of the
boy's taut tummy.

"Richard did that to you yesterday", Francis whispered when Mr Hardy let
him speak. "Now I now why Stephen's uncle likes it so much. It
was...great".

"Just 'great'?" Mr Hardy chided. "I hope you don't mind that Richard did
that to me - if it wasn't for him we probably wouldn't have got together".

Francis gave him a smug smile. "I had a few more tricks up my sleeve if the
hypnosis thing didn't work, you know. Richard's okay - you can...you
know...be nice to him. But that's it! I'm not sharing you with anybody else
apart from him!", he giggled.

"Speaking of Richard, we haven't looked at any of the CD ROMs yet. My DVD
player will display them, we don't need a computer I don't think".

Francis glanced up at the wall clock. "We could look at one, I guess. Then
I better go home otherwise Mom will wonder where I am. Mr Hardy unwrapped
himself from the boy's embrace and slid a disk into the player, turning on
his TV as he did so. A list of titles came up on screen.

"It looks like Mr Slade converted the photos into slideshows. How
convenient for him. Which one shall we look at, my love?"

Francis smiled to hear himself addressed thus. "What about the sixth title
down - 'face' - and it's got a star beside it as well". Mr Hardy operated
the hand remote to select 'face*', which produced the startling image of
Richard's charming visage filling the screen. On Richard's face could be
seen thick pearly strands of a certain bodily excretion, in a haphazard
pattern.

"Oh! Is that...what I think it is, Sir?", a shocked Francis enquired. As
the slideshow progressed, the two lovers watched the onscreen images of
Richard scooping the dollops of semen off his face and popping them in his
mouth, or rubbing them on his nipples (he appeared to be shirtless), or
poking his tongue out to taste the droplets on his fingertips.

"Poor Richard! I don't think I want to see any more, Sir", a saddened
Francis suggested. Mr Hardy turned off the slideshow. "Richard might need
more, er, affection than even me. You make sure you're nice to him, Sir, so
he doesn't think all men are...like Mr Slade. You promise?"

"With all my heart, my darling", Mr Hardy murmured sincerely.

Francis smiled. "I like hearing you say that. But I have to get home or Mom
will worry". He jumped up and pulled on his clothes. Mr Hardy adjusted his
trousers, then grabbed his car keys.

* * *

Mr Hardy found himself in the Principal's office at morning break the next
day, a place he would have given anything to avoid. But Ms McMattrie was
giving off the strong impression that she also would rather not be in her
own office at that precise time either.

"It's a bad business, Mr Hardy, very bad indeed", she remarked cryptically.

"Er, yes, Ms McMattrie. Very bad", he agreed, not sure what the bad
business was, and hoping it was nothing to do with himself.

"Of course, I should have kept a tighter rein, you know, kept abreast of
things", she continued. Mr Hardy had to stifle a chuckle. Ms McMattrie's
bosom was indeed quite ample. "Miss Prissy found this in his
wastebasket. She's obviously distraught, you know. Completely beside
herself".

The Principal handed Mr Hardy a crumpled travel brochure for sunny
Paraguay, which Mr Hardy recalled from a Civics lesson some years ago is
one of several South American countries with no extradition treaty with his
own country. "Of course, I've contacted the Police. They found Slade at the
airport. It'll break Miss Prissy's heart, of course, can't be helped
though".

"No, no, I suppose not", mumbled Mr Hardy, hoping all would become a little
clearer soon.

"I blame myself. I accept that. I should have demanded an accounting from
him when I was first appointed to the Principalship, but you know how it
is, you have to rely on people in management positions beneath you,
especially if they have been there for several years. You have to respect
their experience, after all. He's been giving them a touch for years,
apparently".

Mr Hardy's eyes widened. "Er, a touch?" he gasped.

"The finances, Mr Hardy. Moneys allocated to the school by the Board for
special projects. He was skimming off the top. I only found out this
morning when Miss Prissy said that he had come in to his office, taken one
look, packed a bag and bolted out the door. Why did I ever let him keep an
office of his own - especially one so large? And why does a deputy need a
secretary anyway? Can't be helped now. Containment, Mr Hardy, that's what's
needed. Containment and counter-attack. You'll help, of course?" She said
it like a question, but there was no doubt in Mr Hardy's mind that it was a
command.

"What can I do?" he asked innocently.

"You'll be perfect, trust me. After all, it's your students who suffered
the most. Our testing has established that you have five students in your
lot who should have been grouped into a special class for gifted students -
only Mr Slade pilfered the funds that were needed to set up such a
class. From memory, Joshua Gates, er, Francis Whitman, ah, a boy named
Richard something was another...I have the list on my desk somewhere...Ah!
Richard Carson, Brendan Lee and Stephen Golding, those are the boys". She
paused, as if coming to a decision.

"I think we should act immediately. Speed is of the essence. As of today, I
want you to head up a new class of students, of whom there will be
precisely five, the boys I just named. I'll get a sub for the rest of your
boys, not to worry. You will be running a program called 'Pilot Extension
for Talented Students'. These five boys will be your first PETS. I also
want you to take up the newly vacant position of Deputy Principal. It's
really only a part-time job, about an hour's work a day should cover
it. You'll be challenged by the PETS: there are weekly half-day excursions
to Art Galleries, rainforests, Museums, the live theatre and whatnot. More
resources for science experiments, of course, and a decent library of
books. Participation, rather than passive reception is the keynote of the
PETS program. Almost anything you can think of, you can incorporate into
your new syllabus. Get them up out of their seats, Mr Hardy. Up and
dancing, up and singing, writing plays, sculpting, oratory, whatever you
can think of. You can use Mr Slade's old office for your classroom, god
knows it's big enough. Drama, the creative arts, music, poetry, philosophy,
they're all in the PETS program. I need to show the Board that Slade's
depredations have not stifled our best and brightest. Can I count on you,
Mr Hardy?"

It took the teacher about a second and a half to smile and nod at his
boss. Whole mornings and afternoons at the theatre or the opera with the
gay boys? A free hand to extend their minds, broaden their perspectives? He
couldn't wait to tell Francis and the others. "You can count on me, Ms
McMattrie".

end