Date: Thu, 10 Jan 2008 11:43:52 -0800 (PST)
From: Boy Smack <boy.smack@yahoo.com>
Subject: Schoolteacher's Confessions: Part 1

Mb spank mast

Summer depressed me..

Most of my colleagues are like the kids we teach; as spring winds to a
close they grow agitated and anxious for their vacation to arrive.  But
then, most of my colleagues have families with whom to spend the
intervening months before we return to school.  I may be tired and ready
for a break, but the thought of three months without any interaction with
"my kids" always makes me sad.  And I do think of them as "my kids."
A very special bond develops between teacher and student over the course
of nine months.  I teach my fifth graders all their subjects, so during
those months I spend more time with most of them than their own fathers
do.  Saying goodbye is never easy.  I've spent some morose first nights
at home alone with my thoughts, already missing the kids I've grown to
love over the last nine months.

Of course the other difference between my colleagues and myself, at least
in so far as I know, is that they could never understand that my genuine
affection for my kids is often overlaid with a hidden sexual passion.
They wouldn't be able to see that it's possible to genuinely love
children and to want what's best for them while at the same time to be
constantly aroused by their presence.  We taught at a conservative
religious school, and no doubt they would condemn me if they knew
everything about how I felt about the kids.  They would refuse to see
that even if I had to catch my breath when a particularly beautiful boy
walked into my classroom, even if I fantasized about all the sinful
things I wanted to do to him, I would never hurt that boy.  I could never
force my affections on him or any other, nor would I even suggest a
sexual dalliance.

They couldn't understand these things, I was sure.  But I didn't hold
it against them.  I didn't imagine that they loved their kids any less
than I loved mine.  I knew just what it was like to care for a child
without the least hint of physical attraction; I had that very
relationship with every girl in my class.  I was genuinely close with
them, but I never contemplated anything more than teaching them and
showing them kindness.  My colleagues would have approved

With the boys, though, it was different.  Other teachers approved when
they saw me kindly lay my arm across a boy's shoulders and give him an
encouraging squeeze - they knew a kid needs affection, but they didn't
know that I wanted to turn him toward me and kiss him passionately.  They
saw me as a good disciplinarian - not afraid to paddle a misbehaving boy
thoroughly, but they didn't realize that the sight of his upturned
bottom tightly filling out his pants brought me to a point of near
arousal.  They fretted over my singleness - saying I would make such a
good dad, but couldn't imagine how I spent the lonely nights at home.

No one knew that I went home with my mind full of the faces and bodies of
the boys I had instructed - and especially those I had disciplined -
ready for a night of fantasy.  No one knew that I logged onto my home
computer to read boy spanking stories, mentally inserting my students
into my mental image of the story, or that I inevitably switched to boy
sex stories, carrying the memory of the same students with me so I could
dream about even more forbidden pleasures.  No one knew that I jacked off
thinking about one of my kids every night or that I never went to sleep
feeling lonely - not as long as I could go back to my classroom the next
morning and continue my surreptitious romances.

But summer came, and I was lonely.  The prospect of three months without
the company of boys was shattering.  I had spent a night drowning in my
own sorrow, grieving for the relationships I had lost forever that day.
Now, in the light of morning, I had to start out on the barren desert
trek that every summer inevitably became.

I carried my coffee out on the back deck to enjoy the morning sunlight.
It was a splendid summer day, but I had no ear for the raucous singing of
the birds.  Instead I turned to follow the sound of a dribbling
basketball.  Across the fence in my next-door neighbor's yard I caught
sight of the young boy.

I had forgotten about Ryan.  He had moved into the house next-door the
previous winter, just in time for the first snow.  It was just Ryan and
his mom, and I had watched as he trudged out after each storm to clear
their walk and driveway with a shovel just a bit too long for him.
Usually by the time he came out I had already finished my driveway and
was dressing for work.  Then one day, after an unprecedented ten inches
had shut down both the public schools and the church school where I
worked, I had the perfect opportunity to meet him.

I had just finished my own driveway when he emerged, bundled warmly
against the cold and dragging the adult-sized shovel behind him.  I could
tell instantly that he would struggle with the heavy load of wet snow,
and my sympathy with boys everywhere drew me towards his sidewalk.  I
offered to help, and he soon agreed.  I spent another hour clearing his
driveway and about half of the walk while he handled the other half.  The
gesture had earned me both his friendship and his mother's.

Deb was a nurse, a single mom drawn to this quiet neighborhood of small,
older houses for the same reasons I was - limited income and a desire to
avoid the noise of the apartments on the outskirts of town.  It occurred
to me as I sipped my coffee that first morning of the summer that I
hadn't heard what she was planning to do with Ryan during vacation.  Her
car didn't seem to be around, but there was the boy.  Most of the
carefully protective parents at my school wouldn't leave a ten-year-old
alone during the day, but I imagined Ryan was capable of surviving.

His head was down as he concentrated on his dribbling.  His sandy hair
drooped over his eyes; he didn't have excessively long hair, but it was
longer than my school's rather strict dress code allowed.  I always
thought it was cute - strands of sandy hair framed his sharp, elfin
face.  A thought occurred to me.  Ryan didn't have a basketball net over
his garage, but I did - a left-over from the previous owner.

"Hey, Ryan!"

The basketball bounced away unheeded as the startled boy turned rapidly
about looking for the voice.  He had the guilty look some boys have
whenever they are discovered, no matter how innocent their activities.
"Oh, hey, Kent."  Ryan smiled as he saw me and ran over to the fence.

"First day of summer," I said with an enthusiasm I didn't feel.  "You
excited?"

"Yeah, it's awesome," he replied.  It was a standard reply.  No
self-respecting nine-year-old would admit being sad about school ending,
even if he felt that way.  Ryan would be ten later that summer.  The last
vestiges of freckles were fading from his nose, but his body wasn't
filling out yet.  He retained the lithe grace of early childhood.
Perhaps he would retain it and miss the awkward stage.

"You know what," I said, "I never use that net."  I gestured toward
my garage.  "The last owner left it.  You're welcome to come over and
use it any time you want."

"Really?  That would be cool!"  The boy's emotions ratcheted up and
down as only a young boy's can.  His sudden exuberance dissipated
immediately.  "Oh," he said, haltingly, "only, I'm not supposed to
leave the property while my mom's at work."

That answered that.  I hope I hid my disappointment better than he had.
"Of course.  You don't want to break the rules."

His face lightened again.  "I could ask her, though.  She might let me
come over; mom thinks you're cool!"

"Ask her," I answered.  "You're welcome anytime."

Seeing Ryan had lifted my spirits a bit.  It wasn't the same as having a
classroom full of kids all to myself, but at least I wouldn't be
entirely without any contact with boys this summer.  I went back into my
house and started organizing things.  My plan for the first day or two
was to clean up.  I hadn't really even begun when the pounding of a
dribbled basketball began again, this time right outside my house.  I
poked my head out an upstairs window and looked down to see Ryan missing
a shot.

He caught sight of me and waved.  "She said `no problem'!" he yelled
up.  He certainly had wasted no time calling his mom to ask.

I smiled and ducked back into the house.  My heart was racing a bit as it
often did when I was especially attracted to a student.  There was no
denying it: Ryan was a great-looking kid.  It had been two years since I
had had a boy so - well, pretty - in my class.  All too often the
best-looking boys would wind up in another classroom, leading me to
year-long frustration.  Ryan, though, seemed ideal to me: thin and
active, with that longish sandy hair and piercing blue eyes.  Even his
voice was sexy, or at least it seemed so to me.

I had a hard time keeping calm that morning.  I had admired Ryan before,
but suddenly he was thrust upon me.  He was right outside - Right
Outside! - and I was totally smitten.  I imagined all sorts of encounters
that morning, and I struggled to keep control.  The pounding of the
basketball seemed to go on forever, and it kept him right at the
forefront of my thoughts.  After what was probably not more than an hour,
I came up with an excuse to go out to the driveway.

I grabbed a water bottle went to the deck, came down the steps, and
rounded the corner of the house.  "Thirsty?"  I asked as I waved the
water bottle.

Ryan gladly took the bottle and took a long, slow drink.  Sweat glistened
down his neck as he threw his head back, even drinking with youthful
enthusiasm.  Necks were beautiful?  I had never noticed before.

Ryan's smile when he thanked me melted me.  I couldn't bring myself to
go back inside.  I grabbed the ball and squared up for a long shot.  I
was limitlessly grateful that I made that shot.  The boy was impressed.

"Whoa, cool!"  He chased the ball to the edge of the driveway.  As he
bent to pick it up my breath hissed at the curve of his butt against his
long basketball shorts.  He turned and trotted back.  "You want to
play?" he asked.  I hadn't exactly come out to play with him, but I
couldn't turn him down either.

We played one-on-one for the next half hour.  At first I was careful to
let Ryan have his way whenever he had the ball, but as the game went on I
consciously made it more physical.  I bumped him and crowded him whenever
I could, and he responded in kind, laughing when we knocked each other
over in a heap once.  Boys love physicality.  It isn't necessarily a
sexual thing; they just respond to physical contact.  I used that fact in
a variety of ways when I was teaching, usually enjoying the closeness
myself but also accomplishing something important in my relationship with
my students.  A squeezed shoulder could do wonders.  Now Ryan was clearly
enjoying my attention.

I found myself obsessed with his butt.  It seemed to be fleshed out more
than the rest of his skinny frame.  That wasn't unusual, of course, but
I found it tremendously arousing.  I desperately wanted to touch it, but
basketball, even hard physical basketball, doesn't really give itself to
groping.

Finally the opportunity came.  He was out at the top of the key and I was
defending him.  He had turned his back to me to cover his dribble, and he
looked over one shoulder then another for an opportunity to drive past
me.  I was crouched low, with a perfect view of his backside.  Finally,
just as he was turning from one side to the other, I reached out and
smartly swatted him.  He yelped and jumped forward, loosing control of
the ball which I quickly scooped up.

"No fair!" he shouted, but he was laughing.

"You gave me the target," I said, but I returned the ball nonetheless.
My heart was beating quickly now.  I had smacked his cute butt once, but
I wanted much more.  I had to remind myself of the realities of the
situation.

Five minutes later the game was over.  Ryan headed home to grab lunch and
I went inside myself for a shower.  Standing under the stream of warm
water, I closed my eyes and imagined the tight shorts pulled across
Ryan's luscious buttocks.  I imagined myself slapping him repeatedly,
and then pulling down the shorts^Å"  I jacked off and had a huge
orgasm.  This was becoming my best first day of summer in years.

I hadn't seen the last of Ryan, though.  Around three o'clock I heard a
knock on my back door.  I went back to find the boy standing there.  He
had changed, and he looked like he had showered, too.  He was wearing
denim shorts and a blue tee shirt now, but the sandy hair still hung down
over his sparkling eyes.

"What's up, buddy?"  I asked as I opened the door.

"I got bored at home, and I can't really go anywhere, but mom did say I
could come over here.  You don't mind, do you?"

"Of course not, come in."  I opened the door and let Ryan in.  He
brushed against me as he came by, and I swatted the top of his butt..
"Watch where you're going, kid."

Ryan grinned up at me, and then, unexpectedly, he lunged at me.  He was
lonely, and he was a boy.  He wanted company, and that meant physical
play.  I gladly obliged him.  I chased him from the kitchen and caught
him in the den, pinning him to the carpet and tickling his ribs.  Without
any need for explanation we fell to wrestling.

Now wresting is not like basketball; you're actually expected to press
your bodies together.  Furthermore, when a man is wrestling with a boy,
the unwritten rules of the sport are adjusted.  Of course he must let the
boy up from time to time, but there are compensations.  Tickling is
allowed, although it would be considered foul play in a more evenly
matched competition.  Smacks on the bottom are also acceptable.  It seems
that these two activities - tickling and spanking - are so intrinsic to
the relationships between men and boys that they are easily overlooked.

I took full advantage, particularly of the proximity of Ryan's cute
little butt.  In the course of our romp I delivered several stinging
smacks to his rear.  Occasionally my hand lingered longer than necessary,
and on one occasion I could almost be said to have grabbed his butt.  It
was all within the unwritten rules of engagement, and Ryan said nothing
about it.

When at last we lay panting on the floor, smiling across the carpet at
each other, I asked him, "So, is this what you do when you're bored?
Attack unsuspecting neighbors?"

Ryan just laughed.  I got up and offered him a snack.

When I came back from the kitchen, he was perusing the pictures of my
classes on the wall.  I went over to him and stood near him, telling him
about my kids.  After a moment I let my hands rest on his shoulders as I
stood behind him.  He could assume that my heavy breathing was the result
of our tussle, if he wished; I knew otherwise.  As Ryan turned to head
over to the table where I had put a coke and some chips for him, I made
my first mistake.

I had enjoyed the access to his cute bottom while we wrestled, and now I
couldn't stop myself.  I reached down and lightly smacked him twice on
the way by.  It was an affectionate gesture, but it obviously surprised
him.  He looked quizzically at me, a question lingering about his lips.
I tried to ignore it, but to my horror he asked it directly.  There was a
mischievous glint in his eyes as he said, "You like smacking me, huh?"

I shrugged and said, "It seemed like the thing to do."  Long experience
in a classroom full of sexy boys had taught me to blow off these awkward
moments.  Ryan seemed to accept my explanation.  It was a good thing,
because I couldn't tell him the truth.

I couldn't tell him that yes, I liked smacking him.  I couldn't tell
him that I dreamed about spanking boys just like him, and I certainly
couldn't tell him that I had just jacked off in the shower after the
first time I touched his butt.  It was the great secret that I could tell
no one.  I certainly couldn't let anyone at school find out how much I
enjoyed it when my job required me to bend a boy over a chair and swat
his bottom.  Even other boy-lovers, at least the ones whose stories I
read, all acted as though they would be horrified at the idea.

If possible this was the secret that lay even deeper than my hidden
pedophilia.  Boys' butts are just so sexy, and the sight of one pushed
up and presented can't be anything but sexy to a guy like me.  To me, it
just seemed right that a man should spank a boy, and that he should enjoy
doing it.  It was an intimate, sensual act, one that had for time
immemorial stood in the place of sex for men who couldn't admit their
attraction to boys.  Spanking and sex were entwined as one in my
thinking, and I went to bed most nights dreaming about spanking a boy I
loved.

Ryan couldn't know that of course, nor anyone else.  Thankfully he
seemed to let the subject drop.

I sat on the couch as he sat at the table finishing his snack.  I gazed
at him, happy to have something so pretty to look at, while he rambled on
about his friends, his school, and the town he and his mom had lived in
before.   Then, when he was done with his snack, he came over and sat
next to me, continuing to talk.  We chatted for a while, and he seemed to
be looking to continue the physical contact with me, punching my arm as
we joked and the like.

Somehow the conversation wound around to the jokes he and his friends had
played on their teacher during the past school year.  I, of course, acted
shocked, which prompted lots of giggling and further stories of their
naughtiness.

At last I said, "You are a bad, bad boy, aren't you," and I grabbed
him in a headlock, tousling his sandy hair..

"Well," he asked, "what are you going to do, spank me?"

He had brought it up again.  I was momentarily terrified, but at the same
time I was getting aroused.  My answer was more daring than it should
have been.  "That depends on just how bad you are."

"Oh," he said, with an exaggerated nod, "I'm bad.  I'm very, very
bad."

If he were twenty, and if this were a bdsm club, that would be a come
on.  In the circumstances, I just wasn't sure.  "Well then," I
answered non-committaly.

"Yeah?" he demanded.

I was fully aroused and thinking thoughts I should not be thinking.  If
he gave me the least encouragement^Å

"Are you?" he asked.

I took a deep breath and crooked my finger at him.  "Come here," I
beckoned.

I was somewhat shocked when Ryan started coming.  He stood up and walked
to my side.  I expected him to lunge at any minute, but he waited to see
what I would do.  I took a hold of his arm and pulled him towards my lap,
and he mutely, submissively allowed himself to be draped over my lap.
His head and arms rested on the seat of the couch beside me, and his legs
dangled to the floor.  Did he want this to happen?

I reached down and touched his butt, then began rubbing it gently.  I
gave him a light smack, then another, and a third.  I stopped.

"Is that all the better you can do?" he asked in his brattiest tone.

"Oh," I answered.  "You want me to SPANK you.  I didn't realize."

For some reason this kid was begging me to whack his backside, and I was
not one to refuse him.  I pulled his legs up onto the couch so that he
was lying horizontally, with only his bottom pushed up.  I tossed the
tail of his tee shirt up over his back so that his nicely curved buttocks
were even more prominent.  I allowed myself the luxury of rubbing them
again through the denim fabric, and finally, I began to spank him in
earnest.

I probably gave him twenty to twenty-five hard smacks, and my hand was
stinging when I was done.  Ryan never made a sound, but he bucked and
twisted on my lap the whole time.  When I was done, I was naturally
afraid.  What if I had made him angry?  How would I explain if he
complained?  This had been stupid of me^Åbut my fears were needless.
When I let him up he turned to me with a wide-eyed smile and breathed,
"That was awesome!"

Ryan jumped on my lap and threw his arms around my shoulders, and only
then did I realize that he was as hard as I was.  I had been so aware of
my own arousal that I hadn't realized that he hadn't just been
squirming; he had been humping my leg while I spanked him!  This kid was
my dream-boy: a cute, horny little kid who got off being spanked!

I didn't question why it was; I just thanked my lucky stars and wrapped
Ryan in a tight embrace.  He laid his head on my chest and sighed, and I
began to rub his back.  After a few moments, I let my hand stray to his
bottom.  "Want me to rub out the sting?" I asked.  He murmured his
assent, and I began to squeeze and massage his lovely butt with both
hands.  He ground his crotch against mine, obviously enjoying my
attention.  I kissed the top of his head lightly - a normal enough
fatherly gesture to go with the spanking.  But then I shifted my head
around and kissed the rim at the back of his ear just as gently.  He
didn't protest, so I nuzzled at the back of his neck and gave him a
longer kiss.  Ryan sighed, and we sat like that, my face buried in the
back of his neck, my hands caressing his stinging bottom.

Summer didn't depress me anymore.