From: xfiction@aol.com (X Fiction)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: Literary Dreams -----(m/m)
Date: 7 Apr 1995 09:59:44 -0400
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The following short story contains a graphic description of consensual sex
between two
males. If this subject matter offends you, then just DON'T read it.
"Literary Dreams"
by Dan Vickery
(with selections taken from Walt Whitman's "Leaves of Grass")
Copyright 1995
Work was slow. Work was always slow. There wasn't much to do unless we
had
customers...and with the weather like it was, people just weren't
interested in venturing
outside. On a miserable day like that we'd usually just stand around and
talk. You know,
guy talk. David would tell dirty jokes, Tom would tell us how he wasn't
getting any from
his wife, and I would constantly remind them that if they had time to
lean, they had time
to clean!
This day was different though. We had a new employee who just finished
training and
was now in that shaky stage of trying to get a handle on everyone else.
We had to be
friendly and have fun, but also try not to offend his sensibilities (if he
actually had any).
It's always the same topics. Where are you from? Where'd you go to
school? Have you
tried the new restaurant on 136th yet? Thank God for David and his silly
streak.
"Enough of this bullshit," he said, "hey Tom, who was your first serious
crush?"
Tom's face reddened, as it always did when the topic was even remotely
sexual. "Ah
shit...why do I always have to go first?"
"Okay, okay. How about you, Kenneth? You're the rookie, spill it," David
said with a
glint in his eye.
Kenneth shifted from foot to foot, crinkled up his nose and put his hand
to his chin.
Obviously deep in thought, I laughed to myself. Then suddenly, "That's
easy!!" We all
looked at him in anticipation of this great tale. "I was in high school,"
he began, "and I
had this English teacher..."
As soon as he said that, sweet (and spicy) memories from my own high
school days in
English class flooded my head. I'll never forget the first day of school
my senior year, 1st
period American Literature, room 112, Mr. McLean. Now I knew why the
entire female
population frantically tried to get their schedules changed to his class.
He was tall, with
wavy dark hair, and penetrating brown eyes. His body was tight, his
features classically
handsome, and an air of confidence that just fascinated me. I remember
watching his lips
move as he spoke, I remember the tingling feeling I got when I heard him
read a passage
from his notes about our first author of study aloud:
"Afternoon, this delicious Ninth Month, in my forty-
first year,
I proceed, for all who are, or have been, young
men,
To tell the secret of my nights and days,
To celebrate the need of comrades."
I had never been a very good student. Most of the time I'd rather sit in
a quiet room, a
room filled with my own dreams, than study. I always squeaked by with
passing grades,
and never gave school a thought after the final bell rang. Jeff McClean
changed all that.
We sat at these long wooden tables with six chairs around them. Mr.
McClean had a habit
of sitting on the corner of the table in the back of the class. I noticed
this on the first day,
and made sure I got there early the next morning so I could take the seat
nearest that
corner.
Each period started with him sitting on the edge of my table, close enough
for me to feel
the heat radiating from his body, and reading something from the lesson
plan:
"No longer abashed--for in this secluded spot I can
respond as I would not dare elsewhere,
Strong upon me the life that does not exhibit itself,
yet contains all the rest,
Resolved to sing no songs to-day but those of manly attachment,
Projecting them along the substantial life,
Bequeathing, hence, types of athletic love,"
Then the class would make a weak attempt at a group discussion. I say it
was weak
because most of the boys in the class could care less, and the girls were
to busy drooling
over Mr. McClean to pay attention to what he was reading. The words that
fell from his
lips fascinated me.
I sat in my seat and read and reread these passages over and over again.
I saw so much
more than the other students saw when they read them. "What's so
interesting," I could
feel Mr. McLean's words in the form of moist warm air brush past the side
of my neck.
His tie tickling my back as he leaned over me from behind, "The bell rang
three minutes
ago."
I jumped, startled, "I...I...I was just reading ahead a little." We were
alone in the room.
Mr. McClean leaned closer, I could feel the heat in my body rising. If he
got any closer,
his chest would be pressed against my back and I remember thinking that
I'd have to just
die right there. He began to read:
"Or, if you will, thrusting me beneath your clothing,
Where I may feel the throbs of your heart, or rest
upon your hip,
Carry me when you go forth over land or sea;
For thus, merely touching you is enough--is best,
And thus, touching you, would I silently sleep and be
carried eternally."
"I don't think they understand it," I said.
Mr. McClean pulled out the chair beside me, and sat down. I could breathe
again. "And
you do?"
"It's...um...very...ah...erotic," I said.
"Yes, it is," he replied with his eyes locked onto mine, "Read to me."
The tension in the room was almost unbearable. I couldn't take my eyes
from his, my
palms were sweating, I could feel my face getting red. I was never a good
reader,
especially when I had to do it in front of other people. Just as I really
started to panic,
students for his 2nd period class started coming in. Mr. McClean stood
up, squeezed my
shoulder, "Maybe another time then," and left me to pick up my things.
This brief encounter was etched in my mind, and it was all I could think
about. I couldn't
decide if there was actually something there, something in the smile he
gave me every
time I walked into his class, or if I had just imagined the whole thing.
It's certainly not the
kind of thing you ask the guys about after gym class. I ended up going to
the library
when I knew he went there, I joined Literary Club that he ran at the
school, and I even
started doing my homework!
Similar exchanges went on for weeks. They gradually became less
nerve-racking, and I
felt more and more comfortable with, what I thought of as, 'our
situation'. One Saturday
night, after a day of drinking and partying I was feeling rather brave
(not to mention
horny), and decided that tonight was going to be the night. If there was
something there
between Mr. McClean and I, then I needed to know.
I found Mr. McClean's phone number in the book and dialed. With each ring
I became
more nervous. Finally, on the fourth ring a mixed feeling of relief, and
disappointment
washed over me as I heard his answering machine click on...
"Hi, this is Jeff. I can't come to the phone right now, but leave a quick
message and your
number, and I'll call you back."
Too nervous to speak, I hung up. Upset and disappointed at myself for not
at least
leaving a message, I picked up my English book and started reading. An
idea! I quickly
hit the redial button on the phone and waited for that magical beep that
would begin my
journey.
Beep.
"Hi, um, this is John, um, you know, from 1st period English? Anyway, I
was just
reading, well, and thinking. Shit, I wish I could start this over.
Anyway, I wanted to read
this to you, cause, well, you said I could sometime.
O YOU whom I often and silently come where you
are, that I may be with you,
As I walk by your side, or sit near, or remain in the
same room with you,
Little you know the subtle electric fire that for your
sake is playing within me."
The hairs on the nape of my neck stand up as I hear the sound of the phone
being picked
up. "John? You still there?"
"Oh, hi, yeah, I'm still here. I didn't think you were home..."
"That was an interesting passage you chose. I'd like to hear more. You
want to go for a
drive or something?"
"A drive? Sure."
"Great, I'll meet you in the parking lot of the library, okay?"
"See you in a few, Mr. McL...um...I mean Jeff."
I hung up the phone and raced to the library. Being 10:30 on Saturday
night, the parking
lot was deserted. I paced back and forth waiting for Jeff to show up. I
had a million
things racing through my mind about what the night had in store for me.
Just as I was getting completely lost in a fantasy, I saw Jeff's car
pulling into the lot. He
drove up to the curb and pushed the passenger side door open. I got in.
We didn't talk
much, he was obviously as nervous as I was. I watched him out of the
corner of my eye,
his profile highlighted by the passing street lights. He reached over and
put his hand on
my leg, slowly rubbing his thumb back and forth. "What do you say we go
somewhere
quiet," he asked.
"That'd be cool," I said, putting my hands in my lap, trying to hide my
excitement.
We drove to a small, secluded parking lot by the beach. "Are you sure
this is okay with
you," he asked.
"Yeah, sure," I said and placed my hand on top of his.
He turned off the car and we sat looking at each other in silence for what
seemed like
hours. He was incredible. Finally he reached over and slowly started to
unbutton my
shirt. I watched his hands work on the buttons, brushing against the
smooth skin of my
chest. A shiver ran through my body at his touch. He traced my jaw with
his finger, then
my neck, then my lips. He leaned towards me and placed his lips where his
fingers had
been. Jaw, neck, lips. I spread my lips apart, welcoming him inside.
Our tongues
wrestled inside our mouths, and I began exploring his body with my hands.
Jeff pulled away from me and started working his mouth down my neck. I
leaned my
head back and let him bite and lick his way to my chest. He ran his
tongue in circles over
one of my nipples, sometimes flicking it back and forth, sometimes biting
it and sending
little electric shocks through my entire body. I looked down and watched
him fumble
with the buttons on my jeans, and ran my fingers through his hair.
Not wasting any time he reached inside and pulled my hard cock out of my
pants. He spit
in his hand and rubbed the saliva up and down my shaft. I moaned and
wiggled around.
He licked his tongue out, barely touching the head of my cock. I thrust
my hips up trying
to force my cock in between those lips, but he pulled away. He reached
down and
brought my balls out of my jeans. It was ecstasy, and torture. He licked
and sucked on
my balls while his hand stroked the shaft of my cock. Eery once in awhile
he'd flick his
tongue around the head just to tease. I couldn't take much more.
I grabbed the base of my cock and squeezed it hard. He let his lips
surround the swollen
head. I put my hands on the back of his head and pushed him slowly down
the length of
my cock. I could feel his warm, hot mouth engulfing every inch. He
slowly bobbed his
head up and down. The head of my cock scraped against the roof of his
mouth, then
popped into the back of his throat. I could feel his throat muscles
constricting around my
cock head. Then he'd pull his mouth off and plunge it all the way back
on. I pushed his
head down once more until he had my whole cock buried deep in his throat.
He bit down
on the base and slowly pulled off of me, scraping his teeth gently against
my cock.
He looked up at me and kissed me again, pumping his hand up and down the
length of my
cock, twisting his fist around the head. I started to thrust my cock in
and out of his fist.
He pulled away from me and watched as his hand slid up and down, and my
cock head
poking up through the top of his fist with every thrust. He bent down
again and took the
head of my cock into his mouth. He took his hand away and sucked hard on
my cock,
pulling it all the way inside him. I thrust in and out of his throat and
he sucked on my
throbbing cock. With one final thrust, he squeezed my balls and I came
hard down his
throat. He slowly licked my cock from base to head and then sat up,
almost as out of
breath as I was.
I reached over to free his cock from the restraint of his pants, but he
grabbed my hand and
stopped me. "You don't have to," he said.
"Huh? But I want to..."
"No, let me just take you back to your car." And with that he had started
the car and we
were already backing out of the parking space.
At this point I was really confused. I didn't know what to say, so I just
didn't say
anything. Jeff seemed very agitated, I wanted to comfort him, but he no
longer seemed
like the person I thought I knew. He dropped me off at the library, and
we never again
had those tense moments that made me think we had 'a situation' or
anything else. As a
matter of fact, after that night, he stopped sitting on my table, and I
stopped going to the
Literary Club meetings.
Snapping out of my daydream, I heard David ask, "Okay John, it's your
turn...who was
your first crush?"
I glanced at my watch and said, "Sorry guys, time to close up...maybe
you'll get to hear
about my crush next time."
As I went through the motions of closing, I entered that daydream again.
Remembering
the day I met Mr. McClean's wife of 5 years, and 3 year old son at the
homecoming
game. In a way I was disappointed, in another way I was relieved.
Meeting his family
made me understand that strange night a little better.
I still think of him every so often. Especially when I flip through my
senior yearbook and
read what he wrote to me:
"And that night, while all was still, I heard the waters
roll slowly continually up the shores,
I heard the hissing rustle of the liquid and sands,
as directed to me, whispering, to congratulate
me,
For the one I love most lay sleeping by me under the
same cover in the cool night,
In the stillness, in the autumn moonbeams, his face
was inclined toward me,
And his arm lay lightly around my breast--And that
night I was happy."