Date: Sat, 23 Jan 2016 22:26:51 +0000 (UTC)
From: norcalbater <norcalbater@yahoo.com>
Subject: Chuck's Report

Chuck's Report

The only reason Chuck paid any attention to me in seventh grade was because
I helped him with his English homework. At least that's what I thought.

He lived about six blocks away, just far enough in our suburban
neighborhood that I first met him at school instead of at the park near my
house where lots of kids hung out. His park was ten blocks west. But he sat
next to me in seventh grade English and our teacher believed in peer
editing. I helped him enough that one October day he asked me to come to
his house after school. I'd help him with a report; he'd give me chips and
a Pepsi.

I didn't care about the Pepsi. Chuck was fuckin' hot.

He wore a golden corduroy jacket (that matched his hair) over a white shirt
with a couple of buttons undone. His jeans were just a little tight. He was
trim, getting tall quickly so that he verged on lanky, and his even
features were the setting for mysterious hazel eyes.

But even more than all that, the way he moved made me catch my
breath. Every motion, every gesture was fluid, full of grace. When he got
up from his desk at school, one might think he had choreographed and
practiced it, but he did not seem conscious of the sensuous way he rose,
stretched, and stepped toward the door, masculine at every point but as
graceful as a dancer. Girls gaped at him. So did a couple of the guys.

I kept getting hard when we leaned close together over his dining room
table where we labored over his ungrammatical, awkwardly constructed
report.

The third visit, about a week after the first time, he noticed.

After about a half hour of painful work--Chuck was as bad at English as I
was at math-- he groaned.

"This sucks! I can't figure out what to say there," he said as he pointed
at a bothersome paragraph with his pencil. The he leaned back in his chair
and happened to glance down, and he noticed the tent in my pants.

He looked up at me. I sat frozen, meeting his eyes but with no idea what to
say.

"Dude, you have a problem?" He said it softly. I couldn't read him--was he
angry, disgusted, or maybe cool?

"Um. Yeah. Well, I guess I do." I had been absolutely erect sitting next to
him for at least twenty minutes and my cock showed no sign of going down.

"Isn't that kinda distracting?" He gestured toward my crotch as he said it.

I could barely breathe. I had wanted to be close to him, to hang out with
him, just for the way being near him made me feel. It was all falling
apart. He'd kick me out of his house, and tomorrow he'd tell one of his
much cooler friends on the soccer team about the queer kid.

Since I seemed incapable of speech, he continued. "You really are
distracted, huh? Well, that's okay. I get distracted too, sometimes."

"What?"

"I get distracted too. Just like you are. I mean, right now I don't want to
keep working on this damned report."

I gulped and said, "But it's due on Friday." Immediately I wished I had
shut up.

He smiled a little for the first time. "We can finish it tomorrow. There's
time. And my mom is working late tonight."

I got myself together and started breathing again. "Oh. Okay. So we can
deal with that tomorrow. Good. So maybe we could . . ." I stopped, unsure
if he wanted me to go home and deal with the distraction, or. The big or.

His eyes still locked on mine, he casually placed his right hand on my
back, and then glanced down between his legs. My eyes followed and I saw a
growing lump decorated by a zipper.

He reached down with his left hand and groped the growing mound. I mirrored
his movements, grabbing myself. His right hand stayed on my back.

This went on for maybe thirty second and I noticed he was watching me just
as I was watching him. "You want to go up to my bedroom?" he asked, voice
husky, and stood without waiting for an answer. I followed him as he padded
up the stairs like a puma.

In his bedroom he turned to face me and we continued feeling ourselves for
a moment.  He licked his lips a little. I realized he was about to speak
but was steeling himself for what he was going to say. Chuck, nervous?

"Let's do it," he said, barely audible.

"Okay--do what?"

"Let's beat off."

I felt the heat of desire rising on my neck and face. I waited until he
looked up at my face again--he had been staring at my hand on my bulging
jeans. I nodded.

He started unbuttoning his shirt while he kicked off his shoes and then
reached for his belt. I gaped at his trim, beautifully proportioned chest
and started removing my own clothes. So we're getting naked, I thought. My
cock was so hard it was almost painful.

He shoved his jeans and boxers down all at once and I saw his erection,
curving up a little under a small but thick patch of dark gold pubic
hair. He kicked off the tangle of jeans and underwear, stumbling, suddenly
not graceful. He caught his balance and looked up at me from a crouch and I
saw desire on his face. For me.

He got on his bed, back resting against the wall, his socks on but
otherwise naked. He patted the spot beside him; in a second we sat side by
side, boned and already breathing a little hard. His cock rocked slightly
with his heartbeat.

He started stroking himself and looked over at me to see if I was
watching. Hell yes, I was watching. I grabbed my cock and started to work
it but I had to stop almost immediately. Chuck stroked for a few second
longer and paused.

"Why did you stop?"

"I didn't want to cum yet."

He smiled, bigger and wider than I'd ever seen before. "You're that turned
on?"

I smiled back. "With you, yeah," I said, and wondered if I'd said too much.

His grin gave way to a look of pure lust. "Touch yourself again," he said.

I cupped my balls and grabbed my boner. I shook it a little and stroked
once.

His jaw fell open and he moaned as he watched me. He stroked his cock
exactly four times and cum spurted onto his stomach and over his fist. I
saw another movement out of the corner of my eye and saw his legs jerking a
little.

He looked over at me as I stared slack-jawed as his chest heaved and he
fingered his dripping cock. I grabbed myself and pumped hard for a few
seconds and I came with a yelp. The first shot hit just below my chin. The
last dribbled over my fist as I regained focus and saw Chuck gazing at the
puddles of cum on both of us.

Then the best part started. It didn't get weird. We grinned at each other
like idiots and laughed and joked after Chuck got an old towel and we
cleaned up. After a few minutes we settled in to talk, still naked, half
hard.

I said, "I couldn't believe you'd want to do that with me. You're so . . ."

"I'm so what?" he said.

"Don't make fun of me for saying."

"Okay."

"Cool. Handsome." I cleared my throat, nervous again. "Sexy."

He looked startled. "Wow. Really?"

I almost whispered. "Yeah."

We were sitting on the bed and he turned to face me, exposing his hanging
balls. I liked looking at them. "I think you're great. I mean I like the
way you help me with the English stuff. You're patient and you act like you
care how I do."

He looked down and blushed bright red. "And you're cute."

I decided I could live with cute rather than handsome, as long as Chuck
meant it. But I hadn't thought of myself as attractive, to Chuck or
anybody.

He raised his head, eyes sliding up my body until he focused tightly on my
eyes. "You make me so fucking hard," he said, and again he was. In seconds
my half-hard cock grew rigid.

"I want to touch you," he said. I reached across and placed my hand on his
chest. It was warm and I felt his breath rise and fall. I slipped my hand
down. Chuck bit his bottom lip and reached directly for my hard-on.  He
grasped it and a moment later my hand trailed across his pubic hair and
reached his helmet-headed erection. We looked down and watched as we
unabashedly felt each other up.

Soon we were stroking each other but the position was awkward, so again we
sat together, backs against the wall. We traded hands. I loved the way his
cock felt, both hard and flexible with a trace of moisture. Then more, as
big drop of pre-cum coated the head.  He pumped me steadily and it felt so
good, even better than when I did it myself. Any remaining shyness was
gone--we told each other what we liked, guided each other's hands.

This time we lasted a little longer. We even managed to coach each other
enough to back off when we were ready to shoot, twice.

But soon we had to. I came first, pushing up into his hand and spurting
onto his arm.  Then I continued working his bone, sliding my palm all the
way over the head and twisting a little on the upstroke.

Chuck started panting. "Really close," he gasped. I kept at it, watching
his legs tense and his fists clench.

Then he shook and yelled "Fuck fuck fuck" and came hard, shaking as cum
erupted. The last warm spurts coated my hand; I just held his cock, then,
unwilling to let go of him.

His eyes opened, he looked over at me, and took a couple of deep
breaths. In one fluid, beautiful movement, he rolled toward me, leveraged
his weight onto his knees, and pressed into me face to face. I slid from
the wall onto the bed and we lay there, sticky with cum, embracing. His
hazel eyes searched my face and he leaned in from above and we kissed for
the first time.

We finished the report the next day, barely, after handling another mutual
distraction in his bed. The next week he got it back with a grade of B at
the top instead of his usual C- or D.

Back in his bedroom, he handed it to me with a kiss and a grope. "You get
an A," he said.