Head Boy - Sex Stories

Head Boy

... the time I was in my last year of school I was the go-to guy for anyone whose car was acting up, but in between times, I wasbored. Most of my mates had covered off the basics on their own cars and were moving on to modifications, and I just couldn't manage to give a shit about airhorns or spoilers or intercoolers or bodykits or custom shocks - I was still roving around on my brother's second-hand motorbike, and what I liked best was being in amongst theguts of an engine, but I wasn't getting the same opportunities any longer.

Waiting for the train one damp school morning with the same sad collection of people I'd being doing this with for the last four years and counting, I was taking in the ugly scenery and thinking of how much I was looking forward to getting out of this speck on the map, this used-to-be-a-town, this narrow wizened little settlement so inconsequential that it couldn't even boast a high school - which was why I was standing on this partially covered platform in the swirling drizzle waiting for a northbound train along with all the sons and daughters of the folk who lived this side of the crest, in the shade, in the damp, in a long echoey cleft through which the main trunk line also passed.

The kids standing on theother side of the platform waiting for a southbound train to their private schools got sunsets over the sea and to fall asleep to the sound of waves, not the roar of diesel engines and the skittering clatter of freight wagons. My grumpy ...

... thoughts were blasted apart by another one of those hurtling through, leaving a sucking vacuum and a tang in the air, and in its wake I looked across the rail-yard and saw something...

I mean, obviously I'd seen it before. I'd always lived here and it'd been there far longer than that. What happened was I joined the dots.

My hardly-even-a-place hometown boasted a rail-yard out of all proportion to any importance it could ever have had, because it'd been a coaling depot in the days of steam. I knew that. I'd always known that. The water-tank for filling the boilers was still standing only a hundred metres away, up on its stilts, oozy and rusting...but it was operational, I knew that too, because it got used occasionally when they ran exhibition-day trips on the restored steam train.

The restored steam train that was sitting in a shedjust over there, alongside several other ancient locomotives in varying states of disrepair, that a band of volunteers worked on every weekend...

My own train arrived, modern and electric, and I shoved my way on board, slouching against a partition, projecting the correct amount of bored resignation, but the blood was rushing around my body at warp speed, my thoughts all over the place.

Trains...fuck, yeah...so complex, all shutters and pistons and valves and...dude, you can't, what if people found out? Yeah, railway enthusiasts? Next-level loserdom - I mean, I even thought it myself - but...if I wanted to be in the guts of a ...