Head Boy - Sex Stories

Head Boy

... machine?

Now that the door was open a chink, I felt the lure of the place like an undertow. I tipped my head back to stare at the roof of the carriage and tried to do the math. Could I pull it off, having an ultra-dorky hobby?

Maybe, I thought, maybe...I wasn't in the herd's top tier where you can't make a single wrong move because there's so much to lose, so far to fall, and I wasn't one of those guys who's so socially unaware that people are just lining up to whale on you either. I did well enough academically, I wasn't a total failure on a sports field, and mostly I just passed under the radar, which was how I'd always wanted it...

I told myself I was still weighing it up when I got off the train at the end of the day, but already I knew I was gonna cave. I stood and stared yearningly across the tracks and sidings while everyone else jostled and bumped their way around me and away.

Why the fuck not? I thought. How bad could it possibly be? Even if it makes me loser of the year, there's only the remainder of this one year, and then I'm gonna leave - and once I leave, I won't have the opportunity anymore...

I don't know what they thought of me when I showed up that first Saturday, with my ripped jeans and metal t-shirt, my undercut and bro knot and my vaguely bogan air with a little injection of extra attitude to cover up the nerves I was feeling, but they were friendly and welcoming - I guess enthusiasts are always looking for recruits. As for me, that ...

... rail shed quickly became a haven, a greasy grimy dusty cobweb-infested wonderland that I slotted right into like I'd always been there.

Most of the guys were in their fifties or even older, and had the names to prove it. There was a Bill and a Pat and a Ron and a Don and a Ray, there was a Lekkie whose name was actually Alec, there was a Bazza whose name wasn't Barry, a Jimbo whose real name was Alan...and Steven. Steven, who was probably only in his thirties, slight and tight and ash-blond, with a prominent adam's apple and soon enough an even more prominent position in my spank-bank...

As for the others, I didn't exactly go home and fantasise about them the way I did with Steven, but despite the grey hair they were all strong and fit andmale, and I was young and horny and gay, and honestly I would probably have gone quietly around the back with any or all of them, given the opportunity.

So I thought about it, yeah. Theoretically. I didn't expect it to actuallyhappen. I didn't expectanything to actually happen.

Whatdid happen was...Symon Ward-Mortlock was what happened. Yes, with a 'y'. And a hyphen. Maybe the fourth Saturday I went down to the sheds, he sauntered in and was hailed from all directions - "Symon, hey!", "Symon's back!", "How'd it go, mate?", and so on.

It seemed like he was well bedded into the fabric of the place, and he'd just been away for a bit. Probably bloody skiing with his family in Colorado or some dumb thing like that, because, yes, I ...