School Blues - Sex Stories

School Blues

My name is Mike and I like reading stories about first times, partly because they throw my own into sharp relief. The men and women involved in other stories seem beautiful - bodies tanned, breasts large, confidence high - and their first time is invariably a wonderful, lengthy and knowing introduction into a rich and varied sexual world. Not mine. Fumbled and confusing are two adjectives that might describe it. Couched in self-loathing another description. My first sexual encounter certainly wasn’t glamorous. Even with the freedom granted by hindsight to dress it up, I can’t say that its landscape was special or its actors anything out of the ordinary. I wasn’t good-looking. Not ugly, because looking back at pictures of me at that age, I can see potential. But having just turned sixteen, I felt ugly. Hamstrung by hormones, geekiness and a sudden spurt in height, I was brown eyed, but with a face dominated by wire-rimmed glasses that I wasn’t to get rid of until I left for Uni. It was the sort of look that ensured limited success with girls. I had tried, but I there were class-loads full of more sporty, confident and handsome guys. Occasional forays met with little success. Having plucked up the courage to talk to one girl, I was crushed as a final-year student walked by and said to her in a voice intended for me to hear: “You can do better than that .” It didn’t help that I was boarding at a large international school. Nominally co-educational, there were few girls and ...

... opportunities for mixing with them were sparse. Sex was in the air though. But while boarding schools have a reputation as a sort of hive of homosexuality, that wasn’t the case to my knowledge. Such activity would have been easy to spot as there were lots of opportunities for staring at each others’ naked bodies if a lack of privacy meant little chance to do anything about it. My year of twelve shared a single dormitory with little to hide you from others apart from movable, half-height barriers between every couple of beds. The changing rooms lacked cubicles and showers were communal. In short, there were naked male bodies around a lot of the time. But all we talked about was girls. One guy in the dorm claimed to have lost his virginity in his early teens and described the experience to a rapt, silent audience at least once a week, the sex getting better each time. I imagined what it would be like, but it felt distant. I rarely masturbated and never to a conclusion. Perhaps I lacked the imagination. There was only one person in my year - Ashley - who was thought of as gay. Ashley wasn’t popular; I couldn’t remember anyone ever saying anything nice to him. Was that because everyone thought he was gay, or did people say he was gay because they didn’t like him? The distinction never crossed my mind. A couple of friends told me he had tried it on with them in the past, chasing them around the room, but he had been rejected. I didn't know if it was true or not, but like the others I ...