School Blues - Sex Stories

School Blues

... avoided him. There's no doubt he was irritating, wheedling and quick to suck up to a teacher. But I was passive compared to some about him so while others had a clique of dorm beds next to each other I ended up next to him. It didn’t matter to me though. He’d never tried anything with me. It must have been the specs. And however much I would like to embellish in hindsight, he was no tanned, rippling-muscled jock. A little shorter than me, he was slight, mousey-haired and porcelain-skinned. He had piercing green eyes half-hidden when his hair flopped over his face, but that’s only something that I remembered later. I remembered it after he made me come. One evening I was sitting at my desk in a large study room we shared for completing our school homework. There were a dozen desks that hugged the walls, but most were empty; their owners having disappeared to watch TV or eat something. But I was working on a short geography essay that had to be filed the next day. As usual I’d left it late and was hurrying to finish it. Ashley’s mop of hair appeared uninvited over the side of my cubicle. He was leaning over in his usual annoying manner. “What are you doing?” “Geography.” I didn’t look up from the page. “Can I see?” Ashley was in my Geography class. He probably hadn’t written his essay and was looking to copy mine. It would be just like him. “No.” “Go on.” He sidled around the side of the partition, moving behind me and looking over my shoulder onto my sheet of foolscap. “Is ...

... it the one about glaciation?” “Fuck off Ashley,” I said, still with my head down. He was at his irritating best. I leaned further forward in my seat to obscure his view, noticing as I did that there was now no-one else in the room for him to annoy. Just him and me. He was now right at my shoulder, obscuring the study’s central light while he peered over. I leaned forward further and switched on my desk lamp with quick movement that signalled my irritation. He wouldn’t get the message. He quickly lifted his right leg behind my back and over the back of the chair. He straddled the seat and slipped in behind me, his arms suddenly around me. “Hello, gay,” he said. It was the approach my friends had said he took with them. Accuse someone of being something everyone accuses you of. Defence mechanism. “Fuck off, Ashley.” I moved forward in my seat. He ignored me, again. “This is comfortable,” he said, pushing his groin against me. I tried to work on, blanking him. But he was moving forward in the chair all the time. And then there was no mistaking: I felt his right hand brush the material of the inner leg of my trousers. And then in one confident movement, scooping right up to my crotch. He was making a move on me. “Woah - what are you doing?” I said, turning a little in the chair and trying to push his hand off. But he had a grasp of my balls in his hand. “Let me read,” he wheedled. He began to massage my crotch. And then, to my shame, I felt myself stiffen. “Get off,” I repeated, ...