Head Boy - Sex Stories

Head Boy

... non-fucking days were over and normal service resumed, I was totally organised. I wasn'tready, and I had a feeling I wasn't gonna be. But that was my problem to deal with...

Sometimes - say, with the blowjobs in the rail sheds - it'd seemed to me that Symon was feeling the same kind of feverish need as me need to pack as much of everything as possible into the dwindling time we had left - other times, he seemed fully cool with the looming deadline...

Like...for instance, I arrived in his room with a week and a day to go, to find him weirdly dressed up. He was wearing a thin jumper in a grey base colour, with stripes in dark green, light green, and pink, the collar and curved hem of a white shirt peeping out above and below, his legs clad in flared brown cords.

"Trying to put together a wardrobe for Melbourne," he said as he caught my eye. "How do I look?"

Well. He lookedgay, for sure. He looked like Symon - and yet somehow not like Symon. All of which...I did not know how I felt aboutany of that, but he was still waiting for an answer, so I told him;

"Fuckable..."

"Good." He grinned. "Fuckable is good. I can work with fuckable." He started to kind of sashay in my direction, and I thought, what are you doing? You don't need to seduce me, mate. I'mhere, aren't I?

He pranced right up to me and murmured silkily in my ear, "I can work with fuckable..."Linking his arms behind my neck, he ground into me. "I'm guessing you can also work with fuckable, eh, big ...

... boy?"

No. Not like this I can't. I went to say; Don't practice your tricks for Melbourne onme, and then I remembered - practicing was the whole point of this thing. That's what this is. That'sall this is. Gah. Fuck. Shit.

Confused by my lack of response, Symon stepped back - and he saw. He saw me dealing with that punch to the guts I'd just handed out to myself, and he thought it was something else. He bit his lip and his shoulders drooped.

"You hate it," he whispered.

Aaand fuck again. I shelved my own shite for later - I'd be stressing on it later anyway - and shook my head.

"I don't hate it, Sy. At all. Though I'm not sure why you're wanting a bogan to approve of your fashion choices. I mean, if Idid hate it that might possibly be a better guide..."

I closed the gap between us, taking hold of one of his wrists, stroking down the smooth cool fabric of his other arm with my free hand. "Okay, so...I like it. No kidding. I do. But right now, right now I think I'd probably like it even better if it was folded up over there on your chair. Or just...in a heap down there," stepping back and pointing to the floor by his feet.

His eyes cut to me, still questioning, unsure. Why, I thought, why do you of all people have self-esteem issues? With everything you've got going for you?

I reached out and stroked up his neck with the back of one finger. "Show meskin," I growled.

For some reason, he shed the cords first, turning away as he did. Then he reached for the ...