Head Boy - Sex Stories

Head Boy

... now.

"Wait!" I blurted. "I, uh, it seems like...like a solid idea, actually. I'd, um, be keen to give it a go..."

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We agreed to meet up at his house because both his parents worked full time, unlike mine. On Wednesdays. And Fridays. Tuesdays and Thursdays I had an after school job, cleaning down a bakery which closed for the day at three. Symon 'had something on' on Monday afternoons - he avoided specifying what, and I told myself it was probably ballet or some shit like that...

"I'm generally back by quarter past five," he said, "but maybe make it half-past just to be sure. Mum and Dad never get back until half past six at the earliest. Usually it's more like seven. So. See ya then." He gave me a measuring stare. "Unless you pike, of course..."

I walked home imagining creative ways to shut him the fuck up. I mean, what a cock. Just had to get a little jab in there...

By Wednesday, I understood the utility of the little jab. Because, yeah, I was freaking out. If it hadn't been for the fact that I could still hear him saying, 'unless you pike, of course', if I hadn't still been able to visualise the arrogant fucking set of his mouth as he said it...I'd have chickened out. But I couldn't give him the satisfaction, so I went.

His house was nice - tasteful, I guess - but not whoa, amazing. Not enormous or grandiose or anything. Which made sense. If you'reseriously rich, you just don't live in Paekākāriki at all.

But Symon...Symon was ...

... different, here in his native habitat. I'd realised, because I'm not a complete moron, that me going to his house might potentially put me at a disadvantage, except...it was do it this way or don't do it, so I threw my shoulders back, stuck my chin out, layered on some extra attitude to compensate... I forgot about attitude and disadvantage and compensation and, uh, pretty much everything, when he opened the door. So far, I'd only seen Symon in a begrimed blue boilersuit/coverall type thing, his skinny frame drowned by the oversize cut. But now, wearing a fitted black t-shirt and some grey pants in a particularly drapy jersey fabric, it was clear he wasn't really skinny, more...long and narrow. Slinky.

I looked, and looked again. They were just ordinary clothes, but god, theyworked. Okay, I thought. I could actually get into this. Actually. Not just because it's what's available, but because it's...damn. Verging on hot.

Also, his feet. Like, it's hardly surprising for a person to go about barefoot in their own house, but his feet were almostelegant. Pale, long and slim, the metatarsals standing up in sharp relief, fanning out toward his toes - I had a sudden unwelcome flashback to a hundred porn clips I'd watched featuring otherwise well-groomed, otherwise naked guys, for some reason still wearing their gross once-white now wash-grey athletic socks...

Yes. I could get into this. Definitely.

I followed him up the stairs. I mean, one of us had to go first, and it was his ...