Page 55 of Teacher of the Year

“Let me flip the light,” I blurt.

Olan puts his thick arm up, stopping my hand.

“Let me help you relax. Okay?”

He spins me around so we’re face to face. His lips find mine, and even though it’s been a couple of weeks since we’ve been alone, there’s no hesitancy or forgetfulness. Only warmth and tenderness and spit between us. Olan delivers a complete knockout kiss, causing the sweat on my brow to fully drip. All the magic from that Friday night returns. I know we should most definitely not be doing this. Definitely not here. Definitely not now. We’re secured behind two doors. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit there’s a small spark inside me that’s turned on at the prospect of getting caught. With a deep breath, I attempt to do as Olan instructs and stop my brain from churning.

There’s a collision of lips and ears and necks and my heart whirling and skidding until Olan pauses. My eyes begin to adjust to the darkness, and with the splinter of light the printer emits, I can just barely make out his face. His eyes grow large and liquid, and I know he’s plotting.

“I’m going to help you relax. More. Are you okay with that?”

His request for consent makes my blood simmer, and I only can squeak out something that resembles “Mmmmh,” but he nods at my confirmation. His hands move to my hips, and I can feel the pressure of him tugging my pants. I’m not exactly sure what he’s thinking, and even though I know I’m being the epitome of unprofessional, there’s no way I want him to stop.

“Now.” His hands glide from my hips to the front of my khakis. The ones I only wear for conferences. To look nice for parents.

“Let.” He begins to unbuckle my belt, which is two sizes too big and takes a little work to undo.

“Me.” The button pops.

“Help.” The zipper.

“You.” My pants fly down around my ankles.

“Relax.” And finally, my briefs.

I’m standing. Naked from the waist down for the first time in front of Olan. In the storage closet of my classroom. At school. My dress shirt is unable to hide my thoroughly aroused self. Olan’s never seen me without pants, and even though it’s dark, I can’t help but wonder if he likes what he’s able to make out. My brain wants to hike my pants up and flee, but the rest of my body says, “Nope.”

He lowers himself to his knees, and based on previous conversations, I’m fairly certain Olan has never done anything like this.

“Olan, wait. You don’t have to do this.”

“I know. I want to. I’ve, I’ve been wanting to. For a long time.”

I wonder if he means with me or in general and the thought of being the first man Olan tastes makes my body ache for him.

“But, have you ever, I mean, done this?” I point to myself, standing at full attention.

“Marvin. Relax. Please.”

He pushes my hips back, so they rest against the table where the printer sits, and Olan, for the first time, uses his gorgeous mouth in a way entirely new for him and completely euphoric for me. His mouth feels deliciously hot, slippery, and skilled. And because he’s a novice, I offer some encouragement and tips. Like a competent teacher, I do my best to cheer him on with the phrases “just like that” and “a little slower,” and Olan lets out small growls, and fuck, how is he doing this for the first time so well? His lips, the lips I’ve studied with my own, so strong, wet, playful.

I look down at him, the top of his head barely visible in the darkness, and reach out and put my hands on his head and grip him gently. Holding on to him as I see the faint vision of my cock sliding in and out of his mouth drives me wild. I move a hand to his mouth and pop my index finger in, feeling the tiny gap between his two front teeth. I’m so painfully aroused my body hums. Not stopping, with joyful sloppy slurping noises, Olan glances up at me, and my heart lurches in my chest.

“Olan, damn.”

“Mmmmh. Your dick, it’s bigger than mine.”

Ever the engineer, Olan’s comparing sizes and probably making mental notes of approximate measurements. Yes, my cock is larger, mainly fatter, but I have zero complaints about his. I want to do something for him. Still, I’m incapacitated by what he’s currently doing. It’s hard to focus on moving.

“Damn. How did you get so good at this?” I ask, pulling him up for a moment, his face so close I can feel his hot breath on my lips.

He doesn’t answer but hesitantly puts his lips near mine, testing my acceptance to receive them. I lean forward and nibble on his bottom lip, and he laughs. I kiss him, tasting myself on his lips and the adrenaline from the moment makes my chest pound. His tongue tastes sweaty and salty, and as I think about his lips around my dick, his hand strokes me, all slick from his mouth, and I pull back because now I need his consent.

I wrap my arm around his waist and bury my hand in the back of his pants, searching until I find what I’m looking for. The slight fuzz I remember welcomes me, and I buff it gently. I carefully explore his ass with my fingers. “This okay?”

He answers by bending over so his mouth makes contact with my dick. But this time, grasping the table for balance, his legs bent slightly at the knee, he pushes himself back onto me, increasing the friction. The surprises never cease with him. Removing my fingers momentarily, I spit on my hand and lean over the best I can, my slippery digits exploring this new frontier. It’s been three years since I’ve been intimate with another man and I’m so damn into this. Olan feels different. There’s a trust there and that propels the floodgates open. Apparently, it’s driving Olan wild because he’s making new noises, lower, deeper, rougher. As he slurps on my dick, he begins rocking back and forth, fucking my fingers, and his damp heat and softness turn my core to putty. I want more.

“Fuck, you’re horny,” I whisper.

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