Elementary School Helps New Breed Lead Rewarding Life

My new editor must be punishing me, I thought to myself for the eighth or ninth time in as many minutes. When I took this job at a struggling daily newspaper, I knew my duties were to provide basic news coverage (town council meetings, school board decisions, local zoning changes, etc.) and provide one or two major contributions to the "Weekender" tabloid that readers used (supposedly) to plan their activities Fridays though Sundays. My hopes were to turn this .75 FTE position into full-time status with editorial work ... maybe even my own column someday. I should have known the "newbie" would get most of the goofy shit.

So here I am at Taylor Elementary waiting to talk to "Miss Fontaine," a second grade teacher whose class has raised money to help an animal management charity aid an endangered variety of tapir ... it's a relative of the horse but looks like the result of a drunken hook-up between a small rhino and a pig. Butt ugly, if you ask me.

It was raining outside, so I had left the office a bit early for my interview to avoid traffic. After registering in the school's front office, I was directed to some uncomfortable plastic chairs in a hallway just outside a small conference room. Low voices and the dull murmur of hundreds of buzzing little brains permeated the air. I was slightly damp but none the worse for wear. I was just about to check my digital recorder that I use as back-up on interviews when the scuffed metal door before me opened and Miss Fontaine, a pretty Hispanic woman of around 40, smiled a slightly uncomfortable smile at me before checking both directions and taking a step forward ... must be a safety precaution in a busy school.

"Are you from the paper?" she inquired. I rose and began to extend my hand, but she looked anxiously to one side, not meeting my eyes, and raised her right hand to cut off any reply. "I'm sorry. This is my planning period and I'm in the middle of finishing up a parent conference. If you can give me 20 minutes, then I can give you 20 more for background on our project and then we'll meet the children."

I assured her that was fine, and retook my seat. Before the meeting room door closed, an attractive man of about 30 or so sidled past the instructor and literally collapsed in the seat beside me. "Mr. Gordon, is everything okay?" Miss Fontaine looked genuinely concerned.

"I'm sorry. I'm trying to quit smoking and I just needed to get some air. My wife said you and she could finish up, if that's not a problem." He, too, was avoiding eye contact.

"Fine ... that's fine ... we'll just be a bit longer." And the door softly closed.

Trying not to be too obvious, I gave Mr. Gordon a closer look. Good build. Average clothes. Mousy brown hair with a crappy haircut. Needed his shoes shined, I inwardly snarked. And he had the sexiest jaw-adorning beard stubble I had seen in a long time.

Apparently I wasn't as subtle as I thought because Mr. Gordan's head slowly turned toward me and caught me in the high beams of his deep green irises. He was fidgeting, almost trembling. "Sorry about the company, man, but that room was closing in on me. And they were just going on and on about Hannah's homework assignments and her assessments and socialization ... she's a good kid ... doing great ... I had to get out of there. Fuck, I need some air ... and a smoke!"

My brows shot up. I was taken aback by his candor with a complete stranger, but I had been privy to a few friends going through nicotine withdrawal. It wasn't pretty. I patted his shoulder in a purely platonic fashion, saying "No problem friend, you look a bit ragged."

He forced out a heavy sigh, unclenched his hands, and drooped his head. His arms lay limp at his sides. "Ragged, huh?" He rotated his neck to work the corded muscles and returned my glance. "That ain't the half of it. I'm down from a pack to just four cigarettes a day." He paused to gauge my admiration for his achievement. "And I'm using a patch to help, but I'm tense all the time. ALL THE TIME!"

His eyes had an earnest quality and his shirt collar displayed a snippet of dark chest hair. My pulse shot up as an idea formed in my head. My cock stirred in happy camaraderie. "Well," I drawled slowly, returning his gaze, "I've never been a smoker, but I know a thing or two about tension. Let's take a stroll."

I stood quickly, leaving my bag, coat, and small umbrella beside the chair. From this position, Mr. Gordon had to look up at me. "Come on, it won't hurt a bit," I teased. He eyed me with a mix of suspicion and intrigue, and eventually got up himself and followed along beside.

I had noticed the bathrooms marked "Teachers Lavatory" on my way through the small school building ... I guess instructors didn't want to mess with tiny urinals and under-sized toilets. Anyway, I halted our momentum and leaned into the men's room door. "Gotta take a leak?" Mr. Gordon inquired. "Something like that, but come inside so we can talk." He shrugged and followed me in.

I wonder if he thought I had pot or some other illicit substance. I bet he never expected that once the door closed he'd be pushed up against it with me trying to rape his face with my lips and tongue.

"What the hell?" he stammered, bringing his arms up with the palms against my chest. "You've gotta quit this shit ... I ain't ... someone could walk in ... I gotta ..." Contact. My body pushed forward and my lips got a lock on his mouth and, after a seemingly minimal struggle, Mr. Gordon was tongue wrestling me for dominance. We kissed and stumbled about, finding the door to a bathroom stall. While out faces bumped and mashed together, I reached down and found Mr. Gordon's belt. I had his pants and briefs down just below his balls in a flash, exposing a fleshy uncut tool that was steadily gaining length and girth. I then fumbled open my own slacks and pushed aside the pouch of my sexy black jock strap, freeing my own stiffy.

We separated a bit, the corners of his mouth covered in spittle and his cheeks and forehead flushed. Somewhere along the way, he had shucked off his coat ... it lay under the door on the dingy tile, half in and half out of the action. I curled the fingers of one hand and slowly encircled Mr. Gordon's cock. It was hot and thick, maybe six inches in length with one distinct vein snaking around it like a suckling vine. I manipulated the delicious-looking foreskin a bit with my fingers while my other hand jacked my own granite piston. It was maybe 30 or 40 seconds of Mr. Gordon saying "shit" and "damn" in a hoarse baritone before I looked up and caught his attention. He peered at me as if in a daze, then his eyes crinkled a bit and one of his hands snaked out to cup my own dick.

We continued our mutual admiration for male genitalia until Mr. Gordon informed me that I needed to slow down or he'd end our little encounter very quickly. "That's not gonna happen, dude ... when you blow I know right where it's going." And with a mischievous wink I pushed by pants and jock further down my legs, sat down on the cold porcelain toilet seat, and engulfed his cock in my warm, waiting mouth.

"Fuuuuuucccccckkkkkk," he hissed a bit loudly, throwing back his head. His left hand ruffled my sweaty hair while his right rested on my shoulder for balance. My hands were busy augmenting my suctioning lips, shucking the skin of his dick from base to knob, and fondling his hairy nutsack. With gentle swipes, I traced that mighty dick vein and gnawed on the rough edge of his hood. I poked and played at his piss slit, rewarded with a bit of nectar. And, when I couldn't take it anymore, I slipped off his pecker and popped one walnut-sized gonad in my mouth ... I gummed and chewed like a hungry 90 year old in a nursing home. Only slightly sated, I treated the other 'nad to the same roughhousing.

"How's that feel, man?" I asked between slurping and nuzzling and inhaling his deep, dank man scent. "Are you needing a smoke now?"

"I'm gonna nut," he huffed, "I need to ... to get off ..." Mr. Gordon was almost delirious and rock hard. I noticed that the furry balls in my hand were reaching for the sky, so I worked his cockhead back in my mouth and went for the gold. What I got was four or five blasts of salty goodness straight down my gullet and then a steady seeping of fluid as he held both my shoulders tightly and made "catching" noises in his throat, like squeaky little hinges.

When his dick had softened considerably, I released Mr. Gordon from my oral prison of pleasure and leaned back to show myself a little love. I wasn't expecting anything more from the spent breeder, maybe just him being a good member of the studio audience. As if on cue, he leaned back again the door of the stall and watched me intently as I let a trail of spit dribble onto my spike. I closed my own eyes and began to stroke in earnest. I'm sure my hand was a blur, and I think I heard a faint gasp from Mr. Gordan when my other hand crept down below my hairless coin purse and shot a finger into my damp hole. The gasp did it ... I stampeded over the edge and shot goo all over my stomach and groin. With flair, I opened my eyes to make sure Mr. Gordan was watching and then wiped a finger across my abdomen and treated my taste buds to a creamy dessert.

"Fuck me," he wheezed, drilling a hole in my crotch with his stare, "that was incredible. I've never ... well, I never though getting off with another man could be so ... would feel so ... ah, great!"

I smirked, knowing with more time it could be much better, and reached for a wad of toilet paper to wipe up my mess. Mr. Gordon just pulled up his pants, fastened up, and opened the stall door. I heard running water and the clicking of a soap dispenser. I stood from the toilet seat, stretched and received a gratifying "crack" from my relieved spine, and drew up my own trousers. The sticky wad left the scene with a noisy flush.

At the mirror, Mr. Gordon was dabbing his face with a paper towel and running a damp hand through his hair. I took up position at an adjacent mirror and did much the same primping.

Speaking to my reflection, he said calmly "Buddy, that was so awesome. I really needed something to take my mind off this smoking shit. Off a lot of things, I guess. I never expected anything like this, but, ... well ... uh ... thanks!" And then in an instant, a bit of the tension returned.

I replied quickly before the nervousness could take hold. "Glad I could help. I wouldn't have done it if I didn't enjoy it, so no worries. And I'm not looking for anything more complex so don't start getting weird. No strings of any kind." He looked relieved.

"But, hey, if you could," I queried, "got any gum or mints? I'd be happy to keep this taste in my mouth all day, but I don't know what Miss Fontaine ... or the kids ... would think of that."

Mr. Gordon put on his coat, grinning all the while into the mirror. "Sure I do, but it's that raunchy nicotine gum."

"I can handle raunchy."

HEADLINE: Elementary School Helps New Breed Lead Rewarding Life