"Variations on a Theme"

Class Tease
By: Etienne
( © 2009 by the author)

  The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

Sprawled in my lounge chair on my patio, I was taking advantage of the late morning sun. This time of the year (early June) it hit my patio around ten-thirty; perfect for me to catch a few rays before my one o’clock class. I was totally naked, protected by a six-foot privacy fence from all prying eyes. All eyes, that is, except the residents of a nearby high rise apartment building, the top floor of which I could see jutting above the trees. Actually, I was not ‘totally’ naked, as I had my genitals stuffed into a sock. I had once gotten my balls sunburned and the experience had taught me a rather painful lesson.

My routine was the same every morning, adequate sunshine permitting. I went out onto the patio at ten-thirty, armed with a towel and other supplies, including a kitchen timer. I would set the timer for 20 minutes, insert my genitals into the sock, lie back and bask, alternately lying on my back or stomach in twenty minute increments.

My reverie was cut short by the timer going off, signaling the end of the fourth twenty minute session. Show time, I thought to myself, as I pulled off the sock and reached for the baby oil. As always, my cock quickly became rock hard as soon as it was exposed to the sun. I began to oil my erection and stroke it slowly with my right hand, reaching for my binoculars with my left.

There was one balcony on the top floor of the high rise building which faced in my direction. I had only been stroking and oiling for a minute or so when I caught a flash of reflected light from that balcony. My watcher was in place. I zeroed in on the balcony with the binoculars. As usual, a tall, naked male was standing on the balcony, just back from the railing, his face obscured by a shadow.

As always, knowing that I was being observed made me even harder. I reached again for the baby oil and applied it to my hairless crotch. Yes, hairless - I am what is known in the nudist community as a smoothie. My bronze body is not marred by hair anywhere below the neck. I began to stroke my erection more vigorously.

My watcher matched me, stroke for stroke. I started slowly for several minutes as I savored the sensations, and then with increasing speed. Suddenly, I tensed and erupted all over my chest, hoping that my unknown watcher was getting off as well. As usual, I picked up my cum with my fingers and licked them clean. My watcher, who had come almost at the same time as I had, did the same. Then I wiped up the residue with a towel.

I sighed and got out of my chair. Gathering my towel and tanning supplies, I walked naked into the house and went straight to my bathroom. After a long hot shower, I stood in front of the full length mirror, taking inventory. Six feet, 180, blue eyes, tan all over, not unattractive. Body firm and toned, cock a tad bigger than average. Freed from the distraction of pubic hair it looked even bigger than it was. Inventory complete, I dressed and prepared for the afternoon.

I teach English Literature at a small liberal arts college, and at the relatively young age of 28, I had achieved the nirvana of all teachers - tenure. This was the beginning of the first of two short summer sessions - four weeks of three hour classes, and today was the first day of this particular class. I arrived in the classroom a little early, and spent a few minutes organizing my notes and handouts. Finally, the bell rang and students began to trickle into my room.

I really liked this classroom, which was arranged theater style with every row of desks in tiers, each tier about a foot higher than the one below it. The first row of desks was about two steps from the floor on which my desk stood. The desks were small individual tables, with no space in between them, creating an almost continuous surface. When I sat at my desk, my eyes were barely above knee level of the first row of students.

I sat silently watching the usual scramble for seats, wondering who would dare to sit in the front row. My prospective students, mostly sophomores with a few juniors mixed in, wore what was the dernier cri in attire for their generation, that is, hip hugging jeans for the girls and baggy, oversize shorts for the boys, and I wondered for the umpteenth time why this generation of young men had acquired so much body modesty that they had to hide everything behind such ill fitting garments.

Three students actually chose to sit in the front row, one young man taking the desk right in front of mine. He was a striking six foot tall blond with green eyes. It was hard to judge the rest of his body because of his attire. However, his shorts, although typically baggy, were only of mid-thigh length. Oh well, I thought to myself, at least there won’t be any distractions in class.

The second bell rang, and I called the class to order.

“Good afternoon,” I said, “I’m Dr. Gibson, and this is English Literature 301, which meets on Tuesdays and Thursdays. If you are in the wrong class, now is the time to leave.” It was my standard opening spiel, and as usual, one student looked at his schedule and with a mumbled apology, hastily left the room.

I passed out the course outline and circulated a seating chart, indicating that every student should write his/her name in the appropriate spot to aid me in identifying them as I called upon them. When the chart arrived back at my desk, I glanced at it and learned that the blond’s name was Steve Duncan. I paced around the front of the room as I explained the purpose and goals of the course and then sat down at my desk.

Looking up at the room, the first thing I saw was that Steve’s legs were spread and the left leg of his baggy shorts allowed me to see all the way up to a mound of white underwear. As I watched, his left hand dropped casually under the desk and he rubbed himself through his shorts. The white mound grew noticeably.

I tore my gaze away and launched into the day’s lecture. I don’t know how I got through the lecture without getting tongue tied. My eyes roamed the room as I lectured, and every time they looked in Steve’s direction, he smiled. Once, he even licked his lips as I caught him with his hand under the waistband of his shorts, adjusting himself. By this time, I was hard as a rock, and thankful that I wasn’t wearing boxers.

By the time the bell sounded, my erection had subsided and I was back in control of my faculties. The next two class sessions were a repeat of Tuesday. Steve kept his legs spread throughout the class and his left hand spent most of its time in his lap.

On the fourth class session, Steve upped the ante just a bit. He was still wearing very baggy shorts, but when I sat at my desk to begin the class, I could see that he was now wearing briefs made of some sort of mesh, and I could clearly see flesh through the flimsy material. His genitals were so tightly confined by the mesh that I could not see them as clearly as I would have liked, even when they began to swell as he casually played with himself. I was so aroused that I dismissed class five minutes early and went straight to the nearest teacher’s lounge, locked myself in a stall and quickly jacked off before I went home.

Over the next few class sessions, I found myself wondering every day what Steve was going to do next. After two or three sessions of the mesh underwear, he turned up the heat even more by coming to class in his usual baggy shorts, but this time he had gone commando and was wearing no underwear. I could clearly see his cock and balls dangling down his left leg. During the course of the class, he rubbed his crotch until I could see an impressive erection pointing toward his knee.

A week before the term ended, Steve started wearing gym shorts to class. They were short enough, that when he spread his legs a bit, his genitals escaped from confinement and flopped out of his shorts in full view. He always adjusted them a bit after this happened, so that they were arranged such that his penis was pointing at me, then he would withdraw his hand for much of the class. The boy had amazing control. His penis would gradually expand, bit by bit, during the class period until, a half hour or so before the class ended, it was fully erect. When the final bell rang, his erection would subside, and he tucked everything out of sight. Needless to say, this was more arousing than his earlier performances.

It had been raining and/or cloudy for a week, and I had missed my sessions on my patio. On the Thursday of the final class session, the sun was out and so was I, promptly at ten thirty. I completed four sessions of twenty minutes each. Then I stood up, oiled my already hard cock, and lay back on the lounge. Instead of commencing my usual long stroke, I picked up the binoculars and pointed them in the direction of my watcher’s balcony, finding it disappointingly empty. Then, as I watched, I saw a sliding glass door open and he stepped out onto the balcony. His face was in a shadow, as usual, but his body was in full view. I thought to myself, there was something different about him today, and then it hit me - his groin was now as bare as mine. Was this for my benefit? In my honor? I wondered.

I held my binoculars in my left hand and began to slowly stroke my erection with my right hand. He followed suit, matching me stroke for stroke. We came together, and I watched him wipe the cum from his cock and lick his fingers just as I was doing. Finally, my reverie ended, and I reluctantly arose and went inside to get ready for class.

As I arrived in my building, I noticed that several students were wearing colorful plaids, in celebration of the forthcoming Highland Games, which were to begin on Friday. One or two of the men were even sporting kilts. I did not look up from my desk as my students filed into the classroom, but when I did, I noticed that Steve was also wearing a kilt. My cock jumped in my pants at the possibilities. I was not to be disappointed.

I began the day’s lecture, and as I talked, I noted that Steve began to spread his legs. He also slouched down in his chair more than was usual for him, and managed to pull the hem of his kilt back against his body until his entire groin was exposed to my view - and what a sight it was.

I quickly noted that his cock was already half hard, and that he was a smoothie. I wanted to run my tongue over that smooth groin and lick those smooth low-hanging balls. As the class session continued, he began to slowly stroke himself until he was hard. So was I. Somehow, he managed to stay hard without actually cumming for the next hour. I could even see the precum leaking from the head of his cock. He occasionally rubbed it all over the head, keeping it slick and shiny.

Finally, about five minutes before the bell was to ring, he began to stroke faster and brought himself to orgasm. Just before he came, he slipped his other hand under the table and caught most of his cum in it. I wondered if he was going to lick it clean right there in class.

He stayed at his desk until the room was empty and then quickly stepped up to my desk.

“I have a present for you,” he said with a smile. “Two presents, actually.” He held his slightly cupped hand, palm up, to my face, and opened it. There was a pool of white in his palm. I glanced at the door and, seeing nobody in sight, bent forward and licked his palm clean. I looked up at him and smiled.

“You said two presents?”

He reached into the sporran he wore with the kilt, and handed me a small photograph. It was a picture of me on my patio, doing my usual thing. I looked up.

“So, you’re the watcher on the balcony.”

“Yes.”

“I’ve enjoyed our sessions.”

“Me, too, but I wish I had an all over tan like you.”

“You’re welcome to join me any time, say, tomorrow.”

“I’ll be there at ten-thirty.”

The End

Author's note: Thanks, as always, to Rockhunter for his editing skills.

Posted: 09/18/09