Teacher-Student Fantasy

HAVE YOU EVER, imagined having sex with your teacher?
You’ll be thrilled to know that the “Britney Spears” fantasy isn’t just for women. Many would even like to take it a step further, playing the naughty tart that won’t stop teasing you until you pull him/her over your knee and give ‘em the spanking he/she craves.

He was like Julian McMahon, 27 years old, married, 2 kids, but boy he was on fire!
He taught me when I was 12 years old and I fell in love with him from the moment he walked through the door.
Many people don’t find Julian hot or attractive but I just liked him— like big time; he was tough, sweet and smart.
I was his favorite because I used to smile at him even in the morning when all the students are half asleep. We used to exchange movies too, (he was a movieholic just like me.) I even used to pass by his office and say good morning and prepare his coffee.

First, here was my problem: my type was pretty much any guy who smiled at me or said “Hi”. That was my type. It’s important to have a type. “Beefy” was another one of my types.
My teacher was beefy. Not fat, not chubby, just had some beef. He was teaching me English, and all I could think of was how I loved everything about him; his green shaded eyes, warm hands, smile, his dimples (Oh God) just the sight of him, induced the heart pounding, throat thickening, absolutely can’t swallow feeling. (By the way, I’m still in touch with him).

After two years in that school, I was in my final year. I was so in love with him, I was writing things like “I -heart– J” on my notebook and stuff like that.
One of my school mates, his name was Ethan, liked me very badly and tried to ask me out several times, but I was rejecting him because I didn’t think it would work out. He was handsome, fit, big brown eyes, tall and he was rich.
He got jealous when he saw those drawings and he asked why I was into an older man. I said I just love him and I was talking about it freely like nothing’s wrong. He asked me if he can borrow my notebook to copy some stuff and I accepted.

Later that day, I was in the class, the weather was sunny, warm and wet, me sitting next to the window looking at the trees and thinking about my love and what he’s been doing at the moment, my BFF Joseph next to me curling his hair with index finger while listening to the teacher’s lecture about something I can’t even remember.
The teacher was fat, half bald, sweaty, and hairy like he is a hair ad with a very bad taste in clothes. The door opened, a younger student came inside and gave the teacher a small piece of paper.
“Joseph?” the teacher said.
Joseph turned his head to the teacher who was wearing a green shirt with a huge coffee stain on it.
“Yes?” Joseph said
“Mr. James wants you in his office.” Mr. Kraft said
“Okay.” He winked at me while standing up, I hoped that no one saw him.

I wondered “Why the hell Mr. James wanted Joseph and not me!? He doesn’t even teach us anymore!” but I just waited.
Ten minutes later, Joseph came again and his face was red. I saw him and freaked out. The look on his face was horrifying.
“WHAT’S WRONG?” I asked him immediately after he took his seat next to me.

“Later.” he whispered.

For a second I thought that he called him to organize some files and fix some papers, he liked Joseph a lot and always been sweet to him. I was a bit jealous because he changed his attitude after the year he taught me and started to be cold with me. My time in heaven was up.

After that period, it was a break and we went out for breakfast.
“Joseph,” I would say repeatedly as we sat behind our class, “you’ve got to tell me what happened!”
“Honestly,” Joseph said “I really don’t know, but he found out that you love him…”
“WHAT?” My eyes widened out with a mouth full of chocolate butter sandwich, “How? When? What did he say? Tell me everything!!”
I was nervous, speechless and kind of happy.

“He was mad!” was the first thing Joseph said after a long moment of silence “He told me that Ethan showed him your notebook and he saw the drawings and the hearts and stuff” He took a sip from his mango juice. “His face turned to bloody-red and he started shouting at me, like I’m the one who wrote them.”
“Wait,” I interrupted. My brain was processing and trying to think about this mess and thinking about the best subject to ask about, talk about Ethan’s reaction or talk about the teacher— all at the same time. “So, what did you say?” I chose the teacher.

“I said that I don’t have an idea about it,” he said
“And?” I looked at him with big questionable eyes “God damn it, Jay, just tell me the whole thing,” I shouted.
“Fine! He was shouting and his face was red and nearly going to explode. I was standing next to his table,” Joseph said.
‘“I don’t know sir, I have no idea.”
“Don’t lie Joseph! I know that you know; Ethan told me everything and showed me everything.”’

“That a-hole!!” I said while eating my salt and vinegar potato chips.
“I know, right?” Jay said.
“Okay continue.” I said.

“Then he got up and locked the door and shouted literally: ‘tell Sam that I’m not a kid, and these things are not for me. I don’t want to deal with him and I won’t tell the principle or his parents, but please, I don’t want any troubles for him and he is young for these things.’”
“OH-MY-GOD! Are you serious?” I asked surprisingly
“Mm hm.” Jay responded while drinking his mango juice.

I wanted to hit Ethan. I thought about closed-fist punch and then my mind drifted to a swift kick in the neck.
“That’s it.” I said, moving from my spot searching for him.
You know or remember, sometimes when someone was mean to you, it means he likes you: Ethan was like that.
As much as he liked me, he was rude, mean and unbearable.
I found him sitting with his stupid gang eating ice cream.
“HEY—YOU!!” I bellowed.
He turned to my side and with a little toothy grin on his face.
“What the hell were you thinking? Do you think it’s funny?”
“No, but I was trying to help” he said.
“Oh, yeah? Well let me help you then,” I said and slapped him in front of his friends who laughed hard and stormed out of the battle field.

I pretended I didn’t notice his death-stare. I was successful in faking disinterest until he took the almost-empty ice cream tub and forced it over my head. “Noooooo, stop it!” I screamed, kicking him while my head was getting coated in vanilla-chocolate swirl. He was spinning the tub around my head and I was getting ice cream leftovers in my mouth, eyes and nose. It was horrible and crazy.
I felt myself starting to hyperventilate.
I couldn’t take another minute, I tried to head-butt my way out the other end of the carton, but I couldn’t because he was huge. I had no choice but to find my way between Ethan’s legs and nail him in the balls with my knee.
As Ethan went down, I took off my ice-cream hat, threw it on the floor, and got on top of him like a wrestler, pinning his biceps down with my knees. “Listen, you fatherfucker! You started it, you crazy lunatic bitch! What the hell is the matter with you?”

It was a sad moment for me; he had attacked me like an ice cream ninja in front of his friends and my teacher didn’t like me back. I couldn’t help but feel awful for myself. (I wonder where the principal or the other teachers were.)

“I’m sorry I hit you,” I told him, awkwardly maintaining my position on top of him. (A position, mind you, that I became much more comfortable with later on in life.)
“But what you did is awful! How could you do that?” I said while walking with him to talk more privately.

“I was jealous,” he said. “Well, not was jealous; I’m still jealous.”
“Why?” I said while the ice-cream leftovers still swirling on my forehead. “Don’t talk to me anymore, ‘kay?”

And I went to Joseph who was waiting for me in the back of my class.

“What the hell happened to you!?” he said with a fake worried expression on his face trying to hide his smile.
“I fought with him, and I won!” I smiled.
“You guys are crazy! Now I know why you don’t wanna go out with him.”
“Whatever.” So I went to the toilet and washed my hair and face.

After this mess, Ethan was still a Grade One a-hole with severe attitude problems; every time Mr. James passed by he said things like “Mr. Jee, there’re many people who are in love with you,” and wink at him, but my love ignored him.

I tried to apologize more than once to James but he didn’t listen, so I asked Joseph to take his number from his mom, (she used to call him and ask him about Jay’s grades and stuff) so he did it. I called and he didn’t pick up, so I texted him :

‘Hello, this is Sam from school. I’m sorry about what happened, and I tried to tell you this but you just ignored me. I’m extremely sorry and I hope that you’ll forgive me and be okay with me again. I don’t know why Ethan did this but I don’t care, please. Sorry if I interrupted you.’

I tried my best to say it in a mysterious way because I thought that his wife might read it, and I didn’t want to cause him any trouble. The next day I said hi, he said hi back with a smile. It was the best morning ever and I felt great.
I stopped talking about me loving him, but (Shh!) I never stopped loving him to this day.

The Gang Which Started It All!

Few people have had their first sexual encounter voluntarily, that too with more than one person in the room. Normal people date first, have fancy dinners, walk by the beach, talk, listen to music, watch movies— and then they have sex.

After the “incident” (if you don’t know what I’m talking about shut the damn book and flush it down the toilet) I became promiscuous, and not with a whole lot of winners, because I’ve always said: my vices are junk food, chocolate and bad men.
I screwed a million really, gross, older, sleazy guys. Is a million a lot?
I’m surprised I’m alive. Particularly since I’m telling you all about it.

Recovering after my “doctor-patient” game, I stopped talking to the T.F.M.N.P. (The Frequently Molesting Neighborhood Pedophiles)
Okay, okay, I didn’t stop talking to them, but I was more careful, and continued my studies and everything was okay and stuff.
Found out that I have not one but two sisters from my dad’s past marriage (he brought them to visit us). Hated them since then. Natural response. Couldn’t help it, sorry.

Eleven was the age when I became seriously sexually active; it was at night, me walking with my neighbor friend in the neighborhood and guess what? It’s caper, the raper!
He came to me and told me that he wants to talk to me about something.
For a moment I remembered our past together and I really don’t know why…!
He took me to one side, a bit far from my friend, where his friends were standing and told me that he wants to “play” with me one more time with his friends— not one, but five!
I was shocked, was like “…okay? But you only? I don’t want your friends to come…”
He said “Fine, they’ll stay outside.”
So I went inside his place and the first thought that cropped up in my head was “I wonder where the hell are his parents?!! Every single time this happens and they’re not around!”
His name was Ali, he was Sixteen or Seventeen at that time. I liked him very much and I trusted him more than the other one (who four years later had a car accident led him into the hospital for more than a month and his back hurts so bad— karma I guess. More on that later.)
Ali’s parents had lots of troubles; you could hear them shouting while you’re walking by their house. I remember that his mom was pretty much crazy and I always wondered why the hell that hot man (Ali’s dad) married her!
I remember her sitting on her plastic chair, her skin was o-kay, tanned, her hair was straight, brown with dark roots, thin eyebrows (just like Kristen Stewart’s in that twilight movie), wearing a hot pink top with dark blue jeans drinking water directly from the bottle (And every time a man passed by she rubbed her pikachu, which made me wonder whether she was having a sexless life?)
Back to my story, and not her dry !@#$s’; I went inside his room. He sat next to me—shirtless I may add— and started kissing my cheeks and my neck. We got naked and he started rimming me (my first rimming experience. Go figure.)

You might think that I looked like a regular eleven-year-old kid, ladies and gays (straight guys probably won’t read this book, too much drama), but I looked much older, so if you’re imagining that moment (which I hope you aren’t you sicko) don’t imagine a young hairless fresh piece of meat, picture something a bit older like Nick Canon with his pubes and teenage angst issues.

Ali was adorable; tanned, sleepy eyes, strong body, and um, drum roll… A thick, clean, juicy big schlong (Don’t pretend you wouldn’t have felt attracted to him. He was the very definition of hot to these eyes at that time).
I enjoyed every moment of it, sucking that piece of meat (I was bad at blowing back then, I wonder if he liked it. Inexperience sucks.)

Then, guess what? What, you can’t? I’ll just bet you can.

His friends came in, all four teenagers, and what’s more two of them were twins. I was horrified, scared and ashamed of myself. They looked at me with a huge lusty grin on their faces.
I stared at Ali who couldn’t make eye contact for a minute, then he looked me with a “sorry” look on his pretty face. I stood up, half naked (covering my hot body with the bed sheet— and I’m not talking about temperature here) and said “What do you guys want?”
One of the twins said “We want you,” while the others laughed.
“Why didn’t you tell me that you’re going to let them in?” I accused Ali.
“They threatened me and told me that they’re going to tell my dad that I’m smoking,” he said.

He let them inside just because they told him that they’re going to tell his dad that he’s smoking— WHAT A PUSSY!!

I couldn’t move an inch, looking at them and they looked back. The grin was gone by now; they locked the door and turned off the lights.
Imagine this with me for a minute: if someone else was in my shoes, the first thing he would do is tell his parents and let them deal with that mess. I just didn’t want to.
Okay, now you’re thinking that I am sick and need a shrink, but I was scared too and telling my parents about this mess would kill them and make them feel bad about their parenting skills. They raised me well and I just didn’t want to make them feel awful.
Above that, my dad will think that I let this happen. Yes, I could’ve screamed my lungs out to make them stop, but still I was afraid that they’ll hit me or kill me –Remember, my body looked old, but my mind was still innocent, well as innocent as possible in such circumstances– so I kept my mouth shut about it.

The sex was okay for a first time thing, (had worse later) and thank god that it didn’t hurt me. After we finished, I went home, took a shower, had dinner, watched TV and acted like nothing happened.

Why not look on the bright side? I had just spent my very first anal sex evening with five hot teenagers, including twins (Who gets that, even when they’re practically begging for it?!)
This thing taught me lots of stuff later in my life like: if you have been gang banged and the next day you heard all the kids asking you about it, just deny it as much as possible, go to the gang who banged you act cool and say “Suck it.” then ignore them to the rest of your life and Don’t trust a guy that tells you in front of his friends that he’s going to be the only one who’ll fuck you, ‘cause if you did, you better buy a whole month’s supply of lubricants and ready your backyard for a rough ploughing session.

Child's Play..?

Being the middle child is not something to be proud of. I suffered from the middle child syndrome. Being between an older brother and a younger sister made me feel insecure about myself; the older one is the best in everything and my sister is spoiled because she is the only girl in the family. Maybe that’s why I needed some attention. I was always the one who brings the trouble.

One time, I was not feeling well when my brother was working on the computer, he turned to me and was staring while I was eating a chocolate bar.
“What are you looking at?” I said.
“I saw everything.” he said to me, with a pirate look on his face.

Shit. I had worried something like this was going to happen. The night before, I was chatting with a guy on the internet, I met him online from a dating website and was downloading porno “gay porno”, my brother was away and nobody was interested in being with me while using the internet. He was asking me if I’m interested in phone sex, I said yes, and gave him my number. He called me, and we started talking.

“What are you wearing naughty boy?” he said
“Why’s that question?” I said, acting naive
“Okay, take your clothes off, I wanna see your hot bum.” he whispered.

So, the conversation was like that and it ended up well and I immediately slept after that.

“Everything? What do you mean?” I asked my brother innocently.
“The chat log and the movies.” he said.
“You’ve got to be kidding me! What movies?” I continued. “I don’t want to deal with this shit, I’m going to buy some candy.”

I was so afraid, didn’t know what to do; because I knew that my effing old brother is going to tell my parents about it. So I turned off my phone and hid somewhere. After 45 minutes I was thinking,
“It’s better for me just to go home and get it over with.”
Switching the tactics, I remembered that it was the series finale of “desperate housewives” and I would miss it if I stayed outside. That would have been enough to drive any gay, level-headed twelve-year-old insane.
Even so, I was ready to stay outside as long as it took my brother or my parents if he told them to forget about what happened. I had phone sex and downloaded gay porno movies and chatted with strangers in the same night. I didn’t think that I would be able to look them in the eye anytime soon.

My parents are great and I love them; Dad is the most laid back person ever— if I told him that I’m going to the North Pole or to the Himalayas, he will say “Have fun and take care!”
Mom on the other hand is kind of rigid. I really like her personality, she’s a very strong woman and I respect her for that.
She and my Dad went through lots of problems, and they really hated each other at some point, because my dad had an affair with another woman.

We were kids and my sister still wasn’t born yet— Mom kicked him out of the house and they didn’t talk for like, months and months. (She forgave him but never forgot what he did, will talk about my family later)

I turned on my phone, mom already texted me and told me to come home as soon as possible; she called when the message got delivered and told me to come home NOW!
I went back home and I really didn’t know what the hell I was thinking, I said “hi?”
She smacked me on the face and told me to go to my room and she’ll come in a minute. I didn’t cry, but I was angry; because my brother told her and didn’t tell my dad instead, (he won’t slap me or hit me, he actually never hit anybody.) He always said that beating your child won’t help them to be better people.

After a long talk with my mom, telling her that I’m sorry and didn’t mean to hurt her feelings and I’m not “gay” and I was just curious.
She finally calmed down and told me that she doesn’t want to hear anyone talking about me in a bad way.
“Don’t let me be disappointed in you,” she said. “You’re my favorite.”
At that moment, I knew that mom never treated me like my older brother, maybe because she knew that I’m better than him and he is not me. She treated me differently, sometimes I feel like she loves him more. But I know that deep in her heart, she didn’t mean that.

One of my friends asked me when I had started to like guys. I never knew to be honest, but I know that it all started when I was six or seven years old.
In that age, as you all might know (and maybe even remember) every kid is curious and wants to try and see something new.
As Denise Richards would say, “It’s complicated.”

So here’s the beginning: We used to live in a small, quiet town, where everyday is like the one before. It was a new town back then, so there were many people who started a family there. Like any kid, me playing with the other kids out there and acting naive, I remember that I really hated a bunch of guys who were sitting in front of one of their number’s place. Checking out the kids and the girls; well they were just jerks and that’s all I can say about them. Publicly.

Anyway, one of them used to talk to me and one time he asked me if I wanna come inside and play with him and his friend. I accepted (duh) and went inside his place. They didn’t hit me or call me names, in fact they were sweet and lovely (which now that I think back, I feel like an idiot for not noticing as odd.)

My memories of them are perhaps the most difficult part of writing this book. My recollection of them just doesn’t line up with those of family and neighbors. What follows is my version of my relationship with them, and I’ve decided to get it out in the open for the first time.
There was an extremely inappropriate sexual energy that came from them; I was seven years old when that happened, and for everyone who thinks that what they did is horrible, yes it was, but still, I liked it.
I read lots of books about how horrible being molested is, but I never read about how fun it can be, especially with two kind men like them.
Well they weren’t men. They were teenagers with huge penises… but at that time, that’s what they seemed to my immature eyes— kind and sweet Adonises.

They fooled me and asked me if I wanted to play “the doctor-patient” game.
I accepted and got into the bed. One of them started kissing me everywhere and to softly say to me things like “You’re so pretty” and “You’re the prettiest boy I’ve ever seen.”
The other one was dry humping me. I didn’t feel comfortable about it and wanted to leave but they said that they were not finished yet and it was just part of the game, so I stayed and they continued what they were doing.
One of them got naked and started hugging me from behind. If you saw this, if you’d been in the room, you’d stop it from happening. Thinking about it now, I feel awful and ask myself, “Why didn’t you just bite that penis and run?”
But like I said before, I liked it.

When I got home mom asked me where I had been and I told her that I was at my friend’s and she just believed, maybe because I have great acting skills. Okay, I know that I should’ve talked to someone about it but I just couldn’t.
It’s easy to say “You should have said something” watching from the sidelines, but it’s astronomically different for the one going through it all.
Anyhow, they “played” with me again and again, but it wasn’t anal; it was just “touchy touchy.”


Those guys introduced me to a new world that I truly hated and liked at the same time, introduced me to penises that made me wonder what I can do with them. I was a kid and being used like that was awful. They molested me a lot (those @#$&ing pedophiles!), and I found out that I wasn’t the only one. There were two other kids as well (who became my new molested friends later.)

The lesson I learned that year was a valuable one; being molested is a bad thing for sure, but if you have the gay gene, then you just might love it.