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Subject: The Classics Teacher The Classics Teacher This is entirely a work of fiction, and all of its characters are completely made up. If reading a story about an adult engaging in sexual acts with a minor makes you uncomfortable, or if it is illegal to read such material in your area, then please leave since I’m not sure what you’re doing here in the first place. I do not condone sexual acts with minors; this is all just fantasy and will remain as such. This is my first story published on Nifty, so please be kind. I’d love to hear back from readers to tell me what you think; any and all questions, suggestions, and comments (and reaction photos hehe) can be sent to my email ail, and I’ll try to answer back as soon as I can. Chapter 1 Let’s face it � I’m a nerd. All throughout middle school I was that kid who blew the curve on every exam, and once I made it to high school I still intended to do the same. Things were harder now though � my father had me enrolled in all Honors and AP classes, so the material was much more difficult. My freshman year was kind of rough, adjusting to high school life, but now at fifteen years old and in my sophomore year, I think I’ve adjusted well enough. It was at the very end of my freshman year that I met with my guidance counselor to choose my classes for the sophomore year. She had eyeballed my transcripts and the grades I had received from my classes � Algebra � A, Biology � A, Art � A, Gym � A, French � A � she noted that I had a very well rounded schedule. I remember sitting in her office chair in the frigid air conditioning, discussing my future with her. “Your father put you on the pre-college program, Evan,” she began, looking over her glasses. “That program outlines several more courses that would be good pre-requisites for when you get to college, namely Physics and eventually down the road, Calculus. How does that sound to you?” I shrugged and ran my hands nervously through my shaggy brown hair. When my father decided I had to do something, there was really no other choice in the matter. She continued, “We also suggest that you take an AP class in at least History or Science, preferably a science class. We even suggest you take Latin class as your foreign language.” “I’m already taking French. Why would I need another foreign language?” I asked. “Well, Latin is one of the languages English is based upon. Students often take Latin to better understand English grammar and all of the words with Latin derivatives. It’s a great way to boost SAT scores in writing and reading.” The idea of Latin at first seemed out of place, but then suddenly it seemed like it might actually be fun. I had seen the movie “Gladiator” at least a dozen times � there’s still nothing I find sexier than a half-naked Russell Crowe � and learning about the Roman Empire could be interesting. I enjoyed history and language more than my other subjects, so maybe Latin would be a great idea. I beamed at the counselor, who returned my smile. “Sign me up for Latin then!” I exclaimed, taking in a little courage. The counselor jotted down a few notes on the paper before her, and then we continued selecting my classes for the coming year. Latin. Wow, that wouldn’t earn me any more cool points in school. But being the skinny, bookish nerd that I am, I was already on the fast track to nowhere cool. At least with Latin, I might learn something interesting. After my meeting with the counselor I left the room feeling a sense of anticipation for the coming school year. * * * My sophomore year began without a hitch and coming back from summer break meant seeing all of my old friends again. Having moved up a grade felt weird, no longer being the new kid in school, but being the one the new kids went to for help. The first day back I received my class schedule and made it to the first several classes without incident. Algebra II would prove to be another snooze-fest, as would Chemistry Honors and English Literature. I somehow managed to make it all the way through gym without hurting myself, and then the time finally came for me to go to my last class of the day � Latin. I trekked up to the third floor and opened the door. The class inside had to be the smallest out of any class I had ever been a part of. There were maybe 12 students inside, and I was used to a standard class size of about 20. The teacher stood at the head of the room, scribbling something in Latin on the white board. I found an empty seat at the back of the room and unpacked my things, keeping a watchful eye on the man at the front. He was a somewhat tall man, maybe mid to late 20s, with a little larger frame � not obese, but certainly husky. He wore a set of khaki pants held tightly in place with a brown leather belt. His dress shirt was tucked in neatly and the tie held in place with a clip. He had fair skin that looked even fairer when compared against the dark brown mop of hair on his head. His hands were also covered in dark brown hair, and when the bell rang and he turned to greet the class, I saw the thick brown beard on his face. Perhaps he didn’t have movie star good looks, but I thought he was handsome nonetheless. Later in life I would learn that his “type” could be easily pegged as a bear, and the bit of dark hairs that were sticking out above his dress shirt suggested he was a hairy one at that. I sat down and the teacher adjusted his thick, black glasses and showed a bright smile. “Salvete, discipuli!” he said in a warm, baritone voice, “Ego sum magistrus vostrus, nomine Mr. Thistlewhait.” We all stared at him like he had three heads. He let out a large laugh and continued, “I said, hello, students! I am your teacher, Mr. Thistlewhait. I always love throwing off the students at the beginning of the semester.” He gave a quick chuckle to himself, then, “I hope you’re all excited to learn a dead language. Now tell me, how many of you are here because you want to boost your SAT scores?”About the entire class raised their hands. “Now, how many of you are genuinely interested in learning about the Romans?” I raised my hand meekly. Mr. Thistlewhait caught my eye and laughed. “Well at least one person here has a penchant for honest learning!” Mr. Thistlewhait continued on in a somewhat excited way, handing out the syllabi and textbooks and explaining what all the coursework would entail. When he handed me the introductory papers I looked them over keenly and saw how much work this course would be. It didn’t seem like much, and Mr. Thistlewhait explained most of it would be done in class anyway. Soon enough, the teacher jumped into our first lesson, having us open our books and reading the chapter aloud. My thoughts strayed easily from the book, and I started wondering why I hadn’t heard much about this man. He seemed pleasant enough, actually a little more happy-go-lucky than most of the teachers at Van Buren High School. I knew that he only taught one or two periods of Latin and in the others he taught World History. I even heard that at once time he had taught ancient Greek before the school removed that class due to lack of interest, but for a teacher who taught so many different things, I couldn’t recall having really heard good or bad things about him. I guess it came as no surprise for a Classics teacher to be an almost unheard-of at a school where science and athletics dominated. I bit on my pencil and tilted my head, watching Mr. Thistlewhait. He had the energy of a man who was actually interested in the subject he taught and maybe, I thought, he too was a nerd back in school the same way I am now. The rest of the class went on quickly enough, and then the bell rang to release students from school. Most of the students gathered up their belongings quickly and rushed from the room, but I packed away my things methodically. This teacher didn’t seem like the judgy asshole most of my other teachers would be, and some part of me relaxed a bit and felt more at ease. “Not too much for your first day, I hope?” I looked up and Mr. Thistlewhait was looking right at me, smiling earnestly, leaning against the desk at the front of the classroom. “No, I thought it was just enough. I don’t think any of the other students fell asleep, so I guess you’re doing well.” Did I really just say that? My heart thudded a little in my chest. I can’t believe I was being so cheeky all of a sudden, especially with a teacher I didn’t know. “That’s a good sign. If you hear any snoring during class, be sure to let me know. It’s Evan, right?” he asked me. “Yes, sir.” I replied. He nodded with a look on his face as though he were committing my name to memory. “Well, Evan, you seem about the only one really interested in learning Latin, so I hope you enjoy the class.” “Oh, I will, sir. I’ve seen Gladiator a bunch of times, and I find the Romans fascinating.” Mr. Thistlewhait let out a belly laugh. “Oh, that movie! I think it singlehandedly kept all of us Latin teachers from losing our jobs. Well, that and the SATs.” He shook his head playfully. I finished packing my bag and threw it over my shoulder, and made my way for the door. I waved at him and he waved back, adding a little Latin, “Vale!” On the bus ride home, I thought about it. I really did feel a little more at ease in his class than in my others. Mr. Thistlewhait seemed like a pretty easygoing teacher and he seemed like he’d be fun. I couldn’t wait to learn more about Latin tomorrow. * * * The semester was going by pretty rapidly, and most of my schoolwork sucked, save for Latin class. Mr. Thistlewhait turned out to be just like I thought he’d be � a big ol’ nerd just like I am. As we learned more about the Latin language, he supplemented our learning with brief history lessons about the Romans and their culture. He’d act out little bits of history here and there, like the assassination of Julius Caesar, falling to the floor so melodramatically he got even the most unengaged kids to laugh. I raised my hand some of the time during his lessons and answered his questions, really Hermione Grangering things up from time to time, and he always returned my answered questions with a smile � and sometimes a subtle wink. I’d control myself and try not to blush. The other students paid almost no attention whatsoever, but I was thoroughly enjoying the class. One of my favorite things was that when Mr. Thistlewhait would remark on a subject, he’d turn to the white board to write something out, and his bubble butt would jiggle from the intense motions from his writing. I think I’m the only kid who ever noticed this, and no matter how many times he did it, it would make me smile all the same. Sometimes, I’d wonder what his butt looked like without the pants, and what kind of underwear he wore. I was always very aware of how hairy he might be under his clothing, and I oftentimes lapsed into daydreams about how fuzzy his butt is. One time one of my daydreams got a little too intense though and I popped a boner inside my shorts, thinking about how handsome Mr. Thistlewhait would be completely naked. Thankfully nobody in the class was paying attention to me, and even though my woody wasn’t too big for my age � maybe 4.5 or 5 inches stiff � it still formed a semi-noticeable bulge in my crotch. I looked around anxiously, and then reached down between my legs to readjust myself. At that moment, though, Mr. Thistlewhait decided to turn around from the board to comment about what he was writing. His eyes went straight to me and my face went beet red, catching me mid-adjustment. I looked down and studied the book in front of me as hard as I could, feeling my boner struggling to escape the elastic waistband I had just tucked it into. But Mr. Thistlewhait continued on with his thought with the same amount of gusto he had before. Had he seen me? If he had, he gave no indication. I sighed to myself, and tried to keep myself focused on the schoolwork at hand. The school year rolled on, and my test scores in Latin were A plusses, every time. Mr. Thistlewhait always handed back my test scores with a wink or with a little red “bene!” written in the top corner. Once he even went so far izmit escort as to pat me on the back in congratulations at a perfect score. His touch was so gentle, yet firm, and the little pat-pat sent shivers right down my back and straight into my cock. I smiled up at him while secretly willing my cock to stay as flaccid as possible, though it was chubbing fast. As Mr. Thistlewhait walked past me and continued handing back the tests, I knew I’d be spending at least a good hour tonight rubbing out one or two big loads from this. The interaction between Mr. Thistlewhait and me was relatively boring until, finally, one day in class an interesting topic arose. One of the students raised his hand and asked if the Romans were gay since his mom said that they liked little boys. I about choked on my own saliva and Mr. Thistlewhait’s eyebrows shot up. A couple of the boy’s friends snickered one of the girls rolled her eyes knowing full well he asked that question to fluster the teacher.”Well, Johnny,” he began, clearly searching for words that were accurate and appropriate for the age group in class, “the Romans thought of sexuality very differently than we do today. Things that we think of as `gay’ were considered normal by their standards.” “But didn’t the Romans like to, y’know, do things to boys?” My face flushed red, and for a very brief second, I could have sworn Mr. Thistlewhait’s eyes focused on me, before flashing back to Johnny. “Adult men did have some relations with boys, yes, but generally that was frowned upon. The Greeks were the ones who institutionalized homosexuality between men and boys.” “Institutionalized?” Johnny asked, “You mean, like locked up in a crazy house?” Mr. Thistlewhait smiled wryly. “No, no, I mean they standardized it. They made it commonplace in certain establishements. Like at the gym or in schools.” The class made a collective “eeeeeewww!” but I sat in silence, my ears burning from the titillating conversation. I suddenly wanted to abandon learning Latin and go find an ancient Greek teacher. “Calm down, guys, calm down. These were the Romans and the Greeks. Their way of thinking was much different than our own. But to answer your question, Johnny, yes, the Romans did have relationships with adult men and youths. But if you think that’s bad, wait til you learn about the orgies!” The whole class was in an uproar, laughing at the taboo words Mr. Thistlewhait was saying. I, being the only one honestly interested in the topic, didn’t know what to make of it all. I chuckled dryly trying to blend in, but I don’t think Mr. Thistlewhait bought it. Once he had the class settled down, he steered them back towards the lesson and finished up for the day. As always, I was last to leave the room but hesitated just before opening the door. Mr. Thistlewhait took off his glasses and smiled another one of his pearly white doozies at me. I gulped almost audibly, but mustered up my courage. “Mr. Thistlewhait…? “Yes, Evan?” “So homosexuality was okay in Rome?” Mr. Thistlewhait sat down on his desk and nodded. “Yes. But like I said it was the Greeks who really partook. Roman homosexuality was quite different. Adult men were only really permitted to have sex with slaves or male prostitutes, since the Romans didn’t really think of them as people. And having sex with men was only okay if you were the one…” he searched for the most politically correct term, “If you were the dominant partner.” “Oh.” I said, trying to register what he meant. You had to be on top. I blushed, having a passing thought about what it would be like to mount Mr. Thistlewhait, or for him to mount me. The teacher chuckled and scratched his beard absent-mindedly. “And it was the Greeks who… institutionalized it?” “That’s right,” Mr. Thistlewhait said very gently, as if trying not to scare off a wild animal. His eyes were studying me intently as if searching for something, though I didn’t know what. I felt a little uncomfortable. “They introduced it to their schools, and it was standard for young men to have an older male partner as a mentor of sorts.” “But they would… have sex?” I couldn’t believe I was asking this. With any other teacher I would have been gone in a heartbeat, but with Mr. Thistlewhait I was at least comfortable enough to stick around and ask the questions. How the topic had turned to this, I could hardly believe. The teacher nodded calmly again, and answered, “Not always but yes.” I stood there in the doorway awkwardly, wanting very desperately to keep asking more questions about the ancient ways of male love, but I was using all my power not to pop another boner in front of my teacher. Mr. Thistlewhait held my stare a little longer than seemed normal, I looking at him trying to read what he was thinking, and he staring at me in that cryptic glance somewhere between a teacher answering a simple question and some other, mysterious emotion I couldn’t read. After what seemed like an eternity but in truth was only a couple of heartbeats long, I let out an awkward laugh and said, “Oh, okay. Those Romans and Greeks sure were weird.” Mr. Thistlewhait stood up from the desk and made his way over to the door to open it for me, looking somewhat relaxed, but maybe also a little eager to end the conversation. “They sure were.” He agreed. I said my goodbyes in Latin and scurried out of the door. I took a few steps forward and let out a small sigh of relief, my shoulders slumping as they relaxed. I took a couple more steps forward but stopped to wonder what that awkwardness had been between us. Had there really been anything? Maybe I just made him uncomfortable by asking about homosexuality, especially after that dumbass Johnny tried to ruffle his feathers. I looked back over my shoulder at the classroom. Mr. Thistlewhait was standing at the window watching me, stroking his beard. When he saw that I had turned back to look, he quickly turned the blinds and disappeared out of view. That night I looked up everything I could about homosexuality in Rome and Greece, and I understood why my teacher had been hesitant to expound. * * * The next day when I walked into class I was immediately greeted by Mr. Thistlewhait who had been standing just inside the door. “Evan, I wanted to discuss something with you about your grades. Would you mind waiting after class for a little bit?” At first I was concerned that I had done something wrong, but we both knew that my grades were top of the class, easily. A couple of the other students overheard Mr. Thistlewhait talking to me and started laughing under their breath, probably assuming that I was failing. I felt embarrassed at their assumption, but shrugged it off. “Sure thing, Mr. Thistlewhait.” I answered. I spent the entire class worrying into my notes, hardly looking at the teacher while he taught. Thoughts about the previous day kept intruding in on me, and I was anxious to know if I overstepped a boundary by asking him about Roman homosexuality. When the bell rang, my heart sank a little in my chest and started thundering a little loudly. Once again the other students left me in the dust on their way out. I gathered my things anyway, waiting for the impending talk about how I had been inappropriate yesterday, or, how I should transfer to a different class. Mr. Thistlewhait set his grade book on his desk and came over to me, trying to look casual by perching on one of the student desks. He crossed his arms, but quickly wobbled and discerned that he couldn’t sit properly and tried to nonchalantly stand back up as if nothing happened. I raised an eyebrow. Mr. Thistlewhait rubbed his beard, a little color painting his cheeks. “Evan.” He said suddenly, clapping his hands together. I about jumped at the noise, and Mr. Thistlewhait shifted from foot to foot realizing his mistake. “Uh, Evan. I wanted to talk to you about your grades.” “Do I need to improve? Because I’m getting A’s and I’m not really sure what else I can do.” “No, no, no,” he waved a dismissive hand in the air trying to assuage my fears. “Your grades are excellent. Best in the class. Probably best I’ve seen in my five years of teaching.” He said happily. He seemed earnest and proud, and I started to relax a little, now knowing I wasn’t heading for the chopping block. “You’re learning a lot faster than the other students. I think you have a talent for learning languages.” I blushed a little at the compliment. “Thanks, Mr. Thistlewhait. I really enjoy Latin. I don’t think that it’s as hard as everyone says.” He beamed at me. “I’m glad to hear you say that. Well, you’re doing so well in Latin, that I wanted to ask you if you wanted to do an independent study for the rest of Latin I.” I frowned. “You mean, you want me to go to study hall instead of being here in class for Latin I?” “No, no,” he stroked his beard, searching for words, “You seem to be moving at a faster pace than the rest of the students. I figured that you may want to learn a little independently during class, reading on your own. I’ve seen how you like to work ahead sometimes.” It was true. While Mr. Thistlewhait left us to self-study during the slower class days, I often completed the work easily and moved on to the next chapter or two. It wasn’t difficult, and memorization was easy, especially when half of the words had English equivalents. “Pictura” means picture in English? Please, how dumb are the other kids that they couldn’t memorize that? “Sorry about that.” I apologized for my eagerness, but Mr. Thistlewhait once again waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t be. I’d rather my students show an appreciation for learning than not at all. But I wanted to ask you something. Do you want to continue your studies in Latin?” I thought for a brief moment then told him I would. “That’s great! But see, with how few students Latin draws every year, the school is reluctant to let me teach Latin II, III, or IV. Or even AP Latin, which would get you college credit. I assume you’re on the road to college, right?” As a sophomore I hadn’t really put too much thought into college just yet, but the answer was a resounding yes. I nodded, and let him talk on. “Right. Well, I spoke with the head office this morning about maybe making an exception for you if you wanted. I know the idea of more work doesn’t exactly sound appealing, but they agreed that I would be able to teach you Latin after school if it meant earning you extra credits towards your graduation and college. You could self-study during class, and then after school � oh, maybe only a couple of days a week for an hour or so � I could teach you beyond the basics. What do you say?” It sounded like a dream and a nightmare all rolled into one. My eyebrows shot up in surprise. On one hand, I’d be studying even more and I’d have to spend more time in school instead of having free time to myself or to hang out with my friends. But, on the other hand, I’ll be doing more class work, which my father wouldn’t object to, and I’d get to spend more time with Mr. Thistlewhait. But, it would be alone time with him. What would that be like? I think the teacher misread the look on my face because his own expression fell. He let out a small, discouraged sigh, and said, “Oh, I thought you’d like the opportunity. You seem to really enjoy yourself�” “Oh no! Don’t get me wrong. I don’t mind the idea at all! I just have to run it by my father first to make sure it’s okay for me to stay after school.” “Oh, alright then.” He said half-satisfied. I went home that night with a small stack of papers, informing my parent-or-guardian about the after school work, and permission forms to let me stay later after the school closed. My father was excited about the opportunity. He had no qualms about me staying late to work even harder at school, especially if college � that was the key word � was involved. His only concern was about how I’d be getting home if I was staying after the busses left from school. I explained that I could bike home, since the bus ride was really not necessary as we only lived a mile or two down the road from the school anyway, or, that Mr. Thistlewhait was willing yahya kaptan escort to drive me home. That last part was a lie, but maybe in time it could turn out to be true? I still wasn’t entirely sold on the idea of staying late after school to study, but if it was with Mr. Thistlewhait, I’d be willing to give it a go. My father eagerly signed the release forms and I returned to school the following day to hand in the forms to Mr. Thistlewhait. He looked overjoyed at the news but tried in vain to keep it all to himself. We discussed it a little at length after class that day and agreed that starting Monday, each day after class, I would stay after school for one hour to study Latin. He had asked me about how I’d be getting home and I explained I would ride my bike, to which he seemed a little uneasy but settled for that answer. Starting Monday I’d be studying Latin after school with the teacher I had a bit of a crush on. This would be interesting, I thought, though I didn’t realize how interesting. * * * On Monday, I went to class like I normally did, but at the beginning of the class Mr. Thistlewhait instructed me to study several chapters ahead of where the rest of the class was. He lectured as usual, and I read about new parts of speech that were easy enough to memorize. But after class, Mr. Thistlewhait came over to my desk to sit down. He pulled up a chair and sat down, leaning in to begin our one-on-one. It was when he sat down that I realized just how much larger than me he was. I was small for a boy my height, standing at around 5 foot 4, and this man had to be an easy 5 foot 10. Sitting next to me and leaning in, he opened the textbook and began asking me questions about whether or not I understood what I had read during class. I answered him only half listening, though, because my thoughts were consumed with how close he felt, and how large his presence was to me. Underneath my pants, my cock started to stir, and I immediately started to blush. Mr. Thistlewhait paused mid-sentence to ask if I was alright, to which I replied that it was just a little warm in the classroom. He looked me over, probably only half believing what I said, but continued his lesson anyway. The following days became harder to stand. I was learning the material just fine, but Mr. Thistlewhait was becoming chummier with me during school. He would make Latin jokes in class that only I understood, making me giggle stupidly in the quiet classroom, much to my peers’ annoyance. In the after school sessions, Mr. Thistlewhait still sat next to me, but I found over time that he was becoming more comfortable, and moved his chair closer and closer to mine, until one day our knees were rubbing against one another. He made no effort to scoot the chair back, so I just chalked it up to me being overly attentive to my teacher’s presence. But he was even becoming a little more handsy, too, patting me on the back here and there when I got an answer correct, and � maybe I was imagining it � even letting the hand linger on my shoulder a little longer than it should. At one point, I even grew bold enough to “accidentally” bump my knee against his, or to shift in my seat and let my leg rub against his. Once again, Mr. Thistlewhait was a master of not letting on if he understood what I was doing. So I kept doing it at my leisure, enjoying my subtle contacts with the teacher. Things were going well enough until one day in our afternoon session, the history lesson which accompanied my Latin made mention of the teachers of young students in ancient Rome. “The teachers who taught in ancient Rome were often slaves,” Mr. Thistlewhait explained, “maybe Greek or another Roman who was well-taught in different subjects.” “So,” I began, feeling emboldened from my growing comfort with the teacher from the previous days, “if you and I were in ancient Rome right now, you would be my slave.” At first Mr. Thistlewhait almost seemed not to know how to react, but he raised a brow and smiled coyly, playing along. “That might be the case.” “Well, if you were my slave, then I would say there should be no more tests. And I should be able to snack in your class as much as I want, since I’m in charge.” “Oh no you don’t!” Mr. Thistlewhait chuckled, “The magistri of ancient Rome still called the shots. And besides, you wouldn’t own me, your parents would.” “Okay, well what if we were in ancient Greece instead? Would I be able to call the shots?” “Still no, though your education would be much less formal. You wouldn’t go to a school, per se, but rather a gymnasium or such, where you would be taught in open air sessions by philosophers.” Feeling brassy, I searched my mind quickly for the right word, then asked, feigning naivet�, “But what if I had an, an… oh what’s it called.” Mr. Thistlewhait waited patiently for me to find the right word. I snapped my finger when I remembered. “What if I had an Erastes?” Mr. Thistlewhait’s jaw fell slightly ajar, then closed sharply. I could tell by the look on his face he was surprised that I knew that word, but he was struggling to determine if I knew what I was asking. “Well, if you had an Erastes then you certainly wouldn’t be calling the shots. He would be.” “You would be.” I corrected him. “What?” he stammered “You would be. If you were my Erastes, right?” “Right.” He almost seemed worried, but tried to play it off coolly. He tapped his pencil against the desk a couple of times, almost as if thinking about how to best proceed. He hung his head for a brief second, and smiled, shook his head, as if making a dumb decision. Then he looked up at me and pushed the thick, black glasses back up on his nose. “If I were your Erastes.” “So, just like right now, you’d be my teacher, and you would teach me Latin or Greek or whatever.” Mr. Thistlewhait nodded. “Yeah, I’d be your teacher. Evan,” he leaned a little over the desk, his interest piquing, “how do you know what an Erastes is? I don’t recall teaching you that in class.” “You didn’t,” I admitted, and I could almost feel his relief. “No, do you remember that day when Johnny asked about homosexuality in Rome?” The teacher nodded silently. “Well I went home that night and did some research. And I learned that the Erastes is the name for that older man you were talking about before.” Mr. Thistlewhait smiled, impressed at my initiative. “So then, Evan, what is the name of the boy who the Erastes is… mentoring?” he asked, clearly wondering if I was reading between the lines. The name was on the tip of my tongue, but after a couple of seconds of thinking, I remembered, “An Eromenos.” “That’s right.” He said pleased. “Maybe you should be learning ancient Greek as well as Latin.” “I’d enjoy that, I think. Everything about the ancient world fascinates me. Their art, their history, their philosophies. Even their mindsets, like the whole Erastes thing.” “You mean the idea of an Erastes isn’t “weird” to you?” I could tell he was using the same word I had used those weeks ago when we briefly discussed homosexuality. Obviously, he remembered the conversation. “No, I don’t think it’s weird. I think it’d be kind of nice, having an older guy to talk to. Someone to mentor you. I mean if you were my Erastes, Mr. Thistlewhait, I’d be happy with that.” “Well, I’d be happy to have you as an Eromenos, too.” Mr. Thistlewhait said a little hesitantly. But his demeanor grew somewhat more serious, and he asked, “But you do know what those words translate to, right?” “No, I don’t,” I lied. Of course I did but I wasn’t going to tell him that. “A, uh, an Erastes is a `lover’ and an Eromenos is the `beloved’.” “Oh okay,” I said very evenly, keeping my tone and my expression unsurprised. Mr. Thistlewhait seemed to be studying me once again, gauging my reaction and determining his next course of action. He must have judged this conversation as something good, because his next words were, “So, if we were in ancient Greece right now, I’d be your Erastes and you’d be my Eromenos.” He said it in a very matter of fact tone, as if cementing what our roles were to each other. I suddenly felt like I had overstepped my bounds again in being cheeky and making the comment that he would be at my command as a Roman teacher. I wasn’t really sure what to say now, but Mr. Thistlewhait didn’t seem to mind. His demeanor had changed a little. He was no longer just the bubbly and happy-go-lucky Latin teacher, but a bit more of a stern father. Sure, he seemed still supportive and kind, but now there was something else in him, something I hadn’t seen before. Whatever it was, that something had me chubbing up in my pants again. I think he knew that. And I liked it. “So you know that one of the responsibilities of the Erastes is to teach his Eromenos well.” “R-right.” I stuttered. The teacher leaned back in his chair a little, looking larger and more… dominant than he had before. “Evan, would you really want to be my Eromenos? If we were in Greece, I mean.” There was no hesitation in his voice. There was no guessing about how his intention was coming across, he was all in right now. “Y-Yes.” “So then if we were in ancient Greece � or Rome, too � it would be okay of me to instruct you as I saw fit.” he said sternly, but also gently, coaxingly. “Of course, sir. You’d be in charge.” I laughed a little anxiously, my heart pounding. What was I getting myself into? Could I handle it? What was happening? I shifted again in my seat trying to indirectly stuff my rising woody into a less conspicuous position. My flippin’ teacher was only a couple of feet away, surely he would notice this. But he was turning me on, that something in his voice was turning me on, and my teenage hormones were raging whether I wanted them to or not. “Would you want to learn from me? Could I teach you, erm, Latin?” he almost seemed amused with himself about his false attempt at keeping up pretenses. I tried to gulp down some saliva but my throat was drying out. “I would love to learn Latin.” “Good. Now,” he began, “the first lesson is that you need to relax.” His low baritone voice was so soothing now, so reassuring. It was hard to want to relax, but I felt around him that he genuinely wanted to teach me. His voice was rich and smooth and kind. He laid one hand on my shoulder and at first I tensed up, but I willed myself to calm down. I took a breath and let it out, and smiled up at him, showing that I was following his direction. “You definitely need to relax, and understand that here we have the mindset of the Romans and Greeks, right?” “Yes, sir.” “Here we have the mindset of the ancients. You can relax. And firstly, you must understand, that there’s no need to hide that.” I looked up at him to see what he meant. He was gesturing to my groin. My boner throbbed in my pants and my face flushed a bright red. He laughed heartily and started rubbing my back. His large hands made very quick work of my tense back, kneading and caressing my un-muscled physique. He was far too strong for me, but I liked it anyway. I knew if he kept going at this pace I’d have bruises by tomorrow. “You don’t need to hide that, and you certainly don’t need to be embarrassed. See? I’m not.” I stole a glance at Mr. Thistlewhait’s crotch. And sure enough, as if he had stuffed a banana down his pants, my Latin teacher was sitting next to me with a boner of his own straining against the confines of his slacks. “You see, in ancient Rome and Greece, an erection was nothing to be ashamed about. In fact the Greeks had many statues around their cities, called herms, with big erections standing out on the front.” I couldn’t take my eyes off of it. His boner seemed to move on its own within his pants. He spread his legs wider to give me a better look, clearly enjoying my gawking expression. I made no more effort to cover myself from him and instead just let my cock twitch in delight in my pants. Mr. Thistlewhait looked back and forth between me and his crotch, and nudged me a little on the shoulder with his hand. “Do you want to touch it?” I didn’t answer him. I reached out with a shaky hand, my heart gebze escort thudding loudly in my chest, and laid a delicate hand over the mound of flesh that was encased in his pants. Mr. Thistlewhait let out a low growl and a sigh. I took that as a sign to move in further. I leaned closer to him, feeling the great warmth of his large frame, and pushed gently into his cock, massaging it against his leg through the fabric. “That’s a good boy.” He said, his hands drifting along my back. I continued outlining his dick with my fingers, groping it gently and trying to feel its heft. “Have you ever touched another man’s dick before?” I shook my head. Though I had dreamed about it, I hadn’t ever had another experience like this with another man. There were plenty of times in the boys’ locker room where I’d see another guy’s cock, but I never came close to touching it. Sometimes at home I would sneak peeks at my father coming out of the shower and walking into his bedroom. He always did well to cover up and keep me from seeing anything, but sometimes if he were a little careless, I could see his package waving back and forth between his legs. But none of those times ever came close to this. Here I was actually touching another cock � and a man’s cock, my teacher’s cock! I wanted more. As if sensing that, Mr. Thistlewhait leaned forward in the chair just enough to give his crotch a little more leeway. His pants were tight enough as it is, what with his boner and how big he was as a man. With his left hand he grabbed his zipper and pulled it down slowly, and then he leaned back a little and got comfortable again. “Pull it out.” My hands were shaking but I complied. I reached with my right hand into the dark hole of his fly and searched around inside for my prize. It felt damp inside, sweaty, like a jungle trapping in too much heat. My fingers sifted through the layers of clothes, feeling around the edge of his tucked-in shirt, and landing upon his underwear. It was warm and thin, like it had been worn too many times. I rummaged some more, finding the fly on his boxers and working my fingers inside. His pubes felt thick and curly, wiry and chaotic, and at the touch of my skin against his, Mr. Thistlewhait smiled and said, “Keep on going, Evan.” I dove in further. I felt around more and snaked my hand closer to the leg of his pants, where I had felt his cock before. My fingers danced over his pubes, then, finding the base of his shaft, worked their way up along the loose folds of foreskin to rest on the bulbous tip of his head. The tip was slick with precum, and I massaged it around, gently fingering the opening of his piss slit. “Go on,” Mr. Thistlewhait said encouragingly. “Pull it out, boy.” Very gently, doing everything I could not to injure my new Erastes, I clutched the firmness of his member in my hand and tugged it to the cave-like opening of his fly. Mr. Thistlewhait shifted around a little to help me, making room for his cock to move freely within his pants. Then, as if on cue, his boner found the light and sprung out into full view. It was beautiful � this man’s fat cock standing up in full mast out of his pants. The mushroom tip glistened in its own wetness and another drop dribbled out and ran along the front of the shaft. I still had it in my hand, not wanting to lose grip of this fat thing. Mr. Thistlewhait put his hand around the small of my back and gently but firmly pulled me closer to him. I pulled my chair a little closer to his to give me enough room to lean in further, and I rested my head on his chest. He wrapped a hefty arm around me in a semi-embrace and kissed me on the forehead. His chest felt so warm and comfortable, I never wanted to leave it. With a free hand, Mr. Thistlewhait removed his tie to get it out of my way, and I nuzzled into his chest a little deeper. His fat pec was so inviting and comfortable, I wanted to get him out of his clothes to feel its flesh, but I didn’t want to rush things. Mr. Thistlewhait was in control of what we were doing, not me, and I sensed he wanted to take his time with this. I moved my hand up and down his cock gently, watching the skin folds ripple and lengthen with each stroke. With each upward stroke another tiny drop of precum formed at the head and dribbled down to join its brothers. My hand was starting to slicken with the sticky liquid, but I was too entranced to notice. After a moment Mr. Thistlewhait said, “Evan, you’re a good Eromenos, and I want to teach you everything that an Erastes can. Do you accept that?” I did. In my heart I wanted nothing more than to explore more of this man, for him to explore me. I wanted him completely, and I knew he wanted me too. “Yes, sir. I do.” “Well,” Mr. Thistlewhait said quietly, “unfortunately we don’t have much time left today to do much more. But I think we’ll finish your lesson on pleasure. Tell me, Evan, how many times a day do you jerk off?” I felt a little embarrassed by his question, but he laughed off my obvious hesitation to answer him. “Remember to be respectful to your Erastes. Answer a question when he asks you something.” “Yes, sir. About once or twice a day at least, sir.” Mr. Thistlewhait nodded. “I thought as much. Well, Evan, do me a favor. Tonight, do not masturbate.” I threw him a look of disbelief, but he held up a hand to silence my forthcoming objections. “I want to continue your education tomorrow and I have something in mind, so promise me you won’t masturbate.” I nodded my assent. “I promise, Mr. Thistlewhait.” “Good boy. And now,” he moved his hand from my back up to my head and tugged me closer, “another question. Have you ever eaten a cum load, boy?” “No, sir.” “Not even your own?” The thought had never really occurred to me. When I came, I always just wiped myself off with a tissue or a towel and that was that. I never really considered eating the stuff. “Well. For your second lesson from your Erastes, I’m going to teach you how to enjoy the taste of cum.” He pushed forward on my head lowering me down to his crotch. His erection was harder than ever, sticking straight up from the cloud of pubes hiding inside his unzipped fly. I wanted to take him out of those pants, I wanted to fondle his balls, too, to see him fully naked. But we were still at school, and Mr. Thistlewhait was the one doing the teaching here. Even though my mouth had dried out, I managed to make enough saliva to welcome my teachers cock into my mouth. It was thick, almost too thick for my virgin mouth to handle, and Mr. Thistlewhait sensed that. “Just start with the head first and go from there. Don’t worry, we have plenty of time for you to learn how this is done � at later lessons. For now, I just want you to get acquainted with what a man’s cock is like.” But I didn’t want to learn later. I wanted to learn now. It wasn’t fair that we only had an hour of lessons a day, and today more than 45 minutes of that had been used up on actual Latin lessons. I moved his spongy head around in my mouth, savoring the salty wetness of it, listening to the slurping sounds I was making with my tongue. I wasn’t sure how to really begin sucking off a guy so I pretended like it was slurping on the tip of a popsicle and hoped that would work. Mr. Thistlewhait wasn’t giving any instruction, but rather seemed to be taking this time just to gauge my instinctive abilities. I could taste more of his cum seeping out of his slit, and my tongue lapped at it greedily. It tasted salty, but mostly didn’t taste like anything. I didn’t understand what the big deal was. “Shit.” I heard my teacher say above me. He had checked his wristwatch for the time. “You’re doing great, kid. But we gotta rush this one; I gotta let you get back home soon. Just keep your mouth right where it is.” I continued to suckle him, enjoying every second of it. It always seemed like anytime something good happened to me the experience was cut short, and of all days I really wish I had more time with my teacher today. Mr. Thistlewhait grabbed the free portion of his shaft and started jerking vigorously. His whole body shook with the motion, his belly jiggling pleasantly with the rapid vibrations. I held my head as steady as I could, but that was proving difficult enough at it was with the intensity of his motions, almost as if he were trying to jerk his cock from my mouth. His breathing was becoming more labored now, and he was taking shallow gasps of air through his mouth. With one hand, he was running his fingers through my hair keeping me aligned with his meat, and with the other he vigorously jerked his shaft. I put my small, hand over his own thick, hairy one, lending what assistance I could to get my teacher off. My touch must have sent him over the edge, because another second and he was grunting in his deep, guttural tone, “Oh fuck, my little Eromenos. Here it comes…!” I felt the first explosion of white-hot liquid on my tongue and was instantly accosted with the vulgar, bitter taste of his salty jizz. More flowed freely and poured out of his cock like an erupting volcano. Mr. Thistlewhait had thrown back his head and bit down on his hand, trying not to scream out inside the school. His cock juices flooded my mouth, and I swallowed my heaping helping only to be given more. But despite its ugly taste, I thoroughly loved every second of this, and I knew I had better get used to that salty liquid, because I would be eating a lot more of it in time. His hand was slowing its jerking just as the rush of liquid started to ebb, but I swatted away Mr. Thistlewhait’s hand and replaced it with my own, eager to draw out as much cum as I could. I wanted to please my Erastes. I gulped down the remainder of my teacher’s thick load, but as much as I wanted to try to suck another one out of him, he put one firm hand under my chin and lifted my head of off his tool. I left a small string of spit connected from his tip to my lips, and not really knowing what else to do, I grinned widely at him. For someone who hadn’t done anything really all that exerting, Mr. Thistlewhait was taking deep breaths, staring at me with a look of contentment on his face. “You did a great job, kiddo.” He used his thumb to gather up the little bit of saliva at the corner if my mouth, broke the string and then sucked his thumb clean with a loud `pop.’ “But I didn’t really do anything,” I said. I felt like I hadn’t anyway, but Mr. Thistlewhait wanted to disagree. “You did plenty. Now I’m sorry we’ll have to stop here for today, but I did tell your dad over email that you would be getting home on time every day.” Much to my disappointment, Mr. Thistlewhait took his waning member and stuffed it back into his slacks, zipped up his fly, and then readjusted himself. “I know, sir. I understand.” “I’m glad. And don’t worry, we’ll do much more in the future, I mean, if you want to continue your studies.” Was this guy being for real? Of course I wanted to continue! Now that the session was ending, the strong and dominant Mr. Thistlewhait seemed to be dissolving back into the carefree teacher I knew before. I smiled up at him and laughed. “I really want to keep learning, Mr. Thistlewhait. I was serious when I said I want you to be my Erastes. I want you to teach me everything you know.” “Good,” He stood abruptly and closed the textbook on the desk, handing it back to me. “Then your homework tonight is to finish learning the pluperfect tense in chapter 6, and memorize the ten vocab words I wrote down for you.” I quickly gathered up my belongings and walked over to the door, where he opened it for me to let me out Then he dropped his voice low and quiet for only us to hear, “Oh, and remember, your special homework. You cannot masturbate. And trust me, I’ll know.” He had a sparkle in his eyes that suggested he meant what he said. “Yes, sir!” My woody returning to its flaccid state, I scurried into the hallway and started home. I have never had a problem doing homework in the past. But this would prove to be the hardest assignment yet. * * * End of Chapter 1! Sorry that this chapter had so much exposition in it, but I wanted to establish my characters first before jumping into the fun stuff. I plan to write much more on this in the future if you guys seem to like it, so let me know what you think! If you have a suggestion about what Evan should be taught, tell me, and I might add it to the curriculum 😀

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