Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Carl and Beth Do Sex Ed in Middle School

   by peregrinf

   Copyright(c) 2010 by peregrinf

   ------ Description: WARNING: CHAPTER 8 CONTAINS SOME MALE HOMOSEXUALITY.
Beth Naked in School was one of those occasions when everything fell into
place perfectly.  To maintain that quality has been slow going.  Good
writing is like that.  Sometimes it just takes time.  New readers, I
suggest you at least read Beth Naked in School.  Even better, read the
whole trilogy; in order, "Carl Naked in School", "Carl Naked in School -
Beth's Story", and "Beth Naked in School".
Codes: mf ff boy gi mm cons reluc gay les het fant bro sis safe oral
anal mastrb pett toys food exhib voy slow caution sch

   ------ Chapter 10

   Missy and I, awake and ready, started for school earlier than ever, so
we could take our time.  It was a beautiful Friday morning, the end of the
school week, with a soft breeze stirring my hair, brushing my cheeks.  The
day stretched ahead of us, all laid out, crisp and clear; the tedium of
American History, filled with names and dates droned to us by Mr.  Fulcher,
the sharp, edgy, sides and angles of trigonometry, the prose and poetry of
language arts -- more Poe!

   Then, just before lunch, the last Sex Ed session, turbulent, exciting,
scary.  What did Beth and Carl have planned?  Would I be with Patterson,
with his moods and gloom?  My mind skittered away from Missy and Mike. 
What if they did IT ...  today ...  there ...  on the mats ...  right
before my very eyes?

   What did I have to complain about?  She and I had done IT just the night
before, in our same-sex fashion.

   Love knows no logic.  I felt like I was being torn in two, loving her so
much, knowing I had to let her go, yet not quite let her go.  I'd be seeing
her every day in school, we'd still do things together, but a third party
unbalanced our relationship.  It was like the ground was shifting under my
feet.

   As for this afternoon?  Well, the usual, unless Sex Ed threw me a curve.
And then, home.

   Alone, probably.

   Bummer.

   Worse, the weekend, and the next week, and beyond, were lost in a mist.
Usually the weekend was ours, Missy's and mine.  We'd talk on the phone,
walk to the park, maybe bike for miles, paint each others' toe nails (not
my style, but a time for giggles and touches), just being together.

   But this weekend -- Missy hadn't said anything -- but somehow I knew she
and Mike would be making plans that didn't include me, and I'd be alone.  I
felt a pang, and squeezed Missy's hand, receiving a comforting squeeze in
return.

   I think she was reading my mind.

   I had thought long and hard about how grateful I was that Missy had come
over last night, and how warm and comforting she had been.  I had thanked
her every way I knew how.

   But I was curious.  Would she have come anyway?  Or was Windy now a part
of her, the way The Stick was part of me?  I had to ask her, "How much of
that last night was because of Windy?"

   Missy smiled softly.  "Oh, I don't know.  Windy started prodding me
before you even called.  She wanted me to call you, but I was afraid to. 
She was only telling me what I already knew, of course, that you were
hurting, but I was angry, and my silly pride had to interfere.  Is The
Stick as stubborn?"

   "She is," I admitted.  "She yelled at me until she was hoarse.  I
finally shut her up by burying her under a steaming pile of trigonometry."
I sighed.  "I hurt you.  You had every right to be angry."

   She shrugged.  "Windy reminded me of how kind you had been, and what
could I say?  Besides, you know I love you, always and forever.  But now,
Mike..."

   I managed a smile.  "Mike appeals to your hormones in a way that I
don't, perhaps?"

   "Yeah." She was silent for a minute.  "Windy is new to this, and so am
I. She's always reminding me that I'm Good, and Kind, and Smarter than I
think.  Already she's nagging me about my diet, and about practicing my
clarinet, of course.  Sometimes she sounds like my music teacher."

   Missy put on her nasal, snotty voice.  "'Try it again, this way, ' and
'better, but try it again, and watch how you hold your left hand.  Don't
slump.  Take your time.'"

   I laughed.  She'd told me before that her clarinet teacher has the voice
of an oboe with a split reed.  I gave her hand a squeeze.  "Sounds
familiar. My swimming coach is a trumpet, I swear I can hear him under
water, 'reach for the turn, Dee, reach for the turn.' But I like him."

   Missy sighed.  "Mike has just turned everything upside down."

   "For both of us," I agreed.

   We walked hand in hand, close, our arms brushing, each filled with our
own thoughts.  It had all been said last night.  There was no point in
rehashing it.  It was a bitter-sweet time of sharing, a time of parting --
no, not parting -- a time of growing apart, in its way more painful,
because it was inevitable, but slow.

   It was like gradually peeling off a bandage, pulling hairs out one at a
time instead of one quick rip.  I -- WE -- were dealing with the initial
shock.  The future held further pain, more for me than Missy, at least
until I found a new equilibrium, be it alone or with someone else.

   Change was coming.  Change was happening, and nothing we did would stop
it.  If we tried it would just cause unbearable strain until something --
someone -- snapped.  I couldn't do that to Missy.

   I saw Mike in the distance, waiting for her, and I tried to let go of
her hand, but she tightened her grip.  She wouldn't let me sever that tie.
And when we got to Mike she took his hand, too, and we walked three
abreast, Missy between us.  She was the lucky one.  She had both of us,
like bookends.  I felt like I might topple off to one side, into a chasm.

   I tried not to listen to their chatter.  If it weren't for Missy's grip
I might as well not have been there, but I was grateful for that loving
touch.

   It was so strange.  I was happy for her, and sad and worried for myself.
For the first time we were setting off on different journeys.  Was this how
Siamese twins feel when they're separated?  Missy and I had been that close
for that long.

   We wordlessly parted at the school steps, Missy and Mike heading for the
music room, while I headed for my thinking spot to try to make sense of
everything, to confer with The Stick, steady myself.

   I was unsettled to see someone already there, but when I got closer I
saw it was Patterson, and I couldn't displace him, though I wasn't sure I
wanted his company, either.

   He'd seen me, so it was too late to find an alternate place, not without
seeming to snub him.  He didn't deserve that.

   When I got there he wordlessly scooched over, making room for me, and I
shrugged off my back pack, sank down and folded my legs, Indian fashion,
sitting up very straight, turning my face to the sun.  He was hugging his
knees, turned away from me, a bit to the right, looking toward the softball
diamond, while I was angled a little to the left, looking past the soccer
fields.

   I never really got into softball.  Too much standing around, waiting for
something to happen.  I liked soccer, with the almost constant running,
figuring the angles to intercept or pass the ball, speeding up or slowing
down, the shock of the ball ricocheting off my instep, the impact of a
shoulder against mine as I fought off a defender.

   Swimming; the tense wait on the blocks, drawn tight like a bow, the
crack of the starter's pistol the release, flying through the air then the
water, then driving through the water, the butterfly, combining pull with
kick into a sinuous flight, pull, pull, flip turn, drive off the wall,
grabbing glimpses of the competition, fighting to put them behind, leading
the pack, the water rippling smoothly, fighting tiring muscles, gasping for
air, reaching for the finish.

   Even better was soaring off the end of the diving board, flying, making
my body tumble and twist, find the water and arrow into the cool depths. 
Oh, there was a long wait between dives, but it was followed by a
breathtaking exhilaration.  Up there I was on my own, flying solo.

   But "flying solo" reminded me of Missy, and I shut the thought off.

   "Whaddaya think they'll do today?" he asked, moody as ever.

   I picked at the grass.  I knew he was talking about Carl and Beth, of
course.  "I dunno."

   "You knew what they were gonna do yesterday," he pointed out.

   "I suspected," I admitted.  "You glad you came?"

   "I guess.  Still haven't figured it out yet."

   "Me neither." I surprised myself by leaning toward him, against him,
finding comfort in the support, surprised that he didn't pull away but
instead, leaned back against me.

   My heartbeat quickened, almost the way it did when I stepped up on the
diving board or the starting blocks at the pool.

   He shifted nervously.  Would he put his arm around me?  Did I want him
to?  What would I do if he did?

   My mouth was dry.  I tilted my head, shifted my shoulder.

   I felt him move his arm, felt it steal around my back.  Maybe he was
just going to lean back on it?

   But he didn't.  His arm went around me!  For a moment I was rigid, then
yielding, welcoming his support as I straightened my legs.  My hand slipped
from my thigh to his knee.  My line of sight had slipped away from the
soccer field, toward softball, and I sensed his attention had shifted from
softball toward soccer.  We reached a compromise.

   I remembered how beautifully Carl and Beth fitted together, she standing
in the circle of his arm, her arm around him, how they looked at each
other, devoted.  It didn't feel like that with John, it was all angular,
mismatched parts clashing.

   Oh my gosh!  I was afraid to even ask myself what was happening here. 
You're The Stick, I told myself.  You're tall.  You're Slender (and getting
boobs, Missy had said so!).  You're Sexy.

   I didn't know what I wanted.  I was afraid again.  Me!  Afraid!!

   Just like with Mike, The Stick wryly reminded me, asking if I was gonna
let that happen again.

   But John wasn't Mike.  Until yesterday my relationship with John had
been based on mutual hostility.  Now I wasn't sure what it was based on. 
There was some sort of an attraction toward him, but maybe it was nothing
more than trying to fill the space Missy usually occupied.

   John turned a bit more toward me, and I met him half way, and we sort of
slid back, down, reclined, his free arm coming around in front, my right
arm trapped behind his back, the other reaching for him, and we lay on the
grass, awkwardly trying to sort out torsos, arms and hands, legs and feet.

   He was shorter than me, so his head was at my shoulder level, and I
squirmed down so I could see his face.  He looked as scared as I felt.  But
we moved together, lips seeking lips, our noses getting in the way for a
moment.

   We kissed, his lips warm, and dry, and soft on mine.  Just a simple
kiss, no tongue, no spit swapping, no cherry lip balm, just a tentative,
experimental touch, and the world didn't come to an end.  He didn't
withdraw with revulsion, and my heart was racing, racing, racing.  His eyes
were so clear, and blue, with little flecks of gold.

   What was happening?  I had the feeling The Stick was trying to tell me
something important, but my ears were ringing so I couldn't hear.

   Then we drew back, and I remembered to breathe again.  He looked
worried, abashed, and turned away almost guiltily.  "Sorry."

   "Do..." I had to clear my throat.  "Don't be," I whispered.

   The opening bell shattered the moment into sharp, glittering shards, a
dash of ice cold water on hyper-sensitive nerve ends.

   "Is it time to go in?"

   "'fraid so," I answered, simultaneously disappointed and relieved,
sitting up and reaching for my backpack.

   He got up first, and extended his hand to help me up!  I took it, and he
didn't let go once I was on my feet, and this time he wasn't trying to get
away from me as we made our way to the door, and I matched my pace to his,
my feelings in turmoil.

   "See you later," he said as we parted.

   "Yeah," I agreed, feeling a little thrill at the thought.

   "You?  And Patterson?" Missy was astonished.

   I shrugged awkwardly.  "I'm on the rebound," I alibied, embarrassed.

   Missy giggled, and put her arm around me.  "Yeah, right."

   "Well, I need somebody," I pleaded, giving her an affectionate nudge. 
"He's not so bad, once you get to know him."

   "If you say so.  Hey, if he makes you happy, I'm happy," Missy admitted
fondly, "as long as he doesn't call me 'Fatty.'"

   And we descended into the maelstrom (good word, that -- Scandinavian. 
We'd just read Poe's story).  We were sucked down, emerging two periods
later, soaked in as much knowledge as we could absorb in the time given,
the rest running off us, to be recycled and repeated tomorrow for those not
paying attention today.

   Sex Ed was next, a tumult of raging hormones and conflicted desires that
commanded attention.

   On the way, Missy and Mike hooked up (no not THAT way, just hand in
hand) and John Patterson was by the water fountain -- waiting this time,
not hanging back, and something inside me gave a little dance, and he
reached for my hand as I reached for his, though he did look a little
bashful about the whole thing.

   We joined the rest of The Dirty Dozen in a nervous cluster inside the
door of the room.  TPTB had been busy again.  The names from the walls had
been transferred to cardboard boxes, the room empty save for them, a couple
of mysterious wheeled cabinets, the mats, Carl and Beth, and the four
visitors from yesterday; and Ms Andrews, of course, who closed the door
behind us and drew the shade.

   She clapped her hands.  "Okay, people, this is the wrap up session.  It
may run a little long, but don't worry, they'll save some lunch for you."

   I felt a thrill.  Maybe I was at last going to find out why I was here
-- why WE were here.  I'd already resigned myself to a long journey
discovering my sexual orientation.  So far all I'd found there was more
questions than answers.

   "First off, with your permission, I'd like you to find the box with your
name on it and, if you are willing, for you to put all your clothes in the
box.  As always, this is voluntary, but since you all stripped down
yesterday, as a courtesy to our guests, I hope you'll go along today.  We
should be used to seeing each other in the altogether at this point.

   "And, just to make it easier for you, I'm going to join you, and our
guests."

   My eyebrows hit my hairline as she began unbuttoning her blouse, a nice
paisley, dark green with touches of yellow and blue.  Ms Andrews was a
robust woman, not fat but solidly built, a bit shorter than me, though in
my mind I would always look up to her.

   She let her skirt drop, and stepped out of it.  Her bra and panties, a
pale brown shade, looked light against her very dark skin.  Her bold, heavy
linked gold necklace with its jade stones made her coloring all the more
dramatic.  She was a Nubian queen to rival Sheba.

   I began undressing, shooting looks in her direction, along with everyone
else.  A naked teacher?

   Her bra was next, exposing an impressive pair of boobs, dark chocolate,
swaying heavily.  Her large areolas were almost black, with nipples that
stiffened to a half inch.  It was all so totally different from my
equipment.

   Her panties followed her bra into a box of her own, and I was surprised
to see a scar, low on her abdomen, just above her tight, kinky black bush.
I tried not to stare, but she caught my eye, and winked.

   "And yes, what you see is the scar from a C Section, a Caesarean
operation used when the baby won't come out the right way, for whatever
reason.  Let it be a lesson to you ladies -- childbirth does not always go
as planned, especially if you become pregnant when you are too young.  It
happened to me, it could happen to you, if you aren't careful."

   "What happened to the baby?" Mickey asked fearfully, then apologized. 
"I'm sorry, it's none of my business."

   Ms Andrews looked pained but understanding.  "That's all right.  Truth
and -- what is it they say?  -- transparency is the rule in this room.  She
was fine, still is, I hope.  I gave her up for adoption at birth.  I have
no idea where she is, but she's always with me, even now.  Amazing, the
bond between mother and child.

   "Now that we're all exposed," she went on more firmly, "we have about
fifteen minutes for you to visit with our guests, in case any of you have
questions you'd rather not air to the whole class.  If there's something
that you want to discuss in more depth, or don't want to bring up here and
now, talk with them about getting together with them at some later time, or
come to me if I can help."

   I fidgeted, uncertain.  I saw Patterson hesitantly heading to where Tony
and Steve were standing in the far corner.  Maybe our kiss meant less than
I thought.  Probably it was as much an experiment for him as it had been
for me.

   I decided that at least I could talk with Stephanie and Kathy, just to
be sociable.

   Stephanie greeted me warmly with a big hug, and when I turned to Kathy
she embraced me just as warmly.  We were skin to skin, of course, and that
always gave me a tingle.  I was still in awe of Kathy, she was so tall and
strong.

   "Still standing tall, I see," Kathy observed.

   "I am," I agreed proudly.  "I keep reminding myself, and I hear your
voice."

   "Just be ready for the high school basketball coach to try to recruit
you," she warned.  "Though I hear you're more into swimming and diving."

   I nodded, abashed.

   "Here just to say 'hello?'" Stephanie asked astutely.  "Or is there
something else?"

   "Uh, well, I don't know," I admitted, aware of Judy Greene nervously
hovering not far away.  "I've -- uh -- well, Missy and I have been pretty
close."

   "Wondering, are you?" Kathy asked.

   I thought of making love to Kathy, and squirmed.  "I don't know.  How
can I know?"

   "You're young yet," Kathy said.  "Give yourself time.  Get to know
yourself, and other people.  Okay?"

   "I'm still not sure about myself," Stephanie admitted, moving close to
Kathy, snuggling under the taller girl's arm.  "You can always come to me
if you want to talk."

   "And me," Kathy chimed in.  The thought that she'd make time for me gave
me a little thrill.

   I nodded thanks, gave Judy Greene an encouraging smile, and moved on. 
Some of the kids were just chatting amongst themselves.  There was a small
group around Carl and Beth, of course.  John Patterson was just moving away
from where Tony and Steve were standing, the only boy that I could see that
had talked with them.  That had to have taken guts, to reveal his doubts
about himself that way, considering the ragging he already took from his
so-called friends.

   "Well, what do you think, sis?" Carl asked me as Beth talked with
Mickey, A.  J.  at her side like a devoted puppy.  "How'd we do?"

   I gave him a hug.  "I don't know what to say.  It's been ... 
unbelievable.  I thought I knew a lot, what with you having been in the
program, and then seeing you with Beth and all, and Mom being so open, but
I've learned so much more.  But there's one question that still hasn't been
answered."

   "What's that?"

   I flapped my arms.  "What am I doing here?  Why was I chosen?  Why were
any of us chosen?  What's next?  Was it your idea for me to be in your
class?"

   "That's more like five questions," he said with a laugh.  "As to the
last, believe it or not, I had nothing to do with it.  As to why, and
what's next, well, you'll find out at the end of the class."

   I stamped my bare foot -- yeah, I'd even left my shoes in the box -- and
a gym mat is worse than carpeting when it comes to effective bare foot
stamping.  "Come on, bro, how about a hint.  I'll do dishes for a week!"

   "Nope, can't do it." He gave me a kiss on the forehead, just like a big
brother -- condescending.

   "How about what's next today?" I pleaded.

   "Touching."

   "Touching?  I thought we did that."

   "Not touching yourself.  Touching someone else."

   "Who?"

   "Your choice."

   I looked around, not sure I liked the sound of that.  Everyone else was
pretty much paired off.  Even Judy Liu was sticking close to Terrell's
side. Mike and Missy were practically welded together, of course, and Judy
Greene, after talking with Kathy and Stephanie, was with Al Butler, which
made sense, since they were classmates.

   John Patterson was standing a few feet away, looking hopeful, but I
wasn't really sure I wanted to go down that road.  What was it that was
happening between him and me?  I didn't really know him.  Why had I kissed
him?

   On the other hand, he was available.

   Ms Andrews had been circulating, and came up beside me.  "How are you
doing?"

   I couldn't help leaning against her when she put her arm around my
shoulders.  She smelled nice.  Her breasts were full and firm, her hips
broad.  I still couldn't get over that she'd had a child, maybe when she
was only a few years older than me.  I wondered if she was married now, or
had any other children.  I was embarrassed at how little I knew about my
teachers.

   "You've done wonders with Patterson," she complimented me.  "Thank you."

   "All I did was listen."

   "That may be a lot more than anyone has ever done before for him."

   "He's hurting," I explained.  "He's so alone.  He's angry, too.  His
so-called friends call him 'faggot' and 'fairy.'"

   "Do they now?  I didn't know that," Ms Andrews observed thoughtfully. 
"That is going to have to stop.  Do you think he'll talk with me?"

   A teacher, asking me for advice?  "I don't know.  I think so, but you'll
have to be gentle with him."

   "I haven't been, have I." It wasn't a question.  "We teachers forget,
sometimes, and dump some poor kid in a category that he doesn't deserve. 
Thank you for telling me.  I knew you'd be a good person for this class."

   "You did?  Did you pick me?  Why?"

   Instead of answering she gave me a little squeeze, and let go to clap
her hands for attention.  "All right, people, find yourself a partner and
settle.  We're going to go back to one of our earlier sessions, with a
twist.  But before we do, some words of warning.  I know the hormones are
raging, and, given the opportunity, you may want to go all the way.

   "I admit I didn't promise to return you to your parents in factory new
condition -- virginal, in other words -- assuming, of course, you haven't
already done the deed.  However, I am NOT encouraging you to become that
intimate.  Frankly, you're too young for that.

   "There's a big difference between true love and infatuation, which is
nothing more than one set of glands calling to another set.  Boys can
become slaves to their testosterone, and girls to their estrogen..."

   That was the word The Stick had been whispering to me outside, on the
grass.  The implication being that what I felt for John was the result of
hormones, the same hormones that were making my breasts blossom, my hair
grow, not something deeper, like love.  I hardly knew Patterson, after all.
Missy and I had grown up together, and grown together.  Patterson and I had
almost nothing in common.

   I yanked my attention back to what Ms Andrews was saying.

   "Just in case things start to get out of hand, either figuratively or
literally, I am going to be circulating with these." She displayed a
handful of condoms.  "I will not try to completely interrupt the
inevitable, should it occur, which I sincerely hope it doesn't -- YOU ARE
TOO YOUNG -- but I will do my damndest to make sure that you don't find
yourself in the situation I did when I was about your age.

   "If I see you moving in that direction, I'll give you a condom, and
watch to make sure it is properly used.  If it comes right down to it, I
might even physically remove that young stud from between your thighs to
apply the protection before you complete the act.  Understood?  I'll try
not to let it get that far, to avoid what is called 'coitus interruptus'
which is a real mood breaker, I assure you."

   There was no mistaking that she was looking right at Mickey Kelly as she
said this.  Mickey was with A.  J.  Personally I regarded the odds that's
he'd deliver the goods to her as being close to zero.  On the other hand,
her physical assets were probably enough to stir even the Pope's
testosterone, and, unless I was misreading the situation, his enslavement
to her estrogen was total.

   "Beth, if you please." Ms Andrews stepped back out of the way as Carl
and Beth took center stage again.

   I was left to find my own way again, and gravitated toward John in spite
of my reservations.  The kiss outside had scared me.  The Stick reminded me
that I was Tall, I was Slender, and I was Sexy -- which I was not sure I
wanted to be under these circumstances -- and that I was Strong.

   "Sit comfortably on the floor, facing your partner," Beth directed,
circulating around the room.  "We're going to do touching exercises again,
only you're going to be touching your partner this time, instead of
yourself."

   "As some of you have probably already discovered, touching is a powerful
and intimate form of communication," Carl went on.  "A touch can be as
gentle as a kiss, or as brutal as a punch."

   "No punching!" Beth warned, getting a self-conscious laugh from us.

   John and I were facing off, sitting with our legs folded tailor fashion,
as a result hiding nothing, our knees almost touching.  I couldn't deny the
physical attraction to him, so maybe my sexuality question was answering
itself.  His body was trim and slender, pale, not well tanned like mine. 
If he spent much time outside it wasn't at the pool.  His cock was good
sized for his age, circumcised, the head plump and dusky, the shaft
straight, the veins prominent.

   I remembered the feel of the dildo wielded by Missy filling my channel,
and knew my pussy was licking its chops at the memory.  What would a real,
live cock feel like in there?

   I didn't dare look down, but I saw him looking at my crotch, and knew
that my inner lips were already signaling their readiness.

   Carl interrupted my carnal musings.

   "Start simply, by touching your partner on the shoulder, running your
fingers down the arm to the hand, and then take their hand in yours."
Facing Beth, Carl demonstrated.  "Be aware of the softness of their skin,
the warmth of their hand in yours, and feel the strength of their fingers.
Don't squeeze, just hold their hand.  Separate the fingers and explore
them. Shake their hand as if you've just met."

   I noticed Stephanie and Kathy duplicating the action, as were Steve and
Tony.

   "A handshake is a way of building a bridge between you and a stranger, a
way of affirming a friendship," Beth pointed out.  "A firm handshake
conveys confidence."

   "It can also be a test of strength," Carl pointed out.  "A way of trying
to assert dominance."

   Steve and Tony were grinning, holding a mock arm wrestling match.

   "Or of expressing support and sympathy," Beth added.

   Stephanie and Beth went beyond the instructions, leaning forward for a
kiss and cuddle.

   I'd touched John already, of course, before school, but I was aware of
the tension in his arm as I ran my fingers down to his hand.  His fist was
clenched, and I had to gently pry his fingers open.  It was as if touching
was almost foreign to him.  Why hadn't I noticed that outside?  What had
made him relax so much he had even kissed me?  What was different here?

   We had been alone.  Could that have been it?

   "Now touch your partner's cheek, gently, feel how soft and tender it is.

   John, not reaching for me, flinched as I reached for him.  I hesitated
before taking things in hand, literally.  I took his right hand in my left,
and brought his fingertips to my cheek before I again reached to touch him.
Remembering how good it felt when my mom cupped my cheek in her hand, I did
the same with John.  He stiffened a moment, and then leaned his face to my
touch, his eyes closing, and for a moment I was afraid he was going to
burst into tears.

   "Be careful," Ms Andrews whispered softly in my ear before slipping
away.

   I understood.  To avoid tipping him over the edge I drew my hand back so
just my fingertips touched John's cheek.

   And so it went, finger touches to lips, nose, eyebrows, hair, with me
leading John every step of the way.  For some reason he was terrified of
touching me.

   But we managed.  It was as if we were blind, learning each others'
faces. I even closed my eyes to focus on the touch.  We moved to ears, the
sides of our necks, and I realized how strongly the pulse point along my
jaw line reacted to the lightest contact.  It was down to the torso next,
and things started to get more random.

   It didn't take long before the rest of the class had moved on, judging
by the sighs and murmurs.  Missy and Mike were in my line of sight, darn
it, and I could see them, still sitting face to face, legs crossed Indian
fashion, making free with each other.  Her hands were exploring his cock
and balls, one of his hands was buried in her crotch, the other cupping one
of her sweet little breasts, her nipple joyously turgid as he thumbed it.

   I yanked my attention back to Patterson, stroking the inside of his
thigh, while he fumbled uncomfortably around near my tits.  I wanted to
scream!  Instead, I used one hand to guide his touch to my nipples, wishing
I had at least a handful for him there.  What was with him?

   The Stick knew.  I sometimes think The Stick knows everything, but only
reveals what she chooses.

   He was afraid.  He was terrified.

   "It's all right," I assured him gently, the way I had when he'd finally
released his cum the other day.  "I like it.  Feel them.  Be gentle, but
not too gentle.  They liked to be pinched, and pulled on, and even twisted.
You could even kiss them, if you'd like.  Can I touch yours?"

   He nodded tensely as he toyed with my tits, but made no move to get
closer.  I stroked his chest, ran my fingers over his nipples, feeling them
stiffen.  He squirmed, so I was very careful, slow and gentle.  I got an
idea.

   "Why don't you lie down, on your back, and let me do all the work for
now."

   "But, Ms Andrews said..."

   "I know, but she won't mind, I promise you." I shifted so he could
uncross his legs.  He lay back, watching me warily as I knelt at his side,
sat back on my heels.  "You can still feel my tits this way, can't you?"

   He nodded, reaching with his near-side hand, while I trailed my fingers
over his naked torso, tickling his tits, then sliding my fingers lower. 
His erect cock had flopped up on his belly, of course, and I approached it
warily.  I decided it was a really beautiful cock.

   I tried not to look, but couldn't avoid seeing how Mike and Missy were
lying side by side now, gazing into each others' eyes as they fondled each
other.  Missy even had her leg bent, opening her pussy to his exploring
fingers, while her hand was curled around his stiff dick.  And Missy was so
happy.

   Near them, A.  J.  and Mickey were still knees to knees, talking!  While
A.  J.  was toying with Mickey's boobs, and she was fondling his little
sixth grade hard on, he was talking with her.  I wished I could hear. 
Mickey laughed, her tits jiggling, and A.  J.  actually pulled on her
nipple.  She stroked his cock.

   I knew I should be paying attention to John, but couldn't help seeing
how delicate little Judy Liu was leaning over, earnestly studying Terrell's
big, black cock, while he pinched her little breast buds.  She leaned
forward and kissed his dick, drew back, looked up at him and giggled, a
silvery string of pre-cum trailing from her lower lip to his cock head,
until she licked it off.

   Then I turned my attention back to John, my fingers finding his cock and
curling around its hot, hard length.  At almost the same time, I guided his
hand to my crotch.  I actually worked to get his finger into my slippery
folds, guiding his touch.

   Working with him was like unwinding a big tangle of string.  I'd pick at
an end, and try to untangle it, freeing it up, freeing him up, then find
another snarl.  I stroked my thumb over the head of his dick, feeling it
react.

   How had he gotten picked for this class, I wondered.  His mother had to
have given permission.  What kind of a mother did he have?  Mine was
comfortable with sex.  Her permission had been easy to get, especially
since my own brother was teaching the course.  But John seemed woefully
ignorant of the most basic moves when it came to sex.  Maybe that was why
she let him take the class.

   What to do?  What to do?  Stick where are you when I need you?

   I saw Missy dip her head, her mouth closer, and closer, and closer to
Mike's cock, and the breath caught in my throat.  Was I jealous because I
wasn't getting the gift of her mouth?  Was I jealous because she was doing
to Mike what I had secretly fantasized doing?

   The Stick was not one for rejecting a good example.  I bent forward, let
my lips touch the head of Patterson's cock, sensed his flinch and looked
up.

   "That's -- that's disgusting," he whispered.

   "I'd say that was for me to decide," I answered softly.  "My choice. 
I'm the one that's doing it.  I want to do it."

   "But..."

   "Trust me," I answered.  "Just trust me.  It's not disgusting.  I can be
beautiful and exciting.  I'm not asking you to do anything.  I'll do all
the work, and you'll owe me nothing.  Trust me."

   My lips, warm and soft and wet, embraced the knob of his dick, my tongue
swabbing that arrowhead point on the underside, and I heard him moan.  His
hand touched my head, and for a moment I thought he was going to try to
pull me away, or even push my head down, but instead it just rested there.

   He didn't taste bad.  It was different than Carl's had tasted, but not a
lot, more a sense of aroma rather than taste.  It was warm, pulsating with
life, tasty.  I let my mouth slide down it, slowly, slowly, slowly.

   "Oh God," he moaned.  "Oh God."

   I thought of Missy, the rubbery dildo in her mouth as I had plundered
her cunt with the vibrator, and I realized that I must look like she had,
my lips wrapped around, not a dildo, but John Patterson's living cock.

   Something about it made me feel totally wanton.  Sure, I'd done Carl
this way, but that was my brother, in the semi-privacy of his room.  This
was with a near stranger, in the middle of a converted conference room,
surrounded by schoolmates, watched over by a teacher and six high school
seniors.  Never mind that I'd witnessed their debaucheries, this was my
debauch.

   Let them watch.  Let them ALL watch.  Let Missy see what I could do.  I
angled my eyes, caught her looking at me even as she devoured Mike's prick,
her lips quirking into a raunchy smile around his meat, and I had to stifle
a giggle.  Oh, we were so connected, even as we slowly drew apart.

   Entangled.  Always and forever, no matter how far apart we were.

   I concentrated on giving John all the pleasure I could.  He was young,
inexperienced (unlike Carl) and carnal pleasure had apparently swamped
whatever reservations he might have had.

   The first stroke bottomed out when I gagged, then I was drawing up,
almost letting the head escape my mouth, my lips gripping the groove
between glans and shaft, my tongue playing over the tip before I was going
down again, down and down, a little farther this time before gagging, the
second stroke.

   I drew slowly back up, my fingers encircling his dick near the base,
drawing upwards on the skin of his dick as I raised my head, sucking
gently, sucking cock, savoring the bulk of his hard prick, before I started
down again on the...

   Third stroke.  He moaned, his hips lifting, his hand pushing down
lightly on my head this time.  He wanted me deeper.  No more reservations.
His body wanted this, even if his mind resisted.  I tried to swallow the
soft, rubbery knob of his dick, and my fingers slipped under his balls,
lightly fondling them.

   "Oh God!" he gasped.

   I felt him tighten up as I drew upward again, and he pulsed, erupted,
the first thick wad of his hot cum flooding my mouth, the musky scent
filling my head, the slightly salty/bitter cream engulfing my tongue as I
slurped on his jetting cock, spurting his thick cum again and again and
again.

   Grunting, he obviously had been on a hair trigger, firing volley after
copious volley.  I sucked, and swallowed, gulping, my head still rising and
falling.  He may not have wanted it, but I was determined to give him a
blow job he'd remember for the rest of his life.

   His cumming seemed to go on forever.  He had to be unloading a year's
worth of semen.  Didn't he ever masturbate?  I was struggling to stay ahead
of him, some of my own spit and his cum escaping from my lips to goo up the
fingers holding his dick, spilling over the hand cupping his balls.  I
didn't dare spare a moment to see how Missy was doing, for fear that I'd
choke.

   My cunt was pulsing in a sort of mini cumming, leaving me less than
totally satisfied, but less than horribly frustrated, too.

   Finally his pulsations slowed, eased, and his cock began to soften.  I
had the feeling he'd unloaded a quart of cum.  The look on his face was a
combination of exhaustion and amazement.

   After sucking his withering dick as clean as I could I wiped my mouth on
the back of my arm, slid forward as he lay panting on his back, and I gave
him a chaste kiss and a "thank you" before I lay down and cuddled him.

   In moments he was snoring, so after I'd rested I sat up to survey the
room.

   The evidence of Missy's success was all over her face.  She was on her
back and had cum from ear to ear and from her hairline to her boobs.  All I
saw of Mike at that point was his cute butt.  He was between Missy's raised
legs, his mouth buried in her crotch, hands cupping her butt, his ass
cheeks clenching as he humped the mat.  Missy was pinching her titties, her
head rolling as he fed on her juicy pussy.

   Of course I was envious!  She was getting eaten, and I wasn't!  Score
one for her.  I never said we weren't competitive.

   But I wasn't about to suggest to John that he go down on me.  He'd
probably puke his guts out at the thought of licking me Down There.

   Oh, he had SO much to learn!

   Beyond Missy little Judy Liu's skinny, immature legs straddled Terrell
Ford's hefty torso.  She was riding his face like it was a saddle, her
still boyish ass flexing as she fed him her twat.  She had a death grip on
his ears, but he didn't seem to mind.  His cock was hard, shiny with a mix
of spit and cum, and he was pinching and pulling on her teeny titties with
his big, strong fingers.

   God what a vision she was, her delicate legs straddling his big, black
torso while she rode his face like a derby champion.  All she needed to
complete the picture was a riding crop tapping his ribs.  Who knows, he
might have enjoyed that.  He sure was enjoying his meal.

   Apparently the Dirty Dozen was taking Ms Andrews advice.  A.  J.  and
Mickey were in a torrid 69, with him on top.  She was gripping his tight
buns as she sucked on his little dick.  His face was buried in her auburn
muff, his fingers probing the crack of her ass, and I wondered if he still
had his glasses on.  Who'd a thunk it of those two?

   If Bill Harris was stuttering it was muffled by Judy Greene's pussy. 
Meanwhile she was nursing on his hard on for all it was worth.  Judging by
the spatters it wasn't their first go around, either.  Ah, the resiliency
of youth.

   Now, have I accounted for them all?

   Oh, no, I forgot Maria Sanchez, from 6th grade, with 7th grader Al
Butler.  She was a dark eyed beauty and a killer soccer player with a
flashing smile.  Al was on the quiet side, and they were sitting cross
legged, kissing and talking.

   Only kissing and talking?

   Then I saw him lick her cheek clean of cum, while she giggled and
squirmed.  He was pinching her nipples, which is all she had boob-wise,
while her hands were busy in his lap.  As I watched there was a spurt --
spurt -- spurt -- spurt while she aimed his cock so the globs spattered on
her face, her chin, her throat, drizzled down her slender, immature torso
for Al to smear on her coppery skin while he licked it off her face.

   Ms Andrews was surveying the battlefield with a satisfied smile, her
handful of condoms apparently untouched.

   Then I realized that John Patterson was shivering, and I hugged him
close.  He was shaken to the core, and I didn't know what to do for him. 
So, I just held him and soothed him, until he whispered to me, "I'm all
right.  I'm all right.  I'm happy!"

   Once I'd relaxed I heard Missy's distinctive orgasmic wail and knew that
Mike had done well by her.  I tried to be happy for her, but it still hurt
a little, so I turned my attention to the future.

   What next?  I wondered.  What next?  We now knew more about sex than
some adults, but what the hell were we supposed to do with that knowledge?
There had to be more to this class than our own sucking and almost fucking.

   Had to be.

   When comparative quiet had fallen, Ms Andrews did the old palm-beating
routine again to get our attention.

   "All right, people, it is clean up time!"

   The cabinets were opened to reveal stacks of towels and bowls of water.
The high schoolers distributed them to us tweens.

   "Time to get you Dirty Dozen ready to meet your public!" Ms Andrews
announced.  "While you're mopping up I'll fill you in."

   Our public?  Oh my!