This is a mobile proxy. It is intended to visit the IOMfAtS Story Shelf on devices that would otherwise not correctly display the site. Please direct all your feedback to the friendly guy over at IOMfAtS!


by The Scholar

I hated Mondays as much as I hated school in general. I especially hated Mondays because the first lesson of the day was history and I hated history - that's why I sat at the back of the class. The more I liked a subject, the further up front I sat. Needless to say, I spent a lot of time at the back of a class. History was boring. It took me all my time to remember what I did yesterday, let alone what had happened in a year I wasn't even born, so I found my mind wandering. I gazed out of the window - it was raining and so I gazed around the classroom and began to put names to the back of my fellow classmates heads, just for something to do, working from left to right across the front row Melanie Atkinson, Susie Miller, Alan Taylor, Mark Richardson, Tony Wilkinson, Alex Matthewman and on it went.

I was actually doing quite well as I began on the second row and then into the third. Okay, so it wasn't the most taxing piece of time wasting ever invented, but there was little else to do. It was as I began the fourth row that I came to a halt. There was someone sat in the first chair - two seats in front of me - that I didn't recognise. No way! I knew everyone in that class. Perhaps he'd had a haircut, or something - I'll come back to him.

I glanced across to the front of the class just to see whether or not I had been spotted by Mr Chambers, our history teacher, for not paying attention and I could see his mouth moving, obviously in the throes of explaining something that was relevant to today's topic, whatever that was - probably the French Revolution, or the Spanish Inquisition or American Independence. I tended to shut down at those topics. Those and the two World Wars, Vietnam and the assassination of President John F Kennedy - done to death, all of them. I don't think he'd noticed me.

I could also see John Harrison getting flicked across the ear by Melvyn Patterson - the school bully. Poor John - class swot, always got a book with him and a pad and pencil ready to take notes. You would have thought he was the only boy in school to own a pencil eraser as someone always found a reason to yell out to him: "Lend us your rubber, Johnny," as though they'd made some mistake in their book and needed to correct it. Infantile humour, which, for some inexplicable reason, always - every time - God knows why - always got a great laugh. It wasn't really funny, anymore.

Melvyn Patterson seemed to delight in ear flicking. He'd caught me a couple of times and it stung like hell. Really hurt. One day, Patterson, someone will deck you and I hope I'm there to see it. It wouldn't be me. I'm not brave enough; nor am I strong enough. I excel and laziness, pure and simple, but very little else - and certainly not history - especially when it was about the French Revolution, the Spanish Inquisition, American Independence, two World Wars, Vietnam or John F Kennedy.

I couldn't move on - I still couldn't put a name to the boy to whom my attention had been drawn and I needed to know who he was.

I began to stare at the back of his head, leaning slightly to look round Kevin Bradshaw who was sitting directly in front of me and was annoyingly blocking my view. The hair was blonde, short and straight, though slightly messy, like he hadn't had time to run a comb through it. As he bent his head to look at the book in front of him, I looked at his neck, which was tanned, contrasting against his white school shirt, that had a grubby, grey mark on the collar.

I definitely needed to know who this boy was. I was desperate to know who this boy was. He raised a hand, a tanned hand, to idly scratch at his earlobe. I noticed his ears - such small ears - perfect ears, as tanned as his neck and his hand. Who was he? I had to go through the rest of the class, process of elimination would name him and so I did - quickly, but all seemed to be present, which meant just one thing - this boy must be someone new. How come I didn't know there was a new boy in class? Why hadn't I paid more attention at registration? Oh, yes, I remember, Melvyn Patterson was flicking ears again - mine included, that's why.

I studied the boy's shoulders - broad shoulders, square, not round - strong looking shoulders. I could see his skin through the white cotton of his shirt as he moved his body slightly and it pulled tighter to him - or was that just my imagination?

Suddenly he leaned forward - why? What was he doing? As he leaned over his shirt rode up and I could see that his tan must have covered his back, stopping just where his shorts would begin. His shorts - he was wearing shorts - not the type you wear for games lessons, you know, football shorts, but underwear shorts - boxer shorts and I could see the waistband poking above his trousers, a blue colour - sky blue like you get on a summer's day, contrasting with the black of his trousers and the golden brown of his tanned back. He was talking to Mike McKenzie who was sitting in front of him. How did he know Mike McKenzie?

Damn, I knew where Mike was sitting, where John was, where Kevin was, where Melvyn was, but who the hell was this guy? I tried to focus on the lesson, but failed. I had to find out whom that boy was - I don't know why, but he suddenly became the most important thing on earth.

I made a decision. I would go take a look. I could see Mr Chambers still talking about whatever it was he found so interesting that he just had to impart it to us, but I still couldn't hear his words. I stood up and left my desk. Mr Chambers appeared not to notice, as I walked from my desk and towards the mystery boy. My heart was pounding, my knees were like jelly - why, I don't know - yes, actually, I do - I was nervous. No one tried to stop me as I reached his desk.

"Hi, Paul, you okay?" He spoke to me. He knew my name. How?

"Hi." It was all I could manage.

"Did you want something?"


"Any clues?"


What the hell was I saying?



I was hypnotised by his blue eyes, the fringe of his hair falling across them. I wanted to comb his hair - to tidy him up - to see those eyes more clearly. He smiled - no, he grinned at me - a beautiful grin. My heart began to melt.

"What do you want me for?"

"I thought," I began, at last able to break out of the monosyllabic answering, "if you're as bored as I am with this lesson, we could make out, or something."

What was my mouth doing? Shut up mouth! Brain, where are you - I need help here.

"Here?" He queried.

"Why not, would liven things up a bit."

Brain - if you are there - please do something to my mouth.

"I guess it would."


What was I saying?


Had he just agreed to make out with me in front of the history class?


"Yeah, why not?"


"Let's move up front to Chambers' desk - he's not using it."


I followed him as he stood and walked to the front of the classroom and to the vacant desk of Mr Chambers.

Mr Chambers was still talking, Melvyn Patterson was still flicking ears and no one tried to stop us as we stood at the front of the class, my lips suddenly locking onto his. My hands began running through his blond, untidy hair and then across his neck - his tanned neck and then I worked my way down his back, raising his shirt as I did so.

Before I knew it I was unbuttoning his shirt and it fell from his broad shoulders to reveal a completely tanned back and chest. He was gorgeous. His eyes sparkled as he began to remove my shirt. I wasn't as tanned - a little pasty, in fact, but at that moment I didn't care. He pulled me to him and our bodies collided as we began another passionate embrace.

The feel of his warm skin against mine excited me and I could feel a movement in my trousers, which was beginning to cause some discomfort. I had to release the cause of that discomfort and so I, reluctantly, it has to be said, pushed him away and began to unbuckle my belt. He saw what I was doing and copied. Our trousers fell to the floor at the same time and there we stood in our underwear, trousers round our ankles, shirtless at the front of our history class.

There was a silence in the classroom as not one person moved. Chambers had stopped talking and, although I guess you could have heard the proverbial pin drop, we were oblivious to it all. I looked at him standing there in front of me in his blue cotton boxer shorts - his beautifully tanned body making them stand out even more than they would normally have done. His legs, as tanned as he face, his arms, his chest - white bits, where there white bits? I was about to find out as he grinned at me and dropped his shorts to reveal what lay beneath. There were no white bits - an all over tan. My briefs began to feel so restricting and so I followed suit, pulling them down to finally release the cause of my earlier discomfort and he reached out a hand to take hold of my dick. It was hard - it had been from the moment I had gazed into his hypnotic blue eyes. He was hard, too and I reached out my hand. We held each other for only a few seconds before he jumped up to sit on Mr Chambers' desk.

I moved towards him and, as he sat there, I crouched before him and took his dick into my mouth, working my tongue around the smooth, velvety head, caressing the slit before moving further down his soft shaft welcoming him into my mouth. He smelt so sweet, so beautiful and so perfect and I was in heaven. I felt his hands on the back of my head pushing me further towards him and I was lost in a world of pleasure. Suddenly, without warning - or if there had been one, I hadn't noticed - he came, spurting into my mouth and it caught me by surprise. I retreated slightly to hold just the tip of his dick in my mouth, not wanting to miss or waste a single drop. When he had finished, I felt his dick soften and I cleaned it with my tongue before releasing it from my mouth.

There was a sudden burst of applause as the whole class stood and whooped with delight. It was only then that I remembered where we were and I suddenly felt embarrassed. I had just sucked the dick of the most beautiful boy in school and I had done it in front of the whole class.

"Show's not over, yet," it was his voice. "My turn to do you," he said.

We changed places and as we did the school bell went for end of lesson - damn it! Perhaps if I ignore it, it will stop and we could continue.

"Maybe next time, eh?" he asked. I nodded.

"Next time. By the way, what's your name?"

"What's my name?"

I know it must have sounded like a crazy question after what we'd just done, but I still didn't know and I needed to, so I just looked at him.

"What's my name?" he repeated. "If you don't know by now, you never will."

I was confused. Why should I know it? I'd never met him before. I must have looked puzzled.

"I'm your best friend, dummy - Simon Taylor. Jesus, Paul, wake up!"

"Paul, wake up! Paul! Can you hear me," a new voice.


"Well, come on, or you'll be late for school."

School? Late? My God, I'd been dreaming. My alarm clock was ringing and had woken me from my dream. I'd been dreaming about sex with my best friend and I hadn't recognised him - realisation dawned that I had just Simon Taylor in a new light.

"Yes, Mum," I shouted as I jumped out of bed ready to face a new school week. I looked out of the window - it was raining. God, I hated Mondays.

Read More Stories by this Author
Talk about this story on our forum

Authors deserve your feedback. It's the only payment they get. If you go to the top of the page you will find the author's name. Click that and you can email the author easily.* Please take a few moments, if you liked the story, to say so.

[For those who use webmail, or whose regular email client opens when they want to use webmail instead: Please right click the author's name. A menu will open in which you can copy the email address (it goes directly to your clipboard without having the courtesy of mentioning that to you) to paste into your webmail system (Hotmail, Gmail, Yahoo etc). Each browser is subtly different, each Webmail system is different, or we'd give fuller instructions here. We trust you to know how to use your own system. Note: If the email address pastes or arrives with %40 in the middle, replace that weird set of characters with an @ sign.]

* Some browsers may require a right click instead