THE DEADHEADS OF NO HOPE by Rio Mack
DISCLAIMER: Contains depictions of gay and bi sexuality.
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AFTER-SCHOOL ACTIVITIES
In her private office, in the Adminstrative Suite at Hope Academy, Principal Thalia Jay closed her latop. She'd just finished getting it ready for when she'd need it in a while. She shuffled three papers around on her desk, arranging them so she'd know right where they'd be. .
She looked at the clock on her desk. It had been eight minutes since final bell, which meant two more minutes until what would be a fairly unpleasant meeting with a parent and student. But she was ready for it now.
The student was a white, first-year student, who had witnessed two black boys engaging in oral sex in the third floor bathroom yesterday.
Most boys, it was her experience, when they discovered Hope Acadmy's liberal policy regarding consensual bathroom sex were either excited or just shrugged it off. But this boy -- Stephen Milton -- went home and told his parents about it.
The boy's mother called yesterday afternoon, around 5, to complain. She could not be put off. She demanded a meeting with Principal Jay to express her outrage at what Stephen witnessed and see what could be done to address this heinous behavior before it happened again.
Oh well, Thalia thought to herself, there's no way they're changing the policy. Which meant Ms. Milton was in for some distressing news, and Hope Academy's enrollment, Thalia sighed to herself, would be minus one white student.
But better one less white student than a bad apple in the otherwise wonderful bunch of students the school enjoyed. Besides, Thalia knew there would be a few white students transferring to Hope over the next week or so. There always were -- once a new round of rapturous word-of-mouth gets out among white teens in the Prospect Park neighborhood, from all the young white kids delighted with their high school experience at Hope, some of their white friends at less `exciting' schools will invariably ask their parents if they can transfer.
So out with the misfits, and in with the perfect fits, Thalia thought. Demanding that unsatisfied families -- black or white -- self-select out of the school had proved the most crucial, non-academic key to keeping Noah Hope Prepartory Academy the small, successful, progressive gem of a school that it was.
Her door opened, and Jenna, her young executive administrator, poked her head in and immediately rolled her eyes.
"Ms. Milton and her son Stephen are here."
"Thanks, Jenna. Have you got their exit packet ready?"
"It's right on my desk."
"Perfect. Hand it to the mother on their way out, please, and you can send them in now."
Thalia had her coldest, phoniest smile affixed to her face as she formally welcomed the angry parent and her embarrassed looking son into her office, pointing to the two chairs in front of her desk. Ms. Milton began at once, loud and affronted.
"You know why we're here, so I won't waste time. What happened to my son yesterday is unconscionable in a public school, and my husband and I want to know what this school is going to do to ensure that Stephen -- or any child -- ever has to witness that sort of lewd behavior again."
Principal Jay was momentarily taken aback. She furrowed her brows slightly.
"What are we going to do about the behavior your son witnessed, which in your opinion was 'lewd'? Nothing."
Ms. Milton's eyes widened.
"Nothing? Are you serious? I -- ."
"Ms. Milton -- and Stephen -- we strive to make Hope Academy a school where all students -- but boys especially, as they're the most vulnerable population in the public schools -- where they're . . . stimulated [she chose that word intentionally; she had to take her pleasure where she could] to attend class every day, to get involved, to feel wanted, appreciated. A place they genuinely like to be, where they can learn and succeed.
"And besides the most qualified, brilliant, caring teachers and administrators and support staff, that menas a sustained focus on students' social and personal needs. For boys, specifically, that means the basketball courts outside, dice games, afterschool programs like weight training, gaming, graffiti, fashion design, a production studio. Our policy regarding consensual same-sex activity in the third floor bathroom and the gym locker room and showers is just one more part of that.
"You see, we understand that some boys -- many boys, actually -- need moments of private intimacy together, and we want to give them a safe space to attend to that need. And if helping facilitate the satisfaction of that need can, in any way, help them succeed in school -- and our research shows, by the way, that it very much can -- well, Ms. Milton, we're all about that.
"As long as those boys stay engaged in learning and the greater school community, we see no harm whatsoever. We draw the line, of course, at anything that can damage their bodies -- no drugs or alcohol or any sort of violence, including self-harm. And the intimacy must be consensual, of course. Which this was."
"That's outrageous! Stephen didn't give his consent to what he witnessed."
"But he didn't walk out. Which he could have, if he had truly been offended or upset."
"Are you serious? You're coddling over-sexed young black men at the expense of innocent white boys!"
Patience, Thalia. You knew she was thinking it, what does it matter now to hear her say it?
"Black, White, Brown, Yellow -- we care about all colors of young men at Hope Academy. What you call coddling,' we call concern'. And as for 'over-sexed' [she picked up a paper she had ready on her desk], all our students, every year, fill out a demographic form. According to the forms returned at the start of this school year, 40% of the male students in Hope Academy currently identify as 'gay,' and another 31% of the boys identify as 'bi- or pansexual.'"
She looked calmly across her desk at the livid woman.
"That means 70% of the boys in the school this year are fine with the idea of sex between boys. And 70% sexually active to me means such sex is more the norm than `over-sexed,' as you term it."
"That's preposterous! I don't believe that at all."
"You're free to look over this year's forms, if you doubt me."
Thalia picked up another paper that was lying beneath the top sheet.
"This is the form Stephen filled out."
The boy looked terrified now as Thalia blandly turned to him.
"Stephen, would you like to tell your mother how you filled out your form?"
He turned in a panic to his horrified parent.
"Mom, I was kidding! I thought it would be hilarious to pick 'gay'! It was a joke! My friends at my old school. we used to joke about gay stuff all the time!"
His mother stared at her son with a mix of incomprehension and revulsion. Thalia's calm voice filled in the charged silence.
"Here, take a look."
She handed the sheet across to the stunned parent.
"You'll notice, it seems 'bi' was checked off first, then erased."
"Mom! I swear! It was a joke! You know my sense of humor. Seriously, I thought it would be hilarious!"
Thalia all but rolled her eyes.
"You know, Stephen, you're at an age where you might not want to joke about sexual preference any more. Sexuality is serious stuff. Which is exactly how we take it here at Noah Hope."
Finally, Ms. Milton had regained her angry composure.
"I don't care how my son answered some stupid survey. You're just trying to change the subject. The issue is what he was exposed to yesterday afternoon! There must be punishment and repercussion for that!"
Thalia gave her most understanding smile.
"As I said earlier, there won't be any punishment or repercussion. Except, of course this -- you and your son, I'm afraid, are simply not a good fit for the Noah Hope community."
She picked up the last untouched sheet of paper on her desk and handed it across to Ms. Milton.
"We're rescinding Stephen's admission to Noah Hope Prepartory Academy as of today."
Ms. Milton stared in angry disbelief, but her glare was shaded with the truth that was starting to dawn on her. Thalia Jay continued with a calm professionalism that masked her pity for this sad failure of a family.
"Our policy on rescinded admission is that we're happy to facilitate, if you need us, Stephen's transfer to any other city or charter school in Minneapolis. But in any event, today was Stephen's last day at Hope Academy."
She gave them a look of bland frankness, trying to calm her disgust.
"On your way out, my assistant Jenna will have an exit packet for you with information on the various programs available at other high schools, so you can make an informed choice as to Stephen's future. We have a standing arrangement with the other Minneapolis schools, so there will be no problem ensuring Stephen's acceptance at the school of your choice. Just let us know."
Will she go quietly, Thalia wondered.
"I really think it's best this happened now, so early in the school year, so Stephen won't have missed many days at his new school. Now, if there's nothing else, I'll say goodbye then, and wish you both good luck."
Thalia stood up, but Ms. Milton didn't. She's going to wish she'd gone quietly, Thalia knew.
Stephen looked sort of sick and consumed with regret. Ms. Milton crumpled up the notice of rescinded admission she'd been handed.
"Just who the hell do you think you are? You can't kick my child out of school for something he didn't do! That wasn't his fault!"
"I'm afraid we can, Ms. Milton. In the paperwork you signed before Stephen was admitted, you agreed to all school policies, including one stating the school has discretion to determine whether any admitted student or parent may prove an unsuitable fit for our program here at Hope, in which case admission is rescinded. You and Stephen, I'm afraid, are a very bad fit."
Ms. Milton still didn't stand. Instead, a sick, nasty smile oozed across her face.
"You're out of your mind if you think you're going to get away with this! Just wait until I tell the media about what happened! The kind of disgusting behavior this school condones! They'll close your little vice den up before you can say 'blow job'!"
Thalia sat back down and smiled another faux-sympathetic smile at this awful woman.
"Ms. Milton, the entire Twin Cities and out-state media are aware of what we're trying to do here at Noah Hope, as well as the incredible success we've achieved in terms of college placement and awarded scholarships. Our graduates do extraordinarily well. Our methods may be progressive, and might seem unusual -- even bizarre -- but I'm pleased to say the the media wildly supports our efforts."
Then she turned and smiled just a shade less blandly at Stephen.
"I was hoping I wouldn't have to bring this up, but I think I should add here -- and Stephen knows this, of course -- that the other two boys involved in this incident have both told me Stephen stood there masturbating the entire time he watched their oral sex. One boy used the term 'excited' to convey the expression on Stephen's face and the fury with which he pleasured himself at the sight of the other two boys."
Ms. Milton glared at her son. Thalia thought she might strike him. She tensed and readied herself to lunge across her desk to stop the blow. Stephen cried out desperately to his mother.
"She's lying, Mom! Those other boys are lying!"
Thalia flipped open the laptop sitting on her desk.
"To insure student safety at all times, we have security cameras positioned throughout the building, including the bathrooms. We never watch them, of course. We choose not to spy on our students. They're available, though, for evidentiary purposes."
She turned her laptop so the screen was facing Mrs. Milton and her son.
"To prepare for our meeting today, I had our technology administrator forward me the relevant third floor boys' bathroom security footage from yesterday afternoon. I haven't seen it yet, but shall we watch it together? Tech support has cued it up to the point at which Stephen entered the bathroom."
Stephen jumped out of his chair, his eyes wet with tears, and his hands reaching toward the laptop.
"No! Don't show it!"
Thalia closed the laptop and stared Ms. Milton dead in her eye.
"You're free, of course, to take whatever story you choose to the media, tell them whatever you feel won't humiliate you too much. Otherwise, as I say, Jenna has an information packet ready for you on your way out. Let us know how we can help your son's transition -- in any way -- if you need us. Otherwise, I'm sorry the Noah Hope experience didn't work for Stephen. It's rare, frankly, but it does happen. Good day."
She stood up, opened the door, and the stunned, furious woman and her shamed, sobbing son finally strode out. The way Thalia read Ms. Milton's expression as she angrily swiped the exit packet out of Jenna's hands was that she realized her boy had somehow lucked into a singular educational opportunity, but he -- and she -- had blown it.
When Remy Lord reached the Art Room for his enrichment class, several students were already there, each sitting by a drawing table. All Hope Academy students were strongly encouraged on the first day of school to sign up for an after-school arts activity as a way to supplement their schooling. Remy had chosen 'Life Drawing' (of course), taught by a Professor of Studio Arts from the U.
Remy spotted Wren Damson immediately, who got even more perfect-looking every time he saw her. There were five other students in the class: another white girl, two black girls, and two boys -- a cute, super-fem black boy, in pink short-shorts and a tight super-small 'Hello Kitty' T, and a heartbreakingly handsome white dude, with a thick mane of wavy, blonde, shoulder-length hair and cut upper body showing through the tight T he wore.
The white boy, Remy suddenly realized, was that blonde-haired boy from his Orientation session, the only dude in class who hadn't raised his hand when Mayo had asked for a show of hands as to which boys had started having sex. Remy was willing to bet money a hot boy like that was cherry no more, after almost a week at the sex-heaven which was No Hope.
Remy smiled at Wren, whose eyes brightened excitedly when she saw him. At first he was torn where to sit: Wren, his class-mate, was the obvious choice, but that young white blonde boy was built, gorgeous, and sexy as fuck.
His natural urge would be to plop down next to the cute, jacked white boy and start spitting game. He was still raging with testosterone-fueled boy-lust after PE. His dick was screaming for more boy. He should just nod over at Wren and sit as close as possible to the hot young'un. Wren would totally understand.
Instead, he smiled at the white boy, tried to give him a sexy wink that said, 'Dude, we will be hooking up, do not worry about that, just not right now,' and and set his backpack on the floor by the drawing table closest to his obsession.
Wren had no idea Remy would also be in her after-school drawing class, but she was thrilled. Her lust fired up in her immediately, triggering one of her rapturous Remy-fantasies -- the mer-boy dream again, one of her favorites -- which began to play out luxuriantly as she gazed wordlessly at her dream-boy.
Remy, meanwhile, nervously worked to control the body-rocking, dick-hardening desire for Wren that began thrumming in him the second he sat down beside her. Almost as if on cue, another bizarre but utterly sensual j/o fantasy took shape in his mind, quickly seeping into every cell of his brain, causing crazy visions, like some mystic drug-smoke.
It was like he'd developed some weird new medical condition -- 'Wren Fever,' is how Remy thought of it -- with episodes flaring up at any time throughout the day, like some crazy, aggressive new rash.
In the erotic reverie that flooded through his brain and groin as he waited for class to start, Wren was a lithe, young, blonde girl on vacation at some gorgeous, sunny, utterly remote, tropical isle. She went for a nude swim every morning. Her small, perfect breasts, in his fantasy, looked absolutely incredible.
Remy stared across from him, at the real Wren's breasts, which he could actually make out pretty well under the slightly loose, over-dyed boy's wife-beater she was wearing. In his imagination, though, he was actually seeing her naked, in the sea, her supremely lovely breasts just a small, subtle shade bigger than a boy's, each with a tiny, juicy-red, gumdrop tip. They got Remy, sitting there in the art room, harder than he'd ever been before.
Fantasy-Remy, swimming just below Fantasy-Wren, had been secretly spying on the gorgeous girl for the past week, watching her swim every day, and today he was going to make his move! Fantasy-Remy was this amazing mer-boy -- half of him was a normal boy, seriously hot, with a super-jacked, ripped upper body, and a laughably long, thick dick; the rest of him was all hard, firm, seriously toned and super-sexy sleek fish-scale skin.
Mer-Remy swam up to Wren, who was skimming the surface as she swam, her nude body driving him insane with lust. He loved the feel of his big dick waggling in the water as he wriggled towards his prey.
Wren pretended to be shocked when he grabbed her, but the mer-boy knew she wasn't surprised at all. Somehow he knew she'd been dreaming of the mer-boy every night for the past week, fingering herself with lust for him, ever since that first morning she'd glimpsed him down below the waves, watching her, exciting her.
She immediately surrendered herself to the young sea-god's all-consuming lust, letting one shy hand trail down to gently stroke his mammoth cock He kissed her passionately, open-mouthed and horn-dog sensual, which magically allowed Wren to breathe underwater, then he grabbed her hand and swam off with her, down into a deep, magical, undersea pleasure-cove, made of jeweled coral and exotic-looking sea-plants, with magical little glowing fish swimming all around them.
There, he absolutely ravished Wren's pussy, holding her by that smooth, luscious ass, fingering her deliciously tight pucker while his lips and tongue ravaged her clit, making her cum again and again. At one point, she was just a floating pleasure-doll, with long, thin trails of crystalline goo streaming lazily from her pussy, as if they were some mysterious, seldom-seen, tropical albino eel.
Then Remy began easing his enchanted cock into her.
All at once, loud shouting from the basketball court outside, coming in through an open window, snapped Remy out of his Wren-reverie.
The real Wren was there, next to him, looking dreamy-eyed and insanely beautiful. Remy somehow resisted the immediate, almost overwhelming, urge to reach for her and press her small, delicate hand against his fully hard cock, and instead made nervous conversation with his classmate.
"So, uh, how do you like OTHELLO, Wren?"
She smiled in the most sweetly touching way, her eyes actually seeming to glint.
"I like it, Remy, I do, really -- I mean, it's genius, right? -- but it's just so sad and dark and violent. It was a super-tough story for me, actually. Super-triggering. But so much of the poetry is utterly sublime. When Othello's noble, he's so wonderful, he makes me cry. 'If heaven would make me such another world, of one entire and perfect chrysolite'! Damn, son! I mean -- swoon!"
"I LOVED that line!"
Remy was glad Wren was sitting so close for a couple of reasons, not least of which was because her voice was so light and soft, it would have been difficult to hear her if she was much further away.
"And Desdemona is just perfect, isn't she? So witty! I love her even more in the Verdi opera -- if you know that. My uncle used to play it for me a lot. Desdemona sings such beautiful songs in it. There's a love duet with her and Othello that's just heavenly, and she has these two super-sad, awesomely lovely songs at the end."
Wren caught her breath. Weak and addled from her attraction to the boy, she realized her chest was doing some sort of weird, intense tremble, as if it were going to explode any minute. She closed her eyes and took a couple slow, deep breaths, which calmed her down. She opened her eyes back up and gazed worshipfully at her young god.
"I'm sorry, I'm rambling. How did you like the play, Remy? I think you liked it -- yes? -- from the things you said in class today. Which were so awesome and brave, by the way. I mean, seriously amazing."
Remy was overwhelmed by the earnest force of Wren, her strong desire to connect and communicate. Listening to her rushed, breathy voice, it felt like he'd just taken a long, deep toke off some incredibly potent, one-hit weed. It took him a minute to catch his breath.
"Yeah, awesome play for me. But you're right, sad as hell. I like TWELFTH NIGHT way better -- that's my favorite Shakespeare play. Seriously funny, seriously witty fairy tale, and super-queer -- twins, cross-dressing, same-sex desire, the best!"
"I have to read that! It sounds incredible!"
Remy couldn't take his eyes from her. Dressed in just a one-size-too-large, tie-dyed boy's sleeveless undershirt, her naked arms smooth and elegant and perfect, and her slightly loose undershirt showing an expanse of skin that went straight to his groin, featuring a head-swimming, dick-throbbing, X-rated glimpse of one of her impossibly small, maddeningly beautiful breasts. Her hardened nipples jutted out teasingly from beneath the thin, aqua-and-robin's-egg-blue-and-sea-green-and-pale-yellow tie-dyed fabric.
Wren was like a Disney princess, Remy thought, grown up into an utterly alluring courtesan. She was Desdemona and Bianca rolled into one. Remy was so dazzled by the casual reveal of exposed breast-skin, he almost forgot what they were talking about.
"Right! TWELFTH NIGHT would be the one Shakespeare play I would seriously like to act in. As Sebastian, of course. HAMLET and MACBETH I also really like, except they're pretty violent, too. But yeah, OTHELLO is maybe the most brutal because it's all this murderous, furious rage focused on just one person -- the dude's pure, devoted, perfect lover."
"Exactly! It's so personal! I identify with Desdemona in a way I don't think I ever could with Macbeth's murderous nutiness. And HAMLET? Super-profound, super-existential, but for me, hard to totally relate. Ultimately, I thought, Hamlet was just an angsty boy with a half-assed plan."
Wren's comment on Prince Hamlet cracked Remy up. He snorted and told her she was brilliant, which got Wren laughing, and, as she collapsed into hilarity herself, bending over, she rested her hands on Remy's leg for a second. The thrill of her light touch on his inner thigh brought an immediate, electric rush of excited blood to his still-hard cock. Remy suddenly realized if Wren were a boy, he'd be asking if she were busy after class.
"So do you draw a lot, Wren? Or did you sign up for 'Life Drawing' to learn?"
Her eyes grew wide again.
"I draw constantly, Remy! I fill up sooooo many sketchbooks! Drawing and music and friends, that's basically my life."
"Same here. What do you like to draw?"
Wren panicked. She didn't dare describe her fantasy-porn, did she?
"Oh, lots of fantasy stuff, mostly. Fantasy creatures. You'd probably think it was silly."
"No way! I love fantasy, Wren! I'm total Team Ghibli! I must have watched TOTORO a hundred times growing up."
"I love that movie! All of Miyazaki. So, you draw, too, then, Remy?"
"All the time, like you. I even have a little studio room off my bedroom."
"That's so cool! And what do you like to draw, Remy?"
Remy laughed nervously, but he decided to be blunt. After all, he figured, I outed myself in class earlier. I mean, if she hadn't already picked up on my vibe before that.
"Male nudes, mostly. Well, male nudes only, actually."
Except not technically `only,' he thought -- there was his recent nude of Wren Damson, but she didn't need to know about that bizarre anomaly (which he also felt was the best thing he's done).
"For years I've been doing sketches and paintings -- all nudes -- of the boys I hang with. But don't get me wrong, it's more than just being horny! I actually take my drawing seriously. My mom thinks I'm really talented. She's even got some of my work framed and hanging up in our living room and dining room, which is kinda embarrassing, but also kinda dope as fuck -- that she's proud enough of my work to show it off like that. I want to get better and better, though. My plan is to major in Studio Arts, make it my career. Hence, here I am."
Wren's gaze was difficult for Remy to decipher. It seemed to show a longing so intense it was almost frightening, but he felt he was probably projecting his own strong desire onto her.
"That's so awesome, Remy! I'd love to see your work! I bet it's like, totally gorgeous."
Invite her over after class, he thought. Do it! Invite her over after class right now! Just say it, nail it down! Fuck, the sex will be incredible! Do it, asshole! Now! Just open your mouth and say it!
No! That's insane! Get a damn grip! You've never been with a girl before in your life. You're into boys, dude!
Except, he realized, up close to her like this, she was probably the most beautiful living being he'd ever seen. Sexiest, too. His cock hadn't gone soft since he sat down next to her. He'd never ever been excited like this by a girl before -- sexually excited, the way boys excited him.
He figured it must be all the testosterone still pumping through him from gym class last hour. Naked and alone together, with Wren, in his room? Get real! That would be awkward as hell. Epic fail. He wouldn't know the first damn thing to do and would probably lose his hard-on immediately.
Phew, crisis averted.
"Cool! Sure, I'd love to show you my work some time. I mean, if you're seriously interested?"
"Yes yes yes! That'd be awesome!"
He was about to say how much he'd like to see her drawings when their teacher walked in.
Ms. Neel, their instructor, was a white woman, dressed in what Remy thought was a kind of stylish, bohemian look -- nicely-faded, expensive-looking designer jeans; an exotic blouse that kept her arms and shoulders bare (Ava had one like it, she called it her "hippie blouse"), with no bra (superb breasts, Remy thought -- firm, jutting, not too big); lots of jangly bracelets on each wrist; a necklace of ping-pong-sized glass beads; and a huge mass of wild-looking hair she kept in place with a couple of what Remy thought were chopsticks. She was very good-looking -- Remy guessed her age was forty-something, but she barely looked thirty.
Wren whispered to him.
"She's gorgeous!"
Remy nodded agreement.
Ms. Neel called roll, then she explained what they'd be doing all semester.
"I'll bring in a series of live models. Nudes, of course."
Remy gave a quiet "Yes!" and Wren grinned slyly back at him.
"We'll have each model for three weeks. We'll work in pencil. I'll have all the materials you need. After about forty-five minutes' work each afternoon, we'll look over our work and offer each other comments. I'll give each of you personal help and suggestions as you work. I can guarantee that by Winter Break you'll be at least twice as good an artist as you are now. Sound good?"
Smiles and nods from all the students.
"All right, there are sketchbooks on the table here, along with pencils and art gum. Each of you help yourself, write your name on your sketchbook, and I'll bring in our first model."
Ms. Neel returned a minute or so later with a young, curly-haired, college-aged, white boy, wearing just a robe. He looked like an athlete, Remy thought, with a solid, strong-shouldered build under that robe. Wrestler maybe? Hockey? Lacrosse?
Ms. Neel pulled over a three-foot square platform and told the students to move their tables close around. Then she nodded to her model who stepped up on the platform and slipped off his robe.
Fuck! Remy thought -- total college-jock muscle stud! Perfectly proportioned, beautifully defined body -- exactly what Remy wanted to look like in a few years -- with over six thick inches of cut college cock. The dude could easily do porn on one of those 'frat boy' sites.
Wren caught his eye and smiled slyly, arching her eyebrows in a questioning look that clearly asked Remy his opinion of the boy's body. Remy rolled his eyes and licked his lips, causing Wren to snort.
The college boy shook his body out, relaxing the muscles and limbering up, then struck a pose in front of them.
Ms. Neel had a few more words for her students.
"This is Blaine. He's a sophomore on the Gopher Men's Hockey team. He'll be our model this week and the next two Thursdays. All right. Forty-five minutes. Get a good start for next week."
Then she clicked on some instrumental music over the loudspeaker system in the art room, some soft and languorously slow solo piano with which Remy wasn't at all familiar, but which he immediately liked.
Pencils were heard scratching throughout the room as the students began sketching the beautifully-muscled young hockey stud.
Remy became immediately immersed in his drawing zone, thankful to have a distraction from his Wren-lust. He'd spent the past several years drawing naked boys, so he'd evolved a process for how he liked his figure to take shape.
He quickly sketched a light outline of Blaine's body and head, then began perfecting his line, giving it flesh-like form. Shoulders, arms, working to get the curve of the muscles. Lightly at first, then more definition. Chest, abs -- again, just a quick rough outline first, to orient himself.
He got side-tracked, working on the nipples way too long, because Blaine's were so beautiful and perfect -- dime-sized with small, nubby nips that Remy would have loved to suck on while he jacked the dude's cock.
Remy savored his lust for the college boy as he drew, feeling his cock thicken and ooze precum a bit, letting desire bleed into his sketch. He lovingly traced the squared-off pecs, imagining his tongue tracing over them as they lay naked in bed together. He let his tongue-pencil trail down to start adding definition to the hockey jock's magnificently ripped abs.
Remy could hardly wait to start working on the boy's cock, trying to bring that gorgeous dick to graphic life , but he kept putting it off, not letting his fingers go there, teasing himself, so he could edge lusciously, feeling his engorged, hardened cock throb with blood at the imminent prospect of being able to worship the boy's stunning dick with his eyes and hand and pencil.
About fifteen minutes after students had started, Ms. Neel began walking around, checking on students' work. Remy was only vaguely aware their teacher was on the move, lost as he was in the private timelessness of creativity, trying to get Blaine's chest and nipples and abs roughed in as succulent and realistic as he could.
Remy moved his hand down the sketch-book page a bit, eager to try and capture a bit of Blaine's fur -- the frat boy's sparse, sexy treasure-trail, which began a half-inch or so under his outie belly button, leading down to his nicely-groomed pubic bush. Remy has only sketched smooth boys up to now, so Blaine's moderately hairy body will be an interesting challenge.
Is Blaine gay, Remy suddenly wondered? How many other boys on the team have traced their way down this sexy little tease of a trail, on their way to taking that luscious cock in their mouth? Maybe Blaine lives on Warwick? Maybe Remy would start flirting with Blaine next week, before or after class, and ask him?
Remy left off with his rough stab at the treasure-trail and bush. He couldn't hold out any longer -- he wanted to start playing with that dick.
He began roughing in Blaine's thick shaft with quick strokes, trying to bring to life the sexy downward dangle, the cock-tip, the glans. And that nice big, juicy ball-sac, shaved deliciously smooth, gleaming in the afternoon sunlight streaming in through the art room's wall of windows.
Remy could just feel his tongue playing over the hockey stud's nut-sac, churning up the cream in there. His own cock was now rock hard, straining painfully against the pouch of his jockstrap. Damn, did he ever want to start getting with sexy college-boy studs like this dude.
Suddenly, right there next to him, wrenching him out of his lust-trance, Ms. Neel's voice, commenting on Wren's work. The teacher kept her voice low and private, but Wren's table was so close that Remy could easily overhear.
"Very nice! Such an elegant line you have! A bit too light, though, maybe? Work on that. And you're not exactly reproducing his body, you see, you're stylizing it. A bit too much, I think. The arms. See? Look at Blaine's, then look at your drawing. You need to articulate the actual muscle, not stylize it sleek like you're doing. Yes, yes! Like that, exactly! See? That's glorious! Oooh, lovely!"
Remy wished he could see Wren's drawing. Ms. Neel went on.
"And the chest -- you're sketching him as a fey, young boy, not a college hockey stud. That's it! That's what I mean! Like that. Precisely! That definition. Much better! Here, let me show you something."
Out of the corner of his eye, Remy saw Ms. Neel take the pencil out of Wren's hand and begin adding touches to her sketch.
"See? See how I'm doing it? See that? Just that little bit of shading. Subtle, right? But see? Better, right? Here, now you. Yes, yes! Exactly. Very good. Excellent cock you've drawn, by the way. Beautiful curve, the thickness, lovely work there. Glad you focused on it as you have. He has such a lovely one, doesn't he? Hmmmm?"
Then Wren's soft voice.
"His cock's beautiful."
"And you're capturing it perfectly. Make the whole drawing the way you did the cock, and I'll want to buy it, love. You have such an interesting style, my dear -- plain, simple, but oh so evocative. Keep that up. Don't lose that. It really works."
The thought of seeing Wren's drawing of Blaine's cock got Remy hard.
Remy suddenly felt his teacher looking over his shoulder as he was also trying to render Blaine's cock, make it come to life, working now on those lovely, lickable veins running over the shaft. Ms. Neel just stood there, though, saying nothing, just watching Remy work.
It unnerved him so much, though, that he couldn't keep drawing. He held his pencil still and turned around, giving her a questioning look. Her soft, low voice sounded at once.
"No! No! Keep going! This is wonderful! Those nipples! Perfect! Just amazing! God, I want to lick them! And your cock! Oh my God! Superb! Makes me want to reach out and fondle it!"
Her fingers were dancing over Remy's sketch now, tracing the thick shaft of the model's cock up and down.
"And look! Here! Oh, yes, yes, yes! Delicious! Perfect shading, too, on his chest and abs. Blaine has such a great set of abs, doesn't he?"
Remy was so nervous, so giddy from her effusiveness, he could barely speak. But if he could talk about anything, it was a boy's beauty.
"Yeah, incredible eight-pack. But everything, really. Seriously ripped. Stunning. Gorgeous model. His body is a treat to draw."
"I love how you even got those yummy veins going up and down his shaft. Brilliant! I can just feel my tongue gliding over them. You're bringing the flesh to life, love. You've got the light-play perfect. That slight shadow on his balls -- they look so big and full and juicy. Mmmmmm, exquisite, darling! I can't wait to see the finished drawing."
Remy loved it -- it was like he was watching porn with his sexy teacher, talking about how hot the dude in the clip was.
Ms. Neel wandered off, speaking loudly to the class as a whole.
"Ten more minutes for today, you lovely young people. Then we'll see what we've all done. Some truly outstanding talent in here!"
Remy went back to touching up the veins covering Blaine's cock, then on to those hard-carved thighs. His cock started throbbing as he worked on those firm quads, shading them as well as he could to show the beautiful definition. He could just feel the power in them -- imagining what he'd feel when his hands clutched those muscular hips and firm, muscle-ass as he fucked the hockey stud.
Remy had begun lightly tracing the muscularity of Blaine's calves when the teacher called time. Blaine stepped off the platform and put his robe back on. Ms. Neel led him out, arm around the boy's shoulder, telling him warmly what a perfect model he was for the class.
Remy couldn't take his eyes off the boy -- so he saw when, saying goodbye to Blaine a foot or so outside the door to the art room, Ms. Neel hugged the boy close, giving him a slow, lingering kiss on the mouth as she squeezed his ass, which got a smile from Blaine when their lips finally parted.
The college boy's hands were fondling Ms. Neel's breasts as she whispered something in his ear and softly stroked his cock. They shared another open-mouthed-kiss before he turned and walked down the hall, his now-hard dick jutting through the opening in his robe.
Holy fuck, Remy thought! Hot as hell! A three-way with Blaine and Ms. Neel would be amazing! He looked over at Wren, to see if she saw, but she was busy fine-tuning her drawing.
Ms. Neel walked back into class as if nothing had happened. She asked the students to gather around the drawing table of one of the black girls, to begin their review of each other's work.
For the rest of the class, they went from drawing table to drawing table, Ms. Neel offering her thoughts on each student's drawing, then students voiced their opinions. The artist whose drawing was discussed would take notes, as Ms. Neel requested, to record the commentary.
Remy went out of his way to say a few really nice things about the blonde boy's drawing, which was actually pretty good. The boy had spent most of his time on Blaine's cock, convincing Remy the cute jock was gay, which made him even more eager to flirt with the boy by praising his work.
Remy was knocked out when they got to Wren's drawing -- at the amount of detailed time she spent on Blain's dick. This girl is into cock as much as I am, he thought, which is weird because if any girl gave off a serious lesbian vibe, it was Wren Damson.
When the class viewed Remy's sketch, Ms. Neel gushed over his work, while Wren gazed dreamily at her crush.
Remy's mind tuned out the commentary the students gave his work. He'd started thinking about Wren, wearing just a thin, translucent sort of gauzy skirt as he, an incredibly jacked, roguish and lusty space pirate, had her spread out, her hands bound, on a bed full of luxurious quilts and pillows, his thick, eleven-inch cock raging hard and leaky, as he was about to have his way with the ecstatic-looking girl.
Suddenly his fantasy vanished. The students were being asked to store their sketchbooks in a special cupboard in the art room Ms. Neel had reserved for them.
After class, Remy and Wren grabbed their backpacks and walked downstairs together, excitedly talking about what a great class it was, how much they looked forward to the rest of the semester with Ms. Neel, how much they'd liked each other's drawings, and how hot Blaine's body was.
Remy couldn't resist a little gossip.
"When Blaine left, did you see Ms. Neel and him hugging and kissing and feeling each other up outside the art room door? She even managed to give the dude a quick handie before they said goodbye!"
Wren stopped and shrieked with laughter (if such a quiet, whisper-thin voice could really shriek).
"What!? No way! Seriously!? That's awesome!"
"I know, right? No Hope is like the sexiest school ever. Watching Ms. Neel and Blaine, I could just imagine a hot three-way with them."
"Four-way, Remy! Please please please!"
Remy laughed.
"Absolutely, Wren! Four-way, for sure!"
By this time, they were on the front steps of school.
`Invite her over, invite her over, invite her over! Now! Just do it, son! She wants to fuck sooooo bad!'
The inner voice in Remy's head kept loudly insisting (sounding amusingly just like Wren Damson's voice!), but his nervous doubt prevailed. He did hug her goodbye, though, loving the feel of her barely-there breasts against his chest, wondering if she could feel how hard his cock was.
He pointed to his house across the street.
"Well, that's me. See you tomorrow, Wren."
Remy trotted down the steps, wondering if maybe he shouldn't stop, turn, and invite Wren over. Nah. Too weird.
"OK, Remy, see you in English tomorrow."
Wren remained standing there, smiling in an agonized bliss that was indescribably pleasurable, still savoring the exquisite feeling of her boy's long, thick cock where it had pressed briefly against her thigh, but a little sad the suggestion she'd sent him to invite her over now didn't work.
She was doing the rest of it right -- suggesting the sort of sex she wanted -- she was sure of that. She'd have to figure out the command part of it.
Wren was still reeling from having used the suggestion-spell to spend a few minutes inside Remy's mind during art class, as he sketched their gorgeous college-boy model. It was like being on a carnival thrill-ride, being swept away in his boy-lust! She'd been knocked out by the force of the boy's visceral love for dick she channeled from him as he sketched Blaine's cock. His raw, unbridled craving rhymed perfectly with her own.
Wren stood and watched every glorious second of Remy as he crossed Orlin Avenue, unlocked his front door, turned around to see if Wren was still there, smiled that radiant, a little goofy, a lot sexy, smile of his, waved goodbye, then headed inside.
Yes yes yes, my darling! she thought, holding back tears of joy. Soon, my beautiful, perfect, darling Remy! Soon, my Lord, my Remy Lord, Lord Remy, my Love Lord, my soul's one true master, my Creamy Dreamy! Oh, it's going to be so wonderful!
Later that night, after a pantry supper of rice and beans and a couple hours worth of homework, Remy unsurprisingly lay in bed, about midnight, agitated with another, seriously itchy flare-up of Wren Fever, his now-constant affliction. The ethereally gorgeous girl was turning him on like he'd never been turned on before. By anyone.
He couldn't stop thinking about her body in drawing class, under that thin, too-large undershirt. The glimpses of breast and nipple afforded by the loose fabric were hauntingly erotic.
Remy dreamily stroked his cock to a satisfying hardness as he imagined him and Wren, alone and crushing on each other in the art room. He pictured Wren, lusciously nude, poised on a chair, in front of her drawing table, doing a drawing of him, her private model, as he posed naked for her.
Remy would flex and pump his body, slowly jacking himself in front of her, as her sexy, sylph-like body, held so alluringly, worked to capture his cock and muscles perfectly. As he posed, his eyes were glued to her gorgeous body, turning this way and that, swaying seductively as she sketched.
Wren finally put her pencil and sketchbook down, overcome with the naked glory of the young muscular ideal whose athletic beauty she'd been trying to capture. One hand began softly tweaking her large, ripe-red, sublimely suckable nipples, one after another, causing Remy's mouth to water.
Wren's other hand reached down to finger her wet, excited pussy. Then both hands began fingering her nipples, and she spread her legs seductively, so Remy could see her wet, dripping cunt, teasing him, daring him to take her.
His cock was outrageously hard and leaking a steady flow of precum. He'd never wanted sex more in his life.
Suddenly, it was like some outside force hacked into Remy's j/o fantasy. Like a mind-controlling power was changing his fantasy, making him jack to a new scenario.
In his imagination now, Wren reached down to the floor of the art room, picked up a silver chain, and began pulling it. Remy realized, as he felt the pull, that the other end of the chain was fastened to a leather collar around his neck. He was being pulled to the gorgeous naked girl, being summoned to service her.
His body jerked as he was dragged irresistibly, right next to her face, and she began kissing and (mostly) licking his face all over.
His cock throbbed insanely, both in his fantasy and there in his bedroom, as he feverishly jacked.
Abruptly, in his lust-vision, he felt his head yanked down and pressed tightly against her dripping cunt. Oh hell yes! He'd never been hungrier for anything in his life!
He began tonguing and sucking in a snorting fever of desperate lust, while Wren coolly cooed her pleasure.
He felt a tug on his tether again. He couldn't believe the thin girl's strength. She pulled him all the way up so that his screaming hard cock was poised right at her cunt.
She grabbed his dick roughly and began using it as a dildo, painting her pussy with its dripping head, smearing the glazed tip all over her vulva, all the while moaning lewdly like a cat in heat. Remy was helpless to do anything except feel his cock pulsate wonderfully.
She plunged his dick into her, and cried, "Fuck me!" He felt those long, smooth, sexy legs wrap tightly around his hips and ass as he pumped his desperate, straining hardness into her, over and over.
Fucking pussy felt glorious, Remy realized! Damn, did it ever get him hard! The force of her cunt as she rammed against him, over and over, while he kept slamming into her moist, tight pussy felt like a thousand volts through his brain. He wanted to spend the rest of his life fucking her.
It took almost no time for his hard, pulsating cock to erupt, as he lay there on his bed, blowing a mammoth load over his chest and abs, shooting probably eleven ropes of thick, warm cream.
His heartbeat finally calmed, and a sense of utter peace filled him. He lazily licked up fingerful after fingerful of cum, blissed out from the thought of mind-blowing sex with the most beautiful girl imaginable, so overwhelmingly satisfied that he forgot to text Trey goodnight.
Remy drifted off to another wonderful sex-dream. He was a prisoner, again, of the gorgeous evil Queen Wren. Remy -- her naked, young, muscular pussy-slave -- was being dragged into her throne room, in chains, to be brutally used for her pleasure, which got him hard and excited and starting to drip.
But before anything really sexy started, Remy fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
About twenty minutes later, in a house just a half-block up the street from Remy, Wren Damson woke screaming from a horrible dream.
Before she'd dozed off, she had been fingering herself to a dreamy fantasy of herself as an imperial queen and Remy a roguish, insanely beautiful, superbly muscled, super-hot pirate-boy her guards had captured. She'd summoned her prisoner to her imperial throne room (which looked a lot like her own bedroom).
She lay back in regal, sensual hauteur, on a throne that was like a chaise-version of her bed. She was almost naked, dressed only in a thong woven from thin, golden chain-mail, with tiny golden caps pasted over her large, protruding nipples.
Remy was hauled in, in chains, naked and sexy as hell, his crazy-ripped muscles getting her clit hard and swollen, and his long, thick, super-gorgeous cock jutting long and thick and magnificent. He looked so sexy she couldn't help but start fingering herself. My God, she thought -- he knows I'm going to torture and ravish him, and it's got him all hard and leaky! He can't fucking wait!
Wren flaunted her near-naked beauty to the nude, muscular young god in chains, watching his hard cock twitch and throb and drip with unbridled excitement and she writhed her naked beauty on her throne.
She was just about to invoke a total-subjection spell, when the strong, brutally beautiful, charming corsair she was so damn in love with broke free from his handcuffs and swaggered up to her chaise, sneeringly. That long, hard, jutting thickness swayed back and forth hypnotically as he strode, mesmerizing Wren.
Remy immediately grabbed her and began to make exquisitely masterful, overwhelmingly satisfying love to her mouth and breasts and cunt and ass all at once, causing the witch-empress to forget her spell and helplessly surrender to the power of the boy's rippling muscles and enormous cock.
Wren had cum three times while that fantasy played through her Remy-smitten mind, then she drifted off to sleep.
But in sleep, her Remy-dream changed horribly. It was still her and Remy at the start, and they were both naked, only this time she was pregnant with what she knew in the dream was Remy's baby. It was obvious in the dream that they were supremely happy.
Dream-Remy softly rubbed his hand over the baby growing inside her, then his hand trailed down to her pussy. She began stroking him, to get him hard for the fuck they both craved.
Suddenly, they were aware of another man in the room, laughing about how he was going to kill them. They both stared at the man, who looked maybe forty, dressed in dark colors. Wren remembered most strongly that he was wearing heavy black boots with thick, black, rubber soles.
He started waving a gun around, laughing about how he was going to make Remy watch as he stomped on Wren's baby. Remy screamed hoarsely, in sheer frustration, because he couldn't do anything. That's when Dream-Wren noticed that Remy was handcuffed and tied to a chair.
The horribly ugly laughing man reached over and pulled Wren to him like she weighed a feather. He slammed her down on the floor, and Wren began screaming now, insanely terrified, and the laughing madman shot his gun in the air, whooping. Then he raised his boot to stomp on the baby in Wren's womb.
That was when Wren woke up screaming, bathed in sweat.
She sat up in bed, waiting for either Marlo or Dexter or both to rush in, like they always used to when she woke screaming from the nightmares she'd had with horrible regularity in those first two years after her mother's death.
But Wren hadn't had a dream like this one -- featuring a crazy-strong man, a gun, sex, horrible violence, and death -- for over a year. She'd assumed she'd been cured of them. Marlo and Dexter had assumed so, as well. So did her therapist, Dr. Field.
Wren was going to see Dr. Field next Thursday, after school. She dreaded having to tell her about the dreams starting up again, but she knew she had to.
She also dreaded the possibility of having another of these gut-wrenching dreams before next Thursday because they used to come with such horrible frequency back when she used to have them.
Meanwhile, at practically the same time, in one of the Danron Townhomes, Trey Washington was screaming, too. His mother was beating him on the head and shoulders with a wooden spoon, and the boy was begging her to stop.
Trey's brother, Little, had asked to use his older brother's laptop (he wanted to try and find some porn), and Trey had simply told him to fuck off, that he had homework to finish.
About ten minutes later, after hearing his mother yelling in the other room, and then his grandmother yelling, Trey was startled by his mother bursting into the bedroom he shared with his younger brother, screaming and letting the wooden spoon come down over and over on his head.
"I be damned if my boy a faggot!"
Trey jumped off the bed and started screaming.
"I ain't no faggot! What the fuck you mean? Stop, Momma! Stop! You hurtin' me!"
His grandma was in the doorway now, begging her daughter to stop hitting Trey, but the woman was incensed.
"You got lust of the flesh for a boy! That be wickedness! Li'l tell me. He tell me what you do. You desperately sick in the eyes of God."
The wooden spoon stung terribly, despite how Trey tried to defend against it. She's a small woman, Trey thought, how the fuck can she hit so hard?
"Mom, I ain't even been wit' a boy. Why Little e'en say dat?"
More beating. More sad yelling from his grandma, who tried holding back her daughter's hand, but was too weak to stop her. Trey's brother stared from the doorway, looking both excited and terrified.
"He saw you, dammit! He say he saw you kissing a white boy! Li'l's damn bus drove right past your school! And there you was, doin' shame with another boy! You a wicked boy, Trey! You wicked like you no-good daddy!"
"Stop, Momma! I ain't be wicked! I swear!"
She kept hitting him.
"You be kissing a white boy. Li'l see you, dammit!"
"It ain't like that, I swear! Remy jus' my friend. He shy. There's a white girl he wanna get wit'. Bad! I swear, Momma! Stop it! Tell me he ain't never kiss a girl before. I show him some moves. Maybe look like a thing to Little, but that's all it be, I swear to God, Momma! Swear on Grand-daddy's grave!"
His grandmother croaked out her defense.
"See? See? I tol' you it be somethin silly like that. That Little, he the wicked one, bearing false witness on a good boy. Trey a good boy! You got a gem, such a good boy, and you be beatin him with a wooden spoon. You a crazy girl, you know that?"
Trey's mother had stopped beating him, but the rage in her eyes stung almost as hard.
"You swear to me you ain't a faggot? You swear to me you don't lust for boys? You swear it to me right here now! 'N' if I find out you lyin', I'm a kill you!"
"Momma, I swear! I ain't be queer. I fuck girls back in Gary, Mom. You ain't know that? Darlene, Shaneeka, that Ella girl on a corner. Don' be listenin' to that damn bad boy you raised. He jus' mad I ain't give him my laptop. But it be a tonna homework I gotta finish. Don' be listenin' to that bad boy. He a sinner, Momma. Not me."
Grandma Easter nodded.
"Truer words ain't never be spoke in this damn house!"
Trey's mother had one final thing to say before she left the room.
"I done tol' you, I'm a kill you I find out. Won't come with no spoon nex' time. Gonna be my butcher knife. Believe that."
Trey's grandmother watched her daughter leave the room and sighed out loud.
"You crazy, girl. You know that, right? I raise a crazy girl, Trey honey. I shamed to say it."
When his mother and brother left, his grandma came over and hugged her favorite person in the world.
"Oh, honey! My poor honey! I'm so sorry, boy. My good, good boy!"
Trey collapsed, sobbing as she hugged him. His cries were loud and fierce and high-pitched. Easter Chanteclair just kept murmuring to her grandson, comforting him.
"There, there, honey!"
She held him and let him sob all his sorrow out.
When he finally stopped the deep, uncontrollable paroxysms of grief that had shaken his whole body, he looked over at his grandma and gave her a kiss.
"Gram' Easter, what I do now? How I be livin?"
She hugged him.
"You'll live, honey. You strong, Trey. You so damn strong. And good. That's a powerful combination, baby, and you got it! You gon' have such a good life, honey!"
The she chuckled as she held him and stroked his long braids.
"You just like your grandpa, Trey honey. Oh, he was a charmer, alright! Jus' like you! Damn, I wish you coulda knowed that man. He was a firecracker! He like boys, too. White boys, jus' like you. Why the hell I care, though, long as he like me, too? And oh, he like me jus' fine!"
Grandma Easter chuckled in a soft, high-pitched squeal. Trey laughed through his last few tears.
"I be lost wit'out you, Gramma. It ain't no way you can die. Sure wish I did know Gran-daddy."
She just hugged him and clucked whatever comfort she could, stroking his head and his long hair, and remembering her late husband.
"My Lord, was he ever a charmer! Damn, those white boys love him almost as much as me! You look kinda like him, too. That smile you got -- make me wanna melt every time, just like your grandpa! Damn, could that man put lovin' on a girl! Boy, too, I bet."
Trey was done crying now. He had a big smile on his face, looking at this wonderful woman, his true, loving parent. Grandma Easter's face broke into a sly leer, and she patted Trey's cheek.
"Bet you can put lovin' on a boy, too, Trey honey! And I bet you be damn good at it, too!"