THERE’S NOTHINGquite like morning sex.
Except when you’re single, went to bed alone, and wake to realize you are in fact trying to screw the mattress into submission.
I smacked the Off button on my buzzing alarm clock and rolled onto my side. I rubbed one eye and raised the blankets with the other.
Raging hard-on. Excellent.
I moved onto my back, stared at the ceiling, and tried to will away the desire to come at five thirty in the morning. But I’d apparently been going at it for a while and had passed the point of no return. My hips twitched involuntarily, and I’m pretty sure I was lying on a big spot of precum.
I reached down, wrapped a hand around my cock, and gave it a few firm, long strokes. I didn’t really have time to enjoy a good masturbation session—it was more like just give the damn thing what it wanted so I could get ready for work. I wasn’t even awake enough to indulge in some good jerk-off fantasies, so I was a little surprised when my brain spun like a Rolodex and brought upHansen, Felix.
“Come on,” I sort of half grumbled, half moaned to myself.
It couldn’t be a sexy gay porn star? Or even an ex? I guess there’s nothing like the truly unattainable to really get the juices flowing, though. But whatever. I went with it. I was close enough now that it hardly mattered. I sped up, took my balls into my other hand, rolled them, rocked my hips… I imagined holding Felix down, rubbing my cock along the cleft of his asscheeks, sliding into a tight, glorious heat, and then—
“Fuck!”
I covered the head of my cock, coming on my hand and saving the sheets from an early washing. I took a few deep, shaky breaths before maneuvering out from under the blankets without making a mess. I left the bedroom, briefly got tangled in the clothes I’d left on the floor, then hurried into the bathroom. After letting the ice water warm to something suitable for humans, I ducked under the spray.
An orgasm was never a bad way to start off the day, even rushed and flying solo.
After the shower and getting dressed, I stood in front of the full-length mirror in my room, spending an admittedly excessive amount of time hemming and hawing over my outfit. Did I love it? Duh. Slim-fitting khaki pants, a light blue button-down, oxfords… professional yet trendy. Although maybe the khaki color was too casual? But then if I switched to black trousers, I’d need to find a more colorful bow tie—and one does not choose a bow tie at random! My entire outfit is planned around it, for Christ’s sake.
I looked over my shoulder at the clock and cursed. Khakis and constellations would have to do. I picked up my shoulder bag, left the bedroom, and thundered down the creaking stairs. A quick breakfast of yogurt, a cup of coffee, and I was ready for my first day of teaching public school. I threw a navy blue suit coat on, then my winter jacket.
Today would be a good day.
THE HIGHschool was small. Just a few hundred kids made up the entire student body. The plus side of that was I didn’t have fifteen percussion players all vying to play a part more in depth than the cymbals. The downside being the region didn’t offer the option to learn string instruments.
So I had no strings section in my music program.
That’s like leaving dairy out of the food pyramid!
I left the front office with my bag over a shoulder, cello case in one hand and a handful of paperwork in the other. It included schedules, rosters, directions around the building—huh, apparently they had a farm on the property….
I nearly collided with someone after glancing up from the paperwork a moment too late. I skidded to a halt, and the other man did the same. “Oops, I’m sorry.”
“No worries,” he said, smiling. “I’m going out on a limb and guessing you’re the new band director?”
“I am.” I set the cello down, shifted the files to my other arm, and extended a hand. “Bowen Merlin.”
“Bowen,” he repeated. “I’m Stephen Kelly. Accounting and school newspaper advisor.”
Stephen had a pleasant green voice and a sort of Anderson Cooper thing going on. Nice. And definitely why I’d caught a passing group of girls staring.
“Not me,” he stated.
“Huh?”
Stephen smiled and nodded at the girls after they put some distance between us. “A young, cute, new teacher. They were staring at you.” He held out a hand. “Can I carry those for you? I’ll walk you to the music room.”
“Thank you,” I said, offering Stephen the folders before collecting my instrument case and following.
“I used to get those dreamy looks from students…. You know, twenty years ago.” Stephen gave me a wink.
I laughed but felt my cheeks getting warm and hoped I wasn’t blotchy. “Ha-ha… well, I’m definitely not looking to relive acne, long division, and learner’s permits. Nothing is more attractive to me than maturity.”
Stephen chuckled. “Mortgages and worrying when that thin spot will suddenly become a bald spot.”
