A Lesson to be Learned - Chapter 3
I let my pencil scrape over the textured paper. I should have started out with a rough draft on basic, computer paper, but I hate doing drafts. I always end up perfecting it, but I’m never able to recreate it for the final product. The charcoal smears smoothly across the paper as I sketch in the walls of the house I’m detailing.
“Shit,” I mutter as I draw a line too far into the center of the paper. I let out a frustrated groan as I slide the paper away and put my head in my hands. I can’t do this.
“Hey,” Mr. Walker’s calming voice breaks through the muted buzz of chatter around the room and I sigh, lifting my head up to look at him. He pulls out a stool next to me and folds his arms across the table top. “What’s up?”
I sigh, letting my shoulders rise and fall in a half-assed shrug. “I just,” I gesture vaguely at the paper, waving my hands in circles more than actually pointing at anything. “Can’t get what I see in my head onto my paper. I know what I want… it just won’t come out right.”
“Well,” Mr. Walker says, sliding my paper closer to him and looking at my pathetic excuse for a drawing. “I think, maybe you just don’t know what you want. And that’s why it won’t come out right. You think you want something, but part of you knows it’s not the right thing to want to create. Messing up is your mind’s way of telling you to change direction.”
I stare at him for a moment, hoping he’ll clarify what he means, but he simply smiles and pats my shoulder before standing up and walking back to his own canvas. What the actual fuck?
I glance over at my paper and contemplate it for a few minutes before finally sliding it back in front of me and turning it upside down. I drag my pencil up, connecting one side of the paper to the adjacent side and repeat the process a few millimeters to the side, being careful not to smudge the other blackened lines.
I continue the process around the entire paper, crossing some of the lines and letting them leave the center of the page open in a rough, diamond shape. In the open space I shade in prison bars wrapped in barbed wire with hands protruding through the open spaces of the bars. I make sure to have the shading all right so the drawing almost looks 3D and get up, walking to the backroom to locate a frame.
Digging through the piles of broken, ripped, and wrong sized frames takes longer than I thought it would and I hear the bell ring, signaling it’s time for lunch. Shit. Oh well, Mr. Walker usually lets me sit in here throughout the day anyway, so it’s not too big a deal. I finally find the perfect frame (black, matte, and thankfully the right size) and take it back to my desk where Ray is already sitting, two trays of food sat out for us.
“Thanks,” I breathe out, smiling a little. The thing about Ray is while he may not talk a lot, he definitely knows how to read people. Plus, he always knows the days I end up staying back late in the art room to work on some God forsaken project.
“Not a problem,” Ray waves me off, popping a tater tot in his mouth. I pick one off the other tray, placing it in my mouth and letting it crunch loudly. I pick up my drawing and fit it to the back of the frame, putting masking tape all around the edges to hold it in place before finally flipping it over to exam the whole piece.
“Perfect,” I mutter, turning it at different angles to evaluate it better. Ray leans over and glances at the drawing over my shoulder.
“Not bad,” he comments, then pauses for a moment. “…What is it?”
“My desires trying manifest themselves and escape my mind.”
“Uh, nice,” Ray scratches at his head, tilting it a little to look at the drawing again. “I guess I can kind of see it….”
I let out a sigh and sit the piece down on the table. Ray isn’t exactly the most artsy guy around. He’s great at music, but when it comes to physical art, he doesn’t have a clue. Grabbing another tater tot off the tray and popping it in my mouth I glance around the room. I wonder if I should make another piece to put in, just in case this one doesn’t win out. I really want to make an impression on the art scholars coming, and I’m just not sure how secure I feel about this project.
Oh well, maybe I’ll make one later if Mr. Walker doesn’t think this is good enough, but for now this will have to suffice. I pick up my bottle of water and take a swig of it before picking up the rest of my tray and dumping it all in the garbage can.
“Dude, I would have eaten all of that,” Ray’s indignant voice whines from behind me and I turn around and smirk before gesturing at the bin.
“Be my guest, Toro.”
His face scrunches up and he shakes his head, his curly hair flopping all over the place like the top of a tree in a windstorm.
******************************************
I somehow manage to make it through the rest of the day without going to any of my other classes, but that’s probably due to the fact that I skipped out the back door after fourth period and walked home. Skipping halfway through the day probably isn’t my best choice today, but I can’t be bothered to deal with the immature children filling the halls at Queen of Peace. I’d rather be at home reading the novel Mr. Iero gave me.
Sneaking out the back door of the school is too easy. You just have to be careful to avoid vice principal Bryar. Actually, avoiding Mr. Bryar at any point in your high school career would probably be the best option, but especially if you’re about to leave campus early.
Thankfully though, Mr. Bryar isn’t anywhere near the exit when I decide to sneak down the hall and out the door and running to dodge behind cars in the parking lot in case a stray faculty member is roaming the area.
I’m busy focusing on the door behind me, to make sure that no one has emerged and tried to drag me back to the Catholic prison when suddenly I’m slamming into someone. The next thing I know, I’m staring up at the cloudy, smog-filled sky while fireworks burst in front of my eyes.
“What the fuck?” I groan, rubbing the back of my head as I glance around looking for the person I’ve plowed into. Shit.
Mr. Iero is sitting on the ground opposite me, rubbing his jaw and laughing in a high pitched sound that vaguely reminds me of a small child. He’s laughing, but I know I’m so fucked, and not even in the good way.
“Sorry,” I mutter, rubbing my head again and glancing around the parking lot.
“Totally fine,” Mr. Iero says, smiling as another giggle forces its way out. “I should have been paying more attention to where I was walking than my phone.” He holds up his black iPhone and I nod, not wanting to own up to the fact that I was trying to escape from the building.
I watch as Mr. Iero pulls himself up to his feet and walks over, holding his hand out to me. I hesitate a few seconds too long but grab his hand anyway. He’s stronger than I was expecting and I don’t even have to help get myself up on my feet.
“Thanks,” I mumble, brushing off the small pieces of gravel and dirt that are all over my uniform.
“Not a problem,” he says, giving me another wide smile. “So what exactly are you doing out here? Shouldn’t you be in fourth period?”
I have to resist being a four year old and yelling the “shouldn’t you?!” response and swallow a little to clear my throat.
“Uh, well…” I try and think up a quick excuse, but nothing is coming to mind. Mental note to self, watch more high school, teen movies.
Mr. Iero laughs, catching me off guard and I feel my eyes widen a little as I look at him.
“Skipping, huh?”
I feel my face flare up as I swallow the ridiculous amount of saliva that’s accumulated in my mouth. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
“Don’t worry,” Mr. Iero says with a smirk. I freeze a little, waiting for the inevitable threat of a detention. “I won’t tell anyone.”
I blink and almost miss the small wink he throws in as his smirk widens into his huge smile again, causing my stomach to give a not-so-unpleasant lurch.
“Uh, what?” I ask, rubbing my head again. It doesn’t even hurt anymore, but I just need something to do with my hand or I’m going to attack Mr. Iero with a fucking bear hug.
“I know what it’s like to be a teen. Not so long ago, I was one. Trust me when I say, I know how it feels to want a day off school once in a while. Now go, before one of the other staff sees you.”
He shoos me off like a small animal and I stare at him for a few moments before he cocks an eyebrow at me.
“Or I could take you to Mr. Bryar’s office and tell him I caught you in the parking lot trying to leave…”
And that’s my cue to leave.
“Uh, no thanks, I’m good. Bye!” I turn around and power walk in the opposite direction of Mr. Iero.
“Bye, Gerard,” he chuckles behind me before turning and walking back to the entrance of the school.
As I start to walk away I realize that the blood that was previously pooling in my cheeks from embarrassment has recently surged southwards. Fuck. I walk back to my house at the quickest pace I can manage without somehow incurring an asthma attack. I dodge through traffic and narrowly miss getting hit by some jackass with a 4X4 truck.
I nearly sprint up my driveway and rush down the stairs to my room as soon as the door slams shut behind me.
“Fuck,” I huff out, discarding my backpack and undoing my belt as quick as I can and throwing it across the room. I hear the metal buckle clang against my desk chair but ignore it as I throw open the button to my pants.
I lick my palm and shove my hand down into my underwear, groaning as soon as my hand makes contact with my dick.
“Fuck,” I moan out, tightening my grip around my cock imagining Mr. Iero’s perfect lips stretched around it. I stroke up towards the head, giving my hand a twist and thumbing over my slit, picturing Mr. Iero’s tongue stroking over it and collecting the small bead of precum that’s already accumulated there. I haven’t done this in a while, so I already know I’m not going to last. I rub my palm up over the head, getting more precum on it before sliding it back down my length.
“Shit,” I slide my hand down to my base, tightening my fist and using the precum to slick up my entire cock before starting to fist along my length faster. I imagine Mr. Iero kneeling in front of me, his black hair pooling over his beautiful eyes as his lips stretch, red and shiny, around my dick as I thrust in his mouth and I let out deep moan before fisting myself harder.
I visualize Mr. Iero giving me a smirk and running the tip of his tongue from the head to my base and before I know I’m moaning loudly and coming so hard my vision goes momentarily white. I pant and try to catch my breath as my vision slowly comes into focus and notice I’ve successfully pinstriped the entire front of my boxers and school pants.
Wonderful.
I sigh, peeling off my boxers and pants, kicking them somewhere near my hamper and scan the ground for a somewhat clean pair of underwear to put on. I finally locate a seemingly decent pair and pull them on before collapsing face first onto my bed.
“Holy shit,” I speak into the pillow, the sound coming out muffled. Did I seriously just jerk off to the idea of a teacher giving me the best blow job of my life?
Okay, well the only blowjob, but still.
How the hell did that even happen? I don’t even remember him doing anything that should have even caused me to be turned on. I let out a groan and roll over to face my ceiling.
“It’s gonna be a long year...”
Chapter 4
“Shit,” I mutter as I draw a line too far into the center of the paper. I let out a frustrated groan as I slide the paper away and put my head in my hands. I can’t do this.
“Hey,” Mr. Walker’s calming voice breaks through the muted buzz of chatter around the room and I sigh, lifting my head up to look at him. He pulls out a stool next to me and folds his arms across the table top. “What’s up?”
I sigh, letting my shoulders rise and fall in a half-assed shrug. “I just,” I gesture vaguely at the paper, waving my hands in circles more than actually pointing at anything. “Can’t get what I see in my head onto my paper. I know what I want… it just won’t come out right.”
“Well,” Mr. Walker says, sliding my paper closer to him and looking at my pathetic excuse for a drawing. “I think, maybe you just don’t know what you want. And that’s why it won’t come out right. You think you want something, but part of you knows it’s not the right thing to want to create. Messing up is your mind’s way of telling you to change direction.”
I stare at him for a moment, hoping he’ll clarify what he means, but he simply smiles and pats my shoulder before standing up and walking back to his own canvas. What the actual fuck?
I glance over at my paper and contemplate it for a few minutes before finally sliding it back in front of me and turning it upside down. I drag my pencil up, connecting one side of the paper to the adjacent side and repeat the process a few millimeters to the side, being careful not to smudge the other blackened lines.
I continue the process around the entire paper, crossing some of the lines and letting them leave the center of the page open in a rough, diamond shape. In the open space I shade in prison bars wrapped in barbed wire with hands protruding through the open spaces of the bars. I make sure to have the shading all right so the drawing almost looks 3D and get up, walking to the backroom to locate a frame.
Digging through the piles of broken, ripped, and wrong sized frames takes longer than I thought it would and I hear the bell ring, signaling it’s time for lunch. Shit. Oh well, Mr. Walker usually lets me sit in here throughout the day anyway, so it’s not too big a deal. I finally find the perfect frame (black, matte, and thankfully the right size) and take it back to my desk where Ray is already sitting, two trays of food sat out for us.
“Thanks,” I breathe out, smiling a little. The thing about Ray is while he may not talk a lot, he definitely knows how to read people. Plus, he always knows the days I end up staying back late in the art room to work on some God forsaken project.
“Not a problem,” Ray waves me off, popping a tater tot in his mouth. I pick one off the other tray, placing it in my mouth and letting it crunch loudly. I pick up my drawing and fit it to the back of the frame, putting masking tape all around the edges to hold it in place before finally flipping it over to exam the whole piece.
“Perfect,” I mutter, turning it at different angles to evaluate it better. Ray leans over and glances at the drawing over my shoulder.
“Not bad,” he comments, then pauses for a moment. “…What is it?”
“My desires trying manifest themselves and escape my mind.”
“Uh, nice,” Ray scratches at his head, tilting it a little to look at the drawing again. “I guess I can kind of see it….”
I let out a sigh and sit the piece down on the table. Ray isn’t exactly the most artsy guy around. He’s great at music, but when it comes to physical art, he doesn’t have a clue. Grabbing another tater tot off the tray and popping it in my mouth I glance around the room. I wonder if I should make another piece to put in, just in case this one doesn’t win out. I really want to make an impression on the art scholars coming, and I’m just not sure how secure I feel about this project.
Oh well, maybe I’ll make one later if Mr. Walker doesn’t think this is good enough, but for now this will have to suffice. I pick up my bottle of water and take a swig of it before picking up the rest of my tray and dumping it all in the garbage can.
“Dude, I would have eaten all of that,” Ray’s indignant voice whines from behind me and I turn around and smirk before gesturing at the bin.
“Be my guest, Toro.”
His face scrunches up and he shakes his head, his curly hair flopping all over the place like the top of a tree in a windstorm.
******************************************
I somehow manage to make it through the rest of the day without going to any of my other classes, but that’s probably due to the fact that I skipped out the back door after fourth period and walked home. Skipping halfway through the day probably isn’t my best choice today, but I can’t be bothered to deal with the immature children filling the halls at Queen of Peace. I’d rather be at home reading the novel Mr. Iero gave me.
Sneaking out the back door of the school is too easy. You just have to be careful to avoid vice principal Bryar. Actually, avoiding Mr. Bryar at any point in your high school career would probably be the best option, but especially if you’re about to leave campus early.
Thankfully though, Mr. Bryar isn’t anywhere near the exit when I decide to sneak down the hall and out the door and running to dodge behind cars in the parking lot in case a stray faculty member is roaming the area.
I’m busy focusing on the door behind me, to make sure that no one has emerged and tried to drag me back to the Catholic prison when suddenly I’m slamming into someone. The next thing I know, I’m staring up at the cloudy, smog-filled sky while fireworks burst in front of my eyes.
“What the fuck?” I groan, rubbing the back of my head as I glance around looking for the person I’ve plowed into. Shit.
Mr. Iero is sitting on the ground opposite me, rubbing his jaw and laughing in a high pitched sound that vaguely reminds me of a small child. He’s laughing, but I know I’m so fucked, and not even in the good way.
“Sorry,” I mutter, rubbing my head again and glancing around the parking lot.
“Totally fine,” Mr. Iero says, smiling as another giggle forces its way out. “I should have been paying more attention to where I was walking than my phone.” He holds up his black iPhone and I nod, not wanting to own up to the fact that I was trying to escape from the building.
I watch as Mr. Iero pulls himself up to his feet and walks over, holding his hand out to me. I hesitate a few seconds too long but grab his hand anyway. He’s stronger than I was expecting and I don’t even have to help get myself up on my feet.
“Thanks,” I mumble, brushing off the small pieces of gravel and dirt that are all over my uniform.
“Not a problem,” he says, giving me another wide smile. “So what exactly are you doing out here? Shouldn’t you be in fourth period?”
I have to resist being a four year old and yelling the “shouldn’t you?!” response and swallow a little to clear my throat.
“Uh, well…” I try and think up a quick excuse, but nothing is coming to mind. Mental note to self, watch more high school, teen movies.
Mr. Iero laughs, catching me off guard and I feel my eyes widen a little as I look at him.
“Skipping, huh?”
I feel my face flare up as I swallow the ridiculous amount of saliva that’s accumulated in my mouth. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
“Don’t worry,” Mr. Iero says with a smirk. I freeze a little, waiting for the inevitable threat of a detention. “I won’t tell anyone.”
I blink and almost miss the small wink he throws in as his smirk widens into his huge smile again, causing my stomach to give a not-so-unpleasant lurch.
“Uh, what?” I ask, rubbing my head again. It doesn’t even hurt anymore, but I just need something to do with my hand or I’m going to attack Mr. Iero with a fucking bear hug.
“I know what it’s like to be a teen. Not so long ago, I was one. Trust me when I say, I know how it feels to want a day off school once in a while. Now go, before one of the other staff sees you.”
He shoos me off like a small animal and I stare at him for a few moments before he cocks an eyebrow at me.
“Or I could take you to Mr. Bryar’s office and tell him I caught you in the parking lot trying to leave…”
And that’s my cue to leave.
“Uh, no thanks, I’m good. Bye!” I turn around and power walk in the opposite direction of Mr. Iero.
“Bye, Gerard,” he chuckles behind me before turning and walking back to the entrance of the school.
As I start to walk away I realize that the blood that was previously pooling in my cheeks from embarrassment has recently surged southwards. Fuck. I walk back to my house at the quickest pace I can manage without somehow incurring an asthma attack. I dodge through traffic and narrowly miss getting hit by some jackass with a 4X4 truck.
I nearly sprint up my driveway and rush down the stairs to my room as soon as the door slams shut behind me.
“Fuck,” I huff out, discarding my backpack and undoing my belt as quick as I can and throwing it across the room. I hear the metal buckle clang against my desk chair but ignore it as I throw open the button to my pants.
I lick my palm and shove my hand down into my underwear, groaning as soon as my hand makes contact with my dick.
“Fuck,” I moan out, tightening my grip around my cock imagining Mr. Iero’s perfect lips stretched around it. I stroke up towards the head, giving my hand a twist and thumbing over my slit, picturing Mr. Iero’s tongue stroking over it and collecting the small bead of precum that’s already accumulated there. I haven’t done this in a while, so I already know I’m not going to last. I rub my palm up over the head, getting more precum on it before sliding it back down my length.
“Shit,” I slide my hand down to my base, tightening my fist and using the precum to slick up my entire cock before starting to fist along my length faster. I imagine Mr. Iero kneeling in front of me, his black hair pooling over his beautiful eyes as his lips stretch, red and shiny, around my dick as I thrust in his mouth and I let out deep moan before fisting myself harder.
I visualize Mr. Iero giving me a smirk and running the tip of his tongue from the head to my base and before I know I’m moaning loudly and coming so hard my vision goes momentarily white. I pant and try to catch my breath as my vision slowly comes into focus and notice I’ve successfully pinstriped the entire front of my boxers and school pants.
Wonderful.
I sigh, peeling off my boxers and pants, kicking them somewhere near my hamper and scan the ground for a somewhat clean pair of underwear to put on. I finally locate a seemingly decent pair and pull them on before collapsing face first onto my bed.
“Holy shit,” I speak into the pillow, the sound coming out muffled. Did I seriously just jerk off to the idea of a teacher giving me the best blow job of my life?
Okay, well the only blowjob, but still.
How the hell did that even happen? I don’t even remember him doing anything that should have even caused me to be turned on. I let out a groan and roll over to face my ceiling.
“It’s gonna be a long year...”
Chapter 4