The lonely boi and the yodeling Irish singer; a forbidden romance.

new beginnings

"Fuck me." I drop my binder and books and they slide across the  hallway. "I'd rather not,"giggles Vanessa, and her herd of friends screech with her. "Although I'm not exactly your type now am I?" The group erupts in laughter. God, they sound like dying cows. Rolling my eyes I scramble to pick up the copy of George baxts' "A Queer Kind of Death" that I snatched from the library. My scrambling comes to a halt at a set of white converse with sharpie. I only have to look up a sliver before the most dazzling cornfield blue eyes meet my own murky browns. The colour and depth of the blue was remarkable, but what really got my blood pulsing was the deep lines below them, and the bags that hung beneath. The bags were gucci. Damn Quinlan, get it together. "Um he.. hello. Hi." Could he hear the lust in my words? Before I could say another word I was met with  a savory voice like the wind rushing through the clover in an Irish field. "Dont say um it makes you look dumb, just like justin Trudeau." The blood pumped through me. My heart felt mushy and soft, but I move my binder to cover up certain areas that were anything but. "Sorry," he laughed loud and shrill, what a turn on." Guess I should ask other teachers before I steal their likes." Another snicker. Fuck. We both stood up and he handed me the book I had been aimlessly trying to find amidst the chaotic hallway. I looked up into those fanominal oceans and see myself reflected. My lips part and I see this strange man readjust his tongue in his mouth. He leans forward and whispers in my ear, "you are going to want to move that binder of yours a little to the left." My ear remains damp and warm even as he pulls away. When I peer down I see the binder has slipped a little out of position and my boner is quite obvious. As I move the forest green fabric to properly shield myself, the man turns and struts off into a classroom I presume is his. I watch him go. I watch his flannel pose and fall around his ass with every step, and what an ass it is. The first bell catches me off guard and I jump a little. I grasp for my student timetable whilst reliving the embarrassment of the last five minutes. Room six fifty seven, French 10. A smirk colours my face and I start forward. Words like the gentle patter of rainfall painting on a roof greet me. "Welcome to the class Quinlan, please take a seat." I'm the first one here and we're all alone. I remove my binder and place it on a front desk. Sashaying through the isle I show the teacher exactly what he will come to see. To feel. To embrace. He smirks at my oversized erection as I saunter from my desk to his. I reach out a hand, but it's not the limb be wraps his fingers around. This is going to be one hell of a year.