I did see my friends, at one point. Chris was talking to the girl in the blue dress, who was crying, and Joe was whispering what I could only assume were words of 'encouragement' to Chris (who, in his defense, was probably just trying to comfort her).
"Looks like I made your girlfriend cry." Mr. Way pointed out, grinning smugly.
"Not my girlfriend." I mumbled.
"Sure she is. Go on, Frankie, why don't you let her suck your dick to make her feel better?"
"You're a child." I said, rolling my eyes (although I was aware he couldn't see me).
"No, I'm jealous. There's a difference." He said matter-of-factly. I tried to not let the confession throw me off.
"Is there?" I teased.
"Yes. If I were being childish, I'd call her names and make you promise you wanted me more. If I was being jealous, I would be constantly reassuring myself with the fact that I'm going to fuck you later."
"And you're doing the latter?" I said, my voice trembling. He stopped abruptly and slid a single finger down my cheek, smiling fondly.
"Only if you want me to." He whispered, cupping my cheek.
"Do I have to decide now?" I said weakly. He laughed and shook his head.
"Of course not." He smiled, and resumed walking, still holding my hand proudly in his. To my surprise, we didn't get approached by anyone else, so I assumed that my costume couldn't be that bad.
"So what changed?" I said suddenly.
"You change the topic of conversation really frequently and really dramatically. Has anyone ever told you that?" he replied.
"Um. No."
"Well. You do. And it's adorable. Anyway, what changed when?"
"Our agreement. Why is this okay now?" I asked. Despite being overjoyed at how things worked out, I still needed answers. He owed me at least that.
He thought about it for a moment before replying.
"I'm assuming you want me to be brutally honest, here."
"I do."
"Okay. I got sick and tired of masturbating over you." He said bluntly. I stopped walking and stared at him, wide-eyed.
"What?"
"Every night it was me just imagining you. Remembering when you touched yourself in my classroom, or that time you were staring at me in the lunch hall, or all of the damn times that you look at me like you'd jump me right then and there if you could. You drive me fucking crazy, Frank. It just got to the point where I couldn't keep doing it. I mean, it hasn't been long, I know, but that one week was bad enough, and I can't do that every week until you leave. I need you, Frank. You can have no fucking clue about how much I want you."
"So you're risking your job, and my education, and both of our potential futures, so you don't have to fantasize about me anymore?"
"Jesus, Frank, when you say it like that it sounds bad." He laughed nervously.
"It's a bit bad." I said, mostly teasing. He slid a hand over the curve of my ass, squeezing lightly.
"It's not all that bad. Try to imagine what it felt like for me, okay? So, I've got this adorable kid in my class, who I'm a little bit fond of, and who I want to protect from all the bad things in the world. Right, okay? "
"Okay." I said, laughing.
"Now imagine that, over a couple years, this kid grows up into a decent guy, who doesn't really get picked on anymore, and who has the worst temper ever, but I'm still fond for him. Now imagine that kid, who has grown up to be miles and miles more attractive than any other kid his age, staring at you like he wants your cock inside him that very minute while you're innocently trying to read To Kill A Mockingbird to your class. That, though, that was fine. It was just...you know, weird, but it was fine. But then when that damn kid keeps fucking staring at you, and you can't decide if you prefer the light in his eyes, or the way you imagine his lips would look around your cock, that's when things get...not fine. So, the next day, you come in and decide to flirt a little bit. Harmless, as far as you're concerned, until it's not. Until that fucking kid pushes you over the limit and it takes all of your physical restraint to not fuck him right then and there. And then, even after you've warned him that you will do just that, he still keeps fucking pushing it. So, you do the rational thing – you touch yourself while thinking about him every night, so that you can bear to see him the next day without dry humping him the minute he walks into your classroom." He said, the words flowing beautifully out of his lips, the way they do when he's reading. I chewed my lip for a moment.
