Marcus walked down the red-tiled hallway of the empty English wing. Horizontal stripes in matching red ran across each wall, directing the boy’s way to Room 419 of First Hill High.

An orange note sponged-up beads of sweat in Marcus’ left palm. The writing on the note was scratched in a stiff lettering, all capitals. “MARCUS – PLEASE REPORT TO MY OFFICE (419) 2DAY @ 5PM. MR. STORK.” Marcus’ Timex read 4:58. Ms. Abrams taught seventh-period freshman biology, first class after lunch, and she had slipped the note onto Marcus’ desk just before she’d started class. As soon as the bell had rung Marcus made a move for her desk, hoping for some answers. Who was Mr. Stork? Was Marcus in trouble? And for God’s sake, why did they have to wait around until late afternoon? But before Marcus could ask any of these, Ms. Abrams stepped quickly to her left and out the door.

As the day wore on, Marcus found out what little he could. Mr. Rupert Stork was Chairman of the English Department. He was an older man, late fifties, and had been teaching advanced senior English electives at Front Hill for as long as any of his colleagues could remember. Only a freshman, Marcus didn’t know many seniors. He couldn’t find anyone who’d actually had Stork for class, but Riley’s sister Krista was a junior who said she’d heard some pretty weird stuff.

“What kinda weird stuff?” Marcus asked Riley. Riley was reporting his conversation with his big sister.

“I don’t know dude. She just looked a little grossed out when she said it, but she didn’t tell me anything specific. She’s a loser, man. She doesn’t know shit.”

Marcus wasn’t sure being a loser made Krista incapable of giving him the scoop on Stork, but Riley obviously hadn’t gotten the information he needed.



The door to Mr. Stork’s office was smothered with newspaper cartoons. A few hundred Dilberts and Garfields stared Marcus in his eye.

He reached out his right hand in a fist: Knock, knock. Quick knocks. Businesslike.

Stork answered, guiding the door inward with curious care. He opened the door a foot and peeked around. He had a long face. Sharp jawbones, slender nose, dark hair touched gray. There was a bit of auburn fuzz on his cheeks, and his eyes, behind black glasses that could only belong to an English teacher, were the same reddish-brown.

“Yes?” he said. His voice was raspy but the words were soft.

“Uhm, hey, I’m…I’m Marcus.” The boy held the orange note from Ms. Abrams so Stork could see.

“Ahhh, Marcus…Yes, yes, I’m Rupert. Come on in, I’m so happy you’ve come.” He opened the door wider.

Well I’m only up here because you asked me to be, Marcus thought. And wasn’t it odd that he’d said Rupert, not Mr. Stork? Should be home playing Call of Duty by now. But he only smiled and stepped inside.

The light in Stork’s office was dim enough that Marcus’ eyes had to adjust before he could see. He heard the door click shut behind him as his first full glimpse of the place came clear into focus. It was so dark that it was more a lair than an office. The walls were lined with high bookshelves – a kind of mini-library. There looked to be more books than a man could read in a lifetime.

“Come. Sit.” Stork put a hand on the small of Marcus’ back and led him to the pale orange couch sitting at an odd angle in the middle of the room. A recliner a few feet away looked more comfortable, but Marcus let himself be led to the couch anyway. He was smaller than the teacher, although he was bigger than most kids in his class. He felt tiny in the office, dwarfed by this man and his bookshelves. Stork kept his hand on Marcus’ back until the boy’s soft rump sank into the cushion. Then he walked across the room and took his place behind a massive desk carved beautifully of some dark wood.

“So…I’ve heard from Mike Howe about your paper,” Stork said.

Marcus had submitted an English paper to Mr. Howe last week analyzing the relationship between Odysseus and his son Telemachus in Homer’s Odyssey. He was proud of it.

“Mike seems to think you’d be better off joining the honors program.”

Marcus cleared his throat and spoke. “I don’t mean to be a snot, Mr. Stork, but um…the honors kids are a bunch of nerds.” He was comfortable talking to Stork, probably because the man thought he might be good at something. At least someone did. “I’d rather stay in remedial with my friends.”

Stork took off his glasses and scratched his nose, smiling. “Marcus…I’ve read your paper. I am not recommending you consider the program. I’m demanding it. You have real talent, son, real talent. And that talent will not be nurtured in remedial. You need to challenge yourself, and the honors curriculum will mandate that you do just that.” He held the smile, but the way he said demanding hinted that the smile would disappear if Marcus continued to resist. Disappear quick.

“You read A Father At Sea?”

“Yes, I did,” Stork said, eyes softening. “It was very good, Marcus, very good stuff. I can’t get many of my seniors to write that way.”

Now Marcus was smiling. The kids in the honors program were a bunch of nerds, but he knew he could write, and he knew remedial English was too easy for him. “Maybe you’re right,” he said. “Maybe I should switch.”

Stork was quiet for a few moments, just sitting there with his hands clasped on the desk in front of him, sitting there smiling. “Where’d you get that necklace?” he asked.

Marcus looked down and saw that his chain had slipped outside his shirt. His gold cross was shining on his chest.

“Oh…my uh…it was my father’s,” Marcus said quietly.

“Oh Marcus, I’m so sorry,” Stork whispered back. He knew then.

“Yeah, he passed away a few years back. My mom let me have the necklace. To help me remember him and all.”

“You look beautiful wearing it,” Stork said. His voice was different now. Hungry.

“Yeah, thanks, I…wait…what?” Marcus again. Did this guy just call me beautiful? He looked up at Mr. Stork, sure he’d heard wrong. But there was Stork, staring down at him, but not into Marcus’ icy-blue eyes, not anywhere near them.

“What kind of jeans are those?” Stork growled. His eyes were greedy, and they were locked on Marcus’ crotch. The boy saw that only one hand, the left, was on the desk now. The other was somewhere beneath, where Marcus couldn’t see.

“I…I…” That was all Marcus could get out. His tongue felt too dry and too big for his mouth.

“Relax, Marcus, relax. Here.” Stork opened a drawer of his desk and reached in, rummaging about. He brought out a green bottle with no label, three-quarters filled with a liquid that looked dark brown. Marcus couldn’t be sure of the color. Not through the dark glass, not in the dark office. Stork reached back into the drawer, grabbed something else, then placed two clean drinking glasses on the desk. He filled both and pushed one toward Marcus. “Let’s have a drink. Tell me about your paper,” he said.

Marcus could still hardly find words. “Well…I ah, I’m, um…thanks?”

Stork laughed. “Ha, go ahead, boy! Take the drink!” Marcus did. He’d never had one before. He put the rim of the glass to his full lips and took a gentle sip. Stork watched it all. Marcus forced down the drink, grimacing as he did. “Whiskey,” Stork whispered, “the finest.” He took a large swig of his own, then rested his left hand on the desk while the right disappeared once more. “You wrote about Odysseus and Telemachus because you miss your father, didn’t you?” he asked.

Marcus hesitated, taking another sip of his whiskey. This one was bigger. Aw, what the hell, Marcus thought. Just admit it. “Yes, sir,” he said, “I miss my father everyday. I miss him terribly.”

Stork raised his glass and tipped the liquid violently down his throat, all of it. He picked up the bottle, poured himself another, took a more civilized sip and put down the glass. All with the one hand. “I’ll bet you do, son. I’ll bet you do.” He seemed to be breathing a bit heavily now. His eyes were back on Marcus’ crotch.

Marcus sipped his drink again, saw that he’d left only a bit, and gulped it down. He could feel the stuff now. It was hot in his chest and his lips felt numb. Cheeks are prolly rosy-red, he thought, and he smiled. For some reason that seemed funny.

“You like it, huh? Help yourself.” Stork motioned for Marcus to fill his empty glass. Marcus stood, reached for the bottle, poured. He turned away from the desk and started to take the few steps back to his couch.

“Wait,” Stork said from behind him. He heard Stork take a loud drink. “Bend over for me, Marcus. Bend over for Daddy.”

Marcus stopped in his tracks. He knew he’d heard right. He’d heard everything right. Stork wanted him to do a bit more than transfer into a more challenging English class. He’d never done anything like this before, had kissed only one girl his whole life, but Stork’s words made him feel good somehow. Made him feel comforted. His back still to the teacher, the boy gulped his new drink, his largest gulp yet, and bent forward to place the drink on a coffee table next to the couch. He could hear the denim strain as he thrust his ass cheeks toward Stork’s desk, and that made him smile too. Letting go of the glass, bent over double, he gave his hips a little wiggle.

“Uhhghh.” Stork groaned from behind. Marcus spun and sat back down on the couch. Now he could clearly see Mr. Stork’s right shoulder flexing, flexing, flexing, and it was pretty obvious that the man was rubbing his cock. And you don’t mind at all, Marcus heard himself think. You like it. He felt his own dick stir in his pants and smiled.

Stork smiled back, a sideways little grin that meant he knew what the boy was thinking. He stood up slowly and walked around the desk and past the couch, reaching out and ruffling Marcus’ short blonde hair as he went. He wore snug grey pants. They bulged where his cock ached for freedom.

Marcus watched as Stork reached for the handle of the office door. He thumbed the lock and spun it. “Wouldn’t want anyone barging in on us, would we?” he asked, not really expecting an answer. The tiniest click signaled that the door was locked, even though it was almost 5:30 in the afternoon and the high school was mostly deserted anyway. A few athletic teams were probably practicing in the gym or out on the fields, but Marcus thought he and Mr. Stork were probably alone up in the English wing.

He half-expected Stork to join him on the couch as the man returned, but Stork passed the couch and sat on the front of his desk, facing Marcus, barely an arms-length away. His cock looked about ready to blast through the zipper, and Marcus giggled.

“Do you want to see it, son?”

Marcus nodded.

Stork reached down and pulled his pale green shirt loose where it had been tucked into his waist. Then, slowly, he undid his belt, then the button. He wriggled a bit so that the zipper wouldn’t pinch, then grabbed the metal tab and slid the zipper all the way down. He looked directly into Marcus’ eyes all the while.

Marcus gasped as Mr. Stork’s cock burst free. The thing had to be almost eight inches long. Marcus had seen his father’s dick, though not when it was hard, and some of his friends’ tools in locker rooms and showers, but this was by far the biggest he’d ever seen. It wasn’t only the length that shocked him. Man that’s a thick cock, he thought.

“What do you think?” Stork asked. He wore a wide smile.

“It’s…it’s amazing,” Marcus answered. And really, it was. At the base of Stork’s cock was some fine, light brown fuzz, trimmed carefully. Light blue veins ran the length of the shaft, which was so thick Marcus doubted he could wrap a hand around it fully. A pink mushroom head bounced lightly up and down, pointing straight at Marcus.

“Come here, son. Come to Daddy.”

Marcus stood and noticed that his cock was fully hard. The bulge in his pants was nothing like Stork’s had been, but clearly noticeable. He stepped toward Stork, staring at the man’s dick. “Give me your hand,” Stork whispered. Marcus did. He held his right hand out for the man to grab, and with his strong grip Stork guided the boy’s palm to his throbbing rod.

Stork’s cock was as hard as steel and as Marcus squeezed he felt its pulsing warmth. Stork grabbed his wrist lightly and guided the boy’s hand up and down. He craned his neck down and kissed the soft flesh on the side of Marcus’ neck, then moaned in his ear as the boy stroked his cock. “Oh yeah, that’s it Son, mmm yes, stroke Daddy’s big cock,” he whispered. Marcus squeezed a little tighter and stroked a bit faster, pulling the skin that sheathed Stork’s prick all the way down toward the base and then sliding his palm back up, forcing the skin to glide over the fat pink head. “Oooh fuck yeah, Marcus.” Soon he felt the sticky pre-cum oozing from the tip, and he used it to lube Stork’s thick shaft.

Stork reached down and undid Marcus’ jeans. He let them fall to the floor, then slid the boy’s forest green boxers to his knees. Marcus’ dick popped out, the tip softly bumping Stork’s right thigh.

THWACKKK! Stork spanked Marcus’ round ass and squeezed. He left a pink handprint. Marcus wiggled his ass and laughed, and his firm buttcheeks were just thick enough to jiggle. THWACKKK! He got spanked again. Stork was groaning, bucking his hips now, thrusting his cock deep into Marcus’ hand. “Yeah, fuck my hand Daddy,” Marcus said softly. Stork’s dick was fully lubed with his pre-cum, and Marcus’ hand made wet slurping noises as he stroked faster and faster. Stork was hunched over, sucking the boy’s neck and moaning deep in his throat. He took his mouth away from Marcus’ neck for a moment, sucked his right index finger, then reached down and gently pressed its wet tip against Marcus’ tight rosebud asshole.

Marcus started, and Stork gave a short, calming laugh. “Easy son, it’ll be nice and easy…ooo, that’s it, just keep stroking me, mmm just like that, uh, uhhh.” He bucked hard into Marcus’ palm on the last two grunts while he slipped the finger up to the first knuckle in Marcus’ ass. “Fuck your ass is tight, boy. Work that tail, let me finger-fuck you,” he said.

Marcus bent his knees just a bit and pushed his ass down on Stork’s finger, forcing the whole thing in. He felt Stork wiggle the digit when it was inside. He squealed. God, that sounded just like a pig, he thought, and Stork must have thought so to. “Yeah squeal for me like a little piggie,” Stork said. Marcus beat the man’s dick furiously, and Mr. Stork started to pump his finger in and out of Marcus’ asshole, never letting the tip out completely. The boy gave a high-pitched “Ehh” every time the finger plunged in, testing his hole’s limits.

“Stroke me faster, pig, harder,” Stork growled. He was finger-fucking Marcus harder and harder all the while, Marcus bucking his own hips a bit, meeting Stork’s fist with his ass cheeks. Marcus’ dick was nodding all over, making pit-pat noises when it slapped against Stork’s thigh.

And then Marcus heard a tinny jingle from just outside the door, and his asshole clenched down on Stork’s finger like a flytrap. Someone was in the hallway, someone with keys. Stork didn’t seem to notice. He wriggled his finger loose from Marcus’ hole and brought it to the boy’s mouth. “Taste your slimy little hole, bitch,” he said, and Marcus let him slide the finger between his lips. It had a dirty taste, but not necessarily a bad one, Marcus thought. Good enough, in fact, that he wanted more. But first, what about the stranger outside?

He let go of Stork’s cock, and the man spanked him right away. This one hurt. It was much harder than the first two, and the jingle outside stopped abruptly. The stranger must have heard. “Don’t you stop rubbing Daddy’s cock until he tells you, pig,” Stork said.

“Didn’t you hear that?” Marcus asked. “There’s someone outside the door!”

“Oh?” Stork said, and smiled. Marcus expected serious alarm, but really, the man didn’t look all that surprised. “I have a confession to make, Marcus,” Stork told him as he lifted the boy’s t-shirt over his shoulders. The shirt was off now, and Stork pinched the boy’s nipples. He looked Marcus in the eye. “I told Rick you might be paying me a visit this afternoon,” he said. “Rick Davis.”

Marcus pictured the “R. Davis” he’d noticed sewn in white embroidery onto the front pocket of the school janitor’s maroon workshirt. Rick Davis was a hulk of a black man, so dark the whites of his eyes seemed fluorescent and his skin was an inky midnight-blue.

Stork smiled wide. “I don’t think he’ll mind what’s going on in here,” he said. “I don’t think he’ll mind one bit.” Marcus’ eyes widened as it dawned on him what Mr. Stork might have in mind. “Let’s not be rude, son. Shall we let him in?”

Marcus looked down at Stork’s thick cock, grabbed it again, gave it a few soft strokes. The pink head was darker now, almost red.

“Mmm, I’ll take that as a yes,” Stork giggled. “Come on in, Rick!” he called. “My boy’s ready for you.”

Marcus heard the keys jingle again, this time inside the lock.