The classroom was empty except for one kid sitting in the front row. The kid, technically at 18 a man, was me, and while the school buses had left I had remained. Whether or not I was going to be joined by my science teacher, Mr. Arthur, remained to be seen.
I had given Mr. Arthur a note on my way out of class earlier that day, the last day of school, and although I know he must have read it, I didn't know what his reaction would be. Would he take it seriously?
Probably, because while I was a goofy kid like most everybody in school, I was always intense and sincere in his class. I hung on his every word and always did my best, eager to impress him and always hoping for his approval.
I had a crush on Mr. Arthur, and while I know students often had crushes on their teachers, I doubted whether Mr. Arthur had many students in love with him, especially guys. This was 1971 and that sort of thing was not accepted then any more than it is now, although it seems to become public more these days.
Mr. Arthur wasn't very handsome, and in fact he looked a little like Fred Gwynne, the actor that played Herman Munster on that TV show, without the make-up of course.
Mr. Arthur was tall, probably about 6'5" or so, and as skinny as a rail, and he had a deep voice that sent shivers down my spine. He had enormous hands, with long bony fingers that had a lot of hair on them around the knuckles. He had hairy arms too, I had noticed during those rare times when he took of his suit jacket on hot days.
Those hands. Sometimes in class when we were working on projects he would come around and look over our shoulders. For some reason he would put his hand on my shoulder while making a comment about what I was doing, squeezing with just enough pressure to make me wince.
And make me hard as well. When he would do that my dick would come to life, and I think that if he ever stood there long enough holding me like that I could cum without touching myself. That's how much he excited me.
He had always caught my eye, even before I had him as a teacher in my senior year. In my very limited experiences with guys I had developed a taste for older, dominant men, and that fit Mr. Arthur to a T, but it wasn't until that time in the bathroom after the last class of the day that I had really fallen for him.
Not a very romantic place, the toilet of a boys room, but I had a habit of hanging out there sometimes, sneaking peeks at guys while trying not to let them a glimpse at my meager member. It was then that I saw Mr. Arthur - really saw him.
Teachers didn't usually use the students boys room, except to check to see if they could catch kids smoking, so I was shocked when I saw that the person who had just entered the room and had positioned themselves at the other end of the trough-style urinal was wearing a suit, grey in color.
My eyes went up from the shiny black shoes to the cuffed pants and further up, and when the man undid his fly and reached into his trousers I tried my best to hide my interest, but that attempt failed when I saw what emerged.
The hairy hand pulled out the most incredible cock I had even seen, and then the hand that had pulled out the incredibly long cock moved up to his hip, letting the snake hang there by itself as the yellow stream flowed out of it and into the vessel below.
I had seen a lot of dicks up to them, but none were as long as this man's thing, expect maybe those natives in the National Geographic I had found, and when my eyes went up to see who belonged to this incredible dick I was shocked to see that it was attached to Mr. Arthur.
Even more shocking was the fact that Mr. Arthur didn't notice that I was staring at his face at first because his eyes were elsewhere, namely down at my dick.
I'm not sure why. Maybe he was wondering why I was standing there with my dick in my hand and not peeing, or maybe he was stunned at how little my dick was, but I suspect that what got his attention was that I was hard, so hard that if I did start to pee I would have hosed down the wall.
"Tim," Mr. Arthur said calmly, nodding at me like nothing was wrong, his booming voice echoing in the room.
I grunted a greeting while trying to cram my boner into my pants, unable to keep from looking as Mr. Arthur's pee stream stopped and he wiggled his trouser snake dry. Almost running to the sink, I sprayed water on my hands and grabbed a paper towel before hurrying out the door.
Scurrying out the door, I headed for home, walking through the woods that separated my neighborhood from the school grounds, and when I saw that the woods were deserted I went off the path and into the brush.
Thirty seconds. That's how long it took me to drop my pants and stroke my dick a few times before spurting all over the ground while I closed my eyes and replayed in my mind what I had just seen back in the bathroom.
How many times over the course of the year had I jerked off with that image of Mr. Arthur in my mind. The sight of that light beige flaccid cock, easily over 6", with the tip of the head peeking out from under his foreskin, was burned into my brain.
After that day even when he was just walking around the classroom I fantasized about his cock, picturing it flopping around in those baggy trousers. He probably wore boxers, I assumed, and I guessed that his balls were as over-sized as his cock was.
