Anything Is Permitted in Therapy

Rule #3

Anything is permitted in each therapy session with a school counselor, providing it be a safe space for students to express themselves openly and honestly, with their confidentiality maintained within the therapy space.

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I tucked my bare legs up underneath my ass, adjusting to a more comfortable position on the sloping lounger inside Counselor Vergas' office. I was trying to maintain an erect posture, an impossibility on the slouching faux leather; it was cold against my bare toes.

"Alastair is there a reason you took your shoes and socks off?" My counselor asked; the man pushing back his black rimmed reading glasses and revealing more of those red freckles dotting his all too chestnut eyes. Counselor Vergas looked pointedly down at the pile of laces, sneakers, and elastane socks with large black Nike checks.

I remained quiet, studying my skinny and all-too-pale reflection in the mirrored backside of the man's office door. I looked small tucked up on the couch with the way I was propped, legs under butt, back leaned as though trying to find purchase. My arms were long and skinny, unremarkable except for the sudden stark black tattoos inked intricately around my right wrist and upwards -- a tattooed fox with multiple tails. Under my tank top -- as yet, the school appeared to have no defined 'dress policy' -- little mats of curly chocolate armpit hair tufted out in pubescent musky patches. I was pretty sure I stunk, like 60% sure; the island was very humid. Drops of moisture and sweat kept running down my face, even though the window was open and letting in salty ocean breeze. I kept wiping aggressively at the drops from time to time.

"We gonna talk," said Vergas, "Or what?"

"Am I flunking out?" I asked bluntly.

"Flunking out?"

"Yeah. Why else would I be here?"

"Do you not want to be here?"

"You sent me a letter."

"I send every student a letter. There are more than 30 counselors at the academy, we like to remind students that our offices are safe spaces to come and talk through..."

"Shit?" I supplied, taking one of my chocolate curls by a finger and lazily pulling the hair straight.

"I was going to say, "talk through problems."

"Am I flunking out." I asked again, "I got your letter, I've failed end of week exams for both of the weeks I've been trapped at this stupid school. Am. I. Getting. Expelled."

Vergas didn't answer right away. He dropped the macho act of firm posture and clip-board holder; he stopped taking notes. Counselor Vergas first popped off one shoe and then the other, he mimicked me and pulled both legs up onto his office chair, crisscrossing them.

"Why do you think you're failing them? Your exams." He asked.

I rolled my eyes, "Well, it couldn't possibly be because I'm distracted by the weird gigantic private island. Or that I don't understand the way curriculum works AT ALL."

"I'm happy you asked. Many of your peers have already met with me to talk about curriculum."

"It doesn't make sense. Why do I get the test at the beginning of the week?"

"You get a mock test of things we want you to have learned by the END of the week. It's just a reference guide for what the final test might look like."

"Okay..." I paused... yep, just off the breeze I smelled my own stink... that was distracting. "Okay..." I started again, "but in the two weeks I've been here NO ONE has handed me a class schedule."

"There are no class schedules, just like there are no 'hygiene rules'." The counselor looked pointedly at my teenage pits.

CRAP I thought, guess he noticed I was distracted. For some reason, that made my dick twitch a little. Not the first time in the last 14 days something weird had turned me on just a little bit -- I'd been there when one of my roommates had accidentally spilled his open suitcase and three brightly colored speedos had dropped out; that had certainly made my dick twitch.

Worst part about this stupid place so far? No girls. The stupid internet couldn't even access porn. No tits. So stupid.

"You've got a bunch of 18 and older testosterone-filled guys at this school... don't you people think there should be rules?"

"What's my name Alastair."

I paused, lifting my eyebrows... was this some trick question? "Counselor... Mr. Vergas?"

"Sure. Alright. If you want to call me that, you can. But you could also call me 'Nick' that's my name, lots of students call me Nick. See? No rules."

"Except when you fail and get flunked out. Except the list of rules we signed before we came here."

"Have you been flunked out?"

"I failed, didn't I. What's the punishment for that."

"Alastair," Mr. Vergas.... 'Nick' sighed, "Other than failing at putting on deodorant this morning, all you did was score low on your first few tests. You'll do better."

"Without classes I won't."

"There are classes."

"But I didn't get a schedule."

"Classes change times and locations depending on student schedules. If you check in with your peers they'll let you know who you can study with or where a bunch of the student body is going to study. Rooms are booked by groups, some kids do all their learning in the library, hell some of the students even practice geometry while laying outside on the beach. But YOU have to put the effort in to find and learn the material."

Wow. I was floored. What a bizarre concept.

"And the tests?"

"We've got a computer that eats those things and spits out an algorithm for your next weeks exam, helps you fix the mistakes you made and points you in the direction to learn the answers. We don't grade students here. At the end of the year the entire student body takes a single large peer-reviewed exam and that's the only test that really determines graduation or not."

For a moment I wasn't sure I could breathe out the stress I'd been holding -- really though, I had only scored a 7 out of 40 questions on this most recent exam -- but fortunately everything Nick was saying seemed to make sense. It explained the erratic schedules of the kids around here and explained the all-hours availability of at least one or more counselors on campus.

Did I have to be holding myself so tightly? Or could I relax? I dropped one foot to the ground and then the other -- god, my feet were sweaty as hell from being trapped underneath me.

Another cock twitch. Really I thought, in front of the fucking counselor? My dick really knew when to come calling.

"Did that all make sense Alastair?" the older man asked; how was he not dying of heat wearing a suit jacket, dress shirt, and tie?

"Actually... yeah, thank you. I... I guess I need to try harder." I admitted and cracked the first real smile in a while -- at least, the first real smile since I'd stepped off the plane with my parents, spotting the massive school in the distance, waves and beach and sunshine beyond it. A six-hour flight... and they hadn't even been willing to walk me to my new dorm.

"See you in 18 months honey; be good. This is your last chance." My father had said; mother had merely patted my curls down. They both got back on the airplane, leaving me alone... with my trunk.

"Is anything else bothering you Alastair?" Nick asked, reaching out and grabbing two water bottles off the desk behind him, tossing one over to me.

We both drank greedily for a second.

Instead of thinking about my parents, I turned thoughts back to my penis instead. TWO WEEKS without jerking off. Yeah. No wonder I was so uptight. It was ridiculous, even my own smell was turning me on.

"Nope." I insisted, "No other troubles."

"Okay, but remember, one of those rules on the 'list of rules' you signed before coming here: Anything is permitted during therapy, and its all confidential."

"What does... 'permitted' mean."

"Oh come on! You're... 18? Alastair, you should know that word by now."

"I did a lot of failing up until this point -- missed a lot of English credits..."

"Ended up stealing a car?" Nick asked.

I blushed, heart falling down into the pit of my stomach. Gesturing at Nick's set-aside folders I asked, "So my arrest records in there?"

"Among other things. The staff do their due diligence here, we really do want to help rehabilitate you boys, push you to a better path."

"Can we talk about studying again?" I changed the subject abruptly.

"Sure," Nick laughed, "what about studying has you concerned."

"Outside of the classroom where am I supposed to do that?"

"Study groups, the library, your student dorm."

This time I glared, "Do you know how many boys share the bunks in our dorm? Eight. Eight other guys share the space."

"And that makes studying difficult?"

"Not just studying, fuck! How does this school expect all these boys to do... boy stuff."

"Boy stuff?"

"You know what I'm talking about."

"What if you told me anyway?"

"Don't be coy... how are we supposed to... you know..." I gave a slight head tilt down. Really though, my blush was outrageous at this point, my whole face feeling hot. And was that... yep... my cock was getting hard under the pressure of the older man's gaze. Ewww.

"Are we still talking about studying? Or not?" Nick asked calmly, way too calmly. Wasn't he as mortified by this conversation as I was?

"How am I supposed to... jerk off... with seven or eight other guys sharing the space."

"Alastair, are you embarrassed by masturbation?"

"Ewww. Don't say that word. No. No I know its normal -- even though my parents made me feel like crap about it -- but like, it was easier when I had my own room and there wasn't all this pressure to just... like... not. To not."

"To not jerk off?" Nick clarified; to make matters worse he picked his stupid clipboard back up. Was he really going to take notes about this shit? Damn it.

I shifted in a way that I could more easily tuck my throbbing penis out of sight, but the tent I ended up making was way more obvious. We both glanced down at it and then quickly back up. Nick smirked like he was enjoying my embarrassment.

"Look," Said the counselor, "To answer your question about studying... among other things you might be needing... I'm going to refer you to rule #8 that you signed before coming here." He pointed to the right wall of the small office where the rules were blown up and hung on posterboard.

Rule #8 read: Personal belongings and living spaces are to be respected, with the understanding that they may be used by others, so long as the user is being considerate for the owners belongings and preferences.

"Why do you make those rules so vague? I feel like everyone is watching me at all times and I'm going to get kicked out of this place the second I break one."

"We see it more as 'open to interpretation'. For instance, you could go into one of the private dorms..."

"Of the older students?" I clarified, interrupting.

"...of the older students, yes. And you can masturbate there. No distractions. No roommates watching."

My mouth dropped open.

"Or make use of the communal showers, plenty of our students use those... just make sure you're cleaning up after yours- "

"You want me to jerk off in some other student's bedroom?"

"I don't want you to do anything you don't want to do. But you should know that all spaces on campus are communal spaces -- we encourage you to feel comfortable doing... whatever you need to do, within reason. Sure, some students might ask you to go somewhere else for those... activities... but strictly speaking, we don't ban or frown upon masturbation. We're surrounded by beautiful island nature, Alastair, we encourage you to embrace your natural beauty and needs as a human being. Does that... that make sense."

"You." I bunched up my fists; my tent was so big now that it hurt a little, "Must. Be. Out. Of. Your. Fucking. Mind."

Instead of answering, Nick got up from his chair parked at the center of the office rug. He turned around and moved to his desk where he sat down, a little more tucked out of sight.

"Do you know what I do the moment a student enters my office to talk?" He asked, kicking his legs up on the desk.

"Youuuuu..... pull out the file on them?"

"I lock the door. That way my students can have complete privacy to feel, express, do, whatever it is they need to do."

"Yeah. Yeah. Anything is permitted in therapy. I get it."

"And most things are permitted on campus Alastair, you just have to let go of the lessons society has forced on you as a young man in America, and choose your own new morality, your own new ethics and views of right or wrong. That's why this school exists."

"And masturbating is relevant how..."

"Think of it as an easy object lesson for a horny teenage boy. You're still not sure how studying and learning works? Well, it works on your term. You do whatever you want and whatever will help you learn, we just show you the guide book -- via tests -- for the level we expect your education to be at."

"And jerking off..."

"Get comfortable Alastair, do it wherever you want. Do it however frequently you want. Figure out your sexual preferences. We're not prudes here. Sure, we limit the drama by having no women here for the boys to fight over, and yeah we're not real big on all the boys using our computers to look up smut... but that's about it."

"I don't get it. Are you telling me your office door is locked because...?"

"Yes. Alastair. Anything is permitted in therapy. If you really need to -- if this will give you the privacy you've been starving for and you're not ready to use the shared student body spaces yet -- I'm letting you know that you're welcome to masturbate here."

Well... damn. That was...

I really didn't know what to think about that. I mean, judging by the blood engorging my cock, I thought I liked the idea well enough... but...

"And you're just gonna... watch me?" I asked Nick uncomfortably.

"Office door only locks from the inside I'm afraid. But if its what you need, I'll just turn around and face the wall."

He didn't turn, seeming to wait for my orders, but I didn't say anything. Was I really going to do this? Not knowing how I felt about having an audience, but knowing how it felt to be so blocked up and constantly thinking about my dick... yeah, I'd take the chance. Plus, maybe Nick was right, maybe I did need to test the system and see what it was all about. Maybe this was a test.

If I pulled my dick out and got in trouble, I'd know this place was no different from all the other preparatory schools my parents had forced me to go to. On the other hand if I...

I laid back awkwardly into the headrest of the lounger, feeling my feet grow cold as they stretched out along sections of the leather my body and outside sunshine hadn't already warmed. Behind, the open balcony windows and sliding glass door let in the caws of tropical birds and the shudder and hiss of crashing ocean waves.

My arms shook with nervousness as I reached cautiously under the lip of my shirt and pushed hands past the tight band of shorts, slipping fingers underneath my boxers. Looking up at Mr. Vargas, expecting an expression of disgust or anger, instead the counselor nodded once and then turned his gaze back out the window.

The tip of my dick was already wet as I fingered it. Breath caught in my throat, I started trailing fingers through my scraggly scrotal hair, along my taint, back up and pulling at the foreskin of my dick. It felt really good. Like... really really good. And kinda hot how taboo I felt about... my eyes flicked to Nick who was barely watching, feet still kicked up.

"Sorry." I apologized, "This is weird."

"Its not weird. Really. Stop thinking like a regular stuck up member of society. Also, there's no judgment in this space, you can get more comfortable."

"Can I... can I take off my clothes?" The pressure of the boxer band against my hands made it hard to pull up on the foreskin.

"Do you want to take off your clothes?"

I nodded, embarrassed. Nick waved for me to go ahead, looking like he wanted to chuckle at my youthful modesty, but holding himself back.

Feeling a little bolder, I slipped first out of my tanktop, then out of the basketball shorts. The breeze from the window felt nice on my skin. Taking a deep breath of encouragement, I dropped my clinging boxers to the ground.

Fuck. I was so turned on by this. I was more turned on by this than by any time back home, any time in the shower or locked away with a handful of lotion in my old bedroom. I looked toward the door of the room where the wall length mirror hung, reflecting me back at myself.

My skinny alabaster legs had very little hair yet, same with my arms and ass. I was curvy though and had a real plump ass that pushed my spine up off the backrest. What I was most proud of -- privately at least -- was the size of my dick. The width of the prick, which pulsed with more precum by the second, was the entire length of my thumb, while the length of the shaft was easily 6 inches right now and I wasn't even fully erect yet.

"That... feels better... thank you." I said, and then watched in the mirror as I started touching myself again. Left hand wound tight around my shaft and ran its thumb up and tight along to the head; I closed my eyes and relaxed into the massage. A slow tempo at first as I still got used to the fact that another guy was watching, but then faster as I again caught a wiff of my boy sweat. Feeling bold I lifted my free arm and dangled my nose into its armpit, all while jerking away at my twitching cock with the other hand.

My thoughts drifted and I started thinking about what Nick had said. Could I actually just do this naturally in the dorm room? Could I jerk off my meat with the other 8 boys watching me, maybe paying attention to the noises I was making.

I wanted to make noise. Not knowing why, or who it was for exactly, I let out a little whimper of pleasure. For some reason this not only turned me on, but made me feel much more comfortable using the office space as my own. I felt something starting to build, almost like I had to piss, but it was still a way off. I wanted to savor this, especially if it was always going to take me coming to the counselors office to get off.

Or the public showers. Had Nick said that was an option? I'd been avoiding needing to shower so far, perhaps that's was why I smelled so ungodly good. I clapped both of my hands together around my cock and started thrusting into them, not daring to peek at Nick again. Fuck my fingers felt good. The force of my thrusting was strong enough that each time I heard, rather than felt, my ass smack back into the leather couch.

"I...I..." I breathed heavily.

I'd walked through the showers and the locker room of course, but it had been a speedy quick in and out once I saw some of the guys starting to strip for their morning soaks. Had... had I been turned on by that...

I didn't think so. I was most definitely only into girls... right? Getting distracted by that, I felt my tension back off a little, and I got real frustrated right away. I slowed my jerking and came to a panting breathed slow massage, no longer thrusting into my hands, but back to just teasing the skin.

"You're allowed to ejaculate." Nick said in more of a 'factual' tone than an 'encouraging' one. He really didn't want to watch me, did he. He just wanted me to feel comfortable. Ha. This man did not want to know the kind of fucked up pervy shit I could get up to when I got real comfortable.

Or maybe...

"I do want to cum." I groaned, rolling over onto my side and opening my eyes to look around. I spotted what I needed.

On his desk was a large bottle of hand lotion. He tracked my gaze and then smirked in a, 'by all means, go ahead' kind of way. Was that rule 8 and shared spaces or whatever, that he was trying to observe? There were no rules against stealing his lotion and using it to pleasure myself?