kitty in the school bathroom stall what will he do...

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Senior year of high school was so nasty. Nasty nasty time. It was that few months where I had already gotten into the college I had EDed to and none of my friends had yet, so they were all obsessed with grades and doing well but school and I was out of there in every way but physical. I was rolling out of bed in my cum-covered pajamas (I said nasty, alright?) and a hoodie from the “not necessarily dirty” pile, maybe soccer shorts if I was feeling good that day, getting to school 40 minutes late, and staring at the ceiling until the day ended. All of my classes were the god awful ones you put on your schedule to look good for college and don’t think about until you have to take them – Advanced Calculus I (barf), French Immersion through Films (double barf), and Moby Dick class with Mr. Kaufman.

Oh, Mr. Kaufman. I had such a bad crush on him the first time I had him for my 10th grade English class, but I never let it stray from what I saw in front of me. The scruffy fur on his arms. His long greying hair I wanted to run my paws through. His smile every time I stumbled my way through an argument about Animal Farm or Julius Caesar he liked.

I was never great in English, or as my ninth grade English teacher said, “Bailey’s grasp of the age-appropriate concepts leaves something to be desired.” Maybe moving from Boston to rural Washington had something to do with my ability to be understood. Regardless (see, a big word!) Mr. Kaufman must have seen something in me, because I didn’t completely bomb that class. My essays had potential to him. He always drew little images of dogs smiling next to my 85s, always commented that I was improving.

That probably had something to do with my crush on him. Nobody had ever given me attention like that before. So maybe when he bent over and I would stare at his ass in his dress pants, my heart would flutter like it never had before. Maybe I thought about kissing the tip of his dog muzzle more than I thought about Rainer Maria Rilke. Who could blame me?

When I was making my schedule at the beginning of senior year, I put Mr. Kaufman’s Moby Dick class in my 3rd semester slot. One, I needed an English class and two, I knew he wouldn’t be a hardass on me for not paying attention that hard, but three, I knew I’d have something nice to look at instead of pretending to read the book. I wasn’t even really thinking about it. It would look good on my resume. That’s it.

When I had Mr. Kaufman’s class for the first time, he gave me that same grin as I entered through the door. I knew I would be having a good time as I picked that seat in the very back of the class. 2:30 PM with the sun shining through the window and a bunch of nerds in front of me trying to get into every Ivy League at once. Mr. Kaufman was so beautiful. Never married, a little bit of tummy fat bounding at his soft soft sweater, tail swaying softly in the afternoon light. Recipe for something naaaasty. Something awful had happened between sophomore year and senior year, so 18-year-old me was not afraid of skipping over the pleasantries and diving right into imagining everything I wanted to in the back of that class. Mr. Kaufman’s soft tongue lapping at my asshole, him fucking me with every ounce of pent-up energy he has after a long class over his desk, his paw covering my muzzle so no one would hear us, sucking his dick under the desk, what his underwear looks like, what he looks like without that goddamn sweater. Poor Bailey, my god. I wanted him so fucking badly.

I will say, I wasn’t as nasty as I could have been. I could have been pulling my dick out like those weirdos in Twitter porn with the caption “chudai” – I wasn’t doing that. I was probably hard more often than not, but I tucked my paws into my sweatshirt pocket and covered my shorts and it was all under the desk anyway. Nobody looked back at me once. I didn’t raise my paw once. They were all focused on Mr. Kaufman up in the front. How could you not be?

When it got too hard, when my cock was throbbing in my shorts and I was seconds away from whipping it out in front of everyone and cumming all over my desk, I would excuse myself and head to the nearby restroom. All my best thinking was done in there. I’d find an empty stall, pull my shorts down, and go absolutely ham at my hard dick. My favorite fantasy was, oh my god, using the urinals and Mr. Kaufman using the one next to me and I’d peak over at his dick, but my second favorite was him coming into that bathroom stall and fucking me against the wall. I spent hours and hours in that bathroom, jerking off to the thought of him.

I would have done anything for him. Because he was an “unmarried” English teacher with long hair, I guess I just assumed that meant he was at least a little gay, especially in our tiny Washington town. I furiously checked Grindr and Sniffies for him again and again to no avail. I looked at his old fucking Myspace account from college for anything I could find. I stared at his Linkedin until my eyes burned.

I remember once when he called me to his office and I was so convinced he was going to make a move. Something crazy was going on in my little kitty head, because of course he wasn’t going to make a move, because he’d be fired and publicly shunned and never get a job again. Still, I jerked off just staring at the email setting up the meeting and I put on my cutest briefs on that morning like something was going to happen.

I stared at his mouth the whole time he talked. His beautiful teeth. That tongue. I sat across from him and tried to hide the erection I had. He sat with his legs spread.

“I’m a little worried about your performance in my class,” he said, his voice low like he didn’t want anyone to hear even with the door closed. Beautiful afternoon light streamed through the windows and dust floated around. There is nothing that would keep me after school except him. “I know that you’ve already gotten into college – congratulations, by the way, I have a couple of buddies who went there and they were very happy the whole way through – and so even if this class doesn’t matter for the grade, I think it matters that you still put the effort in. You can learn for the sake of learning now, not for anything else.” He shook his head and a little locket of hair fell onto his sweater. “You’ve probably heard that before. I just think that you’re a good kid and you have lots of potential, potential you’re already starting to act on, and I want to make sure you’re…”

He stared right into my eyes and my dick throbbed. His breath smelled incredibly good, a little bit like tobacco and a little bit like flowers.

He laughed. “I’m monologuing. I apologize. You just remind me a lot of me at your age and I want to make sure that… someone sees that. Did that make sense?”

It sounded a lot like the words of someone who wanted me really badly. “Yeah. That makes sense.”

“Good.”

We didn’t exactly fuck. We didn’t fuck at all. We went on to go over the rest of the syllabus to make sure I understood when everything was due and figure out if there was anything that was confusing for me. We discussed the book for 10 minutes and I used all of the brainpower I had to remember what people said in class while I was thinking about getting fucked bareback against the wall, and he gave me that smile that made me fall in love with him in the first place. He patted me on the back as I left the classroom.

“Do good work,” he said. “I know you can.”