The Guitar Tutor

Who the fuck was that?
For the whole journey home, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. It happened so quickly I wasn’t sure it actually happened at all, his swift hands darting out to save my guitar, his deep hazel eyes tinged with worry, his hand brushing through his rumpled, fiery red hair. Who was he? I’d never seen him teach at my school before, but he seemed so… mysterious. Like I needed to find out more about him.
His eyes.
His deep, bottomless hazel eyes.
His profound flash of worry when I crashed into him.
Fuck.
I almost missed my stop daydreaming about him. I rushed off the bus, careful to weave my guitar through a few people standing by the door.
I unlocked the door to my house.
“how was your day, Frank?” asked my mum, chopping carrots for dinner.
“it was ok.” I rested my guitar on the sofa and went to make myself a cup of coffee, my mind preoccupied with the red haired teacher that caught my guitar.
“just ok?” she asked.
“yeah, just ok.” I replied.
I boiled the kettle, his worried look occupying my mind. I poured the water, not looking at what I was doing.
“Shit!” I exclaimed, as the blisteringly hot water splashed onto the side of my left hand. I ran to the tap to run it under cold water.
Jesus Christ, Iero, get your shit together, I thought.

The day went relatively quickly. I rushed my maths homework, started my history essay and practised the pieces I was learning for grade 5 and some improvisation, all while the red-haired teacher played on my thoughs.
I laid in bed, tossing and turning until I finally fell asleep.

I had a dream. I was having a shower, but I could barely see in front of me due to the thick steam hanging in the air. All of a sudden I felt a pair of arms wrap around my middle and someone burying their face into my neck. I slowly turned around and saw the red-haired teacher bite his lip. I looked at him in shock. Suddenly, our lips crashed together as he pushed me up against the hard, icy tiles. The hot water run down his statuesque body; I wrapped my arms around his waist and pulled him towards me more. I felt something hard digging into my thigh and I shivered in excitement when I realised it was his erection. He slowly kissed my neck, while tentatively moaning my name.
“Frankie,” he whispered “Frankie I want you so bad.” His deep, musky voice sent shivers down my spine. I moaned. He slowly stroked my thighs while slowly grinding against my raging erection. Fuck I needed him so bad.
he gradually knelt down and kissed along my chest, teasing me.
“Fuck,” I groaned “please,”
He took my head into his mouth and hesitantly licked my tip. I groaned as he took more of my dick into his mouth until he got to my base and started pumping.
“a-aaAhhH!” I moaned “f-faster.”
He gradually got faster, taking more and more of me into his mouth. He groaned and flicked his tongue against my tip, making me see stars. He then slowly withdrew and cautiously dragged his tongue up my shaft, teasing me.
“s-stop that” I murmured, the tight feeling in my chest increasing.
“you want me to make you come baby?” he asked, biting his lip.
“y-yes, please oh fuck” I moaned. He pumped harder. I screamed as my orgasm ripped through me, my sticky white cum shooting into his mouth.

I jolted awake, the euphoria still lingering inside my mind. Thinking about the way he moaned my name against my neck made me tremble. I laid down for two more minutes, my mind occupied with the dream, until I realised the sticky mess on my sheets near my crotch.
“Fucking hell, not again.” I sighed. I changed my boxers and stripped the bed of the sheets and softly walked downstairs to the washing machine. Shit. My mum was already downstairs, making herself a cup of coffee. She looked at me, confused.
“did you wet the bed, Frank?” she asked. I mumbled a response and tried to push past her to the washing machine. A look of realisation dawned on her face. She stuttered.
“you know Frank, it’s perfectly normal to–“
“just don’t.”
she sighed, “give them here, I’ll do it.” I embarrassedly handed the sheets to her. She looked down at them, grimacing.
“Jesus Frank,” she murmured.

I rushed out of the house as soon as I got dressed. I’d never met the teacher before, but I just had a dream about him. A fucking weird dream about him. What the fuck was wrong with me? I just came to the thought of someone I’d only ever bumped into in the corridor sucking me off?

My first lesson felt like forever. I don’t mind English if we’re doing creative writing tasks or reading an interesting book, but today we were droning through Romeo and Juliet. It’s not that I don’t like Shakespeare, but I swear to god that play is the Shakespearean version of Twilight. People say it’s so romantic, then they actually read it and realise that it’s about a thirteen year old girl and seventeen year old boy that get married within 5 hours of meeting each other and six people end up being killed. It sucks.
My mind was plagued with last night’s dream. What the fuck was wrong with me? I was probably never going to see him again.

The bell rang and I walked to my next lesson, music. I was praying that we were actually going to do some practical work and not a load of theory. I’d gone over musical scales enough already this week. I pushed open the door to the music classroom and dumped my rucksack onto the table.
“ok class, take a seat. Today, we’re going to have a visitor sit in our lesson and he will be coming round to see what you’re doing,” my teacher said “everyone, this is Mr Way.”
The teacher with the fiery hair stood up. He looked over at me and smiled.
Shit.

Notes

so here's some smut