Part 4: Night Class

In a shadowed corner of a lecture classroom sat a h0rny boy. Not a nasty, dirty, sweat-soaked boy reeking of unspent desire and ar0usal, but a lean, trembling boy with nothing but a stubborn £rection straining against his trousers. Akpos was mortified, his cheeks burning at the memory of his crush’s n!pple, briefly exposed in a teasing flash during night class.

He’d just turned seventeen and was a virgin, a die-hard one for that matter. His mother had preached abstinence, she being the product of an unwanted pregnancy herself. He’d sworn to chastity, vowing in their small village church that his body would belong only to himself, that his £rection would touch no other hands than his own, and his mouth would suck nothing but his thumb.

Yet here he was, at a night class, where his crush had shown him a n!pple willingly, then commanded him to wait outside in the blistering cold under the cover of night for her.

She was a tease, he thought, shivering in his boots, his £rection poking out from his trousers. Oma had slept with nearly all the boys in his department, except him, of course, and he had not the foggiest idea why he still lusted after her. There was that word again—lust. He didn’t know if it was love or if he was just attracted to her supple, dark-skinned, large br£asts that he could suckle for days and never feel satisfied. Or maybe it was her jiggling @ss as she walked past him, a hypnotic rhythm filled with bouncing and quaking.

He’d calculated the jiggle per second. He’d imagined himself pounding that soft @ss, his c0ck parting her @ss cheeks while gripping the soft curve of her hips. He’d practiced it himself in the bathroom, playing with his ripe c0ck, imagining spanking her @ss cheeks. One day, he’d recorded her voice, and sometimes he played with himself while hearing it.

It was against his beliefs, he knew. Church boys who came to college for rigorous studies didn’t obsess over girls’ asses or br£asts, but he wasn’t hurting anybody, so why did it feel so wrong?

Oma appeared near midnight; she’d stayed well hidden from the lights and walked so softly that he’d barely heard her.

“Akpos, come here,” Oma called, her voice a soft, commanding purr. He hesitated, staring at her, until her words sank in, and he stumbled toward her.