“Abbot,” he stated in his deep roll-call voice. The way he said my last name sent shivers down my spine. His voice was authoritative, yet calm. I’d do anything he told me to.
"Here," I said excitedly, raising my hand so he could see me, even though I was in the front row. I could tell he smiled at me.
"Anderson," he continued.
"Here," Harold Anderson said sleepily.
English was the best 50 minutes of my day. I knew all the material, wrote really good essays, and enjoyed analyzing whatever the assigned readings were. The icing on the cake would have to have been Mr. Beckham. He was a younger teacher, at 24, and a graduate of St. Josephine's School for Boys. That was where I went to school; I was a senior.
Mr. Beckham began to discuss the book we'd be reading next. It was a classic text, considered a part of the standard high school literary canon. William Faulkner’s As I Lay Dying was a novel known for its stream of consciousness style of prose and multiple narrators. I had read some of his short stories for my English project last year, and I definitely was not looking forward to this novel. Faulkner, in my opinion, was a total snooze fest.
I watched as he continued to highlight themes we should be aware of while reading. Looking at Mr. Beckham talk was wonderful and it never bored me. He had stubble and most often wore sweaters over button down shirts. His khakis hugged his legs in a sexy way. He had a nice butt too. I hated to say I looked at it, but when he wrote on the chalkboard I could barely take notes. The way his hips swiveled with each letter he wrote, his butt cheeks stretching the khaki fabric taut. I could tell he’d put on a little bit of “adult weight” following his time in college. His face a little fuller than in the yearbook picture I’d found of him in the alumi library, his stomach protruding a little more than when he rocked a St. Jo’s football jersey.
"Well guys, my time is almost up." He glanced over at the clock. There were only two minutes left until lunch. I would’ve totally taken another class with him if he taught an elective. I wouldn’t even know what to do with myself if I had him for more than one period a day.
"Ugh, I bet we have homework,” one of my classmates groaned from the back of the room.
"Yeah, Ken, we do," Mr. Beckham said, rolling his eyes at Ken’s laziness. I took out my assignment pad, pen posed to catch the prompt. "You are to write a two-page essay on why you think Faulkner uses stream of consciousness in his writing. You need two sources.” Easy. "If anyone needs help, I'll be here until four after school." The bell rang. I gathered up my books and headed to lunch.
I was standing in the lunch line, craving fries with loads of ketchup. I was stressed about my language class, which would be directly after lunch. I noticed Mr. Beckham was in line too. He had the lunch special, a pretty big plate of penne pasta and meat sauce. It also came with two breadsticks.
I walked to the register to pay for my fries and Mr. Beckham walked up behind me. I could feel his presence behind me and it was making me hard. I couldn’t believe how riled up he made me. "That's all you're getting Ethan?" he asked. I turned to face him. I wanted him to take me in the lunch line, to make an honest man out of me.
I had to remember we were at school and he was my English teacher. He’d probably get fired and that’d suck.
"Oh, yeah,” I said. “I'm not all that hungry."
"That wouldn't even fill me up a fifth of the way." I laughed. Mr. Beckham was taller than me. He was around 6'3" and maybe 220 pounds. He had played football here, and he had mentioned offhandedly in class before that he played in college too. The line moved and I walked forward to fill in the gap. “I scarf down my sack-lunch right after you guys leave my room and have to come grab food from here. Teaching makes me hungry, I guess,” he said with a laugh. Try as I might to stifle my hard-on, I could feel myself getting a full-fledged erection.
"Uh, that—that book sounds really good," I lied, trying to kill my arousal. If anything was a turn-off, it was Faulkner.
"Yeah, I've read it multiple times. I think you'll enjoy it." He smiled, his slight double chin becoming more prominent. I already knew I’d hate it, but for Mr. Beckham I’d make it my new favorite book.
"I do too." It was my turn in line. I paid the dollar fifty.
"See you later, Ethan," he called as I walked towards the sitting area.
"Se—see you later, Mr. Beckham!" I went to go sit down. I was praying nobody noticed how hard I was.
After school I packed my bag and ran up to Mr. Beckham's room. I was going to talk to him about my paper. It was two forty, and we had just gotten out five minutes ago. "Hi, uh, I'm here about the paper." He laughed. "Oh, am I, uh, too early?"
"No, it's just that—you weren't someone I was addressing when I arranged this. You're probably my best student." I could suck his dick right here. That’s all I could think about. Then I’d really be his best student. I took a deep breath.
"Oh, well, uh—," I said, unsure of what to say. My face was so hot. "I'll see you tomorrow."
"You can stay. Although I'm not sure I can help you with much. I'm sure your essay will be perfect."
"Thanks." The heat my face was experiencing intensified. I sat in a chair next to him at his desk and we began to talk about the essay. Funnily enough, that lasted only about ten minutes, before the discussion turned to other things. Once four-thirty rolled around, we realized nobody else had shown up. I thanked him and went out to my car.
Late that night I printed my essay and went to bed. I was pretty tired because it was after two. I had finished the essay and my other homework at around midnight, but I’d spent nearly two hours masturbating, my encounters with Mr. Beckham and my sexual fantasies creating more than enough content to get me off five times.
It had snowed last night. I hoped my car would start.
I drove to school and went to my locker. "Ethan, did you finish that essay for Mr. Beckham?" Harold, a guy in my class, asked me.
"Yeah, you?" I asked. Of course I finished the essay. I was Mr. Beckham’s best student, after all.
"No." He laughed. "I'm just going to turn it in late."
"Oh." We didn't say anything else. I should have said something more than oh, but I struggled interacting with my peers. I think it was because I was such a serious person. I was the type to complete assignments on time, and even get a head start on things that weren’t even due yet. "See you later," I called as he walked away. Awkward. I wouldn't say I had that many friends. People liked me; it was just that they weren't people I'd hang out with over the weekend.
In English class, everyone who had completed their essays turned them in. I hoped I could live up to his expectations of me. He had never told me I was his best student before. I smiled at the thought, at the way he said it—at how warm those words were.
I was very much lost in thought. I saw Mr. Beckham pushing all of his desk’s contents to the floor before picking me up and laying me across it. We’d both fumble at my belt and the button on my uniform slacks, he’d laugh. Then he’d say something sexy like, I need that tight ass right now, Ethan.
"Ethan?" I jumped at hearing my name. The room was empty, aside from Mr. Beckham.
"Um, yes," I said as I sat up. I had been daydreaming. I thought I had been straddling the fence of reality and fantasy rather well, but I had completely lost myself to my lust.
"Class is over, time for lunch," Mr. Beckham said with a slight grin.
"Oh, thank you." I gathered my books and made my way to my locker, my dick hard and straining against my pants.
The lunch special today was a plate of nachos. I got a burger and a bag of chips. I saw Mr. Beckham with an extra large helping. Did the lunch ladies give him extra? I bet it was because they thought he was cute. I know I did. If I worked behind the lunch counter he could come back for seconds and thirds, free of charge.
"Hi, Mr. Beckham," I said as we once again turned to one another in the lunch line. He stood in front of me today. "We seem to be in sync." He laughed and I was getting hard again.
"Ethan, I read your essay before I came to get my lunch, and it was a wonderful read as always." I wanted him so badly. I needed to hurry up and graduate because I couldn’t handle lusting after him like this anymore.
"Thanks. It means a lot," I said honestly. We were silent for a moment, waiting for our turns at the register. This short time with him meant so much to me, and I really didn’t want it to end. I didn't really have anyone to sit with at lunch, maybe he didn’t either. "Where do you eat your lunch?" I asked, realizing it was probably in the teacher's lounge. Was I getting too personal? I was, I just knew I was.
"My classroom,” he said, pursing his fleshy lips slightly. “Would you care to join me?" he asked, looking down at me. Internally I screamed, somersaulted with joy.
"Uh, yeah, sure," I tried to say nonchalantly. We’d be alone in his classroom. I wasn’t an idiot. I wasn’t going to try anything, but the more time I spent with him, the more footage I had for late at night when I jacked off to thoughts of his thick frame and unintentionally sexy aura.
"That is, if your friends don't mind me taking you for the day." He could take me anywhere he wanted to.
"I don't really sit with anyone," I said as he paid the $3.50 for the nachos.
"No?” he said in a way that felt as if he already knew that. “Then you can always eat lunch with me." I smiled. "We can talk about books." He had said books over-enthusiastically.
"Okay." I paid for my food and we walked to his classroom. I couldn’t believe my good fortune. I could actually eat lunch with him. Wouldn't it be something if he was gay? Wouldn't it be something if we could be together? I had turned eighteen last month, in November.
We walked and I watched his body as we navigated the hallways. His steps were heavy, and I could feel each time his foot hit the floor. He had the biggest thighs I’d ever seen and I couldn’t help but glance at his butt shifting back and forth as he lumbered about. I wanted to bury my face in-between those meaty cheeks. I could feel myself salivating.
When we finally made it to his room I could already tell I was pre-cumming through my briefs. This man had an effect on me like no other. He was making me feel reckless. I could tell my teenage hormones were throwing my practical decision-making skills out the window. I sat next to him, like yesterday when we worked on my essay. I watched him eat his lunch as I munched on my burger half-heartedly. I was not hungry. I was horny.
I hadn’t realized Mr. Beckham could eat so much. It was incredible. I could’ve never finished such a large portion of nachos. It was weird, but I really enjoyed watching him eat. I’d known that bigger guys were a facet of my sexuality, but this was new. I wanted Mr. Beckham bigger. I wanted him well fed. If Mr. Beckham ate so much, how was he not bigger than he was now? It was probably because he worked out. He had the muscles to prove it. I ate my chips and we talked. The bell rang, and it felt almost out of nowhere.
“I’ll see you later, Ethan,” Mr Beckham said as he stood up, his stomach bloated from his large lunch. He wore a navy sweater over a white dress shirt. I wanted to peel off the layers and get a better look. I wanted my hands all over his thick, fleshy body. “Today was fun.” He gave me a slight wink and that alone would give me a powerful orgasm when I thought about it once I got home.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said, smiling at him like a dope. I finished off the day on cloud nine. I didn’t think anything could ruin it—until my car wouldn't start.
That was just great. I lived a good thirty minutes away. I could’ve called my mom, but she'd have to leave work early and my dad was so busy I didn't even know if he came home at night. But hey, my car was old. I felt my head hit the steering wheel. It was freezing out today. I heard a knock on my window.
"Ethan, you all right?" Mr. Beckham asked. I opened the door and he stepped back. I got out and stood by the door.
"Yeah, it's just that my car won't start." I gestured toward my awful, beat-up excuse for transportation. My parents could afford to buy me a new one, they just wouldn't. I didn’t even expect them to pay for the whole thing. I had a decent amount saved up from my summer job.
"I'll take a look at it if you'd like," he said.
"That would be great. I don't really know much about cars."
"Well, to be honest—I don't know much either." He smiled.
"Oh, well then." I laughed. It was funny. He started to laugh too, and it made the situation a little more bearable.
"If you'd like, I'll gladly give you a ride home." In his car—the two of us—together. Was that even legal? I didn’t care. It would take every fiber of my being to not suck his dick.
"Yeah, that'd be great." I grabbed my bag and locked my car. I'd get it later. I was getting a ride from Mr. Beckham. He drove a two-door truck; it was red—a dark, almost burgundy red.
I was wearing my hat with a poof-ball on top. I stuffed it into my pocket. My mother told me to wear a hat that morning and it was the first one I grabbed. I sat in the passenger’s seat. I could see my breath and I could tell my nose was very red.
I told him my address and he drove. We usually had conversation that flowed so easily, but I was so nervous. Being alone with him in school was one thing, but being alone with him in his truck felt so entirely different. I wondered if he was as nervous as I was. But why would he be?
He stopped in front of my house. He killed the engine. We sat for a moment. "Thanks for the ride Mr. Beckham," I said. We’d barely even spoke, aside from me giving the occasional direction.
"No problem, Ethan." He shifted his body to face me. "When we’re not in class, you can call me Jude." He had the most gorgeous eyes. They were a light, almost golden, brown. He was leaning towards me. "You really are my best student." He smiled. Oh my god. It was what I had been dreaming about, what I had been wanting since August.
"Thanks, you're my—my favorite teacher." He was chewing cinnamon flavored gum. I wanted to taste his breath so badly. I wanted his tongue in my mouth.
"How old are you anyway?"
"Eighteen," I said in a small voice. I was so excited. Was this flirting or friendliness?
"Eighteen," he repeated, his deep voice lingering in my mind.
"Yeah, I turned eighteen in November."
He kissed me.
His lips were soft and the slight amount of facial hair he did have tickled. I had only kissed one other person, and that was in sixth grade. Her name was Chanel. I thought I was in love with her. But Chanel had nothing on Mr. Beckham. He was so experienced. I felt his breath mix with mine and our tongues explored each other’s mouths. I knew my lips must've been freezing, but his were so warm. I liked Mr. Beckham so much. I did, I really did. Here I was kissing him.
"Ethan, I'm sorry," he said as he pulled away, too soon. I could still taste a little bit of the cinnamon. "You're just a kid, my student."
"I'm not a kid Mr. Beckham. I—I'm eighteen," I protested, hurt and confused. What was I to say? I was his student and he was my teacher and even if he was sexy as fuck that didn’t change anything.
"Maybe you should go," he said. I could tell he was worried. I didn’t want to put this pressure on him.
"But, Mr. Beckham, I—okay. Than—thanks again for the ride," I said as I stepped down from his truck.
"Don't mention it."
"I won't." I thought he meant the kiss, but realized he was talking about the ride. Maybe he meant both. He probably meant both.
He pulled off and I went into the house. My face was flushed. My heart was beating so fast. My ears were so cold. I should have grabbed a different hat.
I went into my room and realized what had just happened. I kissed him, and he could get into trouble for that. I didn't mean for anything like that to happen. I’d have to talk to him tomorrow. We just needed to get on the same page and things would be fine.
He didn’t show up the next day, or the day after that. I was beginning to think he quit. It was honestly stressing me out immensely.
My parents ended up buying me a new car. They tried to get my old one repaired, but it was no saving it. My new car wasn't much of a step up either, aside from the fact that it actually ran. They got the new one because the salesman said it would be reliable in winter. No more rides with Mr. Beckham.
"Merry Early Christmas, honey," my mother said as she handed me the keys to my new car, my new old car. At least I didn’t have to give up my savings. "There's something your father wants to tell you." She quickly shuffled behind him. It was bad news. My parents were about the same height, with my mom being taller than the average woman.
"We'll be going to Florida—me, your mother, and Molly." Molly was my sister, she was a freshman at St. Jo's sister school, Mother Mary Sacred Heart Academy. That was seriously the actual name.
"And I'm not going because?" They’d actually done this very thing before. They'd gone to France for a whole summer. They went to Hawaii when I went to stay with my grandparents over Spring Break.
"This is serious business,” my father said, no sympathy in his voice. “Molly is in a holiday volleyball tournament." I was still not too sure why I couldn't go. He could tell that I was getting upset. "You wouldn't have any fun, Champ. We’re just going to be sitting in a gym, and her team is really good, so we might be in there all break."
"Thanks for leaving me out." I looked at Molly. I really loved my sister. It was just that—she was taller than me and better at sports and it really showed that my dad favored her. She frowned in my direction and I knew I couldn’t blame her for this.
"If you really want to go," my father began. This was where I had to say that I didn't want to go.
"No, no. Have fun. I've always wanted to spend Christmas by myself."
"Really?” he asked in sincerity. He was never really any good at identifying sarcasm. “Then it all works out then."
"Yeah dad, it does." I was already bummed about Mr. Beckham, and now I was bummed about the holidays. I just couldn’t catch a break.
Mr. Beckham didn't return until three days before Christmas break. That was a whole week after what happened. It was also about a week after I found out my family was leaving me behind for Florida.
I was glad he was back. I had been having a miniature breakdown. I hoped he didn't hate me now. I'd be fine if things just went back to the way they were. I didn’t need to eat lunch with him, or even have conversations with him. I could be content watching his butt as he wrote on the chalkboard.
"Okay guys,” he said, facing the class. He was looking sturdy. It looked like our kiss hadn’t slowed his appetite. Maybe he was a nervous eater. He’d let his facial hair grow out a little more, in what I assumed to be an attempt to camouflage his developing double chin. “I hope the sub had you all begin the readings, chapters one through six."
"Yeah, it sucked!" Ken shouted from the back of the classroom. For once, I agreed with Ken.
"Oh, a real page turner!" I heard Charles say sarcastically behind me. I chuckled at his sarcasm; Mr. Beckham looked at me seriously. I could feel myself turn to stone.
"Guys, you have to focus on the relationships amongst the characters. It’s what drives the novel."
"It's still bad Mr. B," Ken replied.
"Well, we're still reading it." Charles and Ken groaned simultaneously. Mr. Beckham lectured about the chapters we were to have read for the rest of the period, and the look he’d given me made me so anxious that I could hardly focus. He hated me now.
The bell rang. Lunch was starting and I got up to leave. I felt sick the more I thought about Mr. Beckham. I didn't know what ever made me think our relationship would be anything more than a fantasy. I always assumed he was straight. I was pretty sure people could kind of tell I was gay. It wasn’t like I was the manliest of guys.
"Ethan, I'm going to have to see you for a moment." My heart stopped beating. I had stopped in the doorway. I turned around and reentered the classroom.
"What is it, Mr. Beckham?" I asked tentatively. He waited for the last straggler to make his way out of the room before he closed the classroom door. I wanted to make a break for it. I would have to start ditching his class. Maybe next semester I could be in another teacher’s class.
"I was thinking about what happened." I felt my stomach tighten. What was he going to say? Was he angry? Did he hate me now? "You are eighteen. You’ve only got a few months left here."
"Yeah, and—and I don't want to get you in any trouble." I was standing with my shoulder parallel to the chalkboard. "I'm really sorry." He stood up and walked closer to me. He smelled like a man. I felt my back press against the chalkboard as I turned to face him. He was so close.
"You didn't do anything. I kissed you." He kissed me again, a quick one.
Something I had never expected to experience ever again.
"Mr. Beckham," I said in disbelief. I put my fingers up to my lips, to make sure they had just been kissed a second time.
"Ethan," he said softly, pressing his body against mine. His stomach was firm, but definitely far from flat. His hand was on my waist and I liked the size of it, and how warm it was. I could feel the heat radiating through my blazer. His hand moved down my side and he grabbed my butt firmly. I was so hard I couldn’t stand it. I was worried I’d cum in my pants, and that’d be the lamest thing I’d ever done.
"I—I—," I started, realizing I had nothing to say.
"Do you like me Ethan?" he asked gently. "If not, you must think I'm a perverted, old man."
"C’mon, Mr. Beckham. You’re not old," I said hastily. He laughed.
"Older than you."
"I don't care," I said. I didn’t. I started to feel bubbly. I couldn’t believe this was happening and I really didn’t even know what to think.
"Oh really?" he asked in his Mr. Beckham sort of way.
"Really." He laughed.
"You're late for lunch. We can talk again after school." He gave my ass another firm squeeze and walked me to the door. I felt tingly all over. Compared to the start of the school year, Mr. Beckham was definitely carrying a little extra weight. At the thought of him grabbing my ass I couldn’t believe I hadn’t taken the opportunity to grab his juicy backside in return.
I skipped lunch; it was no way I was going to be able to eat. Did I even go to class the rest of the day? I couldn't remember. I ran up to his room as soon as I got my things out of my locker. He was sitting at his desk, eating a package of cookies.
He saw me and smiled. My stomach did a somersault. I closed the door to his room and walked over to his desk. He finished the last cookie and stood up. He was so much bigger than me.
I felt my face get hot. I was so not dreaming. I could see him in front of me, so close. I could smell his cologne. His face would be in my memory forever.
"Glad to see you, how was your day?" he asked.
"It was good." He walked closer to me, even closer than he had been. He was so close his slight belly pushed into me. I liked it.
"Did you miss me?" he asked, looking down at me. I laughed. He smiled.
"Yeah, I did," I said nervously. I could feel my hands shaking, but I’d regret it forever if I didn’t touch his butt. “But I missed this most of all,” I said, firmly grasping a cheek in each of my hands. It was gigantic. I couldn’t believe he had so much ass. My hands held generous portions, but there was so much more there. With his body pressed against me I could feel he was getting hard. His penis swelled and I could only imagine its true girth, free from the confines of his khakis.
"Let's go,” he said, and I could tell he was turned on. I couldn’t believe he was turned by me.
"Okay." I pulled my hat, a plain navy blue one, out of my coat pocket and put it on. He grabbed his coat and bag and we made our way to the parking lot.
I got into my car and, thankfully, it started. I saw him pull out of the parking lot and I followed. I was freaking out again. I didn't even ask where we were going. I drove in silence, playing out scenarios in my head of what would happen. I wanted him so badly it hurt. My dick actually ached he made me so hard.
He pulled in front of a house twenty minutes later. I parked behind him. We both got out and I walked up to him. I almost slipped on a patch of ice but he caught me. I was starting this encounter off terribly. He’d see I was just some dumb high school senior.
He opened the door and we went inside. It was his house. I got a bit afraid I'd see a picture of his wife and kids or something, but he never wore a wedding ring.
"I like your house." He smiled.
"I'm glad you like it." If it were a movie, it would definitely be the part where I found out Mr. Beckham was a crazy, murdering rapist. I counted to ten. I had to chill out. I had to be cool.
"What are we going to do?" I asked.
"Whatever you want to," he said reassuringly.
"Can we just talk?" I asked. “Just for now.”
"Of course," he said. He pulled his sweater over his head. "Let me go change first." He walked off towards a bedroom and I followed. I wanted to see him change clothes.
His house was kind of small, but it made sense if it was just him. For one or two people, it was actually pretty spacious. I sat on the bed, taking in my surroundings.
He unbuttoned his shirt. He had on a white tank underneath and he removed that as well. He had a small amount of hair around his navel and on his chest. He was pretty muscular, but had a small belly. I wanted to lick him, an impulse that was not new. I bet he tasted incredible. He unbuttoned his khakis and I saw he wore boxer briefs. I knew it. He just seemed like that kind of guy. His large thighs held up his meaty, bubble butt.
I had changed my mind, forget about talking. If he wanted to fuck, we could fuck. He sat on the bed next to me and pulled off his socks. His belly spilled into his lap a bit. He pulled my hat off, which I forgot I was wearing. I then pulled off my bulky coat. He stood up again and went over to a drawer. He pulled off his underwear, his ass towards me, and pulled on a pair of sweats.
I pulled off my uniform blazer and loosened my tie. “So, winter break is coming up,” I said. “What’re your plans for the holidays?” I saw how his meaty pecs rested on his gut. I wanted his nipples in my mouth so I could tease them with my tongue.
“I’ll be alone this year,” he said. “I’m an only child and my parents are going on a cruise.”
“My family is going to Florida for my sister’s volleyball tournament, so I’ll be going it alone myself.”
“Maybe we could spend it together,” he said with a laugh.
“You’re joking, but I’d love to make you dinner.”
“Trying to win my heart, eh?” He focused his eyes on me and we looked at each other intensely. “Come here,” he said in a deep, low voice. I moved closer to him. He kissed me, and my hand found itself on his stomach. It felt so good, solid. “Is this okay?” he asked. I nodded and he began to unbutton my dress shirt. I pulled off my tie. My body was thin, sure, but I was proud of the slight muscularity it possessed.
He kissed my neck, and his facial hair tickled slightly. “That feels good,” I moaned. He kissed me some more, moving down my body slowly, licking me every so often. I was fully erect, and his hand rested on the front of my slacks, atop where my penis sat. He rubbed it slightly, through the fabric.
He took his thick fingers and undid the button. He pulled at my pants, and then at my briefs. My dick bobbed freely before resting against my stomach. He pushed me back, so I was lying flat on my back on his mattress. He continued to kiss my neck as he slowly began to stroke my penis. His hand felt so big, and it was so warm. I wanted to last a long time. I didn’t want to cum too quickly.
He continued to stroke it and I was really enjoying it. “You like that, don’t you?” he teased. “You’re probably about to cum any second.” He kept at it, stroking my dick a few more times before I came all over my stomach. I felt so drained. He stopped kissing my neck and went towards my dick. He put the head in his mouth, lapping up the remnants of my ejaculation. That was enough to get me excited all over again
After that I got cleaned up, and put my uniform back on. I gave him my address again and we exchanged cell numbers. I couldn’t believe that we’d just done that. It was the greatest thing to ever happen to me. I couldn’t wait to spend Christmas with him. I had never been so happy to be left out by my father.
"Bye Mom! Good Luck Molly! Goodbye Father." My dad and I looked at one another and I could tell he was upset with me. I didn’t care. I was about to have the greatest holiday break in the history of holiday breaks. I helped them load the car, wanting them gone as soon as possible. They pulled out of the driveway and down the street. I closed the door and ran up to my room.
I remembered when we'd get a tree for Christmas, a real one. I loved that; I loved being with my family, but it was like I was a puzzle piece that didn't fit. I couldn't help feeling sad. I was left out again, but then I remembered my holiday plans again. I smiled and was once again grateful I was not included.
I grabbed the money they left for me; it was a lot of money. I knew it was so I wouldn't feel bad, and to be honest it did make me feel better. I once again didn’t have to dip into my own savings.
I went to the grocery store and bought enough food for six people. I didn't know what I was thinking; it was just that I had the money and I wanted to make sure Mr. Beckham—Jude—enjoyed spending his holiday with me. I felt my face get hot thinking about him and went to the checkout.
It took three trips from my car to bring in all the food. He'd be over Christmas Eve. I made sure all the food was stored properly and ran back out to my car. I drove to the mall. I had to get Jude a present.
I looked and looked for something that spoke to me. I needed something cool and that’d help him see me as more mature. I ended up browsing in a clothing store, and before I realized it I had a gift-wrapped tie in my possession. It was all I could think of. I couldn't believe the best I could come up with was a tie. I had to stop myself from crying. I drove home hating myself for not getting him something nicer. It was burgundy tie made of silk. It wasn't a bad tie, and it was pretty expensive, but—it was a tie. That was what moms got their kids to give their dads on Father’s Day.
I made something small for dinner on Christmas Eve. He rang the doorbell at thirty minutes after seven. I smiled at him as I answered the door.
"Ho ho ho, Ethan." I smiled again.
"Hi Mr. Beckham," I replied.
"Jude," he corrected me.
"Hi Jude," I corrected myself. He smiled at me and I moved to the side so he could enter. He took off his jacket and I saw a holiday tie in the shape of a Christmas tree.
"Like the tie?" he asked pointing to it. "Too festive?"
"No, I think it has the right amount of festivity." He laughed.
"I hate ties." He pulled the tie he was wearing off and hung it up along with his jacket. He hated ties. There was no way in hell I was going to be giving him the gift I’d gotten him.
"What did you make me?" he asked, patting his distended paunch. I lead him into the dining room and served him some lasagna. I didn't know what people ate on Christmas Eve. We usually had pizza. He ate some and smiled. He continued eating for a moment.
"This is good," he said.
"Thank you," I said. "Do you need anything?"
"No—yeah, how about some more?" He had finished his first plate of pasta and I hadn't even noticed. I hustled into the kitchen and brought back the dish. I set it down on the table and plated another helping for him. He also ate the bread I had put out. I had a little bit, but mainly enjoyed watching him.
"Uh," he said as he undid the button on his pants. I got excited watching him making a glutton out of himself. I stood up and cleared the table. "You really can cook," he shouted to me in the kitchen.
"Not really," I said returning to the dining room, taking a seat across from him.
“You’re trying to fatten me up, aren’t you?” I’d been semi-erect all evening, but him asking that question gave me a raging hard-on.
“Of course not,” I said with a nervous laugh. It wasn’t my goal per se, but I wasn’t against what eating so much did to his body.
“You’re trying to get me so fat nobody else will want me.” He leaned forward and grabbed the last piece of bread. He bit into it and chewed theatrically. “You don’t have to worry, Ethan. I’m all yours.”
“Then I’ll just fatten you up for my own liking.” I could see this statement shocked him. I was horny so I was feeling bold. “You’ve already got the fattest ass I’ve ever seen. I wouldn’t even know what to do with myself if it got bigger.”
“You like my ass, huh?” He stood up and turned around. He took his right cheek in his meaty hand and gave it a slight jiggle. “When I played football all the other guys used to love slapping my ass. Is it really that big?”
"Do you want to go to my room?" I asked abruptly. I had to get out of these clothes. I had to get him out of his clothes too.
"Okay," he said, laughing loudly at my urgency. I smiled like a dope. We walked to the stairs leading up to my room. "Stairs?" I heard him grumble. I laughed and I could hear him making his way up behind me. I wish he knew where to go, because I definitely would’ve liked to walk up the stairs behind him.
"This is it," I said, opening the door to my bedroom. I saw the gift-wrapped tie on my bed and briskly made my way over to it so I could save it and give it to my dad.
"What's that?" he asked.
"That box." I tried shoving it in my back pocket, but that only tore the paper. “Give it here, Ethan.”
"Here," I said handing it to him. "Merry Christmas, I already know you won't like it." He looked at it for a moment before ripping the paper off.
"How can you know I won't like it?" he asked, opening the box. "I love this present." He looked at the tie for a moment before he looped it under his collar. He tied it quickly. It didn't match his red dress shirt.
"You said you hate ties." He sat on the bed next to me.
"Not this one." He kissed me again and I kissed back. He tasted like pasta.
I finally got to taste that ass.
Holiday break ended and I noticed Mr. Beckham had put on a few, well, holiday pounds. I wanted to take all the credit, to say it was entirely my fault, but it was a team effort. I couldn't stop myself from cooking, and he couldn’t stop himself from eating. Whenever I saw how happy he was when he was eating, I wanted him to be that happy all the time. I wanted him to be happy with me. Cookies and other treats were always being made because I was really good at making sweets.
He'd tell me how good my cooking was and how he didn't really eat too much homemade food. The weird thing was that I liked it. I liked looking at him get bigger and it really freaked me out, but when I saw his rounding belly and thickening limbs I cooked even more. When break ended I was sure he must've put on twenty pounds.
Molly won her tournament in day two—day two of the two day tournament. So, yeah, they spent two days out of two weeks in a gym, and I was pretty sure my dad knew that.
When English class came the first Monday back, I felt my face burn red. Thinking about Jude now was always exciting. I sat in my desk and he took attendance. He wasn't wearing his usual sweater. He had on a light blue button up and the tie I gave him for Christmas.
His belly showed a lot more now. The tie rested noticeably on the outward curve. His pants had never been the loosest of clothing, but now I think he was probably going to need new ones. His meaty thighs and large butt seemed to be a problem.
"Hi Mr. Beckham," I said once the room cleared out after the bell rang for lunch.
"Ethan," he said smiling at me.
"I like your tie," I said.
"This tie?" he asked. "It was a gift."
"Do you like the person who gave it to you?"
"Oh yes, he's fantastic." I laughed.
"It's a guy?"
"Yeah, do you have a problem with that?"
"No, not at all," I said.
We walked down to lunch together and then went back up to his room. We talked some more, and to be honest I didn't know how we could possibly have so much in common.
When I got home, my mom was making dinner. I wasn't in the mood to eat. I kind of wanted to be the one cooking. I had gotten used to it. I got to see Jude every night for two weeks and now I had to eat with my family? My family that was perfectly okay with going to Florida without me? It just didn't sit right with me.
"You're not eating?" My mother pointed out after forcing me to join her and Molly.
"I'm not hungry." I looked up from my plate. "And dad isn't here. Why should I be?"
"Your father is working," she said seriously.
"Mom, I don't care if he's working. I'm not hungry. I don't want to eat right now. I don't want to be forced to do something I don't want to do. I don't want you to think you can control me because you can't control dad." I sighed. This was really out of character for me. I shouldn’t be taking out my frustrations on my mom. “I’m going out," I said.
"You are not," my mom replied, aghast.
"Why can't I? Dad doesn't get home until ten."
"You're not your father, you're a child." A child? I stood up and left the dining room. I made sure I slammed the front door after grabbing my jacket and keys.
I didn't even know that was how I felt. I just said all of that stuff. I knew where I was going. I pulled out of the driveway.
I pulled up behind Jude's truck and went up to his front door. I rang the doorbell and waited for him to come and answer. I was wearing my stupid poof-ball hat again. I needed to throw it out. He answered. "Ethan? Is everything okay? Come inside."
"I got into a fight with my mother."
"About what?" he asked, laughing at how heated I was.
"I don't actually know. I just started yelling at her and then I came here."
"That's fine with me," he said, smiling. "But your mom is probably worried about you."
"Let her worry! They didn't worry when they went to Florida without me. They—she didn't even call me once! I'm sick of living there."
"It's just until after graduation," he said. "Then you can come and live with me. I'm sick of eating take-out for dinner." I pouted.
“You’re just trying to get rid of me,” I said.
“By asking you to live with me? I don’t think so.”
"Here? You want me to live here with you?"
"After graduation, sure,” he said. “I'd love that."
“Fine, Jude. You win this round.” I went home after that. If I just had to put up with my family until after graduation, I could so do that. I’d be in college, forging my own path.
In class the next day he was wearing the tie again. It was really sweet that he wore it because I was pretty sure he did hate wearing ties.
When he walked down the rows his belly would sometimes nudge me in the shoulder and I knew it was on purpose. I was the only one that happened to. I liked it a lot. It felt really good and it was just so weird that I liked him getting fatter.
My parents had been shocked when I told them I was gay. I thought they already knew, but I was glad I told them. I told them after having lived with Jude for three years, I still do.
My sister is going to be attending the college I go to now. It’s downtown and I'm glad that she’s happy. My father and I still don't get along that well, but my mother and I patched things up.
Mr. Beckham is still teaching at St. Jo's. He was cast as Santa Claus at the winter charity event this year and I made sure to buy my ticket early. I guess he was the natural choice weighing over 350 pounds. I knew he liked getting bigger, and I sure liked him being bigger, so there wasn't a problem when he just continued to pack on the pounds.
"Jude," I called.
"Yeah?” he shouted back from the dining room. He was grading essays on As I Lay Dying. Yeah, that same book I read three years ago.
"What do you want for dinner?" I heard him laugh.
"Anything," he said, and I knew he meant it. He loved not eating take-out every night anymore, not that it stopped him from the occasional fast food binge. He finished dinner and we ended up having sex.
I sure was glad I wasn’t in high school anymore, and I was glad for a lot of things, especially Jude Beckham.