hrg1964: mightymeatycock:It was surreal to be sitting across from Mr. Bernardi. I mean, sure, I’m
hrg1964: mightymeatycock: It was surreal to be sitting across from Mr. Bernardi. I mean, sure, I’m an adult now, but in my head he’s forever Mr. Bernardi. I remember the first time I saw him, when I was a high school freshman. He was a new teacher that year, only a decade or so older than us. He was so handsome, I’d stop walking in the halls, just to see him walk by, his tailored three piece suit, a bushy full head of hair, looking like a cross between a rock star and the handsomest talk show host ever. I turned 18 the Christmas of my senior year, and as a New Year’s resolution, I decided I was going to seduce Mr. Bernardi before graduation. I don’t know why I thought it would happen. Maybe it was the delusions of youth. Maybe it was that song that I’d been hearing on the radio for years: Sometimes it’s not so easy / To be the teacher’s pet I tried everything I could - a challenge since I didn’t have a single class with Mr. Bernardi. Even the stuck-in-the-rain trick. Wet bus stop / I’m waiting / His car is warm and dry Mr. Bernardi gave me a ride home, and even put a hand on my knee as he dropped me off. “You okay, sport?” I nodded, fighting back the urge to cry, croaked out a thank you, and ran inside, foiled again. Graduation came and went, with no success in my seduction plan. And I just went, leaving town, my youthful idiocy in the rearview mirror. I was back in town to sell my parents’ old house, manage the estate sale, and say one last goodbye to this place. It looked smaller, less saturated with color than I remembered as a kid. The pharmacy and hardware store were closed down, replaced by a Wal-mart near the highway. Gracie’s Diner looked like a shadow of itself, but I went inside anyway. She remembered my usual, even after all these years. “Hey, sport,” I heard a voice say. Mr. Bernardi was standing at the end of my table. He’d lost the bushy bits of his hair - hell, most of the hair on his head - and packed on forty pounds of beef, but he was still the handsome rock star stud. He was saying something, but my brain - and my eyes - went right to the bulge that was at my eye level. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you, Mr. Bernardi,” I said apologetically. “It’s Matt,” he said. “You’re too old to call anyone mister, sport. So you at your parents’ house?” “No, I’m at the Motor Inn,” I explained. “Selling the old house.” “Ah, man,” he scowled. “That place isn’t what it used to be. Too many meth heads out there. You shouldn’t stay there.” “I’ll be OK, really,” I smiled. “You’re coming to stay with me,” he said. He reached in his pocket for a business card, and wrote down his home address. “Go check out. I’ll see you in an hour.” With one hand patting my shoulder, he took off. He was right, of course - the Motor Inn had seen better days. I paid my balance and checked out, my hands shaking. I knocked on his door, suitcase in one hand, duffel in the other. “Come in!” I heard him say. I walked in, through the entryway of his house. It was nice. Recently renovated. Looked like something straight out of HGTV. I got to his living room, and stopped. Mr. Bernardi - Matt - was on the couch, in just a pair of shorts. “Have a seat,” he said. “I’ve just got to finish a call.” I couldn’t keep my eyes off of Matt, who kept patting the fur on his belly while he talked. Damn, he was so hairy and so beefy. Thick thighs, so meaty. And that bulge again. Finally, he ended his call and set his cell down. A big grin spread across his face. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said. “How does it feel?” “How does what feel?” I said. His legs spread wider open, giving me a great shot of his bulge. “How does it feel to be tormented by something you want so badly you can taste it?” I put my face in my hands. “In case you were wondering, sport, you’re a hot fuck. I love big beefball boys like you. And you made me hard as a rock every FUCKING day your senior year.” “Wow,” was all I could stupidly manage to say. “I wasn’t sure you knew what it all meant, knew what you wanted. You know what you want now, sport?” “Fuck yes, Mr. Bernardi!” “It’s Matt, man……” I interrupted him. “The first time? It’s Mr. Bernardi.” “Aw, fuck, yeah,” he said, grabbing the pouch of his shorts. I walked to him, knelt in front of him, rubbed my face all over the front of his shorts, and it all came back to me, the scent of his cologne, the way his ass shifted in his pants when he walked, the thousands of loads I shot thinking about him. He leaned back and pulled the elastic of his shorts underneath his balls, and the scent hit my face as his fat, veiny niner sprung out of the pouch. “Suck it, sport. Such Mr. Bernardi’s big dick.” His body is fucking gorgeous -- source link