Penis Problems

Dead at 18. He was dead at 18. It was the final bell and he was stuck in his chair. Not that he couldn’t get up and leave, he definitely could, but then his secret would be out. His stupid penis had done it again, this time at the very last second of class, there’d be no thinking of baseball or granny or slimy, grimy toes to get his dick to go soft in time to get up and leave the classroom. Ever since he could remember his penis would get hard in the most inopportune times and for baffling reasons. Like the time when he was in math class. He was working hard on his classwork and a particularly hard problem was stalling him out. Then it clicked, he saw how to solve the problem and at the same time he went hard as stone sitting there at his desk. MATH. A stiff breeze. His best friends jokes. I mean, women too. There were so many hard ons because of his classmates, his teachers, his aunt. . . His penis was the bane of his existence. It didn’t matter how many times he jerked off during the day or night, his dick was always ready to go. Somehow over the years he had managed to get hard in places where he had time to and/or privacy to work on getting himself composed before either being discovered with his meat in his hand or discovered to be tenting his pants. Not today. There was no way out.

In this particular case his painfully positioned erection was caused by his English teacher, one Ann Travotore. She was youthful, he guessed late twenties or early thirties. Her hair was just past shoulder length and loosely curly. She had a long angular face with a sharp chin, and deep brown eyes. She wore skirts with floral patterns that always went to her ankles. Her blouses were always in good taste, she never allowed an errant button to be open. Today her blouse/skirt combo were as tasteful and demure as ever with the exception that her blouse sleeves were short and slightly more open than usual. Just as the bell was going to ring she was making the rounds in the room – reading over shoulders and asking quiet questions of his classmates. She got to him and touched his shoulder. As he looked up from his work, he happened to see into her sleeve and catch site of a nude lacy bra cup and the milky white top breast being held back from spilling out. Stone. He was painfully stone in a second. He almost yelped, and forced himself to look away from her bra and into her eyes. She had asked him something, but there was no way he heard it. The bell mercifully, but also not mercifully rang and his classmates got up to leave. Walking to the front of the classroom Miss Travotore reminded her class of their assignments for the weekend as they filed out. He was stuck, couldn’t adjust, and turning beet red. When the last of his classmates left the room, Miss Travatore came back to his desk and stood next to him.

“Mr. Allen, do you wish to get up and go home?”

He could smell her perfume. It was sweet, airy, had a hint of rose in it. His dick betrayed him again and twitched in his pants. Now not only was he hard, but he was leaking pre-cum. He could not look up at her. He kept his eyes focused on the desk in front of him and prayed to a god he didn’t believe in to take his dick and chuck it. Miss Travatore cleared her throat, touched his should and began to ask again. The touch on his shoulder made him look back up from his hyper focus on the desk and as he did so caught another good look down her blouse sleeve.