High School Physicals

I'll tell you a dark secret about me. I'm drawn to young boys; boys who make me feel like I'm in high school again. Athletic boys. Beautiful boys. Boys who are easily embarrassed. Innocent boys who are hung like stallions and have no idea how they've been blessed.

I do local school physicals, and I'm motivated to volunteer for that purpose. It's not that I'm void of any sense of community by donating my time, but the vision of teen boys undressing in my small cubicle at the gym and allowing me to touch them is so enthralling. I always go home with a smile and wet panties. Sometimes, I don't even wear panties. And the boys are invariably appreciative, equally fascinated with me as well. I keep my exams as professional as possible, but occasionally they coax my attention to things for which I should definitely request assistance. 

The thing is, boys that age get hard at the drop of a hat. It's so absolutely alluring to watch some of them struggle, making every effort to avoid my detection, while others proudly display their tents with no apologies. The bigger ones are particularly inclined to be exhibitionists, and it's completely improper for me to notice or comment. There's simply no way around it, though, and we don't have enough nurses for us to pair up together for exams. We'd never get through the day.

So, alas, I frequently find myself alone in my work, alone in a cubicle with some blooming teenage specimen, his mind set on football and girls of his age. He hardly notices me at all until I ask him to undress. Then his eyes rove me over as he unbuckles his jeans or, more likely, pulls off his training shorts and flimsy t-shirt. His muscles are just beginning to develop, his body hair sparse, and his face is an innocent flower dotted with beads of freckles and a peach fuzz moustache. A few wiry sprigs have surfaced on his chin and beneath his lower lip.

I can't help but imagine the condition of his pubic garden. Is it densely populated with matted dark curls, or has he just recently begun his transition to a man? These are the ones whom I allow to look down my front, inconspicuously leaning over to listen to their heart as they lie on the table and take in deep breaths. If the boy is particularly beautiful, I will have excused myself to the ladies' room and removed my bra to make his experience more enticing. I'll keep notice of his shorts as I proceed.

"I'm sorry," he might whisper in embarrassment. My stethoscope is close to his pelvis, pressing down softly, sliding slowly across his abdomen just at the top of his waistband.

"About what, baby?" I smile with my most oblivious expression. He looks at me as if I'm an idiot. "I need to listen slightly lower beneath your shorts. Will it be alright if I reach underneath just a bit?"

The boy nods shyly. I'm gushing with heat. His humility peaks my charms, and my perky, red cherries swell to ripe readiness beneath my loosely fitting scrub top. He sees them now, even better than before, my tiny pink missiles begging for his tongue. The reaction is clear and immediate, straining against the fabric that clutches his manhood.

He's questioning his choice of underwear, wondering if it would have been better to wear something thicker or tighter. My stethoscope is over his pubic mound. I can hear the loud rustle of his spiraling curls as I slide the bell slowly beneath his towering shaft. He's big for his age. He has no idea what he's got. In a few years, he will thrust this masculine pipe into a virgin's velvet tunnel. There will be blood. She will squeal into his muscular shoulder, bite down on his skin, and feel him explode inside her.

Today, I will take him in my hand under the pretense of examining his penis and testicles, something vehemently forbidden in the athletic physical manual. He will shoot ribbons of semen straight up his abdomen, all the way to his chest. I will slowly stroke him, because this was unexpected. He will remember how I leaned over and licked him clean.