Tales Told Out Of School. 3. On Being A Man In A Girls' School.

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And Go Even Further Off Track.

There was a first aid kit in the teachers’ bathroom just a few steps away, and it would be private there, so Margaret led him in there, her hand on his elbow. She would wash him off and see to his forehead and his hand. That much, at least. He did not resist her, but just followed.

She locked the door and let him rest his other hand, the injured one, on the bench between the sinks as she ran water.

They had at least thirty minutes before classes erupted forth for the morning, and then he would be viewed askance, by suspicious young women if he were still in here. Too many of them ignored the sign: ‘Teachers Washroom’, and decided to use that washroom anyway with so many girls wanting to pee, lining up outside of the six stalls in their own toilet, but the door was locked, and she and Steve would not be in here for that long.

She looked at him, standing there with his eyes closed and she did not hesitate. She stripped off her panties and ran the hot water tap on them. Paper was no good for what she needed to do, and no one would see her.

As he leaned against the bench, still hurting, breathing in a peculiar way, and with his eyes mostly closed, she cleaned off both injuries to his head that she could see, with hot water and her underwear as he tried to wash his hands too, and then she put some antibiotic cream on him from that cabinet on the wall, followed by a broad Elastoplast upon his forehead. As she did that, he leaned into her, looking into her eyes as she focused on him, and let her deal with his hand after that. His knuckles were badly skinned and swollen after his wrench had slipped, and that bruise on his forehead might give him a couple of black eyes. She had indirectly caused that, and had directly caused the other, more delicate injury.

He would easily be able to see what she was using to wash him with when he was able to notice more, but she didn’t care. Some things were just not important at this moment, and this was one of them.

“I’m sorry. I did this to you.” She plucked up courage and asked. “Are you alright there, where I dropped…?” She was blushing at having to talk about something that would be very personal for him, the way he was holding himself.

Of course he wasn’t alright!

He knew what she was daring to ask. He gently touched at his midriff just under his belt, where it was tender, and she saw that there was blood, streaked there too.

“I hurt you. I’m sorry. I did not mean to drop that wrench on you there.”

He knew that.

“I’ll survive. I just have to lie down and rest for a few minutes.” She was not sure she could believe him.

Men were either great chickens, or they were the other way, and played down even serious injuries. He would never choose to tell her anything so personal about himself, or how he was injured there.

What if he didn’t come into work tomorrow because of what she had done? She might not sleep tonight worrying about it. Better if it were seen to now, so that she knew.

She did not ask and did not hesitate, but undid his belt and his top button to his shorts before he could complain.

That was all she would need to do, she hoped, but he was ready to stop her doing any more. There was a small nick on his lower belly just above the hair, which began there, but the real problems were much lower. She knew about them.

He could see as much for himself just by looking in the mirror.

“Just a small cut from the edge of that wrench where it hit me. Nothing too serious.” He tried to play it down, but the way he was holding himself, told a different story. She was not about to believe him. The antibiotic cream she had used on his forehead was brought into play again. She squeezed some of it onto her fingers, and smeared it over that cut and even down into the top of his briefs, trespassing a farther inch or two, startling him enough to let go of himself.

He gasped at the tender familiarity of her touch on him.

This might be her only chance. She gave him no chance to object, but slid the zip down on his shorts before he could stop her and opened them up fully. His underwear still covered him but she was aware what was behind them, pushing there, and the tenderness he had betrayed to her.

His hand covered hers, stopping her.

She couldn’t easily help him like this.

“You don’t need to do this, Margaret. I can do the rest for myself, later.”

She looked into his face. He was still pale, with lines of pain around his eyes. He seemed to be fighting for air, breathing shallowly and was swallowing more than he should be, as though he was about to be sick. Pain would do that.

She was concerned, almost in tears and pleaded with him. “Please don’t stop me, Steve. I need to know, and you should not stop me. You might need a doctor.”

He could see she was concerned for him. She was stubborn too.

He was in enough pain, he gave in.

“You don’t need to do this, but…. Be slow and gentle, please. You will certainly find out more about me than you bargained for, and should not be doing this. Remember I told you that. You are not ready for this.”

But she was. She certainly was!

He seemed to be trying to find some humor in it all, despite the pain, and she was not about to be distracted by that.

She knew what he meant. He was trying to discourage her, nicely. He couldn’t ignore what she was doing, and walk away as he did with those other girls, and he would not be able to ignore her, either. He had already demonstrated that in so many small ways.

“Perhaps I will, but it is overdue between us.” There would be no, perhaps, about it. She would certainly find out what she had been curious about for a long time, and she was right; it was a long time overdue between them. “I need to know.”

So did he.

“I intend that we will do this, Steve... it is necessary, so please don’t stop me. No one needs to know, and I promise I will be very gentle with you.”

Her eyes pleaded with him.

Their roles seemed to have been reversed from what they usually were. He should be telling 'her', those words... ('I will be very gentle with you') after he had removed her panties, except she had got rid of them for herself, and now she intended much more... seeing to him.

He smiled with difficulty. “Someone coming in on us, or seeing us, is the least of my worries at this moment.” She could sense that for herself. He was still in so much pain.

She continued. “I need to see to you, and to know that I did not injure you seriously. No one will come in. I locked the door.”

He realized that she had intended to do this for him before they had even come to the washroom. He nodded again, repeating his earlier request. “Go slowly until I know exactly how badly, and where I hurt.” He already knew. Pain from any injury to those, made him feel sick.

“Are you sure no one can come in on us?” He sounded almost mischievous.

She reassured him. “I am sure. I told you I locked the door.”

“Okay, but stop when you need to, if you get nervous.”

She giggled in disbelief, but it was a giggle without humor. Why would she get nervous? Except she was already nervous, but not in the way he thought. And she was excited too. She was going to learn about him openly and properly for the first time. And about time.

She felt Steve’s hands resting on her shoulders now, as she carefully moved his underwear down on him, pulling them away from his body first, uncovering him totally, and moving his shorts and underwear down on his legs. He had hairy legs and a lot of hair there too, but it was not the hair she was staring at. This was the first time she had seen him properly there, though she had glimpsed him in the mirrors; those times they'd changed together after showering.

She had often thought about it and how it would happen between them that first time, but the opportunity had never been presented after that time in the shower, and it had not happened then or subsequently, though getting ever closer to it.

Her mouth was dry at what she was uncovering, but she was not about to give up. He was big, bigger than she'd thought possible, though she'd had plenty of warning about it. No wonder those girls had constantly expressed amazement about their first experiences with a grown, horny man, and sex, when he first came at them with that, and using it on them, forefront on his mind.

She unconsciously tensed herself, feeling it moving into her, even if only in fantasy. Was he actually erect? Despite her having hurt him there?

How in hell would anything this big, get into a woman’s body. But it did. Often. And there seemed to be no lasting damage to them that she had detected in anything she and her friends talked about. Even her own mother must once, at least, have been exposed to this, and likely, many thousands of times.

Thousands of times? Her mouth went dry!

She had never seen a fully exposed man naked like this before, directly in front of her. Not, this part of one.

Steve—that part of him—was big, unexpectedly proud, to her inexperienced eyes. She had never seen anything like this before. How had all of that, and those, fitted into his underwear? She should have paid more attention to him a year ago, and learned about him then, but she had been too shy, as well as scared, and he had known it.

His underwear stretched, of course. She knew that. It would have to, to accommodate all of that, and it had stretched when he grew bigger, as it had when his flashlight had been shining up her skirt and had been thinking of her in some intimate way. If that was what had caused all of this.

She was breathless herself, and not sure what she should be looking for. There was a lot of hair at the base of… that, his penis, but the rest of that member was devoid of it. Could that possibly go into anywhere on her, or into any woman’s body? (Even inserting a tampon—much smaller than this—into her vagina at that time of the month was still a touchy experience for her, and had to be done slowly, and this was twice or three times (or more) the diameter, and longer, at least five inches so far, and growing rapidly).

She clenched her legs tightly together as though to keep it out. She was mesmerized by it.

It was smooth, hairless, and with veins standing clearly out upon it. Could the inflow of blood do this to it? It was hard to believe. It was a big, fleshy pole, with a purple ‘head’.

Was that bruising? She didn’t know. She saw no obvious blood, or what she would call bruising, but it was his testicles that might have suffered the most damage, and they were still out of sight unless she moved his underwear farther down on his legs, and she was not ready to do that just yet.

She needed to admit certain things to him.

She looked up at him and blushed. “I am not sure what I need to see or what I should be looking for, Steve. Can you tell me please?

He seemed perplexed, that despite the unknowns for her she had determinedly steered him into here and was ministering to his privates, not knowing what she would encounter. That had taken courage, but she had been concerned enough for him to submerge any fears she had.

“No brothers, or a boyfriend?” It was not a subject they had ever talked about.

“An older brother, but I never saw him, there.”

No, of course she hadn’t.

That item was still changing, growing, now that it was no longer trapped by his clothing. Or was it because she was looking at it, and was too close to it, and he was recovering.

He also knew that she had taken her panties off to wash his head with them. That would not help.

She blurted out what she wanted him to know as she stared at it with widening eyes.

“I hope you can believe that I did not drop that wrench on you deliberately.”

He touched her gently by the cheek. “I know it was not deliberate. Just as I did not look up your skirt deliberately, or touch you under there as I did, on purpose. It just happened, and I am always curious about you. I always have been. I think you know that by now.”

She did.

“You handed me that flashlight with it pointing back at yourself. I could not help but notice you. I should thank you for that wonderful moment of even remote intimacy. I have a good imagination and am always curious about you, and always will be. I was interested, of course. I think you know that you are interesting to me, and beautiful, and I am always curious about you, where I am not with any other of the girls.”

He had never told her that he was interested in her that way before, even though it had been obvious.

Should she admit that she had even thought about opening his shorts while he had been stuck where he was, in that small space? Except that she hadn’t done that because the corridor was too public, and because she was too nervous to take such a step, and… and…. She would never have dared do anything like that. Then it had been taken out of her hands when she had dropped that wrench on him.

“There is no man alive, especially not me, who would not be curious about a mature and attractive woman like you, Margaret, but don’t get nervous over my telling you that.”

They had never discussed anything like this before either, about how he thought about her, found her mature, interesting, attractive, even beautiful. The most they had done after that day, and the following days at the pool, was to smile at each other and comment on the weather; how hot it was, or how cold, and a few other mild bromides with them constantly surrounded by other girls and teachers.

“I’d better be the one to check.” She watched, engrossed by what he did, touching himself very cautiously.

She was fascinated to watch as he put his legs apart, reached down, pinched some loose skin between his thumb and forefinger, and pulled his testicles away from his body (she winced), as he analyzed what he was feeling, then rested them in the palm of his other hand.

He sighed audibly as he did that. Clutching them snug up to his body seemed to give him some relief as he cupped them, lifted them, and delicately sensed with his other hand, what he could feel as he held them close to his body. He sighed deeply again, feeling some relief.

Watching him do this, handling himself so openly, intimately and personally, she was captivated, but nervous. There was so much she wanted to ask and to know, but he had his eyes closed as he moved his hand and felt himself there.

It was wrong of her to be here at a time like this, and to watch, but she had insisted on helping him like this, and where would she ever be able to see this, and learn about this, except here, and with him?

The school covered nothing like this in the biology class.

She decided she would watch and she would help if needed. This would be strictly between them. Who would she ever dare tell?

He spoke. “I can feel no obvious injury, nor can I feel any obvious bruising or swelling, and the pain is lessening now, so that’s a relief.”

She was interested enough to notice that he was circumcised—she knew about that, after one of the girls had described it and shown her some drawings—and then she put that thought aside. Her concerns began to subside, as his seemed to.

She knew nothing about what he was feeling, and had not been sure what she had expected to see, and needed to hear what he would say about it.

“So, you are not too seriously injured?”

“Nothing that time and a little rest will not heal. I’ll get over it in a few more minutes.”

“So where does it most hurt? What do you feel?”

“My balls are where it hurts.” His eyes flashed to hers. Of course they were hurting.

She almost laughed at his outspokenness. He sounded like her brother. Never mind finesse or delicacy of language at a time like this. Not testicles, but, balls. Her mouth had gone dry, seeing him like this, and them discussing it so easily.

She had never seen a man there before, or as he was. He seemed big, and was still getting bigger as he began to relax. No wonder his shorts bulged.

He nestled his testicles in his hand and gently felt around them with his other hand, palpating as she watched, then took hold of that bigger, upstanding part and felt around that too. He even pulled the skin back down from it as he felt along it. It perked up even more as he did that; probably helped by his knowing that she was watching him do that.

It had a head on it; the glans penis, she knew that name from a medical book she was reading through, and it was shaped like a policeman’s helmet, or a shaggy mane mushroom, but bigger than one of those, and firmer. Obviously firmer. When he had pulled the skin back on it, that ‘head’ had swollen for a moment and 'splayed-out', as though ‘pulsing’, and then went back to being as it had been; proud, and majestic. It would always demand attention and she might need to keep an eye on it, and him. There were so many things she wanted to ask him about it but couldn’t, at this moment.

She was not sure what to say or ask so she said nothing. With him doing that to it, it became even bigger and more stiff.

She watched attentively. At a guess, she estimated it to be about six or seven inches or perhaps more, (Oh, lord!) long, was swollen, about two inches in diameter, and that item was designed to go into her body, to slide into it. Holy mother…! She tensed up. There was no way anything that size could ever fit into her delicate little orifice, which had suddenly closed even tighter.

He sensed what he could of himself without touching anything even more strongly or pulling anything else around.

There was a look of relief in his eyes.

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