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

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And Really Get Out Of Hand.

Margaret made up her mind. She had been a spectator for long enough, and their relationship needed a nudge forward after what she had done to injure him.

“I can help you now.”

“How?” He looked surprised.

She didn’t hesitate, finding courage from somewhere, but reached out as she slowly replaced his hand, and cushioned his balls herself, as she had seen him doing. They were loose, in that covering, even delicate--about the size of walnuts-- warm, and moveable, sitting in her hand; totally unlike that other beast above them, stiff, hard, even attentive to what she was doing. It was almost funny, thinking of that other part overseeing what she was doing; judging her, poised... but for what?

She took him by surprise, being so forward and confident, but he wasn’t going to fight with her.

She did as he had done, holding him, supporting his balls in her palm and she firmly, but gently lifted them up toward his crotch, aware of just how delicate they were. His penis--a truly sobering entity for any woman to encounter-- rested along her forearm as she did that. She knew there was a fine balance between being effective, and causing discomfort, rather than to let them hang there. She began to feel, as well as to see for herself what they were like, how they felt in her hand; soft, delicate, mind-awakeningly important to both him and to her.

She cupped them as she had seen him do.

He sighed heavily in relief. “Thank you." She knew that he meant it by the way he spoke and began to relax with her help. That other part did not relax, but became even prouder and stiffer as it continued to grow.

"That’s it. Keep them raised a little bit into my body. That helps. You must not squeeze whatever you do, or deal roughly with them, they are delicate and very tender.” She knew all about that, but she had never discussed it with him.

“Just ignore this other rebel”—she knew what he referred to, able to see that clearly, and was vibrantly aware of it—“he will grow in anticipation of much more happening between us.”

He was obviously recovering and had found his sense of humor again. She knew what he meant. Intimacy! But what did he mean, that he would grow? Grow more than this? How much more? He was already alarming. If it became any bigger he would be sobering for any woman to encounter. She might never get out alive if he were to come at her with that. She laughed internally at her own meaningless fears and foolishness. Steve was not like that. He would always be considerate and gentle with her.

She looked up into his face wondering if she should still be trusting him after that statement. What was she thinking? The time for worrying about 'trust', was long behind them. It was time for other things to happen now, no matter what her own virginal fears might be.

He was speaking to her. “But you need not fear that. Nothing will happen without your permission. I hope you can believe that, but as I said, he is a rebel, and doesn’t always know that he must control himself when an attentive and wondrously brave young woman like you comes along and stimulates him, as you always will, and as you always manage to do." She had noticed on other occasions.

Stimulus, presumably being either a touch, or a thought, or seeing someone like her with that flashlight shining up… and certainly stimulating him with her touching him like this. It was a good thing she had her panties on when she had been sitting on his toolbox or who might know what would have happened? Even in the middle of the corridor. And what was even more shocking; she might not have objected so loudly, if at all. The other girl might never have noticed if they had been quiet about it in their urgency to get it out of the way, copulating in the middle of the corridor.

So he was telling her that she had caused that, and even this too, with that part of his changing in front of her eyes even as she watched it. She wanted to hear more about that.

He was referring to his penis as though it were an independent entity with a life of its own, as some of those other girls suggested, when they privately talked about men and boyfriends, and what their boyfriends did to them if they allowed them to, usually talking about it as they sat around in their nightclothes and robes in the dorm, and boasted about it all, just before they retired to dream about it. Margaret chuckled nervously. It was one thing to 'talk' about it, but another altogether to see it in real life and to be holding it... or as good as holding it.

“Just let them sit in your hand. Close your eyes, be gentle.”

He had his eyes closed too. She felt his warm hand touching gently at the side of her cheek. She could sense the relief he felt with her doing this for him.

When she'd got out of bed this morning, she had no idea that by late in the morning, she would be doing this for any man, holding his balls in her hand without being scared. She almost laughed. The day was still young.

She was gentle, but firm. Was she actually daring to do this with a partially naked man, and handling his balls with his gentle encouragement, as she was doing? And watching his penis grow in front of her.

“I hope I am not shocking you too much.” She shook her head, not ready to say anything just yet. He was not shocking her at all. Nor did it feel wrong. She needed and had wanted to know this, and would soon know even more.

“Am I scaring you, Margaret? I don’t want to do that. If I am, we shall stop and leave, so that I can lie down somewhere and recover by myself.” She hoped he wasn’t about to leave so soon. They still had at least twenty minutes before the bell would go.

“You do not seem to be scared.”

She was not scared, and asked a question she deemed more important. “Is this helping you?” She looked up at him and smiled, even as she blushed. She had never helped any man before in this way, and could never have imagined it happening like this.

“More than you might ever know.” She was glad to hear that. She would continue holding him. He was breathing easier now and seemed to less distressed in one way, while changing in other ways that fascinated her.

She looked up into his face. She was aware that after that little conversation, something else was still changing about him. That other part of him was still growing. Notably! How could it still be growing? Or was that her overworked imagination? The skin was already stretched tight on it, and it was shiny and glistening with veins and arteries standing out on the surface of it.

She would ignore it for the moment, if she could, though it was difficult to ignore, standing there in front of her, seeming to demand attention. Demanding her attention!

He had asked her a question earlier. She swallowed and lied, though she was not really scared, just overwhelmed. “No. I am not scared. Should I be?”

“Maybe. No.” He didn’t seem to be sure about that. “Then you are very brave. Most young women, unfamiliar with that, with this (he touched it gently. It barely 'gave') would be running away about now.”

He saw the set of her expression as she responded.

“I am not most young women, Steve. I hope you know that about me by now,” and she was not as unfamiliar with that part of his as he assumed, having seen it several times as they had seen to themselves in the showers.

“Yes, I did know. And so I see, and am finding out, but I already knew that about you.” He also recalled more, that had happened in the showers.

She repeated her question. “Why should I be scared? I think I know you well enough not to be scared.” He laughed at her innocent comments. She knew the answer, but was fighting any fear she felt. Some things were too important to let slide by, easily, and this was one of those things and one of those moments.

“Most young women on first encountering this thing are often a little scared. At least, concerned.” Though only until that first major hurdle of initial intimacy, was behind them.

If he could laugh, he was recovering, and it seemed that he had forgiven her too. That was a relief for her to know.

“Why would any woman, knowing you, and knowing how our friendship has grown over the last year, be scared of you or of this?”

Despite her brave words, she was nervous. Not scared, but nervous, not knowing for sure where this would go from here. Though she did know. She had to know, as all women did when they got this far with a man as to touch him.

He was nervous too. This was happening almost too quickly between them, too unexpectedly, with no time to plan anything, unfolding slowly, and it could too easily get out of hand. He answered her question anyway.

“This part is intimidating to most young women at first. Especially when they realize where it will soon be going, after getting this far. Into their bodies, hopefully." He was smiling down at her and hadn't shied away from telling her that.

"Here.”

He moved his hand under her skirt and slowly touched her in a private place no longer covered by her panties; setting her blushing, but giving her chance to object as he did that.

She did not object or move back, but put her legs apart a little more, and let him touch and discover her there in turn, just as she was discovering him. They were looking into each other’s flushed faces, and liking what they were seeing and sensing, as they each touched, and held the other.

“About then... now..., is when they begin to have second thoughts about everything. But I think you are too sensible to be scared. One word from you will bring all of this to an end.”

She knew what that word was, but it would not pass her lips at this time. She liked what he was doing.

She nodded in agreement, but what had being sensible got to do with it?

“You will have to excuse and ignore this other part of me. He is always late getting the memo, and I don’t always control the way he behaves.”

He didn’t?

She giggled, nervously. Yes it was intimidating, but becoming less so by the minute, and the more he touched and caressed her.

“I cannot avoid this change that you are seeing in my body and that you will continue to see, as long as you are holding me there, and I am touching you as I am. It is for a very simple reason, apart from your touch. It is because… I already told you. I find you very interesting. More than interesting. I felt it on that first day when we were both in the school office together, waiting for Mrs. Waring.” She had felt it too.

"This moment was inevitable, even then, though neither of them knew when it would happen, just that it would happen.

“You are the only girl, woman, in this school who is interesting to me.” He hesitated. “And, I should not say any more, or I will worry you and cause a greater problem when you do begin to fear me, especially with what I am doing to you, and I do not want that to happen.”

She put her free hand behind his elbow to stop him removing his hand from her, put her legs farther apart, and leaned back against the sinks to encourage him to continue. She wouldn't dare tell him just yet, that she wanted him to keep touching her as he was, but that was the message.

She wanted him to lean in and kiss her and to hell with the consequences. Fear did not enter into it. Dare she touch him there in turn? That other rebel, as he had described it?

He must have read her mind. “You should not touch that other part of me, Margaret, not as you had courage to do with my testicles, or all bets between us will be off.” She still wasn’t scared. She recognized other feelings that her own body was telling her about.

That part, and not, this part. He was referring to it as though it were not a part of him and was not attached, though it was.

“Just observe him (him!). Nothing else. You should not touch me there. That would be unleashing a problem for us both.”

Was he challenging her? And what problem would that be? As if she didn’t know.

Touch that, at your peril!

He was no longer pale or in pain, and his cheeks were flushed. His feelings and his thinking had changed, just as that other part of his had changed.

Perhaps she was in danger now. Was he about to take advantage of her? She realized that she no longer cared.

He saw the concern about that possibility fleetingly pass through her eyes. Wide eyes. Her cheeks were flushed too, so he was having an effect on her. Almost as much as the effect she was having on him.

He chuckled and touched her by her cheek as he looked deep into her suddenly wide eyes.

“You need not fear me, Margaret. I have too much to lose if I forget where I am or who you are. You are in control, not I.”

He began to slowly remove his hand from under her skirt, but then felt her hand behind his elbow again, stopping him.

"Not yet, Steve." She looked up into his eyes. "Not yet."

They seemed to be caught on the cusp of a wave, not sure which side to slide down.

He smiled at her and continued to speak, letting her decide what she wanted, while taking her mind off other things by returning to what he was doing to her, gradually doing more, and with her tacit approval, moving his fingers slowly along her, as he looked deep into her eyes, liking what he saw; liking what he was feeling of her welcoming warmth and 'telling' moistness.

“I value this job in the school, and my position in it, just as I value our friendship.” He sighed, not entirely sure how she was feeling about this, and continued talking.

“Thank you for being astute enough and determined enough to help me, as you are. You were right. I was hurting so much from both my head, my knuckles and especially there, that I was worried, which is why I allowed you to bring me in here like this, but now we have to rethink this.”

She wasn't sure that was necessary. What was there to rethink? He’d had no choice about it. She’d led him in here, and as he said, she was the one in control of this situation, not him, even though physically, he was the more dominant entity and stronger by far than she was.

“Why? I won't tell anyone. And thank you for being concerned about me in that way, Steve, but I think the time for that has gone by us now. Don't you?"

He was not sure what she wanted, or what she would allow in this peculiar mood that gripped them both, but he was ready to find out.

He took a few deep breaths. She was still holding his balls, his testicles, and she felt them change in her hand. They seemed to be relaxing more, as he relaxed. He was obviously recovering. It seemed to help him that she held his testicles as tenderly as she was doing, taking the weight off them. That other part of his was still very proud, even gigantic, to her view of it, and was intimidating, but she was not going to let herself be intimidated any longer.

She knew she should not be here, nor doing this. But she was not about to run away either, like a frightened schoolgirl. Despite all of this that she was doing and seeing, she knew he would not harm her, but harm, was subjective. She wouldn’t be harmed, no matter what happened between them now. Changed, yes, as all women were changed when they first encountered a man they knew they would not care to live without, and the time for a major change between them had arrived.

She was surprised to recognize that she was neither as shy as she should have been, or embarrassed to be helping him like this, if she was actually helping him in any way.

He continued to talk to her as he held her by the shoulders, waiting to discover what she would decide to do; what she would allow him to do.

She listened, not really hearing him, and daring to say nothing as she made up her mind amidst all of the confusing clash of emotions and feelings, all the time cushioning his balls and watching that other part of him.

She was aware, that as they had talked, he had been looking not only into her eyes, but had also observed her breasts behind her blouse and everything he could see about her. He was still looking. One of her buttons had opened as she had struggled to get him into the washroom, and he was now trying to fasten it for her with one hand.

He sensed the moment between them, passing. He looked faintly disappointed.

“I think I am recovered enough that I can put him, and them, away now.”

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