In the Secret Space of Dreams
Bo
A story by e
© 2002 SunShine DayDreamers UnLimited
DISCLAIMER: This story contains descriptions of sexual encounters between minors that are homosexual in nature. If offended by such things or if you are not of legal age in the country where you live, then read no further. The characters and events depicted in this story are completely fictional and any resemblance to any real persons, places, or events is purely coincidental. This story may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the expressed written consent of the author.
Third period English class, Ms. Bored, er um, Baird. Subjects. Predicates. Dangling participles. For the life of me I couldn't understand what on earth this had to do with the price of tea in China or even here in the States, for that matter. She even looked like an English teacher. And not one of those like they show on TV who could let her hair down and within seconds transform herself from homely into a goddess. Oh no. Ms. Bored was just plain ugly. Black hair with streaks of gray, pulled back tight and tied in a bun on the back of her head with some gawd-awful clip holding it in place. Long, thin beady little eyes stretching across her face nearly meeting, separated only by the thin bridge of her nose and accented by black crescent-shaped eyebrows hovering above them. Her long, thin nose slicing through the middle of her face and abruptly becoming bulbous with two flaring nostrils peeking out from underneath. And that mouth, long and wide, surrounded by two thick, full lips that were covered with enough lipstick to keep Max Factor in business for the next century. I won't even go into the moustache. She was tall and thin, flat-chested, and her shoulders hunched forward slightly, even when she was standing straight. She always wore a drab-colored pantsuit with a bright blouse underneath buttoned all the way to the collar, as though she were afraid that allowing even the very top button to be undone would arouse the passions of one of her teenage male students causing him to lose control and commit some unspeakable act upon her person. Not a chance. That woman could walk into the room stark naked and cause a whole room full of horny teenage boners desperately in need of relief to wilt forever. She could drone endlessly about diagramming sentences, the use of proper syntax, conjugating verbs, and the difference between adjectives and adverbs. Yet, it was my favorite class of the day.
It was the one class I shared with Bo. And I was madly in love. Now Bo wasn't the most beautiful boy in the world. At least not by most people's standards. But by mine, there was no boy more beautiful, none cuter, no one more adorable than Bo. He had shaggy blond hair, almost silver in color. He never combed it and it went in every direction, though it had some semblance of a part in the middle. It covered his ears, but just to the lobe. In back it went over his collar. His eyes were blue-gray and wide. The sockets were deep, but his eyes filled them. His forehead was tall when his hair wasn't covering it, and almost wrinkled making him appear to be a bit older than his fourteen years. He had a thin, delicate, button nose that curled up just slightly at the end. His mouth was wide, but his lips thin and he smiled the biggest smile I'd ever seen. His teeth stuck out just ever so slightly and were just out of line. He needed braces. His skin was almost alabaster, but had a touch of brown. There was just a hint of freckling on his face.
Bo was the smallest boy in class, probably not even five feet tall. And thin, some would say scrawny. He always dressed in faded jeans, light blue Levis, with holes in the knees. He had marked on them with his pen, Names like Ozzy and Sabbath were written in block letters across them. And always a t-shirt with the name and picture of some heavy metal band in front. It was never tucked in and usually short enough to afford a glimpse of his belly if he raised his arms upward. On such occasions I had been able to see the waistband of his boxers and that he had an 'outie.' Except on the very hottest of days he would also wear a flannel, always unbuttoned. His sneakers were never tied. They were dirty white leather with blue trim, some off brand purchased at a discount store, no doubt.
Bo's voice was one of those in-between voices, not deep enough to signify an adult, but not squeaky or high-pitched like a young boy and just a little raspy. Yet when he spoke the words flowed in poetic rhythm. He wasn't the brightest kid in class. Always in danger of failing, but it wasn't from lack of effort. He tried. He tried hard, but somehow his efforts never managed to please Ms. Bored.
I sat across the room and just behind him. It was easy to gaze in his direction without drawing the attention of Ms. Bored. And I gazed. Day after day. Never feeling the need to look anywhere else. Just to gaze and daydream.
I imagined myself to be in his gym class watching him in the locker room, slowly peeling away his clothes. He couldn't have much muscle and must be rather bony. He wouldn't be very defined. I figured that he'd have nickel-sized brown nipples with only a slightly reddish hue. His stomach would be flat, but not toned, no ripples, but no fat. His legs would be thin, with his kneecaps sticking out. There would be no hair on his body other than his nice v-shaped crop of pubic hair above a smaller than average sized cock with testicles that hung low and loose between his legs. His sack would be hairless and his boyhood no darker than the rest of his skin. His penis would hang full and thick, making it appear as though it were bigger than it's actual size, yet still not being as big as most. I'd follow him into the shower and take the one across form him so I could get a better look. I'd watch his ass from behind as it jiggled slightly with each step. I think that is my favorite view of a boy. From behind, following the crack of his ass as it curves downward, his legs parted slightly, just enough to allow me to see the back of his scrotum, and maybe, if it is long enough, the tip of his penis hanging below.
He would linger in the shower and I would wait, taking my time not wanting to miss a single second of his nakedness. We would bump into each other as we turned to leave the shower. It would be electric. We would make love right then and there without regard for anyone who may still be dressing or watching. We would hold each other in the afterglow, lips pressed together, tongues intertwined.
It was a dream that could last forever. But alas, third period would end and my cute and sexy little Bo would disappear for another day.
In my dreams I could imagine becoming a stoner, a pothead, hanging out behind the cafeteria sneaking smokes with Bo and his friends. Doing nothing more than talking, chatting about nothing in particular. He would invite me to hang out after school. We'd go to his place. He'd take me up to his room and I'd look at the posters on the wall, Black Sabbath, Led Zeppelin, Ozzy, Dio, Van Halen. He'd turn on the radio or put an album on the turntable and invite me to sit on his bed. He'd sit down next to me and pull out a baggie of some really kind bud and a packet of rolling papers. Expertly, he'd roll a nice fat doobie, put it to his lips, and take a nice long toke before passing it to me so I could do the same. We'd lay back on the bed, or legs bent at the knees and hanging over the edge. Our shoulders would touch. we'd giggle and smile at the spots on the ceiling and the funny images we'd imagine they made. I'd look at him and admire the smooth skin of his face. He look at me and our eyes would meet. We'd smile at each other. Our lips would meet.
In my dreams Ms. Bored would assign Bo and I to work on a class project. He would come to my house after school and we'd head up to my room.
In my dreams we'd meet, accidentally in the woods on a warm summer day and decide to go skinny dipping in the lake.
In my dreams we'd make love form dusk 'til dawn and from dawn 'til dusk, never running out of passion or fire.
I yawned and rolled over in my bed. Dreams are wonderful things whether they be daydreams or sleeping ones. In them we can be anybody or with anyone. I smiled as I looked at him. His hair, what is left of it, is much shorter now and has gone gray. The wrinkles in his forehead still make him look older than his years. He really never did grow very much. And most folks still would not think him beautiful. But for me, it really doesn't take much effort at all, for whenever I look upon him, no matter how often or how many times, I still see that wonderful fourteen year old who sat across the room. And I thank God every day that He had the good grace and foresight to put me in Ms. Baird's third period English class. And I thank Him for a young boy's dreams and for the fact that I don't have to dream anymore.
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