'I asked you to report to me in my office tonight, Peter, because I have a few things to discuss with you. Your health records have not yet arrived from the last school that you attended, so we are going to have to check out some things ourselves.'
'I've noticed, as has Mr. Kristopoulos,' she lied, 'that you seem to have trouble concentrating. You daydream more than is ordinary for a young man your age, and you, well, show other signs of not having your mind on your studies.'
Peter blushed until he thought the blood was going to come spouting out of his ears. She had noticed him in French class that morning. How did he think she would miss anything as blatant as one of her students getting his rocks off in his pants in the middle of class? She's probably going to explain that I might be happier at another school, he thought. That's the way they put it when they want to get rid of you, but don't want to cause a stink by throwing you out on your tail.
'We need to check out your health. Perhaps you aren't eating properly, not getting enough sleep or enough exercise. I am a licensed nurse, so I will check the most obvious things as best I can until we get your health records.'
Well, maybe she wasn't going to get rid of him after all. His spirits rose a little and he looked at her more carefully. She was a pretty good-looking old bag for her age. He wondered if her tits were as full and soft as he had imagined. She had her hair down, and that made her look a lot better. He felt his pecker twitch in his pants. Oh, my God, don't start that now, he prayed. I'll get my ass kicked out for sure. He didn't want to get expelled because he was starting to like the place. That Valerie looked might hot, too. She had really been giving him the eye and talking to him a teasing way after dinner. There were possibilities there, at least he hoped so.
'We'll start by taking your temperature. Just hold the thermometer in your mouth while I run down this check list and ask you some questions. Nod your head or shake it. Don't take the thermometer out of your mouth until I tell you to.'
He nodded his head, wondering what she was up to. He sure as hell didn't have any temperature, and what was bothering him wasn't likely to be on her list.
'Have you felt feverish? No? Headaches? Difficulty focussing your eyes or reading? Head colds? Stiff neck?' She went on and on. He answered no to each of her questions and began to be lulled into the routine.
She flipped over another page of the questionnaire. 'Have you been constipated or had any diarrhea?'
He blushed again, but shook his head.
'Have you had any difficulty urinating? Any blood or discharge in your urine?'
He turned a fiery red. No, he hadn't had any problems like that.
'Have you noticed any pain or discomfort when ejaculating?'
He thought he was going to faint. His ears had a roaring sound in them. He couldn't move his head one way or the other.
'Oh, I see. I'm embarrassing you. I'm sorry. You'll just have to answer the questions anyway. Have you noticed any pain when you ejaculate?'
Slowly unbelievingly, he shook his head no. He had never imagined such humiliation. Having her talk about him like that, like she was talking about him blowing his nose – it was just terrible. And the worst part about it was that his god damned cock was getting hard! He kept his hands at his side and tried to think of something else, anything, the seven deadly sins, something to keep him from getting a hard-on while he was standing there right in front of her.
'Good. Approximately how many times a week do you ejaculate, either through masturbation or wet dreams?'
The light in the room grew suddenly dim, and he swayed on his feet. He was definitely going to faint. She was asking him right to his face how many times he beat his meat! Holy Jesus! He'd rather die than answer a question like that!
'Oh, I'm sorry. You can't answer that with the thermometer in your mouth, can you? How silly of me.' Miss Ferguson smiled a radiant smile at him and took the thermometer out of his mouth. His mouth was so dry he could have spit cotton. If he was going to have a fever, it damned sure must have showed up then. He stood there like an utter fool with his mouth hanging open. His damned cock was swelling up like a bastard, stuck in his jockey shorts and aching like hell.
'Peter, you haven't answered my question.'
He snapped his mouth shut, then stammered, 'Uh, I don't know, uh, maybe once a month or so.' He lied, hoping that the answer would sound right. He didn't want her to think he was some kind of pin-headed, jerk-off artist.
Her eyebrows shot up in amazement. 'Once a month? That is very surprising. Perhaps we have touched upon what is bothering you. From your appearance, I would judge that you were sexually mature. A boy your age usually has to relieve his sexual tensions at least once a day if not far more frequently.'
He had fucked up again. Now, she was going to go on and on talking about sex while his cock got harder and harder until she couldn't help but see that he had a hard-on! Oh, God! How did he get himself into such messes?
She smiled at him coyly. 'Now, Peter, surely you must masturbate yourself more frequently than that, don't you? What do you boys call it – jerking off? Pounding your prick? Beating your meat?'
He felt that rushing in his ears and his head spinning. She just couldn't be saying those words! It just couldn't be happening!
'Tell the truth, now. Don't you beat off more than once a month?'
He resolved to stick with his lie. He shook his head.
'Don't you masturbate at all?'
He shook his head.
'You know there's nothing wrong with it. It won't grow hair on the palms of your hands or make you go blind, you know.'
He nodded his head. God, if it did that, he would have to shave his hands three times a day! He was completely speechless with embarrassment. Why wouldn't she shut up about jerking off and let him go back to his room so he could, well, jerk off!
'If you never masturbate, then your orgasm once a month must happen when you have a wet dream. Is that correct, Peter?'
She had him there. He guessed that it would be all right to admit that he had wet dreams. He nodded his head and hoped that she would let it go at that.
'Well, there we are!'
There we are, where? he thought.
'You don't have enough release from your sexual tensions. A young developing boy like you needs to relieve the pressure of the spasm building up in your testicles just as much as he needs to make sure that his bowels move regularly. That is why you are having so much trouble concentrating and are day dreaming so much.'
Mary Frances was delighted with the way she had conducted the interview. She had reduced the boy to a mass of quivering jelly, except, of course, for that fine-looking young cock that was about to bust his zipper wide open. She knew he had lied like a rug about jerking off like all the boys did.
But she was enjoying the way he was standing there in front of her, utterly dominated by her power, fidgeting around like a little boy and hoping that his hard prong wasn't showing through his pants. Oh, he needed some more sex all right, no joke about that.
'The solution to your problem is quite simple. You need to learn how to masturbate. I'm sure if you masturbated or beat your meat once or twice each night before going to bed, you would be able to sleep better and would be able to concentrate better in class.'
Holy Jesus! What was she going to pull now? His pecker?! Peter thought.
'Would you like me to call in Mr. Kristopoulos? I'm sure that he could show you the proper technique.'
Oh, no, he thought. He wasn't going to let that big Greek get his hands on his cock. Maybe he was wrong about the gym teacher anyway. Maybe he was a queer like most of them were. He shook his head vigorously.
'All right, then, I will respect your wishes. Take your pants off, please.'
He involuntarily cringed away from her. This dame was off her fucking mind!
