That's What I Go to School For: Chapter 1
Chapter One
Five minutes before the first session of my senior class on American government is set to begin, Principle McGuiness walks into the office.
Ears are perking up all over the classroom from the moment the collie's sharp honey-coloured muzzle pokes around the corner, as students invariably sit up straight in interest or slouch back in the lethargy of a late-August afternoon. It's my first day at Fort Greening High, so I have to deduce from my classmates' behaviour that it's not common for the Principle to visit classes. He walks to the teacher's desk, standing in front of a fan someone has put there, letting it blow onto his torso. The breeze ruffles the lower part of his shirt where it covers an ample paunch, giving the class an unwanted view of his belly.
Let's just clear the air by saying that no kid or no, I'm no fan of Principle McGuiness. Fort Greening High has a policy requiring every new student to meet with the Principle, for no apparent purpose other than to allow him opportunity to discern, by means only obvious to himself, whether the new kid is likely to be a troublemaker, or whether he or she is the kind of exceptionally brilliant student who'll win scholarships and bring prestige to the school. Last week I had to go in - along with Aunt Iris, since my parents are back in Japan by now - and be subjected to an assortment of questions about my educational history, or what I intended to do after graduation, an interview which seemingly has had little effect other than to convince Principle McGuiness that if I bring anything to Fort Greening, it will not be prestige.
Probably it was my age that made him decide I was nothing impressive. See, my parents are both career Air Force, which I suppose makes me an example of the stereotypical military brat. As a child I got dragged around from Air Force base to Air Force base, never spending more than two or three years at the same school, which might be anywhere from Germany to Alaska to Louisiana. You can imagine how a life like that would make it difficult to establish or maintain lasting friendships.
Anyway. I digress. But the result of being pulled from school to school, frequently uprooted, occasionally during term, is that I'm behind; I'm at the age at which most people are ready to start college and I don't have all the credits necessary to graduate. So last spring my parents decided that in order to ensure I remained at one school long enough to complete an entire senior year, I would be sent to live with dad's sister, Aunt Iris, who lives in Fort Greening, Wyoming - population 2,174.
Yeah. After a childhood traveling to exotic locations, I've been deposited in nondescript ranching town in the middle of the emptiest state in the union. I am sure my reaction is not hard to guess.
Most of what few friends I have are off moving into dorms or finishing boot camp, and yet here I am, 18 and still not done with high school, stuck with a bunch of people younger than me in a boring town no one cares of. So I suppose when Principle McGuiness met me he saw, rather than someone disadvantaged by circumstance, a lacklustre talentless punk who'd wasted time earlier in high school and was now being sufficiently punished by exile. I can feel his gaze on me still, weighing me, and finding me wanting.
Alright, alright, enough bitching. So there's McGuiness, a dumpy middle-aged collie in a sweaty blue shirt, enjoying the caress of the fan. He clears his throat, sending a scathing gaze over the class. "Good afternoon, students of government," he undulates, with that kind of wrinkled-nose expression one gets when scenting something unpleasant. "I regret to inform you we have had a rather last minute change of staff for this class."
A few pairs of ears remain perked, but my interest immediately deserts me; I could care less about which teacher will walk through the door in a few minutes. Slouching back in my seat, I express this by rolling my eyes at Riley, the coyote just to my left.
Riley Halliday, a skinny coyote some months younger than me, is the only other gay kid in Fort Greening, a fact of which we are quite certain. I met him over a month ago when Aunt Iris had me drive out to the Halliday ranch to pick up some vegetables she had been promised from Mrs Halliday's enormous and productive garden. I'd drove down a winding drive with a cottonwood-tree lined creek on one side and open fields of grain on the other, which lead up to an aged farmhouse painted yellow, around which were planted several maples. My knock on the door had been answered by the lady in question, who informed me her son, who was already in the garden, would give me the veggies Aunt Iris had requested.
When I walked out to the garden, which sprawled over several acres behind the back yard, I had only to meet Riley's eyes before both he and I knew that we shared a certain gift, or curse, depending upon your perspective, that set us in distinction from other men.
I belong to the "it's a gift" faction, just saying.
How it is exactly that some gay guys can pick each other out by sight, I can't even try to explain. Anyhow, Riley was out there picking zucchinis with a Monacan exchange student, a vixen, who had arrived, I learned, just the day before. In the following weeks I've determined these two are the decentest sort of people one can expect to find in a place like Fort Greening.
The vixen, Bianca DiCarlo, is seated to my right, and by the disdainful flick of her ears, seems to share my disinterest in Principle McGuiness. At least, I think, this is the last class of the day. Up front, the Principle has been explaining why the usual government teacher cannot complete his obligation: "....so we will wish Mr O'Rourke a swift recovery. You should all be grateful you have never experienced double meningitis." The relish with which McGuiness details the downfall of the unfortunate Mr O'Rourke does not lend impressions of genuinely to his expression of sympathy.
Boredom now reigns through the classroom. Even with the fans on and windows open, the hot, dry August air hangs heavy about us. Riley is panting. Bianca is doodling a sketch of a fox playing a saxophone. "Accordingly, this year senior American Government will be taught by a new teacher," continues Principle McGuiness, "a man who grew up near here, in fact. He's been away a long time serving in the US Marines, so I hope you all give him a hero's welcome." He glances at his watch. "Well, that's all. I hope to hear good things about you all from Lieutenant Falkland."
No one claps or responds. We watch with a vague sense of relief as the Principle makes his exit. The door bangs awkwardly as he leaves.
Behind me I can hear a classmate's poorly disguised "new teacher sounds like a stiff." Riley and Bianca have clearly already forgotten about the Principle's message. "Want to go tubing in the river later?" Riley says. He's still panting, the long coyote muzzle open shamelessly. "This heat fucks."
"Sure dude," I reply carelessly, although the idea is not without appeal. Perhaps the new teacher will let us off early.
Bianca starts chewing on the end of her pencil. "If this heat keeps up I'll just swim without my top," she says.
I shrug. "Doesn't bother me."
The vixen's wry "that's the point," is interrupted by the squeak of the door. Ears prick up, tails swish, muzzles cease their panting, and my gaze swings from Bianca to the figure who's just walked through the door...
They say the only people who believe in love at first sight are those who have themselves experienced it. In one split second I become a fervent believer.
The new teacher is an Alsatian, the most gorgeous Alsatian I've ever seen. He's a tall fellow, perhaps in his early thirties, with black fur, which must be ghastly hot in this heat, though if he's fazed at all, he doesn't show it. He's got a black Stetson cowboy hat perched between the tall Alsatian ears, and his lanky form is clad in a white short-sleeve button up shirt with little blue anchors all over it, and worn black jeans. The short sleeves are spread by bulging biceps, and so is the front of his shirt, stretched tight over obvious muscles. I swallow. My apathy vanishes as if it had never existed.
He has a deliciously masculine jawline and the typical squarish Alsatian muzzle, but the perfection of his face is marred - or perhaps enhanced - by an eye-patch covering his left-eye. I guess this injury is what lead him to leaving the Marines. I am convinced it just makes him look all the sexier.
Oh and yes, I do look at his groin. The fabric of his close-fitting jeans is distended in front at an extent that is excitingly suggestive of something sizable within. My cock throbs into semi-erect anticipation in seconds.
His single eye sweeps over us in that kind of cool assessment of a general surveying troops, or perhaps, enemy forces. The colour of his eye is a brilliant green.
A thin smile spreads our new teacher's face. Then, he turns, and reaches for a piece of chalk, stepping up to the blackboard.
Damn, he has a stunning ass. His jeans aren't quite skinny jeans, but nonetheless they're tight enough to provide near-perfect definition of a rounded bubble butt. Of course army guys have to stay fit, but this dude obviously works out more than most, because his ass looks divine, and let me tell you, being an ass man, I've been accessing men's behinds from the time I realised played for the other team. I stare at it like a starving man staring at a feast, and I think: I'm in love.
New teacher is writing something on the board in neat, precise letters. Without even entirely knowing what I'm doing, I push myself out of my seat. My paws clasp around my notebooks and the required text. My tail plumes out as I stand, push the chair back, and walk to the front row.
I grab an empty front row seat and slide into the chair. There's a scrambling sound of hindpaws on floorboards, and Riley slides into the chair next to me, his perked ears and raised eyebrow asking "what the fuck?" On my other side, Bianca has just dropped a ten-dollar bill in the lap of the girl presently sitting in the chair to my right. I am too occupied in visually undressing the Alsatian to pay much attention to whether her bribe goes over well.
A moment later the Alsatian turns back to face us. He has written on the board WILFRID FALKLAND. The one eye turns its gaze on myself and my friends, now in the front row. "We couldn't see well enough back there," I say, grinning adoringly.
An almost imperceptible tightening of his mouth is the only response. My new crush's gaze swings back to address the class. "Did you know that in Berkeley, California, it is illegal to whistle to your pet canary before 7am in the morning?"
The class is entirely silent save for panting. Personally I think it's the most beautiful thing anyone's ever said to me. If all was right in the world his voice would be the narrator's on every documentary movie or recorded book made from this point on. I want to replay it over and over.
"Or, perhaps you may not be aware that a town in Iowa elected a donkey as their mayor," he continues. The solitary eye flicks over us as he speaks in his calm, clear voice, seemingly taking in every single one of us.
His tail swishes as he slowly walks back and forth in front of the board. "Or, has anyone ever told you that the founding fathers considered inviting the brother of the King of Prussia to become America's first monarch?"
I'm mesmerised. His every move is perfection. Probably my tongue is lolling out, probably it's ridiculously obvious, but I couldn't care less, all I want to do is watch him, and hear that magical voice waltz on and on.
He stops in front of the desk, though his tail swishes ever so slightly. "Now, the story of the creation of our national government, and the study of its organisation and responsibilities, is not all constructed of surprising trivia questions. But my point in beginning with them is to suggest that study of our government need not be entirely a dull and pointless endeavour."
My mind is racing. I want to ask him out. I briefly recollect the last date I went on, with the son of another Air Force Officer, at the base in Louisiana, though in that case he asked me out. We had dinner, watched a movie, and never did anything together again. He was a silly boy compared to this Adonis before me.
As Lieutenant Falkland - no, Wilfrid. If I'm going to get him to go on a date with me I'll want to think of him on more intimate terms than by title. Wilfrid is finishing up his introduction as I run through an impulse selection of possible intros: "Mr Falkland, can I ask you out?" Get right to the point, a military guy like him would appreciate directness.
"On that subject, please throw away that textbook the school provided you. You're here to learn and enhance the thinking abilities of your mind. Dry texts have the opposite affect." He smiles like a movie star at a blockbuster opening. "Instead we'll be reading mostly original documents and watching some movies and videos of congressional meetings and the like."
No, that's not going to work. After all, I'm just a student. Just another name on the list of students he was no doubt given this morning by Principle McGuiness. If I'm going to have any chance I have to plan it well. I have to use my clever fox scheming powers, if any such actually exist, to win him over in time.
As it is, I spend the entire class only half-absorbing the lesson. I'm too busy admiring Wilfrid's incredible good looks and hypnotic voice to really focus on learning. He's not one of those teachers who flit all over the room during the lecture; every move of his flawless body seems, though it's probably just my imagination, perfectly calculated and planned. The big ears are always perked, though they may flick occasionally; the black tail swishes occasionally, particularly when he says something witty; when he does walk, that bubble butt I can't ignore flexes within his tight jeans. My eyes are ever drawn to the square jaw, or the bulge in his jeans. Briefly I envision him bending me over a bed.
It's the first time in my life I'm terribly sorry when a class is over.
I take as long as I dare to pack up my notebooks. Riley and Bianca have their eyes on me, it must be incredibly obvious the depth of my obsession, but I can't help it, my eyes keep flicking back to the dashing Alsatian. I don't want to leave, but finally I stand. He's got his back to me, cleaning the blackboard. I stare at his ass and imagine jerking down his jeans and pushing my muzzle into his butt.
My eyes stay on his butt as I walk to the door, but just as I step through the door, he glances my way. "Victor Ramsey, the new kid?" How he knows this I have no idea, since I did not speak in class, and he did not take role.
"Yes," I pant, wondering if he finds foxes attractive. That he likes males I haven't even bothered to question. It's not a matter of wondering if he likes other men, it's a matter of getting him to desire me.
Wilfrid nods. "Have a good day, Mr Ramsey."
"You too, Sir," I say, wanting to ask him out, but my courage fails me, and with a wag of my tail I rush off into the hall. My heart is thudding a thousand miles an hour. My eyes feel wider open than they ever have before in my life.
I'm in love.
Bianca and Riley are waiting for me outside. Their perked ears, lifted tails, and expectant expressions show they quite obliviously know what's wrong with me.
"I'm going to get him to go on a date with me," I say. "And that's only the beginning."
"It was dreadfully obviously to everyone in class that you're smitten," says Bianca, amused.
"He's the most beautiful man I've ever seen," I continue. A warm afternoon breeze blows across the parking lot as students begin to drive home.
"He's well over a decade older than you!" Riley points out.
"I moved up to the front because I wanted the best view of his ass," I admit.
"He may not even be gay," Riley insists as we get into his pickup. I glance around the parking lot for any sign of the Alsatian, but he's not come out of the school yet.
"I could be everything he's dreamed of," I whisper dreamily as we back out of the lot.
"You should have taken a photo," Bianca mutters wryly, rolling down the window.
"I want to kiss him," I tell them. "I'll make him feel like a man."
Riley rolls his eyes. "You need help."
What I need to do is very clear to me. "I need to come up with a plan," I say. Befriend him, grow closer, build a relationship, then reveal my affections, go on a date, go on another date, go to bed with him, bury my face in that fantastic ass....
"What this reminds me of," Riley says, "is that song - you know, the one about the kid who keeps obsessing over his teacher - Miss McKenzie." He pulls his iPhone out of his pocket and tosses it to Bianca. I'm sitting in the middle, between them. "Find that song and play it for loverboy here."
Bianca flicks through the iPhone's music selection, and a song starts playing.
I've heard Busted's hit before, but it has never felt so relatable before. We roll out of town, past the city limits, in the direction I know leads to Riley's favourite swimming hole, which will no doubt feel lovely on a hot day such as this, but at the moment I hardly care. All my mind is capable of doing is replaying ever moment of the class, and accumulating ideas of how I might find my way into Wilfrid Falkland's arms. I imagine walking paw in paw with him...staring into each other's eyes over a fancy dinner...snuggling on a rainy evening...him walking up to a bed on which I lay with my tail raised...
When the song finishes, Riley and Bianca are both nodding. "Definitely you," the vixen says.
"I know. And I'll get him, just like the singer gets Miss McKenzie," I state confidently.
Riley parks the car under some trees by the riverside. The river looks delightfully inviting. I wonder if Wilfrid likes swimming. Preferably nude. "You need help," Riley repeats again, but with a tone of amusement. Our tails are wagging as we pile out of the pickup.
We shed shirts and shorts and underwear quickly and splash into the water, naked as babies. Riley and I are gay, and Bianca's a foreigner, so none of us have the typical qualms about nudity. "That's true," Bianca agrees mournfully. "You do need our help, if you're going to get him into bed with you."
Riley checks himself mid-dive, and comes up sputtering, shaking water everywhere, with ears askance. "What? You're supporting this madness?" he gasps, in mock horror.
The vixen shrugs. "He's hooked beyond hope. Besides, I rather like a challenge."
I glance from each of my friends. "I know I can do it." Actually I don't, but confidence never hurt anyone. "I bet you I'll be dining on his ass by Halloween. I'll make him thinking moving to Fort Greening was the best thing ever happened to him."
"Do take some photos for us when you do that," Riley tells me.
"At very least invite us to your wedding," adds Bianca in a tone of sarcasm. "Now let's drift off before we melt."
Wilfrid's perfect smile seems imprinted in my mind for all eternity, and as I wade deeper into the water, a terrific smile spreads across my muzzle. My floofy fox tail thwaps the water. Suddenly, moving to Fort Greening seems not a tragedy but a wonderful twist of good luck.