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Neither the artist nor the writer endorses or glorifies the events herein depicted, except for the valuable life philosophy. Play safe and enjoy.

"A Hard Lesson" by Lumi & Khaki

Mr. Carlisle is a weird one.

I don't mean that he's a sex freak. Unless you count him banging his student on the sly in the principal's office every two weeks. Obviously I don't consider that weird; if anything, he's one of my most mainstream clients.

Average guy, average body, average attitude, average dick and average appetite. He's not one for foreplay, and certainly not for surprises. The most exciting part of my biweekly sessions with Mr. Carlisle is guessing what position he'd like to do it in, and once he's nuzzled his dick under my tail (always wrapped neatly in a prophylactic) I can kind of just zone out until he's done.

And that's not poor customer service, I'll have you know! I've tried stuff. Dirty talk, pushing back, suggesting different positions, moaning, even the upsell, trying to convince him to ditch the rubber and enjoy me as nature intended. He just plain doesn't like it. He wants to get his dick inside me and do his thing till he gets off.

Sounds depressing, doesn't it? Sure it does. Except it ain't. See, you don't know Mr. Carlisle. I didn't, when we first struck our arrangement.

I'm a pretty decent student, and although History isn't my strong suit, my grades are fine. It helps that Mr. Carlisle's a good teacher; he's patient, clearly interested in what he's talking about, and he speaks as if what he's saying actually matters. After class he asked to see me later in the week, assured me there wasn't anything wrong, and when we met, over a cup of tea, he asked how long I'd been having sex for money.

Yeah. Way to lead with a softball, Mr. C. After he gave me a napkin for the tea I'd spit over my shirt he had this whole speech prepared about how he admired my entrepreneurial spirit - I've actually heard that line before a few times and I kinda dig it - and whether he could call on my services from time to time. Apparently he used to have an arrangement with a college dropout who had a habit of calling him 'daddy' during sex, which he didn't like, and who was involved in a drug bust, which was the last straw. So he'd been without sex for a few months, and it was starting to affect him.

It would take me quite a few sessions before I understood what he meant by that. I hope you're not surprised I took the deal, by the way. The money's good, he's a sane kinda guy, low-maintenance and when I consider some of the shit I let guys do to me for less money, a simple clothes-on-standing-up-twenty-five-minute fuck in the principal's office is positively relaxing. But what I came to understand about Mr. Carlisle is this: he has his shit together better than anyone I've ever met.

He lives alone. Once a month he has dinner with a diner's club he belongs to. His hobbies include restoring old rangefinder cameras, he takes evening classes in Italian and he goes on weekend trips to museums and libraries across the country in his old but reliable Citroën. You'd think this was a guy who's run away from every challenge and opportunity in his life and huddled quietly in the corner snuggling the security blanket of obscurity, a guy who tries to coast through life without conflict or thrill. You'd think that. You'd be so wrong.

Mr. Carlisle knows himself. That's really, really important to understand. "Know what you do and why you do it," as he puts it, that's his highest principle. He does what he likes doing and doesn't do what he doesn't like doing, and fuck, I should be damn lucky if I wind up as with-it as he is.

He knows what he needs. He needs to keep his mind busy, so he takes classes and reads books. He needs to contribute, so he teaches. He needs social contact, so he has hobbies and clubs. And he needs sex - and guys like me get his dick hard - so he hires me for it.

Every two weeks, either on Tuesday or Thursday, depending on the schedule of his Italian class, we have a session. The day before he lets me know where and when, and explains the plan. There's always a plan, see, because he likes to do it where we're not supposed to be doing it. Assuming, you know, there's actually an appropriate place in the world for a thirty-three-year-old teacher to bang a student.

He needs a little thrill in his life, and our sessions are his outlet. He's always meticulous about his planning, and I seriously think he spends a lot of time planning our sessions. It's never any place really seedy or outlandish, which suits me fine because it cuts down on the risk of actually encountering other clients with more lascivious tastes. Study rooms, janitor's closets, offices... He always has a plan to ensure our privacy, down to how we each enter and leave the building so nobody gets suspicious.

You'll notice I'm not saying much about what we're actually doing here or how it feels because, well, what you see is what you get. He's got his hands on my shoulders and his dick up my ass and that's about as intimate or intense as it gets. We snuck into the principal's office, he bent me over the desk, and he's about five minutes away from filling up his condom. He's even got a ziploc bag in his pocket to dispose of the rubber and the moist towelettes he'll clean us up with after he's done.

Mr. Carlisle's a man who has his life in balance, and works to maintain it. He doesn't let boredom, loneliness, or blue balls interfere with his life. He doesn't need a partner, he doesn't need to change the world and he sure as hell doesn't need to conform to anybody's idea of how a thirty something man should be spending his time. I admire the fuck out of that.

Sometimes I try to imagine him when he was my age. It's easy to assume he was always a bookish kind of guy and wore argyle sweaters since he was weaned off his mom's boob, but somehow I don't think so. I like to think he was a bad boy. An upstart punk, a rebel, who finally turned his life around when he learned some important lesson about himself. That makes sense to me. Nobody gets to be so comfortable with an ordinary life just because that's all they've ever known and they've never been brave enough to try other stuff. You have to choose it, and you can't choose something without trying the alternatives.

Aaand we're done. I'm still figuring out the right balance between acting like I enjoyed it and acting like I'm not acting; I really want him to be able to relax for a little bit after he's shot his load. Judging by the look on his face I still haven't quite figured it out. Oh well, I'll keep working on it. He pulls out, I pull my pants up, he disposes of the disposables and, just as planned, I leave the office before he does. He even gives me a wink and a pat on the ass on my way out. Nothing condescending, just his way of showing his appreciation for a job well done.

We don't hang around to chat, we'll catch up later in the week. Forty-five minutes since I arrived. One of the longer sessions, actually. I've got the whole evening ahead of me, money in my wallet, and since these sessions don't really require much on my part, there's no problem if I've got another client or two scheduled afterward.

Not tonight, though. Tonight, I'll just hit the books, have dinner with dad and get some sleep. There's nothing at all wrong with that, and that's something I learned from Mr. Carlisle. You don't lose out on life by doing ordinary stuff or fulfilling obligations, you don't miss out on intense life experiences by being an ordinary student. As long as you know what you do, and why you do it.

Some days that means I sell my tail because I like it and I make good money. Today, it means I finish up my homework, because I have a history assignment due tomorrow.

Story by yours truly; artwork is by Lumi. If you'd like to drop him a line, you can do here!