Miss Finchley Bent Over
It was all Miss Finchley's fault.
Seventh period, American history, and in his mind Xander
was already through for the day, out of the building and
long gone, leaving dead presidents and constitutional
reform behind him. Then Miss Finchley, pacing the rows
between the desks as she always did, dropped her pointer
next to him.
And bent over to retrieve it.
Leaving him staring squarely at her tweed-skirted buttocks,
just inches away.
And the sight - oh horror of horrors - gave him a hard-on.
Miss Finchley was about 100 years old. Miss Finchley had
grey frizzy hair and support hose and orthopedic shoes and
teeth stained with years of English Breakfast Tea and a
voice like a cartoon crow.
And Xander still had a hard-on.
He squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. They'd told them
all back in 7th-grade health class that stuff like this
happened, their hormones acting independently of their
brains. It didn't have to mean that he was a creepy loser
with some kind of sicko support-hose-and-tweed-fetish.
People should just know better than to bend over around
him, at least until he was in his twenties. Bending over
was an inherently sexual act to an adolescent boy. Just
like walking up stairs in a short skirt in front of him,
or leaning back languorously to drain the last drops from a
coke bottle, or extending a leg into the aisle to stretch
during class, or... well, just about any damn thing,
really. He was not in control here. They should all know
better. All of them with their legs and their necks and
their skin and their breasteseses --
And then Miss Finchley was standing upright again and
looking at Xander funny and he was sure he was red in the
face, and he was trying desperately to beam thoughts in
her direction that were all to do with history, American
history and guys with long hair and tights and no thoughts
at all about bending over and erections.
Xander tried to imagine the least sexual thing he could,
which turned out to be Giles handing him an enormous stack
of dusty leather-bound books to read, only the image came
to life in his mind and Giles had to bend over to put the
books on the table in front of him and oh my god, maybe he
did have a tweed fetish, because the thought of Giles
bending over only made him harder.
Not just a tweed fetish but a gay tweed fetish. And that
inevitably made him think of Larry, big gay Larry bending
over, big gay Larry bending him over, and all the blood
was rapidly leaving his brain and yes, this was definitely
a wiggins he was now having. A big gay wiggins. He had to
get out of there.
"MissIhavetogo" he blurted as he stood up abruptly, pulling
his baggy sweater as low as it could go and keeping his
body bent forward in a kind of caveman hunch,
"Havetogoto-" and he was out the door, knocking someone's
books to the ground with a tremendous crash, before he
even finished the sentence, Miss Finchley staring after
him in astonishment. Miss Finchley, who bent over and made
gay, and at some level he knew that thought wasn't logical,
but the door to the bathroom was almost in sight and all he
wanted to do was get there so he could at least have his
big gay wiggins in private and not in front of the whole
Sunnydale High world in three foot high flaming,
yes,flaming gay letters.
Only the bathroom door swung open just as he got to it and
he was going too fast to stop himself before he crashed
into the boy coming out, and he found himself gaping down
into a familiar face with slightly mascara'd eyes.
"Xand-man," said Oz, unperturbed, "What's - " and his eyes
flickered momentarily to Xander's crotch, "up?"
Xander turned even redder and before he could think he
blurted out, "I think Miss Finchley made me gay."
Oz appeared to ponder the thought for a moment, then
nodded, and said, "Yeah, that can happen. You'd better
come with me." There was such quiet certainty to his voice
that Xander followed without question.
Oz led him out the back door and through the parking lot to
his van, where he opened the back doors and motioned Xander
in ahead of him. "Dev?" he said to what looked like a pile
of blankets in the corner, and the blankets stirred and
revealed a sleepy Devon in tight red jeans and nothing else.
"Xander thinks Miss Finchley may have made him gay," said
Oz seriously, closing the door behind him.
"Well," said Devon, stretching, "I guess we'd better check
and see if he's right about that," and in one economical
movement he undid his jeans and shucked them off.
Xander gaped at him, standing there all naked, and tanned,
and smooth, with a dense patch of hair around his cock and
surprisingly large nipples and naked, his cock now lazily
in his hand, and when he turned to look at Oz for an
explanation he found Oz also in the process of shedding his
vintage Husker Du T-shirt and jeans.
"Do you find our masculine nudity intriguing or arousing?"
asked Oz, and then Devon was right in front of him, his
hands undoing Xander's pants and then reaching inside.
"Are you fantasizing about women as I do this?" added Devon
as his cool hand took hold of Xander's hard cock. Xander,
speechless, could only shake his head because, well, he
And then they were both pulling him to the floor with them
into a naked heap of boy, and when Oz said, "How do you
think you'd react to the suggestion that you suck my
cock?" he gaped at him some more but didn't resist when
Oz gently guided his head down and.
There was a penis there!
A penis firmly attached to Oz and firm, definitely firm in
its own right and it occurred to Xander that things were
moving awfully quickly, and it also occurred to Xander
that Devon's hands were still really, really busy in every
last one of Xander's no-no-well, all right-yes-god-yes!
places, and finally it occurred to Xander that thinking
could only get him into further trouble.
Open mouth, see what happened.
Well, that happened, and oh, interesting and saltier than
his own and complete with a beringed hand in his hair that
felt just weird enough to blow all of Xander's remaining
"Mmm, Xander. Yeah. I definitely think this should help you
make up your mind."
Snickering from somewhere behind him and Devon was doing...
something to Xander's balls and also licking his spine
and it was all Xander could do to focus on no-teeth and
lots-of-tongue and every other porno hint he'd
inadvertently picked up over the years of apparent of
sexual confusion because, hey, it's just not every day you
wind up cutting eighth period trigonometry
to suck cock.
Eyes suddenly wide with the fact of it, or maybe with the
feel of Devon's hands on his ass, spreading him open and
touching and teasing and --
"Oz, man, do you know anybody else we can send to Finchley
for sudden sexuality problems? You know, with asses like
-- slipping in just the tip of a finger and Xander tensed
all over --
"Dev, were I not getting such a spectacular amateur
blowjob, I'd probably be disappointed in you for being so
"Why do you think I waited 'til now to ask?"
-- relaxed into it, suddenly way too hot and aware of his
body as something... something that could be used --
"Helpful, Dev, helpful. Not evil."
"Right, right... So I probably shouldn't tease him too
-- harder and harder to focus, do anything but hold on to
the base of Oz's cock and fuck his mouth on it, numb and
raw at the same time and --
"I think our focus should be on orgasms at the moment. For
example, I myself am currently highly focused on the
orgasm I'll have if Xander does that thing with his tongue
"No, the other -- fffffuck."
Just enough warning for Xander to pull back a little, catch
it on his tongue, his cheek, his throat. Felt himself
flushed bright red and hard enough to just ache and Oz
was petting him, leaning in to lick him clean and share
the taste. Impossibly sexual, like Xander had just aged
about ten years in the last fifteen
minutes without warning. Or the rest of the world had.
Who decided he was ready for this?
Devon's hand on his cock more than enough answer for that.
"Mmm. My turn, Xand-man..."
Pushed down on his back, clothes pushed, pulled, tugged and
nearly torn out of the way. Naked on the cluttered floor of
the van, Devon over him and Oz off to the side, doing the
inscrutable thing while Devon stared at him like dinner.
"Hey Xand. This next exercise involves nudity. Have we got
"I'd say you've got it covered, Dev."
"It also involves a lot of togetherness. Now if you just
spread your legs a little... yeah, like that. And hmm.
Yeah, Just sort of wrap that leg over mine and ohhhh
Xander managed a moan.
"After that, you've pretty much got humping. You up for
some humping, Xand?"
And Xander was being kissed, thoroughly, with only their
tongues as a real reference point because God, all that
skin and their cocks rubbing together like some awful
boy scout joke and they had to be rocking the van and Oz
watching it all, lighting up a joint and smiling with that
amusement thing he did and Xander thrusting up and up with
everything he was worth.
Orgasm this gorgeously well-defined thing just over the
horizon. Tightens his leg around one long, leanly muscled
thigh and kisses back. That he can do, and, hell, this
he can do. Kicking ass at gay sex for beginners, rolling
onto their sides and getting hold of Devon's ass and
squeezing, pulling him closer, driving against him until
Devon was just panting against his throat, hands all over
Xander's back and moaning dirty impossible promises into
his skin and faster.
Oz's gaze like a weight.
So fucking good.
Xander came groaning and shuddering, holding on to Devon
like the last solid thing in the universe, too dazed to do
anything but be ridden through Devon's own orgasm before
just collapsing among the discarded clothes and other
Life just one giant Wow.
When he finally regained some semblance of rationality,
Devon and Oz were both looking at him inquiringly. "Well?"
He took stock. He was naked in the back of the van, sweaty
and exhausted and clearly, yes, very, very gay. But there
was one more question in his mind. "Um, I think so, but...
do you guys have anything made of tweed?"