Part 3 - Gentlemen, Meet Your New Teacher

Part 3 - Gentlemen, Meet Your New teacher

This story relates how I morphed from being straight as a ruler to being bisexual. These events happened in spring '03. While I obviously can't remember every detail, the basic story is true. I've added detail where it was needed. If you haven't read parts one and two, you should before reading this or it won't make much sense.

I'd spent most of the day lounging, napping, watching TV, picking at my Statics homework. Mitchell had gone out for a couple of errands. By the time he got back that evening, the sun was rapidly waning in the western sky.

He flopped down next to me, tossing the plastic sack between us. "I picked up a new suit for tonight, Trevor. I grabbed you one too if you want it." He pulled a small piece of cloth from the bag and tossed it to me.

"Nice," I said, spreading it out in the air before me, a skimpy nylon swimsuit-type piece, mostly black but with red stripes cleverly accentuating the groin. "Where'd you find this thing?"

"That specialty store on Washington. They each set me back a C-note but the salesman absolutely convinced me. See those zippers?"

"Yeah." I undid the zippers and tugged. The entire skin of the suit unwrapped and pulled off with some cleverly-hidden snaps, leaving behind a gossamer gauze-like black remnant shaped like a man's bikini. My fingers were easily distinguishable through both layers. I noted that the cloth just turned opaque along a narrow strip in the middle of the back side, and the front pouch seemed to be made of slightly darker material. I tried to visualize the sense of mystery it would create in just the right spots "God, that's awesome. We may as well be fucking naked." I started trying to put the pieces back together and fumbled. "Fuck, it isn't meant to go together quickly, is it?"

Mitch chuckled at my discomfiture. "No, you better hope your mom doesn't walk into the room." He stood and started away. "I'm going to go get ready. We'll have to go across to the other side of the city, so we'd better leave about eight."

"Cool." I finally started making headway on the suit as Mitchell bounded up the stairs. Managing at last to get it reassembled, I stood and started up the stairs towards the bathroom. Mitch was just emerging from his room, nude, with a towel over his shoulder. He waited at the bathroom door while I grabbed my shaver. On the way out, I punched him in the chest. "An hour of showering wasn't enough for you?" He ignored me.

Getting ready to strip always takes so damn much time, I thought. I stepped into my room and removed my shorts and t-shirt and stared into my closet. Always tough to look good in clothes you're willing to sacrifice; as often as not you don't walk out of that situation with them. Chicks dig their mementos. We didn't have special outfits for stripping; that would be a little obvious to our parents.

At length I selected a plain black tight silk t-shirt and a pair of washed-out jeans with one ripped knee. Nothing fancy; after all we were, strictly speaking, amateurs. I tossed the clothes on the bed then reached into the drawer and pulled out a braided hemp twine necklace, nice macho-looking clay beads woven into the pattern, fastening it snugly around my neck.

Looking in the mirror, I grabbed my shaver and quickly brushed away the touch of five o'clock shadow that had accumulated, also taking out the small patch of stubble that had formed on my chest.

I pulled on my selected clothes, starting with the new suit Mitch had brought home, carefully assuring that everything was square and in place. I sprayed some hairspray on to keep my hair from going wild and sticking up with movement. I threw my normal supplies in a gym bag, an extra set of clothes, wallet, cell phone, a couple other things I might need

I checked the clock. Ten to eight. I made my way downstairs into the kitchen. A sandwich would be nice to have before taking off.

Mitch had already had a similar idea and was munching hungrily on something. "So who's gonna haul more tonight?"

"You," I answered. "This bunch always likes you more."

He gave me a boyish grin, "You're so resigned to it."

"Yeah, tell me who usually hauls more," I shot back.

Mitch took a huge bite and mumbled through a mouthful of food, "Mmmfff mm mff."

I laughed and started grabbing stuff out of the fridge. We chatted about nothing as we ate, finishing up and cleaning the mess. The oven clock declared 8:02. "Time to jet, Trevor."

Acknowledging, we gathered our things and headed out. We decided we'd take my car, and I started the engine, flipping on the headlights as the dusk darkened.

The trip was uneventful. The target address was a townhouse on the opposite end of the city. Rich neighborhood. Five minutes before we got there, Mitch pulled his floppy dick out and started stroking it. "Fluffing already?" I asked him. He shrugged nonchalantly.

A few months after we'd started stripping, Mitch figured out that a friend of his was a professional stripper and started milking him for advice. He had given a lot of good pointers. For example, never have sex with the women. Your allure came from the fact that you were mysterious, you were a fantasy. You have sex with just one of them, and word spreads like wildfire. No more image. Appointments and money dry up.

Another pointer we took to heart involved surgical tubing. If you tie a piece of rubber snugly around your package after you get hard, your cock won't shrink all the way. The trick is to tie it just loose enough that you can stand it for a couple hours yet tight enough to keep your member in a permanently enlarged but flexible condition. It took some practice, but by now we could do it in our sleep.

As I parked in the appropriate driveway, I took a closer look at the massive homes around us. Opulent, spacious, these were houses of the elite. The adults were aloof and the children were pampered, most of them never having had to make do with generic-brand tennis shoes or secondhand clothing. I smiled to myself. I got a perverse pleasure from bilking these people. This would be fun.

Beside me, Mitchell was gingerly adjusting the rubber in his groin. As he zipped his pants back up, I pulled my own penis from its place. He looked at it, then at me and grinned. "Why don't you let me do that," he said.

I smiled back and reclined the seat some, giving him room. I thought he would use his hands, but he surprised me as his face moved to my groin, and his warm mouth engulfed my soft member.

It didn't take long. When my cock was hard, Mitch produced another piece of rubber tubing and started pulling it snugly around my package. "Say when," he said. I did, and he expertly looped the tubing in place and tucked the ends into their places.

He sat back in his chair and I zipped up my pants. I glanced at the clock on the dash. "Ready to make some cash, Mitch?"

"Let's do it." We exited the car and made our way up the walkway to the huge front door. As we walked, the thumping sound of music wafted towards us from the home. We transformed with every step, setting aside our scruples, carefully folding and hiding our modesty. We were different people on these occasions, all man and sex and smooth. I rang the bell when we reached the entrance, and we waited for a few seconds until a woman with long black hair opened the door.

She smiled when she saw us, and opened the door. "Come in."

We followed her towards the main room. "So, what are we celebrating tonight, Molly?" Mitch asked our hostess. These were regulars, and it's always good to remember names.

"A birthday," she said. "Her name is Becky. She's 21."

We flaunted our carefully developed and cultivated attitude, smiling and winking and waving at the young women we passed. As we entered the main room, Molly called out, "The entertainment's here, girls!" As if on cue, sixty eyes turned toward us, the music suddenly changed to a sultry, hyperactive beat, the lighting dimmed, and I took in the room in a moment. It was huge, two stories tall, with a rock wall on one side. Colored spotlights had been set up in the corner, and were flashing right and left and around in rhythmic patterns. A girl in a halter-top and headphones stood behind a rack of electronic equipment, speakers flanking her on every side, her hands flying busily over the controls. As I watched, smoke started issuing across the floor. Above, a balcony curved all the way across the room, several smiling faces staring down from the railing, broad stairs coursing down to the right. More faces, twenty or thirty, cluttered the room in front of me. Some I recognized, remembered a few names. Others I didn't, their eyes wide at our welcome intrusion.

I slid behind Molly and put my mouth to her ear. "This is good, Molly. Nice work." And it was. She'd made this party rock for these girls, and they were going to be generous. I watched the side of her face rise in a smile, and I slid my arms up hers to her shoulders, tickling her ear lobe with my tongue.