Chapter 10

The rest of the weekend flew and Monday morning Sandra took Peter to school. They went to Administration where she handed over papers saying the court gave her temporary custody of Peter. Sandra waited for Peter to be shooed off to his first class before she explained to the school administrator that Peter’s mother had abused him and was in jail awaiting prosecution and his father, when contacted on his ship, didn’t want anything to do with his son.

Peter walked through the halls to his first period class. No one intentionally bumped into him or tripped him. No one called him a name. It was as if he were invisible. However, when he entered his classroom and headed to his desk, the teacher noticed him.

“May I help you?” the teacher asked.

“Um, no, Miss Harding,” Peter said in a nervous voice that cracked.

“What are you doing in my classroom?”

All eyes were on Peter. He wanted to crawl into a hole. As good as he had felt over the weekend, that’s how bad he now felt. He was once again the center of everyone’s scorn. Peter hung his head and froze.

“Answer me, young man. What are you doing in my classroom?”

Peter looked up and stared at his teacher through watery eyes. In a timid voice, he said, “I’m Peter Waxler.”

Miss Harding studied Peter and then said, “Well, I’ll be damned!” She turned to the class. “You didn’t hear that.” Turning back to Peter, she said, “Okay, Peter, take your seat.”

Whispers filled the classroom with all eyes on Peter. He cowered at his desk, shoulders slumped, head bowed. The morning had begun famously, but now he realized new clothes and a new haircut wasn’t going to change anything. To everyone, he was the same person they had picked on.

Word of Peter’s change swept through the school like a wildfire on a windy day. By lunch time, the shoving and name calling and general cruelty was back. His life at school was as bleak as ever.

When Sandra got home from work, Madison was in the kitchen having cookies and milk.

“Where’s Peter?” Sandra asked.

“In his room, I think. He didn’t want a snack after school.”

Sandra went to Peter’s room and knocked softly on the closed door. When there was no answer, she knocked harder.

“Can I come in?” Sandra asked.

No answer.

“Are you all right?”

Still no answer.

Sandra tested the door. It wasn’t locked. She opened the door slowly to find Peter sitting on the side of the bed, bent over with his elbows on his knees and his face buried in his hands. Sandra entered the room, closed the door behind her, and sat next to him.

“What’s the matter?” Sandra asked.

Peter shrugged without uncovering his face.

“Did something happen at school?”

Another shrug. She also heard a sniffle. She draped an arm over his shoulders and pulled him to her body.

“We agreed to be open with each other,” Sandra said. “Tell me what happened.”

“I got picked on.”

“Because of your clothes or new haircut?”

“Because they hate me.”

“What did you do when they picked on you?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing! You just took it?”

Peter nodded against her shoulder. Sandra placed a finger under Peter’s chin and tilted his head up. Then she pulled his hands off his tear streaked face.

“You have to learn to stand up for yourself,” Sandra said. “Be a man.”

“I’m not a man. I’m Baby-boy.”

“Who says?”

“Mommy.”

“She’s wrong. You’re not a baby. You’re a young man.”

“I don’t feel like a man. Giving me new clothes doesn’t make me a man. Put a dress on a pig and what do you get? Not a girl. It’s still a pig.”

“Well, that’s the problem. You’re lacking confidence.”

“How can I be confident? I’m a loser. Everyone at school knows it. Mommy knows it. Only you don’t. What do I have to be confident about?”

A thought popped into Sandra’s head.

“You’re a great kisser,” she said.

“You’re just saying that.”

“I mean it. I keep thinking about the time you kissed me and how much I enjoyed it. It was one of the best kisses of my life. A real man’s kiss.”

Sandra was lying, but she needed to do whatever it took to build Peter’s confidence. He was right. New clothes wouldn’t do it.

The despair on Peter’s face was replaced with skepticism. He studied the woman who had been so kind to him. A woman like no other in his life. The others had teased him, made fun of him, laughed at him, hurt him. Miss Huxley wasn’t like them. He loved her more than he had ever loved anyone.

“Do you really mean it?” Peter asked.

“Yes, I really do.”

Peter cupped Sandra’s cheeks. Her eyes opened in surprise, but her breath caught when he pressed his lips to hers. That wasn’t expected. So when his tongue entered her gaping mouth and touched her tongue, her first instinct was to move her tongue out of the way, pressing it against the inside of her cheek. Peter’s wagging tongue searched for and found it. The shock had worn off so Sandra kissed his tongue back. She placed a hand on the back of his head when the kiss turned passionate.

After half a minute of passionately kissing, Sandra broke away from the kiss. Breathing hard, her shoulders rose and fell with each deep breath.

“Wow!” Sandra said, this time not lying.

“Did I do it right?”

“Oh my god! That was awesome!”

“Can we do it again?”

“You’re the man. I told you it was great so why are you asking? Take charge. Be in control. Be a man.”

Sandra was trying to build the boy’s confidence, to teach him to be a man. Not that she was averse to getting another kiss like the last one. She hadn’t lied about that. She had actually enjoyed it more than she admitted it to herself. What Sandra didn’t expect was Peter’s aggression. With both sitting on the side of the bed, Peter pushed Sandra’s upper body down onto the mattress with her feet still on the floor. He turned and leaned over her, crushing his mouth on hers.

Once again, they kissed passionately, now with Peter partly on top of her. Sandra wrapped her arms around the boy’s slim body and hugged him tight. One hand slid up his back to cup the back of his head as her tongue flapped wildly, twirling around his, whipping against it, sometimes trying to shove hers into his mouth which slid the length of her tongue against his when his didn’t retreat. Spittle drooled out of the corners of her mouth and down her cheeks.

And then Peter shifted, climbing more on top her with his feet on the floor between hers, his legs between hers. He settled with his hard cock pressed to her groin. The dress she had worn to work rode up her thighs as he humped. Sandra’s fingers curled into the back of his shirt as she humped back, using her feet on the floor for leverage.

Peter’s tongue stopped moving inside Sandra’s mouth when his body stiffened. His hips jerked rapidly. And then his hard cock pressed against her groin as he moaned into her mouth. After a few moments of stillness, his head fell to her shoulder and he lay limp on top of her.

Sandra’s hips continued humping. Her hands slid down Peter’s back to grab his butt. She pulled for all she was worth as her knees flew apart and she thrust her hips up. With her hands clutching his rump, she moved his lower body to and fro, rubbing his still hard cock on her clitoris. She frantically humped, bouncing on the mattress. And then she exploded.

The two lay panting with Peter on top of Sandra between her twitching legs. Before Sandra was ready for Peter to break the contact, he rolled onto his side with his back to her. That left her lying on her back with her feet on the floor and her dress hiked almost all the way to her hips. Her bare legs were spread with a small flap of the hem of the dress draped over the front of her panties.

When Sandra heard Peter crying, she used all the energy she had remaining in her drained body to roll onto her side. She lazily flipped the bottom of her dress over her rump to mid-thigh and then placed a hand on his shoulder. Peter was facing away from her.

“What’s the matter?” Sandra asked. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I liked it.”

“I made a mess in my panties.”

Sandra leaned over Peter so that her mouth was next to his ear. “First of all, you’re not wearing panties. You’re wearing men’s underwear. Briefs. And second, I’m glad you came. So did I.”