School for Studs



By Josef Howard

A dozen unruly young men in high school classroom desks were taking the measure of their instructor, a handsome but otherwise average man, and the other students. It was the first day of the program. They'd filled out forms. They'd been stuck with needles so many times they felt like pin cushions. They'd been shown the barracks room they would be living in for the next two weeks. They'd unpacked the few personal things they were allowed to bring. They'd been practically force fed lunch in the small cafeteria. They were stuffed, bored and bristling with attitude.

"We're going to start the program with a test."

They moaned. A few of them swore. From the back of the room one of them asked, "Hey, when do I get a chance to show you what I do best?"

The instructor ignored him. A woman walked through the door at the front of the class. The testosterone level rose. A couple of the students whistled. She wore a white lab coat and held a clipboard.

"The needs of our clients come first. Those of you that make it through the program will be called upon to put your own desires behind those of the client. Moreover you'll need to be convincing. It's not a skill you can master; it's a talent. The test you are about to take measures the range of your sexual tastes to determine whether you can � perform � with a broad range of clients. But it also weeds out the guys who might not be interested in the right equipment, if you get my drift," the instructor smiled.

A couple young men laughed.

The men were taken to a projection room. Along the back wall were three-sided booths with chairs. They were stripped and strapped to the chairs. Wires were attached to their chests. Tubes were inserted into veins. From where they sat, none of the men could see each other, only the large silver screen in front of them.

The dim lights in the room faded to dark. A series of still pictures and short film loops of women of all shapes and sizes were projected on the screen, with occasional brief images of men.

Eldon was damned horny. By this time of day he'd usually whacked off a couple times in the john just to take the edge off, but the rest rooms had no privacy here. The sight of any woman was enough to inflate his dick. As the images started to become pornographic he got rock hard and started to leak. Eldon was so hard up, even the images of the guys didn't cool him off. In fact, some of the guys looked pretty hot too. Not like he'd want to do anything with them, just hot in that straight porn star kind of way, someone he got off thinking of being.

"Jesus," he thought, "I hope this doesn't make them think I'm queer."

But just as the images reached a crescendo of sexual heat � women with giant tight breasts like balloons and close-ups of some of the most graphic hard core sex Eldon had ever seen � just when Eldon thought he would cream spontaneously � the subjects changed to men. Really hot studs with bulging muscles, cut to shreds, with ungodly huge dicks fucking and sucking like they were just about to cum. And then they did and Eldon did too in the longest, most forceful spray of his short teenage sexual career. It shot way above his head, probably into the next booth, and drenched his chest, arms and legs. He felt ashamed and humiliated.

The images continued. Mostly of women now, mostly soft core, but a few were stills of the guys who made him come. Eldon's dick never deflated and every time he saw one of the guys he wanted to come again so badly he wished his arms weren't strapped to the chair arms and taped up with wires and tubes.

When the show was over the lights came on, a voice over the intercom told them they'd know if there was a problem with their test results in the morning, and to gather their clothes and return to the barracks for the rest of the day. Eldon wiped himself dry with his underwear. He put on his pants to hide as much of his hard on as he could. His t-shirt was sticky wet, so he walked barechested out of the room with the rest of the guys. •

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