The Darnedest Things

I have worked in nursery schools for a few years now, and I've had my dose of the Ninja Turtles, Spice Girls, Pokemon, whatever. And I got no complaint. But my favorite is bringing out my guitar, teaching the kids the songs I used to love as a child. Some innocent stuff isn't going to hurt them. Certainly, Chris (4) and Lottie (4-1/2) were bawling away to their heart's content. A striking contrast, those two. Chris was pale, with blue eyes, his short hair almost platinum blond, his face long and narrow. Lottie, on the other hand, wore her black, curly hair long, framing a broad face, with full lips, a wide nose and dark skin.

Somebody was coming out in the hallway, and the kids ran off to see who was due for picking up. Both of them, it turned out, because there were both Lottie's dad and Chris' mom.

"Hi, Pete!" said Omar, smiling sweetly. I could feel the warmth spreading all through me, things beginning to stir in my midsection. Down, boy! Down!

Carrie, Chris' mom, was smiling, too. Still, she seemed slightly embarrassed. She probably read the local rag on Tuesday, the day after the nursery school opened.

Her son was not embarrassed at all.

"Hi! Are you Pete's boyfriend?"

Omar smiled.

"Yes, and I'm Lottie's dad, too."

"Cool, man! Hot shit!"

My turn to be embarrassed.

"I don't teach them these expressions", I said to Carrie.

"I know. I wonder where they pick it up." Her embarrassment was gone, her smile unforced.

The kids got dressed, and on the way out, Omar and I grabbed a little kiss.

"Daddy! You know what I told you!" Lottie called out, both hands firmly planted on her hips, looking very stern.

"I know, Princess. But let's go home, now."

"Bye, Pete!" yelled Chris and Lottie. I waved and took a deep breath. Whew! The first week after opening was out, all the brats were gone. Now I could close up and get ready for the weekend.

On my way to the office I passed the board on the wall where the newspaper cutting was hanging. Lottie had brought it, and was she ever proud! I reread the passage that must have caused Carrie's embarrassment.

'Pete's the boss around here', says Martin (almost 5).

'Yeah, and he's my dad's boyfriend, too', says Lottie (4-1/2) eagerly. 'But I'm not letting them smooch here at the nursery school. No way. They can do that when they're at home with Daddy and me.'

The lady reporter had her doubts about including that bit, but I had insisted. No secrets on that front; my work was hard enough without that hassle.

I got home, had a shower and got dressed. Hot date this Friday. On my way over to Omar's, I met Lottie and her mother. They were in Louise's car, so we just waved. Louise is a fine woman, but I still felt a little guilty. In a sense, I was the cause of her marriage breaking up. I mean, Omar and I met, and we liked each other, and...Oh, well. Never mind that now, Pete!

Omar had the door open before I could ring the bell, and the minute I was inside, he pulled me to him for a kiss. His right hand moved down to my ass, squeezing hard. Things were stirring down front again, and I could feel him responding.

"Mmm, you're so gorgeous, Pete."

"Keep goin', handsome. This is the kind of stuff I like to hear."

He smacked my cheek lightly.

"Now, boy! We can't have you getting conceited here."

Omar had lived in this country since he was eight, and he spoke English really well. Better than me, and I was a native.

"However, my good man, I have a bone to pick with you!" I pulled a tape from my jacket pocket, wavin it menacingly under his nose.

"What's that?"

"Just you listen, and then I'll hear your defense."

I inserted the tape into the deck, and pressed "Play". It was a recording from the session with the reporter on Monday. The paper had agreed to give me a copy.

"Who's in charge here, then?" asked the reporter lady.

"Pete's the boss ". Martin's voice.

"Yeah, and you know what?" Lottie, clearly excited. "Pete and my dad are boyfriends. When they're at our place, they kiss and hug all the time, but I told them they can't do that here!"

"Really?" The hesitation was plain to hear. Well, she was very young, this reporter.

"Yeah, and they're screwing, too. I heard that, lots of times."

Dead silence, followed by the sound of children laughing hysterically. Most of the kids didn't get it, and I wondered what they had told their parents. A couple others evidently knew what screwing meant. Or they thought they knew. The reporter and I had been in agreement about the exclusion of that particular bit.

"Well? Could you tell me where your sweet little daughter learned words like that? Hmm?"

Omar was rolling on the floor, clutching his sides. I bent over to tickle his stomach.

"No! Stop! I can't take it!"

I allowed him to regain his breath.

"So, what did the lady say?" he asked, wiping his eyes.

"Nothin'. Lottie didn't seem to think she had said anything unusual, and she just dragged the woman away to look at drawings."

"My, my, my. I guess I need to have a few words with the child."

"I guess you do. I told her that "screw" is a word she needs to be a little careful with, and that when she says things like that to strangers, both her dad and I get embarrassed."

"But it's true! We screw a lot when you're over here."

"Yeaah?"

"Wanna do it now? Lottie is with Louise all weekend. She can't hear us."

His hand was in my crotch by now, moving up and down. My dick was fighting valiantly to break out of its confines within my briefs.

"Now? But we're going out for dinner."

"Sure. We got plenty of time, though." He had two buttons of my shirt undone, and was busy pinching my left nipple. I groaned.

"Okay. In the bedroom?"

"Right here on the rug." His voice was low, husky.

I glanced over at the curtains. They were pulled. I put my hand inside his pants. They were pretty loose, allowing me good access. Inside his underwear, stroking his ass. He loves that.

"Get it off!"

Oh, yeah? The authoritarian style today? It figured; we hadn't had a single opportunity to be together since Saturday. He must be gagging for it. Quickly dropping my shirt, jeans and briefs, I sank to my knees before him. His clothes were soon strewn across the floor, and I was free to admire his dark, beautiful, circumcised cock. Omar's family is Muslim. The cut dick is sexy.

"Ohh!" I whimpered, opened my mouth and took in as much of it as I could. He moaned sweetly, and I concentrated on getting it covered with as much spit as I could. Releasing it, I spit in my hand, too. Two good dollops would be sufficient, and I smeared it over my butthole, sticking a finger inside. Looking up again, I saw him grinning like a kid who'd just had a double dose of Saturday night candy.

"On your back!" he demanded, pushing me roughly. I lay down and lifted my legs. In a moment, he was in place. I could feel his cock against my opening. A couple of tentative movements, and the head was in.

"Ouww!" I screamed. "Take it out, it hurts!"

He knew I loved it when he took me hard. Just to be on the safe side, we had agreed on a code word for me to use when it really hurt too much, but so far, I hadn't needed it.

He rammed the rest of his cock in me in one brutal shove.

"Omar! You're ripping me open! Take it out!" I howled.

"No way. You're getting so much cock up your man-pussy, you won't be able to stand up straight for a week."

He started a fast rhythm straight away. The pain was intense, and I loved it. After a little while, all the pain was gone, and everything was pure pleasure.

"Oh, yeaah! Omar, fuck me, fuck me harder! Gimme all you got!" I put my heels on his hips, trying to push him even farther inside. He increased his pace, and the brutality sort of returned with the loud sound of his underbelly hitting my ass.

"I'm cumming, Pete! I'm shooting my spunk in your ass! You're fuckin' gettin' a huge load of nigger sperm up you, paleface!"

Political correctness isn't at the forefront of Omar's mind when he's messing around inside me. I fumbled around a bit and found his dick. His balls were tight agains the base of the shaft, and I grabbed my own straining pecker, pulled it a couple of times, and let loose.

"Yeah, fuck it, Omar! I'm shootin', yaaaah!"

Opening my eyes again, I looked directly into his eyes above me. He was supporting himself on his arms, his fuck-tool still deep inside me. I hadn't even felt the heat of his explosion in me, my own had been so intense. He bent down, kissing me deep and long. The pain as he pulled out was strong, but brief.

"Let's get to the bathroom and freshen up a bit. Did you bring your lotion?"

It was standard equipment for my times with him. Without the soothing lotion on my tender orifice, things would not be good. Even so, I would probably be unable to take another penetration for at least two days, but so what? We had the whole of the weekend, and our repertoire in bed has become pretty varied. Besides, Omar isn't impartial to a cock up his ass, either.

Heading out to the car, I chuckled to myself.

"And they're screwing, too."

Kids say the darnedest things.

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written by einhard