have to check on progress at the Batstock Grange – and I am sincerely looking forward to it.
THE MASKED BALL
By Logan Zachary
Logan Zachary ([email protected]) lives in Minneapolis, MN. His new book Calendar Boys is out, and his stories can be found in dozens of anthologies.
“Last summer at band camp …” How I hated those words. Ever since that stupid teen sex comedy and all of its sequels, each June when I pack for music camp, I cringe. But this year, I’ve been asked to help teach the students and assist the faculty. This was a huge honor for such a new teacher. Usually I would get odd jobs for the summer painting houses, doing yard work or home repairs to add to the income. So when this job offer came, I jumped on it. My big question was: Who knew me well enough to hire me for the summer?
As I arrived at Camp Allegro, I juggled my three suitcases through the dorm’s doorway. My cut-off shorts and T-shirt clung to my skin as I walked down the hot, humid hallway to my room. Each camp was a week long. Eight weeks of students, pimple faced music geeks from seventh grade to junior years in high school who wanted to improve their musical skills.
My mind flashed back to my weeks at camp. “Alex Peters, adjust your embouchure like this,” Mr. Brad Ramsey, pressed on my mouth to form my lips into the correct position. His touch burned my skin, and I was instantly hard. He massaged my cheek muscles into a perfect seal on the saxophone’s mouthpiece, how I longed for that seal somewhere else. He puckered up his beautiful mouth in such a way that all I wanted to do was kiss him. How many times had I dreamed about how those luscious lips would feel on mine?
I inhaled and still smelled his cologne, English Leather and him. I licked my lips as I remembered my favorite teacher, Mr. Ramsey. He was my first real schoolboy crush. How many times had I jacked off under the covers thinking of that tuft of hair that would peek out over his open shirt collar? Growing up in a small Minnesota town didn’t allow for a lot of gay exposure.
Inhaling deeply, I swore I could smell him. As if conjuring him from my daydreams, Mr. Brad Ramsey walked out of a dorm room next to mine and stood in front of me. “Alex, you’re here.” His eyes lit up as soon as he saw me. He wore sandals, jean shorts, and a loose necked T-shirt that showed his furry chest. Gray hair dotted his beautiful pelt, but it looked as soft and thick as I remember.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, setting the suitcases down with a thump. Sweat dripped down my forehead and burned my eyes. I wiped it away and squinted to look at my idol.
“I’ve always taught summer music, don’t you remember? How many years did I teach you?”
“I attended three years of band camp.” I pulled the dorm room key out of my pocket and inserted into the slot.
“See, I knew you’d remember.” Mr. Ramsey pointed to the door. “You’re staying next to me all summer. The dorms are hot some days, but they promised the A/C was new this year, and it would keep these rooms cold all summer. Here, let me help you.” His hairy hand brushed mine as we both reached for the same suitcase.
My hand burned where his skin touched me. I let go of the case and picked up the other two. I pushed the heavy door open and entered my new home. The stale humid air hung in the room.
Mr. Ramsey followed close behind and set the suitcase down on the bed. He flipped a switch on the wall and turned the dial to cold. The A/C fan whirled into life and a cool breeze of air circulated in the cinderblock room.
“Thanks,” I said.
“The showers and the restroom are down the hall two doors from my room. Did you have anything else to carry in?”
“I have one more trip, but I was going to bring that in after supper. I pulled my damp shirt away from body. “I need to unpack and then hit the shower.”
“Need any help?”
Images of him in the shower flooded my mind, of water running
THE MASKED BALL
By Logan Zachary
Logan Zachary ([email protected]) lives in Minneapolis, MN. His new book Calendar Boys is out, and his stories can be found in dozens of anthologies.
“Last summer at band camp …” How I hated those words. Ever since that stupid teen sex comedy and all of its sequels, each June when I pack for music camp, I cringe. But this year, I’ve been asked to help teach the students and assist the faculty. This was a huge honor for such a new teacher. Usually I would get odd jobs for the summer painting houses, doing yard work or home repairs to add to the income. So when this job offer came, I jumped on it. My big question was: Who knew me well enough to hire me for the summer?
As I arrived at Camp Allegro, I juggled my three suitcases through the dorm’s doorway. My cut-off shorts and T-shirt clung to my skin as I walked down the hot, humid hallway to my room. Each camp was a week long. Eight weeks of students, pimple faced music geeks from seventh grade to junior years in high school who wanted to improve their musical skills.
My mind flashed back to my weeks at camp. “Alex Peters, adjust your embouchure like this,” Mr. Brad Ramsey, pressed on my mouth to form my lips into the correct position. His touch burned my skin, and I was instantly hard. He massaged my cheek muscles into a perfect seal on the saxophone’s mouthpiece, how I longed for that seal somewhere else. He puckered up his beautiful mouth in such a way that all I wanted to do was kiss him. How many times had I dreamed about how those luscious lips would feel on mine?
I inhaled and still smelled his cologne, English Leather and him. I licked my lips as I remembered my favorite teacher, Mr. Ramsey. He was my first real schoolboy crush. How many times had I jacked off under the covers thinking of that tuft of hair that would peek out over his open shirt collar? Growing up in a small Minnesota town didn’t allow for a lot of gay exposure.
Inhaling deeply, I swore I could smell him. As if conjuring him from my daydreams, Mr. Brad Ramsey walked out of a dorm room next to mine and stood in front of me. “Alex, you’re here.” His eyes lit up as soon as he saw me. He wore sandals, jean shorts, and a loose necked T-shirt that showed his furry chest. Gray hair dotted his beautiful pelt, but it looked as soft and thick as I remember.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, setting the suitcases down with a thump. Sweat dripped down my forehead and burned my eyes. I wiped it away and squinted to look at my idol.
“I’ve always taught summer music, don’t you remember? How many years did I teach you?”
“I attended three years of band camp.” I pulled the dorm room key out of my pocket and inserted into the slot.
“See, I knew you’d remember.” Mr. Ramsey pointed to the door. “You’re staying next to me all summer. The dorms are hot some days, but they promised the A/C was new this year, and it would keep these rooms cold all summer. Here, let me help you.” His hairy hand brushed mine as we both reached for the same suitcase.
My hand burned where his skin touched me. I let go of the case and picked up the other two. I pushed the heavy door open and entered my new home. The stale humid air hung in the room.
Mr. Ramsey followed close behind and set the suitcase down on the bed. He flipped a switch on the wall and turned the dial to cold. The A/C fan whirled into life and a cool breeze of air circulated in the cinderblock room.
“Thanks,” I said.
“The showers and the restroom are down the hall two doors from my room. Did you have anything else to carry in?”
“I have one more trip, but I was going to bring that in after supper. I pulled my damp shirt away from body. “I need to unpack and then hit the shower.”
“Need any help?”
Images of him in the shower flooded my mind, of water running
Similar Books
