Homeschooled

It was late Sunday evening. Cole was at his Mother's, and I had the house to myself for the first time in a long time. Ever since the pandemic started, Cole and I have only had each other for company, thirteen long months. I love my son. He's a great kid, but sometimes you just need space. I was relaxing on the sofa after a long soak in the bath—yes, I like baths—when the phone rang. I don't mind saying I wasn't overly happy for my afternoon to be interrupted.

"Hi, Diane. How have you been?" What a stupid question? I knew how she felt. I'd had eight years to get over my divorce. Diane, however, had only been separated for six months.

"Not too bad, considering. Thank you for asking Kyle."

I recognised that tone of voice only too well. It's the one you adopt with a fake smile to try and lie to everyone that you're doing okay when in reality, you're not. "That's good. It takes time, but it gets better." I remembered all those platitudes my friends would use, and they made my skin crawl. I know they didn't mean to annoy me, but what else do you say? At that moment, all I could think of was that same laundry list of asinine comments, so I decided to divert the conversation immediately. "What can I do for you?"

There was a pause. I sensed Diane smiling. This time though, it was a smile of appreciation, one you only get when a person realises that their hollow words don't help, and they revert to treating you like a normal human being and not some delicate flower that needs nurturing. "I just wanted to thank you. I don't know what Jackson would have done this semester if you hadn't been around. Things have been a little tight since that idiot left me. I hate to think what Jacksons' grades would have looked like if he couldn't participate in class these last few months. It means a lot."

"Well, thank you, Diane, I guess. The truth is, I'm not sure what I did to help." That was the truth. Jackson was a sweet kid. He had become Cole's best friend from the first moment they met several years ago. So I'd watched him mature into the wonderful young man he is today. In many respects, I considered him my own. Over the years, more than one stranger had commented on how well behaved my "boys" were when we were out. Although to look at them, you may wonder how anyone could come to that conclusion.

"Don't get all modest with me. If you hadn't offered to lend Jackson your spare laptop, he would never have been able to complete the year. And his grades have never been higher. If he weren't so damn good at football, I'd tell him to quit and concentrate on his studies. I'm just so proud of him. And we both have you to thank." I was about to respond to reaffirm my ignorance of the whole matter when Diane continued. "I've made sure Jackson took utmost care of it for you. I was going to call you back in January, but Cole insisted that you didn't use it and you would be happy for Jackson to borrow it. Judging by what Cole said, I know it's been in a draw of your study for years, but still, it is appreciated."

My heart sank as I hurried through the house to my study. I put the phone on speaker and placed it on my desk before turning and kneeling. I reached out to the drawers at the foot of the bookshelf and held my breath. Shit! I looked at the contents of the drawer to see it minus one laptop. Shit, Shit!

"Now I'm back to full-time work, I've bought Jackson a new laptop, so I've sent him over to yours to return it. No doubt he's going to want to thank you himself. He told me it would be his pleasure and that he wanted to teach you what homeschooling was all about. I'm not sure he really understands adults sometimes, but he said you'd enjoy it." I couldn't speak. I remained kneeling in front of my drawers, quietly panicking. "Anyway. I'll let you be. I just wanted to say thank you. Enjoy the rest of your night."

I managed to mumble a "yeah, you too" Before the phone went dead. It left me with a feeling of sheer terror.

Sat in the living room, in the fading light of the evening, I didn't know what to think. Cole was right; he hadn't seen me using it. That was the whole point. I didn't even think he knew it existed. I was careful never to use it when he was in the house, except for very early mornings or late nights when I could easily hear him coming down the stairs. How the hell had he found it?

I'm not sure what time it was when the knock arrived, but it made me jump. It was suddenly very dark, and apart from the television, I had no lights on. I was also still only dressed in a towel. I stood up and glanced around the hallway. I considered, for a moment, running upstairs to get some clothes, but not wanting to delay the inevitable embarrassment to follow, I pulled open the front door to see Jackson facing me with a broad smile. "Hey, Mr Martin. How are you?" Any typical eighteen-year-old may have been a little shocked to see a man in their forties open the door with nothing but a towel covering them, but Jackson just walked straight past me. "Mind if I get a drink? It's warmer out than I expected tonight."

I thought about replying before realising that Jackson had already made his way to the kitchen. Not that I minded. Growing up, Jackson had probably spent more time at our house than his own during the Summer months; I liked that he made himself at home. I could hear the running water, but I didn't follow immediately. I knew what awaited me, and my nerves were starting to make my hands shake. I closed the door and took a deep breath, and turned to the kitchen. When I finally joined him, Jackson was sat on a stool, sipping a glass of water with his bag on the seat next to him. He lifted the bag without stopping for air, placed it on the counter, and pushed it over to me. "Thanks, Mr Martin, you're a lifesaver," Jackson said before another gulp of water.

"You're very welcome, Jackson," I said, pulling my laptop from his bag and returning it to his side of the counter. "Not that I knew much about it." I tried to laugh. Although Jackson hadn't said anything yet, I was still far too aware of the potential embarrassment of the situation.

"It's fully charged. I made sure of it before I left the house." Jackson said, nodding at the grey box. "Fire it up. I did run a couple of updates for you, but that shouldn't have messed anything up. I hope." Jackson laughed.

Ideally, I had hope Jackson would have handed me the laptop, thanked me, then left, but considering my son's long-time friendship, I couldn't just turf him out on the street, so I did my best to play it cool. I raised the laptop screen and pushed the power button. "All looks to be fine." It was still only halfway through its boot process, but I wanted this whole sorry matter to end.

"Cool," Jackson said, craning his next to see the screen. "I'll wait until you log in. Just in case."

My brain was foggy. I couldn't work out why Jackson was so concerned. I knew he was a conscientious boy but was I going to have to test it before he'd be satisfied?

I typed in my password, making a mental note to ask Cole how he had figured it out, and watched the screen burst into life. "Everything looks..." Before I could finish, the taskbar blinked into view, and a browser icon began flashing orange. I didn't need to maximise the screen. I knew what it was. It was the last thing I was reading the last time I used it.

"I wanted to return it exactly as it was when you leant it to me." My jaw hadn't fully closed since the last time I attempted to speak. As I looked over at Jackson, my slack-jawed reaction must have told him all he needed to know. He smiled at me with an extra something behind his eyes. "I take it everything is as you remember it? That's good." Jackson stood up from the bench. On any other day, he made my five-foot-eight look small, but at that moment, his six-foot-five inch frame made me feel like a child looking up at a giant.

The flashing icon caught my attention again, like a caution alarm warning of impending doom, and my eyes flicked over the words the small button was able to show. The effects of interrac—

"I hope you don't mind, but I gave that article a read. It's fascinating. Do you think men are really affected like that? I mean, I know penis size can be a sore topic, and I see how shy some of my teammates can be; I try not to flaunt it when we're in the showers together, but that can't be true. Can it?" My head snapped away from my laptop as Jackson spoke, feeling the ground open up beneath me. I felt a massive wave of relief wash over me as I saw he was not facing me as he continued. "Eighty-six per cent of all porn searches include the terms Interracial Sex or Big Cocks, makes you think, right?" He was partially correct, it was Big Black Cocks, but I wasn't about to correct him. Jackson pushed away from the sink and turned to face me.

He slapped his hands together and smiled at me. "I best be leaving. I can't thank you enough for lending me that laptop." Jackson strode past me confidently, just like he always did. I was dazed and more than a little numb. I turned with him and followed him to the front door.

"I feel silly asking this, but," My voice seemed distant in my head as if I was outside my own body.

"I didn't mention it to anyone; besides, it was an interesting article." He pulled the door open and turned to me; his ordinarily deep voice softened. "It's always good to broaden your horizons and educate your brain on how the world works. None of us would ever try something new if we didn't, am I right?" Jackson's usual expressive smile was gone. Instead, there was a gleam in his eyes that lit up his entire face. He turned to leave. "Ah, shit, I forgot. I sent a couple of emails from your account before I realised. I closed the browser down, and then I didn't know your password to log back in and delete them, so you might want to delete them yourself—no need to open them. Just delete them. It's for the best." He rapped his knuckles on the wooden frame and closed the door behind him.

"It's always good to broaden your horizons..." That wasn't how I expected this to go. On the scale of one, I had remembered to close the browser, and Jackson never saw a thing, to ten, he would tell everyone about my fascination with interracial porn and the effects it causes; I was happy with his reaction. I chalked it up as a two out of ten. I let out a sigh that might have ranked as one of the longest and deepest in history if I'd been measuring, but the relief was sublime.

I stood in the hallway staring at the door for several seconds before turning to flee back to the kitchen. My bare feet skidded on the tiles, and I came to an abrupt stop when my belly hit the edge of the counter. Any pain I felt was fleeting after I danced my finger over the flat black panel and double-tapped it over the orange icon.

The words shone out in a large font. The black type against a white background was impossible to miss and probably easy to read from fifty feet away. The effects of interracial porn on white men—strapline—Is it turning them gay for Big Black Cock? I swallowed hard and sighed again before slamming the laptop lid down.

Being a self-employed architect had become invaluable during the pandemic. It meant I could afford to isolate myself in safety, but it also allowed me to decide my own work hours. Needless to say, after the events of the previous night, the following morning was unproductive. I soon realised that I couldn't concentrate, so I called the day early and collapsed in front of the tv in search of something good to watch.

I must have lasted twenty minutes before my brain wandered back to my run-in with Jackson, and the entire affair, including my nervousness, was rekindled. My laptop was still on the breakfast counter in the kitchen, so I retrieved it and parked myself at the desk in my study.

The website leapt up to greet me once again, so I moved the mouse to close it before changing my mind and bookmarking the article first. I sat staring at a blank search page before reading the words 'Gmail' and remembering what Jackson had said to me before he left. I'm not sure why I felt it necessary to follow his advice, but something drew me to his sent emails. The page loaded, and I navigated my way through the labels to find the Sent items folder. The dates alongside each entry clearly showed which were Jackson's and which were mine. I selected all five emails and hovered my cursor over the bin icon, but I didn't click. My eyes darted back and forth, transfixed by the entries in front of me, and I felt that familiar twinge of curiosity inside.

Each of the five emails appeared as one stage of a conversation between Jackson and some mystery person at jdeggplant03@gmail.com. Reading in order from the bottom to the top only served to spur me on, they read as follows; Preview, Now that I have your attention, There's more, Can't resist can you?, and When you're ready, call me. If there was one constant in my life, it's that my curious nature has never been kind to me. It's never caused me any harm, but it's gotten me into all kinds of situations; this was about to become the most difficult of all.

Click. That sound echoed in my ears as the email opened and its contents displayed. Another benefit from my chosen career is the necessity of having a high-speed internet connection, allowing me to copy my large work projects easily. However, when you're opening something you shouldn't be, you have zero chance to change your mind and click the back button before it loads. The result of my latest regretful decision was facing me on the screen.

In all honesty, it took me thirty seconds to realise why the subject Preview might accompany the photo, but once I'd seen it, there was no unseeing it. The image was of a man wearing jeans. They were dark blue, distressed and ripped in places, but otherwise, they were regular jeans. The photo centred on a man's crotch. I could tell it was a man because he had a very noticeable bulge that forced the button fly out quite substantially. If that were the only prominent part of the photo, I could easily have ignored it and preceded to delete all five of Jacksons' emails; however, the curiosity gods weren't playing nice that day.

I was seconds from clicking the back button, but as my cursor travelled off to the left and began to climb, both my hands leapt from the keyboard as a sharp intake of air caused something between a gasp and a scream to escape my mouth. As my eyes retraced the image, it suddenly looked completely different. The bulge was evident, but the shade of his jeans obscured its shape unless you really focused. Needless to say, I was now fully focused.

Apart from fighting against the jeans' buttons, the bulge stretched off to the left-hand side of the photo towards the right pocket. In itself, that was nothing special. However, two inches past the right pocket was a vertical tear about three inches long. The result, which I could have easily missed if my cursor hadn't drawn my eyes there, was a small dome of bright pink flesh poking out. It couldn't have been more than five millimetres, but it was unmistakable.

Once I managed to pull a hand from my mouth, I quickly flicked the back button to return to the sent items folder. The five emails stared back at me, and my eyes settled on number two. Now that I have your attention. That's a fucking understatement!

Before I even knew what I was doing, my cursor selected the email, and my finger tapped twice, and the email opened. That same gasping scream erupted from me again. This time the jeans were open and around his hips. The camera had pulled out a little, showing a pair of taut abs. His boxers were white, and I found myself marvelling at the contrast they cast against his ebony skin. However, my reverie was short-lived as my eyes continued to trace the line of the cock beneath the fine white fabric. With the jeans removed, the shaft's girth was clear to see. The cloth of the white boxers was drawn tight by the sheer size of what they contained. I don't know how long I studied the photo, but it wasn't seconds, it was minutes before I returned to the folder of sent emails, and my cursor immediately fell to There's more; there was.

The image appeared in a flash. This time I didn't make a sound. My entire body froze. The photo looked like it might have been taken at the same distance and angle as the previous one, only with one significant difference. His boxers were soaked. The jeans were now out of the picture, and the top of two thick thighs was in view. Like some girls gone wild wet t-shirt competition, his shorts were practically see-through. The shade of skin beneath that white fabric shone through clearly. Whatever cloth was there clung to the skin, outlining every sculpted ridge, bump and vein along the length. It was beautiful, and I felt my cock react. It hadn't been a coincidence or mistake that my browser had been on an article about the effects of interracial porn on white men because I had started to have real concerns. My porn tastes had been changing, veering off towards larger, darker cocks satisfying women in ways I could never imagine. I had had some of my most brutal orgasms over the last year, and nearly every single one had been watching some creamy skin girl getting railed by a black cock. I was fascinated by them, and here I was facing one of the most beautiful BBCs I'd ever seen. Fuck! That's when it suddenly dawned on me. This is Jackson!

My hands were shaking terribly as I quickly clicked from There's more to Can't resist, can you? I felt my stomach spin in place, not a nauseous feeling, but one that only a beta man like me can experience. It's similar to the feeling that could be described as "a sinking feeling", except this is one of pure humiliating excitement. The image appeared, and I felt my heart race, my jaw felt like it hit the desk, and my cock throbbed painfully. The boxers were gone this time, and the view was now in portrait allowing for the extra room. Plastered across the screen was a huge ebony idol. It was thicker than my wrist, and as I drank in its impressive length, I picked out the ruler from my pen caddy and held it up to my eyes. It measured ten inches. I looked at the ruler, then back at the screen. I stood up and used the ruler against myself, trying to work out how far down Jackson's thigh the huge cock reached. Fuck! At least ten, if not more.

I slumped in my chair and clicked back to return to the sent items. I stared at the five emails for a long time before selecting all five. I quickly applied my private label and clicked the Archive button, and watched the emails vanish. My clicking soon delivered me to the same destination, and I was faced with the five emails once again. I thought about taking another walk through the first four. However, I had already turned my attention to When you're ready, call me. There was something about that sentence that made me shiver. Cocky, confident guys had started to affect me in weird ways. It wasn't an attraction. That was something I was pretty sure of; I didn't find men attractive. I don't have any hang-ups admitting that a man is handsome or sexy; I'm just not physically drawn to them. It's their attitude that always gets me, and this statement screamed at me louder than any photo, but especially so, now I'd seen his pictures. So, I opened it.

555-8412 You liked what you saw. We both know you can't resist, so call me and tell me what you want. I wasn't sure what to think. I recognised the number, and it was Jackson's. I laughed out loud. "That boy has serious game." I flopped back into my seat, and my towel fell open. My little cock sprung free, still erect. Fuck! I opened the fourth image once again and looked down. Fuck! Jackson was at least three times my length and probably three or four times as thick. Before I knew it, I spasmed and shot my load over my stomach, my eyes never once leaving that thick, black, eighteen-year-old cock. I licked my fingers and laughed. "Well, I'll never be able to look at him the same again."