Secret Lessons in the Infirmary
The morning air was thick with anticipation as I walked toward the institute. Every step felt like a countdown. Diego and I had reached a mutual understanding, a silent agreement that had left me feeling ridiculously happy and desperately anxious. I had lied to my father, claiming a theater rehearsal, just to carve out a few precious moments of solitude before the first bell rang.
When I entered the classroom, I saw Jecar already seated behind me. The layout of the room was perfect; if you leaned forward, you could almost touch the person in front of you without anyone noticing. I whispered a greeting, my heart hammering against my ribs. When I asked if he was coming to my house later, his face mirrored my own disappointment. “Not today,” he whispered, “but we can do something here.”
Halfway through English class, Jecar began to fake a coughing fit, transitioning into simulated gagging. It was a clumsy but effective ruse. I quickly volunteered to escort him to the infirmary, knowing the school nurse—a distracted student intern—wouldn’t question a sick student. The moment the bathroom door clicked shut, the pretense vanished.
We stripped with frantic urgency, our bodies colliding in a rush of heat and hunger. We started with deep, desperate kisses, the kind that taste of longing and risk. We moved into a 69 position on the cool floor, the contrast of the sterile tiles against our burning skin only adding to the thrill. I marveled at the thickness of him, the way we both struggled to keep our moans muffled while the nurse sat just a few feet away. The danger of being caught acted like an aphrodisiac, pushing my excitement to a fever pitch.
Jecar leaned against the sink, opening himself to me. I guided myself in, the initial friction giving way to a tight, welcoming heat. At first, I was too gentle, fearing I might hurt him, but Jecar wanted more. He arched his back, his fists clenching the porcelain edge of the sink, begging me to go harder. I obliged, driving into him with a rhythmic, primal intensity that filled the small room with the sound of our colliding flesh.
The pleasure peaked in waves. I came inside him with a guttural cry, but I didn’t stop. I continued to push him, my body refusing to let go until he finally shuddered beneath me, his own release mirroring mine. We cleaned ourselves up in a blur of toilet paper and hurried dressing, Jecar performing one last fake bout of nausea for the nurse before he was sent home.
Returning to class, I found Simon sitting in Jecar’s vacant seat. As the teacher began the next lesson, Simon leaned in, his chin resting on the desk, his breath warm against my ear. “I know what you two are doing,” he whispered softly.
My heart stopped, my voice trembling as I tried to deny it. But Simon didn’t want to expose us. Instead, he offered a proposition that made my blood race all over again. “I won’t tell anyone,” he murmured, “I just wanted to ask if I could join.”
The idea of a trio, of expanding this secret world, was intoxicating. “Sure,” I replied without hesitation. “You can come to my house today. Just know that I’m the one in charge.”