CHRONICLES OF AN ACADEMIC PREDATOR
Published First at : http://groups.yahoo.com/group/arbourtales/
Before you read this story, there are a few things you should consider:
-
It contains graphic descriptions of sex between men. In some cases, these depictions may get kinky, and include borderline S&M.
-
It is set in the early 1960s, an era before the Civil Rights Act of 1964 when segregation and discrimination were the norm. African Americans were referred to as Negroes or Coloreds, although the "N" word was offensive then as it is now. I have retained the language of the era because it reminds me how far we have come on race relations.
-
Be aware that the effects of inflation have been profound. A good rule of thumb is to consider that $1 in 1962 is probably similar to $10 in 2008. So just add a zero at the end of any number.
-
Some authors are good enough to create a mood through their words. I need help, so I'll be posted recommended musical selections throughout the story.
CHAPTER 12
Musical Recommendation: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zry4taNnGqs&feature=related "Last Kiss" by J Frank Wilson and the Cavaliers
June 22, 1962
Light. I saw light. I didn't want to open my eyes, I wanted to sleep, but the damn light was shining through my eyelids. I squeezed them shut and heard talking. I heard my mother saying something about the fact that I moved my eyes. Of course I moved my eyes. Why couldn't she just turn the fucking lights off and let me rest? Then I heard beeping noises, and more voices, voices I didn't recognize. I wracked my memory, trying to figure out where I was. Flying through the air in the Pontiac, then crashing. This must be a hospital.
Well, at least I'm alive. Alive, whoever I was. I recalled my grandfather's letter. Every word was etched into my memory. I'd always been calm and unflappable. The only people who'd gotten through my shields were those who I was romantically involved with. Peter. Andre. Stefan. I thought about each of them. Of all of them, the one I wanted here most was Andre. I couldn't tell him about my real father because I'd promised myself to keep the secret. That's a shame too. He'd know what to say, know how to make it seem alright. Or at least he'd fuck me and then I wouldn't care. That made me smile, which evoked more noise from the people around me. Fine. No rest for the weary. I opened my eyes.
There was my mother. "He's awake! He's awake! Thank God you're awake. You've been in a coma for almost 24 hours." I looked at her, trying to find the love I once felt for her, trying to forgive her, but I couldn't. Not yet. I smiled anyway, putting on the fake facade. She was sidled away soon enough by the doctors and nurses. All the activity was slowly pulling me out of my haze.
Then there was my father. I genuinely smiled at him, and he held my hand. I squeezed his back. The doctors tried to push him away to check that phenomenon out, but I held on as tightly as I could, and stared at him as intensely as I could. It was like I was trying to send a telepathic message to him, a message that said "I love you." I saw tears in his eyes. I think he got it. Even though I wasn't his real son, if I get out of this place I'm going to do everything I can to be the best son I can be.
Then he was gone, and there was a doctor. He was an ugly older man with horrible breath. "Well son, it seems like you're going to be fine." I chuckled to myself. So did he think he was my father too? I'll have a whole cadre of Dads if this keeps up.
He continued. "You've had a bad concussion, so we'll want to keep you in here for a few days. Other than that you got off lightly. Your left arm was broken in the fall. It's in a cast now. So besides that and some bruises, you are one lucky guy."
"Thank you Doctor," I said, surprising everyone. My parents moved forward to talk again, but the doctor was having none of it. "And now he needs to rest," he pronounced and then, much to my relief, hounded them out of the room. I heard them say goodbye as they left and then I drifted off to sleep.
I woke up later and it was dark. My whole body ached, the pain was intense. I lay there, wondering how to contact the nurse, but I seemed to be all alone. Then I felt a hand gently holding mind, a familiar touch. I needed to turn my head to the right to see who it was, and that seemed to require a Herculean effort. It was worth it. There, looking down at me with his light blue eyes was Stefan. I smiled at him.
"How did you get in?" I croaked. My throat was sore and dry.
"I used my charm and sex appeal to get past the front desk," he said, making me laugh. The laughter only lasted for a minute though, because it caused intense pain.
He got a worried look on his face. "Are you OK?" I could only manage one word in response: "Pain."
Stefan got up and left, leaving me alone. Alone. It dawned on me that he was the only one that I had a legitimate connection with, aside from Andre. He was here because he was my lover, not my cousin.
He returned with the nurse. "Pain" I said to her, and she injected something into my IV. "Young man," she said to Stefan, "He's not supposed to have visitors. You'll have to leave."
"No!" I croaked as loudly as I could. It must have been loud, because they both looked at me, startled. The nurse looked at me. "Dr. Crampton, hospital rules prohibit guests this late at night. He has to leave."
I looked at her with my most determined expression. "No. He stays."
"I'm sorry, that's hospital policy." God I hated bureaucrats.
"Doctor. Get me the doctor. He stays." I was not going to lose this battle. I did not want to be alone.
"The doctor isn't on this floor." She said.
"Get him. Either he stays or I leave." I started to move around, almost ripping loose my IV.
"You have to lay still. You'll rip out your IV." I kept squirming. "Alright. I'll track down the doctor, and in the mean time he can stay."
I calmed down. "Thank you." She grumbled as she left. Stefan returned to his seat and held my hand.
"You're going to get me in trouble," he said, and leaned in and kissed me lightly.
"Not a chance. I'll defend you." The pain medicine was kicking in. I felt great. "That stuff they gave me is pretty good." I giggled, and he laughed.
"Looks like it. They say you're going to be OK. You scared me to death." He looked at me, and his expression told me something I already should have known. He was in love with me. I love him, but am I in love with him? Can I be in love with more than one person? The pain meds kicked in even more, and I left those thoughts for a time when I was thinking with more clarity.
"Sorry babe. Didn't do it on purpose. That's why they call it an accident." He laughed with me. "How's my car?"
"You lived, but the Pontiac is no more." That was sad, very sad. I was attached to that car, a Christmas present from my father. Or the one I called my father. Well, I had lots of money now. I'll get a new one. Maybe a Thunderbird. I giggled.
"Your car is dead and you are laughing? What kind of heartless bastard are you?" We both laughed together, only stopping when the doctor interrupted. At least it wasn't halitosis guy.
"I understand you are causing problems in my hospital," he said imperiously.
"I simply want my cousin to stay here with me." I looked at him as clearly as I could, stoned as I was from the meds.
"As the nurse told you, that's against the rules." No wonder she was such a bitch about it. She had to deal with this guy. I saw his name tag. It said Claremont General. Perfect.
"If you can't bend the rules for me, maybe you can bend them for my father. He donated the money for one of the wings in this hospital, possibly this one. Please feel free to call and wake him up." I said this calmly, not in a threatening manner.
"I'll be right back," he said. No more than a few seconds later he came back in. "The young man can stay with you, but he has to stay in your room."
"I can do that," Stefan said in perfect English. Damn he was getting good. And with that, the doctor left.
"That was pretty cool. You showed him." He wanted to gloat over the victory.
"Money and power go hand in hand. You just have to be careful to use it correctly. When I see him later, I'll make a point to thank him and make him feel good about doing me a favor. Too much attitude gets you in trouble." He looked at me with a funny expression.
"I'm sorry; I wasn't trying to lecture you. I was more thinking out loud." He smiled down at me. All night I dosed in and out, and all night he stayed there with me. Finally, as morning rolled around, I made him go home and get some sleep. The doctor came in to see me as he went off duty.
"Doctor, thank you so much for letting my cousin stay with me. After the accident I just couldn't stand the thought of being alone."
He looked at me thoughtfully, and then smiled. "Well, sometimes the rules have to be broken." I couldn't agree with him more.
June 26, 1962
I sat in a wheelchair reading the paper, waiting to be released from the hospital. I'd just finished an argument with my mother about getting to Chicago. She didn't see how I was going to drive with a broken arm, and she was adamant that I was not going to fly. This month there had been two crashes, both Air France 707s. In her mind, there was no better airline than Air France, and if their planes were dropping out of the skies, surely all of them would soon follow. Well, she can say what she wants, but as soon as the July 4th festival is over I'm out of here.
The Supreme Court just issued two decisions sure to piss off the Baptists in town. First, they'd declared that mandatory prayer in school was unconstitutional. Then, as if to pour salt in the wound, they'd declared that photographs of nude men are not obscene, decriminalizing nude male pornographic magazines. Good news for me, I joked to myself.
My parents came in with the nurses and I was finally freed from Hospital bondage. It was irritating the way they made me roll out of the hospital in a wheel chair when I was perfectly capable of walking, but I'd bent their rules enough already. A short drive home and I was back in my bedroom, with peace, tranquility, and no bossy nurses. I rested for a few hours and then got up to wander around. Vella yelled at me to rest but I ignored her. I felt fine, just a little stiff. That and the fact that my left arm was temporarily useless. I'd survive that too. I'm right handed, after all. My father took the afternoon off and came home to surprise me.
Musical Recommendation: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RmZdvVnMXCc "The Chain Gang" by Sam Cooke
"You feel like going out?" he asked me. My mother immediately began to protest but I shut her down.
"I'd love to get out of here for a while." My father smiled an apology at my mother, but I didn't bother. We drove down the hill in his blue Cadillac.
"Well, the Pontiac was totaled so we'll need to get you a new car. You want another Pontiac?" I loved car shopping. This would be fun. I decided to play with him first.
"I was kind of thinking of trying a Mercury or a Dodge," I said matter-of-factly, looking sideways to see his grimace. I started laughing. "I'm just kidding Dad. Let's check out the Chevy dealer." That brought a strange reaction from him. Chevrolet is the entry level brand. He was already irritated with my mother for driving Oldsmobiles, now his son wanted a Chevy? But he took me there anyway. An hour later I was the proud owner of a brand new Corvette. He wouldn't let me drive it home because I was still doing pain meds, but the dealer promised to deliver it tomorrow.
We had lunch together, and I decided that this news from my grandfather had, in addition to rocking my whole world, made me appreciate my father's sterling qualities. He was a hard worker, intensely loyal to his family, considerate to his wife (maybe too much so), and seemed to genuinely care about people. Not just us, his family (I had resolved to continue the charade, so I guess I'll fully immerse myself in the role), but his employees and even his fellow townspeople. Even if he's not my biological dad, I love him.
July 4, 1962
The last few days had been deadly dull, except for my new car, which I'd started driving as soon as I got it. My mother tried to argue with me, but I'm 26 and I'm in charge of my own life. I've said to myself over and over again that I plan to keep my true paternity a secret, and I vowed that I'd act the same as I did before, but I was having a real problem doing that where my mother was concerned. I'm sure she noticed that I didn't converse with her like I used to, and I disregarded all of her advice and suggestions. I was doing my best, though, and it would have to be good enough. Maybe with time I'd become a better liar.
The 4th of July festival starts with a big parade (my father is usually in it, riding in a Cadillac convertible) that ends in the town square at the Claremont Commons, a fancy name for the city park. It's all very feudalistic if you ask me. All the wealthiest people in town, along with local businesses, provide free food, soda, and beer for the populace, who proceed to get shitfaced and puke all over the place. There are always a few who make total asses out of themselves, which gives people something to talk about. Personally, I think that's the real reason why they still have this thing. Last year Mike Ayers, a mill worker in his 30's, decided to strip off all of his clothes and proceeded to walk around the park chatting to people as if nothing was wrong. The whole town found out that he had a pretty nice dick. The year before that, Jenny Crandle staggered into the dessert table and smashed the big cake to the ground, much to the irritation of the baker. It's always something.
Musical Recommendation: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FZpUIBNUqak "Palisades Park" by Freddie Cannon
I skipped the parade as my single act of rebellion and opted instead to meet everyone at the Commons. I ran into tons of people I hadn't seen in a long time. Old teachers who were proud of me, friends who were married with kids, old ladies who had known me as a child and thus felt obliged to pinch my cheeks. My mother would be busy, she was usually the belle of the ball, so I decided to try and find Stefan.
I spent a good hour wandering around the park. I'd had enough beer that a bathroom break was now in order. The bathroom in the Commons is towards the back of the park and shielded by shrubs, as if the people are ashamed of having potties out there so they hide them. In fact, they make an excellent cover for guys to cruise there, which happens occasionally. I never cruised there myself, though. Too close to home, where I was too well known.
As I rounded the corner I noticed three big guys hovering around another young man, taunting him. I recognized the ringleader of the taunters, Jeff Hayes, Frank's younger brother. All the Hayes boys were bullies, so it didn't surprise me to find him here leading the crowd. I didn't know the two guys with him, but bullies always have a gang of followers who are, by definition, brainless. Jeff Hayes is even bigger than his older brother, and has that same devastatingly handsome Tony Dow look going on, except Jeff has dirty blond hair which makes him look even sexier. He wore a t-shirt with rolled up sleeves that exposed his bulging biceps, his golden tan adding a nice sheen to his body. Aside from appreciating Jeff's masculine beauty, I was rather uninterested in the whole scene until I realized that their victim was Stefan.
I moved in rapidly then, getting there just as Jeff pushed Stefan hard, knocking him down. He banged his head on the ground and for a minute I thought he was unconscious.
"What the fuck are you doing Jeff?" I was in his face yelling at him, which must have looked pretty hilarious to a bystander. Me, short, slight, with an arm in a sling, challenging 6'5" Jeff Hayes, bulging biceps and all. The three looked at me in complete surprise. I looked over to see Stefan sitting up, looking dizzy. "You OK?" I asked him. He nodded. I turned back to Jeff.
"This queer was staring at my cock and licking his lips. He wants to blow me, fucking faggot. Any faggot in this town is gonna get his ass kicked." The smell of beer on his breath was overpowering. He was hammered.
"Jeff Hayes, this is Stefan Schluter, my cousin. Stefan, this is Jeff Hayes" Stefan moved forward, politely holding out his hand. Jeff slapped it away. "I ain't shaking hands with no queer. Probably had his fingers up some guy's ass."
"I suggest that you learn some manners Mr. Hayes," I said, using my cold, level voice. If he would have known me, he would have seen the anger beneath the veneer.
"Yeah, or else what? You gonna kick my ass? Bring it on pretty boy." He stood in front of me looking as menacing as he could.
"You're a real hero Hayes. Pick a fight with a guy half your size who's arm is in a cast." His friends snickered behind him which just fueled his anger. "I think that instead of dealing with you myself, I'll just have your dad kick your ass for me." That worried him a bit. He'd learned to be a bully from his brother, and they'd learned it from their dad.
"Yeah right. My dad ain't gonna kick my ass over some stupid French piece of shit." I just looked at him and his friends and said nothing.
"Come on Stefan," I said to him, and we walked off. Jeff and his buddies watched us leave. I could tell Jeff was going to say something else, but one of his friends whispered in his ear and he shut his mouth.
I looked at Stefan. "Sorry about that. Those guys usually aren't such assholes, they were just drunk. They won't cause you any more problems." There was fire in his eyes, though. He was really pissed off, but he didn't say anything.
We walked around the Commons, and I introduced him to some of the local cuisine. I think his favorite was barbecued ribs. Mine was watching him eat them. We finally found my mother talking to Barry Schluter. They were standing underneath one of the tents that Bill Hendrickson had set up for his employees. My mother, looking sleek as usual in a form fitting short sleeve dress, greeted us cheerfully. Her dress was light blue, and she had red and white shoes and a red and white purse to go with it. Too funny.
"Are you boys enjoying the festival?" She inquired cheerfully. She looked around to see if any of her friends were around so she could show me off.
"Some thugs just beat me up and knocked me down," Stefan said in English. "I bumped my head pretty bad." Barry Schluter's face started to turn red. He had a temper.
"Who knocked you down?" He said, almost in a yell, but not quite. He looked at me for an answer. This was not good. I looked at my mother helplessly and she shrugged her shoulders. "Jeff Hayes", I told him. "I'll be right back," Barry told us, grabbing Stefan by the hand and heading towards Bill Hendrickson. My mother and I shared a concerned look, the first real communication we'd had since "the letter". We meandered over to where Barry was yelling at Bill Hendrickson, not close enough to get involved, just close enough to rudely eavesdrop.
"Dammit Bill, that Frank Hayes is a thug, we all know it, and so are his kids. His son Jeff just shoved my grandson down and damn near gave him a concussion. Can't you control those guys of yours? Or are you going to sit by while they terrorize the whole town?" I looked at Bill Hendrickson, looked at him carefully. So this was my real father. Tall, blond, and beefy, with a beer gut that wasn't out of control, but still noticeable. He was a handsome man now, but when he was younger he must have been stunning. I put that in the back of my mind as something to consider when I was damning my mother to hell.
Bill Hendrickson was a good ol' boy, and always ready to calm a situation and make a deal. "Well hello there Stefan, it's nice to meet you. I'm Bill Hendrickson. I own the local mill over there down by the river. I'm sorry if some of our extended family from Hendrickson's Mill roughed you up, but don't you worry, it won't happen again. You stop by some time and I'll give you a tour, maybe do lunch." Yeah, like that will happen. He shook Stefan's hand and Stefan beamed a smile at him. Was he hitting on my real dad? God this was weird.
Barry calmed down. "Thanks Bill. Sorry I got so heated. Those Hayes have been a problem in this town for a long time. I hope you can square them away."
Bill shook his hand. "No problem Barry. I'll handle it." My mother and I cringed. Bill searched the crowd, looking for Frank Hayes.
Stefan came back and we went off, just the two of us. "Is something wrong?" he asked me. I'd been quiet ever since we'd been alone again.
"Remember how I told you about power and how you have to be careful. This may be one of those times." I knew it didn't come out right, but I guess no matter how I said it he would have been pissed.
He turned to me, showing me that angry look I hadn't seen since before we left for Chicago. "Is this the part of the day where you mount your high tower and pronounce judgment on me and point out all the things I've done wrong?"
I needed to backtrack. "Look Stefan, I'm sorry. That came out wrong. You're doing great. In fact, I can't imagine anyone doing any better. There's no way you could know the repercussions of your grandfather's actions." He looked at me dubiously.
"You'll cut me some slack? I'm not quite myself these days. You know I'm very proud of you." That seemed to do it. He smiled at me, and we strolled on. That night, during the fireworks, we sat in the Commons with the other people, enjoying the show that consumed 5% of the town budget. It was dark, and I felt his hand gently grab mine. I leaned over and whispered in his ear: "This isn't the first time I've been with you and seen fireworks."
That night we got permission for him to spend the night and when he entered me, I saw the fireworks all over again.