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:
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It contains graphic descriptions of sex between men. In some cases, these depictions may get kinky, and include borderline S&M.
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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.
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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.
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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 15
July 8, 1962
The sun hit my eyes and I swore for the hundredth time that I had to buy curtains. I was still lying on my side, but Jeff was laying behind me, flat on his back, still gently snoring. I missed the contact, and the warmth. Warmth may seem like a weird thing to say, since it is July and hotter than hell, but I like it cold, especially when I sleep, so I crank the air conditioner. I rolled over and stared at him.
He had the arm closest to me draped back over his head. I smiled when I thought about how often I'd seen Andre sleep the same way. It put his armpit right in my face, his odor wafting towards my nose. One of the first things I noticed about Jeff is that he has pretty pungent body odor. Maybe he doesn't use deodorant, I don't know, but it's a pretty strong, unpleasant smell. I found, though, that I was getting used to it, and that compared to when I first met him, I really only noticed it when I was this close to him.
I felt a strong urge to move over and snuggle up to him, and lay my head on his chest. I thought about that, and wondered if he'd think that was queer. In the end I decided that if he could spoon up against me and stab me in the ass with his dick, I could snuggle up to him on his back. I moved into him, feeling his chest underneath my cheek. His arm moved down and stroked my back gently. I put my good arm over his chest and hugged him.
"Is this alright?" I asked him.
"Yep," he said.
I lay there, wondering what it was about this guy. Here he was, cuddling up with another guy in a way that most guys would consider totally queer, and it doesn't seem to bother him at all. In fact, he seems to thrive on it. Could he be a fag? I'd seen him watch attractive women walk by, they clearly got his attention. I never noticed if he did that with the guys because I was usually too busy staring at them. I smirked at myself. Maybe he was, maybe he wasn't, but there didn't seem to be anything sexual about the way he held me, or even now, when I basically wrapped myself around him. If it was any other guy, I'd probably try to move my leg up to "accidentally" brush against his hopefully rock hard cock. I didn't even bother with him, because even if I did he'd just brush it off as no big deal.
I could understand why he seemed so uninhibited. I don't think he'd have a problem parading around without clothes; it certainly didn't bother him when I walked into the bathroom and he was stark naked. I guess growing up in a small house with 5 brothers and one bathroom has that effect on a guy. Not only that, but he was as into sports as anyone, so as he said, he probably spent tons of time in the locker room. But why did the physical contact not bother him? I thought about him as a big teddy bear. Maybe he was a pack animal? Maybe living in that house, sharing a bed with brothers, caused him to adopt the same habits that a dog would in a pack. At night, they'd all cuddle up for warmth. Nothing sexual about it.
I thought back to my historical studies, and how medieval peasants used to sleep in one room piled on one bed, just like dogs. There, though, it could be sexual, if the parents wanted to fuck, but then everyone else just pretty much had to ignore it. Was I being inherently snobby, attributing his physical intimacy to his "peasant" upbringing? I felt his hand brush across my back again and sighed, relaxing into him. I was just over-analyzing this. Why question his motives? Why not just enjoy it? His stomach growled loudly and I laughed. I got out of bed and headed to the bathroom, looking back at him still in bed. "Come on, let's get going." He nodded and started getting ready.
This was our fun day, our day to explore the city, so after breakfast we headed downtown, only instead of driving we took the El. I wanted to familiarize myself with it, although it was pretty easy to use. Jeff was totally intrigued by the whole thing. I told him that lots of big cities had systems like this, especially in Europe. I don't think he believed me when I told him that the Paris Metro Trains actually ran on rubber tires instead of metal wheels. I took him to the Field Museum, we wandered around Grant Park, we strolled up the Magnificent Mile....I'd done this kind of thing with other people. I'd taken Stefan around to see some of the same stuff (remembering him briefly irritated me) but he'd grown up in Paris. What made if fun with Jeff is that it was all new and wondrous to him. He was like a kid in a candy shop.
I took him by Marshall Fields, and that really blew his mind. Aside from the trademark Frango Mints that you're supposed to buy, I took him over to the men's section to get him some new clothes. Shopping again. What's with that? Anyway, I fought him tooth and nail to get some nice clothes, and in the end I got tired of the battle and just wrote down his sizes. If I wanted to spend money on him, by God I was going to do it.
We dropped our packages off at the condo and took the car up to campus. It was funny, because I'd just taken him around one of the most vibrant, thriving cities in the world, but the thing that excited him the most was the campus of Northwestern University. I showed him where my building was, and took him in to see my office, still empty and dormant. Then I showed him the library and student center. Finally we ended up at the stadium and the athletic department.
"Wow. This is amazing. This is big time. Look how big this stadium is. Man, what I'd give to play in a place like this." The dream shone in his eyes.
"Jeff, I think, having spent time with you and gotten to know you, that you have the world at your feet. All you have to do is work hard and your natural talents will shine through." I guess I was trying to sound inspirational, but to me I just sounded lame.
He looked down at me. "You really think so?"
"Absolutely."
July 9, 1962
I woke up early, again, practically draped across Jeff. I guess I was so short and skinny that my weight was like a fly to him, but I wondered how much moving around I had done to get there. One thing's for sure, I sure didn't have to dream up any jack-off fantasies, not while I spent my nights rubbing up against that body. The neatest thing about his body was that "beefiness" that I had noticed the first time I'd seen him naked. When I put my head on his chest, or draped my arm across his stomach, I didn't feel rock-hard muscles. Instead, I felt a soft layer of skin and fat. The muscles were there, they were just shielded by his soft outer layer. Damn, I loved his body.
I got up and jumped in the shower. Jeff had volunteered to stick around the condo so he could be here when the furniture was delivered. That would probably tie him up for the next few days, since most of it was being delivered separately. That freed me up to head over to campus and settle in. I was just about to blow my morning load when I heard him come strolling in to pee. The shower has a glass door, so I turned away from him. I don't think I'll ever be able to adopt his nonchalant attitude about nudity, even when I'm not in the middle of whacking off.
I calmed down my erection and got out of the shower to dry off. I noticed him eying my body but didn't think anything about it. I was just a short, skinny little freak. Certainly nothing to pay attention to.
"Why don't we get some breakfast and then you can drop me off on campus? That way you'll have the car if you want to go somewhere." I wouldn't need a car on campus. He nodded. "Think you can come pick me up around five?" He nodded again.
"I might try to do some of that painting you want," he said while we were eating breakfast. How he could talk and shovel food in his mouth at the same time was truly an amazing skill.
"Jeff, you don't have to do that. I didn't bring you here to be a laborer." I really didn't want to impose on him. I liked his company and I wanted him to enjoy his time in Chicago.
"I want to. Give me something to do." He said that while downing two pieces of sausage. I felt that there was something else he needed, but he didn't know how to ask me. I searched my brain. Duh. If he was going to paint, he'd need to buy stuff. I had so many other things to deal with in my life, but fortunately money wasn't one of them. Unfortunately, though, it made me oblivious to it as an issue.
"Hey, that's great, but only do it if you want to." I'd gotten paint swatches yesterday and gone around marking the colors I wanted to paint on the walls. I'd done it for the painters I planned to hire, but he'd be able to figure it out. I took out my wallet. "Here's $150. That ought to cover it, don't you think?"
He looked at me funny. "I could buy paint for your whole building with that."
I smiled back. "Yeah, but I want you to buy good paint. And I figured you'd need $75 of it just to buy lunch."
He snaughed. "I'm a growing boy." I just rolled my eyes.
Musical Recommendation: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=miLKRdmyNh4 "Don't Know Much About History" by Sam Cooke
He dropped me off near my building. It was only 9AM, so I had plenty of time to get organized. I strolled into "my" building, walked up "my" stairs, excited to get to "my" office. When I got to the departmental offices, the receptionist, her name was Annie, stopped me. "Dr. Crampton, Dr. Peterson would like to see you when he gets in. He should be here in about 20 minutes."
"Thanks Annie," I said, throwing her one of my best smiles. I learned a long time ago that the staff was the key to getting things done and they deserved to be treated with respect and appreciated.
I headed to my office and unlocked the door, only to find it occupied by someone else. I just stood there, stunned. What was this guy doing in my office?
"Hi there," he said, holding out his hand. "I'm Dave Adams; it's my second year here. From the look on your face, you must be JP Crampton?" I shook his hand and nodded.
"They've done some office rearranging, so I ended up here, and they're putting you somewhere else. Don't know where, though. I think Peterson hoped he'd get in before you did to avoid any awkwardness." Adams seemed like a pleasant enough guy, and since I was the junior man on the totem pole, it made sense that I'd be dislocated.
"Guess I was just a little bit faster than him today," I said, throwing him the same smile that I just gave Annie. "Nice to meet you Dave."
"Kind of a crappy way to meet someone, squatting in their former office. Don't hold it against me. It was Jensen's fault." His expression turned from painful to irritate when he mentioned this "Jensen" person.
"No problem Dave. I wanted a bigger window anyway."
"Well Dr. Crampton, I think we can accommodate that." I turned to see Dr. Peterson standing behind me. Adams snickered at me while I prepared to do damage control for my impertinent comment.
Peterson held up his hand. "I see you've met Dr. Adams. My other young bright, shining star. If he ever finishes his latest paper that is."
"Quality takes time sir," Adams chirped. Peterson turned his attention to me.
"I've got good news and bad news. Good news is that you've got windows. Bad news is they're not very nice ones." Adams shook his head and was about to say something, but Peterson cut him dead with a look.
Peterson led me down the hallway to the very end. There were two desks right outside the door, perfect for a secretary and a teacher's assistant. So far this was great. Then he opened the door and led me into my new office. Then I realized what Adams was going to warn me about. The place looked like a hurricane whipped through it.
"I'll try to find you something better before the weather changes. The problem is that the windows leak prodigiously, so when it rains, or snows, or the wind blows, or it gets hot, this office gets trashed. So please, think of it as only temporary. I sincerely apologize for this. Not a great way to start out in a new position." Peterson seemed clearly embarrassed. "When things get bad, you may have to grab one of the desks outside."
I studied the office, looking beyond the problems. It was big and square, about 15X15, with windows on two sides. One set faced south; in fact I could see my condo not too far away. The other set faced Evanston. The floors, standard university vinyl tile, were all yellow and peeling, while the walls showed significant signs of water damage. Peterson was studying me closely.
"Dr. Peterson, I think I could turn this into a really nice office. I'd be willing to do it at my own expense, provided you promise me that, during the five years of my contract, you won't move me." He thought about that.
"That's highly irregular." He was stalling while he thought about it.
"I realize that, but it's going to cost some money to set this place right, and I don't want to put a lot of sweat and dollars into it only to be moved again. Surely that's understandable?"
He smiled at me. "It is. OK Dr. Crampton, you've got a deal. I'll put it in writing just in case lightening strikes me on the way home. Good luck with your rehab." As he was leaving, he turned to me. "Nothing too crazy, OK? I don't want it to look like some artist's loft in Greenwich Village." I smiled back. "Yes sir."
I found myself standing there alone in my new office, such as it was. I had a penchant for decorating (doesn't every fag?), and this would be a labor of love. The reason I wanted a guarantee that this place would be mine for the duration is that I knew when I was done, it would be incredible. The office was empty except for a small table with a phone. I grabbed a chair from outside and got to work.
Around noon, Dave Adams popped his head in. "Hey, I was going to get some lunch and I thought I'd see if you wanted to join me. Least I can do, since you ended up in the birdcage."
"Sounds good," I said. "Birdcage?"
"Yeah, we call it the birdcage because it's all light and airy, and the walls and windows keep out the weather about as well as the wires on a birdcage." I laughed at that.
"I think with a little renovation it will be a great office. In fact, I know it will." We chatted as we walked.
"Yeah, well don't make it too nice. Soon as you get it spiffed up, Jensen will decide he wants it and you'll end up back in the ghetto with the rest of us."
"I'm not worried about that." He looked at me questioningly. "Peterson promised I could stay there if I fixed it up. I even got it in writing." Adams whistled at that. "This should be interesting," he quipped.
"So who's this Jensen guy you keep talking about?" With that, I opened the floodgates on Adam's vast database. The guy must be a very busy gossip, because he seemed to know everything about everyone.
"Dr. Robert Jensen or Bob Jensen if he only moderately hates you. He's been here for years, one of those grizzled old guys who got tenure a long time ago. He uses the University's seniority rules to demand all kinds of crap. You study French history?" I nodded. "Well, he's like those guys at Versailles that spend all their time arguing over who gets to hand the King his shirt."
"So how did he end up re-arranging the offices?" I'd seen guys like Jensen before. Old, cranky, marking the years until retirement.
"I was supposed to move down next to Peterson. He gives me crap, but I've gotten a lot of grant support, and got two awards on my latest paper. It was going to be a reward for my success. But Jensen pulls out the old rules that dictate offices are awarded based on seniority, and Peterson's hands are tied."
That really sucked. "So where were you last year?"
"The birdcage." I looked at him, appreciating how pissed he must be, and how good he was at hiding it. Just like me. "So Peterson went to bat for me and got me a raise. I've got a wife with a kid on the way, so that was more important than office real estate. That's the thing with Peterson; he looks out for us rookies."
"Rookies?" This place was so much different than Princeton.
"Yeah, the new kid in town. Guess that's you now. You think Jensen was a dick about the offices, just wait until your first faculty meeting. He'll try to rake you over the coals. His biggest asset is that he's a mean son of a bitch." I took it all in, all that he was willing to share. I instinctively liked this guy, even though he was a little free with his information. I made a mental note not to tell him too much.
"So you find a place to live yet? Housing's pretty expensive close to campus." Here we go. Enter JP Crampton, the rich kid.
"Yeah, I have a place not too far from here." I should have known that he would keep digging.
"Oh yeah? Where is it?" Fuck.
I told him where the building was. "Wow, that's a really nice building. Brand new too. How'd you swing that? I need to ask for another raise?" I'd always been taught that money was a base subject, something polite people didn't talk about. That didn't faze Adams.
"It was a present from my parents." Maybe that would do it.
"Wow, they must be loaded." OK, now we were just getting crass.
"My father is pretty successful. He runs a construction company. Just as well, I'll need the money to fix up the birdcage." He laughed and nodded, and I used the opportunity to change the subject.
When I got back to my office, I decided to use those family connections to help me out. I called my dad and told him about the office, and that I needed someone to help renovate it, and that I had very little time. That was at 1pm. By 3pm, one of his friends in the construction business, a contractor, was sitting there planning the resurrection of the birdcage.
The contractor delayed me so I was about half an hour late meeting Jeff. If it was Andre or even Stefan, I would have gotten an earful. Jeff just took it all in stride. When I apologized for being late, he just said "no problem." I made him park the car and took him in to see my new office.
"Wow, this place needs some work." He looked around, noticing all the flaws but not the potential.
"Yeah, but they start working on it tomorrow, so in a week it will be like new." He looked at me dubiously. About that time Peterson came walking up. I introduced him to Jeff and he eyed him up and down. Was Peterson checking him out? It sure looked like it. Peterson was in his 50's, still pretty handsome in a bookish kind of way. He's also married and has three kids. Go figure.
"Dr. Peterson, I hired a contractor to renovate the office. They start tomorrow and have promised me they'll be finished by Friday night. Will that be alright?" His surprise at my speed in getting things done was obvious. "It may be a little noisy here while they're working. Will that present a problem?
"Not at all Dr. Crampton. I'll alert the staff. And thanks again for being so cooperative about all of these changes." He shook my hand firmly, shook Jeff's hand firmly too, if maybe for a little longer, then we left.
I looked at Jeff as we approached the Corvette. "I think he was flirting with you." Jeff looked at me and said, "So?"
"Doesn't that bother you?" Did nothing faze this guy?
"Nope. Why should it bother me when someone stops to appreciate such an amazing work of art?" I punched him in the shoulder. His wit, his humor, almost reminded me of Peter.
As if I didn't have enough surprises for the day, when I got home I almost passed out. Jeff had worked like a banshee. He had painted the entire living room and dining room. Not only that, he'd done a kick-ass job. The furniture for those two rooms had been delivered today as well, all placed out exactly as I planned. I'd left an empty house with white walls this morning, and come back to a model home. I was speechless.
"I think it turned out pretty well. I got a few touch ups to do tomorrow, and I gotta hang up those pictures. You'll need to show me where to put them." He was talking as his eyes surveyed his own handiwork.
"This is fucking amazing! You did such a great job! Holy shit! How did you get all this done?" I stood there, admiring my palace. I turned to him and grabbed him in a big hug. I just didn't want to let go. "Does this mean you like it?" he joked. I pulled away from him and looked him in the eyes. Then I made a monumental error. I grabbed him and kissed him on the lips. He didn't kiss me back, he just stood there.
"I'm sorry Jeff, I apologize. I just got carried away. I don't know what I was thinking." I stammered on. His reaction, his lack of a response, told me how far over the line I had stepped.
He just looked at me. "Hey, now I usually charge for kisses. No more freebies." Then he started laughing. I joined him, not genuinely, but out of relief. What would it take to upset this guy? If I sucked his dick, would he just say thanks, or would he kick my ass? Or make a joke? He stirred so many emotions in me, more than I could enumerate, but the only ones I could quantify at that moment were confusion and frustration.
I was worried that when we went to bed that night, Jeff would be shocked by my kiss and would pull away from me, but as soon as he crawled into bed he moved right up and spooned with me. It was kind of hot, but also pretty frustrating for a young queer guy to share a bed and snuggle up with one of the most amazingly handsome guys around, who just happened to be totally straight.
July 11, 1962
Musical Recommendation: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u2ybCjf6ras "Telstar" by The Tornados
We evolved into a routine after that. We'd wake up, have breakfast, and then Jeff would drop me off on campus. Then around five, he'd stop by to pick me up. The contractors had shown up yesterday as promised and went to work with a passion, creating quite a ruckus. Today I told the staff I'd take them all out to lunch to make up for it. They seemed shocked that I gave a shit about them.
I sat at the desk outside my new office, the one that Adams had occupied most of last year, according to him. I decided to take a break and read the paper. Today there was some pretty exciting news. AT&T had just launched Telstar, a satellite that was designed to transmit communications. It was supposed to revolutionize international communications. I decided that I lived in an exciting time, even if there was always the chance that the Russians would vaporize us all on a whim.
I didn't let the Cold War dominate my thoughts, but it was always there, always in the back of my head. I think most people were like that. There were bomb shelter signs around town and on campus, places to run in the event that nukes were on their way. I was pretty fatalistic about it. I figured that if the world was going to be blasted by the combined nuclear arsenals of the West and the East, I'd rather be incinerated in the conflagration than stick around and see the remnants left behind.
I was interrupted from my international ruminations by a very angry older man standing in front of me. "What the hell is going on around here? I can't work with all this noise!" I eyed him coolly.
"I don't believe we've met. I'm JP Crampton." I held out my hand. He shook it grudgingly. "Dr. Jensen. Now I want this noise stopped immediately."
"I'm making some renovations to the birdcage. They'll be finished by the end of the week. Then this infernal din will end." I'd seen bullies before. Maybe Adams let this idiot get to him, but I wasn't going to.
"Now you listen to me. I'm a senior member of the faculty here, involved in very important research and planning, and I don't need some newly minted PhD popping in here disturbing me." He was in my face. I didn't move.
"Well Dr. Jensen, the last time I checked Dr. Peterson was still the department chair. I have his explicit permission to disrupt the department with this "noise" for the remainder of the week. If you have issues with that, I suggest you take it up with him." I looked straight at him. He got an evil smile.
"Well aren't you just a cocky little smart-ass. I've got your number Crampton." And with that he turned on his heels and stormed off. I saw a couple of the secretaries giggling over by the mimeograph machine.
I had a great lunch with the secretaries. They were really a nice bunch of ladies, and they appreciated that I'd take the time to try to make up for the noisy inconvenience. They all talked about Dr. Jensen, and I gathered that although he was universally reviled in the department, everyone had grown to view him and his tirades as a source of amusement.
When I got back, my contractor was there with a very concerned look on his face. "Someone must have called the local unions. They're bitching because you hired us instead of one of their members. They're threatening to shut us down." I knew very well who that someone was.
I walked into my partly renovated office to find a union official. I smiled to myself, wondering at the corruption that someone would have to master to be a union official in Chicago. Still, if my father planned to make a push for contracts here, he'd need to be in their good graces. If only for him, I had to make this guy happy.
"Hello, I'm Dr. Crampton." I held out my hand and he shook it. He had strong, calloused hands.
"Nice to meet you Dr. Crampton, I'm Patrick O'Hara from the Teamsters Local. Looks like you're using non-union contractors, which is a direct violation of the university's policy. I'm going to have to shut you down." The guy didn't seem malicious, just doing his job.
"I'm so sorry Mr. O'Hara, I had no idea the university has such agreements in place. I just got into town and these gentlemen are friends of my father and agreed to do the work for me quickly." He looked at me carefully.
"I understand Dr. Crampton, but rules are rules. The only way around it is if I sign off on the work order." Suddenly I understood.
"Mr. O'Hara, can you tell me how much, roughly, it cost your union by not having this job? I'm thinking that maybe by just compensating the union, I could make up for my error and still let these gentlemen finish up this project." He looked at me with consideration. Now we were speaking the same language. "Of course, I haven't opened a checking account here yet, so I'd have to pay you in cash." That meant he could pocket any money I gave him. In the real world, we call it a bribe.
"Hmmm. Well this is quite a large project. A big job..." I stood there patiently, willing him to just get to the bottom line. "I expect missing out on this project is going to cost my guys about $150." This was highway robbery, extortion at its finest, but I really didn't have a choice. Plus, this would really frost Jensen's balls. That made the final decision.
"Well Mr. O'Hara, that's quite a bit of money. I can see now why you were so concerned about your members." I took out my wallet and handed him $150. He took the money and signed the work order. "One more thing Mr. O'Hara. My father is Jack Crampton, of Crampton Construction. Have you heard of him?"
"I have, but I hadn't made the connection. He's got one of the fastest growing firms in the Midwest. Supposed to be making a play for business in Chicago." This guy was remarkably well informed.
"Yeah, but I just know him as dad." I flashed him my best smile and he chuckled. "Anyway, he'd be really mad at me for causing you guys' problems, and for forcing you to come out and waste your time today. Would you take this $20 and buy lunch or a beer for your guys? Tell them I apologize for not giving them the business?" His eyes lit up. He'd spend the money on them alright, and take credit himself. No matter. I'd made a friend, and maybe helped my dad out too.
"Thanks Dr. Crampton. That's very generous of you. If there's ever anything I can do for you, just let me know." We shook hands and he left. My contractor walked up after he was gone. "So we're shut down huh?"
"Nope," I said and handed him the signed work order. "And do me a favor; try to be extra noisy will you?"