+++If you are young (under 18) and innocent. I'm not sure what you might make of the title, I can't worry about that because you ought not to be here. So go! Those older can stay I can't guarantee great literature, but I think you'll find it interesting, especially in one \ part of your anatomy.
Okay, I'm going to level with you throughout this weird tale; weird for me anyway. I am Les (don't call me Lester, that's nerdy and I am by no means nerdy.) I'm nineteen and attend a college in northern New Jersey. There are at least three so you can't zero in on the one I go to and that is good cause I don't want to get thrown out.
I'm here on a basketball scholarship. You might guess that I play it 'cause I am just under seven feet tall. Hey, my foot size is eighteen and...I leave that other measurement to your imagination. Now you, in your smug belief that you can catagorize anyone, have made a mistake. Yeah, I am a jock, but I am also almost a four point zero student. A nice mix huh?
I have a lot going for me. I have a nice girl friend a met here at school. No sex. She is a believer in celibacy before marriage. That's okay with me. I don't think I am ready to have sex anyway.
Immediately you are saying "He's gay." Not true. I think I am gay friendly and I have two of my buds who are that way. We all play ball three times a week so we confound everyone who tries to do that classification routine.
Yes, I have a lot going for me, but one thing I don' have is spending money. The scholarship strictly covers tuition and a room in the dorm. For spending money I do about eight hours a week in the cafeteria. It gives me some dough, but I need more.
Professor Abrahams pays me a few dollars for marking papers for his statistics class. I aced my year in that subject. One day he asked me if I would be willing to tutor a student. "His parents are willing to pay $20 an hour."
Excellent I thought. I'll cut down on my caf‚ time which pays half that and still end up with a profit. The kid was a freshman, lived at home, name is Scott Windom. I spoke to his mother on the phone and we arranged to start the next day.
I have a Jeep. It's a classic from WWII. It's a little tired from fighting that war, but still gets me around. The kid's house was in a fancy part of Northern New Jersey and was big. It looked more like a motel than a house. I rang the door bell that turned out to be Westminister chimes and the door was opened by a maid in a white uniform. For a moment I thought this might be a hospital and my tutor kid might be in for mental problems.
"Scott is upstairs in his room. I'll take you there. He's expecting you."
I thought that he might have answered the door himself but I guess rich kids don't do that. She knocked on the closed door and from inside can a voice laced with ennui coupled with a Bette Davis drawl. "Come in Lester."
Uh oh, already trouble. I pushed the door open and entered, saying "Call me Les. I don't use Lester."
He laughed, a musical tinkle of bells. "I promise not to use you, at least I think so now, but who knows."
Bette Davis. I thought of that line, "Fasten your seat belts, it's going to be a bumpy..."
He looked me up and down. I did the same. His eyelashes were very long and he used them for effect as he started on my eighteen size shoes and ended at my Marine haircut.
"You're a big one, Les, but more is Les." He giggled at his weak witticism.
I took him in as well. He was, with his wallet in his back pocket, about 135 pounds of no muscle. He had a full head of blond curly hair cut in the style of those Greek statues at the Met. He could be called handsome, hell, I am kinda handsome, he was over the top beautiful. Those lashes and perfect features. Best of all was his pink white skin that was without blemish.
He was dressed in a bright blue polo shirt and white linen pants. Everything looked expensive, especially his blue velvet bedroom slippers with gold thread crests on this.
I shook myself into action. "Statistics made easy by Les. That's the title of this course. If you listen and learn, you will rate an "A" from Prof. Abrahams."
"Sounds good. Shall we use my desk over there."
He got to his feet. He was all of 5'6", and crossed the room in his size six slippers. As I followed, I realized that this room was as large as my Mom's apartment. There was a bath and sitting room, and a separate sleeping room. No swimming pool in his bedroom, but we all have to make do.
We sat side by side at the ornate French Directoire desk. I opened the text and grabbed some paper from the cubby and began. I started with the most elementary form of statistical measurement and asked that he write down any technical word that he hears. We worked for an hour.
He did pretty well. He was attentive for most of the time but he had a disconcerting habit of staring into my eyes. He remarked, not on subject,,"They're a light brown, I never saw eyes that color."
I noted, but didn't voice the observation that his were the color of the ocean in Bermuda.
When I ended the lesson he seemed surprised. "Time flies were one has a fascinating guest. Must you go. Stay around. The swimming pool is heated."
So he does have a pool. Naturally.
I told him that I had to go. "I'm expected at the cafeteria."
"You eat there? The food is icky."
"It's free though, for me, I work there."
I left him with his pretty mouth open, exposing his perfect white, even teeth. As I rode back to school I thought that he was so effeminate, and with such beautiful features that he made me feel as if I was cheating on Sally, my girl friend.
I managed to rationalize my disquiet to a small place in my brain as I headed back two days later for our second session.
Scott had dressed for the occasion of the tutoring. At least his own way. He was wearing very short pull on shorts, the kind you wear without underwear. On top was a silky wife beater in white. His shorts were kinda orange color. The same slippers as last time. I was immediately surprised that he didn't have skinny legs. They were nice, smooth, tan and lightly muscled. But they could almost be girl's legs.
The first thing he said to me was, "You're wearing cologne. I never do. I believe one's natural odor is more sexually stimulating than any commercial concoction." It didn't pass unnoticed that he accented the syllable "coc" in the word. This boi's a tease and a bit outrageous. I didn't hate it, in fact it buzzed me a bit in the lower regions.
When we were sitting beside each other, he reached up to get something from the upper shelf of the desk and his underarm was two inches from my nose. Was this on purpose? Probably. I don't think Scott does anything accidentally. But it worked for me. There was a faint musty smell. It was very buzzing. His underarm hair was untrimmed and there he sported a big puff of blond hair glinting in the light.
The boi was sexy. I have to be professional and careful.
The lesson went well but suddenly he did one of his sudden intimate things. "You hand. I read palms. May I?"
Without waiting for me to answer, he grabbed my blunt-fingered jock hand in his slim-fingered cool, pale one and began tracing the lines on my palm that had now become moist.
"You are going to have a long life. I estimate at the extreme of the bell curve. That's a statistical joke. I bet you'll die a peaceful death at just under one hundred. But this line here. There is your love line. It's dim up to about your present age but it becomes deep and prominent at about your present age and seems to branch off."
I had to clear my throat three times. That was embarrassing to croak out, "What does that mean?"
"It means your sex life will be taking a different direction. I hope I'm there to see it," he said and tickled my palm coquettishly. He looked down at my pants. "Hey, we're getting a little excited aren't we?"
I blushed fiercely. He rubbed my cheek with a proprietary finger.
I had to say something, but it might have been better if I had not. "It's nothing. It happens a lot."
"Sure," he said soothingly, "Me too, but don't say it's nothing. From what I can see, it's really something." Then looking in to my eyes, he asked, "May I?"
I stammered. Honestly I could have raped him right there, but I had to control myself. He could see the battle going on in my face."
"Why do you fight so hard? Give it up. All I want to do is be friendly with my new friend's prick."
To my everlasting shame, I nodded assent and he expertly undid my fly and pulled out my goal post. "Wow!" he breathed. "That's a crotch ripper. It's jumping with joy. You can't go home this way, you might not be able to fit in your Jeep. Let me ease you up."
Hoarsely I asked, "Ease me up?"
"I don't mean to be a fancy talker. Let me rephrase that, Let me give you a blow job."
Not waiting for a reply, he leaned down and began licking my stick like an ice cream cone. I hiccupped a few times with enjoyment. He looked up at me. "You like?"
I said succinctly, "I like." I knew I was lost and might lose my tutoring job as I settled into the wild pleasure of getting sucked."
He intensified the experience by swallowing the long thing and lodging it down in his throat and milking it with his throat muscles. If he could master the statistical work with the mastery he brought to cock sucking, he'd get an "A++". I hoped I was maintaining a bit of my dignity but I became aware that I was moaning in a musical way, high pitched and helplessly.
He stopped looked up at me and smiled and patted my cheek. "Good. Make all the noise you want. I like it and the walls are thick." He went back to his activity and brought a heavy load of spit to the job and tightened his throat grasp. I began thrusting my hips automatically and realized that I was on the verge of spilling over, much faster than I usually did when I wanked myself. He brought a slim hand to the base of my cock and began wanking me and sucking at the same time. I was helplessly, I mewled like a baby and finally shouted my cum announcement.
I must have shot six times but he swallowed it all. Finally he sat up, saying, "Delicious. You must eat carefully at the cafeteria." He licked his lips lasciviously. And pointed to his own cock that was sticking out of one leg of his small shorts. "You want?"
I jumped up in confusion not knowing exactly what to say. Finally, stupidly without knowing why, I said, "Maybe next time."
"I'll hold you to that, teach."
I gathered up my stuff and headed down the long flight ofsteps and out the door. "What had I gotten myself into. This could be trouble with a big "T""
End Part One