PROFESSOR KENYON - 2
Copyright 2007 by Carl Mason
All rights reserved. Other than downloading one copy for strictly personal enjoyment, no part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, except for reviews, without the written permission of the author. However based on real events and places, "Streets of New York" is strictly fictional. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. As in real life, however, the sexual themes unfold gradually. Comments on the story are appreciated and may be addressed to the author at carl_mason@comcast.net
If you would like to read additional stories by this author, please turn to the "Authors/Prolific Authors" link at the beginning of the Nifty Archive.
This story contains descriptions of sexual contact between males, both adults and teenagers. As such, it is homoerotic fiction designed for the personal enjoyment of legal, hopefully mature, adults. If you are not of legal age to read such material, if those in power and/or those whom you trust treat it as illegal, or if it would create unresolvable moral dilemmas in your life, please leave. Finally, remember that maturity generally demands safe sex.
CHAPTER 2
(Revisiting Chapter 1)
"So, John, you now know almost as much as I know. Over the years, you've accomplished some real magic with cases that everyone told me were hopeless. This boy is sure as hell not 'hopeless', but he does need our understanding, our support and, to some extent, our protection. Want to give it a try?"
Professor Kenyon looked down at his hands and noticed that they were still tightly clutching an empty coffee cup. Looking up at his friend, he simply muttered, "Yes." His mind added, "Oh, yeah, that's exactly what you need!"
(Continuing Our Story - A New Beginning)
About 4:00 pm, Kenyon heard the screeching of brakes and, then, heavy footsteps as a bike was carried up onto the porch. Momentarily, a very excited young man charged through the front door. Seeing his host relaxing in the living room, he came to a sudden halt. A slightly embarrassed look on his face, he called out, "Hi! Great day..." For just a second, the professor saw the boy who was now his responsibility: bright as a penny, on top of the world, happy, secure. "What a contrast with yesterday," Kenyon thought.
"Went well, did it?" he asked. "Yep, it sure did!" Brad exclaimed. The words spilled out of his mouth, almost tumbling over themselves in his excitement. "The Admissions office let me complete my registration - and all the courses I wanted were available. I was able to find some good second-hand books. Caught the gymnastics coach in the gym...a great guy! He found some practice gear for me and took the time to watch me work. Know damned well that he was excited by some of my routines! Wow!" "Sounds great, Brad," his landlord said with a smile. "Now... Are you going to sack out for a little while - or do you want to join me in a soft drink?" "The sack can wait, sir. Let me get a couple of drinks from the fridge," the youngster chattered. Within seconds he returned, dropping down on the rug at the academic's feet, rather than into a chair. "Woof! That tastes great!" he exclaimed.
"When I went into my office earlier today," Kenyon allowed, "I discovered that a young colleague and his wife had decided to leave a few days early for Christmas. Consequently, they gave me their tickets for this Sunday's pro football game in Philly. You at all interested in going with me - or is pro football not your thing?" "Holy...cow!" the boy almost screamed. "Not my thing? I'll have you know that I've followed the Seahawks for as long as I can remember! Awesome, sir! One problem," he added. Noting Kenyon's raised eyebrows, he continued. "Do they really play football this far east? I'd heard somewhere that you were all switching over to soccer...or knitting." In answer, Kenyon placed his stockinged foot against the youngster's brawny upper arm and gave him a good shove. Laughing hysterically, the sandy-haired one lay on the rug, looking up at him. Finally, he was able to choke out, "Warning, sir, payback's a bitch!"
Later that evening, Kenyon decided that he better get back on his exercise program, and made his way down to the basement room. He had only run through a couple of exercises before he heard a tapping on the door. "Yes?" he shouted. Brad stuck his head in the door as it slowly opened. "Sorry to bother you when you're working out, Professor. It's just that I didn't know whether you preferred to work alone - or you were ok with company." "No problem, Big Guy," the academic puffed. "Maybe the dedication suggested by all those muscles will rub off on me. Come on in!" Obviously pleased, the lad entered the room. John noticed that he was wearing a T-shirt, gray work-out shorts, socks, and gym shoes. It seemed that he suddenly noticed that his landlord was dressed only in a jock and white gym socks. "Is that the uniform for down here, Coach?" he asked...quite seriously. "No...uniform," Kenyon puffed as he resumed a squatting drill that he particularly loathed. "Still, it does make a lot of sense," Brad observed as he watched, "especially if you sweat like I do. It's good and warm down here. You haven't got an extra jock I could use, do you? I had a lot of my stuff... stolen." "No problem...Brad. (Pause.) Second drawer...in the chest...to your left. (Pause.) Take...what you need."
The Professor watched as the youngster took a jock from the chest and, facing a bench, began to strip off the clothing that he had been wearing. "Holy shit!" Kenyon thought. "This kid is beautiful. Typical gymnast. Not too tall, but those classic shoulders and that massive upper torso. To tell the truth, I wouldn't kick that muscled back, or that rump, or those gorgeous legs out of my bed either!" His mind added, "Ok, John, just remember who and what you are!" Adjusting the jock, Brad slowly turned around and almost posed. Realizing that the kid knew full well he had been watching him, Kenyon called out, "Fantastic, Brad! Just fantastic! I'm going to have to get over to the Harris Gym and attend one of your meets!" It was almost as if a bolt of electricity had shot through the youngster. A blinding smile absolutely illuminated his face; every muscle snapped to full display. "You'd do that, sir? God, that would be super! Oh, man, thanks!" Kenyon suddenly realized that at least one of the things Dean Saunders had told him was true: This kid had been on a starvation diet when it came to affection and support. Well that was going to end.
They followed their separate regimens for well over an hour, though they occasionally took a short break together, and Kenyon spotted for the boy once. Finally, the Professor noticed that the boy had begun shaking from fatigue. Striding over to him, he grasped him by his heavy upper arms and held him still for a moment. "Hey, Man Mountain, you've been away from your exercise regime for a while. Isn't it about time for us to wrap it up for tonight? No use straining something..." The body of the young gymnast, that had probably been working on an empty tank for 5 or 10 minutes, seemed to slump slightly. As his head drooped forwards, his forehead came to rest on his mentor's naked chest. They stood that way for a couple of minutes. "You ok?" the academic asked. "Yeah, Coach, I'm more than ok," the boy mumbled. "Thanks for watching out for me." "No sweat," came the answer. "Just get a good hot shower before you crash on your bed, ok?" "Ok, Coach."
The Professor only saw Brad one more time that evening. Having slipped on a pair of white briefs, he had come downstairs to get a snack and a glass of milk. Noticing John standing by the fire in the darkened living room, he walked over, bashfully hugged him with his free arm and, without a word, headed back upstairs with his provisions. "Not too bad tonight," the voice inside his head intoned, "but it's only the second night. Do I need to pray for you?" "Get oudda here!" the Professor sensed another part of his brain answering.
("Fly, Eagles, Fly, on the Road to Victory")
It was a glorious December day in the City of Brotherly Love - colder than hell frozen over, but sunny. Brad had seen the new Lincoln Financial Field on TV, though, naturally, he had never been there. He couldn't stop talking about the Eagles fans. "These guys are c-r-a-z-y," he kept mumbling, shaking his head. Indeed, many of the fans around them - and not just the younger ones - were jumping up and down and generally going berzerk. "I can't believe that they celebrate an Eagles score by taking off their shirts and waving them! What is it...about 26 degrees?" he laughed. "Feels colder..." In short, the youngster was having a ball. Kenyon knew that he had become part of the scene when the Eagles scored at the very end of the first quarter. Brad had whipped off his shirt and, yelling like a banshee, stood waving it in circles over his head. In strong approval, a group of dock workers in their green hard hats, who were sitting a few rows back, sent a beer down to him. Everyone laughed hysterically as he turned around, raised it to the sky, and led an Eagles cheer! It was a good scene. At the end, of course, the midnight-green-clad warriors lost a game by two points that they should have won by twenty, but that is also part of the Philly experience!
The Professor softened the blow by taking Brad out to dinner in an authentic Italian restaurant. "Most Italian food around here," he said as they drove back up into the city center, "is too damned Americanized. Some of us call it "Atlantic City Italian." The cooks have forgotten what garlic is and their marinara sauce tastes like oatmeal!" Brad nodded and commented that it was much the same "out on the Coast". "Tonight, however, you are getting the real thing!" Kenyon continued. "Enjoy!" And enjoy they did. It was a glorious dinner, in a glorious city, on a glorious night, and they'd had a super day! True, it was a long drive home, but the Professor much enjoyed the company of the lad sitting next to him - and it was more than obvious that the feelings were fully reciprocated.
(Holiday Cheer)
A couple of nights later, Kenyon was watching some TV when Brad wandered in. "Mind if I join you, Coach?" he asked brightly. "Nope, come on in, Big Guy," the Professor responded. "I've been meaning to speak with you anyway." "What's up?" the youth asked as he took his usual seat on the couch located next to Kenyon's favorite chair. "I've been meaning to ask you about your Holiday plans," the man asked as he pushed the "mute" button on the control wand. "Will you be taking a break until everyone returns right after New Years for the Winter quarter?" "Well, sir, I had no plans to be away," Brad said somewhat sadly, "but if you are going somewhere and have to close the house up like they close the dorms, I'll understand - and I can manage."
"First, youngster, if I should go away, I would trust you to stay here. It's your home, too," Kenyon said firmly. "Thank you, sir," the boy responded, grinning softly as muscles tightened by apprehension relaxed. "If you will allow me to do, however, let me suggest one alternative," the Professor continued. "The original stem of my family hails from Vermont. I haven't seen them for some years; the two oldest boys, for instance, are in college, or in their last year of high school...whatever. They're having an old fashioned Christmas at the family home, and they've invited the whole clan, including me. How about joining me?" His voice showing some sense of trepidation, Brad asked, "Would I be in the way, or would others think I was intruding on their family reunion?" "I'd enjoy your company, Brad. After all, I don't really know most of them either. Further, I was offered the opportunity to bring a guest." "Yeah," the lad grinned. "I'd like to go...a lot."
From Bennington on, John had to contend with light snow...and an increasingly excited youngster. Beyond Manchester Center - the snow beginning to come down in heavy waves - they were able to turn off US-7 towards their destination. (Thank God for the snowplow that they were able to follow for the last few miles!) Fortunately, the Professor was an experienced winter driver whose car was thoroughly prepared. Brad had never felt as safe with anyone - and rarely as happy.
The youngster spotted the house well before his mentor...long, stone, protected by sentinels that thrust their bare branches high into the falling snow, flashing Christmas lights, candles in the windows, smoke coming from the chimney. All things told, a scene straight out of a nineteenth century lithograph... Several cars were already drawn up in front of the three-car garage connected to the house. A loud grunt escaped the boy. "You ok?" the Professor asked. "Yes, sir. It's just that it looks just like I thought it would. I think what I'm seeing defines 'home'." "Nicely said, young Colby," Kenyon replied. "Are you sure that Computer Science should be your major? Maybe one of the English Department's writing majors?" Brad just laughed and then grinned as he watched the kids...and adults...who were mushing through the snow towards them as they pulled up near the other cars.
Within seconds it was a mob scene. Surrounded by laughing, smiling...cousins...they were inside the beautiful home before they knew it. (At one point, Brad grinned at his mentor and whispered something like, "Fourth cousin, Third cousin, Fifth cousin thrice removed... How in hell do you remember which is which?" John just grinned Chessy- Cat style and whispered, "I don't...never could!") Their timing, snow and all, had been good and they soon enjoyed a fine buffet dinner. Considering that he had just met several "cousins" of his age group, Brad was doing very well. (Good thing, for the adolescent girl cousins had discovered Brad - and were swarming like deer flies!)
On the morrow, Cousin Andy at Cornell and Cousin Kip who was going to Yale invited everyone to go snowboarding. Killington and several other noted winter sports areas were close by. Brad had never been on one, but the gymnast thought he could probably manage it. It was at that point that the young man put his mark on the family. They didn't have enough transportation for all of the high schoolers, let alone the younger kids who began setting up a howl when it appeared that they wouldn't be going. Brad spotted one ten or eleven year old who he had noted walked with a severe limp. He simply walked over to Lenny and asked him if he wanted to go. Bashfully, Lenny admitted that he did and accepted a ride on top of Brad's broad shoulders. Embarrassed, the other older guys took care of the remaining little guys, while one talked two fathers into driving. (Truth was, they had really wanted to watch TV and exercise their elbows!)
Evidently, they had a fantastic afternoon. At least when the group gathered around the tree after supper to sing Christmas carols, Lenny limped over and spent the evening sitting between Brad's legs. Kenyon noticed that every now and then he would look up at the older boy with unabashed hero worship - and Brad would tighten his heavy arms around the boy or affectionately rub his short hair. This camaraderie continued into the next day - Christmas - when Brad gave the one gift everyone had been asked to bring (a small carved NW Indian totem pole) to Lenny. Giggling, Lenny gave him his gift, a small medallion made of green Vermont marble with a chain. The boy didn't begin to understand why his gift absolutely blew Brad away, but, then, he hadn't lived Brad's life. Just as they were ready to begin the long trip home, the young man reached over and put his hand on the Professor's thigh. When he glanced over at the boy - who mouthed the word "Thanks" - he noticed that he had tears in his eyes. Hooking his hand around the back of the young athlete's muscular neck, he squeezed slightly and whispered, "You're welcome, son." It would have been easier if the boy hadn't mumbled under his breath, "Don't I wish."
The remainder of the year went by pretty quickly. The Professor had more work to do on one course he would be offering during the Winter Quarter; Brad was trying to get ahead a bit on his reading. They both enjoyed the exercise room and the camaraderie it afforded. New Years Eve was upon them almost before they realized it. Traditionally, Kenyon as the Chairperson had always thrown a party for the Department, hiring a student to serve and help clean up. This year, Brad insisted on handling the student work, showing up in a starched white jacket. When he first saw him, John growled in fun, "And where did you get THAT?" "Borrowed it from a guy who works at a restaurant down on Main Street," he chortled. Needless to say, the youngster did a fantastic job and charmed everyone he met.
The New Year had arrived. On the third, the Winter Quarter would begin. Both men felt good about themselves, about those around them, and about the challenges that they faced.
To Be Continued