PROFESSOR KENYON - 4
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
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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 4
(Revisiting Chapter 3)
"Kristin, it's just not going to work. I don't know what happened, but I've got to go. I'm so very, very sorry." The young lady said quietly and with commendable compassion, "Apology accepted, Brad. Don't let it get to you. One experience in the sack, one test score, one argument with your boyfriend...it doesn't tell you much...at least enough to get upset about. If you wish, you can go down a fire escape at the end of this hall and avoid the crowds." The thoroughly distressed boy nodded his head in thanks and, averting his eyes, dressed and left as quickly as possible.
(Continuing Our Story - When It Rains, It Pours)
Given the brilliance of his departure for the dance, it would have been impossible for the Professor not to notice the depression that set in on his return. All he wanted to do was to mope, and neither food nor affection - let alone the calls of teammates or the pressure of studies - had the slightest effect. Finally, when the gymnastics team was becoming desperate given the fast-approaching meet with Cornell, he allowed Paul Kinney and Barry Lassiter into the house and told them where he was. Evidently, they convinced him that he wasn't a social pariah - who was probably suspected of being far worse - and gradually he returned to the living. Not that he was exactly bubbly, but at that point, the Professor was willing to take anything he could get!
The next crisis came three or four days later when Kenyon heard loud curses and the sound of things being thrown emanating from Brad's bathroom. Lest Man Mountain tear the place down, the Professor went upstairs and enquired (gently) if there were anything he could do. The bathroom door opened to disclose a youngster whose whole body was shaking with a frustration rapidly turning into anger. However distracted by the inflammatory sight of the gorgeous kid in his briefs, Kenyon forced himself to get the story straight. In brief (pun intended), he had to remove all hair from his body below the eyes for the coming competition. The simple truth was that his nerves were still so shaken from the experience with Kristin that he couldn't manage a razor to save himself. (Three or four good nicks from which blood was still seeping convinced John that he was telling the truth.) For three or four commendable reasons - plus a few others - his landlord and mentor offered to do the job for him. Closing the downstairs blinds and throwing a plastic sheet on the dining room table, he had the boy doff his briefs and stretch out as comfortably as possible.
His upper body presented no great problems - other than the fact there was so much of it. It appeared, parenthetically, that Brad was naturally quite a hairy kid. A great deal had begun to grow back since his last shave. For that reason, the Professor decided to use an excellent electric trimming razor first and then follow it up with a manual razor with shaving soap. The hair came off his heavy arms, shoulders, and pecs with no problems whatsoever. Quite a bush had grown back in his pits, but after using a little powder it came off, too. There really wasn't enough hair on his abs or his powerful lower stomach to provide a problem, and with a few swipes it was gone. Kenyon paused when the came to the boy's pubes. "You've regrown quite a forest down here, Brad. How do you want me to handle it?" The youth's voice shook a bit, but he answered quickly, "The latest thing seems to be to leave enough stubble to provide a shadow in the pubic area, but no more. All of the genital hair has to come off. Ok?" "Yep," Kenyon mumbled and kept working. Taking care of the public area, he then deftly used the trimming razor to remove most of the hair on and around the youth's genitals, as well as on his perineum and in the crack between his buttocks.
Brad's long muscular legs stretched out across the table. His thighs were perfectly shaped, true works of art. Though he sometimes complained about them, his rounded calves belonged in a statuary museum, as far as the Professor was concerned. Here the hair was heavy, and it piled up as the razor moved lower and lower. When he had gotten the front side, he had Brad stand while he took the plastic sheet out into the back yard and shook it. The boy smiled wanly and put his arm on John's shoulder as he climbed back up on the table. The lower reverse side of the youngster's magnificent body was also quite hairy, but it surrendered to the electric razor without incident, as did a goodly amount of hair on his buttocks. As the fair skin unsullied by hair emerged to glow softly in the light, Kenyon had to keep himself under tight control. The boy's upper torso was necessarily heavily muscled as only a gymnast's or a bodybuilder's can be. His legs and buttocks, however, were in perfect proportion...pure muscular art. The Professor found himself brushing aside the strands of hair simply to run his hands over skin that was smooth as silk. Clearing his throat and swallowing, he quickly finished off the youngster's back and neck. Sheer poetry in flesh...the epitome of youth.
"Ok, bozo, I'm ready to take the manual razor and shaving cream to you. Want to take a little break before we begin?" "Yeah, dad, thanks," Brad responded. "Do you mind if we sit together on the couch? I'm a little stressed and need to steal a little of your energy and guts." Kenyon put his arm around the lad's softly glowing body and pulled him close. Kissing him on top of the head, he murmured, "I don't think you need to 'steal' anyone else's courage, son. You're one of the bravest people I've ever known." (The Professor noticed that he had called him "dad" for the first time in several weeks and seemed to be returning to a state when he could analyze his problems.) Brad sniffled and pushed even closer.
Noting that there were tears in the boy's eyes, the Professor asked if he wanted to finish up at that time or continue on the next evening. "Whatever you want, bozo. I'm good with it either way." Brad raised his hand and touched Kenyon's face before answering, "Let's go for it, dad. (Pause.) I love you, you know." "I know," John answered quietly. The close shave was messy and it took a while, but eventually all that remained were Brad's genitals. Deciding not to make a big thing out of it, John simply lathered the entire area. He then gently grasped the boy's soft six-inch tube, held it up, and removed any stubble from the base and lower portion of the shaft. He was about to take Brad's large ball-stuffed scrotum into his left hand when the youngster let out a little cry and lifted his torso off the table as he reached his arms out for the Professor. "Oh, Dad," he sobbed. "Oh, Dad." With that, he took Kenyon's hand and placed it firmly atop a cock that was now blazing hot, at least eight inches in length, impossibly swollen, and hard as steel. Before Kenyon could do anything, however, the youngster began screaming, "Fuck! Never, never, never! I said I'd NEVER do that again!", leapt off the table, and ran through the kitchen and out the back door!
Recovering faster than he ever though possible for a thirty-two-year-old, Kenyon followed within seconds. When he reached the backyard, however, he had to screech to a halt. The young Olympian was sprawled out on the icy ground, groggy from having tripped over a cracked spot in the walkway. Inasmuch as there was no way that the Professor could have hoisted the solid hulk into his arms - or carried him had he been able to lift him - he simply helped him to stand and stagger back towards the house. Inside, he helped the lad to crumple onto the couch and sat there, holding him in his arms. It all came out. God! That terrible, humiliating evening at the Alpha Alpha Alpha House... He had to take a chance! Sobbing intermittently, Brad told of his life before coming across country to the University. He recounted his continuing battle with his homosexuality. Disclosing the prostitution problems, he noted how placing a john's hand on his hot cock had become his sign that he was fully ready for action. During his few therapeutic sessions, he had vowed that he would never again take that route to fulfilling his sexual needs. His passions aroused beyond his ability to control them, he had unintentionally fallen back on a similar gesture to reach out to Kenyon. He sobbed that he had loved him since he set eyes on him at the door on that dark, frigid December afternoon. Now, he sniffled, it was all over. Kenyon wouldn't want him, nor would anyone else. What in hell was to become of him?
"Well, let's see," the Professor said. "You've found a father who loves you and will stand by you. Although you face some serious work to get back on top of your studies, you're a student at a fine university. You've built a beautiful, strong body and honed it for success in a demanding sport. You've made some great friends - unless those guys who stopped by a few days ago were really enemies-in-disguise! And maybe, just maybe, you've learned something about your sexual self that will reduce your false starts and pain in the future. Why wouldn't I want such a son? Brad turned, almost throwing himself at the Professor and tucking his head under Kenyon's chin as they fell back on the couch. After a quick clean up and shower, he fell into the first restful sleep he had enjoyed for days. The last thing he remembered was the unfamiliar feeling of security as his father kissed the back of his neck and softly stroked his hair.
(Family)
It was time for the big gymnastics meet with Cornell. The Big Red team arrived. The Professor met Cousin Andy over at the Harris Gym where he also exchanged a few pleasant words with their coach. On reaching the house, the handsome senior had quite a surprise. His father and mother had made the long trip down from Vermont - and, after an intensive campaign of shameless begging and promises, had brought little brother Lenny with a devilish friend named Fred. Poor Brad... He was now at the beck and call of TWO ten-year-olds!
Professor Kenyon had outdone himself for dinner! Roast beef with an herbed Yorkshire pudding, horseradish sauce (for those who liked it), creamed spinach, a crunchy Waldorf salad, and a refreshing orange sorbet sent everyone into long paeans of praise for the chef. French bread and an excellent Napa Valley Cabernet Sauvignon complemented the feast. Brad did wonder (loudly) why he didn't cook like this more often, but when John showed his fangs and growled menacingly at him, he shut up!
Having experienced long days, and facing an even more demanding one, the house darkened for sleep and quieted down somewhat earlier than usual. (Oh, the ten-year- olds didn't, but that was par for the course.) Brad noticed that Andy was having quite a problem getting to sleep. As a matter of fact, about 1:30 am he simply got out from under the covers and sat on the edge of the bed. "You ok, cuz?" Brad whispered. "Yeah, Brad...just too much adrenalin flowing, I guess." "Want to come over here and let me work on the shoulders for a bit?" "I sure would, Brad, but will it bother you that I sleep in the raw?" "Not if it doesn't bother you that I do, too," Brad laughed. For a few minutes there were confused sounds (including giggles) as two really big youngsters fitted themselves into the same single bed. Then one heard little more than soft moans and an occasional "Oh, yeah!" Clearly, they traded off at some point, for the moans became Brad's. "Oh, yeah...that really feels great," he muttered at one point. "Are you sure, cuz?" Andy asked. "REAL sure!" Brad responded, whereupon the predominant sounds became those of sucking, moans, and gasps for air. Ere long, both hunks exploded, rested for a few minutes, and fell into a tight hug before there was relative silence. The last sound from either of them came when one - impossible to tell who - grunted, "Move your damned butt a little to the right, cuz!"
In the morning, both boys - equally bright eyed and bushy tailed - clomped into the kitchen, their arms around each other's shoulders and grinning widely. "Ready for a big day?" Kenyon mumbled over his second cup of coffee. "Oh, yeah!" they answered simultaneously. The Professor knew something was up, but barely awake, he just couldn't figure out what!
(The Gymnastics Meet)
Given the weather problems mentioned earlier, both a basketball game and a gymnastics meet were scheduled for the same Saturday. Rather than hold the events at different hours, the Athletic Department decided to have them run simultaneously in different venues. The gymnastics meet would be held in the older Harris Gymnasium while the basketball game would take place across campus in the new Tyler Pavilion. They had a good crowd for the basketball game, but the surprise was the mob of students, faculty, townspeople, and guests who packed the old gym. Although the purists thought it a bit much, the Music Department actually provided a pep band for the event. People had heard a great deal about the gymnastics team, especially the new man from the West Coast, and they were going to see for themselves.
Inasmuch as the three adults, plus the two kids, hadn't watched a lot of gymnastics, they decided to concentrate on Andy and Brad's performances. They weren't disappointed. Andy's work on the pommel horse was as smooth and flowing as a summer stream. Constantly shifting his bodyweight from hand to hand, never allowing his body to come to a stop, and using one pommel or handle and then two, Andy moved up and down the apparatus, occasionally straddling the horse as he flared his legs, occasionally turning, occasionally working high in the air and then dangerously low to the horse. Finally looking like nothing other than a helicopter, he spun in circles and then released neatly to a solid landing on the mat. When he stuck his perfect landing, it seemed as if everyone in the gym had been watching him, for they rose to their feet as one and broke into deafening applause and cheers. Given the difficulty of this event, some of the more experienced onlookers thought his excellent score of 9.85 was conservative, to put it mildly.
One will guess that everyone in the gym was also watching Brad when his turn came on the rings. It didn't seem to matter that he was only eighteen. The spectators jammed into the old Harris Gymnasium felt the spirit of the ancient Olympics descend on the boy's shoulders as he strode confidently out under the rings. (Kenyon felt a pang of disappointment that he could not compete in the nude.) For a moment he stood there quietly, proudly, in the beauty of youth. Then he was lifted up to the rings.
During the few minutes of his routine, his body remained straight with no arching; his arms showed sturdy and strong with no shaking. He swung on the rings with apparent ease; the rings never moved on their own. Whether a handstand or a cross, every move was made with absolute precision; a Swiss watchmaker could not have designed them better. Quickly, the boy piled up points as he combined strength and swing elements, culminating in an absolutely spectacular maneuver. Smoothly, his body under complete control, he swung into an inverted cross, held it for a clear two seconds, swung smoothly into a planche, holding it for two seconds, and then swung with great grace (and fantastic strength) into an Iron Cross which he also held for two seconds. One had the feeling that he could have swung there motionless, a pleasing expression on his handsome face, for considerably longer. The old hall that had seen so much by way of both glory and tragedy simply exploded when he gracefully descended with no more visible effort than had characterized his entire routine. When the judges announced their score, 9.975, the hall exploded into boos and foot stamping that shook the old wooden structure. If ever they had seen a ten... Brad probably didn't hear it, for at that moment he was riding jubilantly on the shoulders of his teammates. As the pep band pounded away, he was being carried from the rings to the team bench and thence around the perimeter of the floor. One gymnastics afficionado in front of the family was literally hanging on to his companion's shoulders in exhaustion from the intense concentration. Kenyon heard him mumble, "And dear God, that was from a freshman!"
The more experienced Cornell team won the meet by a clear margin. Andy won three event blues, a silver, and a bronze ribbon. Brad came home with the rings blue and a hotly contested bronze in the floor exercise. Brad winked as he approached the family outside the locker rooms only to fold his dad into a bear hug and pound him on the back. ("Thanks for coming, dad," he whispered into his ear.) Following close behind, a slightly embarrassed Andy followed suite with his dad, who hrrumped...but didn't run away.
Andy was traveling with the team which would depart as soon as the boys were packed up. He only had time for a quick trip back to the house to pick up his bag. He was able to hug Brad in their room and tell him how much he looked forward to their getting together again. With a wink, he said, "Maybe we can raise some hell during Spring Break." (He also told Brad that he had watched most of his routine, concluding seriously that he hadn't seen anything better on the rings even in the Olympics!) He rode back to the Harris Gym with his mother and dad to catch the team bus. They stayed overnight, but left early for the Green Mountain State. It was, they thought, a fantastic family visit. There had to be more of them! Cousin Lenny evidently felt the same way, for he and his sidekick, Fred, bugged Brad all evening, spending a good part of the night squirming around in his bed. When John asked him the next morning, however, if he were still alive, he just grinned.
To Be Continued