PROFESSOR KENYON - 5
Copyright 2007 by Carl Mason
All 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 5
(Revisiting Chapter 4)
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.
(Continuing Our Story - Palmaa)
It turned out that the Saturday of the Cornell gymnastics meet and basketball game provided the last halfway decent weather of the month. The remainder of January and early February was absolutely miserable - cold, icy, snowy, and heavily overcast throughout. True, It seemed to go by fairly quickly for Brad had the team and some serious studying to do in order to get back on top of his studies. As Chairperson of the History Department, Kenyon still had one course to teach. He also wanted to lay out a new book as well as to begin serious background research. As Presidents' Day (Monday, February 19th, a University holiday) approached, however, the winds were still howling, the snow was still flying, and people had begun to notice that they were suffering from serious cases of "cabin fever." The Professor decreed that it was time to get out of town for the long weekend. Hearing no argument from his grinning, always- ready-to-go roomer, he made reservations at Palmaa, a famous old Scandinavian resort over on the coast. The nighttime trip was long and difficult, but the roads were good, they were reasonably clear, and Kenyon's four-wheel-drive vehicle met all challenges.
"It used to be the private estate of an 1890s railway baron...an enormous piece of land for the East," Kenyon explained as they neared the coast. "For nearly forty years, it's been owned by a Swedish conglomerate that has refused to sell one square inch or, God forbid, lease any land to developers. For most of my adulthood, whenever life has become a bit much, I have gone over there to jog along the beaches, steam the crap out of my cells in the sauna, and enjoy some classically-prepared healthy food in one of their superb dining rooms. It's 'different,' son, but I hope that you will enjoy it as much as I." Brad didn't answer, for at that moment they had approached a gate. The guards, acting much like East German Stasi during the Cold War, inspected their papers and finally waved them through. "The guards don't seem too friendly, dad," Brad observed. "The Guards? They aren't very friendly," the Professor replied. "If they were, the place would be overrun with crap just like the rest of the coast." For miles they drove through a pine forest in which nothing other than a few guard jeeps were to be seen. As they approached the coast proper, the trees began to thin out and a few people were seen jogging in the frigid air. In one small valley, there were even people playing volleyball! "DAD!!" Brad erupted. "These people . . ." "Yep," Kenyon completed his sentence. "These people don't have any clothes on! Welcome to the oldest nudist colony in the United States, son, and, I think, the nicest." Eventually, they approached a massive old building that looked suspiciously like a great hotel of a considerably earlier age.
In a process that bore the patina of European manners, registration was quick and efficient. Almost before they knew it, they were in their delightfully comfortable room and the bellboy was placing their two small cases on racks. As Kenyon fumbled for a bill, the young lad managed a quick grin in Brad's direction. "Nicely built...nicely built," Brad chortled to himself. After the boy had departed, Brad gave the two-room suite a quick once-over. Clearly, it seemed to include every amenity imaginable. Returning from the bedroom, he said with something of a leer, "I only saw one bed, D-a-d..." "Right!" the Professor replied, speaking just a little too quickly to be convincing. "That was all that was available on short notice. Do you mind?" "Last thing I'd mind, Dad," he laughed as they moved into the bedroom where they began undressing and placing their clothes on hangers.
Kenyon looked at him with pride...and, ok, with more than a little lust. "God, you're a handsome brute," he growled. "Agrhrr-r," Brad snarled and pounded him lightly on the upper arm. "Your jock buddies are teaching you bad habits," the Professor replied. "Oh, I have a few of my own," the youth snickered as he pushed the older man down on the bed and leapt on top of him like a great cat. Over and over they rolled, neither getting much of an advantage. Finally, Kenyon got the lad on his stomach and began licking his back and buttocks. "Stop that, you old pervert!" Brad giggled. "I'm ticklish!" That's a good thing to know," Kenyon gulped, raising his head from his workplace. "Try this!" With that, he pried the boys cheeks apart and began lathing the crinkled flower that was revealed. "Oh, Dad...oh, my God...Don't stop!" the words came pouring out of the youth as he writhed so as to give the man a bit better access. "Oh-h-h-h-h-h..." Raising his head for a moment, the Professor growled that he had wanted to do this since he had first seen him in the outside doorway. Then he resumed his labors, gradually forcing the tip of his tongue into the flower that was now opening like a camera lens.
Grunting and moaning, Brad tried to work his butt just a little higher, receiving a slap on the rump for his troubles and the growled comment that everything was under control. His stiffened tongue fully extended into the youth's anal canal, the man was forcefully moving his head up and down. Abruptly, he stopped, removing the fleshy dildo. "Oh, no, dad! Don't do that," the boy whined. "Don't do that!" "Ah-h-h," he moaned as two heavily lubricated fingers continued the fucking. With a precision that reminded one of the boy's work on the rings, the fingers opened him up, loosened the anal muscles, and promised more as they rubbed against the lad's prostate. When a third finger joined them, the boy began to writhe under the master. Suddenly, heavy sweat broke out all over his body and a continuous moan poured from his throat. "Dad, dad, please dad," he panted. "Oh, dad, come into me. It's never been like this! Oh, my god, no more, please. I'm yours...always yours...please!"
With one quick, nearly painless thrust, Kenyon plunged his thick cock into the glorious flesh and claimed it for his own. As the youth's moans took on a timeless melodic wail, he pressed deep into him. Though he wanted to fasten his teeth on the back of that muscular neck, he forced himself simply to kiss it wildly as the rhythm of his loins carried him far beyond anything conscious. Feeling it coming like a magnificent streamliner rushing down the track, he gasped convulsively for the last bit of air and exploded into the youth.
He must have lost consciousness. When he came to, he was no longer physically joined to the lad. Brad lay alongside him, softly kissing him and whispering largely unintelligible sounds into his ear. His face was damp with the boy's tears. "The lad had been correct," he thought. It's never been like this." With a soft grunt, he reached out, enveloped the youngster in his arms, searched for his lips, and fell asleep.
When they finally awoke, it was nearly 3:30 in the afternoon. Kenyon realized that he was still holding the boy who was returning to consciousness. Suddenly Brad's eyes - as blue as the East Passage on a summer day - opened and stared into his soul. With nary a hitch, he reached out and kissed him lightly on the tip of his nose. "Hi, dad. I love you," were the youth's first words. With that, the muscular athlete muttered something and stretched until he popped out of John's arms. Lying on his back on the bed, he vigorously stretched his limbs to their full extent and yowled, "Oh, yeah! WOW!" "Well, Man Mountain, welcome back to the land of the living," the Professor laughed. "If we're going to jog on the beach for a bit before supper, we'd better be about it!" Brad raised up on one elbow and gazed at Kenyon with the strangest expression. "Dad, I may never be able to jog again. Hell! I may never be able to walk again! You can't be serious!" "Yep," the Professor grunted and lightly grabbed the family jewels. "Be careful now. If you don't join me in the shower pronto, I may squeeze these things and then you'll have more than walking problems!" Muttering dire curses barely under his breath, Brad allowed himself to be helped to his feet and into the nearby shower. Given the fact that he was a teenager - and an accomplished athlete - it wasn't long, however, before the hot water, the soap, and his dad's loving ministrations had him shadow boxing in the shower stall.
"I don't think I'll ever be comfortable in this situation," Brad muttered as they walked side by side through the hotel lobby. "Nudist propaganda has it that when everyone is naked, no one notices," grunted John. Kenyon had to know how partial a truth this was, for one would have had to be dead (and buried) NOT to notice the spectacular young man in their midst. Fortunately, they were soon on sand and took off in a slow lope down the beach. It was cold, but in all truth, neither man felt it as oppressive. Clouds scudding across the darkening sky still allowed them to see the remnants of a winter sunset. Soon they returned, barely winded, to the hotel and ascended the broad outside steps, their arms around each other. Their relationship had reached an entirely new level. Whatever their various commitments, they were deeply in love and the glow from their souls surrounded them with a softly iridescent nimbus. And so it was when, after a quick shower, they entered the dining room and a gentle silence fell over the crowded room. Once again, "reality" surrendered - if only for a brief moment - to magic and beauty.
Brad enjoyed his first sauna that evening, though he always contended that John generated more heat and sweat than the steam bath! Perhaps it's reasonable to take his word for it, for they quickly returned to their bedroom for additional experimentation. They would never forget this "Winter Break." The next day and a half saw additional jogging, even some horseback riding (from which it was harder, considerably harder, to recover than sex!), massages that celebrated the Swedish contributions to our culture, and imaginative, healthy food that satisfied even the most persnickety. The young Colby even managed to make lasting friends among the many mothers who had to take this Winter Break with their offspring. The middle school boys' "coach" was ill. Management was just about to call off the afternoon's activities (and dump responsibility back on their parents!) when Brad volunteered to take his place for the day. Soon eight boys between the ages of 11 and 13 were jogging about the property, playing volleyball, and even taking part in the resort's traditional Polar Bear Dip. (The mothers reported that they usually found it difficult to get their kids into the bathtub, let alone into a frigid, gray February sea that could easily have supported chunks of ice!) It seems that they (parents and kids) were firmly convinced that "Coach" was God! The fact remains that Danny Melton, a well set up thirteen-year-old, won two of the Polar Bear Dip prizes and, as far as one could tell, was not about to let his big sisters forget it! Both Brad and John agreed that it was difficult to leave Palmaa.
(Dakota)
Not long after returning home, Brad's first grades came out. Actually, all things considered, they were quite good. Kenyon was quite pleased over the interest in history that he was displaying and also thought that a couple of articles he had written for the sports section of the campus newspaper were quite promising. Though not provided as a formal reward, he surprised the lad one evening at the supper table with an entry-level digital camera and no instructions other than to see what he could do with it.
It seems that his Soc. course was deeply involved in a study of "homelessness." Brad, of course, had enough personal experience with that phenomenon to develop quite a head of steam as the unit continued. For instance, he came home with several digital pictures of homeless folk and conditions right in town that had received high praise from his instructor. One was subsequently published in the local paper. Perhaps the Professor shouldn't have been so surprised when he came home late one evening from the library and heard noises upstairs in what had to be Brad's bathroom. Walking upstairs, he knocked on the door and called, "Brad?" The door quickly opened to disclose his son, a towel wrapped around his middle to protect his school clothes. He also saw that somebody was in the bathtub!
It seems that Brad had found a homeless twelve-year-old by the name of "Dakota" downtown under a bridge, brought him home, and persuaded him to get into the bathtub with the promise of food. Asking if he might join them for a minute, he sat on the toilet while Brad continued giving Dakota a bath. He was a scrawny little guy comprised mostly of coltish legs and clown feet. His bright red hair was long and stringy - and John thought he could see something moving at its roots. Otherwise, he didn't have much hair beyond shadows in his armpits and a little red fuzz above a three- inch (soft) cock. Unfortunately, he had needle marks on the inside of his elbows. The youngster smirked as he noticed the Professor's eyes examining him - and then tried to conceal the needle marks. Asking Brad if he gotten something for his hair (yes, on the way home), he asked the boy if there were something that he would especially enjoy for supper. "Nah," the waif rasped. "I'm not choosy." "Ok, guys, I'll see you downstairs in the kitchen," Kenyon said calmly, "in 30 or 40 minutes, ok?" "Ok, dad, and thanks," Brad exclaimed, quickly throwing an arm around his neck.
Dakota's eyes nearly popped out of his head when he looked at the kitchen table and saw TWO great burgers - with all of the trimmings - French fries, and a coke staring back at him. "WOW!" he exclaimed and rushed for a chair. Remembering some manners from God knows how long ago, he paused and asked with a wide toothy smile, "All for me?" "All for you, Dakota! Eat hardy!" Brad replied. Even at eighteen he could scarcely believe it, but in a relatively short time, every plate or glass in front of the gremlin was clean...not even a crumb was to be seen! "Like to watch some TV?" Brad asked. "YEAH!" came the emphatic answer. The Professor made himself comfortable in his chair while Brad and the boy took the couch. John grinned to himself as he watched Dakota position himself as close to his hero as he could possibly manage without climbing into his lap. Tuning the big plasma TV to a Disney show, Brad settled back. The boy's eyes were as big as saucers as he watched with intense concentration. As the program continued, however, they slowly became heavier and heavier until he fell over onto Brad, fast asleep. "I'll take him upstairs, Dad," Brad said proudly. "Fine, son. Then come on back down so we can talk."
"Are you mad with me, Dad?" Brad inquired as he returned to his seat on the couch. "No, son. I'm prouder of you than I've ever been. You have a heart, and you've got the makings of a fine man." Blushing, the youth glanced down at his hands, then smiled and looked straight back into his father's eyes. "But I haven't covered all of the bases, have I?" "Nope," Kenyon replied, "but I think you've done pretty damned well for eighteen." Grinning, he added, "I'd like to make a few comments. How gentle do you want me to be?" "Straight from the shoulder, Dad. Wouldn't have it any other way." "Ok," the Professor said quietly. "Here's what I see."
"We can be reasonably sure that the lad uses drugs." Brad nodded his head in agreement. "I think the only thing harder for a person to control than alcoholism is a drug addiction. Whether he wants to or not, chances are he'll steal us blind to feed his habit. Secondly, the boy is sexually active. Given the drugs, that increases his chances of carrying some pretty nasty sexually transmitted diseases. The HIV virus is only one of them. Even without drugs, son, one in five Americans under twenty-one requires treatment for an STD. If you think there's the slightest POSSIBILITY that you might have sex with him, that's something to consider. While I'm on the subject of sex, something else comes to mind. The fact that you're more than a couple of years older than he opens you to the charge of rape if your activity is ever discovered. It wouldn't help that you were eighteen; it wouldn't matter that it was consensual. Further, son, believe me when I tell you that he's not the only one who would cause trouble you couldn't get out of if he went to the authorities. A teacher, a buddy, a religious figure, a health care person - ANY ONE OF THEM could cause an investigation - and this could happen after an interval of several years. Question: Are you prepared to end your career and/or your life on such a note? Hold on. I think I heard something upstairs. Why don't you go up and check on our guest. Then we can continue."
A few minutes later, Brad came to the head of the stairs. The professor could see that he was crying. "He's gone, Dad - and my camera and wallet are gone, too. He left this note on my dresser. "Sorry, Brad, to have gotten you in trouble. I think that you and your dad are great people. The things I took are only a loan. I'll pay you back as soon as I can get to work. Love, Dakota" The youngster stumbled down the stairs and straight into Kenyon's arms. "Sorry, Dad," he sobbed. "Having a heart can be painful," Kenyon whispered into his ear, "but not having one can be far worse. Do you want to go and see if he's ok?" "Yeah, Dad, please." "Take the car, but be real careful. It's icy and you haven't been driving that long."
About a half hour later, Brad returned sadly reporting that Dakota was nowhere to be found. The Professor went into the kitchen and returned with a beer and a diet soda. Returning to his chair, they began to talk about the evening, what had happened, and how they felt. Perhaps an hour later, Brad heard a tapping on the window beside the back door. As he opened the door, Kenyon heard a great shout. A few seconds later, Dakota came riding into the living room on Brad's shoulders. When the boy saw the Professor, however, he said, "Let me down, Brad!" Turning to the Professor, he said, "I heard what you and Brad said, sir - and every word of it was true. It's worse than you said." His lips were quivering as he continued. "I don't want to be this way, sir. I brought back Brad's stuff because I...I...like you too much to steal from you. If there's any way I can stay, I'll do anything you want. One john told me that there are doctors who could help me get off the stuff if I had the money to pay them. Of course, he only wanted me to earn some money by taking care of him." With that the boy broke down completely. "PLEASE let me stay, sir, PLEASE!" he cried through his tears. When he saw that the Professor's arms were held out towards him, he made a beeline for him and climbed up into his lap. The long colt legs and clown feet didn't fit so well, but chances were, the Professor thought, he could put up with it if his second son could.
To Be Continued