1968

1968

by: Mark Arbour

Before you read this story, there are a few things you should consider:

1. It contains graphic descriptions of sex between men. There may even be some sex with women in here. Fortunately, there is no sex with animals.

2. Be aware that the effects of inflation have been profound. A good rule of thumb is to consider that $1 in 1968 is probably similar to $10 in 2008. So just add a zero at the end of any number.

3. This is a sequel to "Chronicles of an Academic Predator." You don't have to read CAP before this story, but it will give you a deeper insight into the characters and their pasts.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Musical Recommendation: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QOyfsFGxarc "98.6" by Keith

March 8, 1968

"Peter Gordon's office," the voice said, sounding officious.

"I'd like to speak to Peter Gordon," I said, just as formally.

"Mr. Gordon isn't available. Can I route your call to his fan club?" His fan club?

"No, I'm a personal friend of Peter's. I've known him for some time."

"Sir, Mr. Gordon has a lot of personal friends, or at least that's what they claim. I told you he's not available."

"Let's try a little experiment. Why don't you tell him that JP Crampton is on the line for him, and if he takes my call, you apologize. If he doesn't, I never bother you again."

"Very funny," she said. "OK, that was Mr. Crampton?"

"No, Dr. Crampton," I said arrogantly. That finally seemed to break her shell. Maybe she thought it was a medical emergency. I should have told her that I had the results from his latest VD test, but that was still a sore topic after Jeff infected me with gonorrhea last year.

"Hold please," she said, and I heard some jingly hold music. No more than a minute passed.

"Dr. Crampton? Looks like I owe you an apology. I'm so sorry. There are a lot of people who have become Peter's friend since he became famous." She was really contrite.

"I understand. Don't worry about it. But next time I call, you'll put me right through right?"

"Yes sir. Now hold for Peter." A few clicks later and I heard that familiar deep, melodic voice. "JP? Is that really you?"

"As I live and breathe Peter. How are you doing?"

"I'm doing great JP, and I owe it all to you. And I've been such a schmuck, not writing or calling or anything."

"Bah. I saw potential and I helped you exploit it. You too famous to hang out with me?"

"You've got to be fucking kidding! I'd drop everything for you." That made me smile.

"Well, I'm due to deliver a lecture at UCLA on Monday, so I thought if you were up to it I'd come in this weekend and spend some time with you."

"That's fantastic! When do you get in?" I gave him my flight info. "Someone will pick you up, and you're staying with me. I live in Bel Air, close to campus."

"I don't want to impose," I said.

"Christ JP. You were willing to go to jail for me, and I can't put you up for a few nights? Besides, maybe I'll get lucky and you'll decide to share my room." I giggled and we said our goodbyes.

I picked up the latest paper to find that the government had declared that the Battle of Saigon was over, and it was a total US and South Vietnamese victory. Yeah, South Vietnam's capital is besieged, our embassy is captured, and it takes us over a month to regain control. Sounds like a fabulous victory to me. Meanwhile in Europe things were really in a boil. Polish students had started massive demonstrations, and the Soviets were getting increasingly more exasperated with their Czech allies and the reforms they were proposing. It seemed that good news was in short supply.

I spent the rest of the day frantically working on my speech, updating it with this latest news. Not as easy as it sounds, since I'd never used Stanford's administrative system to create slides. That it was smoother and faster than Northwestern's was a pleasant surprise.

March 9, 1968

The flight to LAX was short and easy. I grabbed my suitcase and headed for the door when I saw a sign with my name on it. A very handsome young guy was holding it. "Hi, I'm JP Crampton," I said, holding out my hand.

"I'm Deke, Mr. Gordon's driver. Let me take your bags sir." He reached down and picked up my suitcase like it was a feather. I took that chance to check him out. Deke had to be Scandinavian. There was no other explanation for those looks. If I had to guess, I'd say Swedish. Tall, big shoulders, blond hair and blue eyes. Not violet eyes like Jeff's, but eyes that were more of a powder blue. This kid belonged in Hollywood.

"Thanks Deke," I said politely. I should have brought Stefan with me. He'd have this guy's pants off in no time.

He led me to a big black limousine and held the door for me. When he opened the door and helped me in, I thought I felt his hand briefly graze my ass. I turned around and smiled at him. I definitely had to bring Stefan down here.

"Mr. Gordon told me to help you out with anything you may need." I wanted to say "anything?" but I couldn't. That was Stefan's game, not mine.

"Is that just for the ride home, or for the duration of my visit Deke?" I joked.

"Anytime, anywhere, sir." he said with a leer.

"Thanks," I said. "I'll keep that in mind." He drove me to Peter's house in silence after that. Peter lived in the hills in a beautiful contemporary home that overlooked LA. I walked into the house and straight into the living room/dining room. Sliding glass doors opened out onto a nice pool and yard, and beyond that was a priceless view of LA. From where I was standing, it looked as if you walked much beyond the pool you'd end up falling off the mountain.

I was taking in the view when another mirage appeared. Peter Gordon in a swimsuit, looking just as sexy as the first time I'd seen him naked in that Princeton bathroom six years ago. He ran toward me and gave me a huge hug. "God JP, it is so good to see you! I'm so glad you don't hate me for not calling or writing." Then he hugged me again.

"How could I hate you Peter. You're too damn cute to hate. Always have been." I took in his appearance. He still had that cocky rebel attitude, and that red hair that I found to be such a turn on. He'd matured into a man now, though, and he'd gotten some hair on his chest and abdomen. It was ironic that I liked him better without body hair, especially considering how much I loved his red hair. That was a small nitpick though. He was fit, probably from excercising and the Hollywood routine, and still devastatingly handsome. It looked like he'd had some work done on his teeth. In a nutshell, he was perfect. His blue eyes stared into my green eyes and then he moved forward and our lips met.

Peter was a great kisser, and our mouths came together in harmony. He finally broke the kiss and took my hand, leading me to his bedroom. "You don't know how many times I've jacked off thinking about kissing you," he said huskily.

"Yeah right," I said teasingly. "You're out here in LA with all these beautiful people and you fantasize about me? Wanna buy some swampland?" Peter started laughing.

"Yeah, they're pretty on the outside. Inside, not so much." He kissed me again, this time with a mission. He wanted to get in my pants, and there was no way I was going to say no.

We took off our clothes, slowly and seductively, just like we'd done that last night we'd spent together in Philadelphia. He pulled down his shorts and revealed his hard cock, sticking out from his big red pubic bush. I dropped to my knees and inhaled him. I loved his scent. He had the typical male odor, but his was tinged with a sweetness, like sweet vinegar, that drove me wild. He pulled me up and led me to the bed, where he lay down on top of me in a 69 position, his cock dangling over my face briefly. I felt his mouth around my own dick and I worked on his. I moved my fingers across his crack and his hole, the first ass I'd ever fucked. I think the stimulation was just too much for us. In no time at all he was blasting down my throat, and I returned the favor before he was done.

"I should have called you too," I said as we lay in bed. "I saw you on a Corvette commercial in 1963. Then the next thing I know you're a fucking movie star."

"Yeah, it was a whirlwind. I got out here and I had almost gone through the money you gave me when I auditioned for a commercial on a hunch. I probably didn't deserve the part, but I let the director fuck me. You gotta do what you gotta do." I laughed. Peter had such a great sense of humor.

"Yeah, and you do it so well." He giggled at that.

"So one thing led to another, and here I am. I've had some bumps, did a stint in rehab last year that set me back a bit, but now I've dumped the drugs. Well except for pot. You wanna get high?"

"Fuck yeah," I said, and Peter pulled out a box with some pot and a pipe. In no time at all we were really stoned.

"So you dating anyone?" he asked.

"Yeah, I've got a boyfriend. He had some drug problems too, and we just got back together."

"He won't mind you fucking around with me?" he asked cautiously.

"Nah. We've got an open relationship. There are even a couple of other guys living with us that we fuck around with."

"Sounds like heaven. Mind if I come visit? You still in Chicago?"

"Yes you can visit, and no, I don't live in Chicago. I live in Palo Alto. I'm teaching at Stanford." His eyes lit up.

"Next break I get I'll come and see you and your boy toys."

"Rest up. My cousin Stefan will wear you out. You'll love him." Peter smiled. "And my wife would love to meet you."

"Wife? You mean you have a wife and a male harem? It sounds like you should be the one living in Hollywood." Peter was the same as he was before. I spent most of my time with him either cumming or laughing.

"Yeah, it's a marriage of convenience. You remember that guy I was with in the diner?"

"The really handsome one with the dark hair? The one you claimed was just your roommate?"

"Well, he was just my roommate, but we ended up getting together." I felt the sadness inside as I remembered being with Andre. "Before we did, he'd gotten Isidore, my wife, pregnant. So I married her so she could move to the US and I could help her raise her son, our son now. He's a great kid."

"Did that asshole bail on both of you?"

"Well, not by choice. He was killed in Vietnam." I hadn't gotten upset about Andre in years, but I felt a tear fall down my cheek. Peter leaned forward and kissed it away.

"I'm sorry."

"So what about you?" I asked, changing the subject.

"Well, I get laid all the time. Even the occasional starlet, just so everyone will think I'm straight. Problem is, none of us can really be openly gay, and we're under a microscope all the time, so relationships are tough. Especially for me, because I really have to watch my reputation."

"Why? Just because you look better than all those other guys?"

He smiled at me. "JP, you always were good for my ego. No, because of Georges. Remember him?"

"Yeah, the guy you lived with in Princeton, the control freak."

Peter nodded sadly. "That's the one. He saw the commercials too and came out to LA to get me back. The fucker stalked me all over town and called all the time. That's why it was hard for you to get through on the phone. Then when all of his threats didn't work, he did an interview and told the press I was a fag."

"How come I never saw the story?" Surely that would have been news.

"Because I told the reporters that he was a nut case, and that I didn't know him. They believed me. Think about it. No one really knew I was in Princeton, so his stories made no sense."

"Won't that make it dangerous for you to be seen with me?" I asked. He looked thoughtful. He hadn't thought that out. "I mean, we don't have to go out in public. I'd be just as happy to stay here and make you my love slave for a few days," I joked.

"I'd like that. A lot. But I want to show you around too. Maybe I'll just tell everyone you're my cousin. We both speak French. Hopefully no one will pry too deeply."

"Look Peter, they say you may be up for an Academy Award. That's amazing, you're amazing. Let's not blow it OK? I just want to see you, not LA." He smiled at me, his big grin, and kissed me again.

"You know," I said, "It seems like the last time we were together you let me fuck you. It seems that after all these years, it's time for me to return the favor." He grinned and pulled out the Vaseline and showed me that he was as good a lover as Stefan.

Musical Recommendation: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gffr7h6BgPI "Like to Get to Know You" by Spanky and Our Gang

We had dinner at his house, Deke went out and got food for us, and then we spent the rest of the night in Peter's bed reminiscing about old memories and making some new ones.

"Deke seems like a nice guy," I said.

"The driver? Yeah, he's a good guy." Peter seemed uninterested.

"Does he fuck you?" I asked.

"Actually, I usually fuck him. He's a good driver, and we have fun together."

"And that's it?"

"Yeah, should there be more? This from the guy with a harem?" Peter seemed irritated.

"I'm sorry; I'm just trying to understand. I have a problem. I get attached to people that I fuck around with and develop feelings for them. I just assume that everyone else is afflicted the same way."

He smiled. "You know, he's probably a great guy, but here it's all on the surface. Besides, it's dangerous to go further. Look what happened with Georges."

"You can't live your whole life without loving anyone because of that psycho, Peter. I mean, I'm not so bad am I? Unless you didn't have any feelings for me?" I said in a teasing, pouty way.

"There are a lot of times that I wished I'd have gone back to Princeton, taken the heat, and stayed with you JP. You don't know how hard I fell for you in just those few days we spent together." I was surprised at Peter and his seriousness.

"Yes I would. Leaving you at the airport was agony. But you know, out of all that, I ended up with a pretty great friend, and a great piece of ass." He laughed at me.

We fell asleep that night and I woke up later hearing something strange. I opened my eyes without moving my head, and saw someone peeking in at us through the windows. The shape vanished and I carefully got out of bed and slipped on my boxers. I went outside, careful not to make any noise and there, in front of me, was someone staring in the windows.

"Ahem," I said, clearing my throat, and the guy jumped at least a foot in the air. I thought it might have been Georges, but this guy was too big. It was Deke. "Looking for something?" And then this guy totally blew my mind. He literally broke down crying in front of me. I didn't really know what to do, but in the end my sense of compassion gripped me and I went up and hugged him.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm just so pissed at you."

"You're mad at me?" I asked. "What did I do to you?"

"You're sleeping with Peter. You come in here, fucking cute as hell, wiggle your ass at him, and he falls for you like a rock. The only time he notices me is when we fuck, and then he basically sees my body, nothing else. He never even kisses me."

"Deke, Peter and I are old friends. I have a boyfriend at home. It's not like that. I'm not a threat to you. Now if I was single, you should worry. But I'm not. I've been out of Peter's life for a long time, and I'm remembering how much I enjoy him. I'm hoping to be around more. If you decide to hate me, it may make things a bit awkward." He nodded and I brushed the tears from his cheek.

"Sorry. I guess I'm just a little jealous. I'm pretty hooked on him."

"Let me tell you Peter's secret. Humor. You have to make him laugh. You make him laugh, and you get inside. You don't, and you'll be waiting in the cold forever."

"I'm too nervous to make him laugh."

"Then your relationship will never go anywhere." He looked crushed. The Good Samaritan in me had an idea. I grabbed his hand and dragged him along with me.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"To bed." I led him into Peter's bedroom.

"No, I can't. I just can't come in here with you two."

"Anywhere, anytime, I think you said" I reminded him as I unbuttoned his pants. "Trust me. I won't hurt you."

He had no reason to trust me, but he did. I stripped him naked, admiring his amazing physique. I ran my hands across his chest and down his abdomen to his hardening dick. It was huge. Bigger than Andre. Wow. "This is the biggest dick I've ever seen," I said.

"Yeah, it's big. So big that no one will let me fuck them."

I gently stroked him. "I will," I said, and that got a big grin. This guy was gorgeous. "How old are you?" I asked.

"Twenty two. I'll be 23 in a few weeks." I led him over to the bed and got in, pulling a very nervous Deke in with me. I grabbed the pipe and lit it, taking a hit and then handing it to Deke. The smoke woke Peter up.

"What's going on?" he said groggily.

"I found this stud in the kitchen and I brought him back with me. Mind if I fuck around with him?" Peter looked a little alarmed at that. There was more there than he was letting on.

"Hey Deke," he said, and not in the friendliest of tones. "Sure, go ahead, have a blast." He rolled over to go back to sleep and I blew pot smoke in his face. I heard him giggle.

"It would be more fun if you joined us," I said.

He woke up and smiled at me, and then at Deke. "Deke told me that I can't handle that Swedish Axe of his, and I told him I could. Who's your money on?" I joked.

"I'm with Deke. That thing is huge." I made Deke move to the middle of the bed and I got out the lube and greased us both up. This was going to be a major challenge. I leaned down and shocked both of them by kissing Deke tenderly. He was a really good kisser. He reminded me of Sam.

"Peter, this guy is an amazing kisser. Who's better Deke? Me or Peter? It's got to be me." I challenged. I started lowering myself on him, working his massive dick in and out, willing myself to relax.

"I don't know." he said honestly.

"Let's find out," said Peter, and he lowered his mouth down to Deke's and their lips met for the first time. I lowered myself onto Deke, slowly, ever so slowly, until I had him inside me. It did not feel good at all, but I'd made it. These guys were making out like crazy, though, and that turned me on. I reached over to Peter and started playing with his ass, probing with my fingers while I let myself get used to Deke. Then I went for it. I started moving up and down on that huge axe, feeling him totally pry open my hole and drive into my spot. It was amazing.

I stopped and let him pop out of me. "What's the matter, can't take it?" Peter joked. I couldn't talk. I just got down on all fours and guided Deke back into me. "Fuck me Deke," I ordered. He moved up behind me and guided his dick in slowly. "Damn this feels good," he said. And then he started pistoning in and out of me. It was incredible. Peter moved in front of me to keep his lip lock with Deke and to slap his dick against my face a few times. I giggled and took him into my mouth. I thought about what a huge slut I was being, but then Deke really started to work my spot and I knew I wasn't going to last much longer. I pulled off Peter and started moaning. I wanted to stop, I knew I was loud, but I couldn't.

"I'm gonna blow," said Deke. Not much warning, but I didn't care. I could feel my own orgasm boiling up inside of me. He groaned and drove that thing into me, and that sent me over the edge. I yelled. I screamed. And I yelled again. And I shot for what seemed like forever. I felt something spray in my face and saw Peter stroking his cock, blowing his load as he watched me.

"Damn, that looked like fun," Peter said. "I didn't think you could do it."

"It was fucking amazing," I said, and leaned over and kissed Deke. "I saw fireworks." Deke grinned unabashedly, his male ego getting a huge boost over that. "If you weren't such a big pussy Peter, you'd try that out."

"Maybe I will," he said, smiling at Deke.

Musical Recommendation: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oaOP2sOAqlw "Don't Sleep in the Subway" by Petula Clark

March 13, 1968

My talk yesterday had gone really well. Deke had driven me there, but rather than just drop me off, he'd come in to see it as well. He seemed to be impressed. I was reminded of him as the plane landed and jarred my sore ass. He'd suggested something that I never really considered. He told me I should write a book so regular people, whatever that meant, could understand what I was talking about. I gave him my address and phone number and made him promise to come visit, with or without Peter. The concept of writing a book had so intrigued me that I'd started sketching an outline on the plane.

I landed at San Jose and found my car in the parking lot. Heading up the 101 in the afternoon was a breeze, and I was home in no time at all. The minute I walked in the door I knew that something was wrong. I just got that strange, intuitive feeling. I even thought about heading for the office instead, but that would have been ridiculous.

The kids were the first to realize that I was home. I looked up and was greeted by four sets of eyes. It's funny how sometimes reality seems to come slowly. When I left there were three kids, and now there were four. Ace, Claire, Billy, and Brad. "Hey Brad! How great that you're here! Welcome!" I made him come over and hug me, but he was shy and withdrawn. I held him until I got a response, and then he didn't seem to want to let go. But Ace grabbed him and dragged them all off to play. Isidore was there looking at me, and she looked sad. Very sad.

"What is it?" I said. Tears rolled down her face and she handed me a letter. It was addressed to me, but it had been opened.

Dear JP,

You'll probably hate me for what I'm doing, but in a few hours I won't care about it. I won't have to worry anymore. The pain will be gone. Finally, it will be gone. I hurt so bad JP. You have no idea. It's like there are creatures inside of me that are slowly devouring me.

I flew out here with Brad. I left my other two kids with Tonto. I want you to take care of Brad. The other kids don't like him, and quite frankly, neither do I. He reminds me of my infidelity to Billy, and how that ruined some of the precious time we had. I think the other kids picked up on that. You promised to watch out for him. You promised Billy. So now I'm holding you to it.

Janice

I looked up at Isidore, horrified. "She killed herself last night. Drove up to the City and jumped off the bridge. The police found our address in her car, so they came down and told us. It was horrible JP. She didn't gage it right, so she landed on rocks around the bridge supports. It looks like our family has grown a bit."

"It's probably for the best, I mean for Brad. He adores Ace, and he's a good kid. I can't imagine what it was like for him to live in a family where his mom and siblings hated him." She nodded. "Did you call Tonto?"

"No. I knew you were coming home and I figured it was only a short delay. I hope I did the right thing."

I hugged her and gave her a friendly kiss. "You did. You usually do." I headed for the phone. It only rang once.

"Hello," I heard Tonto's haggard voice.

"Tonto, it's JP," I said.

"Oh, JP." She sounded disappointed. "I'm sorry, that was rude. It's good to hear from you, but I can't keep the line tied up. Janice took Bradley out two days ago and we haven't heard from her. I'm so worried about what she might do to him."

"Janice won't be calling Tonto. She brought Brad here yesterday, and then committed suicide last night." There was a long silence on the other end.

"At least her suffering is at an end," she said. Things must have been a lot worse than she let on. "I'll have to come out and get Brad."

"I want Brad to stay here with us." I heard her get ready to argue, so I read her Janice's suicide note, and told her about the horrific way she died.

"If you want the responsibility, and you think it's best, then he can stay there with you. I'll have Barry work up guardianship papers for you so you can enroll him in school this fall."

"You can still come out and see him," I said. "And us too."

"I'll do that. Let me get things tied down at this end. I miss you honey. I've got to go." The line went dead.

I wandered down the hall to Jeff's room. In times like this, I always ran to him. I opened the door and heard the distinctive sounds of sex. I snuck in and gently shut the door, and there he was with his back to me pounding away at Stefan.

"I love you baby," he cooed as he fucked Stefan. "I love you more than anything."

"More than JP?" Stefan asked him in between moans.

"Fuck yeah. I love you more than JP. I love everything about you. Especially this hot little ass of yours. God Stefan, you're gonna make me cum. I've never had sex that felt this good. Never. You are fucking amazing. You are the best!" And then he roared, and Stefan let out his own moans. I snuck out the door while they were climaxing so they couldn't hear me.

I almost stumbled down the corridor. How could he say that? How could he say that he loved Stefan more? More than me? Were they just words in a fit of passion? Maybe that was it. Maybe all those sweet nothings Jeff uttered during sex were meaningless. Well, he'd told me he'd loved me when we weren't fucking. Maybe that's the only time he was capable of telling the truth. I went into my room and got into the shower. I needed to feel clean.

I tried to think about this logically. I thought back to Jeff's tone. I knew him so well. Was he just saying that stuff to get Stefan off? Was he just throwing those words out like he would reach down and grab Stefan's dick, just to give him pleasure. That was probably it, I decided. He was probably just saying that stuff to make Stefan feel good. Just like some guys liked you to talk dirty, or say mean shit to them. That's probably what he was doing. I looked up into the water and felt it gush pleasantly into my face, washing away my tears. I knew Jeff. I was wrong. He meant what he said.

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