CHRONICLES OF AN ACADEMIC PREDATOR
Published First at : http://groups.yahoo.com/group/arbourtales/
Before you read this story, there are a few things you should consider:
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It contains graphic descriptions of sex between men. In some cases, these depictions may get kinky, and include borderline S&M.
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It is set in the early 1960s, an era before the Civil Rights Act of 1964 when segregation and discrimination were the norm. African Americans were referred to as Negroes or Coloreds, although the "N" word was offensive then as it is now. I have retained the language of the era because it reminds me how far we have come on race relations.
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Be aware that the effects of inflation have been profound. A good rule of thumb is to consider that $1 in 1962 is probably similar to $10 in 2008. So just add a zero at the end of any number.
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Some authors are good enough to create a mood through their words. I need help, so I'll be posted recommended musical selections throughout the story.
CHAPTER 6
Musical Recommendation: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8uG5IIlHFGc "Sweet Nothins" by Brenda Lee
Andre reached down and grabbed it back out of my hands and tore it open. "Come on, let's see what it says." He started reading, while I just stood there, unable to think, unable to move. "Says here they want you to come work for them." He got a huge smile on his face, and grabbed me in a big bear hug, picking me up off the floor and swirling us around. "You got it JP! You got it!"
He put me down and handed me the letter. I read it once, then again.
Dear Dr. Crampton,
We are pleased to offer you a position as Assistant Professor of History starting with the fall semester, 1962......"
I'd gotten it. I was going to Chicago. I couldn't contain my joy. I jumped up and hugged JP again. I'd done it. I'd made the launch successfully, and I'd done it on my own.
"We have to celebrate!" That was Andre's answer to everything, have a party. "What do you want to do? Let's go out and hit the town."
"When do you have to report for duty?" The wheels in my mind were whirling.
"June 11. I figured I'd be in Claremont so I leave from Columbus. Why? What are you thinking?"
"Let's go to Paris." There, I threw it out there. Wild, crazy, expensive, and totally unexpected.
"Yeah right. Paris. No really, what are you thinking?" He didn't believe me.
"I'm dead serious. Pack a bag, get your passport. Let's go." He just stood there looking at me like I had three heads. It was incredibly pleasant to leave Andre speechless for once.
"There is NO WAY we can go. We've got all kinds of shit to do. And there's no way I can afford it."
"Bullshit. We don't have anything to do. We have to be out of here tomorrow anyway, and we're all packed up. We can leave this crappy furniture for the next victims, and pile the rest of our stuff in the Pontiac." He'd given me the arguments, now I'd shoot them down one at a time. "And don't worry about the money. My parents will pay for it. My mother would be thrilled that we're going to France. And you know what? Even if they don't, I'm a working man now, and I've got a real job." I said that with a cocky grin.
"Mr. Working Man, huh? Look, I don't want to take money from you or your parents. You guys all do enough for me. I feel guilty enough as it is." This had been a recurring theme for him; he just didn't get it.
"Look Andre, here's the deal. First of all, feeling guilty about money is bullshit. You know why? My parents consider you part of the family. They'd be insulted if I raised an issue like that, and they'd feel the same way if you did." For some reason, that comment seemed to bother him more.
"So screw that. I'm moving to Chicago, you're going into the army and they'll send you God knows where, and I'm really going to miss you. You're the best roommate, and the best friend I've ever had. So spend some time with me before life drags us in different directions." I think I was as stunned as he was by that statement. I'd never expressed my feelings so openly. What the fuck was happening to me?
"Wow JP." He just looked at me, thinking. Then he smiled. "I love you too. I'll go dig out my passport and pack."
So we both frenetically finished packing up, first for a trip, and then the shit we were moving out of our place. First I called my mother and told her about my job, and that we were going to Paris. She was thrilled and told me to be careful, but to have a good time. That and the lecture on how I needed to take some time to go visit my relatives. That wasn't in my plan, but I didn't argue about it. I'd beg for forgiveness when I got home. Then I called the airlines and booked a flight out of New York tomorrow evening. I figured I'd deal with the hotel later.
The next morning found us driving north to New York City, taking pretty much the same route I took to go meet Billy. The morning after that we were landing at Orly Airport in Paris.
June 2, 1962
There are cities in the world that are homogeneous, and then there are those few, rare gems that are truly unique and special. Cities like New York, San Francisco, London, Rome, but most of all, there is Paris. To be in Paris with the one you love is truly the apex of romance, even if that love isn't exactly returned.
I'd blown financial caution to the wind and booked a room at the Ritz. Neither one of us had slept much on the plane (like you're supposed to) so the first order of business was a nap. We woke up in time to go out for the night. It's amazing how restorative a shower and clean clothes can be. We took the Metro over to the Left Bank to find a cool cafe for dinner. Then we scrounged around looking for a good dance club, to no avail. We ended up walking back to the hotel, enjoying the bright lights and vitality of Paris.
The City of Lights, and it surely was. We crossed onto the Ile de la Cite, past Notre Dame, past the Conciergerie, past the Palais de Justice, then across to the Right Bank. All of the grandeur and beauty seemed to drive us into an introspective mood.
"So JP," Andre asked me, "What do you see yourself doing in ten years?" Interesting question.
"Well, hopefully I'll have published enough papers to get tenure. That's the real beauty of working at a university. Job security, with the freedom to pretty much do what you want."
"No," he responded, "I meant personally." I felt a chasm opening beneath me.
"I don't know. What about you?"
We walked along quietly for a few minutes while he thought about it. "Well, I'd like to be married to someone that I really love, and who loves me back. And I want kids, lots of kids. I love kids. I don't know, beyond that a job that makes me happy and pays the bills."
I was glad it was dark and he couldn't see my disappointment. I lived in a Pollyanna world where he would eventually decide that he loved me and we'd live happily ever after. But even if that came true, there was no way, barring a medical miracle, I could ever give him kids. And he did love kids, had a way with them, just like he did with my nephew Richard. At times like this, the real world crashed in on my fantasy and I had to struggle with the emotional carnage, only usually it happened to me when I was alone, not in the middle of a very personal conversation.
"You seem awfully quiet." He was prompting me.
"Sorry, I was just thinking. I don't know if the family thing is for me. I can't imagine anyone putting up with my moods and quirks for any length of time. And kids, well, I don't seem to do well with them until after they are at least teenagers." That nonsense sounded a lot better than telling him I was a fag.
"I don't know about that. I managed to live with you for two years, two great years as a matter of fact." He smiled down at me.
"You're right." I paused, stopped walking, and looked up at him. "Andre, will you marry me?" I asked, joking. We both started laughing pretty loud.
"I don't know if that would go over too well in the army. You're not exactly the typical army wife." That made us laugh even louder. Peter had taught me well. I was learning to use humor.
The next day, to humor me, we spent most of the day wandering around the Louvre. The artifacts are interesting, but more important to me is the palace and its historic significance. Most people run to see the Mona Lisa, or the Venus de Milo. Not me. Exploring the wings that, at their ends, were actually part of the Tuileries Palace before it was burned to the ground, that's my idea of a good time. Andre excused himself after a few hours and went back to the hotel. I got back and found him sound asleep.
That night we found a good dance club, located near the infamous Pigalle area, and had a blast dancing with French beauties. We had three huge advantages. First of all, we're Americans, which gave us that foreign air that women can't seem to resist. Second, we spoke fluent French, so there was no language handicap and it made us seem cultured. Finally, compared to the other guys there, we were pretty damn handsome. I wonder where the handsome guys in Paris hang out. I wonder if there are bars or clubs where guys go to meet other guys. Do they beat queers up here like they do in the US? Were the guys at those bars masculine guys like Peter, or Polari-speaking dudes like Georges? I could wonder all I wanted, because I'd probably never find out. I don't see myself building the courage to go to that kind of place, especially not in the US.
As usual, Andre was making good progress with a cute brunette named Isidore, while I was politely flirting with several girls. I found that if I didn't dance with just one person, I didn't get stuck trying to ditch that girl later in the night. So we danced and danced, until I finally noticed the time. 5AM. I forgot that bars and clubs stay open later here in Paris. Suddenly I felt dreadfully tired, like the walking dead. It had been a really long day.
I went over to grab Andre and go home. He pulled me aside. "JP, Isidore wants to show us this great place to see the sunrise." That meant that Isidore was going to take him somewhere to fuck him, and the "us" was purely figurative to make me feel included. I played the game.
"I'm exhausted. You go. I'm going to head back to the hotel."
"Are you sure? I mean, you don't mind being left alone?" He was probably remembering my maudlin statement about spending time with him.
"No, really, I'm tired. You go. I'll see you later, and if I go out before you get back, I'll leave you a note." Guilt was a currency I tried to avoid spending.
"Thanks JP. You're the best." And with that they walked out, arm in arm. I fought down pangs of jealousy yet again and grabbed a cab back to the hotel.
Musical Recommendation: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GwjAPAkf5_I&feature=related "Calcutta" by the Lawrence Welk
I slept until noon, showered, and prepared to hit the city again. Andre had not come back yet, no big surprise, so I wrote him a note and headed out. I decided to go over to the Left Bank and visit the Sorbonne. There was a professor there, Jacques Gireaux, who is probably the most renowned expert on the Algerian-French relationship and I had used his material extensively in my papers. Whether I would find him there was a shot in the dark.
It took me almost an hour of searching and questioning people to find Prof. Gireaux's office. It was in an old building (aren't they all?) and he was protected by a diligent secretary. I explained to her who I was, that I was here on vacation from America, blah blah blah. She was polite enough and told me to have a seat. I waited. And waited. And waited.
Finally, after about 45 minutes, a stunningly handsome young man came out. Tall, with brown hair that was messy in a sexy studious kind of way, an oval face with a long, thin aquiline nose. I stared at him intently, trying to figure out which feature made him so appealing, and I decided that it was his neck. He had a large, muscular neck that curved out and merged into his shoulders, while his Adam's apple was prominent in just the perfect proportion.
"Professor Crampton?" He asked as he walked towards me. I stood and held out my hand. "I am Marc Sievres. I am assistant to Professor Gireaux."
"A pleasure to meet you Marc," I said, putting on my most charming smile. Damn, this guy was hot. He even had a smooth deep voice to go with his sexy neck.
"Professor Gireaux has been absorbed in his studies," he rolled his eyes when he said that, "But we broke his train of thought long enough to get his attention. If you will follow me, he would like to meet you."
He guided me past the secretary and into the inner sanctum of faculty offices. There was a desk outside his office, which turned out to be Marc's, an additional guard to protect their famous boss. He opened the door and held it for me motioning me in. As I walked by with my hands at my side, my left hand brushed across the crotch of his pants. It was inadvertent, I swear it was, I thought to myself with a smile. I thought I felt him push a little bit as it did. I smiled up at him and went in.
The office was large, for Paris, and an absolute mess. There were papers everywhere, and in the midst of them was a small, old man, probably in his 60's, with spectacles balanced on his nose, poring over some article or paper. I heard the door shut behind me as Marc left us alone. He left me standing there for what seemed to be an eternity, but if I could be calm and cool with Rosenberg, I sure as hell could be that way with this guy.
He finally looked up and studied me carefully. "So, you are Monsieur Crampton. And you have come all the way from the United States just to visit me? What can I do for you?"
"Actually sir, I was here on vacation, but I have read all of your, er, work that I could find, and I sited it extensively in my own research. I just wanted to meet such a distinguished scholar, and to say thank you personally for the help your research provided me." Flattery is the continental way.
He looked at me with some consideration. "I have read your papers, monsieur." Inside, my nerves were boiling, but I kept them under control. He read my stuff? I was published, certainly, but that those studies should make it to France and that he should take the time to read them was stunning.
"I am flattered that you took the time to wade through my work."
A slight grin flickered on his face. "You shouldn't be. I read everything written about the struggle with Algeria, especially those things that cite my work." I had no real response for that, so I nodded my head at him in an abbreviated bow.
"Your work was good. You are young and unseasoned, but you have potential. Next time, you must send me your articles so I do not have to wait for the publications." I was floored. This was praise from the master himself.
"Thank you sir. I will certainly send you articles. Would you also permit me to correspond with you?" I looked at the mass of papers and figured that would be a waste of time, but worth trying.
"Mais oui." he replied simply. After that we spent the next hour chatting about recent developments, the dismemberment of the OAS and the execution of Edmond Jouhaud, and the prospects for a lasting peace. We were interrupted by a knock at the door. It was Marc.
"Pardon me Professor, but you must leave for your meeting with Chairman Calonne." Marc nodded to me respectfully.
"Of course, of course. It was a pleasure to meet you Monsieur Crampton." He extended his hand.
"The pleasure was mine," I replied, shaking his hand. And with that he dashed out of the office, shutting the door behind him.
"He always keeps his door closed. That way no one knows if he is in here working or not." Marc said with a smile. He eyed me up and down. "Have you seen his extensive library?" With that he walked over to the bookshelves.
I joined him there with my arms still at my side, and he moved close to me, not so close as to be considered rude, this was Europe after all, but close enough to make contact. I was getting some major vibes from Marc, so I decided to play along.
"What is that book there," I asked, pointing at one almost directly above me, but beyond my reach. He leaned into me and reached up for it, and now I felt his crotch rub against my right hand. I moved my hand slightly, and he pushed back slightly. He told me the title, but I didn't really care.
"What about that one?" I asked pointing to one a little to the left. He had to lean into me even more, and this time I moved my hand more purposefully. I felt him press against my hand; only the thing pressing against me was no longer soft. He told me the title again.
"And that one?" I asked, pointing to the book to the left of that. This time I turned my hand around, so when he pressed into me, he pressed into my palm. I could feel his hard cock in my palm, so I carefully closed my fingers around it. If someone would have told me this morning that I'd be in the office of one of the most esteemed academics in the world playing with his assistant's dick through his pants, I'd have thought they were nuts.
He thrust into my hand and I began to stroke him. He moved his hands down, grabbing my own throbbing cock through my pants. I felt him go for my zipper and I did the same. In minutes we were standing in the corner of the office, dicks protruding out of our pants.
He had a nice cock. It was long and thin, and it was uncut, unusual for an American like me used to circumcised penises. I dropped to my knees and engulfed it in one swift movement. He moaned and pushed into me, trying to fuck my face, but I wasn't going for that. He modified his thrusts and I let him take over the movement, using the opportunity to reach around and grab his ass. His movements got more intense, and in just a few minutes I felt a familiar salty taste in my mouth as he shot his load. I swallowed every drop like a champ.
I got up ready to go when he stopped me and dropped to his knees to blow me. This really surprised me, since in the US usually guys don't take the time to finish the other one off, at least during quick anonymous encounters. He was good, real good, and it didn't take me long to fill his mouth. It had been a long time for me, and I came so hard my knees were weak afterwards.
He wiped his mouth with his hand, smiled at me, and said "It was fantastic to meet you." He gave me a piece of paper. "Here is my phone number. Give me a call if you have any more spare time while you are in Paris." And with that, he turned and left the office, holding the door for me as I followed him.
I got back to the hotel a little later than I told Andre in my note, but it didn't matter. He still wasn't back yet. I decided to take a brief nap. What seemed like just a few seconds later I heard bells ringing....the phone! I woke up and answered it groggily.
"JP, it's me!" Like I wouldn't recognize Andre's voice after all this time.
"That's great. What time is it?" I looked at my watch. 8PM.
"It's 8. Look, I'm sorry I've been gone all day; I just kind of got caught up in things, and...I hope you're not mad." He sounded excited but nervous.
"Andre, it's really no big deal. I spent most of the day at the Sorbonne. So where are you now?" I was finally awake.
"Um, well I'm kind of in the country." Now he really sounded nervous.
"Which country?"
"France you moron. The country, you know, not the city." He was joking now, obviously in good spirits. Must have gotten laid. Grrrr. "Isidore is from Brittany so we drove out here to see the coast."
"So when do you plan to get back in?" I had the feeling that I was being set up for something, and I wish he'd just get to the point.
"Would you be too mad if I came home tomorrow night?" There it was. I guess I could get all mad about him bailing on me, but what good would that do? Besides, I certainly could find things to do in Paris.
"No problem Andre. What time do you want to meet?" I could sense his relief.
"JP, you're the best. I'll be back in the room no later than 7 tomorrow, so we can do a late dinner."
"Sounds great." I said and hung up. Just great.
I went back to bed and woke up early. I decided to head out to Versailles for the day. I planned to do some research on Louis XV when I had some time, and I wanted to get "in the mood".
Musical Recommendation: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z1Ft8Q4QgRs "Te Deum" by Jean-Baptiste Lully
The initial reason that I got into history is that I have a unique ability. If I do enough research, I can actually visualize a place as it was. The thing is that my visions are really intense, not in a paranormal kind of way, but, well, it's kind of like I can create a movie in my mind.
So when I got to Versailles, I was able to charm my way into the Private Apartments without a tour. It was an incredible experience. I felt as if I was in the room with Louis XV and Madame de Pompadour. I ended up having lunch with the museum director, and afterward he went with me to explore some of the non-public, yet fascinating areas. After a visit to the Trianon, with its stately architecture, I headed back to the hotel. I was there by 6, so I showered and changed, and waited.
By the time 8pm rolled around, I was pissed. I left Andre a note and went out to get something to eat. If he was going to be late, he could have at least called. I was mad at him for making me plan my day around him. I was mad at him for being late. I was mad at him for not calling. I was mad at him for not wanting to hang out with me, and picking some chick instead. I was mad at him for not loving me.
I made the most of my misery with one of my classic pity parties. I boosted the effect by having a bottle of wine. I left the restaurant and decided to stroll along the Seine, a bit out of the way, but no reason for me to hurry back. As I was walking along the Seine, there was an area across from the Tuileries Gardens where a lot of guys seemed to be just wandering around. If this was the US, I would think it was a cruising area.
There was an underground passage that went from the river under the road, designed exclusively for pedestrians. I figured it would beat dodging traffic, so I went down the steps. The passage was dimly lit, and there were guys hanging around, some walking, some leaning against the walls. As I moved through the tunnel I felt the looks as I was undressed by their eyes, noticing some of the really handsome guys, avoiding the creepy ones. As I got farther into the tunnel, I felt a hand here and there touching my ass. At first, it freaked me out, but after a few minutes it was a real turn on. Andre may not appreciate me, but these guys did.
As I came to the middle of the tunnel there was a crowd of five or six guys standing in a semi-circle. As I approached them, one of the guys, a good looking guy who looked like he might be part Arab, moved aside to make room for me. All of them had their dicks out and were stroking, watching two guys in the center of the semi-circle. One guy, who was really young, probably about 16, was leaning against the wall, partially bent over. Behind him was another guy, a tall handsome guy, fucking the young kid's brains out. The tall guy turned to face me and I found myself staring right at Marc. At first he looked surprised, then he smiled, and started fucking the kid even harder. He reached his hand out, moving it towards my hard dick. I took my cock out and let him stroke it while he fucked the young kid. Then he pulled the young kid away from the wall, pushed him onto all fours, and told him to suck my cock while he fucked him. Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was Marc, I don't know, but I let him.
The kid slurped on my cock like a thirsty person swallows water. I felt my pants drop all the way, and soon there were several hands all over my body. There were hands playing with my nipples, hands stroking my balls and my thighs, hands grabbing my ass, fingers stroking my hole. The attention from all these guys was overwhelming, and watching Marc, across from me, fucking the kid, was indescribable. Marc emitted a sharp cry and pulled out of young guy's ass. Another guy moved forward and dropped to his knees with an open mouth, and Marc sprayed his load all over the guys' face. That did it. I felt my orgasm boiling up and I blew my wad in the young guy's mouth.
After I finished, I opened my eyes and found that Marc had already left. I pushed the hands away from my body, hurriedly put my clothes back in order, and practically ran out of the tunnel. The whole encounter had left me confused. As intense as the sexual release had been, it seemed really dirty and sleazy. Hypocritical as that may seem to someone who'd had a lot of sex in bathrooms, somehow I felt I'd crossed a line into the realm of the really kinky. That I enjoyed it was disturbing, very disturbing.
Even more disturbing, when I got back to the room, was that Andre was still not back. My emotions moved from angry to worried, and I paced the room, hoping he would call or walk through the door. As I waited and worried, my anger disappeared. I didn't care that he wasn't back on time or that he'd been gone for two days. I just wanted him to come back safe and sound. I looked at the clock. 2AM. I finally sat on the bed with my legs bent and my arms wrapped around my knees, silently praying to God, just in case there was one, that Andre would come home.