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A SMALL KANSAS COLLEGE - PART 1
Chapter 1 - Introduction.
This is a story about a small, religious oriented college in Kansas and my house across the street from the college. I promise the story contains enough eroticism and sex to please even critical, jaded readers of homosexual pornographic literature.
However, after several false starts, I have come to the conclusion I cannot compose the story by beginning it in the time frame I want to write about. So, please bear with me as I start with background information that seems essential not only to writing but to understanding the story. I will be as brief as possible.
By the way, my name is Jeremy Blair. My friends call me Jere. My mother's name was Mildred and my father's name was Charles. I had twin brothers Michael and Mathew who were 10 years old when I was born. My mother always used the term "a late in life baby" in explaining the difference in ages between the twins and me. My father was killed in an accident while riding in a pick-up truck with a building contractor - John Killian. The contractor headed a firm called Horizon Builders. My father was a silent partner in the firm. My mother died sometime thereafter with pancreatic cancer. If my brothers are still alive, only God and they know where they are. Whether they disappeared voluntarily or were forced to leave depends upon which version, my father's or my mother's, that you accept.
My mother is from Boston and my father who is from England met and married her there in the interval between his arriving in the states and finally settling in Kansas. My mother came from a wealth family but my father's wealth completely overshadowed her's just as it overshadowed practically everyone else's. Until my mother died, I was not aware of where my dad's wealth came from. I did know he owned a large ranch, managed by a partner who owned a minor interest in the enterprise. He was a strange man.
We had a large, two- story, colonial style home that would have looked more at home in Williamsburg, VA than it did in Kansas. After it was built, my father added a 4-car garage with a large storage area, a study and an office on the ground floor with 6 bedrooms and a 2-room suite on the second floor, each room having a separate bath. The suite had two baths. Business guests from out of town used the rooms.
My brothers graduated from high school about the time I entered. They started at the local college, even though we were of another faith (Catholic). The twins' basic problem was the fact that they got heavily into drugs and my mother told me my father also accused them of being puffs, British for fags.
My only real friend during high school was John Killian's son, nicknamed Little John (just to distinguish him from his father, nothing to do with his stature). We were very close friends. Little John was in my ass a couple of times a week until I left the college after my second year and was accepted by Harvard.
After Harvard I did nothing but help Mrs. Ryan, the live in housekeeper/cook, care for my mother in her last stages of cancer. During the after funeral reception sponsored by the Alter and Rosary Society (a Catholic ladies group), I confided to Little John that I didn't think I could take living in the house alone and after the will, stocks, bonds, annuities, family trusts and property investments were all settled I thought I would take off for California. Little John had a fit and the minute I had finished with thanking everyone and saying goodbye to Father Kruger, he literally dragged me through the breezeway into the study, locked the door and started crying. He started me to crying, too. I unlocked the liquor cabinet and we drank for three hours until we were both disgusting looking individuals with slurred speech (except in Little John's and my opinions, of course).
He was in no shape to drive home so we spent the night in the suite above the garage. It had a king-sized bed but we were plastered together all night. Little John, always horny, who had not had sex with me often during the past two and a half years, took the occasion to make up for lost time. By make up, I mean he was fucking me the minute we got into bed around 9 PM. I awoke around Midnight with his dick in my ass and his hot breath on the back of my neck. At 4 AM I heard him flush the toilet and when he got back into bed he wanted to do it again. (At least he had the courtesy to tell me beforehand this time.) I thought he was kidding me, so I reached back and felt his cock. He wasn't kidding. His big cock was a hard as a wedding cock on the first night of the honeymoon. He rolled me over on my back, lifted my legs onto his shoulders, took his time and finally wore himself and his cock out (for the time being, anyway).
Latter, I called the kitchen on the intercom and Mrs. Ryan fixed coffee, sliced oranges and toast for me to pick up and bring back to the room on a tray.
Little John heard me coming back into the room, sat up and said:
Oh, Jere, you brought breakfast - thanks.
You don't deserve room service, you oversexed bastard. I hope you enjoyed last night. It might be another two and a half years before I let you in there again. Doing it the day of my mother's funeral is probably going to send me on a guilt trip that will last about that long.
He send me to the kitchen for a second carafe of coffee and we talked until we had completely talked out every subject.
Among the multitude of suggestions that Little John came up with as solutions to my problems, this is a summary of what I agreed with (tentatively).
Meet with my dad's attorney, broker and accountant (from Kansas City - he always said he didn't want any local asshole accountant to know how much money he had) and get a true picture of my inheritance and how I was going to handle it.
Take whatever time I needed to get over the grief of my mothers death. His recipe for dealing with grief was go to Europe, get some rent-boys in London, spend some time in the gay quarter of Paris, take in the nightlife in Berlin, get some hung, young guys in
Italy and some hung, young guys in Spain to play with. Wind up spending a week of evenings in the gay brothels of Amsterdam. (Not so tentative. I might as well have a few hot memories as well as guilt to deal with if it was going to take very long to get back to normal). The little fucker knew websites to pre-arrange everything he suggested.
In answer to my statement that I found the original part of the house depressing he suggested we meet with some interior decorators and get the place lightened up. Get rid of the heavy window drapes; lighten the wall colors, reupholster some of the furniture and do whatever else was needed to cheer the place up a bit.
And last but not least? Little John told me while I was at Harvard the college's newest, largest, men's dormitory burned to the ground and they didn't have the money to rebuilt in accordance with current codes. So, they were now letting Juniors and Seniors live off campus. Available accommodations were pretty dismal and overpriced. His suggestion was to liven up my local existence by converting the twins' room, my room and the addition rooms into to college student rentals. If I were to use the suite as my room I could be surrounded by the hottest dudes on campus if I were selective in my rentals. John expanded on this - he had talked with the Assistant Dean of Men and Men's Housing Coordinator (dual titles) on the subject recently and he was thinking of building a facility on his own for the purpose he was now suggesting to me. The Asst. Dean, Clifton Jones, knew both Little John and me (as a matter-of-fact he had swung on both of our cocks and been up both of our ass holes when we were students). He was a lead to the hottest little fuckers on campus and he would guide them to us as renters.
Little John himself had one renter in mind - a student named Morgan Townsend who worked for him part time to help with his expenses. John went out of his mind explaining what he looked liked. Brown hair, blue eyes, tall, muscular but lean, on and on, until he finally said: Honest to God, Jere, your 7 inch, smooth white cock, with its big head and no distinct circumcision line has always been to me the perfect cock. But, believe, me, Morgan has you beat.
Why have you waited so long to tell me I had a perfect cock, Little John?
Because, you're conceited enough already.
Why is this Morgan's dick better than mine? Have you messed with him?
Your cockhead is bigger but he has at least an inch on you in length and his cockhead is nothing to sneeze at, either. I've just seen him - no messing around involved.
Should I cry over that piece of information?
I wouldn't.
Well, Little John, I can't believe how much you remembered from last night's conversation. You have covered the waterfront and I appreciate it.
Thanks. But, oh shit, I forgot the most important detail. Does your dad have a plan of this addition stashed in his study, by any chance? If not, I can call the office and have one delivered.
We got into dad's computer and found an entry: Addition Plans. File P-5. File folder 8. Storage Room. We went back upstairs and looked at the plans as we walked around.
Little John had a really wild idea. He pointed out that there was a plumbing chase between each of the back-to-back bathrooms with an entry into the chase from the closet in the suite - bathrooms on both adjacent rooms were involved. He guided me into the chases and explained what a one-way mirror into the adjacent bathrooms would do. He knew that I, like a lot of people, liked a little voyeurism now and then.
Jere, just imagine standing here behind a large one-way mirror watching some dude shower, dry off, sit on the toilet, shaving just two feet in front of you - maybe naked or maybe with a towel tied around him. Maybe he'll even jack off for you.
Then he showed me the walk-in closets adjacent to the bathrooms noting the suite closets were about two feet deeper than they were in the adjoining rooms.
Jere, you will need to put some furniture in storage - it's quality stuff. Here in the corner between the closets and the main room put a large one-way mirror atop a built-in dresser with a plastic laminate top, turn it around the corner to provide a study desk. You could actually spy on the whole room from the corner area, even watch a guy sleeping or taking a nap. I can hide it with a false, lockable access panel.
Chapter 2 - A pre-ministerial student.
I enjoyed Europe and Little John had the remodeling completed when I returned. He did it all himself on weekends to maintain the secrecy of the plumbing shafts, mirrors, etc.
I returned home in April, so there would be no rental opportunities until September. A few days after I returned I walked downtown to a popular and rather good restaurant one Friday evening. It was crowded but Clifton Jones, Asst. Dean, saw me waiting to be seated, took my hand and introduced me to a young guy dining alone. He asked the guy if I could join him and introduced us to each other. The guy's name was Kurt Faulkner, a blue eyed, dirty blond, Teutonic beauty and a freshmen pre-ministerial student. (What a fucking dream he was!)
He was easy and interesting to converse with and he was intrigued with my trip to Europe and was glad I had included Berlin in my itinerary, remarking that he would like to go there someday.
I was hard pressed to keep track of the conversation as I kept wondering: Had Clifton been in Kurt's pants? Did he set the two of us up? Would I be condemned to hell if I tried to put the make on a young pre-ministerial student?
At one point during the meal, his foot touched my leg, probably accidentally. However, I jerked visibly. He noticed my reaction and apologized. I didn't respond, not wanting to make the small incident into more than it was. We talked during and for a while after dinner, even after Clifton Jones and his wife waved goodbye.
He was from Tulsa, OK, the son of a minister, hadn't met a girl he liked at the college, as yet.
I wanted to pay for his meal but he resisted adding that maybe we could do it again and he would let me treat him next time. We walked out together into a pouring rain. He asked where my car was. I told him I had walked to the business area. He offered me a ride, pointed to his car across the street and we made a dash for it. When we pulled into my driveway he recognized the house and said he had been curious about it.
He accepted my invitation to come in. I told him I was chilled as the rain was cold. He acknowledged that he was, too. I took him into the basement room that had a steam room and sauna. I grabbed some towels, threw him one of the white terry cloth robes from the closet and told him to strip, dry off and put on a robe. As much as I wanted to, I didn't peek while we got undressed (honest). We hung our clothes on wall hangers with the intent of putting them in the sauna later to dry them.
He asked to see the house. I gave him the nickel tour. The wide Entry Hall with its wide stairs to the second floor, the Dining Room and Kitchen with the plant filled Solarium that opened off of both rooms and was used for breakfast as well as a solarium. Then, across the Hall to the Living room and the adjacent room equal to the Solarium, minus glass roof, that was my mothers' music room.
Upstairs I showed him my old room, the twins' old room and my parents' huge bedroom. We crossed through the glass breezeway into the addition and I showed him the upstairs and explained how I was going to rent it out for student housing. We ended the tour in the study. I lit a fire in the fireplace and offered him a drink.
He responded he wasn't much of a drinker but it sounded like a good idea on a rainy night. We settled on brandies. He saw me swirling mine around the snifter and smelling the aroma. I told him to try it; the smell was most pleasant, if the brandy was of good quality, as this one was. Kurt liked it. He liked it well enough to have a second one. I could tell he was not accustomed to drinking and he was becoming more talkative and more animated by the minute. I just left it to him to hold court however he wanted to. We were sitting in big wing-backed chairs, facing each other, near the fireplace. His robe fell open a bit and I noticed he had on boxers (of course the rain hadn't soaked through to them, but I had taken mine off anyway).
I made an adjustment as to how my cock was hanging, and left my robe open a bit so he could see if he was interested. I watched his eyes wander over the paintings, some of the books in the shelves, the lamp on the desk, the fire and several other things. FINALLY, his eyes came to rest on what Little John had described as the "perfect cock". I scooted back in the chair just enough so that a little of it (including the cockhead) was actually resting horizontally on the seat of the chair.
I didn't know if Kurt was seducible as yet, but he kept stealing glances and I noticed the very slightest of growth in his sex organ through his boxers.
It takes a while to sip brandy and almost an hour had passed drinking the first one.
Kurt would you like coffee, demitasse, and ice cream, something like that for desert?
That would be nice if its not too much bother. I think I would prefer the coffee.
Well, I had enough smarts for that and told him I'd be right back but he followed me into the kitchen. He dished up two servings of ice cream and I filled an electrical percolator with coffee and water, ready to be plugged in. When we finished the ice cream the coffee was ready. I looked at the clock; it was still a decent hour.
In the kitchen, Kurt had asked to use the bathroom and I directed him to the closest upstairs bathroom, next to my old room. Since then I hadn't tried to sneak a look. When he reached, holding his cup out for me to pour him a second cup coffee, his robe moved a little, I looked down and almost dropped the coffee pot. He had taken his shorts off - evidently in the bathroom.
He was so sweet, acting so nonchalant. I looked right into his bright, blue eyes and smiled. He smiled back. As we sat talking, I asked Kurt what decided him to prepare for the ministry. His answer surprised me
My father decided for me. And to be honest, I don't know whether I can make it.
Why do you say that? Again his answer surprised me.
It's not my primary interest. This school is killer dull, a number of things. In Tulsa you could get a little pot once in a while. I kind of miss that.
I'm sorry Kurt. Can you tolerate one more brandy, and, by the way, I think you should stay the night. With eleven bedrooms we should be able to find you a place to sleep.
I gave him another one, a bit stiffer this time, and sat back down in my chair.
What's so important to you about pot, Curt?
I'm shy. I need it to open up. Without it I am socially a dud and sex is impossible.
Well, you seem comfortable with me tonight. Did the brandy relax you?
I guess it did. Then the fire, the rain outside, the dim lighting, everything seems to be working together creating a kind of magic. Most of all, you seem to be a really neat guy, Jere. I feel very relaxed with you.
It was my turn to go to the bathroom. When I got back I took my brandy, placed it on the hearth and sat cross-legged on the carpet and let my robe fall where it may.
I patted the carpet in front of me indicating that he should sit down, too.
The kid was full of surprises. I assumed he would sit on the other side of the hearth. Instead he sat right in front of me, our knees almost touching. Luckily I hadn't been paying much attention to the fire and it had died down a bit. Kurt being right in front of it didn't seem to be uncomfortably warm.
I didn't try to disguise what I was doing. I just took a long, satisfying look at what he had between his legs. Sitting cross-legged his crotch area was wide open, totally on display. His pubic hair was blond and silken, just like the hair on his head and the small amount I had noticed on the backs of his hands. His legs, below the knees, had fine hair and his balls, almost hairless, hung in their sack like two perfectly formed little eggs. I had never seen balls so perfectly formed. He had yet another surprise on display - his cock was 6 inches long, uncut, kind of hefty and showed a lot of stand out veins. This surprised me because he was such a slender, delicate looking young man and his whole body was pale and satin smooth.
I was having a hard time not erecting. Nothing turns me on more than looking at a naked male's package unless it is looking when the guy knows full well that I'm looking.
Boy, Kurt, you've got a remarkable package for a trim, young man. Bet the girls really go for you.
Girls the same age and older ones, too, I think mostly they like the idea of corrupting a minister's son.
Have you ever laid one?
No and I've not even tried as yet.
Does your foreskin retract?
Why don't you try pushing it back and see?
I did and that made me semi-hard just doing that.
Have you ever gotten it on with boys?
Well, if jacking off with guys qualifies as "getting it on", I have.
That's the extent of your sex life to date, then. Would you like to experiment a little further on this rainy, kind of magic night, as you called it?
He didn't respond, so I leaned over and kissed him right on his lips. He didn't move, didn't resist, so I did it again and he leaned over and did the same to me. This made me a little more than semi-erect. He too was erecting.
Grab your drink Kurt and lets go upstairs. Are you willing to sleep with me tonight?
Sure.
Tuning on only one lamp, I then spread the bedding down over the foot of the bed exposing the bottom sheet. I untied his robe and slipped if over his shoulders and dropped it down his arms. He stood there beautiful, naked and fully erect. He got into bed and lay down on his back - his cock sticking straight up.
I didn't ask what he wanted to do. I just put my mouth over his cock and slowly moved it up and down.
Gawd! What are you doing?
I'm sucking your cock.
You better stop or I'm going to cum. I stopped; I didn't want this to be quickie.
Well that's your first adventure beyond masturbation.
Yes.
I cuddled beside him and asked if he ever wanted to fuck someone?
I never thought about it too much, because I never had the opportunity.
You have an opportunity now. I would love to have you put your dick in my pleasure hole. Would you like to try?
Yes, but I'm not too sure I know how to do it.
It's not that much different than riding a bicycle. You get on and start pumping. It soon becomes second nature.
I lubed his shaft and lubed myself. I got on my back and put my legs in the air. Evidently he knew a little more about what to do that he was admitting.
He entered me without my having to guide him and started slowly fucking me.
Within seconds he was fucking like a pro. His enjoyment was obvious; his verbal expressions of pleasure were filled with profanities. He collapsed on my stomach. I spent until the wee hours of the morning trying to coax him into letting me fuck him - unsuccessfully I might add.
One night in late June he called me about 10 o'clock and asked if it was too late for him to come over. After a brandy in the study (we were both fully dressed by-the-way) he went over to the liquor cabinet, returned with the brandy and poured a huge amount into my glass and into his. He pulled me to my feet, wrapped his arms around my neck and wet mouth kissed me.
Pick up your brandy, Jere. He led me upstairs, side by side, with his arm around my waist. The table lamp was already turned on; he pulled the bedclothes down and undressed me, then himself.
Where's the lube?
I thought he was going to fuck me again, but, as I've said before, he was full of surprises. He got into bed raised his legs, lubed himself and me, put his legs over my shoulders, grabbed my cock and guided it to his love hole.
I had every intent of taking it slow and easy with him, but he told me harder, faster. I was afraid of hurting him but I did what he had asked even though I was afraid my big cock would rip his ass apart. It was my turn to collapse on top of him. He kept stoking my hair, kissing me and saying over and over: Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.
I am leaving for home in a few days, Jere. I wanted to be with you again. You have taught me so much. I have been missing so much in my life. Thanks Jere. I will never forget you.
More to follow.