This story is a continuation of The Adventures of Pete Cordell (which can be found in "Beginnings." It is the story of Pete's second great love, Mark Bransen. This is a story of gay men performing consensual sex acts with other gay men. If you are underage or if these stories violate the law where you live, then please don't read. Also, if such acts disgust or outrage you, then again, please don't read. Note that in these stories, unsafe sex does occur, but only where all parties involved are HIV negative, and know this because of regular testing (or they're virgins). Every sexually active person, gay or straight, should be tested regularly for HIV. Knowing your's and your partner's status can save your life!
My thanks to C.J. and Glynn for their careful editing.
Summer School
If anyone wants to know what hell on earth feels like, come to New Orleans in the summertime: Highs in the 90's, with a short rain every afternoon which does nothing to cool things off, it just drives the humidity higher and higher. Every year I ask myself why I agree to teach in the summer rather than go somewhere cooler. But there are two reasons: One, the extra pay's useful; and two, the students. You see, even though I have to dress respectably, with a shirt, tie and khakis, the student's don't. The girls always seem to wear short-shorts, and this year, halter-tops seem to have made a comeback. Meanwhile, the boys that are trying to impress them wear tank-tops, showing off their big chests and arms, or cut-off t-shirts, showing off their abs. Most of them wear baggy khaki shorts (which I didn't mind because you sometimes can see up them), but some wear running shorts, which remind me of the Dolphin shorts of my college days. Summer school is a cornucopia of eye candy.
This summer, I braced myself before entering my first class: Business Writing. Since none of the assistant professors were teaching this summer, I had to teach business majors how to write. Most of them didn't want to be there, and that made my job even more difficult. Very often, they put it off until just before graduation.
After I walked in and set my materials down, I looked around the room. My gaze was immediately drawn to a blonde stud sitting in the second row. He was beautiful: curly blonde hair, blue eyes, full, kissable lips. I couldn't see any hair on his tanned arms or legs, and his t-shirt showed a good body underneath. I couldn't tell anything about his package due to his baggy shorts, but I didn't care. His eyes met mine, and he grinned knowingly. I quickly turned away and, after surveying the rest of the class, began taking roll. When I called "Mark Bransen" he raised his hand. I noticed on the roll that he was a senior. After class, as I was gathering my materials I heard two of my girls giggling as they left the room.
"Did you see Mark Bransen?" one said.
"Yeah, he's the first baseman for the college team, isn't he?" the other asked.
"Yeah, I hear he got drafted into the minor leagues for next year. Isn't he yummy?"
"Oh, my God yes!" I knew right then that I was in for a long summer.
It was time to hand back the midterm writing assignment, and as I handed Mark's paper back to him, I could see him frown as he saw the "F" on it. I hated to have to do it, after the way he seemed to delight in teasing me day after day, but I had no choice. His writing was dreadful: his organization was terrible; sentences seemed to go on and stop without really saying thing; his choice of words left much to be desired. It didn't seem that he had paid any attention to what I had been trying to teach them.
Later that afternoon, as I was in office hours, I heard a knock on my door. "Come in," I said. The door opened, and it was Mark.
"Dr. Cordell, can I talk to you for a moment?"
"Of course, Mark. Have a seat."
He closed the door and sat down, and after a few moments, said, "I want to talk about my grade."
"What do you want to talk about?" I asked.
"I know my paper was lousy. My English has always been bad. If it weren't that my Math scores on the SAT were so high, I'd have never been admitted to college.
"Dr. Cordell," he continued. "I really need to pass this class. If I don't, I won't graduate. And you know, I think, that I'm a baseball player. Well, I've been drafted to the minor league team here, the Zephyrs. We start practice in November in Tampa, so if I don't graduate this summer, then I doubt that I ever will."
"Well, what do you expect me to do about that?" I asked.
"I don't know," he replied. He stared deep into my eyes, and said, "All I know is that I would do anything to pass this class."
"Anything?" I asked, feeling my blood rushing into my face.
"Anything," he replied. From the look in his eyes, I knew what he was offering. I have always made it a practice to not get sexually involved with my students; it invariably leads to trouble. But God, this guy was so hot! I sat there for several seconds, weighing my options. Finally, I said, "Okay, this is what we're going to do. What is your schedule?"
He told me, and I said, "Okay. Starting Monday, you're going to come here Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, from 1:00 2:30. We're going to do an intense tutorial and see if we can't make sense out of this for you." From the look on his face, I knew that he expected the tutoring to be sexual. Well, he was going to be in for a surprise.
Monday, he showed up right on time, and he was dressed to kill (in my mind, anyway). He had on a tank top that was cut all the way down on the sides, so his big pink nipples poked out of either side of his muscular chest. I could see no hair anywhere on his chest, and I could see most of his chest. He also had on running shorts, which looked damp. There was a large bulge in them. His legs seemed to go on forever. Again, there appeared to be next to no hair. He apologized as he came in. "Sorry, Prof. I generally go for a run from 12:00 to 1:00, and I didn't have time for a shower. I hope that's okay."
"That's fine," I replied, as I drank in his heavenly scent. Damn, he smelled good, I thought. It was sweat, with an underlying sweetness that I assumed must be his natural fragrance. As he sat down, I handed him a booklet that I had dug out of my files. The look of disappointment on his face was obvious.
"Now it's time to get to work," I said. "Mark, you need to realize that all writing, including business writing, is not something that you do just to do it. It's all about communication: you are trying to tell someone else what he or she needs to know, whether it's business writing, non-fiction, or even fiction. To do that, you need to be organized and concise. You first have to figure out what they need to know, and then tell them exactly that, nothing more. You have to keep their attention focused on the information you're trying to convey. That means no spelling and grammatical errors; they distract from the communication. Now, let's start with some basics."
At one point, I started writing some examples of what I had in mind, and he stood up and came around beside me, leaning over to see what I was writing. I could feel the heat rising from his body. His armpit was right in my face, and his hard nipple was close enough to bite. The fragrance coming from his armpit was almost enough to make me lose my train of thought, and I struggled to ignore it and the desire to bite that hard nipple. My hard dick strained through my khakis, and I prayed he didn't see it. Finally, it was 2:30, and Mark left. I immediately locked my door, went back to my desk, and slipped my khakis and boxers to the floor. I unbuttoned my shirt, threw my tie over my shoulders, and then started to stroke the dick that been hard since the moment he had walked in. It didn't take long; soon I was shooting a huge load on my chest and stomach, as I dreamed of ravaging that hot stud. Since I didn't have any tissue to clean up with, I scooped up my load and licked it off of my hand, dreaming that it was his cum I was swallowing. As I re-dressed, I knew that it was going to be a long 4 weeks.
By Friday, Mark seemed to be getting the hang of things. He finally started to think about organization, word choice and brevity. From his questions, I realized that he was not the dumb jock that I had assumed him to be. He simply had never had anyone explain to him the power of language. Acting on a hunch, I went over to my bookcases and pulled out a volume of poetry. Handing it to him, I said, "Here, take this. This is "Leaves of Grass", by Walt Whitman, one of the greatest American poets of the 19th century. Now I know, it's not cool to read poetry, but it's one of the best places to see how word choice and brevity plays out in language. Now, I don't expect you to read the entire book, but flip through it sometime this weekend, and notice how he manages to convey all sorts of ideas and messages in a few short lines, and how the use of the correct words makes all of the difference."
After he left, I again jacked off, as I had done every time since our first tutoring session. The fact that he had a brain made him even more attractive, it that was possible. I wondered if Whitman had been an appropriate choice. Whitman was frankly homoerotic in places, but his themes had much to do with comrades, and his poetry dealing with his war experiences was beautiful. He was a manly writer in the best sense of the word, and I hoped Mark would appreciate that. My thoughts returned to the matter at hand, and as I thought how good it would feel to plow that hot ass, I again shot a huge load, licking it up as before.
When Mark came in on Monday, I could see that he was excited. Sitting down, he said, "God, Professor, this stuff was great! I loved seeing how he could convey emotions with so few words, and I especially loved how he described his love for his comrades, both in the Army and in general."
"Ah," I said. "Manly love. The idea of men loving other men has existed since the Greeks. It wasn't until the 19th century that it developed negative connotations. To the Greeks, there was no love higher than "agape," the love of a man for his comrades. This was not romantic love, but rather spiritual love based upon admiration. Romantic love between a man and woman did not exist in those days. Marriages were made for political and economic reasons, and most husbands only had sex with their wives for reproduction, to carry on the line. Up until Victorian times, it was not uncommon for one man to express his love to the other in correspondence. It was never necessarily sexual. Somehow, we have imbued the term with a sexual connotation, even though we still use it with family members."
"I understand. As I was reading, I started thinking about how I feel for my teammates. I realized that I loved them: the way we work together to win the game; how we always stand up for each other; how we help each other when they need it. What Whitman describes I believe every athlete or soldier recognizes, except that we're too fucked up to admit it. But some of his stuff was clearly erotic." He stood up and walked around my desk. I could see the outline of a nice-sized dick in his running shorts. Leaning over me, he opened the book. "I started reading these, the "Calamus" section, and the one poem that started, "When I heard at the close of day" it was clear to me that he was talking about his male lover."
"I know," I said. "That is the other type of love the Greeks talked about: eros. Since Greek men idolized their wives, and thought of sex with them as necessary only for reproduction, they still had to satisfy their desires. One way was to use heterae, or prostitutes. Now it would be more appropriate to think of them as call girls, in modern terms: they were skilled workers, educated in the ways of love. Other Greek men, particularly soldiers and the upper class, apparently had another outlet. They would take boys on as apprentices and teach them all of the things that they needed to know to advance in Greek society. Many accounts included sex in those skills. The relationship was apparently one-sided, according to most of the readings I've done. Greek men apparently thought that it was unmanly for an adult man to be penetrated, but that it did not shame a boy in any way.
But back to Whitman: Modern historians conclude that Whitman, although married, was at least bisexual. He couched his love in other terms, because at that time, homosexuality was the "love that dare not speak its name." Were you bothered by it?"
"No," he said. "I thought it was beautiful. I could feel his passion for his lover with every word he wrote" He slid the book over to me, and our hands touched. It was like an electric spark ran through my body. "Thanks for letting me borrow it. I'm going to have to go out and get a copy for myself. I can't believe that I actually enjoy reading poetry. The guys on my team would give me hell if they knew."
"Well, they'll never know from me," I said. "And you don't have to go buy a copy for yourself. You can have this one. I have at least three copies floating around somewhere." Grabbing it, I opened it and on the inside cover, wrote "To Mark, in whose eyes I see the thirst for knowledge glowing out for all to see." I signed my name and handed it back to him. He read the inscription and blushed. "Thanks," he said. "You're right. I play the big dumb jock because that's what's expected of me. In here, with you, I can let out the other side of me: the side that wants to explore new things, think new things. I think that's the greatest gift you've given me." I could see his eyes tear up, and I quickly changed the subject. "Okay, back to our lesson."
As the weeks progressed, his writing assignments in class and in our tutorials got better and better. He really started to develop his voice, and I cherished our time together. The main reason that I wanted to go into academia is to see that light go on in a student's eyes, as he or she suddenly understood something that they had never understood before. I still had to do everything in my power, though, to keep from jumping his bones each time he came to my office. His odor drove me crazy, and I could see, from time to time, his nice-sized hard-on pressing against his tight running shorts. Not only did I jack off after each tutorial, he somehow made his way into my dreams.
Finally, the final writing assignments were turned in. The topic was "In Defense of Capitalism", which, while not strictly speaking business writing, allowed them to demonstrate the concepts that I had taught them. When I got to Mark's paper, I was amazed. It was wonderful! It was concise and beautifully organized. I could tell that he had given a lot of thought to every word, and it said exactly what he wanted to say. Not trusting myself, I took it down the hall to my colleague Moira's office, and, flipping the title page over so she could not see who wrote it, asked her to read it. She read it and said, "This is wonderful. Who wrote it?" Turning the title page over, I showed it to her. "You're kidding, right? That big dumb jock that you were complaining about earlier in the semester? Are you sure that he didn't have someone else writing this for him?"
"No," I said. "This is definitely his language. Amazing, no?"
"Amazing, yes," she replied. "I think we need to start calling you Professor Higgins. I have to admit, I wondered what was going on in your office all those days when he was in there."
"Moira!" I exclaimed. "You know that I would never have sex with a student."
"I know," she replied, "But that stud would make even me think twice about it, and I'm married. For a gay single stud such as yourself, your self-control is incredible." Looking up at me, she said, "You did good, Pete."
"Thanks, Moira," I said, blushing. "And I think I've just figured out another tool to use in the writing class: poetry. It worked wonders with Mark. I just need to find something accessible to the whole class. Edna St. Vincent Millay, maybe? "
"That might work," she said. "Now get out of here and let me get back to grading. I sometimes wonder why we ever let undergraduates put pen to paper."
"Because we're English professors," I replied, and returned to my office.
Finally, the semester was over. I had turned in my final grades, and was sitting in my office, tie loosened, and feet up on my desk. I reached down into the lower drawer of my desk, and pulled out the bottle of bourbon I kept there. I poured the single shot I allowed myself at the end of each semester, and sat back, listening to the mellow classical music coming through my speakers from the university's public radio station. As I relaxed, I heard a knock on my door. "Come in," I said. The door opened, and there was Mark. He came in and sat in the chair across from me. "What brings you here?" I asked.
"I just had to come by and say "Thank you" for all you've done for me this semester. When I saw the postings from the final paper, I knew that I had passed. Dr. Cordell, I am amazed when I think of how much you have taught me. You opened doors I never knew I had. I have always hated English, but now I finally understand the power of language."
"Mark, you're welcome," I replied. "Not only is it my job, it's my pleasure."
Professor, I have one more question, though," Mark said.
"Shoot," I said.
"Remember the first time I came into your office, right after mid-terms, and I told you I would do anything to pass? You did know what I meant, right?"
"Of course I did. It was quite obvious."
"Then why didn't you do anything about it? You are attracted to me, aren't you?"
"Of course I am," I replied. "You're a beautiful man. Who wouldn't be attracted to you? But I have a strict policy to never have sex with my students." I paused before continuing. "Besides, isn't it better this way? What would you have learned if I had simply fucked your sweet ass?"
He blushed at my blunt comment. "Well, I would have learned how sweet your dick would have felt in my ass. But I'm glad it happened the way it did. Have you turned in your grades yet?"
"Yes, I said, "Three hours ago."
He got a big grin on his face. "Then I guess that means I'm no longer your student, am I?"
I stood up, walked over to the door and locked it. Returning to my seat, I looked at him and said, "I want you naked. Now."
"I thought you'd never ask," he said with a grin.
As I sat back and loosened my tie, he stood up and gave me a strip tease worthy of any of the bars in the French Quarter. He began by pulling the bottom of his polo shirt out of his shorts, and slid his hands inside. He started slowly caressing his body, running his hands up to his chest and back down over his hard abs. His hands moved up again, and the bottom of the shirt rode up as he started playing with his chest, and I could see him tweaking his nipples underneath his shirt. His nipples quickly got hard, and I could see them poking through the material of the shirt as his hand slid back down. Finally, he grabbed the bottom of the shirt and slowly raised it over his head, allowing me ample opportunity to marvel over the beauty of his torso. His chest was magnificent, square and hard, and his hard pink nipples were the size of quarters. His abs were a thing of beauty, with at least 6 clear ridges. He slid the shirt off, and gazed at me with lust in his eyes, as his hands returned to his nipples and started tugging on them, softly at first, but then with more force, until he threw his head back and moaned.
He then turned around and bent over, giving me an excellent view of his hard round ass as he unlaced his running shoes and slid them, and his footies, off of his feet. Straightening back up, he wagged his ass at me before turning around, showing his big dick straining through the shorts. He had one of his socks in his hand, and held it up to his face, breathing in the fragrance, before throwing it to me. I held it to my face, and inhaled the heavenly scent of his foot. My dick was hard as a rock as he started stroking the outline of his dick, rubbing his hands back and forth over the monster. I unbuttoned the top few buttons of my dress shirt and reached in with one hand and started tugging on my own nipples as I watched the show.
He started teasing me, sliding the top of his shorts down, letting my see his jockstrap before sliding it back up again. He repeated this several times, taking his shorts farther and farther down before pulling them back up again. Finally, he turned around and slid them to his ankles, his beautiful ass, creamy white, stuck up in the air through the straps of his jock. He stepped out of them, and slowly slid his hands back up his nearly hairless legs until he reached his ass. He started massaging the hard mounds, squeezing them to show me how hard and smooth they were, before coyly running a hand through his hairless crack. Turning around, I could see the flush of excitement on his face as he showed off his big dick sticking out of the top of the jock. From the size of the package, I could tell that he had some monster balls as well.
As he started rubbing his hard dick through his jock, it was too much for me. I stood up, walked over to him, and pulled him up against me as my mouth sought his. When our flesh touched, an electric spark passed between us. His lips touched mine, and as I felt his hard body pressing against me, my hands slid down until they were grasping that incredible ass. Our tongues played tag as I started massaging those hard smooth mounds, and he groaned. We continued for some time, just kissing and caressing, until I removed my hands from his ass and started unbuttoning my shirt. He pulled off and grabbed my hands. "No," he said. "Let me. I've dreamed about this all semester, and you're my beautiful graduation present. Let me unwrap my present." With that, he pulled my tie off and threw it on the floor, and finished unbuttoning my shirt before sliding it off of me. Rubbing his hands over my hard chest, he said, "God, your chest is even better than I dreamed it would be." He bent his head down and started licking my chest all over, before finally reaching my nipples. He opened his mouth and took one inside, sucking, gently at first, but with more pressure as my groans told him of my pleasure. He then made his way to my other nipple and did the same, before licking his way down my torso.
Finally, he dropped to his knees and lifted my left foot off the ground. He reverently removed my loafer and my sock. He started massaging my foot, saying, "Prof, your foot is beautiful," and then started licking it all over before taking my toes, one at a time, into his mouth and sucking on them. I was awash in pleasure as he repeated this with my other foot. He then returned to my waist and unfastened my belt and khakis. He put his face into my crotch, taking a deep breath. "God, I love your smell," he said, and slid my khakis down over my legs, lifting my feet to remove them. He caressed his way back up my legs, back to my crotch. He could see my hard dick tenting my boxers. He reached around, grabbed my ass, and pulled my crotch against his face. He proceeded to make love to my dick through my boxers, running his lips up and down over my outlined cock. "God," he said. "You're so big. How big is it anyway?"
"9 hard inches," I replied. "And there's another surprise for you to unwrap."
"Well, then," he said slyly, "let's finish unwrapping my present." With that, he slowly started sliding my boxers down. As my dick was released from its confinement, it went "Thwap" against my stomach. He stared at it for a moment before stating, "You're uncut!"
"Yep," I replied. "Is that okay?"
"Is that okay? It's wonderful," he said as he took the foreskin in his mouth and started chewing on it. My groans told him of my pleasure and, as he continued chewing, he slid my boxers all the way down, lifting one and foot and then the other to take them off. He continued to work my foreskin; sticking his tongue inside to taste it's contents, until I was apparently cleaned out. He then opened his mouth and started taking my dick inside. He got most of the way down before gagging. He pulled off and tried again: the same result. He pulled off and said, "Sorry Prof, I've got a bad gag reflex. I never seem to be able to swallow big dicks like this one."
"That's okay," I said. "Let me give you a trick for taking big dicks. Slide it back in until the head reaches the entrance of your throat. Then swallow and exhale at the same time, and you should be able to handle it."
He grinned and said, "Is there no end to the things you can teach me?" He tried again; this time, my dick smoothly slid into his throat. I groaned loudly as my sparse blonde pubes hit his lips, thankful that all of my colleagues had already left.
He continued making love to my dick for some time, sucking it in deeply before pulling back and working on my head and foreskin. All the while, he had one hand on my balls, massaging and tugging, while his other hand explored the hard planes of my butt. I could feel my balls churning, and I didn't want this to end just yet. I pulled my dick out of his mouth and, reaching down, pulled him to his feet. Looking deep into his eyes, I said, "It's my turn," and I proceeded to explore that body that I had dreamed of for the last 7 weeks.
I started with his ears: I licked and sucked, and blew air into them. He loved this, and I continued down to his neck, where I nibbled on the spot where his neck and shoulder joined. I was careful to not leave any marks, and then my tongue moved down to his chest, tasting the salt of his sweat as I made my way to his nipples. I started by licking them with my tongue, before taking them, one at a time into my mouth, sucking, at first gently, but then with more pressure. His groans assured me he loved this, and I continued this for sometime, working back and forth, until my tongue traveled down his torso.
Reaching his jockstrap-covered crotch, I buried my face into it, breathing deeply as I savored the scent that had been driving me crazy these last weeks. Grabbing the jock in both hands, I slowly started sliding it down his legs. It was my turn for a surprise: he was totally shaved!
I looked up and commented, "You're shaved! Don't your teammates give you grief?"
"No," he said. "A lot of us shave. The hair tends to get caught in our cups otherwise, and it hurts. Have you ever noticed how ballplayers tend to grab their crotch during a game?"
I admitted that I had.
"That's why," he said. "Do you like it?"
"God, yes," I replied. "It makes your dick look huge!" Of course, it didn't take much to make his dick look big. The damn thing was close to 8", with a small head on a thick shaft that had to be at 5" around.
"If you're good," he said, "I'll shave you later. It's easier to have someone else do it. And it's a lot more fun. Me and some of my buddies shave each other weekly."
I knew there was a story in there somewhere, but I didn't want to know quite yet. Sliding his jock down and off, I opened up and started sucking on that head, while my hand started playing with his monster balls. I started sliding further down that big dick, until I could feel his skin against my lips. I started making love to his dick, using my throat muscles to massage him, before pulling back and letting my tongue have it's way with his sensitive head and glans. After a little bit, he grabbed the back of my head and started fucking my face, plowing into me again and again. I loved this, and my dick leaked freely onto the floor below. As he fucked my face, my hands traveled back to that fine ass, and I started massaging, working ever closer to his hairless crack. When I started rubbing my hand into his crack, he groaned, and I could taste the pre-cum on his dick. Emboldened, I found his pucker and started massaging it with my middle finger. He groaned loudly, and pulled his dick out of my mouth.
"God, I love that," he said. "Prof, I need you to fuck my ass!"
I grinned, "First, you don't have to keep calling me "Prof". The name's Pete."
"Okay, Pete," he said. "Please fuck me!"
I stood up and kissed him, hard. "I've wanted to do that since the first time you walked into my classroom."
"Well, then let's do it," he said.
I know it sounds clich‚, but I swept all of the papers off of my desk and bent him over it. Coming around behind him, I squatted down and spread his cheeks. There it was; his hairless pink pucker. As I looked, it winked at me. That was all it took; I buried my face in that marvelous ass. As my tongue hit his pucker, he screamed, "God, that's incredible! My hot stud professor is eating my ass!"
"Well, consider it part of your graduation present," I said, as I proceeded to make love to his ass with my tongue; massaging it with my tongue; licking all over the pucker and up and down his crack, planting my mouth against it and sucking on it. His cries grew louder and louder, and I momentarily worried about the janitor, before realizing that he would not be in until later. Finally, I pointed my tongue and stabbed it into his hot pink pucker. His whole body jerked, and reaching down, I could feel pre-cum leaking from his hard dick.
I continued tongue-fucking his hole for some time, loosening it up for my hard dick. I blew into his ass, and he shuddered. Pulling back, I licked my middle finger and inserted it into his heavenly hole. I prodded around until I found his prostate, and when I rubbed it, his whole body shook. "Oh my God," poor Mark cried, lost in the pleasure that I was giving him.
I continued finger-fucking him for some time, adding fingers until I had four deep inside of him, making sure to keep regular contact with his prostate. Marked turned his head and said, "Prof, I mean Pete, I need you in me." Standing up, I realized we had a problem. "Mark," I said, "I don't have a condom."
"Gym-bag," he moaned. "Lube, too. Hurry!" I raced over to the gym-bag that he had brought in with him and, unzipping it, I pulled out a condom and a bottle of lube. Returning to his needy ass, I put some lube on my fingers and prepared his ass for what was about to come. I then lubed my own cock, slid the condom over it, and lubed it again before placing my thick head against his hole. Pushing, I slid the head in, and his entire body seized up. "Ow!" he cried.
I stopped and let his ass get used to my dick. After a few moments, his body relaxed and I slid a few more inches into him, before stopping and letting him cope. Finally, I could feel my pubes pressing against his ass, and I knew he had taken all of my 9" thick inches. "Are you okay?" I asked.
"I'm in heaven," he sighed. "Now please fuck me."
I proceeded to give him a fuck that I hoped he would never forget. Although I wanted to plow that ass, I held back, slowly stroking in and out, making sure to hit his prostate with each stroke. I changed angles, making sure to hit all parts of his wonderful ass. His ass was doing incredible things to my dick. With each stroke, he would clinch that ass, and it was almost impossible for me to pull out. I loved it! Reaching down, I found his hard dick trapped against the side of my desk. I grabbed it, and he said, "No! If you do that, I'll come!"
I released his dick and continued fucking him, slowly picking up speed and depth until I was plowing him as I had dreamed. I would pull back until only my head was inside, and plunge all the way back in, my balls slapping his thighs with each step. Meanwhile, his ass continued to make love to my dick in a way that I had rarely experienced before. I started pounding him harder and harder, and I could tell from his cries that he loved it.
Finally, after about 15 minutes of this, Mark screamed, "I'm coming!" and proceeded to shoot down the side of my desk, the contractions of his ass making me weak. I went off, and yelled, "Oh, my God!" and proceeded to fill that condom with a huge load of my own.
When we finally recovered, I pulled out and lifted him from the desk, turning him around and kissing him deeply. "Thank you," I said. "I have been dreaming about this for 7 weeks, and it was even better than my dreams."
"Oh God yes!" he moaned. "I can't believe we've waited this long. I've been fucked before, but I've never been ridden this well."
"That comes from experience, as well as having a dick big enough to do the job right," I said.
"I guess so," he said. As he relaxed into my body, he said, "Prof, can we do this again?"
"God, I hope so," I said. "But you've got to stop calling me "Prof".
"But I like calling you "Prof," he said. "You are my professor. You taught me so much over the semester, and then today, Wow! I'm sure you have other lessons for me, and I want to learn them before I have to leave in November. Among other things, I want to try out what you did to me today on that beautiful ass of yours."
"I'd love that," I said.
"Then you're not a top?" he asked.
"Are you a bottom?" I replied.
"Hell, no," he said, "I like it all. I love the feel of my dick in a hot ass as much as I like a big dick up mine. I love the taste of come, the pleasure of a cock in my mouth, the feel of shooting a load down someone's throat."
"That's not safe," I said, worried that he was doing things that he would regret one day.
"It's okay," he said. "I only swallow or take a load up my ass if my know my partner's negative. Everyone on the team gets tested regularly. Coach says that it is to make sure that he knows about any medical conditions that he should be aware of."
"Would he kick you off the team if you came up positive?" I asked.
"No," Mark said. "There was one guy on the team who was positive the first year I was there. The coach kept him on, and played him. He just knew to watch him closely and to make sure that he didn't overdo it."
"Your coach must be one hell of a man," I said.
"He is," Mark said. "I'll have to introduce you two before I leave. You'd love him. He fucks almost as well as you do."
"He what?" I cried. "Yeah," he repeated. "Coach plays around with all of us. I think the real reason that he worries about our status is because of all of the sex that goes on in the locker room and at away games. There's only a few of us that are gay," he continued. "But there are several more who are bi, and even the straight ones aren't averse to a blow job now and then. It's hard on most of them the first year, at least the straight ones, because they have to get over the load of shit they've been fed their entire lives. But ultimately most of them come around, or at least are accepting of what goes on. That's what I was talking about when we discussed Whitman. We will do anything for each other, even helping the straight ones get off if their girlfriends are on the rag, or just don't put out. Even the "straight ones" have been known to suck a dick or two."
"Is this unique to our school?" I asked.
"Not according to Coach," he said. "He says that it is one of most closely guarded secrets in professional baseball. He says that you can't spend day after day with the same men, getting sweaty, seeing each other naked in the locker room and shower, without sexuality rearing it's ugly head. You wouldn't believe what goes on in the shower after a win. It's a romp, and since we're all negative, we can have sex the way you're supposed to: bareback. By the way," he said, "Can I ask your status?"
"I just got my results back last week," I said. "Still negative after all of these years."
"That's great!" he said. "Then, if you're really nice to me, I'll invite you to the end-of-the season party next month."
I grinned. "You're on. Speaking of which, do you have any plans for the weekend?"
"Not that I know of," he smiled. "Why, what do you have in mind?"
"I thought that you might want to come over for dinner this evening, and we could get to know each other a little better."
"That sounds great. Can I spend the night?"
"You can spend the whole weekend if you want. Hell, I'm off for three weeks, but I do have work to do."
"That sounds great. Seven?"
"It's a date," I said. We kissed again, then slowly re-dressed and left my office. I knew I would have to get some Lysol to get the smell of sex out of the air, but that could wait until next week. I had to go home and get ready for a date.
End of Part 1
P.S.: I thought that you would like to see the poem that was discussed in this chapter, so here it is:
When I'd Heard at the Close of Day by Walt Whitman
When I'd heard at the close of the day how my name had been receiv'd with
plaudits at the capitol, still it was not a happy night for me that follow'd, And also when I carous'd, or when my plans were accomplish'd,
still I was not happy, But the day when I rose at dawn from the bed of perfect health,
refresh'd, singing, inhaling, the ripe breath of autumn, When I saw the full moon in the west grow pale and disappear
in the morning light, When I wander'd alone over the beach, and undressing bathed,
laughing with the cool waters, and saw the sun rise, And when I thought how my dear friend my lover was on his way coming,
O then I was happy, O then each breath tasted sweeter, and all that day my food nourish'd me more,
and the beuatiful day pass'd well, And the next came with equal joy, and with the next at evening came my friend, And that night while all was still I heard the waters roll slowly
continually up the shores, I heard the hissing rustle of the liquid and sands as directed to me
whispering to congratulate me, For the one I love most lay sleeping by me under the same cover
in the cool night, In the stillness in the autumn moonbeams his face was inclined toward me, And his arm lay lightly around my breast - and that night I was happy.