Chronicles Of An Academic Predator - 16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

July 12, 1962

Northwestern University

Evanston, IL

The construction was pressing along nicely. In fact, the guys had been working so fast the contractor thought they might be able to finish today. I told him I'd give them $20 to go out and have some beers if they did, so they were now working even harder, trying to pull everything together. With Jensen breathing down my neck and just looking for a reason to cause me problems, I reasoned that it would be worth it to have the work done. The phone on my desk rang, making me jump a bit. I answered it formally: “Dr. Crampton.”

“JP!” It was my mother. “How are you doing? Your father tells me you have been so busy!” That was the prelude to a lengthy conversation where I delineated all that I'd done to the condo, which was a room by room discussion of the paint color or wall paper I’d chosen, the furnishings I’d picked out, the accessories to go with it, and an overall description of how things were laid out. I was speaking to my mother in French as we usually did, and it was hilarious to see the secretaries looking at me almost in awe. They were probably thinking I was having some intense and important international conversation. That kind of notoriety I could do without, and I longed for the time when my office was done so I could escape behind a door and actually have some privacy.

After we chatted for a while, I started to feel the pull of my work, so I needed to end our conversation. “Mother, I have to run. It's a busy day here. I'll call you when I get home.”

“I'm sorry JP. I certainly do not want to detain you. But quickly, let me tell you why I called. Your father and I decided to drive up to Chicago this weekend to see you and your new spaces. We planned to get in Friday night, and we will leave on Sunday.” This was totally unexpected, and I mentally began organizing my schedule around their visit.

“That's great, Mom! I can't wait to see you both!” I feigned excitement, although I wasn't sure that I wanted them traipsing into my world and upsetting things. I hadn't been gone long enough to miss them yet, and I was enjoying my life as I had it set up, with just Jeff and me there. “I've got the guest room all set up.”

“We don't have to stay with you. We don't want to put you out. Besides, if we took the guest room, where would Jeff stay?”

“Jeff can sleep in my room. It's only for a few nights. It's no big deal.” I didn't tell her that he was sleeping there anyway. We argued about sleeping arrangements for a few more minutes until she finally surrendered to the obvious.

“Very well JP, we will see you Friday night. I also assumed that we could bring Jeff home with us on Sunday. He can help your father drive and he won't have to sit on a bus or risk his life on those airplanes.” She was obviously still thinking that 707s would be dropping from the skies at any minute. But the horror of her message broke through immediately after that: Jeff would be leaving.

“He's been a great help, Mom, and he's enjoying Chicago. He may not be ready to go back yet.” I was thinking with my emotions, not my brain, so I should have expected that I'd get shot down.

“I really think it is best. JP, Sammy has told us some of the things that poor boy has had to put up with. He has had to endure beatings and broken bones, and it saddens me to the core to think what his life was like at home. I want to bring him back personally so I can make sure he comes here and does not go back to his parents’ house.” Her logic was impeccable, and she was right.

“That makes a lot of sense,” I agreed reluctantly. We hung up, and my mood, which had been peaking because all of my projects were coming together, took a very big nosedive. A few minutes after I hung up, the phone rang again. Not many people knew I was here, and knew my campus extension, so I answered the phone somewhat gruffly, assuming it was my mother with some additional topic of conversation. I did not have time to spend the entire day on the phone with her.

“Good morning Dr. Crampton. This is Coach Davis, head coach of the football team.” This guy had a slick manner just like Bill Hendrickson, my real “dad”, I thought as I sneered to myself. “I like to meet all the new faculty members and introduce myself, that way if you have any of my guys in your class and they cause you any problems, you know where to go.” In other words, he wanted to feel me out to find out what kind of professor I was: was I the kind of guy who purposely tortured athletes, or was I the kind of guy who would work with him.

“That’s a very thoughtful gesture,” I said, “thank you for your welcome.”

“It's no problem at all. I don't know if you have any time this afternoon, but I was wondering if you'd feel up to visiting us at the athletic complex. I could show you around, and show you what we're doing down here.” In other words, he wanted to try to impress me, and he wanted to try to be my friend. That way, he’d be able to lean on me to make sure his students, some of whom were probably not too smart, passed my class. Since I was teaching the history intro class, that actually made a lot of sense.

“I'll be glad to. I appreciate the invitation. Would one o'clock work for you?” I could feel his smile on the other end, thinking he had roped me in.

“That will be great. I'll see you then.”

After lunch I headed down to his office, thinking it would be easy to find. I discovered that the athletic complex was huge, so I had to wander around quite a while, trying to find this elusive coach. The walking around part wouldn't have bothered me, but walking around the athletic complex did. Because I was never a jock, I felt out of my element. Having huge, handsome guys all over the place didn't help either. Worst of all, it smelled of dirty sweat socks and wet moldy towels.

A large kid blocked my path. “You lookin' for somethin'?” he asked menacingly. I knew I looked much younger than my age, so it was no great stretch for him to think I was a student.

“I'm looking for Coach Davis' office,” I said, using the officious voice I’d mastered after I earned my PhD.

He snickered at that. “Hey guys, looks like we got a new linebacker.” They all laughed. I didn't. Instead, I stared daggers at him.

“I am Professor Crampton from the History Department,” I said slowly and menacingly. They stopped laughing, and now the look changed to nervousness and embarrassment. “And you are?”

The cocky guy looked abashed. “Scott Mallory sir,” he said with a totally different demeanor.

“Nice to meet you Mr. Mallory. I'd be obliged if you'd show me to Coach Davis' office.” He nodded and led the way.

Coach Davis was a big man. Everything about him was big. He was tall, and had a growing paunch, the kind football players get when they hit their 40's. His hands were huge as was his smile, and his voice practically boomed in the room.

“You must be Professor Crampton,” he said with his good ole boy demeanor. “Nice to meet you!” He nodded to Mallory to thank him for bringing me there, and to dismiss him at the same time.

He took me on a brief tour of the complex. There was nothing particularly impressive about the facilities, and nothing particularly meaningful about our tour; he just wanted to pay attention to me, to make me feel important. In his mind, that would help him if he needed to manipulate me later. We got back to his office and he kicked his feet up on his desk as we sat down. Even his feet were big.

“Sometimes there's friction between the athletic department and professors. I try to do my best to make sure that doesn't happen.” He was finally getting to the point. I took the lead.

“So you were trying to figure out if I'd purposely torture your players because in high school some football players beat me up, is that it?” I saw the smile spread across his face. “Well, I never got beat up in high school, least of all by a football player, so I don't have that problem.” He seemed relieved.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said with a grin.

“I expect your players to perform in my class just like any other student. But I'm willing to cut them some slack on deadlines if they have to travel, and I'm willing to help them personally, or have my TA work with them if they have problems. I know they work hard and have a lot on their plate, and I respect that.” This guy beamed with pleasure.

“They do,” he said, his tone getting somber as if to mourn the tough life his athletes had to endure. “With their practice and travel schedules, it adds a huge burden.”

“While I expect their efforts and I’m willing to help them succeed, there are a few things I want to address.” He got a little nervous, knowing this was the big ‘but’ to follow up my original statement.

“Go on,” he said, cautiously encouraging me.

“First, if they give me any shit, or if I catch them bullying other students, I want you to come down on them like an avalanche. None of us should have to put up with disrespect,” I said firmly.

“I think you’ll find that my guys understand that, and that they know how to behave themselves,” he said, almost in a cocky way.

“That has not been my experience so far,” I said in my same, unemotional tone. “You invited me down to tour this complex, yet when I got here, I was greeted rudely by Mr. Mallory. He thought I was a student and tried to intimidate me. There's no place for that on campus.” His eyes narrowed in irritation, probably that Mallory’s little stunt had almost ruined his whole plan to get me on his good side.

“I could not agree with you more,” he said, and the annoyance in his voice was very real. “Sometimes people forget what they learn, and they have to be reminded of that. I will plan a special refresher course for Mr. Mallory.”

“I think that would do him a lot of good,” I replied, then change the subject. “I think I mentioned during our tour that my hometown is Claremont, Ohio.”

“You did,” he said.

“Do your scouts ever visit that part of the country?” I asked. “The high school is named, appropriately enough, Claremont High.”

He chuckled at my humor. “Let’s see.” He pulled out a list and browsed through it. “I don't see them on my list.”

“That’s unfortunate,” I replied, in a somewhat unpleasant way.

“Just because they haven’t been on our list before doesn’t mean we can’t add them,” he said, getting the point. “You wouldn’t happen to know if they have any major talent on their roster, would you?”

“I’ve gotten to know their star wide receiver, a kid named Jeff Hayes. He was kind enough to drive me to Chicago since my arm is out of action.” I motioned to my sling.

“That was real nice of him,” he agreed, even though it was obvious he couldn’t give a shit less about that. “I wish I would have known he was here so I could have met him.”

“Well you still have that opportunity,” I told him. “He’ll be here until Sunday.”

“I appreciate leads on good players. Our referral network is one of the strengths of our program,” he said, throwing out more bullshit pabulum. “If he’s available, ask him to stop by tomorrow morning and I'll put him through some paces with my guys, just to test him out. And I'll make sure that Claremont High is on our scouting circuit.”

“I'll send him over in the morning,” I said, as I stood up. “Thank you, coach, for giving him a chance, and for giving the other players in Claremont a shot at getting noticed.”

“It was my pleasure,” he said, shaking my hand as he did. “I’m looking forward to working with you.” I walked out of his office and down the hall, but before I left the building I heard his booming voice scream, “Mallory!”

Jeff’s appointed time to pick me up was at 5:00, but today he got here early, at 4:30, so he came in to see the progress on my office. The secretaries all stopped to watch him walk by and ogle him. It was hard to blame them. “Hey, JP,” he said, in his laid back way. “I got here a little early.”

“Obviously,” I said in a playfully sarcastic way. He rolled his eyes at me. “You’re here just in time. They just finished my office.” I’d gone through it with the contractor, making sure they’d gotten everything done, and then paid him even though they still had some cleaning up to do. They’d just accomplished that, so in effect, it was just completed.

“Cool,” he said, and followed me through the door and into my newly transformed space. He whistled in amazement at how different it was. It was square, and it had windows, but other than that, it looked nothing like it did before. Jeff walked over to the walls and ran his hand over the paneling. “Real wood?” he asked.

I nodded. “Cherry.” He moved over to the windows, looking at the new, air-tight panes. “These can actually withstand category 4 hurricane winds.”

“May need that with the winds that blow off the lake,” he said ruefully, as we both imagined how miserable winter could be here. He stopped to feel the velvet curtains, and I appreciated how tactile he was. “Nice.”

“They’re heavy on purpose,” I explained. “When it's cold I can close them up and it will keep the place warmer.”

“Good thinking,” he said. He walked around the room, admiring the hardwood floors, but had a confused look on his face. “There's something else different. I can't put my finger on it, but it just seems a lot bigger.”

I smiled. “Look up.” He turned his attention to the ceiling. The tacky drop ceiling was gone, replaced by beautiful Cherry paneling that perfectly matched the walls.

“The ceiling is prettier than the rest of the room combined,” he said, totally impressed.

“It is pretty, but that’s not the reason this room seems bigger. Those panels were installed much closer to the base floor above, and that increased the height in this room to about 11 feet,” I explained. The high ceilings were what had given this office its feeling of extra roominess.

“That’s amazing,” he said. “You just transformed this place.”

“With a check, a good contractor, and some imagination,” I said in a self-deprecating way.

“Right,” he said skeptically, which made me uncomfortable, because even though I’d designed the bulk of it, I hadn’t actually done any of the work.

“I'm hungry,” I announced, conveniently changing the subject. “Let's get going. Where do you want to eat?”

“Let's go home. I have a surprise for you.” He was smiling proudly at whatever it was. I looked at him, ready to try and worm it out of him, but I decided to let him have his dramatic moment. He'd finished all the painting yesterday. All the furniture had been delivered. Even the phone had been installed, though I'd almost screwed that up by getting the install date wrong. I wasn’t sure what else he could have done.

It was a short drive back to the condo, but it seemed longer because I spent the entire time trying to figure out what he might have done to surprise me. We rode up the elevator to the 20^th floor, walked into my unit, and the first thing to greet me was the pleasant aroma of food. I sniffed, then sniffed again, and really smiled. It wasn’t just food; that was the smell of turkey. That smell always reminded me of Thanksgiving, one of my favorite holidays. I walked into the dining room and found that the table was set for two, and noted that all of the dinnerware was in its proper place.

“I thought you might like a home-cooked meal for a change,” he said offhandedly.

“I didn't know you could cook,” I exclaimed exuberantly. “It smells great. How did you swing all this? I barely have any cooking stuff.”

“I learned to cook from my Ma,” he said with a shrug. “I took some of that money you left for paint and stuff and bought some pots and pans for you. There was enough to pretty much fill up the kitchen.”

I walked into the kitchen and the smell there was like nectar. I opened the cupboards and they were all filled up with my plates and shit, plus all kinds of cooking utensils that I would have no idea what to do with. The cupboard hadn’t been set up like this in the morning when I left, so I opened a few more, and found them to be setup in a similarly efficient way. "You organized the whole kitchen,” I said, and I was absolutely stunned.

“I did,” he said, then opened the oven to tend to the food he was cooking. I knew I’d be useless there, so I headed back to my room, stopping to peek into the guest room. It had been almost buried with boxes, but those were all gone. I walked in and looked in the drawers and closet and found that things were all neatly put away. I shook my head, amazed at how much he’d gotten done. My amazement only increased when I got to my bedroom, and found the boxes in there were gone as well. I opened the top drawer of my new dresser and there were my socks, all neatly organized. I was overwhelmed.

I went back to the kitchen where he was diligently getting dinner pulled together. “You organized the whole house!” I exclaimed, in a way that was pretty demonstrative for me.

“I was bored, so I thought I’d get it done,” he said, like it was no big deal. What a great guy! No one had ever done anything that thoughtful for me before. People bought me things, or took me places, but no one had ever done something this personal for me. The lack of organization had been driving me crazy, like a huge weight on my shoulders, and he’d just magically lifted it right off.

I walked up to him, and hugged him tightly, refusing to let go until he got how much I appreciated what he’d done. “Thank you so much. This was the best present ever.”

“Hey now, you gotta let go or I'll burn dinner. Why don't you relax and I'll get things all finished up.” I released him and went into my room to change clothes.

Just having him make dinner was a luxury, but I hadn’t expected it to be as good as it was. He’d done a terrific job, and while I wouldn’t say this to anyone, internally I was willing to admit that this was as good as Vella's Thanksgiving turkey. The food was excellent and we were hungry, so we stuffed ourselves with a minimum of conversation. He’d made a ton of food, so even with his huge appetite, there would be plenty of leftovers. That was almost as awesome as the dinner itself.

After we were done eating, I helped him clean up. It was tough for me to do dishes with my broken arm, but I could carry things to the kitchen, so that’s what I did. When we were finally done, I opened up a bottle of cognac, poured us a glass, and led him into the living room to relax. I’d been putting off sharing my news with him, but it was time to bite the bullet and tell him the plan.

“My mother called today. They're driving up this weekend to see the place and my new office. They get here tomorrow.”

“Good thing I got the place all organized then,” he said.

“No shit,” I agreed, getting a grin from him. “When they leave on Sunday, they want you to go back with them.” I watched his laid back expression fade. It was really flattering to see that he was as upset about leaving as I was about seeing him go.

“That's really a shame. I like it here. In fact, I like it here better than any place I’ve been.” He seemed really sad. I hadn't seen him sad like this since that night he'd walked up to the Heights.

“I like having you here. I'll really miss you,” I said sincerely. “If it were up to me, you’d stay here.”

“That’s a tough commute, from here to Claremont, especially since I don’t even have a car,” he said, trying to joke about it even though I could tell he was impacted by my sincerity.

“That’s a good point,” I agreed. I'd anticipated that he'd feel sad, and I was even willing to admit that I hoped he would, because that would show that he liked being here. But this had been a spectacular evening, and I didn’t want to end it on a negative note, so I’d saved my trump card for the end. “Do you want to play football?”

He stared at me, wondering what the fuck I was talking about. “Now? Here? With you?” I laughed.

“No, dumbass, tomorrow on campus. The coach wants to meet you and put you through some paces.” He looked at me, dazed. “You do like to play football, don't you?”

I watched that rumble through his brain until he realized what I was saying, then he got a huge smile on his face. “No way! Scrimmaging on campus?” He jumped up and let out a big whoop. Then he ran over, picked me up and hugged me, twirling as he did so he was spinning me around like a rag doll.

“Scrimmaging on campus,” I confirmed.

“That is so keen!” He put me down, grabbed my face between his two strong hands, and planted a big kiss right on my lips. It wasn’t a romantic kiss, it was the kind of smack a friendly grandmother might plant on a kid. I laughed, feeling good because it was so nice to make Jeff happy.

July 13, 1962

It was Friday the 13^th, and while I had a generally dismissive view of superstitions, I had an ominous feeling about this day. I pushed my nervousness aside and just relaxed in my new office. They had delivered my furniture and accessories, and now it was complete. I admired the results that $1,568 had bought. I had apportioned the space so I had a wall of bookshelves, a desk, a couch and 2 side chairs. The couch and chairs were in classic maroon leather, while a thick Persian Carpet completed the look.

Dave Adams came strolling in and whistled. “Wow. Wanna trade offices?” I laughed.

“You write me a check for all this and it's yours.” He just rolled his eyes.

We sat there chatting and I saw Bob Jensen stick his head in and look around. We both turned and looked at him. “Hmmph,” was all he said, and then he vanished. We both laughed.

“He's back in his office trying to figure out a way to move himself in here,” Adams observed.

“Let him plot all he wants. It will keep him busy and out of everyone else's hair.” I was not going to let Jensen bother me.

All morning I was interrupted as the secretaries and any professors who were around stopped in to see the transformation of the birdcage. Dr. Peterson was perhaps the happiest with the results. It couldn't have been easy to give a young, new professor permission to decorate at will. I smiled when I visualized what it could have looked liked: a modern office, with MOMA furniture and spray paint art on the walls.

“You've done a great job in here Dr. Crampton,” Peterson said. He looked up at the ceiling, which I decided was the best feature of the whole room. “Too bad I made that deal with you; otherwise I'd be moving in here myself.”

“Five years from now it's all yours, sir,” I said with a smile. I'd need him on my side if I was going to survive those years and end up with tenure. “If you're not busy tomorrow, perhaps you and your wife would like to come over for dinner?”

He studied me carefully. “I'll have to check with my wife.”

“I understand. I hope you can make it. My parents will be in town and tomorrow is kind of a big holiday for us, so it would be nice to have you there to celebrate with us.”

“Holiday?” he asked.

“Bastille Day. My mother is French, so we usually have a nice dinner to celebrate.” Bastille Day is the French version of July 4^th, and it was a big deal to my mother.

“Oh, of course, of course. Well, I'll let you know shortly.” Almost right after he left, Jeff came bounding in.

“Man, I had the best time. They've got a great program, and I think I did pretty well in the scrimmages. The coach told me to play well this year, and said they'd be sending scouts out to watch us. Wait 'till all the guys on the team hear that!” It was great to see Jeff so excited, and to know that my simple deal to get scouts out to my former high school could yield opportunities for future graduates.

“I'm glad you had fun. How would you feel about hosting a dinner party tomorrow night? Think you can cook again?” I could have it catered, but Jeff did such a great job last night, I figured I'd ask.

“I can do that,” he said confidently. “How many people are gonna be there?” The dining room table sat 12, but I thought that might be a bit much.

“Probably eight, including us,” I said.

“That’s no problem,” he said. “Speaking of food, wanna get some lunch?”

“Sure. Let's get going.” I grabbed my briefcase and my keys. Just as I was about to leave Peterson came in and accepted the invite. I gave him the address and the time, then strolled down and invited Dave Adams and his wife as well. I figured that I'd done enough for one week. I was taking the rest of the day off.

July 14, 1962

My parents got in last night and were almost as excited about my condo as I was. My mother just smothered Jeff with praise for his craftsmanship, but even more surprising was that my father was visibly impressed. It had been kind of weird sleeping with Jeff in my bed while my parents were in the guest room, although as platonic as our relationship was, there was no reason for me to feel that way. This morning we’d had breakfast, then I’d taken my parents up to campus so they could see my new office, and admire the results that their money and connections had gotten. After that, my father took my Corvette to go meet with some people about a building. Jeff seemed surprised that he was working on a Saturday, but my mother and I were used to it.

My mother insisted on going shopping while she was in Chicago, and she was adamant that Jeff and I accompany her. I knew my mother and her motives. We weren't there to shop for her, and we weren't there to shop for me. She was determined to get some new stuff for Jeff. I snickered at him when he tried to argue with her, and tried to be obstinate and difficult. He used the same methods he’d used on me, and while I’d backed off, with my mother he had met his match. By the time we got back to the condo the Cadillac was full of stuff for Jeff.

Dinner that night was great. My mother acted as the perfect hostess, as usual, and charmed everyone. Jeff had made a Beef Roast, and as good as his turkey had been, I thought his roast was even better. I’d got a cake from the local bakery with the icing done as a Tricolor Flag. It had a lame fairy castle on top, which was the closest representation of the Bastille I could find. Conversation flowed freely, and it was a great opportunity for me and Adams to get to know Peterson a little better.

Peterson made a really big deal about how nice my new office turned out. “He really had a challenge with that. They replaced the windows on the classroom level, but not for the faculty offices. They all leak like sieves, but with that office having windows on two sides, it was especially vulnerable.”

“Why doesn't the university replace them?” My father asked logically.

“Apparently it's in the building improvement queue, to be repaired only when money becomes available. The provost tells me that means we should have them replaced sometime in 1967, maybe 1966 if we're lucky.” We all laughed at that.

“How much does it cost to replace a bunch of windows? You'd think they'd be able to come up with enough for that?” My practical father had no idea how university procurement was handled.

“We had to get a bid when we put in our request. We got your friend O'Hara to have some of his guys put it together.” He nodded to me. “They claim it will take $1500, which seems awfully high for ten windows. I have no idea whether it is or not, but we certainly didn’t have that much in our budget.” We all nodded in sympathy at the price.

Then my father pulled out his checkbook and wrote a check to Northwestern University for $1500. We all stared at him in amazement. My mother was pleased, but I could tell she was a little annoyed too. Flashing money around like that was tasteless and tacky in her mind. The others could not have cared less about that. Peterson and Adams, both of whom would benefit directly from his generosity, were thrilled. I contemplated asking them to specifically not replace Jensen's window, but then decided that while funny to think about, it was just too petty to actually do.

It was a good party, and one that broke up relatively early. Peterson and his wife were not night owls, evidently, and Adams was anxious to get home and let the babysitter go. On his way out, Adams pulled me aside and thanked me profusely for inviting him, saying that all last year he'd tried to get Peterson to relax, but he’d never been able to get him to let his hair down. Some good wine certainly helped.

Jeff didn't say much that night, and he was quiet even after all the guests left. I sensed that he'd had enough merriment, and certainly we'd all had enough wine. With her astute social skills, my mother decided it was time for bed, and we all conformed to her schedule.

Jeff and I did our normal routine before going to sleep, then the two of us climbed into bed for our last night together. I was trying not to be too miserable at losing my teddy bear, but it wasn’t really working. Jeff didn’t seem to be doing any better. He was on his back so I lay next to him and put my head on his chest. “You OK?” I asked him. He didn't answer. I tried to avoid prying into his feelings, just like he did with me, so I didn’t push him for a response, even though the silence was uncomfortable.

“Not really,” he finally said, then sighed. “I like it here and I don't want to go. I know I have to, but I don't want to.” I hugged him tighter.

“I don’t want you to go either, but you’re right, it’s something you have to do,” I told him candidly.

“My life at home with my parents has sometimes been a living hell, sometimes just OK. I never could relax, I could never be comfortable, because I always had to worry whether a fist was about to come flying at me,” he said, the pain all but oozing through his tone.

“If it was up to me you'd stay here. But you have a great year ahead of you, your senior year, and you need to be there. Besides, you're not going back to your house. You're going home with my parents. That's where you live now, and I promise that no one, with the possible exception of Sammy, will try to punch you.”

He snaughed. “If he does I'll kick his ass.” We lay there quietly, and after a few minutes I heard his gentle snoring, and like it had done every night since we'd been here, it sang me to sleep.

It must have been the middle of the night when I woke up, confused and disoriented. I was lying on my side and Jeff was spooned up behind me, but something was different. I felt his hands rubbing across my chest, tweaking one of my nipples. I moaned and instinctively moved back into him. I was trying to push the grogginess out of my mind so I could figure out what the fuck was going on when I felt his mouth and his warm breath on my neck. He nuzzled his nose under my ear and whispered urgently “Come on baby. Let me show you how much I love you. Come on.” I didn’t know if he was dreaming or if he was awake, and that confused me enough not to respond.

I felt his hand leave my nipples and move around to my back, going lower and lower, until he slipped it underneath the band of my boxers, to my ass. He was stroking my cheeks when I felt his finger trace the length of my crack. That was all it took to make rational thought vanish from my mind. I moaned loudly and pushed my ass back toward his finger. “That's it baby. Show me how much you want it,” he murmured, his words, his sultry voice dripping with lust, driving me almost as crazy as his hand. He found my hole and tried to push his finger in, but I wasn't lubed up, and that made penetration difficult for him and painful for me.

Somewhere in the back of my mind a spark of sanity burst through. I gently detached myself from him, despite his protest. “Oh baby, don't go. I'm sorry. Don't leave me.” I looked down on him as I got up; he had rolled over on his back, with his hard cock poking straight out of his boxers. I stared at it, admiring its perfect beauty. It was long and thin, with a slight curve upward. I put my hand on his chest briefly as if to reassure him that it was alright, then I forced myself away and headed to the bathroom.

I remembered blowing André, how I'd given in to lust, and how badly I'd felt afterwards. I recalled how I'd prayed for a time machine so I could go back and undo it, and how I swore I'd never do that again. And here I was with Jeff, another great guy, a guy that I'd dreamed about fucking but never thought it would be possible, and he wanted it. Did he know it was me and was he was just pretending to be asleep? Or did he think I was some chick and he was just having a dream? I determined that I would be strong and just go back and go to sleep, but the battle had re-emerged in my brain. Last time it was Gettysburg, this time it was Iwo Jima. He was storming my beaches and there was no way I could hold him off. I grabbed the jar of Vaseline and fully lubed my ass. I told myself that it was just in case, but that was a lie. If he tried again, he'd get me.

The forces of reason made a flanking assault. Would I risk his friendship for a quick lay? What if I let him fuck me and then he got so upset he moved back home with his parents? What if that was the thing that ruined his future? But the forces of reason were no match for my hormones. They detached a counterattack to firmly secure my flank. With André I had initiated things, while with Jeff I would just be a passive participant. He was the one trying to fuck me. If anything, I could pretend to be the one who was asleep. I headed back to bed and found him lying on his back just like he was when I left him.

This was my chance to just go to sleep, to stop this before anything happened. In a strangely intuitive way, I knew that if I just got back in bed and lay down, and maybe turned him down once when he tried again, he'd leave me alone. That was the rational approach, but that side of my brain had lost this battle back in the bathroom. I kicked off my boxers and got in bed stark naked. I felt him move behind me in the same position he’d been in before I got out of bed, and then his hand was back on my bare ass again, only this time with much more purpose. His mouth returned, sending tingles up and down my spine. “You're back baby. I missed you so much. Let me show you how much.” His finger began to probe my hole, only this time it was lubed and it went right in. “Ahhhh. You feel so good baby. I want to be inside you. I want to feel you wrapped around me.” His finger in my ass had set me free. All I could do was moan and thrust my ass back into his hand.

He pulled his hand away and moved up behind me. I felt his hard cock push against my taint, trying to find my hole. He moved his hand down to guide it in, and then I felt him slowly and gently enter me. There was no way he could be asleep. I sure as hell wasn't.

“Oh fuck baby, you feel so good.” He began to move in and out, slowly and deliberately. He wrapped his arms around me, fully pinning me against him. His body felt like one huge, powerful muscle, its sole purpose to fuck the shit out of me. I felt his hands trace my nipples and then start moving lower, across my abdomen, until he reached my straining cock. I was afraid now, because if he was dreaming and thought I was some chick, then finding a dick would certainly turn that dream into a nightmare. It didn't seem to faze him. He gently stroked my dick in time to his thrusts. “You like this don't you baby. I feel good inside you don't I. You like my big dick inside you?” His voice got a little tougher, and he picked up his pace. He wasn't the gentle lover anymore, now he was going to fuck me. Good.

He started slamming into me, slamming hard. “I'm gonna fill you up, flood you with cum. I'm gonna shoot so hard you’re gonna taste it. You ready baby? You ready for me to blast you full?” That was it. I thrust back into him and felt my orgasm start to boil up. Behind me there was a muffled moan and the huge muscle that was Jeff completely spasmed into me. I shot my load past my nightstand so that it landed on the window. He came and came, so much that it seemed that his orgasm would never end, and I was right there with him, spurt for spurt. Finally, exhausted, he collapsed onto his back, his hand gently stroking my back.

I got up, not sure what to think, but finding that I didn't care. That was amazing sex. I'd never had anyone talk to me like that, and it brought a whole new sensory experience into my sexual equation. I went to the bathroom and got a towel, cleaning myself off. I brought it back to the bedroom and wiped my cum off the window, and I even reached over and dabbed some of the excess cum off of Jeff. Then I tossed the towel down and crawled back into bed. Would he curl up behind me, or ignore me? Had I ruined our friendship? I felt him move up and wrap his arms around me, kissing me softly on the neck, and then doze back to sleep.

July 15, 1962

I was wondering if anything would be different the next morning, but if I’d been hoping for some major change, I was to be disappointed. I got up and took a shower, wondering if Jeff would come in and join me, but he came in as I was getting out, just as he usually did. I'd given up trying to be modest around him, so I just dried off while he brushed his teeth.

“Mornin'” he said casually. I returned his greeting. “Hope my tossin' and turnin' didn't bother you too much.” There was nothing to be gained, and a lot to lose, by pushing the issue over what happened last night.

“Nope,” I said, “you were just fine.”

“Good,” he said, and took my place in the shower.

My parents wanted to leave early, to presumably get back to Claremont before it got dark. They were completely ready to go when I emerged from the bedroom, so when Jeff followed me about ten minutes later, we had to rush around to get his stuff together and leave. I went with them down to the garage, and helped stow Jeff’s things in the car. The Cadillac was so massive, that wasn’t much of a challenge. I hugged my mother in the appropriate way, and did the same to my father. For Jeff I had a big bear hug, which he returned enthusiastically. When he broke the hug, there were tears in his eyes. I handed him a small package wrapped in bright lavender-blue paper to match his eyes.

“You didn't have to get me a present. I wanna open it up and see what it is.” He said excitedly. He started to tear the paper but I stopped him. “No, open it on the road. It will give you something to think about other than imminent death. My father is driving.” My father gave me a mock dirty look and my mother giggled. And with that, they got in the car and left.

I'd wanted to get him something to thank him for all the work he’d done for me, and for being such a good friend. I’d thought long and hard about what to get him. I had to do something to pay him back for all his help. So while my mother was shopping with him, I sidled on over to Men's Accessories and bought a new wallet for him. I put $500 in it, along with a note:

Dear Jeff,

I am giving this to you as you're leaving so you won't be able to argue with me about taking it. I can't begin to pay you back for all the help you've given me, and if you add to that your friendship and company, I find that I am even deeper in your debt. Maybe this will be enough to tide you over for the year so you won't have to work and you can focus on your studies and on football.

I'm very sad that you're leaving, and like I said, if it was up to me, you’d have stayed here. I want you to know that wherever I am, you will always be welcome in my house.

Love,

JP.

I was usually so good at expressing myself in written form, but that note had seemed incredibly stupid to me. It was part friendly, part formal, part emotional, and part logical. I rationalized it by deciding that Jeff knew me well enough to understand what I was trying to say.

My thoughts shifted back to the thing that was really at the forefront of my mind. I’d gotten my ass reamed, had terrific sex with a guy I really liked, and then in the morning it was like nothing happened. That was not a little confusing, and even more frustrating. I wondered if the problem might be that I was hanging around teenage guys, and they had an entirely different motive. Sam, Jeff, and Stefan were all just 16 or 17, and excepting Stefan, they probably weren’t gay like me. They were probably just horny and looking for some kind of release, any release, and messing around with me was kind of like Billy messing around with me when we were teenagers. I wasn’t convinced that I was right, but just laboring over this was driving me crazy. I needed to come to closure on the subject, so I adopted that hypothesis as a truth.

I walked around my awesome condo that was home now, and actually felt like it, and collapsed on my couch. Finally I was free of Claremont and free of all the people who seemed anxious to complicate my life. I was back in control of my own destiny. I smiled to myself, self-satisfied, until I realized that I was subconsciously waiting for Jeff to come strolling in at any minute. Then I discovered that the solitude I craved only brought loneliness.