Chronicles Of An Academic Predator - 21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty One

September 4, 1962

Chicago, IL

As soon as I'd gotten back from Claremont, I sat down with Jason to arrange my schedule for the upcoming semester. I liked to do my own lectures, but I also recognized that Jason would need some practice. After all, that's part of being a TA. I set him up to handle classes around the days I'd be going to Claremont, and I figured that maybe I could work in another long weekend and sneak off to see André. He'd sent me a brief telegram telling me that he was in Brussels and loving it. Peterson had approved my request to miss those two classes, so I'd tentatively planned to fly over there for the weekend of October 20^th. In the meantime, Jason had been fabulous. He’d handled all the administrative issues with the classes, all the mimeographing, all the adds and drops, and all the attendance issues. I had promised to take him to dinner tonight to reward him.

The first day of school was always fun and always hectic. Drs. Peterson and Broughton decided to sit in on my History lecture hall class. I didn't mind because I had the teaching thing down, so much so that I impressed even myself. I usually didn't seek out the spotlight, even at parties, where my focus was on following the social mores and being as charming as possible. A casual observer would guess that I was too introverted to be considered good lecture hall material. They would be wrong. For some reason when I got up in front of a class, I was able to project that extroverted part of my personality that otherwise would lie dormant. I was usually able to transfix my audience, for the most part, and I always maintained complete control. Peterson and Broughton both stopped me after class to rave about my performance. Praise from those sages truly put me on cloud nine. I was in an upbeat mood, thinking that if I could keep up the pace with my research, I'd be able to apply early for tenure in just 5 years, and at this rate, I'd get it. It was a good feeling.

I planned to take Jason to one of Chicago's best steakhouses, and even though our reservations weren’t until 7:30, I told him to meet me around 5pm at the El station. I figured we could mess around downtown for a while, have a drink or two, and then eat. With anyone else, I would have some level of apprehension that they’d be late, but not with Jason. He showed up right on time, but the contrast between the two of us was pretty pronounced. I was wearing slacks, a tie, and a jacket, while Jason looked horribly under-dressed in his dorky clothes. He sensed my scrutiny and shifted uncomfortably under my gaze.

“I'm sorry Dr. Crampton, but I really don't have any nice clothes. I just haven't had the money to spend on them. If you want to go someplace more casual, that would be fine with me. I hope you're not mad,” he said plaintively.

“Of course I'm not mad Jason,” I said soothingly. It was probably presumptuous of me to assume a TA would have adequate funds to fit himself out nicely. “Come on, let's catch the train.” My plans immediately shifted, and even as my mind hatched the plan, I had to exert every muscle not to laugh out loud. As seemed to be the norm when new men came into my life, I was going to end up shopping again.

We got off downtown and I dragged Jason into Marshall Fields. He was nervous to the point where I thought he would have an anxiety attack, so we left and went down a block to a small men's store. I assumed that the sheer size of Marshall Fields had overwhelmed him, while here it would be a more intimate experience. We were greeted by a flashy young clerk in there with a dazzling smile, but I forestalled his sales pitch by crisply explaining what we would need to outfit Jason correctly. He got into the spirit of the thing, and ripped through his merchandise with efficiency and speed. In 90 minutes we'd gotten Jason a whole new wardrobe, with a bunch of bags to carry as a result.

Jason turned out to be one of the more annoying people I’d taken shopping. Jeff had been stubbornly obnoxious, but Jason’s strategy was to whine. “Dr. Crampton, I can't keep all of this. This stuff cost a fortune. I could never pay you back. Please. Don't do this.”

“Nonsense Jason,” I said dismissively, hoping to stop his annoying prattle. “You've been terrific, and if you're going to work for me, and represent me, you're going to have to look the part. I won't have it any other way.”

“But it’s so much money…” he began again.

“I can't have you embarrassing me now, can I?” That was ridiculous and he probably knew it, but I was giving him a way out, a way to accept my generosity by assuming I'd done it for my own good.

“Well thank you very much,” he finally said.

“That's the first lesson of good manners, Jason. When someone does something nice for you, you don't argue about it, you just say thank you. Unless you don't like that person. You do like me don't you?”

He laughed. “Yes sir. You've been great. I couldn't ask for a better boss.”

We got to the restaurant on time for our reservation, but just barely. The Maître d' was awfully snobby, but I didn't let that faze me. I flipped him a buck and he cut the attitude and got us a great table. The food was fabulous. I didn't think Jason would be able to eat that much since he was so skinny, but he just devoured food. He reminded me a little of Peter, since they both had thin frames with bottomless pits for stomachs.

“This has been an amazing experience,” Jason said wistfully. “I've always been so poor. I've never been able to shop anywhere except a second-hand shop, or eat anywhere off campus. I think that's one of the reasons Sarah dumped me. Going to a movie is a once a month thing, and only if I budget for it.”

“Life as a TA is tough, but I didn’t think it would be that tough,” I said, framing it as a question.

“I have to send money home every month. My dad is pretty ill, and my mom can't work because she has to take care of him. So me and my sister help by sending them some money every month. It never seems to be enough, but we do our best.” He seemed resigned to his fate.

“That's terrible. What's wrong with your father?” That question seemed to cause him some consternation.

“He's been ill for a long time. I'm not sure what the diagnosis is, but he just can't function.”

“What about your mother? Can't she do anything to help out?” I knew I was prying, but there was something he wasn't telling me, and until he changed the subject, I was going to try and find out what it was.

“She spends her time taking care of him. She doesn't have much energy left after that, and what extra time she does have she donates to the church. She says that if she devotes herself to God, God will take care of them. Personally, I haven't seen it work, but that's what she thinks.”

“That puts a huge burden on you.” No wonder this kid was hungry. “Isn't there some other source of help for them?”

“They won't take public aid. They say that's relying on charity, and they won't have it.”

“Isn't taking money from you the same thing?” I felt myself getting angry at these people who would force their children to starve merely to save their own pride.

“They don't think that taking money from family is charity. They think we're just paying them back for raising us.” I could tell that he didn't even believe that statement.

“So how much do you send home?”

“They make me send half of everything I make.” I stared at him, completely stunned. No wonder he was hungry and could afford very limited luxuries in his life.

“That's ridiculous. You can't live on that. Do they know that you got the additional TA Position?”

“No, and I'm not sure whether to tell them or not,” he said nervously. “They used to make me deposit my check into the bank and then take half out for myself and send them half. Then the statements would go home to Peoria and they'd be able to see how much I made. But after I went to grad school I decided that was bullshit.” It was unbelievable how Jason’s parents had all but enslaved him.

“Jason, you are not responsible for supporting your parents if it means you can't make ends meet. How many nights do you go to bed hungry?”

He looked down at the floor. “Too many,” he answered.

“I want you to promise me that you won't tell them about the extra money, that you'll keep it for yourself.” He looked at me doubtfully.

“If they find out, there will be problems.” He said.

“What kind of problems?” How could they threaten him?

“I can't go into it,” he said. He saw me starting to argue with him and shut me down. “I appreciate your concern, but I just can't risk it.” He was clearly upset about this, and there was definitely more going on here than he was telling me, but I’d gotten to the point where pushing him any further would just be counterproductive.

“So what are you going to do?”

“I'm going to have to watch my money. Or pick up another job.” He looked downtrodden, while I got irritated.

“Jason, I gave you the second TA position so you wouldn't have to do that. If you take on another job, you'll be so tired everything else you do will suffer.” This was going to affect me, and that gave me an entrée to demand some answers. I knew I was dumping a lot on him this semester, but I was paying him to handle it, and I knew that if he picked up another job and slacked off on my work, I’d probably just work harder myself to take up the slack. That could cause me some significant research delays, and derail my early tenure plan.

“I promise it won't. I shouldn't have said anything about this. Please don't fire me.” He was almost desperate now.

“I'm not going to fire you Jason. You do a superb job. I've never had a more efficient TA. But I need you to be at your peak efficiency level.”

“I understand,” he said, and seemed resolved to at least make the TA position the most important of his jobs.

“I've got three trips planned this semester and I need you to be on top of things. I know you have the skills and ability, that's why I was comfortable scheduling them.”

“I won’t let you down,” he promised. I was still skeptical, but I let it go since this whole discussion had made our nice dinner much more tense than I’d hoped it would be.

We finished eating and headed back to the El, encumbered by all of our packages. I offered to help Jason carry the packages back to his place, but he got extremely agitated and point-blank rejected that idea. I offered to take him to my place so we could get my car and then drive him home, and even though he didn’t like that plan, I insisted strongly enough that he finally relented.

We got to my condo and even though I was pretty tired, I pretended to be as fresh as I was in the morning and started driving on the Drive. I ignored the length of our drive until we went so far south we were beyond downtown. “How do you get to school?” I asked him.

“I ride the El. I get student discount fares.”

“What's your rent here?” I asked, even as the neighborhoods got grittier and grittier.

“I pay $15 a month. It's pretty cheap, but it's not very nice.” He was certainly right about that. He gave me directions off the Drive, and even though we only went over a few side streets, I was starting to get pretty nervous. This was what you'd call a bad neighborhood by any standards. There were groups of young men hanging around in the street, giving us menacing looks, and I began to wonder if I’d avoid getting robbed. “This is it,” he said, as we as we pulled up to a dilapidated multi-family flat.

“You live here Jason?” I asked him, as I slowed. He nodded. There were three or four guys lurking around outside, and plainly they were hoods. This was ridiculous, and incredibly unsafe. I drove off, probably saving both of us from a very unpleasant encounter with those loitering men.

“Hey, that's my place,” he exclaimed, even as he turned back to look at it.

“Not anymore. You can't live there. How many times have you been mugged?” He didn't answer. “How many times have you been mugged Jason?” I was getting pissed off at his cluelessness, and my voice had become louder and more insistent as a result.

“Lots. I have to leave most of my money at school. Those guys will shake me down for cash every day. But it's still cheaper to live here and deal with that than to live near campus,” he said in his lackadaisical way, as if he thought that made any logical sense at all.

“Do you realize how ridiculous this is? Do you?” I was getting pissed. “Your parents won't get public assistance because of their pride, and instead they lean on you and force you to live in the slums, risking your life every day. Is their pride worth your life?” He looked at me, stunned.

“I never thought about it that way.” He seemed confused.

“I’m going to help you out,” I asserted.

“You don’t have to do that…” he began, going into his whining mode.

“It’s not an option,” I said firmly.

“Okay,” he said, and now he was listening to me.

“You have your act together at school, but it seems that as soon as you walk off campus you become clueless.” He just nodded at that. “So, you're taking care of things on campus, and I'm going to make some decisions for you off campus. Got it?” He nodded again. No wonder his parents took advantage of him. He was easily cowed.

“Thanks,” he mumbled insincerely.

“You're going to stay with me for the time being. I've got a spare room. And you're not going to tell your parents about the extra TA assignment. You're going to keep the money to feed yourself.” I glared at him, demanding his agreement, conscious that we'd finally escaped the South Side and were safely back on the Drive.

“I wouldn't feel right staying with you unless I could pay some rent,” he said stubbornly. He was frustrating the shit out of me. I felt like I was in a maze, and every time I thought I’d found the door, he put a blockade in front of me.

“Jason, you better not be this big of a pain in the ass to live with.” For some reason, that struck us both as being funny, and the laughter took the edge off the situation. “You know how to cook?” I asked, inspired.

“Yeah. I'm pretty good at it.”

“Good. You can pay me back by cooking for us, and keeping the place clean. Deal?” He looked at me, and I stuck out my hand to shake on it. “Hurry up and shake, so I can put my hand back on the steering wheel!”

“Deal,” he said and he shook my hand even as we both laughed again.

By the time I got back to the apartment we were both exhausted. I helped Jason lug all the bags up and showed him to his room. He was stunned by the condo, but I was too tired to listen to any more of his babbling. I headed to bed and left him to fend for himself.

September 5, 1962

I woke up sensing that something was different, that there was something unusual about the condo. My first instinct was to look at the bed to make sure I was alone, and the fact that was my first instinct was enough to make me chuckle. Yet something was definitely different. I inhaled normally and the smell of food wafted up my nose, and I realized that someone was cooking. Last night’s events came flowing back to me, and I guessed that Jason must be up and scrounged up something for breakfast. I stumbled out of bed, still in my boxers. I remembered the lesson I’d learned this summer, courtesy of Sammy, and I made sure my morning hard-on had gone down before I went into the kitchen.

“Morning!” Jason said cheerfully, even as I tried to wake up. “I ran down and grabbed some stuff for breakfast. When I get paid I'll get some more groceries.”

I rubbed my eyes. “Smells great Jason.” I walked over to one of the kitchen drawers, a small one, and opened it. “This is the household money. Use this to buy whatever groceries you want. I usually keep about $50 here, but I'll put some extra in since you'll probably need to buy more stuff the first time.” He gaped at me but I ignored him and dug into the bacon and eggs he'd made.

I studied him as he moved around the kitchen. He really was cute in a dorky kind of way. He was wearing boxers and a T-shirt, showing off his wimpy exterior. He had almost no muscle tone, but I guessed that despite that he could probably be pretty strong if he had to be. I finished, thanked him, and headed to the shower. The water made me horny like it always does, and I slowly stroked my cock as I let the water flow over my head and down my back. I tried to fantasize about Jason but it just didn't work. He didn't do it for me. Thinking about Jeff, on the other hand, set my fuse off in no time at all.

I had a few hours before I had to be on campus so I grabbed my papers and headed out to the balcony to do some writing. It was a glorious fall morning in Chicago, and I knew this wouldn't last long, so I was determined to enjoy it while I could. Jason came out about half an hour after I did and joined me, pulling out some of his own work to do. At first, having him there irritated me, and I actually resolved to train him to leave me alone when I was working. But after a little bit, I got used to him being there and I decided that I liked having someone there working with me. I looked at him as I thought about how motivating it was to have him here with me. He noticed that I'd stopped working and that I was staring at him.

“Is this OK? Me being out here with you? I figured that it was nice out here and...” I stopped him.

“It's fine Jason. In fact, I like it. I've been living by myself for a while now, though, so it takes some getting used to, having someone else in the house.”

“I don't want to bother you. I don't have to stay here you know. I mean, I love it here, but I ...” I stopped him again.

“If I didn't want you here, you wouldn't be here,” I said firmly. “I just said that I need to get used to it, not that I didn't want to get used to it.” He grinned at me like an idiot.

“Cool,” he said, and went back to work. Before he could get too engrossed, I interrupted his thoughts.

“You need to go down and get your stuff from your apartment today,” I said, thinking practically.

“No I don't. I don't have anything there. Anything worth having I keep at school.” I thought again about what a crappy life this poor, talented young man had.

After that, we both went back to work, or at least Jason did. I was just pretending, because there was something that was on my mind, something plaguing me. I was a queer man, and while I didn’t feel obligated to tell the world that I was, it seemed unfair to invite Jason to live here, without telling him that. I'd done it that to André, and to Jeff, and even to Stefan, but they all seemed worldlier and more able to take care of themselves. I was honest with myself and also allowed that with those other guys, I hadn’t told them because there was a chance that I'd hit on them, that our relationship could be romantic. That wasn't a problem with Jason. I had an overwhelming desire to be honest with Jason, to tell him about my sexuality. This could be professional suicide, but then, I controlled his livelihood, and he was indebted to me. I didn't think he'd out me. The desire built up in me, the desire to actually be honest with someone I didn't want to fuck. I felt like I did before I hit that cop with the fire extinguisher.

“Jason, I need to talk to you.” He looked at me, full attention, very concerned.

“If you don't want me here, just say so. I won't be offended. My place...”

I stopped him yet again. “Jason, you have to learn to let me finish my thoughts before you freak out, OK?”

“I’ll try to do that,” he promised, even as he smiled.

“I need to tell you something about myself, something that very few people know. After I tell you, you may not want to live here, and if you don’t, I'll understand. But I need you to promise me that, regardless, you won't tell anyone else.” He realized how serious I was; I could read it in his expression.

“I promise,” he said, but it came out as a vow, a sacred oath.

“I'm a fag.” I watched him, studied him for a reaction. He didn't say anything, but appeared to be mulling it over. I could almost see the wheels in his brain spinning. He was silent for what seemed to be an eternity while I was bracing myself for his scorn, his condemnation, and his moral judgement.

“Do you want to fuck me?” he asked, that being the conclusion he'd drawn from my statement. I started laughing, then stopped when he didn’t join me, but looked offended instead.

“I'm sorry Jason, I'm sorry. Please don't be offended. That's just not the reaction that I expected.” I tried to stop laughing but I couldn't. Jason eventually joined me. I got a grip and stopped laughing, but then I thought about it and started up all over again. “I'm really sorry Jason. No, I don't want to fuck you.”

“Why not? Is there something wrong with me?” he challenged.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” I asked.

“Well, no, I'm not queer. But I just wondered why you didn't want me.” I rolled my eyes at him.

“You really have to work on your insecurities Jason. I don't find you attractive because, well, you're not attracted to me. I never figured you to be anything other than straight, and I'm not trying to prey on hetero boys, trying to convert them to rampant sodomy.” He smiled at me.

“Well, staying here is pretty cool, and if that's what it took to be here, I'd let you fuck me.” I started laughing again, and he got offended again, which made me laugh even harder.

“You're the first person I've told that I'm queer, but you're going to be living here and it may happen that I want to have someone over. I just didn't want there to be any misunderstandings.” He pondered this new concept, the concept that there might be a string of guys coming through here. “And I need you to promise that you won't out any of my friends. The same code of silence applies to them. If you can live with those conditions, you can live here.”

He looked at me carefully. “No problem. I know how to keep my mouth shut.”

“I don't,” I taunted him, and it took him a few seconds for him to make the connection to blowjobs, then he blushed a crimson red. I laughed hysterically again. It was really liberating to be myself around a straight person.

“Does it bother you?” I asked him.

“The fact that you give head?” he asked, making me laugh again.

“No, the fact that I'm a fag?”

“No. Why would that bother me?” he asked. We both thought about that, and realized there was no reason at all that should bother him. We pulled our things together to head up to campus, and I found myself smiling. I had a new roommate, and a friend I could be almost completely honest with.

September 22, 1962

I sat in my living room watching the news on TV while going through my mail, just enjoying having my place all to myself. Jason had settled in here very well, better than I had even hoped. I’d thought the best-case scenario was that I’d end up tolerating his presence, but I actually appreciated having him around. He pretty much stuck to himself unless he was working, in which case he'd set up camp at the dining room table. If I felt like joining him, which was often, I would. If I didn't, I'd go in my study, and he didn't bother me when I was in there. In addition to respecting my need for solitude, he also respected my need for privacy. He didn't ask questions about letters I got, he didn’t comment when people called me, and he didn't bug me when I went out. Even though I liked having him around, it was nice to just be by myself sometimes, so when Jason had told me he was going out, I’d been happy to have some solitude.

With Jason living here, I was kind of wondering what would happen if Scott came over, but Scott hadn't called. I was kind of surprised but not unhappy about that. Fucking around with him had been about getting even, then about a base physical release, and neither one of those had overwhelming appeal to me at this point. It would be nice to find someone to get with every once in a while, but Scott Mallory wasn’t a good choice, and I wasn’t desperate.

My stomach growled, reminding me of a disadvantage of having Jason gone. On top of being such easy company, he was a great cook. The thought of his skill in the kitchen made me look down at my stomach to make sure I wasn't gaining a paunch. I fortunately wasn’t gaining wait, but he was. Eating regularly was filling him out, so much so that we'd had to get some of the clothes we'd bought altered. He seemed to be gaining in confidence at the same time he was gaining in size. His scrawny, dorky looks had given way to a more refined looking, substantial young man. He still didn't make it to my jack-off fantasy hit parade, but I wouldn't kick him out of bed.

I picked up a letter from André and reread it, smiling as I thought of him. He had fallen in love with Brussels, which he claimed was a miniature version of Paris. I frowned when I worried that he’d do more than fall in love with the city, but he had anticipated my paranoia about that and he’d promised me he wouldn't get into any compromising situations with Belgian girls. The way he raved about Belgium, I couldn't wait to go over there and see it and him.

I spotted Billy’s handwriting in the stack of new mail, so I hurriedly opened that one. It turned out that the letter from him was a little deeper and harder to digest than the cheerful epistle I’d gotten from André.

Dear JP,

Mom is coming out to visit next week and I'm looking forward to seeing her. Things with Janice have gotten pretty bad. She went in to see the doctor yesterday and she was already dilating. They expect her to give birth any day now, and every indication is that the baby will be full term.

I confronted her about it and she finally admitted to having an affair. Can you believe she had the chutzpah to blame me for it? Said I was away on patrol and she missed me so much she needed someone to comfort her, to be with her. I was so pissed off. I told her that comfort and companionship usually didn't include fucking. So she left and took the kids and got an apartment off the base. I don't think our marriage is going to survive this.

Then I found out that I was going to be assigned to the same ship as the guy she fucked, and worst of all, he would be my CO. My father, well actually your father, knows the Admiral on base here, and I used that as an intro to get an appointment. I explained everything, laying it all out for him, and asked if I could be transferred to another ship. I hate the son of a bitch for fucking my wife, but it's not the kid's fault. I'd never denounce him (or her). I'm going to claim it as my own. So the last thing I want is some big inquiry or permanent record.

So the Admiral was a great guy and pulled a few strings, got me transferred. Best of all, I get to go out on one of the Navy's newest subs, the Thresher. There's so much shit in my life, but that's the one highlight.

I don't know when I'll be ashore, and I don't know how much spare time I'll have, but if you have a chance to make it to New York, or Boston, or anywhere close, and I am on dry land, I'll meet you.

Love,

Billy

My first instinct was to hurry out to New York or Boston and hang out with Billy and do whatever I could to help him deal with this crap, but that was impossible. I'd already scheduled myself out for three trips, so I’d have to add a fourth to go see Billy, and that would be pushing it too far. It probably wasn’t going to be possible for me to see him until Christmas break, but I consoled myself by his news that Tonto was going out there. She’d probably do a better job of helping him get a grip on this thing than I would, anyway.

As shocking as the news in Billy’s letter, it wasn’t nearly as surprising as what suddenly appeared on my television screen. I had been watching the news halfheartedly, just to make sure that the Russians weren't invading or there wasn't a revolution in Canada, when commercial played, a Chevrolet ad promoting the new 1963 Corvette. That got my attention, since I really liked the new model, so much that I was already plotting to trade mine in. Usually I got convertibles, but the new Stingray had a bitchin' split rear window that had to be the coolest thing. So I’d paid attention to the commercial because I liked the car so much, but that wasn’t what shocked me. The actor in the ad, the guy sitting in the driver's seat with wind blowing in his hair was Peter Gordon. I got up and rushed toward the TV, getting as close as was reasonable. I stared intently, trying to disprove my hypothesis that it was Peter, but when I saw his red hair, I knew it was him. This was one time when I was really glad I’d coughed up the extra money for a color TV.

I leaned back and stretched my arms back behind my head and smiled, thinking about Peter in LA, making commercials. I wondered if I’d see him starring in other television shows in the near future. He was hunky enough to star in one of the Soap Operas that were all the rage in suburbia, which drew a frown from me, because if he did that, I’d end up watching it. Maybe I’d get lucky and he’d end up in something more watchable, like “My Three Sons”, or maybe he’d even end up in the movies. It would be pretty cool to know a movie star, but then again, if Peter became that famous, he’d probably forget all about me. Maybe so, but I'd never forget him. The thought that he'd made it, or at least it looked like he would, made my mood soar. Helping other people out, helping them live up to their potential was one of life’s greatest pleasures.

I dozed off contentedly on the couch, reading one of the latest publications on Vietnam, happy in the knowledge that André was safe and sound in Brussels. I was awakened by a loud bang. I sat up abruptly, going from sound asleep to wide awake less than a second. The door had flown open and slammed into the wall, but that wasn’t the end of the cacophony. Jason came stumbling in, then he fell down, but he did it with such force that he literally slid head first into the living room. He crashed into one of my end tables, making more noise when the lamp fell off the table and landed on top of him. I could have been pissed at him for waking me up, but he was drunk off his ass and, quite frankly, it was pretty funny.

“Ouch,” he said, as he rubbed his head where he’d bumped it into the table. He saw me and got really alarmed. “Ssssorrry, JP,” he slurred.

“It’s no big deal,” I said, trying not to laugh my ass off.

“Hard time walking. Drank at the party,” he said, speaking in short, slurred phrases. “Sorry for making so much noise. Don't be mad. OK?”

I got up and helped him over to the couch, laughing. “I'm not mad at you. You’re hysterical when you’re drunk.”

He got all serious and scared. “Drinking's not funny. Don't want to catch the same disease as my dad.” I just stared at him as he let this other shoe drop: the mystery illness that his father had, the one that prevented him from working, was alcoholism. The drunk was making his kids support his habit. What an asshole.

“You'll be fine. Sit down before you break something.” He giggled at that. I went and got him a glass of water. “So did you have fun?”

“Yeah I guess. I was having a pretty good time at the party. I met this girl and we were getting along, and things were going so well I thought I might actually get somewhere, but then I kissed her.”

“That’s usually a good first step,” I joked.

“Not this time. She told me I couldn't kiss worth a shit and left. Not much practice. I haven't had much, I mean. Made me feel like a total Melvin.” He got sad as he said this, and his head slumped over into his hands.

I got up and sat next to him and put my arm around him. “Hey Jason, it just takes practice. Keep on trying and you'll get the hang of it.” He mumbled something. “Besides, it's quite possible that you're the good kisser and she sucks, she just doesn't know it.” That perked him up.

“You think so?” he asked. I nodded. Then he got nervous. “JP, um, this is kind of embarrassing, but I know you like guys and, well, would you show me how? To kiss, you know, I mean?” He looked into my eyes and I could feel his insecurities. He was kind of cute, and it was just a kiss.

“OK, but don't think I'm gonna fuck you,” I joked, making him chuckle. I moved in, our lips touched, and in a very short period of time, I learned that she was right: he was a bad kisser. So I sat there on the couch showing him how to kiss, with him drunk off his ass and me getting hard as a rock. He had this nasty habit of starting a kiss with his mouth wide open like he wanted to swallow me whole, but once I broke him of that, he wasn't too bad.

At some point, the lesson turned from practice to passion, and the next thing I knew I was lying on the couch with Jason on top of me, thrusting his hips into mine. I could feel his hard dick rubbing against mine and I wanted to stop him, but I couldn't. It just felt too good. “I've never had a blowjob before. I always wanted to try that,” he whispered in my ear in an incredibly sexy way that seemed completely out of character for him.

I pushed him back on the couch and undid his zipper, and got a major surprise. Since Jason was a smaller guy, for some reason I thought that would translate into him having a smaller dick as well, but he was very well endowed. Jason’s dick was bigger than Jeff’s, bigger than Sammy’s, and even bigger than André’s. A dick that big wasn’t all that much fun to suck, but what it lacked in pure enjoyment it more than made up for by being a big challenge. I took him in my mouth and worked that big dick, worked it like I was in a professional cocksucking contest and the world title was resting on this performance. I shut out the discomfort from my aching jaw and pressed on, and got lucky in that he didn't last too long. I heard his guttural moan and then he shot salvos of cum down my throat. Almost as soon as he came he passed out. I put his dick away, covered him up, and went to bed. For the first time, I jacked off thinking about Jason.

September 23, 1962

The smell of food woke me up as it usually did, and that propelled me to get up and stretch out, making sure that my erection was stowed away. When I'd blown André, I'd been near panic over what would happen the next morning. When Jeff had fucked me that first night, I’d been nervous. This morning, I was completely calm, because my conscience was clear. I'd been upfront with Jason about me being queer, and he was the one that hit on me. If he was pissed, he had only himself to blame.

“Morning,” I said as I walked into the kitchen.

“Morning,” Jason said, looking somber and very hung over. I joined him at the table and helped myself to some food. He sat down across from me, with an intent look on his face, a look that told me he was taking the blowjob a lot more seriously than I was.

“This is good,” I said, referring to the food, trying to change the subject hoping that he wouldn’t try to talk about last night.

“JP, I'm really sorry about last night. I promise that will never happen again,” he said earnestly.

I sighed even as I looked at him with frustration. “What are you sorry for? Getting drunk? You're in college. That's what you're supposed to do.” I wasn’t much for recriminations, unless I was doing the recrimination inside myself where no one could see.

“No, for practically raping you last night.” He was so upset he was almost in tears.

“Jason, you did not rape me last night,” I said firmly, and even put my utensils down for a second to emphasize my point. “We practiced kissing and got carried away, then I sucked your dick. It was fun. I liked it. What's the big deal?” He looked at me stunned.

“I thought you didn't want to fuck me? I thought you weren't attracted to me?” Now he was acting all indignant.

“Oh for Christ's sake, will you line up your insecurities on one side of the fence or another,” I said, unable to hid my exasperation. “I like you. You're a good guy, you're a great TA, and you're a damn good roommate.”

“Thanks,” he said shyly.

“You’re welcome. You’re cute and it was fun, but I don't want to run away with you and get married,” I said about as vehemently as I could. I took a drink of orange juice to calm down a bit. “It was hormonal, physical, fun. That's it.”

I watched the wheels start turning in his brain again. I ignored him and ate my breakfast. “So you liked kissing me?” I actually rolled my eyes at him, a gesture I rarely used.

“Yeah I liked it. You sucked at first, but then you got the hang of it and you were pretty good. You just have to watch that open mouth thing you do at the beginning. That's pretty raw.” He blushed at that.

“And you liked, uh, the other thing?”

“You mean sucking your cock? Did I like having your huge dick rammed down my throat? Did I like swallowing a fucking lake of cum? Is that what you're asking?” I’d been pretty vulgar on purpose, mostly to embarrass him. It worked.

“Yeah,” he said sheepishly.

“Yes, I liked it. I’m gay. Gay men usually like sucking cock.” The shocked look on his face made me start laughing. “Look Jason, we kissed, I blew you, and we both enjoyed it. Didn't we?” He blushed again and smiled. Then he nodded. “Now, this morning, after all that fun, would you rather fuck me, or that chick you were with last night?” He looked confused.

“No offense, but I'd rather fuck the chick I was with last night.”

“I'm not offended. I know that. You're not queer. You were just horny. So deal with it, OK?” I was starting to feel like his fucking psychotherapist.

“OK. I'm just glad you’re not mad at me.” I made a mental note to remember what a pain in the ass he’d been about this, so the next time my libido went crazy and I was tempted to fuck around with him, I’d think twice about it.