Chronicles Of An Academic Predator - 29. Chapter 29

December 27, 1962

St George's Episcopal Church in Claremont was one of those spectacular, old, ornate churches. It was constructed in the mid-19^th Century with an eye to replicating, on a small scale, some of the more grandiose Gothic cathedrals of Europe. It's most compelling feature was a wall of stained glass windows behind the altar, and as these windows faced East, mornings in the church were spectacular. The beauty of the church was marred by a single coffin up front, below the altar.

The official report of Andre's death had finally been issued. It stated that Andre had been killed by a grenade blast that had ripped through his body, and from the angle of the wounds it would appear that he had jumped on top of it in an attempt to either disarm it or defend his platoon. The army had posthumously awarded him the Distinguished Service Cross, which was duly displayed on his coffin. I thought they should have given him the Medal of Honor, but to correct their oversight I'd need my father's connections, and as we stood now, I didn't see how I could reasonably ask him to go out on a limb to secure a medal for my dead lover.

I was as proud of Andre as I was sad that he was gone. I didn't believe in God or heaven, but as these were the appropriate trappings and societal conventions to be observed when a death occurred, I allowed the nonsense to go on. I preferred to believe that we were simply here on earth and then we were gone, and it was our job to leave the world a little bit better than it was before we got here. With that criterion, Andre's life had been a profound success.

I sat there in the church, spending the last minutes with Andre's body that I would ever spend, at least in this form. When the statue was done, and the ashes deposited, I'd have an ongoing memorial, but that was different. I fought down the urge to rip open the coffin and see his face.

There was a hymn, and the minister talked, some more religious bullshit, and then it was my turn to talk. I’d decided to deliver the eulogy myself. I wanted to try to tell these people why Andre was so great, and why I loved him so much. When I had committed to it, my mother had been worried that I would be too emotional, but my new, uncaring persona had given me strength, and I had grieved so much now, I had burned myself out, that I felt confident that I could do it. I heard the minister introduce me and I walked up to the podium. Looking out over the audience, I marveled at how many people were there. Truth be told, they weren't there for Andre. Most of these people didn't even know him. No, they were here for my parents, to show solidarity, and to see and be seen in good society. The thought of that dampened my enthusiasm, but I decided to gamely go for it.

I want to thank you all for coming here to pay tribute to my best friend, a man who meant the world to me, who brightened up my life and the lives of all that he came into contact with.

Andre was born in France and immigrated to the United States during the Exode. It was a period of confusion and chaos, with people fleeing from the Nazi invaders, and during that time Andre was separated from his parents and ended up boarding a ship for the USA with his grandmother. They had some distant relatives here, but basically it was up to the two of them to survive here. Despite these challenges, Andre not only survived, but succeeded, having earned a Bachelor's Degree from Yale and a graduate degree from Princeton.

But that success is not what made Andre the great guy that he was. He was always the life of the party, always making sure that he, and everyone around him, was enjoying life. When he made a promise, he kept it. If a friend asked him for a favor, he'd do it. A more caring and generous person, I haven't met. During our last semester at Princeton, we were supposed to go to Florida for Spring Break, but the little old Italian man that Andre worked for needed him, so he canceled his vacation and stayed. That's the kind of guy he was.

He adopted my family, and we adopted him right back. And he fell in love with this town, with Claremont, and made it his home as well. And when it came time to serve his country, he went off without question, and with enthusiasm.

The military sent him to Vietnam, a place that is well on its way to becoming a disaster. I'd like to read an excerpt from one of the last letters that Andre sent me:

The military has instituted this idiotic program called the Strategic Hamlet Initiative. What that means is that we round up all the peasants and force them to leave their villages and live in fortified camps. Only the peasants don't want to leave so they hate it, and the Vietnamese, along with our brilliant generals, forgot to fortify the fortified camps. It's a disaster, and these camps have become a breeding ground for Viet Cong activity.

There are 10 of us Lieutenants that are supposed to be here at the embassy on “translation” duty, but in reality they rotate us out every two weeks to these Strategic Hamlets to try and help pull them together. The only good part of it is that the Vietnamese people are really good people. It's a shame their lives are being turned upside down like this.

He died in one of these hamlets by falling on a grenade to save the lives of the other members of his platoon. For such courage he was awarded the Distinguished Service Cross. Andre knew his mission was futile, yet he did it anyway. Some may say that makes his death a waste, a tragic waste. I might say that myself. But Andre didn't see it that way. He loved his country, and he loved his home town, and when the time came, he willingly sacrificed his life to defend both. He did it because he was a true patriot, a true American.

After I was done, I looked out at the audience and saw mixed reactions. Some were crying, some were plainly angry that I had dared to question the government's policy, while most were just quiet and respectful. As I sat down, there was a group of acoustical guitarists, and a female soloist who did a moving rendition of “Where Have All the Flowers Gone?” just as I asked. After that, there was some more religious mumbo jumbo, and then the ceremony was supposed to end. The minister instead introduced Jeff, which really threw me for a loop. This wasn't in the program. What the fuck was he doing? I realized there was nothing I could do, so I just sat there on edge. Like I needed this additional stress.

Then the piano started playing and Jeff started singing. I didn't know he could sing, but he had a beautiful deep and melodic voice. It was incredible that he had this hidden talent. But that wasn't the biggest surprise. He was singing a well-known French hymn, and he was singing it in flawless French. I felt my feelings for him surge. What a great guy he was! Here he was, singing a hymn at the funeral of the guy that had aced him out, that I’d chosen over him. He was doing this for me, to make Andre’s funeral that much more special. He was going to crack through again. I could feel it coming. He'd been coming to see me every night, and the sex got better and better, and I found myself letting down my guard. I had to keep him out. Had to. Otherwise he could destroy me. But dammit, it was so hard.

The coffin was carried out and there was a 21 gun salute, and then they put it in the hearse and took it off to the crematorium. I numbly got into the limousine we'd hired and was whisked off to our house, where my parents were hosting a luncheon for those who attended.

“I didn't realize you were going to make a political statement,” my father said coldly. He was a closet Republican, but kept that hidden because the rest of us were Kennedy groupies.

“I just told them the truth. Or should we be suppressing information to justify this folly of a war?” I said coldly. I had become mean and aggressive lately, so he backed off and said nothing.

“I didn't know Jeff could sing like that? That was a beautiful song, beautifully sung,” said my mother, deftly changing the subject.

“I didn't know either,” I said, “but he did a terrific job, and his French has gotten really good.” I smiled at my mother as if to thank her for helping him.

The rest of the ride was quiet. The limo dropped us off and I escaped to my room to brace myself for the crowds of people who would be here. The sliding door opened and Jeff strolled in, walked over to me, and gave me a big hug and a kiss.

“Thank you,” I said. “That was amazing. I didn't know you could sing like that?”

“Yep,” he said.

“Well, that was a really nice thing to do, and I really appreciated it.” I leaned up to kiss him again. I felt him harden against me and giggled. His mind was 40, but his body was 18.

“Hey there, be careful or I won't be able to go out to the reception,” he said, pushing me away.

“I have a better solution,” I said, and I dropped to my knees, lowered his zipper, and took his hardening cock into my mouth. Less than five minutes later I had relieved his problem and filled my stomach with his cum. He grinned at me. Should I feel guilty about blowing him at Andre's funeral? Maybe, but knowing Andre, he would have encouraged me.

The reception was long and tedious. The Chief of Police pulled me aside to talk about my eulogy.

“I don't think it was appropriate for you to criticize our military and our country like that. We have to stop Communism wherever it erupts. That's what this is about.” His short-sightedness was truly stunning.

“On the contrary Chief. This isn't about Communism vs. Capitalism, it's a Civil War. There’s a small cadre of people who own all the land and the rest are peasants. The communists appear to offer a solution to that, while the capitalists, us, are defending the big landowners and the status quo.” He looked at me like I'd grown another head.

“Well, I just don't see it that way,” he said, which basically his way of telling me he thought I was full of shit.

“You are certainly entitled to your opinion, but I have been researching Vietnam for the past eight months. If you like, I have much of that research here and I'd be happy to share it with you.” In other words, I told him he was just a dumb cop repeating government dogma without bothering to think about it.

“I might just do that.” He said. Like that would happen.

The last guests left in the early evening, and I was so exhausted that I made excuses and retired back to my room. I locked the door, stripped off my clothes, and took a long shower. I loved how water could restore me, revitalize me. I took my books and papers and moved over to the bed and prepared to start working. I hoped I had done what Andre had wanted, that I had done him proud. I missed him so much, but I was learning to live with the thought that, with his memories, he was always with me. I was trying to move on and slowly but surely, it was working. The scars it would leave on my psyche, I couldn't even imagine.

December 29, 1962

Saturday night found me driving Billy to Dino's. He and I hadn't had much time while he was here, so this was our bachelor night out. Jeff and Sammy were double dating, and Stefan was going out with some friends from school, so this seemed like an ideal night to party.

“I'm really glad you worked things out with Janice,” I said.

“Yeah, me too. She's really terrific. She just had a momentary lapse in judgment. It's not easy being a Navy wife. But I think this has been like a purging experience for us.”

“Your son is adorable. Lucky him. At least he won't be ugly like you.” I joked.

“Good point. Speaking of that, I need to ask you something. Would you be his godfather?” I was already Godfather to their oldest, so I figured they'd pick someone else.

“Billy, you should know something first. I mean, since I've been blowing you for years, you probably figured out a long time ago I was a fag.” He nodded and smiled. “Well, Andre was my partner, and I sort of told my parents and your mom about that, so now they know I'm a fag too.” He raised his eyebrows.

“So how'd they take it?” he asked.

“My mother, your mother, and my brother are fine with it. My father and I are trying to stay on speaking terms. So three out of four isn't bad.”

“That sucks about your Dad though. Give him time and he'll come around.”

“That's what everyone keeps telling me. If he waits long enough, it won't matter because I won't give a shit anymore.” I wasn't sure that was true, but I was getting more and more irritated with him the longer I was around him.

“So what does that have to do with you being Brad's godfather?” he asked.

“Well, I didn't know if you'd want a queer as a godfather. Plus you know I'm not much on religion.”

“JP, that's bullshit. You're my best friend. Besides, if something should happen to Janice and I, Brad is gonna need someone in his life to help him out, to stand with him no matter what. You'll do that. I know you will. You won't care that he's not my biological son. You'll love him no matter what.” His words were really touching, and he was right.

“Thanks Billy. I'd be glad to watch out for Brad.”

We walked into Dino's and had a blast. Billy was mobbed because he hadn't been back in years. We saw people we hadn't seen in years. About halfway through the night, Frank Hayes came strolling up to our table. I saw Billy tense up. He’d hated Frank in high school, just like I had.

“Hey JP,” he said with a friendly smile and a handshake. “Hey Billy,” he said in the same way. Billy looked at him amazed, and I invited Frank to join us.

“So how have things been Frank?” I asked.

“Great, really good. I don't know if you intervened with Bill the boss man, but he forced my dad to retire and promoted me. That really pissed off the old man.” He grinned.

“I'm sure you earned it all on your own Frank,” I said.

“If you say so,” he said looking at me dubiously.

He sat around and bullshitted with us for awhile. After he left, Billy looked at me curiously. “What the fuck was that all about? Where's the asshole Frank Hayes I've grown to hate and detest?” I filled him in on all the shit that had gone on, including the fight with his dad.

The bar closed at 2am, and we were so drunk there was no way we could drive. I hailed a cab and it dropped Billy off, then me. I'd have to retrieve my car tomorrow. I stumbled through the house and into my room. I locked the door with relief that I'd made it, giggling like an idiot. I threw off my clothes as I walked toward the bed, and when I jumped in I landed on top of Jeff.

He woke up and growled at me, but I just laughed. He was lying on his stomach, and I made him lift up and pull off his boxers. Then I just looked at him. God he was magnificent. His muscular back sloping down to his cute ass. The rest of him was so big that it made his ass look small. I ran my hands up and down his cheeks and he moaned and spread his legs to give me better access. I took it, running my fingertips down his crack, gently brushing it over his hole. He moaned and thrust back against my finger.

I was so drunk and so horny, I was unhinged. I dived into his ass with my tongue and just went nuts. I licked, I nibbled, I drove my tongue up his hole and wiggled it, I licked his perineum while I probed his hole with my finger, and then I probed with two fingers.

“Feels great baby. Feels great.” He said.

I laid on top of him, my cock pressing against his hole. “How much do you love me baby?” I cooed into his ear, just like he did to me.

“I love you more than anything,” he said.

“Do you love me enough to let me make love to you?” I felt him tense up.

“I love you that much,” he said, but nervously.

I lubed up my fingers with Vaseline and kept probing him, making sure he was really lose. All the time I was whispering in his ear.

“I can't wait to be inside you Jeff. God you are such a stud. I want to feel that hot, tight ass of yours wrapped around my cock. I want to show you how good it feels to have another guy make love to you.” It was driving him nuts.

“Come on JP, fuck me already,” he said desperately.

I moved up behind him and lined up my cock. I entered him and when I felt him tense I pulled out. Then I entered him again, going a little farther, and pulled back out. It's a good thing I was drunk, because for some reason that gave me the patience to go slow. After about the 10^th teasing push, I felt myself push past his ring.

He tensed up and I moved forward, talking to him gently as I pushed the rest of the way in. I could tell he was still uncomfortable, but he didn't seem to be in excruciating pain, so I began moving slowly in and out of him, moving up on his back to force my dick to angle towards his prostate. After about the 3^rd stroke I felt his body tense and his asshole relax.

“Oh God,” he said. “Oh God.” I smiled to myself.

“You like that baby?” I moaned in his ear. “I told you I'd make you feel so good. I'd never hurt you, you know that.”

He was losing it, lost in lust. “Faster. Fuck faster,” he managed to stammer and I picked up my pace. Then I pulled out.

“No. I want you back. Come back.” he said. It was like he was drunk, not me.

“Turn over,” I said and he complied readily. His cock was harder than I'd ever seen, and leaking like crazy. I paused to lick the head and he moaned and thrust his cock into my mouth, but that was only a distraction. I grabbed his legs and held them up while I re-entered him. Now I really pounded him, and his cock was throbbing down in front of me. Then, without warning or direct stimulation it began to spurt out rope after rope of cum. He writhed under me, and the feeling of his pulsing ass set me over the edge just as he was finishing. I moaned loudly, probably too loudly, and emptied my load into his ass. As I did, the most remarkable thing happened. He started cumming again. I guess it was just a continuation of the first orgasm, but it sure as hell seemed like two almost simultaneous loads. His head just rolled from side to side as he ejaculated all over again. After he was done his body was completely limp and quivering.

I grabbed a towel and wiped him off, moving up to lie on his chest. “Did you like that?” I asked.

He looked at me and smiled. “Yep,” was all he said.

December 30, 1962

I woke up with a monster hangover. Seems that I'm not as young as I used to be; apparently drinking all night and waking up the next morning feeling chipper is no longer an option. I downed a couple of aspirin and went into the kitchen to find something my stomach would actually retain. The house seemed to be empty, no one around, so I walked over to Vella's to see if Jeff would give me a ride to get my car. I found him in their kitchen.

“Morning Jeff. Can you give me a ride down to Dino's to pick up my car?” I asked cheerfully.

“Well I'm kind of busy JP” he said glumly. Now what?

“You are the only one around, and without my car I'm stranded. It won't take long. Please?” I was whining, but I needed my car.

“Alright,” he said with an air of frustration. We hopped in my old Corvette and headed down Skyline. He wasn't talking.

I finally lost patience. “Alright, what is it? What have I done to piss you off now?”

He looked at me, angry. “Who says this has anything to do with you? Not everything is about you, you know. God, you are so self-absorbed!” Wow. I digested that.

“OK, I'm hung-over and cranky, and I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry.” His posture didn't seem to change. “But something is wrong, you just admitted it. What's going on?”

“I really don't want to talk about it,” he said, which put me in a tough position, since I tried not to pry when he asked me not to.

“Alright, well since I'm so self-absorbed, let me explain this from my point of view. You and I were together last night and it was mind-blowing, which isn't unusual because every time we have sex it's mind-blowing. But last night was pretty special to me, since you actually let me fuck you. So then, this morning, you're all glum. So if you can honestly tell me that what's bothering you has nothing to do with me or that series of events, then I'll leave you alone.”

I could see him struggling inside. “Why can't you just leave me alone?” he asked me angrily. “This is why I didn't want to drive you. I knew you'd give me the third degree.”

“Does this, or does this not have something to do with me?” I asked him firmly, in the cold even voice I'd mastered since deciding to become a cold-hearted prick.

He pulled up to Dino's and stopped the car, expecting me to get out, but I refused to move. “Do I have to throw you out of the car?” he asked.

“Yep,” I said, imitating him.

“Damn it!” he yelled and slammed his hands against the steering wheel. Then he immediately began to rub them because that had to really hurt. I just looked at him calmly with just a touch of condescension.

“Fine,” I said getting out, “but this is exactly the kind of bullshit that dooms us as a couple. I'm not asking you to expose your deepest darkest thoughts and secrets, but when it involves me I expect you to let me know.”

“Whatever,” he said, and drove off. God my head hurt. If this would have happened six months ago I would have freaked out, but I knew him too well by now. I'd gotten it out of him that the problem involved me, so sooner or later he'd come talk to me. And then he'd apologize and we'd have great sex. That made me smile as I hopped into the Corvette, fired it up, and headed to see Billy.

I spent the day at Tonto's, hanging out with Billy and his family, and Stefan of course. It was really a great time, and I felt like a part of Billy and Janice's family, not just a cousin from his side of the family. Billy told us all about the Thresher and how cool it was except for having to live in close quarters with a bunch of men for months on end. I caught Stefan's eye and he just wiggled his eyebrows. He's such a slut. If he was on the boat he'd be blowing everyone.

I made it home for dinner, a typically quiet meal. I wasn't really spending much time with Jason because he was always with Vivienne, but he made it home for dinner too.

“I need to head back to Chicago on New Year's Day,” I announced. The only person at the table who seemed pleased was my father, but he tactfully tried to hide it.

“I was hoping we could stay a little longer,” Jason said. He looked at me like a lovesick puppy. Shit. He was in love. There was going to be no quick escape. My mother watched me closely, wanting to see if he would succeed where she no doubt would have failed.

“Alright. I'll think about it.” I said grudgingly. Billy was leaving in the morning and I'd already said my goodbyes, Jeff was being a dick, and my father still hated me. The only reason to stay was for Jason's benefit. He smiled at me.

Then I got an idea. “Even if I go back, there's nothing that says you can't stay longer and fly back later,” I said. “I'll be happy to pay for your flight.”

“You mean I'll end up paying for his flight,” said my father with a certain amount of irritation. My mother gasped and looked at him wide-eyed. My parents never constrained me with money, primarily because I was pretty responsible with it. But it was more than that. We never, ever talked about money in front of guests like Jason, and we never talked about it at dinner.

“I don't need your money Dad,” I spat at him. I was pissed. I took out my BankAmericard, the one that direct billed to them, and tossed it onto his plate where it landed in his mashed potatoes and gravy, splashing some gravy onto his tie. He looked up at me about to give me shit, but I was ready to fucking rip him apart. “Jason, I'm out of here. I wouldn't spend another minute in this house with that asshole.” I said pointing at my father. He and my mother blanched. “You can stay here; at least my mother won't let him be rude to guests. Only family.” And with that I stormed out of the room. I went to my room and grabbed my stuff and started loading up my car. Jason came in to help me.

“If you don't mind, I think I'll stay here tonight. Vivienne's supposed to pick me up. Then we can go back tomorrow.” He seemed really disappointed.

“Jason, I'll tell you what. I'm going to go stay at Tonto's tonight. Have Vivienne drop you off there tomorrow and we'll figure out what we're going to do.

I moved like the wind, whipping through my room packing up all of my things and lugging them out to my car. When the last thing was loaded in the car, I went inside to say goodbye to my mother. I found her in the living room with my father. I was too pissed off to care about the tension in the room, the tension between them. “I'll see you later,” I said to my mother. She was visibly upset. I turned to my father. “As for you, you can go straight to hell for all I care.” Then I left.

As I was driving down to Tonto's I reminded myself for the umpteenth time why it was important to always keep your cool. If you didn’t, you ended up saying things you'd regret. I really didn't want him to go straight to hell, I was just mad at him, and hurt by his attitude. I guess this had been building up for quite a while, ever since he found out I was a fag.

It dawned on me that I was really beating my head against a wall here. When I'd found out he wasn't my real dad, I'd vowed to protect him and be a good son. But now that he hated me, hated who I was, was there really any reason to continue this charade? I pondered that, cherished that vision, of hurting him as bad as he was hurting me, but then I put that fantasy aside. As pissed as I was at him, as much as I wanted to hurt him, I didn't want to hurt him that bad. No, that would be wrong. I'd made a promise to myself not to reveal the secret.

Still, he didn't want to be my father, and I knew that he wasn't, so why was I worried about it? Why make an issue about it? Why not just ignore him and be content with our total lack of a relationship? Based on our lack of a genetic bond, it was the logical thing to do. I turned around and headed back up the hill.

I walked into the house and found my parents arguing in the living room. “I'm sorry I created a scene,” I said, “and I'm sorry I told you to go straight to hell Dad. I don't want you to go to hell.” They just stared at me. “This is my house until you throw me out, so I'm staying here. You want me out, say so.” I looked at my father. “I don't care if you don't like me, or if you hate me, or whatever your deal is. But I'm not changing, so until you get over it, you and I have no relationship. You're nothing more to me than someone in town I know casually. I don't want your money, I don't need your encouragement, I don't have your love, and I'm just fine with that.” I kissed my shocked mother on the cheek and headed to my room.

Jason had been in the kitchen eavesdropping. He followed me to my room.

“Funny, you said the same thing to your Dad that he'd been saying to your mom about you. She's a classy lady, but she really lit into him. Even said “fuck”. It was pretty intense. I think he was about to suck up to her big time when you came back.”

“You are good spy Jason,” I said in a horrible Russian accent.

“Da,” he said. “Man, my family is fucked up and violent. It's horrible to be around them. At least when you guys fight it's interesting.”

“Aren't you supposed to going out?” I asked him.

“Yeah. Gotta spiff up for my lady.”

I sighed. I had no one to get spiffy for.