Chronicles Of An Academic Predator - 10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

June 16, 1962

Chicago, IL

I broke free from his grasp and rolled over onto my back so I could look at him. “Marc is your friend at the Sorbonne?” He nodded with a smile. My mind began racing as I thought about all the implications of that. “When did you talk to him...” he put his finger over my mouth to shut me up.

“We will talk later.” He reached across me and grabbed the Vaseline that was on the box next to the bed. He had planned this whole thing and must have put it there. I was being seduced, and I wasn't sure that I liked it, at least until he took some of the gel and rubbed it on my dick. He began to stroke on ample quantities in what began as a marvelous hand job.

Then he stopped, rolled over and straddled me. Slowly he lowered himself down onto my cock, using his hand to guide it straight into his waiting hole. There was none of the caution that Peter used, no need for him to get used to it. Clearly Stefan had had some practice. Slowly, but steadily he sat on my cock until his cheeks were resting on my thighs.

I instinctively pushed into him, remembering this feeling when I fucked Peter, and remembering how much I enjoyed it. Stefan was nothing like Peter though. Stefan was a pro. He began to fuck me, and as he moved up he squeezed his thighs and ass muscles, which squeezed my cock. Then as he sat back down he would relax those muscles. It felt like his ass was sucking my cock, and it was almost too stimulating. I was worried that I'd come too soon, and I did.

After what was an incredibly short but intense fuck, I felt the orgasm rise up deep in my balls and shoot into Stefan with an intensity I hadn't expected. The magnitude of that orgasm completely clouded my concerns that I was coming too soon, it was a feeling of total self-absorption, and it was all about me. I needn't have worried anyway, since my partner was a 16-year-old guy. About midway through my orgasm I felt something splash against my face and I looked up to see him blowing his load all over me. We writhed in pure sexual bliss for as long as we could make it last, and then he rolled over on his side, facing away from me.

I grabbed the towel and cleaned myself off, and then I reached over and wiped away some of my cum that was dripping out of his ass. He moved away from me in a clear sign that he didn't want me to touch him.

I lay there staring at his back, completely confused. Here was this guy that had just been the best lay I'd ever had, and now he wanted nothing to do with me. I began to get self-conscious, thinking that maybe I had been a bum lay, a total disappointment. Maybe my dick was too small for him? Maybe I came too soon? Maybe he hated my guts? Until I got answers, I wouldn't be able to sleep. I gently rubbed his back.

“Thanks Stefan. That was the most amazing sex...I've never experienced anything like that before.”

“Yes, I know. I am a real pro,” he said with a bitterness that surprised me.

“I don't get it. One minute we're having mind-blowing sex, and the next minute you're all pissed off at me.” No one had ever confused me as much as Stefan.

“What do you want from me? Yes, we had great sex. Yes, it was wonderful. So cannot we just sleep? Or perhaps you want to go again? Go ahead. Fuck me again if you want to.” He thrust his ass toward me.

I stopped rubbing his back and just stared at him, but that just seemed to spark an even more bitter reaction. “What, am I not good enough for you? You have been looking down your nose at me every since I got here. I was not born into a life of luxury like you were. I had to fight to survive, to sell my body if I wanted any money of my own. You lecture me on how I should act, and sit there in judgment, scorning me. Well, you are right. I am scum. I am a whore, just like my mother!” He’d been yelling at me, but he moderated his tone. “You are welcome for the free fuck.” His tone was cold and emotionless, even though I could feel the anger and sadness behind the words.

I felt like a total shithead. Stefan may be one messed up puppy, a kid who had to hustle the streets to survive, but he was right. I’d treated him very badly. All I'd done since I met him is lecture him on how he needed to behave like some high and mighty Brahmin. I felt shame at the way I’d treated him, and humiliation because of what a supercilious ass I must look like. My mind shifted back to my time in Paris, and to my encounter with those guys in the tunnel. That's what those young guys were doing there: they were there selling themselves. Stefan must have spent lots of time there, and for all I knew, he might have even been there that same night that I was. I looked at his handsome back and suddenly he looked so young and vulnerable. He was only16, and I’d acted like he was a failure because he hadn’t made the huge leap from the whoring slums of Paris to the apex of Claremont society (such as it is). That would be a tall order for anyone, but add his lack of ability to even speak English, and it became an even bigger challenge. I was expecting him to make that transition in three days. It was as if I expected an undergraduate freshman to write a dissertation.

I thought about his reaction tonight. I was truly surprised by the sudden change in his mood. We’d had a great time today, and we’d both gotten along perfectly. Then I felt myself stiffen as the cold reality of what happened became apparent. He’d really enjoyed himself, so he paid me back the only way he knew how: with his body.

I moved up behind him and hugged him. He tried to struggle, to get away, and I even felt a sharp elbow in my side, but I held on tight. “You're right,” I said in his ear. “I'm so sorry. I've been a total asshole.” I felt him relax in my arms, to give in, and heard him softly start to cry. “I thought I was helping, showing you how to fit in, but I must have come off like a huge jerk.”

He turned around and faced me. “You were a jerk, but it was obvious to me that you were not doing that because you were an asshole, you were doing it because you were stupid.” I saw a little bit of his playfulness return when he said that.

“Stupid?” I challenged with a smile. He stared at me, waiting for me admit it. “Maybe.” He said nothing. “Alright, I was stupid.” He actually laughed when I said that.

“Marc said you were a nice guy, and that I should trust you. He was the friend that I called in Paris when I was at your house. I mentioned your name and he told me that he met you.”

“Were you and Marc a couple?” I asked, not understanding their relationship at all.

“We are friends, and business associates, as you might say. He used to set me up with guys from time to time, and then I'd pay him back,” he said, leaving the obvious explanation of how unspoken.

“So he was like your pimp?” I asked. That got me a dirty look.

“It was not a formal arrangement, it was more that we were two people doing each other favors. And as you must have guessed from your own experience with him, it is not a chore to sleep with him.”

“I can see that,” I said, even as I felt myself blushing.

“That was my friend, Henri, who blew you in the tunnel. He usually charges for that, but he got carried away, Marc has that effect on him. Normally Marc will fuck a guy like that in the tunnel, get the other guys all fired up, and then they'll pay for the privilege of being next. Henri made a lot of money that night after they watched the two of you.” There was a whole underworld here that he'd lived in, one that I'd only visited briefly.

“That's all behind you now. You'll never have to give yourself to anyone unless you want to. Never.” He smiled at me, and then I saw tears forming in his eyes.

“I need your help,” he said earnestly. “I need you to be my friend, and not to hold my past against me. I need you to understand that I am not a very good person. I have done some bad things in my life, but I will try to change that now.” I'd had doubts about his sincerity in the past, but not now. I could tell that he meant what he said.

“I can do that.” I said, and gently kissed him on the lips.

He resisted and pulled away. “Kissing is something I usually don't do.”

I looked into his eyes, felt his armor fall away. I kissed him again, and this time he kissed me back. I stopped our kiss, looked at him and said, “I fucked you before, now I'm going to make love to you.”

As good as the first time was, the second time was twice as good, and not just because we lasted longer. This time, he truly gave himself to me, and even more surprising, I gave myself to him.

June 17, 1962

The light shining brightly through the windows was enough to jar me awake, but it seemed to have no effect on Stefan. I gout out of bed and explored my condo again, thinking of ways to decorate it, until my stomach started growling. There was no food in the place at all, so I decided that the plan was that I'd take a shower, wake Stefan up make him get ready, and then go out and grab something to eat.

I came walking out of the bathroom and found that my big plan was being derailed. Stefan was wide-awake, lying spread eagled on the bed while he slowly stroked his cock. I felt my own erection growing, tenting out the towel wrapped around my waist.

This was the first time I'd really gotten to look at Stefan’s body in the light, to really see it. The beauty I'd seen from last night was eclipsed here in the light of day. He had very little body hair, just a bush for pubes and a sprinkling under his arms, while even his legs were almost hairless. He was not too skinny, but thin, and not muscular, but trim. For some reason, I thought dicks were a genetic feature, and I’d expected his to be like Billy’s, but it was completely different. It was longer and thinner, probably about the same size as mine in fact, and since he was only 16, he might get lucky and it could still grow a little bit. He looked so desirable as he slowly stroked his cock, trying to seduce me, successfully as it turned out.

I walked to the bed and dropped my towel, my cock already at full attention because of his show. He sat on his knees and started to suck me, proving to me what a master cocksucker he was. I moved over him into a 69 position to show him I could give head too, and his moans seemed to confirm that I was pretty damn good at it. He pulled his mouth off my dick and started sucking on my balls. I’d never found that to be a big turn, so even though I acted more enthusiastic than I felt, Stefan picked up on that and changed his focus. He moved his mouth lower, to my perineum, and I almost went through the roof. He redoubled his efforts, as he slowly descended closer and closer to my hole. I felt his fingers brush over it, felt his breath as he gently blew on it, and then felt his tongue start working me, rimming me. I was so overwhelmed I had to stop blowing him because I couldn’t focus on anything but his mouth on my ass.

“It would seem that I discovered what turns you on,” he snickered. He could say whatever he wanted as long as he kept on rimming me. He grabbed the Vaseline and started to lube my dick when I stopped him.

“No, I want you to do me,” I said to him with an intensity that surprised both of us. He looked at me and smiled. “I've only done it once before, and I really didn't enjoy it. I figure a pro like you could show me how to do it right.” It showed how far our relationship had come that he just smiled at that last sentence. Last night that comment would have really pissed him off.

“You are in expert hands,” he said confidently. He worked expertly to make sure I was ready, spending lots of time exploring me with his fingers, probing with one, then two, gently cooing into my ear when I tensed up, kissing me from time to time to help me relax. “You are ready,” he said, and lay on his back. That surprised me, as I expected him to roll me over and fuck me like André did.

“You want me to be on top?” I asked.

“You will sit on my dick, that way you are in control. You can stop and start as you will.” He lay there, his erect cock awaiting my pleasure, and his as well. I knelt over him and lined his cock up to my hole and slowly started to sit. I could feel the pressure and the familiar pain.

“Kind of hurts,” I told him. Normally I wouldn’t have admitted to something as human as physical pain, but in this case, it was almost like he was a doctor, so I needed to tell him about all of my symptoms.

“You must relax,” he said in a soothing, yet chiding way. “If you are not relaxed it will hurt. Try again.” He guided me down onto his dick again, and when I grimaced, he pushed me off.

“This takes a while to get used to,” I said. I thought it would be easy. I guess that’s why it hurt so much with André.

“I always thought you were a tight ass, now I know it is true,” he joked. I laughed, the laughter made me relax, and the next time I sat on his cock it slid right in. I think we were both surprised that he was in me, so I just sat there, getting used to his presence. It didn't hurt, but it wasn't very comfortable either.

“Now what?” I asked him in a playful way.

“Now you must move gently up and down, and also rock back and forth. There is a spot, a magic spot in your ass, and when you hit that, when you find it, you will understand the true joy of getting fucked.” I did as he said and slowly raised myself up and down, and while it felt good, there was no electricity. He gently guided, backwards at first, then he moved me forward more, so his cock poked more toward the front of my body when it went in. When that happened, I saw stars.

My eyes rolled back into my head, and I felt a feeling of sexual euphoria rolled through my entire body. He started laughing at me, but I didn't care. “I see you found it. Now, roll over onto your back.” I didn't want to move, but did as I was told. I felt so empty, so deprived without his cock in me.

Now he mounted me, holding my ankles, and drove his cock into my ass. I learned my lesson and I moved my body so with each thrust he hit that spot. My head rolled from side to side as he pounded my ass. I looked down to see my rock hard dick bouncing up and down, leaking like a sieve. I wasn't touching it, and neither was he, but I felt an orgasm boiling up inside. I stared at my dick in amazement as I came, shooting like I'd never shot before. I came and came, and then, just when I thought I was done, I came some more. I heard Stefan moan and pant, and then he shot his load up my ass, collapsing on top of me after he finished.

We lay there, satisfied, while I stroked his hair gently and kissed the top of his head. Then my stomach growled again, followed by his, which made us both start laughing. I decided to take another shower so I joined him, giving me the opportunity to explore his entire body in the process. His beauty, the beauty of a young male, the same beauty the Greeks and Romans had waxed poetic over, was personified in him.

We grabbed some pastries from the bakery then hurried back to the condo. I found that I could not keep my hands off of him. The minute we were in the foyer with the door closed, I scooped him into my arms and kissed him. He hadn't been keen on kissing before, but he was sure into it now. Shortly after that I found myself back in my room, naked, with his dick back in my ass. This time I knew what to do, and knew what I wanted, so there was only a slight tinge of discomfort as he entered me, one that didn't last long. After that, we got cleaned up and went out on the town. I had things to do, and if we stayed home, we’d end up spending the whole day fucking.

The first item on my agenda was to get a phone. It is delicious irony that one has to call to set up phone service when one obviously doesn’t have a phone, but presumably that’s why they have payphones. I kicked myself for not calling from Claremont to set up an appointment before I came to Chicago. They were so booked, they couldn’t fit me in until July 15. I was pretty sure I’d be here by then, even though it would probably mean I’d miss our family Bastille Day party on July 14, but it was worth it. It would be a major hassle to try to get myself situated without the use of a phone. In the end, my only victory in that discussion was that I was able to get my phone number even though it hadn’t been installed yet. At least I could let André and my family know what it was in advance.

The next thing I had to do was buy some appliances. I picked a store close to home because it was convenient. The oven and dishwasher were already installed, but that meant I still had to buy a washer, dryer, and refrigerator. I picked those out fast enough, getting them in white, which was boring, but it would match the two appliances that were already there. This shop was much more efficient than the phone company. They promised me they could deliver my things tomorrow, so I made a mental note to be home, and fully dressed, when they specified.

My mother wanted to help me decorate, so I didn't buy any furniture with the exception of another queen size bed for the guest room. I knew I wouldn't use it with Stefan, but I might have other guests. The bed was supposed to be delivered on the 19^th. I explained to Stefan that we'd return to Claremont after it was delivered, but he looked so disappointed that I caved and said we could wait until the 20^th if we wanted to.

All these errands took up most of the day, so we grabbed an early dinner and headed back to the condo. The whole time we'd been shopping I'd been watching him, his lithe form, his versatile and willing body, and his handsome features. He had a longer and thinner face than Billy, almost a James Dean look. He stood so close to me when we were looking at appliances that I could feel the heat from his body, and I had to channel all my thoughts into refrigerators to avoid tenting my pants. So, when we got back to the condo I practically ripped his clothes off the minute we walked in the door.

We landed on the bed, our lips locked, our bodies meshed. I craved him; I wanted to feel him inside me again. Now that I had discovered the joys of being fucked, I just couldn't get enough. He happily obliged me the first time, but after we recharged he argued that it was his turn. Turnabout is fair play, which was a very fair and logical argument to confront a professor with.

We lay there exhausted, until our panting gave way to post orgasmic bliss. He was snuggled up to me with his head on my chest, while I gently stroked his back. “Do you have a girlfriend?” he asked, apropos of nothing.

“Not exactly,” I responded, trying to hide the apprehension in my voice. His question reminded me of André, and I suddenly felt guilty about being with Stefan. I loved André, and he loved me, but we didn't have a formal commitment. There was no celibacy agreement, no pact where we’d promised we’d only have sex with each other. At the same time, I wondered if that was implied. I wondered if André expected me to be chaste. Thinking of that last word made me think of mediaeval knights, and then concluding that I was André’s maid. I almost started laughing at my internal joke.

“What does that mean?” Stefan asked seriously, pulling me out of my comical masturbation. I thought about how to respond to him. Normally I would change the topic, but I noticed that I had a hard time keeping my shields around Stefan. I felt that he deserved my honesty, even though the risks to me for opening up were manifest.

“It means that I have a special friend, and we love each other. It's not a formal relationship, but the commitment is strong.” I'm not sure what that meant, so he probably didn't either.

“Does that mean your special friend is another guy?” That was a point-blank, direct question. There was no dodging this one.

“Yes.” I thought about that one simple word, and how monumental that was. I’d had a hard enough time admitting to myself that I was gay. Stefan was only the third person who knew my hidden secret.

“Do you love me?” I had been fine with our conversation up to that point, but now it had gone to a place I didn’t want to go, and it made me feel like I was back in high school. I’d hated high school. We needed to talk about something else.

“Of course I love you. You're my cousin,” I said in a matter-of-fact way. “What do you want to do tomorrow?” Even though I’d fumbled that segue, I was hoping it would be enough to get us on to a different topic. Those hopes were not to be realized.

“That is not what I meant. I meant do you love me?” he asked, emphasizing the word, ‘love’. I was trying to dream up an adequate response when he moved his head and looked up at me. His eyes pierced into mine, and I saw his begin to water as I hesitated to answer. “You do not, otherwise you would have said so.”

“Stefan, it's not like that. I mean, we've only been getting along for two days now. I don't know you well enough to be in love with you that way. It doesn't have anything to do with you. It's just the way I am. It takes me awhile to build a bond with people, but once it's there, it doesn't break.” I really did mean what I said, but I was pretty sure he wouldn’t buy it, and that I was about to see the beginnings of a tantrum. Instead, he contemplated my words thoughtfully.

“Really? I think perhaps I fall in and out of love easily.” He looked at me as he said that, and I was glad to see that his eyes were dryer.

“Well, maybe it's not always love, maybe it's infatuation,” I told him, and saw him tense up, thinking I was reverting back to my old ways. “I am not trying to patronize you.”

He sighed. “I understand. Maybe you are right. I will have to think about it.”

“I will say, though, that I've opened up to you more quickly than I ever have to anyone. It kind of scares me to expose so much of myself like that, but with you it just feels right.”

“Mmmmmm,” he murmured, and hugged me tightly.

June 18, 1962

The appliance delivery guys promised they would arrive at 10am, but I it was now 11:00 and they had still not gotten here. I pretended to be interested in a journal article, even though I fought back my irritation at the appliance store people. Stefan was much more productive, spending his time reading a book on how to speak English, and practicing his pronunciations on me. That was actually was pretty funny, although it was a challenge to explain why many of the pronunciations made no sense at all. It is pretty difficult to justify why “through” is pronounced “threw”, and not “thruff”. I traded my boring journal article for the latest copy of Time magazine. There were ad nauseum discussions about the execution of Adolf Eichmann, which had happened over two weeks ago. I think the entire magazine would have focused on that were it not for a prison break out in California. Evidently three men had escaped from Alcatraz, but they hadn't been recaptured yet. Time Magazine, in their collective wisdom, informed us that the men were either still at large or dead. In the thin, foreign affairs section, they talked about additional troubles in Algeria, where the OAS had proclaimed itself the protector of French Algerians despite its agreement to a truce.

At 11:30 the intercom buzzer sounded, heralding the voice of the building concierge, who announced the arrival of the delivery men while also making sure they were supposed to be here. About ten minutes after I gave him the approval, the deliverymen emerged from the elevator with my refrigerator on a dolly. There were two of them, and they were definitely a mismatched pair. One guy was older, probably 40, and stood well over 6 feet tall with a protruding gut. The other guy was young and short, shorter even than me, but built like a rock. He looked like a human fireplug.

They were full of apologies for being late, apologies which I accepted as gracefully as I could. It sounded as if the delay wasn’t their fault, and there was no reason to be unpleasant about an event that could not be changed. Besides, I was in a pretty good mood since I now had working appliances, or at least I would soon enough. I sensed that Stefan was itching to lay into them about their tardiness, but he stayed quiet.

1962 GE Appliances

It took them three trips to bring everything up, and as soon as the equipment had been delivered, the older guy left, ostensibly to run some errands, while the younger guy stayed to hook up the appliances. I smiled as I caught him checking Stefan out as he did his job. Stefan had an inherent sex appeal that seemed to attract men and women alike, and he seemed to attract men even if they were heterosexual. I couldn't quite put my finger on why he had such an allure. It was certainly possible they’d find his good looks and sleek body to be temptation enough, but it was something more than that. I decided that it was his sexy movements and gestures that were so smooth they were almost feline. Whatever the reason, his whole persona seemed to scream “fuck me”, not in anger, but in a lustful command.

As I surreptitiously watched the deliveryman surreptitiously watch Stefan, I was truly stunned when I realized that I wasn’t jealous. The thought of Peter with another guy was enough to make me apoplectic. With André, it wasn't an issue, because he was basically straight, but even with other women, I had been forced to work hard to curb my green monster. Yet here I was, actually daydreaming about going into the bedroom and coming back a few minutes later to find the delivery guy drilling Stefan, and it didn’t made me jealous, it made me horny. I ran that around in my mind over and over again, and trying to figure out why.

I was just going in circles, so I changed my train of thought. My jealous thoughts of André were initially directed at women he’d fucked, but I wondered how I would react if André fucked another guy. At first I told myself that it wouldn’t bother me, because I knew he loved me, and he wouldn’t chose another guy over me. If it happened, it would happen because he was lonely, horny, or both. With the women he’d been with, I’d been jealous, but it was more like an annoyance and not a throbbing wound. I searched deep into my psyche, and came out with the conclusion that my feelings for André went way beyond sex, and I knew he felt the same way, so it probably wouldn't bother me if he was with someone else because that encounter would be largely meaningless.

I grafted that argument on to my situation with Stefan, and wondered if visions of him with the deliveryman didn’t bother me because I was falling in love with him. My research methods training flagellated me for jumping to such unjustified conclusions. There were any number of reasons why it didn’t bother me. It could be that he’d been with so many other men, one or two more wouldn’t really matter. Or it could be that he was so sexy it would be pointless to worry about the inevitable.

Before I could conjure up an answer, assuming that was even possible, I was interrupted when the human fireplug cleared his throat so I’d notice that he was standing in front of me. “All done with the installation, sir,” he said politely. He took a few minutes to show Stefan and I how they worked, but he seemed to sense that we’d spent enough time on this project, so he made it quick. Besides, there were manuals, and I would probably find them more useful than a personal lesson.

We were able to leave the condo around 1pm. I had allotted this afternoon to going on a shopping spree for Stefan, so that meant a trip downtown. We started at Marshall Fields, and it was exciting to see Stefan’s eyes bulge as we wandered through the men’s department. They certainly had impressive stores similar to this in Paris, but Stefan hadn't gone into any of them, so this was a entirely new to him. If he had been afraid that the Paris department stores would toss an urchin like him back out on the street, there were no such concerns here. Now he was a Schluter, this was America, and Marshall Fields was his world to explore.

We bought so much stuff I didn't know if we'd be able to fit it all in the Pontiac. Winter fashions were out, so we both stocked up on cold weather necessities. I knew I'd need a heavy coat for the winter, along with boots, gloves, and similar items. It was cute the way Stefan mirrored my selections, watching what I picked and getting something similar. What was interesting was how good his tastes were. I’d find him picking something up after I did, then deciding his selection was better and changing mine to match his. He had an innate sense of style.

I was just finishing up paying for some shoes when I got thirsty. It was strange, as if it hit me all at once, rather than building up slowly. “Stefan, while I finish this up, can you go over there and get us something to drink?” I asked him, gesturing at a street vendor who was selling hot dogs and sodas outside the store.

He got really nervous, which surprised me. “How much do they cost?”

I blinked at him, understanding his apprehension all too clearly. Tonto and my mother had told me to make sure and get him lots of clothes, but none of us had thought to give him any cash. I was incredibly irritated at myself for overlooking that, worried that it would make it seem like we were keeping him totally dependent on us. I reached into my wallet and gave him $200.

“I do not think sodas are this expensive,” he said with a grin.

“They are not, but you need to have some cash in case you see something you want or need.” He stared at the money, which was probably more than he’d ever had in his entire life.

“Think about it. What if you got lost and needed to take a cab back to the condo?”

“I am quite sure I could get a ride home,” he said, in his seductive tone, making me chuckle.

“I’m sure. Now go get us something to drink.” The soda was refreshing, but not refreshing enough to convince us to continue our spree. As it was only 5pm, with sunny, beautiful weather, we drove up to Northwestern and walked around. We explored the campus together, deciphering the location of the important buildings, especially the most important of them all: the building where I’d be working. I wasn’t sure what the parking rules were, but I spotted the most convenient lot for me, so at least when I came up here to report in, I’d know where to go. Stefan and I had such a fun time, such an amazing time, that it almost made me nervous, wondering if we'd be able to maintain this bond once we got back to Claremont.

June 19, 1962

Stefan's English was improving rapidly. In fact, it was so well developed that he volunteered to stay at the condo and wait for the bed delivery while I went up to campus to check in. I'd already written to Northwestern and accepted their offer, and in that offer it stipulated that I wasn’t expected on campus until the end of July, but I decided that it wouldn’t hurt to show some initiative and enthusiasm and pay an earlier visit. Besides, that rationale hid my intense curiosity over what my department was like, and what kind of office they’d give me.

My department chair was friendlier than I’d imagined. The world of university professors is not amply stocked with outgoing, demonstrative, and cheerful people, but he was all of those things. Best of all, he seemed as if he’d be very supportive, the kind of man who would help you achieve your goals. We developed an immediate rapport. It didn’t hurt that he was a good friend of Rosenberg, so that would explain part of why he liked me. I told him about my trip to the Sorbonne, blatantly name-dropping when I talked about my meeting with Professor Gireaux. He seemed impressed, and I decided that if nothing else, the story made me seem more international. It was the early part of summer break, so none of the other professors were around, which was expected but still a bit disappointing. I’d been looking forward to meeting my colleagues.

When we were done with our introductory chat, he gave me keys to my office, showed me where it was, then left me alone to explore it. My office was a typical academic office for an assistant professor. It was 10' by 12' and filled with banged up, university issued, wood furniture and two banged up, university issued, filing cabinets. I asked him if he minded if I did some redecorating, which seemed to surprise him, but he gave me free reign. Most people in academia didn't put much effort into making their offices nice, but I knew I'd be spending a lot of time there, so there was no reason not to make it pleasant. The best feature of the office was a window that looked out toward Evanston. The offices with views of the Lake went to the senior professors, but I was thrilled just to have a window, any window, regardless of the view.

After my visit, I went back to the condo and found that the bed had been delivered. On it was a note from Stefan, written in English, telling me that he'd gone downtown and that I should meet him at Buckingham Fountain at 2pm. I’d spent longer on campus than I’d planned, so I wasn’t overly surprised when I looked at my watch and saw that it was already 1:30. Half an hour was not a lot of time to drive downtown, even in the early part of the afternoon. Not even being on a tight schedule could ruin my excellent mood. I zipped down the Drive, enjoying the weather, the city, and my new life, while my intense driving just seemed to exemplify my arrival into the hustle and bustle of city life. I did not want to leave this place and go back to Claremont. I longed for it to be July, so I could come back here and leave all my family concerns and issues behind. It occurred to me that Stefan would be left behind too, but that didn’t really bother me as much as I thought it would. I realized that as much as I enjoyed his company, and the un-fucking-believable sex, it would be nice to have my place to myself.

I parked the Pontiac and strolled over to Buckingham Fountain. I spotted Stefan by the water, talking to another young guy. The other guy was about his height and size, and looked to be about his age. They were standing very close to each other, in what was almost an intimate posture. I saw Stefan reach into his pocket and pull out some money. He then shook hands with the other guy, using that opportunity to slip him the money.

I paused to watch them complete their transaction. I wasn’t sure what Stefan had bought from him, but in my deepest fears I linked it to either sex or narcotics. The other guy patted him on the shoulder and left, a reaction which would seem to indicate a sexual transaction and not one involving drugs. Stefan must have sensed my presence, because he scanned the area until he spotted me. He cheerfully strode over to see me and gave me a masculine hug for a greeting.

“Hey there,” I said pleasantly even as I submarined my suspicions beneath my smooth facade. “Did you have fun today?”

“I did. The bed was delivered right on time, so I took the train down here and strolled around the city, listening to people, trying to understand their English.” He laughed at that. “It is not so easy; these people have an accent that is hard to understand.”

“Wait until you meet a New Yorker,” I joked. “Or worse, someone from Alabama.”

“I am not sure how that could be more challenging, but I will hope to be better by the time that happens,” he said.

“Looked like you made a friend,” I observed cautiously. I didn't like to pry, and normally I prided myself on minding my own damn business, but in this case, my curiosity overwhelmed me. I tried to imagine if I’d be upset if he had taken money I’d given him and paid for sex with that guy, but I couldn’t gauge my own reaction.

“He is not a friend, he is a rent boy.” He said this with a raised eyebrow. I got the feeling he was baiting me, so I played it cool.

“Rent boy?” I asked, pretending to be ignorant even though I knew exactly what a rent boy was.

“Yes, a guy like I used to be, who sells his body for money.” He was purposefully not telling me if he'd fucked the guy, which made me more determined than ever not to ask him if he had.

“How could you tell he was a rent boy?” I countered.

“Because he offered to blow me for $5.” He was smiling now, for some reason, unable to contain himself. He he wasn't nearly as good at hiding his feelings as I was.

“Really. Is that how much it's worth? You owe me some money.” He laughed at me and we started walking toward the car.

“Aren't you going to ask me if I took him up on the offer?” That was my moment of victory, when he finally had to ask me a direct question because he couldn’t bait me into bringing up the issue. I let myself enjoy that internally.

“I saw you giving him money, so I figured you did. You probably needed a professional after my clumsy work.” I said this with a grin so he knew I was teasing, even though I’d have been pretty devastated if he’d told me it was true.

“No one could give head better than you.” I sucked up that nice compliment, and nudged him playfully with my elbow to thank him in a non-verbal way.

“You could probably beat me in that competition,” I said, throwing the praise back his way. He was more vain than I was, so he obviously ate it up, then he seemed to get more thoughtful.

“As I recall, one of my relatives recently lectured me on how the more privileged should help out those who are down and out,” he said, even as he gave me a dubious look. I rolled my eyes at him. “That guy reminded me of how I was in Paris. I was hungry, and had nowhere to go. So when he offered to blow me for $5, I turned him down and instead, I gave him $20. I told him to spend it to get something to eat, and to get a good night’s sleep.” He looked at me with a satisfied smirk.

“There may be hope for you after all,” I mused playfully, then made him look at me so he could see my sincerity. “I’m very proud of you.” He gripped my hand firmly to thank me for saying that, then we walked to the Pontiac, drove back to the condo, and thoroughly enjoyed our last night together before we headed back to Claremont.