Chronicles Of An Academic Predator - 17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

August 13, 1962

Northwestern University

Evanston, IL

The last month had been pretty uneventful. After all the excitement in June and July, the calmness had been welcome. I found that being in a pressure-cooker had ultimately caused me to lose my calm veneer, and worse yet, to lose control of my emotions and myself. Until recently, my ability to be stoic in the face of disaster had been one of my strengths. A month of focus and hard work had helped center me, and had helped me get my internal strength and external unflappability back.

September 4th was to be the first day of classes, so I had shifted my attention away from my research and focused on planning for the upcoming semester. I’d been assigned to teach two classes: Introduction to History, which was a lecture hall class; and Modern French History, which was a smaller, senior level class. Modern French History would cover the period from the French Revolution to the present day. I'd taught both classes before, so most of the requirements were organizational, not developmental, but I still had to figure out the morass of systems and procedures at the university.

Today I was forced to take a break from my work to go to my inaugural departmental faculty meeting. This was the first meeting of the year, and the first one I’d be attending. I'd met all of my colleagues over the past few weeks and they seemed to be a good group. They’d been very welcoming, and made me feel comfortable here, although the cynic in me wondered if they were just extra nice to me because my father bought them new windows. I was finding that the same political forces that worked in Claremont, the careful injection of power and money into a system to get results, worked here as well.

Adams stuck his head in my office and smiled. “You ready, rookie?” I nodded and grabbed the file folder I’d assembled for the meeting complete with my notes, as well as a pen and legal pad, and then followed Adams to our conference room. We were the first ones there, but Adams knew the pecking order and suggested a chair for me. As the other professors came in we chatted amicably about their latest projects. This was a good time to compare research areas of interest, and to see if any of our areas overlapped enough to make a joint project feasible. Bob Jensen came in took his seat near the head of the table, casting a pall over the entire room with his presence, although the glare he cast around added emphasis to his negativity. Finally Dr. Peterson arrived and started the meeting. I'd learned that he was a stickler for punctuality, but I was still impressed that everyone was here on time. Usually getting professors together was like herding cats.

“Welcome to the fall semester gentlemen. You'll find your agendas in front of you. First of all I'd like to introduce you to JP Crampton, our newest assistant professor. You'll find he's well versed in many areas, but his prime focus has been on French History and, more recently, on the process of decolonization.” Everyone nodded and grumbled a brief welcome, which was a pretty effusive greeting for a group of introverted men. “I'd also like to thank Dr. Crampton's father for his generous gift to our department. I don't know about you, but I'm certainly enjoying getting to see the outside without feeling it blow into my office.” That brought applause and laughter.

We went through various items, some of which were related to curricula while others relating to staffing adjustments, but the most time consuming part was the assignment of departmental faculty members to University committees. It was customary for newer professors, especially those who hadn’t earned tenure yet, to get the easier committee assignments, so Adams and I scored the plum choices. The worst ones fell to more senior faculty members, but those tended to be the ones that dealt with more impactful issues, so they really didn’t complain.

Just as we were about to adjourn, Bob Jensen spoke up. “I'd like to add a new topic to the agenda. I think we need to talk about office allocation.” He gave me a sly grin as he said this, but I just sat there like a statue.

“I don't see what there is to discuss,” said Peterson. “We covered this at the end of last semester, and made some adjustments based on your personal requests at the beginning of summer.” It was impossible to miss how irritated Peterson was about this being raised as an issue, but Jensen really didn’t care if he irritated Peterson.

“I don't think it's reasonable for the most junior member of our faculty to have the nicest office in the department. Based on university customs and traditions, offices are supposed to be allocated based on seniority. As such, the best office should be given to Dr. Broughton, as our most senior member.” Peterson was indeed intensely irritated, and even seemed a little surprised, but I wasn't. I'd expected Jensen to do this, I just didn't expect him to throw Broughton into it. Broughton and I got along very well, and I sure didn't want to go head to head with him and sour our relationship.

“I'm happy just where I am,” said Broughton. I was relieved but not surprised by that statement. Broughton didn’t strike me as the kind of guy who would like change, and moving offices would have been upsetting in the extreme.

“Well then,” said Jensen with his crocodile grin, “it should go to the next most senior faculty member.” We all knew that he was next in order of seniority. His initial arguments in favor of Broughton didn’t fool anyone; we all knew he’d planned it to work out just his way. All the eyes in the room veered toward me, as everyone wondered how I would handle the department bully.

“Dr. Jensen, I would be happy to relinquish my office to you as soon as you write me a check for $1,568 to compensate me for the costs of renovations.” He tried to intimidate me with his eyes, which was simply laughable. In the meantime, I’d thrown the dollar amount out there, and it made Jensen seem as if he were trying to steal money from me.

“We don't pay for offices around here. They're allocated, and they're allocated based on seniority.” Jensen argued. He had backed himself into a corner, with me making him look like the greedy and unscrupulous bastard that he was, so he really had no choice.

I saw Peterson get ready to intervene but I jumped in first. If I didn't stick up for myself now, I'd be fighting this guy for as long as we were both here. “As the newest faculty member in this department, I've tried to fully familiarize myself with the customs and procedures of the University so as not to inadvertently step on any toes. My research has shown that you are quite correct that the allocation of offices is primarily based on seniority, but it is considered a ‘custom’, and as such, it is inferior in status to binding agreements such as employment contracts. Prior to investing a significant amount of my own money into the office, I asked, and Dr. Peterson agreed, to include a clause in my contract formally allocating that office to me. When my contract expires, then that office may be reallocated per university customs.” I made this statement formally, with no emotion or malice in my voice, as a statement of fact. The other faculty members evidently found my argument compelling, because most of them simply nodded.

Dr. Peterson intervened. “Gentlemen, I think we've spent enough time on this. We have more important things to worry about than offices. Everyone is where they are supposed to be, and they will stay there.”

He adjourned the meeting, and I went back to my office. Adams followed me. “Good job! Most people just buckle when he starts on his tirades.” Like most of these guys, Adams hated confrontation, and Jensen had used that as a tool to manipulate them.

“If I don't confront him, he'll walk all over me.” Like he walked all over you, I didn’t say, but it was implied in the context. He nodded and went back to his office.

I had just delved back into my work when Dr. Peterson came in. “A moment, Dr. Crampton.”

“Certainly sir,” I said pleasantly. I stood up and walked over to my sitting area and offered him a chair.

“I just wanted to say that you handled yourself well in today's meeting. Dr. Jensen can be a little obstreperous when voicing his views, and he usually lacks tact and diplomacy.” He was talking to me as a mentor, not a boss.

“Dr. Peterson, may I speak candidly?” He eyed me up and down and nodded. “Dr. Jensen is a bully. He doesn't use his fists, he uses his words and his seniority, but it's the same abuse that many in this department probably put up with at some point in time. That's why he wields it so successfully.” I’d taken a huge risk, because I’d just called the whole department a bunch of pussies. I paused to watch Peterson digest that.

“Perhaps,” Peterson said, more to encourage me to share my thoughts.

“If I back down from him, he'll walk all over me. I've never tolerated bullies, and I have no intention of doing so now. I don't think that at an esteemed institution like this we should allow his behavior to exist, but I feel that I at least have the right to object to it when it is directed at me.”

He looked thoughtful, and pondered my words for a moment. “You're correct. And I'll support you, as long as you treat him with respect and use the same tact and diplomacy that he seems to lack.” He smiled at me and I smiled back at him.

“Yes sir.”

When I got home that night I found a letter from Jeff waiting for me.

Dear JP,

I feel guilty because I should have sent this a long time ago. I want to thank you for everything you've done for me, but I'm not always so good at expressing myself. I love the wallet, but you didn't have to put all that money in it. Your Dad has been great, and has given me some work for the rest of the summer. When school starts, I'm going to do what you suggested and just live off the money I save from that job, plus what you gave me. My goal is to get a scholarship, maybe even to Northwestern.

I don't mean to sound weird, but I miss having you around. That week I spent in Chicago was the best time in my life so far, except for maybe that touchdown I made at last year's Homecoming Game.

I've been staying with Sammy. They've got lots of room, and I would feel kind of funny hanging around with your parents all the time. They've been great. I know that you were glad to get out of this crappy town, but I hope you'll come back and visit soon.

Jeff

It was great to hear from Jeff, but it reminded me of how nice it was to have him here. I think that I was able to relax more with him than anyone else. He was just so comfortable to be around. Still, these young guys just fucked up my emotions, and I probably fucked up theirs. And that made me think of André, and how much I missed him.

August 16, 1962

I had four CVs in front of me, candidates for the two teacher's assistant (TA) positions I was allowed to fill. The TAs would assist me with the classes, tutoring, grading, or even teaching if I so decided. In essence, they were student flunkies, graduate students who used jobs like these as a stipend to subsidize their living expenses. I'd posted a sign on the bulletin board on Monday, soliciting applications, and I’d already generated these four responses.

I heard loud footsteps stomping on my floor and looked up to see Dr. Jensen, followed by two students, one male, and one female. He was holding my flier. “What the hell is this? I already selected the TAs for the history intro class.” He motioned to the two students behind him. He was supposed to teach this class but had managed to get out of it and pawn it off on me.

“I'm sorry,” I said to them all in general, “but I like to choose my own staff.” The girl looked defiant, which probably meant she was Jensen's toady. The guy looked more concerned than anything. I directed myself to them. “I would encourage you both to apply. I just started reviewing resumes, but I need to make a quick decision, so I'll need your CV today.”

“You don't understand,” Jensen bellowed, “I've already hired them. They are the TAs.” I hated yelling and refused to tolerate it, and this was a prime example of why. Jensen was making all of us uncomfortable, and he was making himself look like a total ass. I eyed him coldly, with the only emotion in my expression one of disdain.

“Dr. Jensen, do not raise your voice in my office. Ever. If you want to teach the intro to history class and choose the TAs, be my guest. Otherwise, the class, and those positions do not concern you.” My voice had been firm, strong and unwavering, and it had an impact on all three of them. I went back to my work, in effect dismissing Jensen. He stormed out, followed by the girl, presumably to go yell at Peterson.

“Dr. Crampton? Can I talk to you for a minute?” the young man asked.

“Certainly,” I said, and motioned him over to the sitting area, closing the door on the way. “What's on your mind?”

“I'm Jason Strubbe. I think you already have my resume on your desk.” He was right, I did. He was the top candidate at this point. “I really want, and I really need this position. I'm willing to work hard, do whatever you need. I hope you won't hold it against me that Dr. Jensen was the one who introduced me.”

I looked this young man over. He was bookish, with big glasses and pants that were too short for his skinny legs. He was extremely dorky, but he seemed sincere. I asked him about his background, and what he wanted to do in the future. Both his past and his future dovetailed nicely with my areas of research.

“Jason, stop by and see me tomorrow and I'll tell you if you have the job, OK?” He still looked nervous. “Right now, you're at the top of my list.” That seemed to placate him. He shook my hand and left.

I went back to work, but didn’t get too engrossed in my planning because I anticipated that Jensen would go to Peterson, and that meant that Peterson should be coming to see me within the hour. In the end, it only took 45 minutes for Peterson to appear.

“Dr. Crampton, I understand you had an unpleasant encounter with Dr. Jensen. He says you were very rude, and threw him out of your office.” There was a slight grin on his face that told me that he wasn't here to discipline me.

I explained the encounter to him, then repeated my closing argument to Jensen. “If he wants to teach the History Intro class and pick the TAs, I’m fine with that.”

“I take it he didn’t choose that option?” Peterson asked, joking.

“Surprisingly enough, he didn’t,” I said with a smile.

“Well, I'm not surprised at that, or his reaction, and I told him just what you did. He had the option of teaching that class, but he moved heaven and earth to avoid doing it. The TAs are yours to choose.” And with that he left.

I wondered how many times Jensen was going to fuck with me before he'd had enough. I expected that he would ultimately tire of me and move on to a more pliable target, which was what most bullies would do. It was possible that he didn’t work like that. He could be one of those men who became obsessed with the person he couldn’t intimidate, and if that was the case, he would probably view his conflict with me as a blood feud. In that case, only one of us would survive at this University.

If he made this a fight to the death, I was going to have to be much more proactive or I'd lose the battle. He had tenure and I didn't, which gave him a huge power advantage over me. The only way he could be forced to leave is if he quit, or if he did something so obscene that he has no choice but to leave. I, on the other hand, was easily disposed of when my five years were up.

Dealing with Jensen was a huge distraction, not just to me, but to the whole department. What might we accomplish, what laurels might we earn if only this asshole were out of the picture?

August 17, 1962

My paper was not coming together like I wanted it to, and the reason for that was that I was fighting the data and fighting the conclusions. I knew that I was going to lose that fight, and that I was going to have to admit that my hypotheses were all wrong. The whole thing put me in a particularly foul mood. I was just beginning to make progress on figuring out how to save four months' worth of work when Nancy, Dr. Peterson's assistant, came in. “Dr. Crampton, Dr. Peterson would like to see you in his office as soon as possible.” That was unusual. Peterson liked to get out and about, and rarely were people summoned to his office unless it was something serious.

“Of course,” I said, and followed Nancy back to Peterson’s office.

I walked in to find Dr. Peterson and Dr. Jensen waiting for me. Jensen was grinning from ear to ear, while Peterson looked visibly concerned. “Dr. Crampton, Dr. Jensen has brought some serious ethical concerns about you, to my attention. I wanted to give you an opportunity to address them immediately.” I nodded and sat down.

“I appreciate that,” I told Peterson.

Peterson nodded to Jensen, who continued. “According to my sources, you agreed to pass all the football players in your class if the coach would give some of your friends, kids from your hometown, scholarships next year.” He was pleased with himself, convinced he’d caught me in a major bribery scandal, while I was relieved. I was confident that I could handle this situation.

“Those statements are absolute nonsense.” I said simply.

“So you deny them?” Jensen said, acting like a prosecutor.

“I deny them.” I said calmly. He was expecting me to bluster and rant and rave. He was expecting me to do, in essence, what he would do. Instead, by denying his allegations, the burden of proof fell squarely back onto him.

He looked at me, puzzled. “Well, I don't believe you. I have credible information that you did exactly that.”

“Dr. Jensen, your information is false. If you are presenting formal charges, then I request that you produce this proof. If you are just making accusations, I must warn you I consider them to be defamatory.” I looked to Dr. Peterson.

“Quite right. Dr. Jensen, if you have witnesses, or other proof, please produce them. Otherwise, I have no reason not to believe Dr. Crampton's denial.” Jensen was practically beside himself with anger.

“Isn't it obvious? Didn't you see that big kid in here with him? He even scrimmaged with the team. Crampton made that one of his conditions to pass the players.”

“Are you implying, Dr. Jensen, that anytime someone from my hometown scrimmages with the football team I have violated some ethical tenet?” I asked him coldly.

“Enough of this,” said Peterson firmly. “You want to produce your evidence, I'll evaluate it. Otherwise, such accusations are unacceptable.” And with that he ended the meeting. He stared at both of us, waiting for us to leave. Jensen went first, storming off in his normal, obnoxious way.

“A moment Dr. Crampton,” said Peterson. I waited while Jensen stormed out. “Just in case this goes any further, can you tell me what dealings you've had with the athletic department?”

“Certainly sir. Coach Davis invited me down to visit the athletic department and showed me the facilities and the systems in place to help student athletes. I think he was trying to determine if I was going to try and make life exceptionally difficult for his players. I told him that I wasn't going to treat his students any differently, except,” I said, then paused for effect, “I told him that I'd adjust their due dates for assignments and tests if they were traveling to play out of town, and that I was willing to make myself, or my TAs available to help his players if they needed it. Then he asked me about where I was from, and if they had a good football team. I told him they did, and told him about Jeff, and he asked me to invite Jeff down to meet him and scrimmage.” He studied me closely.

“Then I see nothing to worry about here. I'm sorry to have bothered you.” And with that, I was dismissed.

I walked out of the office pissed off, really pissed off, but I made sure that I had an expression of victory on my face. So it was a blood feud. Jensen was determined to get rid of me and then move into my office. What a petty idiot. I got back to my office, closed the door, and started making some phone calls.

Before I could make much progress on my plans to neuter Jensen, Jason knocked on my door and came in, closing it behind him. I'd hired him this morning, and he'd jumped right into planning for the semester. I liked what I’d seen of him so far, and I was looking forward to working with him.

“Dr. Crampton, I need to talk to you.”

“Of course,” I said, and motioned him to sit down. It seemed I was destined to get no work done today.

“I really appreciate you hiring me, and I feel like I owe you my loyalty. I heard about what happened with Dr. Jensen today. You may find it interesting that Sarah, the girl that was supposed to be your other TA, well, she's dating Scott Mallory, one of the football players.” He looked really uncomfortable; it's tough to obey two masters, and he had just made the choice. He'd chosen me.

“Thank you Jason. That is interesting. But what is more important to me is the fact that you came here and told me about it. It just confirms in my mind that I made a great choice in hiring you.”

“Thank you, sir,” he said respectfully.

“I've got some errands to take care of this afternoon, but I'll be back on Monday. Let's do lunch on Monday, my treat.”

“That sounds great,” he said, and was so happy he stumbled over my carpet as he left. I'd have to deal with Jensen soon, before he distracted me too much or worse, actually managed to damage my reputation. Instead of my errands, I spent my time working on ways to handle Jensen.

I left and went back to my Condo, stopping to pick up a pizza on the way home. I grabbed a beer from the fridge, got some napkins for my pizza, and sat down to watch the news and enjoy my dinner. I didn't expect the news to cheer me up, but I didn't expect it to be as bad as it was. There was a picture of a young man, Peter Felcher, and he was the main story tonight. He was an 18-year-old German from East Berlin, and he had tried to escape from East to West Germany by crossing over the Berlin Wall. He was caught and had been shot in the pelvis, but he collapsed into the “no man's land” in between the borders of the two blocs. He lay there for over an hour, screaming for help which never came from either side, until he bled to death. The world is a horrible place.

The door buzzed, shocking me out of my news-induced depression. It was 7pm, and I had no one who was planning to be here. I didn’t normally get drop-by company, and even if I did, the concierge was supposed to stop someone he didn’t know. I strolled over to the door and opened it carefully. A strong hand forced it open, startling me.

I was about to fight back and force the door closed in the intruder’s face until I saw that the intruder was André. I saw his familiar smiling face and felt my own grin form, ear to ear. “André!” I said loudly. I was surprised, happy, and simply overwhelmed to see the man that I loved in front of me.

He was in his uniform, with his hair buzzed off, looking every bit like the military man. “Hey there, JP. Did you miss me?” I slammed the door and leaped into his arms. I felt him hug me back, and I wanted to talk to him, to look at him, but I just couldn't let go. Tears streamed down my face, but I couldn't stop them. I decided that if I couldn't let my guard down with André, then life just wasn't worth living anyway.

“I missed you a lot,” I managed to mutter.

“OK baby, OK, let me go. I wanna see your place. Plus I'm hungry and I smell food.” Typical André. Good thing I'd gotten a large pizza. I'd planned for leftovers, but that wouldn't be happening. I showed André into the living room and got him a plate for his pizza, and I also grabbed a beer for him.

I had visualized that when André eventually came home I'd jump into his arms, kiss him passionately, and fuck him like a two-dollar whore. Yet now that he was here, in front of me, that just didn't seem right. I could tell that he had changed, and I knew that I had. We were friends first, and we had to reconnect. We sat and ate pizza, and then I rummaged through the kitchen to find more food for André's insatiable appetite. Meanwhile, he wandered around my condo.

“Damn, JP, this place is amazing. Maybe I will marry you and move in here after all,” he joked, remembering my fake proposal to him in Paris. That led us down memory lane, so to speak, talking about our trip, with both the enjoyment and challenges we’d experienced. Getting André to talk wasn’t a problem, so I prompted him to talk about the Army, and he asked me about things here and in Claremont.

At about 10pm, André was about to say something else but he yawned instead. “Tired?” I asked him. I’ll need to be closer than that for Hugh. I’ll work it out.

“Yeah, I've been traveling all day, and they don't exactly book you first class.” We both chuckled. In our Princeton days, 10pm was the time we’d normally go out, not the time we’d be ready for bed.

“Let's make it an early night tonight, then we can hit the town tomorrow,” I suggested. Just then there was a loud boom, followed by a flash of light, both coming from a thunderstorm that had formed over the lake. We both stood up and walked out onto the balcony. The gusty wind blew around us, warm and moist with humidity, while out over the Lake we could see the lightning flashing across the sky, as if it was attacking the water in an epic battle. He put his arm around me, and I put my arm around him in return. We stood there watching the awesome light and power of the storm, his presence filling me with happiness, filling the void that had been there since he left.

He looked down at me and I looked up to meet his eyes. “Welcome home André,” I said with a smile.

“It's good to be home,” he said, and then moved his mouth down to meet mine. It started out as a friendly kiss, one with lots of emotion and not much passion. I moved my hand up to run it through his buzzed hair and he turned his body and mine so they we were fully facing each other. He pressed his body against mine as we kissed, and the feel of his cock swelling against mine changed the equation to less emotion and much more passion.

I led him to my bedroom and we stripped off our clothes, pausing to kiss as we did. I loved the taste of his breath, the flavor of his mouth mixed with Marlboros; it was such a man's taste. He pushed me down onto the bed and moved down on top of me, renewing our kiss and grinding his groin into mine. I was in heaven, or at least the closest thing to it I could imagine.

“André, make love to me,” I whispered in his ear urgently.

“Are you sure? I'm worried that I'll hurt you.” That really surprised me until I thought back on the past times when he’d fucked me. That was before I knew what I was doing, when I thought my job was to just lie there and try not to be too miserable, and when enjoyment hadn’t factored into it at all. I pushed him off of me and onto his back, not easy with my sore arm, even though I'd gotten the cast off.

I grabbed the Vaseline and smeared some on his huge cock, and on my ass. He looked at me, worried. I straddled him, hovering over his cock, my own raging erection aimed right at him. Slowly I lowered myself onto him, feeling him pierce through my ring, sliding in almost effortlessly. There was a bit of pain and discomfort, but this was André, and I love him so much, and I wanted him so badly, that my body just responded, opening up absorbing him.

I began to move up and down, my cock hard and dripping, my ass squeezing him, subconsciously mimicking the same movements Stefan had used on me the first time we had fucked. André looked up at me in amazement. This was nothing like the last time we had sex. Then I had been passive, kind of like a wife who was just doing her duty. Now I was the active one, now I was the one in charge, and now I was obviously enjoying myself. More than that, I knew I was better, good even, and I knew he was loving it too.

“Do I look like I'm in pain?” I taunted him, as I moved up and down on his huge pole.

“No baby, you look like you’re enjoying yourself, and you feel great. Oh my God, you feel amazing.” He reached up and grabbed me, pulling my head down to his, pulling my lips to his. I could feel him pant into my mouth, and felt the urgency of his movements pushing me to go faster. We were both close, but I blew first. I had never cum when we had sex before. I felt the orgasm boiling up and I had to break our lip lock so I could breathe. I leaned back to make sure his big cock hit my spot, and then I came. I screamed as loud as the thunder on the Lake, and my orgasm was so intense I almost blacked out. My first shot blew up over André's head, the second hit his neck, and the rest of my load splattered all over his chest.

André looked at me with wide eyes, amazed by my orgasm and well on his way into his own. He groaned and grabbed my hips, pulling me onto him while he shot into me. I was so keyed up, and so sensitive, that I swear I could feel the pulsing of his cock and the shots of his semen as he coated my intestines.

I collapsed on top of him, savoring our bonding, my cum smashed between us, seeming to cement us together. We were both panting so hard we couldn't talk. André caught his breath first. “That was the best, the absolute best sex I have ever had.” I felt myself blushing but I looked up at him anyway, and my red face made him laugh. “Have you been practicing while I was gone?”

That caught me a little off guard. “Have you?” He looked back at me and we both realized, at almost the same time that we had inadvertently strolled right up to an abyss, staring down at a topic that could really screw things up.

“I'm always practicing,” he joked. “Usually all by myself.” I laughed at him: leave it to André to joke us out of the dead end.

“I never demanded that you not fuck anyone else,” I said, pausing for emphasis, “when I'm not around.” He laughed at that.

“Damn, why would I want to?” That got him a kiss and a big smile. He made me so happy, so very very happy. The other guys I'd fucked around with, they'd been fun. Mechanically and physically the sex had been good. André was just as good as them, but the emotional intensity he generated, the love he gave and took from me, raised me to a level that I didn't think I could get to. This was Nirvana.

“Um, I think we're starting to stick together,” André said. I laughed.

“Come on, let me show you the shower.” I got up slowly, peeling myself off of him, and led the way into the shower. We took turns spinning under the shower, and then I grabbed the soap and began working it over his body. He had always been fit and muscular, but his training had toned him up and made his body harder. I ran my hands down his chest, soaping him up, running the bar over his nipples. He pulled me to him, and now instead of semen squishing between us, it was soap, slippery soap.

The feel of his body sliding against mine was great, but the feel of his lips on mine was even better. I felt his cock poke me as he hardened and I giggled. I reached down and grabbed it with my soapy hand and began stroking him slowly.

He turned me around so I was facing the wall, grabbing on to the door handle to brace myself as I felt his hand slide up my crack, spreading soap as it went. I felt him move closer, and then I felt his cock at the entrance of my hole, ready to go again. I pushed back into him, wanting him back inside me, wanting to join with him again.

Maybe it was because it was so soon after we had sex, or maybe it was because I wanted him so bad, but he slid in smoothly, with no pain or hesitation. I heard him gasp just like I did, and then he started pistoning in and out of me. He started out slowly, and I adjusted my stance so he hit my magic spot. Last time I'd been in charge, but this time it was his turn. He grabbed my hips and began to really thrust into me, pounding my ass, while I stroked my own cock in time to his movements. This time he came first. Feeling him expand in my ass and explode sent me over the edge too. Seeing my cum splattered all over the wall of the shower made me laugh, thinking this was a good place for us to have sex.

We headed back to the bed where André got in and lay on his back, and I instinctively snuggled up to him, enjoying the feel of his strong pectoral muscles under my cheek. André was harder and firmer than Jeff, who was cushier and cuddlier, but I couldn’t help but think about how easy it was for me to totally sink into Jeff. Then I chided myself for thinking about Jeff when I was here in bed with the love of my life.

André's breathing was slow and rhythmic, and soon it was augmented by his soft snores. The poor guy must have been exhausted when he got here, and then I’d worn him out even more. I molded my body to his, deciding that if I had André, I would never need anyone else. He was my everything.