Chronicles Of An Academic Predator - 23. Chapter 23

October 22, 1962

I'd been pouting and bitchy all week, mad that my trip to Brussels had been canceled and mad that I hadn't heard anything further from Andre. He'd pretty much left me high and dry, and I was fully prepared to feel sorry for myself and celebrate with a pity party. I wallowed in my self-righteousness, and let my moral indignation turn me into a real asshole.

Then today word came that the President was going to air a special address at 6pm, and I realized that something big was going on. I felt like a complete idiot for being such a twit, and poor Jason, having to live with me, bore the brunt of my bad mood.

To try and make it up to him I'd stopped and gotten pizza so he didn't feel obligated to cook, and we sat in front of the television glued to the screen waiting for the President to speak. Rumor had it there was yet another problem with Cuba. At 6pm, the President appeared and laid out the problem. He was so young and handsome, so smart, so suave, and so cultured that he made me feel confident in his abilities. My confidence in him did not extend to the world situation. As he addressed the nation and I digested his words, I knew real fear, fear that the world may very well be coming to an end. The Soviets had put nuclear missiles in Cuba and we were demanding their removal, voluntarily or otherwise. Instead of immediate air strikes, which would have been what I expected, he had found a finessed position by declaring a naval blockade of Cuba. An air strike probably would precipitate a world war and nuclear annihilation. A blockade may result in the same thing, just a little bit later. What would happen when the first ship refused to stop? What would happen if that ship was fired on? What would happen if Soviet warships, specifically submarines, responded? Was Billy out there in the Thresher? Would he be vaporized with us? What about Andre? Brussels would be ground zero, the NATO HQ.

Jason and I sat there silently and stared at the television long after the report ended. The news hacks rambled on about their opinions, but I didn't hear them. Jason looked at me nervously. “War?” He asked.

I thought about it. “Maybe. Actually, it seems likely.” Would the world end now?

“What should we do?” he asked me. “Should we leave the city? The big cities are sure to be obliterated. We might be able to survive in the country.”

“You may be right, but I'm not going anywhere. If it comes to that, I'd rather be vaporized here than to suffer a slow death from radiation poisoning in the country.” I was firm in my commitment. I'd made that determination a long time ago. The concept of immediate death was part of this cold war, something we all had to deal with. “That's my personal decision, though. You can go if you want to.” I had no right to make that decision for him.

He studied me carefully. “I'll stay too. You're right; it makes no sense to flee.”

We spent the night glued to the television in case there was more news. I had two couches, and we each took one and slept on it. In the morning, we woke up stiff and tired, but at least we woke up.

October 23, 1962

I went to the store in the morning and bought another color television. The stores were chaotic, but fortunately most people were buying radios. By picking the most expensive electronic device in the store I had avoided the tumultuous masses. Still I had to wait in line quite awhile just to pay for it, then I had to wait for a couple of frantic-looking workers to lug it out to my car. When I got to campus, I drafted a few students to lug it into my office and set it up, finding a station that got decent reception. NBC ended up being the best. I put it near my sitting area so people could sit down and stay up to date on the crisis, and made sure that the secretaries knew they were welcome to take a break and watch the news.

The consequences of my action were that my office was crammed full of people watching the television, so to get any work done I had to move to the conference room. Peterson found me there.

“Dr. Crampton, thank you for bringing the television in. It's a distraction, to be sure, but I don't think anyone would even be here if we didn't have it.”

“No problem Dr. Peterson,” I said, happy that I could do something to help out. “Do you think there will be war?” Peterson is a brilliant man. His guess would be better than anyone's.

“It's touch and go, but my gut tells me there won't be. It's a war no one can win.” He looked pensive, but convinced, and from that point, I became much more optimistic.

“I hope you're right,” I told him sincerely.

His calm demeanor was not shared by the populace. Around the city, food and hardware stores were picked bare. I was so glad that Jason had gone shopping a few days ago and stocked us up. It was impossible to find tires, and there were massive lines at gas stations. Schools were canceling classes (not universities though) and people were fleeing the cities. The news was estimating that 10 million people were leaving the cities, seeking safety in rural America. The traffic out of Chicago was grueling. I tried to call home but the lines were too busy: I simply couldn't get through. It was just as well, I decided. What would I say to them, to my parents? Goodbye?

Of course, not everyone left. It seemed that those who stayed spend all of their time fixated on the news. All through the city there were clumps of people crowded around radios and newsstands, just like people did in my office. It felt like the whole nation was holding its breath.

That night I decided to sleep in my own bed. The tension was starting to get to me. I figured that if I could disengage from the crisis, even for a bit, I'd be much better off tomorrow. I was lying in bed reading when there was a knock at my bedroom door. Jason came in, looking scared and nervous.

“JP, I can't sleep. I'm so uptight. What if I go to sleep and the last thing that happens is that I'm awakened by a big boom then fried to a crisp?”

I motioned for him to sit in the bed next to me. “There's really nothing we can do about it. I know it sounds fatalistic, but if it happens, it happens. You have to put it out of your mind and try to relax.”

“I know you're right, but it's easier said than done. I don't want to die now. Shit, I'm still a virgin. The only thing I've done is, well, is that blow job you gave me.” He blushed.

“And that wasn't good enough?” I teased.

“No, it was great. And those kissing lessons paid off big time last weekend. But it would have been nice to get laid before I'm turned into atoms.”

I laughed. “So first you ask me to teach you how to kiss, then you ask me to blow you, and now you want to fuck me, is that it?” He laughed too.

“I don't know,” he flirted. “Are you as good at that as you are at blow jobs?” I felt the danger signs, the horniness rising in my blood stream.

“You wanna find out?” I asked and looked into his eyes. He moved closer to me and showed me how much better he'd gotten at kissing. In seconds we were free of our clothes and he was on his back with me sucking him.

I grabbed the Vaseline from the nightstand and lubed his huge pole. This was going to take some work. I sat on him, taking him in a bit at a time, forcing myself to relax. Still I had to back off a few times before I could finally take his huge cock in my ass. Finally I felt him gorge into me, filling me up like never before. It didn't feel good; it didn't feel comfortable, at least not at first.

I started to ride his pole and he watched me intently. After a few minutes we changed positions and I got on all fours and he fucked me from behind, doggy style. He rammed that huge monster cock of his in my ass time and time again, while all I could do was kneel there and take it. Gradually, very gradually, I got used to it, and then it started to feel good. It was the weirdest thing. It seemed to take forever for it to feel good, but once it did, I shot my wad almost immediately. He lasted a bit longer than me, and that was my true test of endurance, because without being stimulated myself, it was pretty painful. But he shot, finally, and I could tell it was quite an orgasm. I'd have cum dripping out of my ass all day tomorrow.

He collapsed next to me and seemed embarrassed. “So was it as good as the blow job?” I asked him, flashing him my cute grin.

“It was un-fucking-believable. I can't, I...” he was so hyped he couldn't talk.

“You're not going to weird out on me are you?” I asked him.

He smiled at me. “No, I'm fine. Thanks so much. That was bitchin'. Now I can die a happy man.” He went to get up and leave.

“Hey Jason, you want to sleep in here tonight?” He looked at me kind of funny. “I don't know about you, but it might be nice not to be alone if the world is going to end.” He nodded and slid into bed next to me. We didn't touch at all, but it was nice to have him there. Besides, having my ass reamed by that massive dick of his had cleared my head. I slept soundly.

October 24, 1962

The tension remained as the crisis continued. Everyone went about their business while making sure they weren't far from a television or radio. Somehow, having 10-15 minutes notice before the missiles arrived seemed to be absolutely vital. What would I do in that time, I wondered. Probably jack-off, I told myself, making myself laugh.

Watching the news brought mixed signals. There was the palpable feeling of relief when most of the Soviet ships stopped dead in the water, or reversed course. At that point, I think the general feeling shifted from probably war to probably peace. Still, there was one ship that hadn't turned back, and the President had authorized all forces to go to DEFCON 2, the first time the alert level had ever been raised that high.

October 28, 1962

All week the tension remained high, but I began to sense that an end, a peaceful end, may be possible. The rumors were rife about frantic back-room diplomacy, wild and crazy in some versions, logical and rational in others. There was a major setback on the 27^th, when a U-2 spy plane was shot down over Cuba, but then, today, the news finally came through. Khrushchev pledged to remove the missiles. A collective sigh of relief seemed to inveigle the nation. Jason took the opportunity to go to a party. I took the opportunity to sleep.

I was awakened the next morning by the doorbell. It was the Western Union Guy again, with another telegram for me. I signed for it and opened it.

TO: JP CRAMPTON

FROM: LT ANDRE CLERREAULT, USA

DATE: OCTOBER 29, 1962

SORRY ABOUT BRUSSELS STOP NEW ORDERS STOP WILL BE IN CHICAGO NOVEMBER 9 TO 12 STOP

The first thing to hit me was glee. Andre was coming home! He was coming home! Even though it was only temporary, he was coming home. I literally danced around the condo. Good thing Jason wasn't home, he'd think I'd gone nuts. Then I started to re-read the telegram and two things put a little fly in my ointment.

First of all, he mentioned new orders. What did that mean? Where was he going? Please God, don't send him to Southeast Asia. Anywhere but there. I kept up hope that his knowledge of French would keep him in Europe. Unfortunately, Vietnam, Laos, and Cambodia were all former French colonies where French was still widely spoken.

The next problem is that he'd be here the same time I'd promised to be in Claremont. There was no way I could go to Claremont unless I took Andre, and that would be just too weird. I had this vision of being in bed with Andre on one side of me and Jeff on the other, a fun fantasy to be sure, but in real life a disaster.

That evening I bit the bullet and called Jeff. Vella answered and had to track him down, but she finally got him to the phone.

“Hello,” he said, his deep voice sounding even deeper on the phone.

“Hey Jeff. How's it going?”

“Fine. What's up JP?” Obviously Jeff didn't like to chat on the phone.

“I've got some bad news. I won't be able to make it back to Claremont on the weekend of the 10^th. I'm so sorry. I know that means I'll miss your birthday.”

There was total silence.

“You promised you'd make it.” he said. This was so not like him. Usually he was so laid back.

“I know Jeff, but I can't leave Chicago that weekend.” Please don't ask why, please don't ask why.

“Why?” Shit.

“My college roommate, he's in the army and he's being transferred overseas and he's going to be in town for that weekend. After that he's gone for I don't know how long.” I thought about lying, about making up some university commitment, but I couldn't do that.

“So he's more important to you than me?” he asked. What the fuck was going on? This didn't sound like Jeff at all.

“Jeff, it's not like that at all. Come on, you know that. I promise I'll make it up to you over Thanksgiving. And I even got you the most amazing birthday present.”

“You can't buy me off JP,” he said. This was turning into a disaster.

“Jeff, are you OK? What's going on?” There was more to it than this.

“I'm fine; I just thought you'd keep your promises.” More silence.

“Look, I gotta go. I'll see you over Thanksgiving,” he said, and then he hung up.

I sat there staring at the phone, stunned and confused. What was going on in Claremont? Why did that place constantly fuck with me? I decided that the only thing I could do now that my decision was made was to enjoy my time with Andre and hope that I could repair my relationship with Jeff over Thanksgiving.

November 9, 1962

I stood waiting at the train station, waiting for Andre. I was beside myself with impatience, but I maintained my external cool. I'd bought Jason off by getting him a hotel room downtown for the weekend so Andre and I could have the condo to ourselves. Jason had argued about it until I actually had to get rude with him, but we worked it out in the end. I still hadn't heard from Jeff, even though I'd tried to call him three times. He obviously didn't want to talk to me. I reminded myself that I had promised to keep that out of my thoughts for the weekend. I'd have to try and repair what damage I'd caused there later on.

The train pulled into the station and I watched the people unload. There were uniforms, so many uniforms, that I had to look carefully to spot Andre. Then I saw him, tall, dark, and handsome, toting his duffel bag effortlessly on his shoulder, sauntering toward the gate and toward me. When he saw me he dropped the duffel and hugged me. It was a brotherly hug, but only because we were in public. God it was so good to see him.

“It's great to see you Andre! You look healthy!” I said, chatting as we headed to the car.

“You look great too JP. Really great!” He leered at me and made me blush. He laughed at that.

We got in the car. “So what's going on? You're being transferred?”

He sighed. “I'm being transferred to Saigon. Before you start freaking out, it's a pretty cushy post. I'm being attached to the Embassy to do translation work.” I felt my psyche start to melt down. All of my normal, rational reactions were disabled when it came to Andre.

“I'm sorry Andre. I don't mean to be a pain in the ass,” I said. “It just worries me, you going over there. You know I'm doing research on Southeast Asia, and it's a fucking mess. You're walking into a quagmire.”

“You may be right babe, but I don't have much of a choice do I?” I realized that he didn't want to go as much as I didn't want him to go. Beating him up about it would just force him into defending something he didn't believe anyway.

“You're right. I'm sorry. Besides, at least you got an easy billet.” He smiled at me, appreciating my sensitivity, that I'd let this go.

We got back to the condo and, of course, the first thing we did was get to work making food. Jason had stocked the condo to the roof, so we really wouldn't have to go out unless we wanted to.

“Can't go out on the balcony this time,” I joked as he looked out the window. There was already snow on the patio, and ice had formed on the railing.

“Chicago sucks in the winter,” he said.

“It sure does,” I said, and I dropped to my knees, unzipped his pants, and took him into my mouth.

November 12, 1962

Here I was, back at the train station crying like a baby. I tried to be strong, but it was impossible. I watched Andre disappear into the station and tried to bite back those tears, but I couldn't. I shivered, my whole body quaked. It was cold outside, cold and miserable, just like me. But my shivers weren't from the cold, they were from the intense emotional pain of seeing Andre leave, of losing him yet again. And of knowing that he was going into a fucking nightmare.

I drove carefully because of the snow, and got back to the condo safe and sound. Physically at least. The condo seemed cold too, although the heat was on and the windows were sealed tight. I locked myself in my room, collapsing onto my sheets that still reeked of sex. Maybe I'd never wash them.

The weekend had been glorious. It was funny, because after getting fucked by Jason, getting fucked by Andre seemed like child's play. And boy did we fuck. It was like we couldn't get enough of each other. We didn't leave the condo once, and had seriously depleted the food supplies. That's the thing with Andre and me. There's this deep physical connection, which is good, but an even deeper emotional connection. As much as I care about Jeff, or cared about Stefan, or thought I cared about Peter, none of them came close to Andre. He is my soul mate. And now he's on his way to Vietnam. I buried my head in my pillow and sobbed.

Jason came home and knocked on my door. After he got no response he knocked again. “Come in,” I muttered. Jason came in and saw me, red eyes, distressed. I thought about trying to hide behind my facade, but I just couldn't. I didn't have the emotional strength.

“Are you OK JP?” He asked. I just looked at him and shook my head. He came over and wrapped his arms around me. I cried, cried, and cried. I didn't do that in front of people. I simply didn't do that. But Andre was gone, and that was a tragedy. And Jason was here, and he was a comfort. He left me after awhile and I was glad he did. I wanted to be alone and be miserable all by myself, and I was tired of inflicting myself on him. That, and I was embarrassed that I'd lost it so badly. I finally fell asleep, thinking that tomorrow would be another day. Tomorrow I would start looking forward to Andre's next visit. At least there will be a tomorrow.