Punking Mike, Part 2
Max H. firstname.lastname@example.org
This story involves sex between guys. If you shouldn't be reading stuff like that, move on.
The characters in this fantasy may not always practice safe sex. In the world we live in everyone should practice safe sex.
It's okay to print this story out or save it to disc, but it remains my property. Don't transfer it to another website or archive without my permission.
Thanks to TW for doing the beta reading here.
MC = Mike Cronin GP = Gage Patrick GC = Gus Cross
The rest of the week went quickly. On Wednesday our soc prof told us he was assigning topics, along with partners. He handed me a slip that would be, I knew, identical with one he gave Foster, Jeff, as he had identified himself to me. When I read the topic, I was stunned at first, and then I chuckled. Apparently the prof was sharper than I'd thought. Jeff and I were to observe and investigate straight/gay relations on campus. I assumed he must have figured out I was gay and thought Foster, who was undoubtedly super-straight, and I would maybe learn from each other as we worked on the project. Not that I had any problems understanding straight guys. After all, I'd been one, or so I thought, for the first 19 years of my life.
In one of his comments in class, Foster had said he was a freshman. He looked a little shaken when we met after class. "What's wrong, Foster? Don't like the topic?"
"No, man, I don't. How are we going to investigate and observe gay people without being with them, maybe even talking to them?"
I laughed. "I don't think that will be possible. Besides, you've already done it."
He got a suspicious look on his face. "Done what?"
"Talked to one of `them.' I'm gay."
"You? I'd never have guessed. You look so normal."
"Yeah, well, maybe you've already learned something. So, do you think you can manage to be with a gay guy enough to do this project?"
"One thing I'm learning fast in ROTC is not to make waves. I'd be in deep shit if I went to the prof and asked for another assignment." Then he gave me a hint of a smile. "Besides, I think I'll be okay with you so long as you don't come on to me."
"Relax, Jeff. I'm taken. I've got a lover. I'm in a monogamous relationship. You're as safe with me as you'd be with a happily married woman."
He took a minute to process that and then grinned. "Monogamous? Like you said, maybe I'm already learning something."
I liked the sound of that. We got out our calendars and found a time when we could meet to talk about our project. The problem was finding a place to get together. When I told him I lived a half hour from campus, he thought a minute and said, "My room mate has class at that time. We can use my room for the first meeting, at least."
"You're not afraid I'll grab your ass or something?"
This time he really grinned. "You're not that much bigger than me, Cronin. You touch me and I'll deck you."
I chuckled. I thought maybe Foster, Jeff was a guy I could get to like.
That afternoon my English prof asked me to stop by the desk after class. I wondered what that would be about all through the period, though not so much I didn't get into the discussion of "To His Coy Mistress." Cool poem! All about a guy trying to persuade his chick to put out. And what a line he had!
When the prof dismissed us, I had to wait while he answered questions for a couple of other students.
"Mike, thanks for waiting. How are you?"
"I'm great, professor. How about you?"
"I'm well too, thanks. Look, I would like to talk with you. I thought about asking you to stay after class on Friday, but I'll bet this is your last class, and asking you to hang around to see me on a Friday afternoon would be cruel and unusual punishment."
"Well, I could do it. I'd just have to tell the guy I share rides with that I'd be a little late."
"Would you rather do it now?"
"No, sir. He's supposed to meet me at the car as soon as we both can get there."
"Well, could we meet sometime in the morning?"
"How about tomorrow afternoon? I have a light schedule on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I could come in any time after lunch."
"Sure, I could do that. How about 1:30?"
"Okay, but I don't know where your office is."
He gave me the name of the building and the number. "Uh, professor, am I in trouble?"
"Oh, now way, Mike. Far from it. I just wanted to talk with you, maybe do a little proselytizing."
"I'm sorry. I don't know that word. Sounds grim."
He grinned. "Not really. I wanted to talk with you a little about your goals, about your majoring in English."
"Oh, that would be great. I'll look forward to it. See you tomorrow about 1:30 then."
He gathered up his class roll, the text, and a couple of note cards. "Yeah, Mike. See you tomorrow. Thanks."
He stood back to let me leave the classroom first, and we went in opposite directions when we got into the hallway.
Friday afternoon I was waiting as usual for the school bus. Three eighth grade girls I had seen around but didn't know came up to me. It's really embarrassing for guys my age, but most of the girls are bigger than we are. We want to be so mature and cool, but it's hard to do when they're a lot taller.
Since I was in seventh grade and these girls were in eighth, they were all a whole lot taller than me. I didn't even know their names. They were just chicks I'd seen around, you know? They came up to me and sort of backed me up against a wall of the building.
First of all, they began to make over me, like they thought I was cute. In fact, that's what they kept saying, "Look, Deb, isn't he cute? Dontcha just love his red hair?" They surrounded me on three sides and at first they talked about me like I wasn't even there.
"Look, Mel, he's blushing."
Yeah, I was blushing. The last time a girl touched me it was to hit me. And these chicks were making over me. The one who didn't have a name yet ruffled my hair. "What's your name, little stud?"
I stammered out that my name was Gus. And, of course, I wanted to just shrivel up and die.
The third girl, whose name turned out to be Cindi, said to the others, "Wouldn't ya just like to take him home?"
She reached inside my open windbreaker and began to rub my right tit. Nobody had ever done that before. I think I knew that women's tits were supposed to be sensitive, but I didn't have any idea that mine were. But right away I gasped. It was like there was some sort of direct connection between that tit and my dick.
"Uh, I think it's almost time for my bus. Maybe I'd better . . . "
"Oh, we won't keep ya from catching your bus. It's number 4, isn't it? We ride that bus, too, ya know."
I gulped. Cindi moved to the other tit. My nips were hard as rocks and my cock was standing straight out, making a bulge in my khaki pants.
"Oh, look," Deb said, "he's got a boner." She reached down and began to squeeze it. "Well, Gus, for a little man, you've got a nice sized dick." She began to rub it, and I began to sweat, even though it was getting chilly.
I thought about trying to break through the half circle they made around me and making a run for it. But there was nowhere to go. I had to wait for the bus. And I didn't want to make the other kids waiting around look at me.
"Uh, look, girls, you can't, uh . . . "
"What's the matter," Deb said, "you gay or something, Gus? You don't like women?"
"Nooo," I said, as she kept on rubbing my dick. "That is, no I'm not gay. Of course I like women."
"Well, then, what's the problem? We think you're a cute little stud."
I didn't know whether to be flattered or whether I was being had. But my cock kept getting harder and harder.
I should explain that I had heard the guys talking about sex and fucking and jacking off and all that. And I had paid very careful attention to the sex lectures in school. I had been rubbing and stroking my tool for almost a year, and I could have what the other guys called a dry orgasm. Sometimes after pumping my willy for a while I'd have this great feeling and kind of shiver all over for a minute. Then I had to let go `cause it was too sensitive. And I wanted to just lie there and pant. It was great, but somehow I knew there was something missing. They guys all said that eventually when you did that you'd come. That meant you'd squirt jizz. I even knew that it was sort of white and creamy, or that's what the guys said. But I hadn't done that yet.
The girl called Mel (I found out her name was Melanie) said, "Gussie (I really hate that!), you CAN come, can't you?"
What was I gonna say? Admit that I was still a baby and couldn't come? "Uh, sure I can, but I, uh, don't think this is the place."
"Relax, Gus, babe," Mel said. "A cute little stud like you should be able to produce lots of cum."
Meanwhile, Cindi kept on rubbing my dick. I hadn't ever felt anything like that before. It never felt that good when I rubbed it. Cindi had sort of pushed it up against my belly and was running her hand up and down the under side of it. When she got almost to the tip, she hit a spot that almost made me scream every time she touched it. And then I felt something different. I thought I was gonna piss my pants.
"Oh, God, Cindi, you've gotta stop. You're gonna make me pee!"
They thought that was hilarious, and they all laughed so loud other kids were looking over at us.
"Trust us," Deb added, "that's not what's gonna happen."
"I thought you said you could come," Melanie said.
By that time it felt so good I didn't care if I pissed all over the place. I just leaned back against the building and let Cindi do what she was doing. It didn't take much after that. I really did feel like I was going to wet myself, only somehow it felt different from that.
Suddenly, my hard cock got harder than it ever had before. I got a funny feeling in my balls, and I could hardly breathe there for a minute.
"Holy shit," I said, much too loud. And that's when my dick pumped a couple of spurts of something into my underpants. Everyone around turned and looked our way, but I didn't care. I was still having trouble breathing. I was even having trouble standing up. My knees almost buckled.
All three of them knew more about what had happened than I did. "Ohmygod, he just came," Cindi said, taking her hand away quickly and looking at it. I didn't know why she looked at it. Didn't figure that out till later. The other two giggled.
"Hey, little stud," Mel said, "we've just taken your cherry, sort of. Congratulations, baby. We've just made a man of you. You've had your first cum!"
About then our bus pulled in and they went to get in line.
The stuff in my pants was wet and sticky. I picked up my backpack, threw it over my shoulder, and went to get on the bus. I was the last one on.
My friend Simon was sitting in our usual seat at the back of the bus. I flopped into the seat next to him. We dapped. Then he said, "What's that I smell?"
"I don't know what you're talkin' about, dude."
"Come on, Gus. You gotta smell it. It's, its's, . . it's CUM!"
He said it so loud some of the kids in front of us turned around, looked at us, and laughed.
"It's YOU," Simon said. "You've come in your pants. What are you, dude, a faggot?"
I tried to convince him I didn't know what he was talking about, but he pointed to the wet spot in my pants. "Yeah, right. You're weird, Cross. I thought you were an okay dude, but you must be some kind of pervert."
Then he got up and moved to another seat.
The next afternoon I found the building where a lot of the junior English faculty had their offices and found my prof's office on the second floor about halfway down the hall. The door was open. I looked in and there he was. His desk faced the door, and there were a couple of chairs with their backs to the door. There were some bookcases along one wall, partly empty. Several mover's cartons were stacked in one corner.
"Hey, Mike, come in. As you can see, I am still not completely settled in. Come have a seat."
He came around the desk and took one of the chairs, gesturing me into the other. I thought it was cool that he didn't keep the desk between us. That would have reinforced the fact that he was the prof and I was the student. By sitting opposite me with nothing between us, it was more like we were a couple of friends talking.
He had taken off his jacket. It was hanging on one of those coat tree things in the corner. He was wearing a blue oxford button-down shirt. His tie was pulled down, and the collar button was unbuttoned. He'd rolled up the sleeves of his shirt a couple of turns, and I noticed the black hair on his arms. Not a lot. Just nice. He had on levi's as usual, and loafers that I was sure were Italian and very expensive. His brown eyes were were . . . what? I'd call them kind. And his package was . . . well, it was very prominently there, if you know what I mean. Despite my best intentions, my own jeans began to get a little crowded, so I reminded myself this was my prof and I was there to talk about academic stuff.
He asked me some questions. Said he could tell from the class list that I was a sophomore. He remembered I'd said in class one day I was a transfer, and he asked where from. I told him IU. Then he asked why I had transferred. I didn't think I wanted to tell him that whole story, so I just said I had moved to Ghent and it seemed reasonable to transfer here.
Did I like it? Yes, so far.
"Well, Mike, the reason I asked you to come in is, as I said, that I've been impressed with you. Your class discussion is a real pleasure, and I enjoyed your first paper." He handed it to me, and there were lots of comments in the margins in green ink. I couldn't see a grade and didn't want to look at the end. That would have been pretty obvious.
"You have a good analytical mind, you are articulate, and you have a certain sensitivity that I don't often find. In short, I think you'd make an excellent English major. But I'd be remiss if I didn't ask you whether you have career or life goals. There are a number of directions you could choose after graduating, but there are also many majors which lead more directly to gainful and remunerative employment."
"Yes, sir. I understand that."
"So how do your parents feel about an English major? I assume you have talked with them about it?"
"No, I haven't. Let's just say the parents aren't in the picture."
"Oh, so this is solely your decision?"
"Well, there is someone else, someone whose opinion means a lot to me, but I don't think that will be a problem."
"I see." He paused. "Mike, it's absolutely none of my business, so tell me to fuck off if I'm out of line."
I was startled to hear a prof use that word. "Okay."
"You're gay, and I'm wondering if the person whose opinion you respect is your partner."
"Uh, professor, how did you know I'm gay? Am I that obvious?"
He laughed. "No, Mike, you aren't obvious at all. Have you ever heard of gaydar?"
"Uh, yeah, but that must mean . . . "
He grinned. "Yep. Me, too."
I was trying to figure out how to respond to that when he continued. "I must say I enjoyed that display you were putting on there for a while with those big boners you were showing me."
"Well, professor, you put on quite a display, too, if you don't mind me saying so."
"Me? What kind of display?"
I never thought I'd be saying anything like this to a prof, but I went on. After all, he'd started the conversation. "You stand there every day resting your butt [I almost said bubble butt] on the edge of the desk, pushing your package forward so all the girls and I can be distracted by it."
"No shit! I never realized that's what I was doing."
"I'm not complaining, Dr. M."
"Thanks, Mike, I think. I'll try to pay more attention to my body language in class from now on. I have to tell you, it was pretty hard for me to keep my mind on the class discussion when you were there in the front row with a major woodie day after day."
"I'm sorry, professor. I don't think that will happen again."
He grinned. "Mike, I hope you don't think I'm making a move on you. I was just concerned and wanted to make sure you were okay. But tell me, what did cause all those boners?"
"Your partner. He isn't abusing you, is he?"
"Oh, no, far from it. Let's just say he asked me to wear some reminders of him there for a while, and those reminders kept me on the bone just about all day."
He laughed. "Sounds kinky, but whatever floats your boat, right? But you're sure he's not abusing you?"
"I never thought I'd be having this talk with a prof, but, no he's not. Some days I wish he would. Just a little."
"Well, now you're telling me more than I need to hear, Mike. Sounds like you really love your man."
"Oh, I sure do."
"Well, I'm guessing you're a pretty lucky guy. And so's your partner. Now, before it comes time to register for next semester, and that won't be long, you need to ask to be assigned an advisor in this department. Have you done that yet?"
"No, I'd hoped you'd be my advisor."
"And I was hoping you'd say that. Stop by Dr. Fairchild's office and tell them. They'll give you a very brief form to fill out. Then we can talk some more about your career plans and about your schedule for spring term."
"Cool. Thanks, professor."
"Mike, I'm guessing you're about twenty, right?"
"Yes, sir. Just turned twenty."
"Well, I'm not all that much older than you. Think outside of class you could call me Rick?"
"If you want me to, I'll try. I never thought a prof would ask me to do that, even outside class, but I'll try to remember."
He stood up and offered his hand. As we shook, he said, "Thanks for coming in, Mike. I'm looking forward to working with you."
"Same here, uh, Rick. Thanks. See you tomorrow in class." As soon as I was out of sight, I looked at the grade on my paper Yesss! It was an A minus!
As I drove home, I thought about our interview. The prof was one hot dude. If I hadn't loved Gage, I'd have had a serious case on this guy, even if he was short. But, sexy as he was, he was also the best professor I'd had so far in college. I always looked forward to his class. Who'd have thought that about a course in 17th-century British poetry?
Okay, so here's this guy. So hot he sizzles, great teacher. And he thinks I'd make a good English major and wants me to call him by his first name outside class. Intellectually, I'd wonder if he was, despite what he said, coming on to me. But somehow I just knew that wasn't so. I had a very comfortable sense that this was just a great guy, a great prof, who also happened to be gay. Period. That understanding tended to make me feel there might eventually be some relief from all the shit gays were taking everywhere.
I drove a while longer. Just before I pulled into Gage's driveway, something occurred to me. There was a senator from Illinois with the same last name. I wondered if Rick could be related to him.
Friday evening when I got home, the house smelled wonderful. When I got to the kitchen, there was Mike, wearing a white tee and 501's, white socks, and no shoes.
"Mmm! You look good enough to eat, but you aren't what I'm smelling. You've started dinner! What's on the menu?"
He came over and grabbed me, pinning my arms to my sides, and gave me a hot, wet kiss. By the time we finished, I didn't care so much about what was for supper.
He grinned at me. "I'm making spaghetti. I watched my mom make it often enough, so I think I can't go too far wrong. You have time for a drink, though, while the sauce simmers. And you know it doesn't take long to cook the pasta."
"Let me go get out of these clothes. Would you pour me some red, babe?"
"Yeah. I took that merlot out of the fridge about a half an hour ago. It should have gotten to room temperature by now. Do you want nibblers with it?"
"Nah, that's okay, thanks," I said. "I'll just nibble on you."
"Promises, promises," he said, chuckling.
Just then the phone rang, and I picked up. It was Gus calling. "Hey, Uncle Gage! How are you?"
"I'm great, Gus. How are you, dude?"
"Well, I'm okay I guess. Could I speak to Mike, please?"
"Sure. Hold on just a minute. Mike, it's Gus. He wants to talk to you."
I handed Mike the phone and went upstairs to change clothes. Something must have been bothering Gus he had said he "guessed" he was "okay." Normally he was more exuberant than that, at least when he talked to me. I changed into jeans and a collared tee and went back downstairs, where I found two glasses of merlot on the counter. Mike was just hanging up the phone.
"Okay, lil bro. I'll pick you up about noon. Yeah, you, too. Bye."
I handed him a glass of wine and kept one for myself. "What's up with Gus?"
He took a sip of the wine. "I'm not sure, actually. He just said he needed to talk to me about something that happened at school. Said he couldn't talk about it with his parents. Didn't even want to talk about it at his house. So I suggested I'd take him somewhere for a burger. That's okay, isn't it? I mean you and I can get our workout in and then go shopping and still leave me time to take Gus to lunch, right?"
"Sure, babe." I set my wine back on the counter and put my arms around him. "Mike, I'm so proud of you."
He grinned? "Yeah?"
"You bet! The more I live with you more I learn to love about the guy who lives in that sexy bod."
"Aww," he laughed. "You're just saying that so you can get into my pants."
It was my turn to laugh. "Yeah, stud, I'd say almost anything to get into those pants." I shoved my hand down the back of his jeans and ran the middle finger up and down his crack.
"You keep doing that, and I won't have any pants on. Shall I put the pasta in the water, or do you want to mess around?"
"Let's eat first, then mess around."
He put spinach pasta in the boiling water while I got the salads out of the fridge, poured water, and grated some parmesan. While the pasta was cooking, he sliced a loaf of ciabatta bread.
As we ate, I asked him how things had gone at school. He had told me Monday evening about the "confrontation" with Kim, which turned out to be a false alarm. He said from the way Kim and Terry were looking at each other at lunch, he thought they might like each other.
Then he told me about his sociology assignment and being paired up with an ROTC cadet. He described Jeff and Jeff's initial discomfort over the topic. I chuckled when he told me what they'd said to each other.
"Well, babe, it seems as if Jeff isn't as closed-minded as a lot of guys. Maybe he really will learn something by getting to work with you."
"Hey, Gage, I've just had an idea."
"What's that, babe?"
"Maybe some day after Jeff is more comfortable with me, I could bring him home for dinner. I'd like him to meet you. And I think it might really open his eyes to see that we don't have lavender carpet and swish around here with limp wrists."
I had to laugh at that. "Thwell," I said, with my best lisp. "When ever you want to, thweetie, bring him home for thupper."
He threw a piece of bread at me.
As we had our coffee, I said, "Mike, I've been thinking about what you told me yesterday about your visit with your English professor."
"Are you sure he wasn't coming on to you?"
"Yep. I think he's just a really nice guy. I had the impression that he was being totally straight, woops, wrong word. That he was being honest with me. He likes my work in his class, he wants to help me plan my program as an English major, and we just happen to share being gay." Then he chuckled.
"I can't believe I told him he was getting all the girls in the class plus me hot because of the way he leaned back against the desk and shoved his basket out."
"You said that?"
"How did he react?"
"Oh, he just said he hadn't realized he was doing anything suggestive and that he'd pay more attention in class to his body language."
"And he's really cute, huh?"
"How old is he?"
"Oh, he's a real old dude. Must be twenty seven or so."
"Watch it, smartass! You're lucky there's no bread on the table, or you'd get it."
"Aw, come on, Gage. You wanna get back at me? Maybe you'd better get out the chains and whip."
"Don't go there!"
"Just yanking your chain, man."
"Oh, you are just asking for it. Wait till I get you upstairs."
He stood up and began clearing away the coffee cups. "Well, it is Friday night, and I sure as hell am not going to study tonight. Are you going to insist on reviewing the world markets or whatever that stuff is you look up online every night? It will all be in tomorrow's Plain Dealer, won't it?"
"Yeah, it will. And I can give the computer research a pass tonight. So, what did you have in mind?"
"Soon's I get the dishwasher loaded, you'll see."
I helped him, so it didn't take long before the kitchen was cleaned up and the dishwasher was quietly doing its thing. Wonderful invention, dishwashers. I hate washing dishes.
When we got upstairs, I told Gage I wanted to take a nice, hot shower. He thought that sounded good, so we both undressed quickly.
The shower in the master suite is a large, marble-lined cubicle with one wall of glass in which there is a door. There are shower heads on three sides, one set just above head height and the other at waist height. You really get a blast when they're all aimed at you. It can be very relaxing. Needless to say, we got in together.
At first, we just stood there with our arms around each other, enjoying the warm spray. Gage had a whole-house music system, and some kind of classical music was playing. I rested my head on his shoulder and let my hands slide up and down his back, dropping down once in a while to rub his hard, round butt. When I'd drag my finger up his crease he'd moan.
Pretty soon he got the idea and began sliding his big hands up and down my body. Our hard cocks were trapped between our wet bodies, and soon we were humping each other's bellies. The feeling when my cock touched his sent jolts through me. Without any letup in our humping, we kissed. The music, the water cascading off our bodies, the lust we felt for each other, and the love we shared – I mean, it was just one of those moments. We didn't plan it, exactly. It more or less just happened.
And then my whole body went rigid. The music on the speakers had changed.
"Mike, baby, what is it?" Gage asked, obviously alarmed. "What's wrong, baby?"
"Gage, that's Ravel's `Bolero.' I can't listen to that, man! How can we turn it off?"
"What's wrong with `Bolero," Mikey? I think it's sexy."
"No, please, just shut it off."
He stepped out of the shower and walked across the marble floor of the bathroom to a switch next to the door. Suddenly the only sounds were the water in the shower and my heart pounding. Gage grabbed a big towel and came back to me. He shut off the water, took my hand, and pulled me gently out of the shower, where he wrapped the towel around my shoulders and then hugged me tight.
"Just hold me a little while longer and I will be."
Still holding me, he asked, "What just happened there, babe?"
I shuddered. "I don't ever want to hear that piece again, Gage. That's what Jason and I had to dance to the night Seth made me, uh, do that to Dad."
He kissed me gently on the cheek and then gave me a squeeze with his strong arms. "It's okay, Mike. `Bolero' is henceforth officially banned from the play list at casa Patrick. I can't control what's played on the FM, but I'll do my best. Now, come, let's get dried off."
He carefully, gently dried me off. I felt like such a baby, but that music had really triggered something I thought I had gotten control of. I had terrible dreams on the beach at Key West, dreams where I had relived that dance with Jason and what followed. They always ended with me sucking off this cock and then looking up afterward to see my dad's shocked face looking down at me. I always woke up shaking.
The music had caused the same kind of reaction. Standing there in the shower with Gage, hanging on to him with my eyes closed, I was in a kind of sweet reverie. But as soon as the music changed, I had this image of my dad's face at the moment he realized it was his son who had just given him a blow job. And I had the same reaction I got after the nightmares. I couldn't get my breath for a minute, and I started shaking. I don't know what would have happened if Gage hadn't shut off the speaker.
It was too early to go to bed, so Gage and I pulled on some sweats and went back downstairs. He fixed cocoa, and, strangely, I found it soothing. We sat at the kitchen table and sipped from our mugs. He asked if I wanted to talk about it, but I told him I didn't. I apologized for being so silly.
"Mike, sweetheart, you weren't being silly. You went through a traumatic experience. You've got to promise me something."
"Sure, Gage, anything."
"If those dreams start coming back, you've got to tell me, okay?"
I grinned. "Why, so you can lay in a supply of cocoa?"
"No, babe. So we can get you some help."
We talked about other things for a while, watched a bit of Friday Night Standup, and then we went back upstairs, pulled off the sweats, brushed our teeth, and got in bed.
"Tonight instead of making love, would you just hold me?"
"You got it, lover."
To be continued