This is a fictional story dealing with love and consensual sexual activities between males.  If you are not of legal age, reside in an area where viewing such material is illegal, or are offended by homosexuality and/or homosexual themes, leave this site now.

The author retains all rights to this story.  No reproductions or links to other sites are allowed without the permission of the author.

Note: Thanks to Tim and Rock for feedback on the draft chapters.  I owe a special thanks to Robb for doing the final proofreading and catching all those silly little errors I missed.

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by Jeff Allen


During the next week Michael and his brother were always at the construction site when I went by.  They were obviously busy, but Michael almost always noticed me, and when he did he waved and smiled.  Marshall just nodded. 

My class was going well.  When I'd taught the course previously it was mostly me lecturing to the students.  This class was very interactive with lots of questions that invited discussion.  Isaac South, Josh Locklear, and Brandon and Bart Harris took the lead with the questions and discussion. 

On the walk to campus Isaac and Bart met up with me most days.  A couple of times Brandon and Josh joined us.  I'd always tried to keep some professional distance between my students and me, but I found myself looking forward to their companionship on our short walks to school as much as I looked forward to their questions in class.

I gave another exam on Friday.  Once again my four walking-to-school companions were the last to leave, and they appeared confident about their performance on the exam when they left.  I was actually looking forward to reading their exams. 

I was also looking forward to jogging by the construction site.  We were in full summer, and both Michael and Marshall had been working at midday without their shirts.  Marshall was not bad, but Michael, my Construction Hunk, was spectacular as always.

I walked over to the locker room in the gym, changed into my running clothes, stretched out, and started my jog.  Either I was late or the crew had broken for lunch a little earlier than normal that day.  They were just finishing when I jogged by.  Michael smiled and waved.  I waved back.

On my second circuit around town Marshall was using a forklift to remove some sewer pipes from the back of a truck and stack them in the parking lot.  Michael and one of the workmen were bent over something on the ground.  Michael's cargo shorts had ridden about halfway down his ass.  The elastic band and first couple of inches of a pair of powder blue briefs were visible above the waist of the cargo shorts.  The back of his shorts and briefs were soaked in sweat.  The wet briefs were sticking into the crack of his ass. 

I paid a lot of attention to his ass. 

I should have been paying attention to the sewer pipes.

I heard a noise like the ringing of several bells all at once.  The noise was followed by a shout from one of the workmen.  I tore my eyes away from the luscious sight of Michael's shapely, sweaty ass.  One of the sewer pipes had rolled off the stack and was rolling toward me.

I jumped back and to the side.  Not an easy thing to do when you're jogging.  The pipe rolled right past where my foot would have been.

I missed the pipe, but I also missed the curb.  My foot landed wrong on the street, I felt my ankle give way, and I went down.

One of the workmen came to my aid and tried to help me up, but it wasn't going to happen.  I knew I'd done something bad to my ankle.

The Crane Brothers were at my side, both of them kneeling down next to me, the sweat running down their brows and glistening on their bare chests.  Look at that!  Michael's nipples are still erect.  They must be that way all the time.  Funny, Marshall's aren't like that.

"Luke, Luke, are you okay?"

"No!  I think I did something to my ankle."

"Let me check."

Michael ran his hands over my lower leg and ankle.

"I don't feel anything broken.  Can you move your foot?"

I moved it.

"It hurts!"

He kept his hand on my ankle as I moved it.  "The joint feels okay.  Nothing seems out of place.  I think you have a bad sprain.  I'm going to take you home and get this ankle wrapped and some ice on it.  I was a medic remember.  I know what I'm doing."


Marshall spoke, "Take the Explorer.  It'll be easier to get him in and out of that than it will be if you take the 250.  Take care of him.  If you're not back when we leave, I'll take the men back to the motel in the 250 and then go on home.  Call me on the cell phone."

He turned to me, "Professor Madison, I can't tell you how sorry I am.  We thought we had those pipes secured.  If there are any medical bills because of this, Crane Construction will pay them."

"Thanks.  I know it was an accident.  I'm sure I'll feel better once I get home and get some ice on my ankle."

Michael scooped me up in his arms as if I was a rag doll and carried me over to the SUV.  I felt the heat from his bare chest as he carried me.  I could smell his sweat and his own personal musky scent.  One of the workmen opened the passenger door, and Michael gently deposited me on the seat. 

I wouldn't have minded it if he'd carried me all the way home.

Michael grabbed his shirt from the other truck and climbed into the driver's seat.  "Don't worry.  I'm going to take care of you."

After the short ride to my driveway he carried me from the SUV to the house.  My keys were back at the gym in my locker along with my clothes so I directed him to the back door and explained where to find the hidden key.  He retrieved it and opened the door without setting me down.  Inside he took me directly to one of the easy chairs in the Florida room.  Once again I was disappointed when his body heat and personal scent moved away from me.

I heard him go out the front door.  He came back again with a medium sized duffle bag.

"It's a big first aid kit," he explained after seeing my questioning look.  "All our vehicles have these.  You need more than just a little first aid box on a construction job."

In short order he had my ankle wrapped in an Ace bandage, propped up on the ottoman, and surrounded by plastic bags filled with ice from the freezer.  He disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a glass and the opened bottle of white wine that had been in the refrigerator.

He poured a glass of wine and handed it to me along with four ibuprofen tablets.

"Take the pills and drink the wine.  I'm going to go to the drug store to pick up a pair of crutches.  I think you're going to need them for the next few days."  He set the wine bottle down on the floor within my easy reach.  "I want that wine gone when I get back."

"Yes, Sir."

Before he got up to leave, he spent a few moments stroking Tom who had emerged from wherever he normally spent his afternoons to rub himself along Michael's bare leg.

Michael left, and I glared at the cat.  Tom flipped his tail at me and stalked out of the room.  Obviously I was not the preferred human companion.

Michael returned about an hour and a half later.  "Honey, I'm home."

I had to chuckle in spite of my sore ankle.

"Sorry it took so long.  I had to stop by the construction site and talk with my brother.  I picked up some crutches and more ibuprofen and Ace bandages at the drug store.  I also went to the supermarket and got something to cook for dinner, and retrieved my things from the motel.  I'm staying over here tonight."

"That was presumptuous."

He smiled, "Yup, it was.  However, you are not going to be able to move around very much on your own tonight.  And I'm a darn good cook, but I don't get the chance to cook for anyone very often.  I'll sleep out here on the sofa."

"I'm sorry, that was rude of me.  You didn't need to go to all that trouble."

"Nonsense.  I wasn't going to be doing anything tonight except my laundry."

I smiled.  "You can still do that.  Use my washer and dryer."

"Thanks, Luke.  I hate laundromats.  How's the ankle?"

"It's still pretty sore, but I really need to take a shower and then I need to get over to the university to get my clothes out my gym locker and pick up the exams that I have to grade this weekend."

"Okay, let's handle the shower part first.  That one's easy.  You can't take a shower.  It's out of the question.  You won't be able to put any weight on that ankle, and you're likely to fall in the shower.  You can take a bath.  After you've done that, I'll take you over to the gym and your office to pick up your clothes and the tests.  It will give you some practice on the crutches and convince you that it's a good idea for me to stay here tonight."

He helped me down the hallway to my room.  He was right; I still couldn't put any weight on the ankle.  I told him where to find clean underwear and other clothes.  Next he helped me hobble into the bathroom and sit down on the edge of the tub.  He unwrapped the Ace bandage from around my ankle.

"I think you can get your clothes off without having to stand up.  When you're finished with the bath, you can plunk your butt down on the edge of the tub again, dry off, and pull on your clean clothes.  I'll check on you in about twenty minutes.  Just leave your running gear on the floor, and I'll throw it in the washer when I do my clothes."

He closed the door behind him.  I managed to strip off my dirty running gear, slide into the tub, and run the water.  I'm a shower person so I hadn't taken a tub bath in years.  I had to admit that it was relaxing.

I'd just finished pulling on clean clothes when Michael knocked on the door.  He waited until I responded before coming in, then he wrapped my ankle again, put a sandal on my good foot, and helped me out into the bedroom where he adjusted the crutches to the correct height.

Together we made our way to his Explorer.  He drove to campus then helped me get into the gym to retrieve my clothes and keys from my locker.  After that, it was back in the SUV.  He parked the vehicle at the back door to Platt Hall, and we used the elevator up to my office on the second floor.  I opened the door.

"The exams are in my briefcase.  Can you carry it for me?  I'm not used to these crutches yet."

When I didn't hear an answer, I turned back at him.  He was standing in the doorway looking at the nameplate on my office door.

"Your first name is really Lucas?  Are you the Lucas P. Madison who wrote that biography of George C. Marshall?"


"Holy Cow!  I loved that book!"

"You did?"

"Sure, I really like the World War II and 1950's eras.  So many things changed in American life during those years.  I've always been fascinated by Roosevelt, Truman, Eisenhower, and Marshall.  I really enjoyed your book.  Wow, I can't believe that you're Lucas P. Madison!  I mean, I figured he was some old gray haired guy someplace.  I just never made the jump from `Luke Madison' to the Lucas P. Madison."

I've always had trouble with praise.  Perhaps it's because I never received any from my parents.  I was always expected to do my best in everything I did, but my parents never said anything positive to acknowledge my accomplishments.  However, the one time in ninth grade when I came home with an A minus instead of an A in algebra they told me that they were disappointed in me and that I had to do better the next marking period.

"Well, I'm not gray haired yet.  Can we get back to my house, my ankle is really starting to hurt." 

Back at the house, Michael got me settled in the Florida room with my briefcase, the exams, more ibuprofen, and more wine.  I told him to put his stuff in the guest bedroom and the hall bathroom.  He went away, and I soon heard the shower running in the bathroom.

I focused on the exams.  As I had suspected and hoped, the exams from Isaac, Josh, and the Harris Brothers were excellent.  Many of the others were pretty deficient.  Gradually I became aware of a wonderful smell coming from the kitchen, and I realized that Michael had been moving around in there doing laundry and making domestic sounds for some time.

"It smells wonderful."

"Good.  I hope you'll like it.  It's just a simple chicken and rice casserole with a little something extra added in.  It should be ready in another couple of minutes.  Do you normally eat at the kitchen table or in the dining room?"

"In the kitchen."

"Got it.  I'll come get you when it's ready.  How are the exams?"

"Mixed.  I've got four really good students in the class, and I've also got a few who aren't paying much attention."

Soon he announced that the food was ready.  He helped me hobble into the kitchen.  The kitchen counters were absolutely clean.  There wasn't a pan or dirty dish in sight.  The table was set, the casserole steaming in the center, salads on the side, and a fresh bottle of Chardonnay.

"You've already cleaned up the kitchen."

"Yup.  Afraid I'm a little anal retentive in that department.  I can't stand a messy kitchen, so I sort of wash up as I cook.  Means there isn't as much of a problem cleaning up after the meal."

"I'm the same way.  Not that I do very much heavy cooking.  I mostly eat something simple like a salad with a chicken breast or some tuna or salmon."

"I don't cook this way when it's just me.  I hate cooking for just one person."

After we sat down he stretched his hands across the table toward me.  I realized that he meant to say grace.

I clasped his outstretched hands.

"Father, thank you for this day and this meal prepared from Your bounty.  We give thanks for all your blessings and for new friends.  We praise you in Christ's name.  Amen."

"What church do you go to?"

"We belong to the United Church of Christ.  We used to be Southern Baptists, but then I...ah...some things happened in the church, and we left."

"That must have been difficult."

"It was.  Can I fix your plate?  You said you had some really good students in your class.  Are they the history majors?"

"No.  None of the four guys are history majors.  I've got a couple of those in the class, but these four guys are dancing circles around the majors.  I'm really impressed.  They're two brothers and their boy...uh...roommates.  This is delicious!"

"Thanks.  It's actually pretty easy to make.  I just wouldn't go to the trouble to make it for just me.  Thanks for letting me stay here and cook for you."

"As I recall you didn't give me much choice."

"Nope.  I didn't."

"Well, thanks.  You were right.  I don't think I would have been able to get back to campus on my own."

"You said that the top students in your class are two brothers and their...uh...roommates.  Are those the same guys that sometimes walk with you to campus in the morning?"

"Yes.  Brandon and Bart Harris are the brothers.  Brandon's the one with the goatee.  He's a waiter at Cantana's, which is one of the best Italian restaurants in the area.  I'll take you over there sometime to say thanks for taking care of me.  Josh Locklear is the other dark-headed guy.  He's Brandon's roommate.  Isaac South, the smaller and light-haired guy, is Bart's roommate.  They all live just about a block down the street toward campus."

"I've noticed them walking back in the late morning.  It must be when your class is over.  They seem to be real good friends."

He put just enough emphasis on the word `friends' that I knew he meant `gay.'

"Yes, I think they are good friends.  Does that bother you?"

He replied, "No, not at all.  I didn't mean to imply that it did.  In fact, I think it's great to see guys who are so obviously comfortable with who they are that they don't worry about appearances.  Maybe it also helps that three of them are pretty darn tall and well-built guys.  They're pretty imposing physically.  It's too bad that some other guys aren't as lucky to be as strong or as self-assured."

He was silent for a moment, and then he said, "Does it bother you that those guys are boyfriends?"

"No.  The sexuality of my students is no concern of mine, and I think adults ought to have the right to love whom they love, as long as it's another adult."

"Most of us aren't into children..."  He stopped and laughed nervously.  "Well, I guess I should have stopped drinking wine about one glass ago.  Okay, I'm gay, but don't worry, I won't put the moves on you."

I knew my mouth was open with the fork frozen in place halfway from the plate.  He's gay!  The Construction Hunk is gay!  This is your chance.  Say something.  No!  Don't say anything.  You've survived in the History Department by never allowing anything to happen here in town.  This is not safe, and you've always played it safe.

The conversation in my mind lasted only a moment or two.  What came out of my mouth in reply was, "You say you won't put the moves on me, but what would happen if I put the moves on you?"

It was his turn to have the surprised look.

"You're gay?"

I nodded.

"My brother told me he thought you were gay, and I hoped you were, but then today I just wasn't sure especially after I found out who you really were.  That made me nervous.  What would a famous author and scholar like you see in an ordinary Joe like me?  I've never even been to college?"

"What I've seen today is a very kind, gentle, caring, intelligent, and handsome man.  What difference does it make about college?"

"Well, you've had so much more education than I have.  You're so much smarter."

"Do you think I'm smart because I have a bunch of initials after my name?  Because I've written a couple of books?  Because I'm a teacher?  There's no way I could do what you do, fella.  I don't have the foggiest idea about what it takes to run a business."

"It's mostly common sense."

"Michael, I think one of the most uncommon of qualities in people is common sense."

That drew a smile from him.

I continued, "I have to confess to you that since you've been working on Elm Street one of the highlights of my day has been walking or running past the job site and looking at you."

I didn't think it would have been possible under his tan, but he blushed brightly.

"Uh...I've been sort of looking for you each day.  I've got a confession to make.  Last weekend when I stopped by, I was actually driving up and down the street seeing if I could find out where you lived."

It was my turn to blush.  "I'm flattered."

"Tell me a little about yourself.  During our lunch last weekend you avoided answering any personal questions.  Where did you grow up?  Go to school?  What about your family?"

Normally I would have deflected the question.  I didn't like talking about my family, but there was something about Michael that made me want to answer.  "I grew up in Fairfax, Virginia, just outside of Washington.  I went to Yale and did my graduate work at Columbia.  My mother and father were both lawyers.  Father was in his early fifties when I was born, and Mother was in her forties.  They're both deceased now.  I have a half brother and a half sister from my father's first marriage, but we don't keep in contact with one another.  I think the last time I heard from either one of them was probably five or six years ago."

"That must be sad to lose touch with close family like that."

"We were never close.  I don't think my half siblings ever forgave Mother for the breakup of Father's first marriage.  I remember when I was younger that he would go to visit them sometimes, but my mother and I never went along.  The last time I saw them was at Father's funeral.  Neither one of them came to Mother's funeral."

We'd finished our meals.  He got up and began cleaning up the dishes and putting away the leftovers.

When the kitchen was again absolutely spotless he turned to me and asked, "Are you going to grade more tests?"

"No.  Not tonight.  I've had too much wine to be accurate in grading.  I'll finish tomorrow."

"Good.  Let's go into the Florida room."

He picked me up as if I weighed nothing, carried me into the Florida room and deposited me in the middle of the sofa.  He put some CD's in the player.  The opening strains of Rachmaninov's Second Piano Concerto floated softly in the room.  He sat down on the sofa and pulled me toward him.  I leaned my shoulder into his side and put my head on his muscular chest.  His arm wrapped around me. 

Tom appeared from one of his hiding places and jumped up to settle himself on Michael's lap.  I heard a low rumbling noise and finally realized that the blasted cat was purring.  I'd never heard him do that before!

We sat semi reclined on the sofa through all of the Rachmaninov and well into the next CD which was the Fauré Requiem, one of my favorite selections.  I was totally at ease.  I could smell Michael's faint musk and feel his heart beating in his magnificent chest.  He gently stroked my arm with his hand.  By that time I think I felt like I was purring as loudly as the cat.

With the final strains of the Fauré fading away in the night air, he shooed the cat off his lap, stood, and pulled me to my feet.

"Time for bed."

He picked me up like a rag doll and carried me down the hallway to my bedroom.  After depositing me on the bed he stretched his long body out beside mine.  The first kiss was gentle.  The second still gentle but with increased passion.  By the third, I was so hard I thought I might cum in my pants.

His hand moved under my shirt and up my side and around to my chest.  As we kissed again, he played with the hair surrounding my nipple.  I tugged upwards on the edge of his shirt.  He broke the kiss, sat up and removed his shirt first and then mine before lying back down.  Our naked torsos pressed against one another.  I could feel the hard eraser ends of his nipples pressing against my skin.  God, what a turn on!

Slowly we divested each other of every stitch of clothing.  He was spectacular!  His hands and feet were so large that I shouldn't have been surprised at the size of the manhood standing rigidly away from his groin.  It was circumcised, about seven or seven and a half inches long and thick with a perfect helmet shaped head.  Drops of precum oozed from his piss slit.  I reached down to stroke it and gather some of the preseminal fluid on the end of my finger.  I brought the finger to my mouth and tasted him for the first time.  Nectar!

I pushed him back on the bed and worked my way down from his mouth to that magnificent cock using my tongue and gently scraping with my teeth.  I grasped his erection in my hand, opened my mouth and attempted to deep throat him.  I couldn't get it all in, but the effort still caused him to take in a sharp breath.

"Oh, man, that's good!"

I didn't reply.  I'd been taught it wasn't polite to speak with your mouth full.

I worked on his pole for several minutes.  His sighs told me that he appreciated my efforts.

He pulled my mouth off his cock.  "My turn."

Then it was my turn to appreciate his efforts.  Boy, did I ever appreciate them!  His tongue and mouth were magic as they explored my body.  After paying a good bit of attention to my erection and making it even harder than I thought possible, he moved his talented tongue south past my scrotum to my perineum and then to my pucker.  He slowly jacked my cock as he probed my asshole with his tongue.

"I don't have any condoms or lube. Do you?"

"No.  I've never done anything here in town before.  I've never needed them."

He smiled up at me from his position between my spread legs.  "I'll pick up some supplies tomorrow.  Your ass is delicious, and I want to sink everything I have into you."

He moved around to put us in a sixty-nine.  I worked on his tool, and he worked on mine.  Too soon we both pumped out what seemed like buckets of cum. 

When our breathing returned to normal he moved his body around again and kissed me.  He turned me around so that my back was toward him and pulled me into his embrace before pulling the sheets up over us.

(To be continued)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Some of the characters who play parts in this story were previously introduced in "When Love Comes" (last posted in the College section on Sept. 6, 2001), "Love of a Lifetime" (last posted in the College section on May 19, 2003) or "Finding Family" (last posted in the College section on June 5, 2008). While not necessary, readers may find it useful to read the earlier stories posted on this site.  All of the Adams State/Carterville stories listed above as well as my other stories are also posted at


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