Date: Mon, 15 Oct 2012 03:09:55 -0400 (EDT)
From: Milford Slabaugh <tommyhawk1@aol.com>
Subject: Just One Student

			     JUST ONE STUDENT
			   By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
		      WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM

     When the class bell rang, I closed the book I'd been reading with a
sigh. Looked up, stared out at the young men and women arrayed about the
room. With another sigh that I hid by rising up, I said, "Welcome to
Fundamentals of English, commonly referred to as Bonehead English.' We're
here to study the basic structure of the English language and...." I droned
on in my prepared introductory speech. I'd been saying it four times a year
at this time for the last eight years and I was beginning to feel like I'd
be saying it every year for the rest of my life.
     The girls were mostly looking at me with flirtatious smiles and
eyes. It was like looking into the eyes of so many cows, I swear. These
girls had made it through high school by staring mawkishly at their
teachers, smiling at them, and being pretty, so much that these men,
stymied by their meager talents into teaching school, and frustrated by
lives that were demeaned by their school boards, administrators and pupils
into a state of mental impotency, would beam fatuously at these girls,
grade them leniently, and pass them on to the next grade. Now they were
here, in college, and it was my lot as a young professor to try to drum
into their heads one final time the simple structure of English, things
that any half-bright junior high student had down pat in the seventh grade!
An additional source of my despair was their very number, nearly sixty
percent of each freshmen class at this university had to take "Bonehead
English" and the percentages kept rising every year.
     Well, these girls were going to be in for a surprise. I would flunk
their asses if they didn't pass my tests and keep flunking them until they
managed to get a lousy sixty-seven percentile of the final test questions
right. Oh, they'd bitch and piss and moan about how tough I was, but I had
a simple response to that...the test itself. It was composed of simple
questions that anybody who knew English could pass, easily. I showed their
parents the test (Mom and Dad were always involved by this time) and Mom
and Dad would stare at what they'd wrought in dismay and that would be
basically the end of it. Their darling child would either pass the next
time around or drop out or find another professor who'd fallen into the
same trap as their high school teachers had....
     Maybe I was getting there. I'd been drawn into teaching by the siren
song of academia, the nurturing of bright, eager young minds into the
rarefied world of literature, the delicate structures of poetry and the
stolid steel of prose, to teach them how to bring the emotional and
intellectual buildings of their dreams into a life that could be seen and
held, to thus touch millions. Just one of these, I told myself, just one
student can make a professor's life worthwhile. But little chance of
finding a gem like that in the muck I was shoveling, I thought as I
regarded the myriad bored faces.
     Like any junior-level member of a department, I'd been stuck teaching
these, the unteachable, the ones who had no interest in English as English,
the girls who came to find themselves a rich man, the boys who'd come to
college to party with the girls, and with them came the alcohol, the drugs,
the wanton sex, and all of it would eat them up and spit them out again,
with a degree if they were lucky, but spit them out just the same.
     "So let's begin at the beginning, as they say." I wrapped up. "Who can
tell me the eight parts of speech?"
     As usual, an endless series of blank looks struck my eyes. They'd
heard this question at the start of every English class they'd had for the
last half-dozen years or more and still they didn't have a clue what I
meant! "Come on, one of them is the noun...." I went on. They couldn't be
this stupid and still be in college.
     Could they?
     I sighed and plowed on. Fifty more minutes of this and I'd be through
it for another class for another year.
     It felt exactly like being torn to tiny pieces, one tiny piece at a
time. How long before no pieces of me were left?
     Three painful periods later (two Bonehead English sessions plus one
slightly more pleasant class of English instruction (advanced) for foreign
students who had English as a second language, I was free until
mid-afternoon. I'd set two o'clock to three o'clock for meetings with
students who had questions about their class or lessons, but for now, I had
an hour and forty-five minutes of freedom, followed by two classes that I
could actually enjoy teaching, English for students who HAD passed the
basic test for English comprehension. I couldn't really leave the campus
for this time, but I could at least get in a workout, eat and enjoy myself,
free of students, for a while.
     The university had a pretty nice gymnasium, and one section was a
substantial collection of workout machines for the student body. I'd
learned a long time ago that if I wasn't going to treat my more advanced
students as the "enemy," the best thing I could do was go work out my
aggressions on a treadmill. When it got really grotty (today wasn't so bad,
or should I say, no worse than usual), I'd do some weights or put on gloves
and hit the punching bag. Imagining giggling girls' grins on the
bag...whack, whack,whack!
     But today, a long run on the treadmill ought to do it. I changed into
a sleeveless sweatshirt and running shorts, socks and sneakers, and got
moving. I'd done this enough that I could set the treadmill for a rapid
pace and keep it up for nearly a half hour. Just what I needed to run away
(psychologically, that is) from every last vacuous face in the freshmen
class!
     I looked to one side at the guy running on the treadmill next to mine,
and then back again. Nice! What I'd call a "pretty boy" with blond hair,
so-perfectly regular face, blue eyes, nice muscles that just accented his
body without distorting it, dressed in a bright yellow tanktop and pale
blue shorts, his body gleamed in a way that said he'd been on the treadmill
for a while. He looked my way and back, then back to me again and he
smiled, and I smiled. Outside of class, you let yourself flirt a little,
though fraternization was a really bad idea. You weren't totally forbidden
to date the students, but you had to be damned careful, any hint of
impropriety would get your ass fired, tenure or not. I'd decided not to
ever get involved with anyone in any of my classes, and forbid anyone I was
or had been dating to take one of my classes. Not that I'd had much call
for such, but let's face it, the university is loaded up with hot young
male meat, you'd have to be dead not to at least notice it. Like I was this
hot blond stud.
     And he was noticing me. I was far from being a pot-bellied professor,
I'd taken care of myself and was still on the sunny side of thirty (not for
much longer, but still in my twenties), I was dark-brown haired, and
hairy-bodied, trim and fit without excess muscle (much like the young stud
I'd been checking out), I didn't have any reason to feel inferior in the
gymnasium so long as I didn't make myself compete against those
muscle-bound hardbodies that some guys build in these places.
     After about ten minutes of smile-and-wink between us, the blond guy
finished his run and came over, mopping sweat with a small white towel,
first his face, then his armpits, a natural, unaffected action that made
him look more luscious than ever. "Hey, there!" he said.
     "Hey." I responded and slowed the machine, to stop. You can run flat
out and talk at the same time and looking at him was doing wonders for my
state of mind, as you can well imagine. I got off the machine and sat on
another machine nearby. I was panting, but not sweating yet...much.
     "I'm Dave." he said. "Freshman. You?"
     "I'm Eric." I said in turn. "I'm a professor here."
     "Whoa!" He was taken aback. "Sorry!"
     "Sorry for what?"
     "I...I thought you were another student here. I figured you could
introduce me around campus, show me the sights, maybe where the fun spots
are." He smiled and shrugged.
     I smiled and shrugged myself. "Well, I can still do all
that. Unless... Who do you have for your English classes?"
     "Huh? Just one class this semester. Uh, I think her name is
Taka... Takash....."
     "Takashita." I named my colleague in relief. "Okay, then, I can show
you the sights." I said.
     "Great. I'm in Clifford Hall. Pick me up at, say, seven o'clock, in
the lobby?"
     "Seven o'clock it is." I agreed.
     He smiled and took off. After a short time, enough time to let him get
clear, I did the same, showered, changed, and went to get some lunch before
returning to my classroom. I didn't need to run anymore.
     I picked Dave up from the dorm and took him out for a night on the
town. Nothing crazy, of course, this was a small college town, not a major
metropolis, but I showed him the gay hangouts available to an underaged
college kid, and we ended up dancing at Longo's, which was a combination
burger-and-shake place and dance hall. I'd been there before, and
introduced him to the guys I knew, not all college kids by a long shot. I
got a few "robbing the cradle" jokes, but I didn't care much; Dave was
eighteen and perfectly legal, I was only a decade older, it wasn't that big
a stretch. And Dave was enjoying my company.
     What was surprising was the conversation we had after a few dances
when we were resting. Dave had actually read most of the classics and had a
solid knowledge of proper English. It can really bug you when you're an
English professor, someone misusing words and botching sentence
structure. But Dave didn't talk that way, he obviously knew the difference
between "affect" and "effect" and "accept" and "except." He even enunciated
the words so you could tell.
     He was an aspiring writer and I agreed to read over a story he was
working on. We swung back by Clifford Hall and he ran up to get them and
then we went back to my place. It was after eleven o'clock when we got
there. I settled in on the couch and he sat beside me and I began to read.
     Dave looked at me nervously when I'd finished. "What do you think?" he
asked.
     "Not bad at all." I said.
     "I know it needs work." Dave nattered.
     "Some." I agreed. "You got lost in narration at first, it was slow
getting started. Don't load the reader down with detail in the beginning,
he needs to like the character before he gets to know them."
     "Just like in real life."
     "Exactly." I agreed. "Trust your reader, start with an interesting
point in the character's life just before the main action, something that
relates to the story as a whole, and throw the rest of the stuff he needs
in as you come by it. Giving background in a sentence here and there and it
gets absorbed a lot easier, and more palatably, by the reader."
     "I see what you mean."
     "You might want to combine the characters of Jenny and George if you
can." I went on. "Two small characters are too much baggage, give the
reader one bigger character. And you can cut Francis out entirely, for the
same reason."
     Dave was quiet for a while, and I worried that I'd gone too far. "You
know, Eric." he said. "This is what I've been needing all along. Someone
who doesn't just say things like, Oh, Dave, you write beautifully, don't
change a word of it!' and then I submit it and get a form rejection
letter."
     "Fiction is hard to sell." I agreed. "And it's not getting
easier. Have you thought about non-fiction? Much bigger market for
non-fiction, the average publisher gets like 95% fiction submissions and
most publishing houses publish about 50% fiction and 50% non-fiction."
     "Yeah." But Dave didn't sound convinced.
     "There's still a market out there, it's just a tough haul." I wound
up. "Work on it, and I'll give you a line-edit on your second draft."
     "Thanks." Dave looked grateful.
     "Well." I looked at the clock. Nearly midnight, yeesh! "I have to be
up at seven o'clock to make my first class tomorrow, so we'd better get you
back to your dorm so you can get in bed and so can I."
     "I have a better idea." Dave said. "Why don't I just stay here for
tonight?"
     I looked up at Dave, who had gotten up from the couch. "You don't have
to sleep with me to get my help with your stories, Dave...." I started and
he leaned over and put his finger to my lips.
     "Are you kidding?" He said to me. "I'd want to sleep with you if you
were a truckdriver. You're hot, dude!"
     I relaxed back and smiled. "I'm glad to hear that. I'd hate to think
you just wanted me for my mind."
     "I like you." He said. "But it's not your mind I'll be banging away at
all night long."
     I began to wonder which of us was more sexually experienced, but he
leaned over me, putting one knee on the couch and kissed me and I forgot
about it.
     He leaned on over and pushed his crotch and body up against mine. I'd
been lounging back, one leg on the couch in a bent-legged style and the
other with the foot on the floor, so he fit there pretty well. I had myself
an armful of hot teenaged college freshman and I was damned well going to
enjoy it. A beautiful body and an intelligent mind, Dave made up for all
the empty-headed morons I was saddled with for more than half of my
classes. I could feel his hot pud inside those soft chinos rubbing against
my own.
     My brief wondering about Dave's experience vanished, his kisses were
enthusiastic but unskilled and not entirely on the mark, I had an eager
virgin (or near-virgin) in my arms. He was hunching at my basket with his
dong so hard that I feared he may spend himself without us getting any
further, so I gripped both his biceps in my hands and I pushed him
back. "Steady down, soldier." I said. "Let's take this to the bedroom and
get some clothes off before we get too busy."
     "Yeah." Dave gave me a hand to help me up and I held that hand and led
him bodily to my room.
     Undressing him was fun, he was grinning as I undid his shirt buttons,
and when my hand touched his bare chest, that held just a hint of a cleft
between the breast muscles, that grin vanished, his eyes closed, and his
mouth opened, "Ooohh!"
     I confined myself to a single broad circle on his chest and then I
pushed his shirt back and let it slide off his arms to the floor behind
him. My own pullover was a simple strip-off job for me. Time to storm the
below-the-waist barricades!
     Except that Dave beat me to the charge, he dropped to his knees and
was working my belt buckle before I knew what he was doing. Not that I
tried to stop him, he got me unfastened and unzipped and those eager hands
yanked pants and briefs both to my ankles. That left me exposed and
available and Dave's mouth dove for my slowly rising pud, capturing it
before it was fully inflated and stuffing it down his craw.
     Oh, God, the heat of a young man! I didn't have any saliva lubricating
my cock, just his tongue and lips and roof of his mouth as he took my shaft
to the base, then pulled back and forth on my prod, mauling me instead of
sucking me into full rigidity, his hunger overriding any finesse he may
have had.
     "Ah, ah, man!" I gasped as he began to suck my now-hard cock, some
saliva finally appearing from the moisture of his mouth and lips. "Dave,
Dave, ah, ah!"
     Dave was making long thrusts up and down on me, he still had no skill
but his young and energy were a fair substitute, he moved with verve and
vigor until my cock was afire with my need. "Ah, Dave, let me get on the
bed." I groaned.
     Dave let go and stood up, undid his own pants while I penguin-waddled
over to the bed and sat back on it. I'd have to untangle my pants from my
shoes and get them off.
     Dave had managed to strip entirely in that short period, naked, he
advanced on me and took over the job of making me the same way. My shoes he
tore off my feet without unlacing, and the socks were yanked off by the
toes, and my pants and briefs then fell away from me without any trouble,
and Dave climbed onto the bed with me and this time when his cock landed on
mine, it did so hard and bare and warm and throbbing!
     He was kissing me again, a wetter, sloppier kiss this time as his
mouth was still wet from his sucking on my prick. And he was being more
passionate, open-mouthed, too, I just tried to kiss him back the same way.
     He slid off to one side, not fully off me, but enough that he freed
one hand which began to stroke through my thatch of chest hair. "Mmmm!"
Dave cooed as he fondled and pinched my hairs between the sides of his
fingers. "I love chest fur."
     "I'm glad you like it." I conceded. "But maybe now I can talk you into
turning around so I can give you a little of what you gave me?"
     He grinned (a brief flashback for me to those idiots in Bonehead
English, disconcerting) and said, "Sure!" I had to scoot down on the bed
some, but soon we were mouth-to-cock and Dave recaptured my dong while I
began to lave his with my tongue and mouth.
     His sucking had all the enthusiasm of before but I think he began to
realize I was doing something else, and he raised up and began to imitate
me. I gave his cock a fair pre-coating of saliva and then I took it into my
mouth and was rewarded by the nectar of a bead of precome dotting my tongue
like a tiny maraschino cherry, sweet and delectable.
     I carefully slid Dave's prod all the way down my mouth and throat and
held it there, and when I began to pull back, I gripped his cockskin and
pulled it with me on my travel. Dave imitated me at every stage of this. I
sucked Dave the way I wanted him to suck me and Dave slavishly complied,
giving me waves of joy at every motion. Perfect! God, yes, just what you
want in your bed, a hot hunk doing you just the way you want him to!
     Of course, what I wanted wasn't just this! "Huh, huh!" I gasped as I
lifted off his prong. "Dave, that's enough."
     "What's wrong?" Dave asked. "Am I not doing it right?"
     "No, no, you're good, but I want you to fuck me now!"
     Dave looked apprehensive. "I...I never done that before. Just a couple
times sucking a friend is all I've done." That answered that! "You'll have
to show me what to do."
     I smiled. "I was sort of counting on that."
     My nightstand was properly outfitted for my needs (I said I hadn't had
much sex lately, not none!), and I fished out the lubricant and said to
Dave, propped up on his side on one hand, "Lay on your back for now. I'll
do the navigating."
     Dave fell over obligingly like a good boy and I squeezed out a big
glob of lubricant and supplemented my saliva on his dong well. Looking at
it from this perspective, I had to admit Dave had a nice slab of meat on
him! A neat triangle of cockhead was held up by a shaft that broadened at
the midpoint so that it was a delicate near-oval shape overall. The color
was clean and pale, the same as his body skin (my cock is a few shades
darker than my own body), and the veins were visible but not distended,
just bluish lines meandering over his prick. As I rubbed the lubricant on
it, that cock waggled happily, eager to bury itself in my own body.
     "Time for the main event." I told Dave. "Just lay back, think horny
thoughts, and keep yourself hard as you can. Don't worry about performing,
you'll do fine. Worry will make your cock go down, which is the last thing
you want."
     "Got it." Dave said and as I levered myself over to straddle him, he
invigorated his fantasy by grabbing my cock and fondling it, that and
feasting his eyes on my body hair. He really was a fur-lover, a plus I
hadn't known I had with him. Not that I was complaining--so many lovers ask
me why I don't shave it all off!
     I lined my ass up with his dong and I said, "Now, hold still. Let me
do all the work."
     "Anything you say, Professor." Dave said.
     I grinned at his little teacher-pupil fantasy. "Pay attention, as
there will be a pop quiz at the end of this session."
     "When I pop my cookies?"
     "Exactly." That made Dave laugh and I used his distraction to push my
asshole down over his prong. As I'd hoped, it was hard and waiting and I
got it well inside before Dave's cock bent on me, stopping me.
     Only a temporary setback, I steadied his prick with my hand and got
more of it inside me. That flaring shaft distended my sphincter as it slid
inside but I didn't care, it would also fasten Dave's cock into place when
I began to work him. I had one bad moment at the maximum size-point, as
Dave softened a bit at that time, but I said, "Now, class, pay
attention. You mustn't let your mind wander as you're fucking your
teacher."
     That hardened Dave again as I'd hoped, and I pushed on and got him
firmly buried in my ass. "Good job, Davey." I deliberately used the
diminutive to play into his fantasy. "Now, the instruction can begin." I
leaned over and wrapped my arms around Dave and he did the same to me and I
rolled us both over so he was on top of me, lifted my legs up to clamp my
heels into his buttocks.
     "Now, class, this is the proper way to fuck your English professor." I
went on. "You have your cock deep in his ass, you first want to work your
dick back and forth slowly, so he can get accustomed to your movements."
     Dave began to work at me slowly. "A little deeper with the strokes." I
advised him. "A little faster. That's the right way." Dave was doing just
as I'd asked him.
     I relished the feel of a hot pud sliding back and forth in my ass, the
flaring shaft just in the right place to rub my prostate, that narrow
cockhead not intruding into my own pleasure. I could tell by the feel of
his cockskin that Dave's own prick was being massaged by his clipped
foreskin so I wasn't worried about his own joy in this.
     "All right, students, now you're ready to move a little faster." I
said. "Also, you want to vary your strokes and tempo, a few quick ones, a
few slow ones, keep it mixed up. Also try to shift your angle slightly as
you move, to keep teacher feeling your cock all over. You don't want his
ass getting bored with you."
     "I'll do my best." Dave promised as he began to hump me faster.
     I patted his cheek like a doting teacher does a promising
pupil. "That's a good boy. I know you will."
     Dave was beginning to pant when I said, "All right, class, time to
really speed things up. Turn it loose, give it all you've got, you're not
going to hurt teacher's butt if you fuck him nice and hard now."
     Dave was really humping my ass now. His face was sweaty and softened
with his lust so that he looked very much like a child and I felt a true
affection for him welling up. The good student for a teacher is very much
like their own child, and he was an able student indeed.
     But I recognized his grunts for what they were...approaching orgasm
and my own body, more trained to respond when I asked it to, geared itself
up to join in. "Now...huh!...class!" I panted. "Time's...almost...up!
Finish...up...your...papers!"
     "Ah, ah, ah!" Dave moaned.
     "Hurry up...class! The bell's...about to...ring!" And I meant my own
bell, my cock was about to explode!
     "Ah, ah, I'm coming, Professor!" Dave gasped. "I'm coming!"
     "Yes, class, yes!"
     "I'm coming!"
     "Yes, class!"
     "Coming! Ah, ah, HAH-AH-HAH, AH.... AH, GAHHHHHH!"
     I felt the hot flood pouring into me and I struck my own climax, and
yelled out, "OH, CLASS-AAAAAAAAAA-ASSS!" My jism sprayed up and splattered
Dave's stomach as he ejaculated into me, I felt the sticky spunk deep
within me, plugged by his cock's shape and prevented from escaping, his
prick squelched in the bath of hot spooge it had made, and my own come
splashed my own abdomen before damping down as my orgasm ended.
     Dave finished, too, and sank down onto me, panting hard, head resting
on my chest, on the fur he loved so well.
     "Very good, class!" I told him softly as he panted. "I'm very proud of
all of you."
     Dave lifted his head, turned it to look at me. "You're a good
teacher."
     "It helps to have good students." I said in return.
     "You were right. All I had to do was do it."
     "Nothing is ever as hard as a person makes it out to be. Same thing
with your writing, let the story flow and don't fight it. You can always
fix any problems in the second draft. And that's where I come in."
     "I'm going to need a lot of work." Dave said, and I couldn't tell if
he was thinking about his writing or the sex we'd just had.
     "I'll be happy to help you any way I can." I said.
     I wondered if, now we'd had sex, if Dave was going to get up and
leave, but he didn't, he just helped me pull the covers down and we got
into bed and he cuddled up as I turned out the light, snuggling into my
arms like he planned to stay there the entire night. I hoped he did.
     The life of a young college professor isn't the happiest of lots. But
the years improve things as you get more access to the bright young minds
that do exist among all the "Bonehead English" brood, young men like Dave
who only need a guiding hand to reach their full potential and go out and
on to new and wonderful things.
     A professor's lot is not an easy one...but one good student can make
it all seem worthwhile!

				  THE END
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		  E-mail the Author at Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
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