Date: Sun, 4 Feb 2007 00:33:34 -0500
From: carl_mason@comcast.net
Subject: PROFESSOR KENYON - 7

PROFESSOR KENYON - 7

Copyright 2007 by Carl Mason

All rights reserved.  Other than downloading one copy for strictly personal
enjoyment, no part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted in any
form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, except for reviews, without
the written permission of the author.  However based on real events and
places, "Professor Kenyon" is strictly fictional.  Any resemblance to
actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely
coincidental.  As in real life, however, the sexual themes unfold
gradually.  Comments on the story are appreciated and may be addressed to
the author at carl_mason@comcast.net

If you would like to read additional stories by this author, please turn to
the "Authors/Prolific Authors" link at the beginning of the Nifty Archive.

This story contains descriptions of sexual contact between males, both
adults and teenagers.  As such, it is homoerotic fiction designed for the
personal enjoyment of legal, hopefully mature, adults.  If you are not of
legal age to read such material, if those in power and/or those whom you
trust treat it as illegal, or if it would create unresolvable moral
dilemmas in your life, please leave.  Finally, remember that maturity
generally demands safe sex.


CHAPTER 7

(Revisiting Chapter 6)

As March dawned and the weather changed, Brad did hear from Cousin Andy up
in Ithaca.  The Spring Break was all of six weeks away, but he and several
buds at Cornell were already talking about going down to Panama City,
Florida.  Would the Great Ringmaster be at all interested in joining them?
In the depths of his bones, Brad felt that dad knew something was brewing.
The looks he gave him as they passed in the hall...the strange silence that
came over the dinner table when Dakota mentioned that he was reading about
Florida.  Weird!  This was going to take some planning!

(Continuing Our Story - Little Brothers)

No doubt about it...  Lil Bro was absolutely preening and posing in his new
jock!  Brad guessed he was supposed to say something.  "Lil Bro, you look
sharper than hell!  Man, I don't think I looked that good at twelve."
Dakota blushed and turned so that Big Bro could see his rump.  Brad had to
admit that it wasn't all that bad, at least what there was of it.  (Come to
think of it, though, he may have started to put a little meat on his
bones!)

"Big Bro, every time I look at you, I want to work harder and harder.  I
want to look like you; I want to be like you.  I'm so glad you're my
brother!"  "Poor kid," thought Brad.  "He's got it bad.  Truth is, though,
I had the same kind of crushes when I was his age.  Dad was right: A little
encouragement's the best medicine in the world!"  Dakota babbled on without
breathing.  "Big Bro, would you do me a big favor if you could?"  Brad
grinned and said, "You know I would."  "I wouldn't ask you this if you
weren't my brother, but can I feel your muscles?" he asked nervously.  Now
it was Brad's turn to be nervous.  "Well, ok, Lil Bro, but even brothers
don't talk to others about everything, right?"  "Right, Big Bro!  Not a
word!"  "Ok, Lil Bro, do your thing."  Dakota reached his hand out and very
tentatively rested it on Brad's muscular buttocks.  "Wow," he mumbled,
"cool."  He reached his hand around his brother's body and rubbed it up and
down his quads.  "Wow..."  Reaching up, he fingered his heavy pecs.
"You're more developed than any guy I know," he said proudly.  Need this
muscle for the rings, eh?"  "Yeah, bro, and there are times that even that
much muscle isn't enough."  "Oh, I don't know," Lil Bro chirped, "Nine
point nine seven five ain't all that shabby!"  Brad blushed with pride at
his brother's praise.  "And has this muscle gotten bigger as you've
exercised?"  Brad gasped as Dakota placed his hand squarely on the pouch of
his jock.  "Not really," he said somewhat breathlessly, "that one gets
bigger with age.  For instance, yours is growing right now, correct?"  "Oh,
yeah," mumbled Dakota, vaguely embarrassed by Brad's question, but not
wanting to let go of something that he had wanted to touch for some time.
As his fingers prodded the pouch, the boy noticed that the substantial
"muscle" he was touching began to shudder and grow even larger.  "Ok, Lil
Bro, that's it for today.  We need to get back to our exercising.  Ok?"
"Ok, Big Bro," Dakota said regretfully.  "Thanks.  You're the
greatest...the very greatest!" he added with a wide grin.

That afternoon at the University, Brad thought back over the incident,
deciding that he wouldn't do anything different if it were to happen again.
"All part of being a Big Bro," he decided.

(Lake Luck)

As a student left Dr. George Hall's office, he slipped in and greeted the
highly respected teacher with whom he would be taking a course during the
Spring Quarter.  (He was currently taking the "Introduction to Philosophy"
course and, therefore, would be eligible to take "Philosophy of Religion."
"Intro" was a great course.  He was earning a high B or, maybe, a little
better!)

"Dr.  Hall, I heard what you said about 'meditation' over at the Pauly
lounge on Wednesday night.  I'm really looking forward to studying that
topic and others in 'Philosophy of Religion'.  Do you have time, sir, for a
question that is barely related to the course?"  Hall immediately
recognized the handsome young man who had scored what he thought was a
perfect 'ten' in the gymnastics meet against Cornell.  Smiling, he said,
"Of course, Mr.  Colby.  Go ahead."  "Sir," Brad began, "I'm finishing up
my first university term and, to tell the truth, I'm beat.  I need to get
away for a few days...and just think...even if I don't know enough to
'meditate," he added with a grin.  "I don't know this area, 'cause I come
from the Coast.  Do you know of any places in this part of the state where
I could get away for two or three days without its costing me an arm and a
leg?"  The professor looked at the lad speculatively and then opened a desk
drawer from which he removed a large ring of keys.  Selecting one, he
tossed it to the boy.  He then quickly got up, moved over to a filing
cabinet, and removed a sheet of paper, which he handed to Brad.  "The key
is to a small, primitive cabin on Lake Luck, about 50 miles from here," he
said.  "It belongs to me.  I opened it up last weekend.  The map shows you
how to get there.  If you will replace anything you use and leave it as you
find it, you may use it for your...thinking."  Brad's thanks were
immediate, profuse, and heartfelt.

The rough dirt road finally dead ended at a log cabin standing at the end
of a medium- sized lake.  The sign when he had left the main road eight
miles back had said "G.  Hall."  For the last two and a half miles, he had
been on land posted as "Private Property - No Hunting, No Trespassing."
Grabbing his knapsack and a small box of supplies, he lugged everything up
on the porch of the cabin.  "Oh, man, what a view," he sighed. At the far
end of the lake, he saw a fairly high peak rising above the tree line.  The
lake proper was in the middle of heavy woods that came right down to the
water.  Only in front of the cabin was there a relatively small sandy
beach.  A rough float bobbed in the March waves; a rowboat had been
overturned on the shore.  Heavy storm windows had been removed from the
cabin and were stored in a shed under a tall oak.

Using Dr. Hall's key, he entered the cabin.  A fire had already been set in
the large stone fireplace.  Several kerosene lamps stood on tables.  There
were also comfortable chairs and two chests.  Some old books and maps were
neatly stacked into a small bookcase.  Exploring, he found a small kitchen
just off the main room; a generous supply of firewood lay next to the wood
cooking stove.  An ice chest stood open and empty.  One accessed a
good-sized bedroom with two single beds, a chest of drawers, and a back
door from the other side of the main room.  Looking out of the bedroom
window, he saw an outhouse set in the midst of a small grove of trees.
Closets contained linens, a variety of canned and dry foods, cleaning
supplies, and room for hanging clothes.  A variety of framed pictures -
most of which he assumed to be of the same man, woman, and two children at
different ages - were found throughout the cabin.  Strangely, one was of a
Native American, an American Indian in full regalia.

Quickly, he went to the car, secured the block of ice that he had purchased
from a general store "down below," and put it and a few supplies into the
ice chest.  Holding out one Pepsi, he went out on the porch and sat down on
the stairs.  It was early.  Although a variety of birds were in the air, he
heard few insects.  Still, there was no question that spring had come to
the Northeast.  When he felt the chill, he went inside, lit several lamps,
warmed up some of the Professor's famous beef stew that he had sent along,
and cut a few slices from a long baguette.  After eating and cleaning up,
he realized how very tired he was and turned in within a relatively short
time.

Saturday dawned bright; the morning sun even felt warm.  Stripping, he dove
into the water and swam out to the float.  He was going to sit on it for a
bit, but he already realized that it was too cold and quickly swam back to
shore, dried off, and dressed.  "How great it would be not to wear any
clothes up here," he mused.  After fixing a light breakfast and cutting
some more wood, he spent time reading, thinking about where he was going
and why, and generally lazing off as he simply couldn't at home.

It was probably four o'clock when a young man hailed him and approached.
Unless he was really missing something, the youth was an American Indian,
i.e., a Native American.  He did not recognize all of the decorations on
his naked upper body or on his deerskin trousers and moccasins, but he had
seen enough Indians in the Puget Sound area of Washington State to
recognize them.  He was correct.  The boy, whose American name was Evan,
had been searching for medicinal herbs and was happy to take a break.  They
spoke of the many Indians who were native to this part of the land in that
they had arrived long before the white man, as well as their history.  Brad
was fascinated by their exploits, especially during the American
Revolution.  Clearly, it had torn them apart, scattered those who still
lived over a wide swath of the eastern part of what is now the United
States and Canada, and finally led to their exile.  "We are recovering,"
Evan said proudly, "and reclaiming the old ways."

"Come, honor our meeting by joining me for supper," Brad said as the
afternoon light began to thicken and became streaked with reds and golds.
"I'd like you tell me more about your history."  It was a fascinating tale,
one in which philosophy and religion merged into one river of experience.
Would that space allowed sharing at least parts of it, but, alas, it does
not.  Brad did become quite excited when he heard Evan claim that Professor
Hall was a shaman, a Holy Man, and a Healer.  "I'm taking a course from him
this coming quarter in the 'Philosophy of Religion'," he claimed proudly.
"Better that you join The People some summer evening in the forest and
listen to his teaching when he doesn't have to lie to keep different people
happy," Evan said.  "Still, Brad, I am in your debt.  You have welcomed me
like one of The People.  Would you like to take a very short trip in which
you would see our ways and better understand them?"  "Hell, I've got to
leave for home tomorrow afternoon," Brad exclaimed sadly.  "No matter,
friend," Evan said softly.  "You'll be able to do so."  "Well, sure," Brad
laughed.  "You're on; let's go!"

Evan took a small wooden container out of a pocket and removed the lid.  It
was filled with hundreds of small, black, partially crushed seeds that Evan
said were produced by a common flower.  "Take a goodly amount of the paste
with your finger, insert into your mouth, and chew the seeds thoroughly,"
Evan directed.  "If you like the taste, take a bit more."  Having always
liked poppy seeds on top of rolls - and these seeds tasted much the same -
Brad did like Evan's concoction and eagerly dipped into the container for a
second helping.

"Now," directed his guide, "we must remove our clothing and cleanse
ourselves in the water of the holy lake."  In the light of the late
afternoon, they splashed around, returning to the living room where,
without drying themselves off, they sat cross-legged, facing each other.
After his experiences yesterday and this morning, Brad couldn't quite
believe how comfortably warm he was.  "Pray or if you do not pray, my
friend, fill your mind with the most significant experiences and people of
your life, the true high points that define our dreams for ourselves and
for others."  After working intensely for about a half hour, Brad suddenly
grunted, "Oh!"  "What is it, Brad?"  "There must be something wrong with
the setting sun," Brad exclaimed in alarm.  "Look!  There are great swirls
of color - reds, purples, golds, fawns...  Look!  Great bolts of cloth are
unrolling all over the sky!  Oh, God!  It's so beautiful!"  He broke into
slightly hysterical laughter and then continued.  "Now it's gone and I see
diamonds and squares and circles, and five and six-cornered shapes...all
moving, all in different colors!  Wow!  Oh, my God, he shouted, dropping to
his knees.  After a minute, he spoke with wonder in his voice.  IT DOESN'T
MATTER!  It doesn't matter that I'm gay.  I'm still on the same journey
that everyone else is.  Oh, Evan, it's so great!"  Standing at his side and
extending his hand, Evan said, "Come, we must dance.  If you can't dance to
honor God or the Great Spirit, dance to honor wisdom and beauty and life."

For all of twenty minutes, the two beautiful young men danced, danced
together, danced apart, danced in the last light of the sunset that could
be seen through the windows facing the lake.  Finally they simply held each
other close in the early darkness, sweat pouring down their bodies, their
proud chests arched and fighting for air, both magnificently erect.  "Do
you want to see more of my people," Evan asked, his voice raw and harsh.
"Oh, yes, Evan.  Absolutely!" the young athlete answered.  Again, the young
Indian reached out his hand.  "Do not be afraid, my friend.  No harm will
come to you, for you are protected."  Suddenly, Brad was close to the
ground, running on all fours, his muscular legs and paws whipping the snow
into a frenzy, his furry snout and sensitive nose seeking the way, his
bright eyes watching his companion in the chase as they raced over the
lake, over trees, over the peak in the distance.  Suddenly, they were
surrounded by other members of the Wolf Clan.  "Don't be afraid," Evan
yipped.  "They are also my brothers.  Come!  Race with the wind!"  Down
below in a clearing, Brad could just see two men who were watching them fly
across the sky, a tall, older man in ceremonial dress who Brad
instinctively knew must be Evan's father, a Holy man - and a white-haired
man in western dress whom Brad had seen in his office only days ago.

Brad woke up naked, sprawled awkwardly on the floor of the little cabin's
main room.  His head was pounding; the taste in his mouth defied
description.  That couldn't happen again!  If he was going to leave by two
o'clock, he was going to have to get moving...  and pretty darned soon.
One thing was for sure.  He wasn't going to tell anyone what may have
happened up at the lake.  Oh, he might discuss just a BIT of it with Dr.
Hall - when the Philosophy of Religion course was underway and there was
less chance that he would think him completely cracked.  Besides, he didn't
HAVE to discuss everything.  For instance, for the first time since
puberty, he KNEW with rock-ribbed certainty that it just didn't matter that
was gay!  What a gift!

(Hot on His Trail)

Returning to town, Brad found his Winter Quarter grades on a table in the
hallway.  They were excellent; he must have aced several of his final
exams.  God knows they gave him reason enough to begin thinking seriously
about going down to Florida.  In his joy at seeing him (after an absence of
a bit more than two days!), Dakota was on high.  Knowing that in the short
term, any effort to sit down with his elder son and talk was doomed to
failure, his dad simply scooped them both up and took them out for pizza.

Once again, the hunky athlete's antennae told him that something was afoot.
How could his dad, clever as he was, be onto his plot to fly the family
coop and spend time, unsupervised by adults, in the fleshpots of Florida?
Nevertheless, everything pointed to the conclusion that he was!  He felt
eyes on him whether he chose a slice with pepperoni or bacon; he felt a
mind touching his and probing his innermost secrets.  Brad found himself
stopping abruptly after going around a corner, and waiting to discover
who...or what...was hot on his trail!


To Be Continued