Date: Wed, 7 Feb 2007 00:36:01 -0500
From: carl_mason@comcast.net
Subject: PROFESSOR KENYON - 8

PROFESSOR KENYON - 8

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 8

(Revisiting Chapter 7)

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
slightly 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!

(Continuing Our Story - Hittin' the Road)

Dad finally popped his guilt and put him out of his misery.  "You're
thinking of going down to Florida for the Spring Break?" he asked.  "Well,
dad, I may have thought of it...  vaguely...once or twice.  I think Cousin
Andy up at Cornell mentioned it."  "Ah, yes," dad intoned seriously.
Assuming the mien of an old-time tent evangelist, he asked, "You think
you're ready to resist a week of women, booze, drugs, and other sinful
goings on?"  Brad exploded in laughter.  If dad hadn't hammed it up, he
could have stoked his guilt for at least another week!  "You ever go down
there, dad?" he asked.  "Hell, yes," Kenyon sputtered.  "Great fun!  I'll
worry about your safety, but Andy's a good kid and he's twenty-one.  He'll
probably keep your head on straight.  Besides, you're a college student,
and you gotta do what college students do!"  Green with envy, Dakota hung
close and watched his big bro send the e-mail that would put him on the
road.

Andy and two of his gymnastics team buddies showed up in Andy's lovingly
restored Oldsmobile convertible.  Dakota observed that they could have
probably loaded four more guys and all of their possessions into the trunk
- and he may just have been right!  In any case, there was plenty of room
everywhere in that car.  Brad took his seat, posing as one of the rich and
famous for Dad who had the camera.  (Dakota just pouted.)  The boys stayed
the night, taking off early the next morning.

However long, It was actually a relatively easy trip.  When they stopped
for lunch in the little farming town of Lee, they were actually beginning
to see a fair number of Florida license plates.  Trouble was, they were
firmly convinced that no one in the diner spoke English!  They were nice
people, but there sure was a mutual accent problem.  In any case, most of
the guys got what they wanted to eat - though it sometimes involved
pointing at an item in the menu!  Soon they were off again, driving through
some really nice country.  Then tragedy struck.  At first, they only heard
a buzzing in the distance...as if a hive of bees had been disturbed.  As it
got closer, Pete Fairlawn said to look behind us.  Dear God, we were being
pursued by a large motorcycle gang!  There had to be a dozen and a half of
them.  Dressed from head to foot in black, often in leather, they were
heavily decorated with chains, weird helmets, and other instruments of
destruction.  The leader of the gang gestured for Chuck Weatherby, who was
driving, to pull over, which he did.  Though it took a good half hour to
establish it, the upshot of all this was that the boys were driving on
"their" road and owed them $200.00 in toll.  Naturally, everyone in the car
saw this as highway robbery and tried to convince them that taking it any
further would be a big mistake.  It turned out that the "mistake" was
theirs.  Under threat of chains and knives, they were hog-tied and dumped
into the bed of an ancient pickup truck that had evidently been closely
following them.  One of the riders took the wheel of Andy's car and led the
way to a roughly paved side road.  Followed by the motorcycles, the car
made its way up a long hill, through wooded areas, and between fields
already showing new growth.  Eventually, it reached an enormous old barn,
the top of which was built of wood; the basement-foundation of stone and
masonry.

(Courage in the Face of the Unknown)

Dumped out of the pickup, the boys were divided.  Pete and Chuck were
hustled towards one part of the barn, while Andy and Brad were dragged
towards another.  It would be the third day before they would see each
other again.

Brad saw the Andy and he had been dragged into a cavernous area below the
main floor of the barn.  They were quickly stripped by the four cyclists
who had accompanied them and lashed to two of the immense wooden beams that
were part of the barn's structure.  Given neither food nor water, their
fear was intensified by the screams of terror and pain that they heard
coming from somewhere inside the barn.  Brad noticed that the contents of
their wallets were examined closely before their captors left the area.  In
the morning, one of their captors reappeared with tin plates of bacon and
eggs and a flask of water.  "I am Muktar Remi, head of the New Symbionese
Army of Liberation," he announced.  "Your parents have refused to bid for
your release.  Hence, we have sold you to a Yemenite Sheikh who fancies
white meat and, evidently, doesn't care what he pays for it."  (At that
point, another man approached Remi and spoke with him in a lowered voice.
If he were to be believed, a Yemeni freighter owned by the Sheikh was
already approaching the harbor at Jacksonville.)  "Not all of my men
believe that we ought to sell Americans to these dogs," he continued after
the messenger had departed.  "If you will surrender your freedom and place
yourself under my protection, I shall do what I can for you.  Otherwise..."
He left the thought unfinished.  "Your decision, gentlemen?"  When neither
Andy nor Brad spoke, he left the tin plates and water in the dirt before
him, turned on his heel, and departed the area.

Andy gradually failed during the day, occasionally weeping and moaning,
seemingly in pain.  Brad tried to talk with him - to buck him up, if
nothing else - but his cousin became less and less responsive.  Well past
nightfall, Remi returned, again carrying food and water.  "Have you changed
your minds, mes enfants [my children]?" he asked.  "Quickly, I have work to
do!"  Andy hoarsely cried out that he would surrender.  Taking his knife,
Remi cut the ropes holding the youth to the great post, whereupon he
tumbled down into the dust.  "Please...water!" whispered the boy.  "As soon
as you prove to me that your desire is genuine," Remi said firmly.  Say
after me, "I am the slave of Muktar Remi, and I throw myself on my master's
protection."  Though he choked slightly, Andy repeated the words.  "Very
well," the terrorist chief replied.  "Kneel down before me and place your
forehead in the dust."  When the youth followed his instructions, albeit
very shaky in his movements, Muktar took a heavy dildo from the folds of
his clothing and plunged it into Andy.  The boy screamed on the
penetration, but quickly seemed to get himself back under control.  Muktar
fucked him vigorously.  Then, holding Andy where he was with a hand on his
back, he removed his robe and himself thrust into the beautifully muscled
lad.  Andy sobbed at first, but gradually seemed to catch fire and respond
to Muktar's vigorous rhythm.  At the end, he was moving with his captor
like one part of a rocking toy, screaming, "Yes, yes!  Oh, yes, master!"
When he had eaten and drunk his fill, the master put his own cloak around
his shoulders and led him tenderly out of the area.  The remnants were left
before Andy in the dust.

By sunrise on the third day, Andy was hanging heavily in his bonds.  His
stomach seemed to be lying concave in his body cavity rather than forming a
muscular whole with the rest of his lower torso.  Its complaints had
reached a crescendo during the night; his lips were dry and cracked and he
could barely force himself to make intelligible sounds.  When Remi appeared
with several of his men, the smell from the food seemed to waft around his
head like the fingers of a lover.  "If you have nothing to say, we shall
leave you alone," Remi began.  "You should know, however, that the Sheik's
representative will be here later this morning.  Given the attitude you
have demonstrated, he has requested that you be castrated.  We shall have
no choice other than to comply.  I am a merciful man, Brad Colby.  I offer
you one last chance to make your submission."

Brad did his best to come erect on the beam and to dampen his throat and
lips as best he could.  He needed to say a few words and he didn't have
much energy.  "Hear this, you bastards," he began.  "When I was a kid, I
met enough of you two-bit terrorists to last me for a lifetime.  My dad
knew he couldn't do business with you, and so do I.  Do your worst - and go
to hell!"

The youth almost closed his eyes, for he didn't understand what was
happening...and, despite his brave words, he was frightened.  He seemed to
hear applause and shouts of praise.  As he opened his eyes, he was being
cut down from the beam and helped over to a chair where Andy sponged him
down.  As he was receiving sips of water, the other boys - and the members
of the "motorcycle gang" - stopped by to congratulate him, both on his
courage and his gymnastics skill.  Later that morning, a well dressed man
from Tallahassee stopped by and presented him with the medallion of the
North American Gymnastics Honor Society, a brotherhood of gymnastics stars
noted for their sports skill and personal courage.  He did offer his
apologies for the lengths to which this group's "test of courage" had gone.
It could never happen again, for he saw it as the worst sort of hazing -
and that was not what they were about.  Red of face, the lads agreed and,
before the "Northeastern Four" were on their way again, everyone had
apologized individually - and warmly welcomed Brad into the Society.

(Panama City)

They were almost to the Gulf before Brad said much.  Evidently, the smell
of the Gulf Stream waters revived him.  "Did all of those motorcycle guys
come from Cornell, too?"  he asked.  "Nah," replied Pete.  "The Society has
members all over the U.S. and Canada.  Those boys were from Southeastern
schools - Florida, Florida State, Georgia.  I saw one guy who I'm sure was
from Alabama - or, maybe, LSU.  You'll compete against them before you're
through.  Believe that they're all super gymnasts and great dudes!"  "Not
like you turkeys from Cornell, huh?" Brad asked with a leer.  Gobbling
vigorously, they descended on Brad, teaching him that "Brothers" have to be
treated with respect.  By the time, Andy pulled back on the road, a
laughing, teasing Brad Colby was fully back with the Spring Break program.

Remembering how cold - how RAW - it was back home, Brad could hardly
believe the Gulf Coast sands - or the eye candy!  (In fact, all four boys
agreed that the scenery was absolutely spectacular - though the
conversation didn't delve into specifics.)  They ate and they drank and
they swam in the clear water.  They met several other "Brothers" who
invited them to a party in their condo.  Brad went with a beer, but he had
no problem passing on the pills and grass!  (Once bitten...)  On one
evening, Andy and he went prowling while Pete and Chuck did their thing.
In fine fettle, they enjoyed their prey in a hollow out on the moonlit
sand.  When they got back to their apartment, however, they found a big
sign on the bedroom door, telling them to stay the hell out and wishing
them luck on the lumpy couch and the floor!  Well, that's life.  Everyone
was happy in the morning, especially Chuck who wore a pair of black panties
over his head!

(Pleasant Memories)

Whenever Brad looked back on the Spring Quarter of his Freshman year at
college, he would smile as his mind's eye moved from one happy scene to
another.  The situation at home was supremely happy; the gymnastics team
finished the year with a brilliant victory in a three-way meet with Penn
State and Lehigh; he never enrolled in a more interesting set of courses,
even when he entered graduate study.  As the reader may have guessed, his
favorite was Professor Hall's course in the philosophy of religion.  He
wondered, several times, whether Hall was in fact a shaman.  Whatever he
was, or was not, Brad had only the highest praise for his command of the
subject, his ability to teach it to undergraduates, and his ability to
excite students with the details of his field of inquiry.  Above all,
perhaps, he respected Hall for the ways in which he respected other people
- never talking down to them, never insulting them, always encouraging them
to see what a classmate was driving at.

He especially remembered the night when he was invited to dinner at the
Professor's home together with two other students, a very lovely young lady
from Missouri and a firebrand from Ireland who was convinced the religion
had been invented by the English!  The dinner which Dr.  Hall cooked
himself was delicious, though, perhaps, no more so than the topic to which
he directed conversation after dinner, "supernatural events".

Brad almost choked on his coffee when the Professor asked him about the
experience he had at Lake Luck.  When Brad feigned confusion, he said he
was referring to the time when he found himself 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.  He was
referring to the time when his bright eyes watched his companion in the
chase as they raced over the lake, over trees, over the peak in the
distance.  Do you think that was a supernatural event, Mr. Colby?

Realizing that the other two students were looking at him with the
strangest expressions, Brad swallowed and replied, "Well, of course, sir,
science doesn't allow us ever to be completely sure, but I'm inclined to
doubt it.  "You doubt your senses, Mr.  Colby?  Pray why?" Dr.  Hall asked
Speaking with greater confidence, Brad said, "Well, sir, I can think of
several reasons, but one of the best is found in Charles Dickens.  You will
remember that the Ghost of Christmas Past asked Scrooge much the same
question: Why do you doubt your senses?  If I remember my Dickens, Scrooge
replied, 'Because a little thing affects them. A slight disorder of the
stomach makes them cheats. You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of
mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato. There's more
of gravy than of grave about you, whatever you are!'"

Having Brad by the throat - completely at his mercy (for one can surmise
that he knew about the hallucinogenic flower seeds) - the Professor smiled
and backed off.  "Sometime," he said, "I shall have to ask you for some of
the 'other' reasons.  Brad grinned widely, and the conversation moved on.
At the end of the evening, Brad was the last student with whom he spoke at
the door.  He concluded by saying, "It may not happen tomorrow, or even the
next day, Mr. Colby, but I think I am looking at a future Teaching
Assistant.  Kindly remember this conversation."  Brad smiled and said
simply, "Thank you, Professor.  I don't think I can think of any honor that
I'd be happier to accept.  Good night, sir."  (In the fulness of time, he
did serve as Dr.  Hall's TA - and it was Hall who gave him the most
compelling recommendation to Harvard for a doctoral program.)


To Be Continued