Date: Thu, 12 Nov 2020 13:37:40 +0000 (UTC) From: MC Subject: The Pandemic Houseguest / Jordan Moves On Part 6 The Pandemic Houseguest: Jordan Moves On By Mitchell Conner Part Six Greetings readers. I apologize for taking so long to write and post Part Five for those of you loyal enough to have stuck with the story this long. It's exactly because of you that I took extra time with this pivotal chapter, discarding a lot of what I originally wrote to come up with something worthy of Jordan, Cameron and Dean. Thank you for the encouraging emails, they motivate me to continue writing. I'll continue to use this as a way to improve my writing skills while keeping you entertained. If gay content, descriptions of hot gay sex, romantic love, or actual dialogue in an erotic story offends you please don't read further. This is entirely fiction, a work brought on by a perverted imagination, access to the internet and time to burn. The names, events, activities, and circumstances are fictitious. If it's illegal wherever you live, or for your calendar age, stop now. This story is mine: all rights reserved by the author with the exception of its use by Nifty.org. You're welcome to use it to pass the time but not to copy and repost as your own demented work or for commercial purposes. Nifty relies on donations so that you practice the ultimate form of safe sex by reading about it. Those same hands you use for pleasure can also type in a pleasing donation to Nifty. Previously: "Can I take an extra credit lesson, teacher?" he said as he rubbed his hard- on against me as we embraced. I smirked as I realized what Dean had gone through with me and mouthed a voiceless thank you to the man who'd said yes when I was a teen. "How many points do you want to earn, Cameron?" And now we continue: "So you'd be doing us a huge favor," Paul said as though it was true. "Yes, I suppose living in this fabulous house minutes from UCLA rent-free would be an enormous kindness. What's an inconvenience among friends?" I said, shaking my head as I smirked at Paul's poor attempt hiding his generosity. Cameron and I had come to LA for a few days to work out our living arrangements for the start of school in a month. I'd lived in Paul and Howard's guest house during my student years but it was a tad small for a couple. When we showed Paul pictures of our top three finalists his eyebrows rose to the site of his former hairline as he clicked his tongue and shook his head. "I won't have my boys living in hovels." "What's a hovel?" Cameron said. "A place you'll never live if I have my way," Paul said. And thus Paul's way was revealed over dinner that night. "Howard and I have been meaning to move to the desert for a few years now. If you could just do us this one small courtesy our dreams of carefree retirement can come true." Howard rolled his eyes. "We love our little shack in the sticks, right Howard?" he added, giving his husband the side eye. "Yes. But no way in Hell are we going to start eating dinner at four," Howard said with a smirk in reference to senior habits. The shack was their 6,000 square foot gated estate in the historic movie colony district of Palm Springs. It was rumored John F. Kennedy had swam naked in their pool with a certain blonde starlet. Paul loved to mention it whenever he threw a party under the gazebo there. So it came to be that we moved into an alternate universe version of student housing that we dubbed `Le Dorm.' It included Mary Anne, the maid for two days a week. "Stay out of the laundry room and you'll get along fine," Paul said as he handed me the keys, his wink to remind me of the morning after my first time with Cameron. Living with Cameron that summer before school started had been like being around a freshly opened bottle of champagne. He was uncorked, bubbling over and I knew how he felt. Looking back I'm surprised Dean could walk some days. "Really?" Cameron said, his pout more suitable for fourth grade than the start of school at UCLA. "Just a few please, you look so cute," I said. "Yes daddy," he said with a smirk. It was first day of school pictures for my boy, just like Dean had done for me every year through high school, university, and even when I was teaching. "You were so cute back then," Cameron had said when we looked them over in my computer file one afternoon last week. "Back then?" I'd said with mock indignation. "I'd have hit on you for sure." "Oh really?" "Really," Cameron said with a confirming kiss that was just the start of his fantasy of what two high schoolboys would together on a lazy afternoon. He had a way with making fantasies real. That morning my boyfriend chose fitted jeans and a snug olive green polo shirt that showed off his bigger-than-when-I-met-him biceps and chest, outlined by the straps of the backpack I'd gifted him yesterday. He'd also gotten a new haircut that framed his maturing face and made him more handsome than cute. If I were his teacher now I'd be helpless to resist his sexy swagger. "Bad teacher," Cameron said when he caught my eyes lingering on the bulge pushing out his crotch as I licked my lips. I flashed a guilty smile, remembering how I woke him up this morning. "I'm so proud of you," I said, my voice catching. "Thank you," he said as he closed distance and pulled me into a hug. "None of this would be without you. You..." "You saved me," I said, cutting in, looking him in the eyes. We'd spent the summer together, shared intimate moments, countless hugs and it still wasn't enough. But it was time to start our next chapter. "Now be good in your new class," he said like a parent. "Make friends with the other kids and be polite." I chuckled. "And if any of the boys ask you to their apartment y'all say no, got it?" he mimicked with a perfect Kentucky accent. I shrugged, palms up with a `who me?' look, which was met by a stern- faced Cameron. He'd not forgotten our UCLA visit earlier this year. He shook his head and smiled. "Set the timer and get both of us together," he nodded at my phone. A few poses later we were off to start school. I loved my new job. Instead of teaching what others decided for me I was free to create something new based on my experience as both a teacher and gay man. Very empowering. "Good morning Professor Monroe." About the time I connected that smooth-as-honey voice to its owner I looked up and saw Beau Jeffries standing in front of me. He'd stuck with his signature look only this time it was a tight navy blue t-shirt and khaki cargo pants struggling to contain the mountain of muscle stood before me. "Good morning Beau," I said. "I'm still not a professor." "You remembered me?" he said, with a warm smile. "Of course. Did you ever find your way home?" A sheepish grin crept over his face as he acknowledged his attempted pick- up on me. "Yes, thanks. I remembered you work here. Do you like it?" "Very much. How's it being at UCLA?" "Very good, thank you kindly. I actually start tomorrow. No classes on Wednesdays... Say, can I talk to you about something?" "Okay," I said, wary of what was next. "Can we go somewhere?" he said. I almost expected him to ask me to his apartment but was spared when he added, "There's a Starbucks across the street." "Sure, I'm due for a break," I said and we headed out. "I met someone," Beau said after we'd sat at a table away from most of the crowd. "Good for you." "But I'm not sure about some stuff," he said. "Like what?" He held out his phone but this time there wasn't a map showing. Instead it was him and a handsome, muscular, early forties black man who managed to tower over Beau – and had his arm around him. "His name's Clifton Davies." I looked again to be sure and it clicked. Clifton Davies was a retired NBA player who was now a popular sports broadcaster, well-known for his smooth deep baritone voice. While there'd been rumors about his bachelor status, he'd never come out either way, answering anyone who asked with a shake of his shaved head and a smirk. `I met him at orientation," Beau said. "He went to UCLA." "So..." I said, prodding him to continue. "I really like him." "And?" "I've never been with a... someone..." Beau said, struggling. I smiled when he added, "An older man." "I see. Is it an issue for you?" "I dunno... maybe... we're so different," he said with an understated shrug. "So how can I help?" "Remember when we met? You were with that red-head..." "Cameron," I said. "Yeah. Is he your boyfriend?" "Yes, he is." "High school?" I blushed then said, "He's just started at UCLA." "Cool. "Well since you're old...um, older... aw sorry I didn't mean it quite that way... dammit... you know what I mean," he said, blushing. " I let him stew for a moment. "I really like him and I was hoping for some advice on how to handle this, seeing as y'all are dating someone younger." "I can actually talk to you about both sides of that coin." "How's that?" "When I turned twenty-one I married a fifty-six year old man." "Lord! I bet you wore him out." I smiled at his accuracy and continued. "He passed away early this year and I was lucky enough to meet Cameron." "I think he's the lucky one," Beau said. "How's he doing with the age gap?" "I've got an idea," I said. "Why don't you come over for dinner and we can talk about it. Maybe between the two of us we can help you out." "Gosh that'd be mighty sweet. When?" "How about Friday?" "Oh sorry, can't. Clifton's taking me out. I know it's short notice but how about tomorrow? I'd be happy to bring pizza since I'm asking for such a help." "Yeah that'd work," I said. We exchanged info and when I stood to leave I was surrounded by beefy biceps and developed pecs as Beau gave me a hug. "I'm truly grateful, Professor." "No problem," I said, giving up on reminding him on my rank. The day zoomed by and when my phone buzzed with a text I realized it was already 6:30. `When r u coming home?' read Cameron's message. `On my way,' I texted back and sat the phone on my desk while I finished sorting some papers for tomorrow. When it buzzed a minute later and a photo appeared on the screen I only glanced, figuring it was another one of Cameron's cute first day at school pictures. "Got a minute?" a voice from behind me said. I turned around and Dr. Jenkins was in the doorway staring down at my desk. I followed his gaze to my phone screen, where a picture of Cameron in nothing but a jockstrap and a lewd grin appeared along with a message. `Dinner's warm. I'm hot.' I looked up at Dr. Jenkins. His eyebrows were raised then the corners of his mouth rose in a grin as he shook his head. "No wonder you're always in such a good mood," he said. I pocketed my phone wearing a guilty smile. "You've got a big job ahead of you, and a little issue's come up." "What?" I said, my stomach doing a flip-flop. "We'd planned on providing you a student intern to help with curriculum review but unfortunately that didn't work out," he said. "I'm terribly sorry." I was relieved it wasn't about me. "Any other candidates?" "None that we think are suitable." Then inspiration struck. "Does my intern have to be a UCLA student?" "Yes, but it's a minor issue, we can always get them enrolled as a part-time or remote student strictly for the intern position. Do you have someone in mind?" "Perhaps, let me do some checking." "Sounds good. I let out a long breath and smiled. I needed to talk with Cameron about texting me at work. More than dinner was waiting for me that evening at "Le Dorm," Frank and Howard's place. Candle lights, cloth napkins and flowers were set on the table. Broiled steak and vegetables were served by a red-headed waiter who wore only the pictured jockstrap, its pouch straining to contain a healthy serving of boy-cream for dessert. Cameron giggled when I told him about my new boss seeing his picture so I pulled him across my lap and gave his exposed round butt a few swats for his attitude. "More," he said. I kept spanking until his milky white cheeks matched his hair color. I knew the punishment had failed when I pulled him off my lap. His helmet head was outlined in the pre-cum spotted jock pouch jutting out in front of him, and there was a wet patch on my pants. "Bad boy," I said. Cameron gave me a sheepish grin. "Yes daddy." There'd been times with Dean when it was just about sex, sharing each other's body, pure animal excitement. Rather than feeling used after those sessions I'd felt even closer to my man. Now it was Cameron's turn to discover the same thing. After dinner cleanup in the kitchen, I bent him over the counter and fucked him, still wearing his jock while I bit his neck and whispered dirty words in his ear, my hand over his mouth to muffle his moans. My bad porn dialogue of "This is what bad boys get," was answered with kisses on my hand, his hips gyrating, and that tight hole squeezing my cock until I filled his ass with my cum. "Oh my God Jordan," he said, wide-eyed and panting through his grin. "What the fuck was that?" "That's how it can be when two people love enough to treat each other like slutty whores," I said. "I love you too," my adorable smart-ass said. "Now come on," he added, grabbing my elbow and leading me towards the bedroom. "Strip," he said as we stood by the foot of the bed. I grinned as I complied, growing hard from his commanding tone and the view of his unspent hard cock bouncing up as he freed it from the jockstrap. As my pants and underwear reached my ankles he pushed me and said, "Get on your stomach." Then he yanked off those last bits of clothing and leapt on top of me, his pre-cum wet cock already pushing at the cleft in my ass. Cameron had a term for what happened next. He called it the `double- back.' Being seventeen he had special skills not found in mortal men. He enjoyed showing me his resilience was at a peak by fucking me until he came then staying inside me. His cock softened a bit then after about fifteen minutes he started moving his hips, my cum-lubricated ass providing just enough friction to get him rock hard again. Cameron's second fuck always took longer. That night the lengthy stimulation of my prostrate had me shooting the last three shots I could make hands free. It's a wonder I could walk the next day. It's no wonder I forgot to talk to him about Beau coming to dinner Thursday night but I thought it would make an interesting surprise for him. "Why are people still surprised when someone who looks like me or Clifton is gay?" Beau asked as he sat on the living room sofa. "It's mental shorthand to stereotype people, requires less critical thinking and the time to actually know someone. We're not all hairdressers." Beau pursed his lips then nodded his head. "Probably why they wonder about Clifton." We were still chatting when the front door opened and Jordan appeared. He looked at Beau, then me, then back at Beau, his mouth moving as though to speak. "You remember Beau?" I said, watching Cameron's jaw tighten. "Hello Cameron," Beau said. "Hi," Cameron said, his voice flat. "Jordan, can I talk to you?" As I followed him out of the room Beau gave me an unconvincing smile as I shrugged my shoulders. When I entered the kitchen Cameron wheeled around. "Second day of school. I knew this would happen," pointing a finger at me as he shook his head. "What do you think is happening here?" I said. "Are you really that dense? Or is this something you want? He's the guy that tried to pick you up this summer. In front of me!" Cameron's face was approaching his hair color and he wasn't doing a good job of speaking quietly so I put a finger to my lips. "I'm outta here," Cameron said, pushing past me when I didn't move fast enough. "I knew I couldn't trust you," he added as he stormed out of the room. The front door slammed shut when I walked into the living room. Beau sat on the sofa, slack-jawed at the red fireball who'd just passed through. "Lord, I'm sorry about that," Beau said. "It's not your fault," I said after a moment. "I'm sorry too." I couldn't think of what else to say. I'd seen Cameron mad at his father but this was a level of anger he'd never shown me before. It called into question him, us, and what lay ahead. Beau was kind enough to excuse himself and leave. It was no surprise my calls and texts to Cameron went unanswered. I figured he needed time to cool down but when eleven o'clock arrived it was time to take action. As I walked around campus looking for my hot- headed lover I considered our relationship. Was he too young, too immature for a real relationship? While I'd thought I knew him, was he really like this? Then I remembered the party I went to with Dean shortly after I turned eighteen. I'd been the youngest one there and received lots of attention, yet he didn't hover over me. Occasionally I'd catch his eye and he'd smile and nod at me. A real smile, one that said `glad you're having fun.' I'd noticed him standing close to a handsome thirty-something tall black- haired man for a while – he was no longer looking at me, only at that guy. There'd been three men Dean's age surrounding me, emboldened enough by their cocktails to flirt with me even though my lover was just across the room. I'd peered around them and saw Dean now sitting on the sofa, their knees touching as they spoke. "Oh honey, can't you see he's busy?" one of my admirers had said, his 90- proof breath making my eyes water. I'd bumped the man aside, marched up to Dean, put my hands on my hips and said, "I want to go." "In a moment," he'd said. "Now," I'd said, loud enough for the room to hear the boy having a tantrum. They'd stood up and Dean smiled at the other man, hugged him, then turned without looking at me and walked out of the room. I'd had to hurry after him like an afterthought. In the car I'd glared straight ahead, arms across my chest, lower lip out as he drove us home. We pulled into the garage and neither of us spoke or moved at first. "Wait," Dean had said when I reached for the door. I gave him an icy glare. "I'm sensing that you're upset," one eyebrow raised in a sarcastic salute. "Think so? Who was that man?" "An old friend." "Someone you slept with before?" "Yes." "So were you setting up the next time?" Dean had smirked, which set me off. When I grabbed for the door handle that time he'd said, "I suppose I should tell you the truth." My eyes had opened wide. "Pablo, that's my friend's name, was sharing with me that he was getting married." "Oh." "And to congratulate me on finding such a beautiful boyfriend, although his opinion may have changed somewhat when you walked up to the sofa," he'd said. "Did you know your eyes turn hazel when you're angry?" I'd moved my mouth like a beached fish, unable to speak, embarrassed to the core. "Feeling jealous just makes you human, Jordan. How you handle it makes you a man." Tears had come to my eyes but he wasn't done. He'd reached into his wallet and taken out the hundred dollar bill he always carried `in case of emergency.' "This is you," he'd said, holding the bill in his left hand. Then he took a penny out of the bin in the car console, held it up and said, "This is Pablo or any other man in the world," then handed it to me. "Think I'd trade? Which one do you think I'm gonna hang onto?" he'd said looking deep into my eyes. I'd bawled my eyes out in the car and the house for the next fifteen minutes as his lesson hit home, ashamed of myself for ever doubting my man. Then I remembered those men around me all evening, flirting even, and Dean only smiling, not reacting like I did. "But those men were..." "Pretty brazen, weren't they?" he'd said. "Can't blame `em, you were the sexiest one at the party." "But you didn't..." "Have a tantrum?" he'd said then grinned so I'd know he was teasing. "Jordan, I've just got to trust you or this thing isn't gonna work out." I'd pondered his wisdom for a few minutes while I hugged him, then pulled back and said, "So I'm only worth a hundred?" A tear formed when I recalled Dean chuckling then his deep voice. "Yeah boy, a hundred times a million." Jordan never had a Dean to teach him how to be a man – a job his father had failed at big time. On top of that Tommy had cheated on him. He'd done the best possible with his emotions, but it was up to me now. If Cameron was willing it'd be worth it to help him become the man I was destined to love. My phone beeped, bringing me back to the present. `Meet me at my place,' read the text from Beau. It was followed by an address just off campus. `Not a good time,' I sent, wondering what would possess Beau to text me at nearly midnight. `Found what you lost,' read the reply. In the short video that followed a huddled figure with a mop of messed up red hair was sitting on a sofa. His whole body shook as he shuddered through each long painful wail, followed by a ragged breath. My heart broke as I listened to my Cameron.