Date: Sat, 2 Mar 2024 13:12:00 +0000 (UTC) From: Harry Broom Subject: Becoming a philisopher 15 Gay/college This is fiction and for adults. Don't read it if it is illegal to read it where you live. Please donate generously to Nifty to keep the stories coming. Becoming a Philosopher 15 University wasn't as fun as people made it out to be. Yes, there was the occasional wild party, but overall, we kept working very hard. There were always assignments to post and research papers to write. Martin's engineering course was particularly taxing, and Marisa's posh school kept her working hard for her money. She also ended up getting involved in school productions and music recitals. Marisa had been at her new school for about six months when she ran into some trouble. She had spoken to the head of music about Luke Aspin, the boy who had tried to come onto her months before. Luke was about six feet tall had blue eyes and looked older than he was. She had been teaching him some advanced pieces and they were in the small hall rehearsing. She sat beside him turning the sheet music, when during a pause he slipped his hand between her thighs. She immediately grabbed his hand and pushed it away. She got up walked out and headed to the security office to view the CCTV footage. Unfortunately, the camera wasn't working, and she called the head of music and reported the incident. Marisa was upset when she got home and told us what had happened. Martin was furious and told her to report the incident to the police. Luke happened to be a prefect and his father was also on the school board, in other words, he was a person with influence. I told her to report the matter to the school head. The school head listened to her story and suggested they `found a way around the problem.' He suggested that they have some kind of mediation, but it was clear to Marisa that the head was clearly on Luke's side. Marisa had a cousin in Cape Town who was an attorney and she called her for some advice. That weekend they worked on a letter challenging their lack of action, and she pursued a case of harassment. The head asked Marisa to come and see him, but she only agreed to meet him with her cousin. The head had the school lawyer with him, and it was clear that they wanted to make a deal. After some tough discussions, Marisa agreed to resign if the school paid her a year's salary in advance. The deal didn't feel just to me, but it suited Marisa who could devote far more time to her master's programme. She could also continue doing some private teaching. She had to sign a non-disclosure agreement and the school gave her a good reference letter. I was sickened by the whole incident confirming power of money. I was reminded of the great philosopher Jurgen Habermas and his idea of truth and reason being interconnected. His idea of justice emerged from discourse. Habermas's primary concern throughout his career had been to develop and defend a critical theory of society founded on normative principles. I don't think the school understood anything about `just'principles. I had always seen myself as a nudist and I asked Martin and Marisa to come on a trip to Sandy Bay, a nudist beach not too far from Cape Town. They both thought it would be fun. Marisa laughed and said that she couldn't imagine what her father, a Dutch Reformed minister would say. I told her that we wouldn't tell. I told Sven about our plans, and he said that he wished that he was around to join us. It was a warm winter's day when we left the apartment, but the weather changed before we got to the beach with rainy weather starting. We stripped in the car and put on our raincoats and walked down to the beach in the drizzle. "This defeats the purpose, Tom," Martin said. "I disagree, Martin, we are nudists out in the rain. It is a matter of principle." We walked along the beach until it became too chilly, and we went back to the car to dry ourselves. Marisa couldn't stop laughing. She never imagined she would be nude under a raincoat! We drove to a lovely little coffee shop, parked the car close by, and ran in to try out their legionary hot chocolate. We enjoyed the company of the owner who had worked in Belgium for many years. Marisa loved chatting with him, they mainly spoke Afrikaans and seemed to have a lot to talk about. Marisa spoke a lot about Jacques, the coffee shop owner, on our way back to the apartment. She said that she had almost lost all hope in the male species, but that Jacques had given her new hope. Martin and I were looking forward to meeting Ariel who would be getting to Cape Town in a week. I hadn't heard much from him since I met him at a Scout jamboree. He had sent a couple of pics over the years, and we exchanged some texts. Ariel had completed nearly three years of national service in the Israeli Defence Force. We met Ariel at the youth hostel he was staying at. He had put on weight since I had first met him, and he had a light beard. We hugged and I introduced him to Martin. I'd forgotten that he spoke with quite a heavy Hebrew accent. He said that he had enough of war and was keen to do a degree in peace studies in Cape Town. We said that we would be glad to show him around the campus and introduce him to some people. Ariel introduced us to his partner David. David had been in a Yeshiva in Jerusalem, and they had met at the bus station. David was on his way to Tel Aviv and he and Ariel spoke on the bus. They got to know each other better and one thing led to another. But as Ariel said, "this a long story." We took Ariel and David to Groot Constantia Wine Estate. We had a tour of the cellars and then tasted some of the wines in the tasting room. We sat inside as it was wet and rainy and enjoyed a light lunch. We found out that David had grown up orthodox and when he eventually accepted his sexual orientation left the Yeshiva, and he shared some of his experiences as he grew up. David could have easily been a stand-up comedian. After a lot of general talk, he spoke about his sexuality. He had struggled with the idea of masturbation since he was ten. He couldn't understand why something that felt so could be so wrong. He told us, with some humour, how his dad had asked a rabbi he was close with whether he had discussed wet dreams with his son when he experienced puberty. The rabbi said, "Not yet." When he asked again a few years later, after his son had physically matured, he said, "No, it just never came up." David said that giving a boy zero information about why his sheets are sometimes sticky is a recipe for confusion, shame, and guilt. How can it be right to keep truths about human biology a secret from young boys just because we feel uncomfortable? "My dad said that maintaining secrecy must lead boys to think that these challenges only affect a few people, but that wasn't true. The solution my dad gave me was to overcome the urges through willpower. I never told my father that I lack the willpower that he thinks I have since then I masturbated in the shower every night and felt guilty afterward. I searched the web for years looking for answers and I took heart from one Quora answer about masturbation in Yeshivas: `In my yeshivah, they'd say if you don't wear flip-flops in the shower you might get pregnant.' Another person answered: `I remember it being hard to find a bathroom around 7 pm in my yeshiva dorm.'" He told us that it was sometime after his bar mitzvah when I attended a question-and-answer session where a rabbi was asked how and when, if at all, a Jewish father should talk to his sons about wet dreams and masturbation. ] Before the rabbi could answer a person interrupted him: `There are children here!' The youngest boy in the room was two months shy of his bar mitzvah and I couldn't think of no one else who needed this information more urgently than a 12-year-old boy. Then, in rabbinical style, the rabbi said he didn't know and would probably ask his rabbi when his children grew older. David told another funny story: "Now that I am older, I have had more world experience, I found out that Catholics have the same taboos around masturbation and that Catholic boys live with the same guilt that we do. Hindu and Muslim boys also live in guilt, but when Muslim boys succumb to their needs it is seen as a lesser evil and they seek forgiveness. I put my flip-flops on and got into the shower. The warm jet of water felt good on my back, I closed my eyes turned my head up, and washed my face. I massaged the shower gel across my shoulders and onto my chest. I washed my arse and cleaned out my hole using the gel. I lifted my legs and washed my thighs and my calves. My dick grew harder as I massaged my body and I washed under my balls. I washed my shaft and was careful not to soap into my piss slit. My dick was upright, parallel to my stomach when I started to wank. I felt an incredible sensation building up and my body trembled, and I held onto the wall for a moment as ropes of cum splashed onto the shower glass. I was breathing faster, and I felt my heart beating in my ears. An incredible sensation." After a lunch that ran into the late afternoon, we took our visitors back to the backpackers and arranged to meet them on campus the next day. Martin and I spoke about our day with our friends and how much we enjoyed it. Martin liked David's perspective on life and thought that he was a great philosopher. David was speaking about studying philosophy if he returned to South Africa with Ariel. We filled Marisa in on our get-together with the Israelis. She listened with interest and said that she would like to meet them. I suggested that she meet us for lunch at the kosher restaurant on campus. Martin and I went for a walk around the block before we showered. We showered together. Both of us developed erections as we washed each other. We kissed and slowly wanked each other standing close to each other kissing. I ejaculated on him and he on me. We washed ourselves and went to bed. We were naked in bed. I snuggled in behind him on the cold winter night, my flaccid dick was against his arse, and I loved the feeling of his naked back against my chest. My left arm was over his chest, and I felt content. There was a light knock on the door, and Marisa asked if she could join them. I lifted the duvet, and she slipped in behind me. I felt her breasts against my back, she came closer, and I could feel her warm breath on my neck.