Date: Sun, 6 Sep 2009 06:06:52 -0700 (PDT) From: Henry Brooks Subject: The Shack in the Forest Short story Steve Mackey was in his junior year at a small private college in upstate New York. He had chosen this school because it was located near a small city with enough amenities to satisfy any college student, and it was surrounded by forests on every side. Steve was a nature lover. Nothing gave him more pleasure than to wake up every morning and gaze out of his dorm window at the lush forest setting. In the winter, the trees glowed with new fallen snow, and the sight of such serenity soothed and comforted him. During the very first week of his freshman year, he had celebrated his eighteenth birthday all by himself. His room mate had offered to celebrate with him by partying at a local bar, but he had refused the well intended offer. Instead he celebrated by taking a hike in the forest. He was no more than a half mile from the perimeter of the forest when he came across an abandoned shack on the edge of a small stream. Behind the shack was a decaying outhouse. Steve opened the door of the shack. There was a tiny kitchen table, two chairs, a cot, a pot belly stove and some rusty cooking utensils. There was a shelf along one wall that contained some old tin cans of food. In a free standing cabinet he also found a set of flatware, service for two. Steve reckoned that at some distant date in the past, this shack had been used by hunters. The forest still abounded with deer and other smaller wild life. As close as the shack was to the clearing, the foliage was so thick that nobody could spot it, unless they happened across it just as Steve had done. Immediately, the young man made a decision. He claimed the shack as his own. Over the next few months, he set about making the shack habitable. The first thing he did was to make sure the chimney flue was clear. He cleaned out and polished up the pot belly stove, stoked it with fire wood, and set it ablaze. In minutes the shack was warm and toasty. He dusted the place, and disposed of all the rusty utensils and flatware and replaced them with shiny new ones. He knew he could rinse the utensils in the stream, so he supplied himself with dish towels. He bought a thick mattress for the cot, and canned goods now filled the shelf. He bought a lamp that operated on batteries, and stood it next to the cot. Every Saturday, he went to the one room cottage (he no longer referred to it as a shack) and cleaned it up. He would make bacon and eggs on the stove and eat in solitude at the kitchen table. When he cleaned up after breakfast, he would move the lamp near the table and do his homework and study his lessons. When he wearied, he would nap until evening. Then he would return to his dorm, freshen up, change clothes and go into town. From the way he conducted his life, most of his fellow students, including his room mate, considered Steve to be a loner. They knew he disappeared on Saturdays, but nobody questioned where he went, so his shack remained undetected. None of the people he knew ever saw him on Saturday nights either, but nobody asked where he was or what he did. He went to another of his secret places. When he was a freshman, Steve had gone into town one Saturday night. He decided he would have a good meal in a restaurant instead of the usual boring food in the school cafeteria. He sat alone at a table when he was approached by a young "townie" who Steve guessed to be about 23 or 24 years old, and very good looking. "Do you mind if I sit here?" the townie asked. "All the other tables seem to be fully occupied." Steve looked around. There were plenty of empty tables. Now Steve may have chosen a rural college to attend, but he was not naive. He had grown up in Manhattan, in an area close to Greenwich Village. He had hung out in the Village many a Saturday evening, and never had trouble scoring. His good looks and athletic frame assured him of a good time. There was no doubt what the townie had in mind and Steve was raring to go. "Have a seat," Steve said, and he motioned to the empty seat across the table. The townie moved the chair so that it was at right angles to Steve. He sat down and his knee rubbed against Steve's knee. Something started to swell between Steve's legs. "My name is Brady," the townie said, extending his hand. Steve shook his hand and said, "I'm Steve. It's really nice to meet you." The waitress came over and took Brady's order. The two young men were not shy, and before their meal was over they knew all about each other, including the fact that they were both gay and very, very horny. "I'd like to buy you a beer," Brady said. There's a nice, intimate bar very close to my apartment. It's not exactly a gay bar, there aren't any in this town, but on Saturday night most of our brothers hang out there. The owner is very gay friendly, and why not? We are his best customers." Brady took Steve to the bar and introduced him to four or five of his friends. From then on Steve spent his Saturday nights with these guys. The first night, he slept with Brady, of course, but over the course of time, he got to sleep with all of them. Sometimes he slept with two or three at a time. They would have become a close band of brothers but for the fact that they were all townies, and they knew that Steve would leave some day so they never quite let him all the way into their circle. When it came to bedroom activities, Brady was the best of the bunch. Believe it or not, he preferred to give rather than to receive. That does not mean to say that he didn't like to receive. It was just that he derived more pleasure from pleasing his partner. This was evident to Steve from their first coupling. Brady insisted on doing all the work. He took Steve to his apartment after they had consumed a couple of beers. They undressed each other slowly, baring their chests first. Before going further they pinched and fondled each other's nipples and both men sighed at the pleasure. Steve reached for Brady's belt buckle, but Brady stopped him. Instead Brady leaned down and started to suck Steve's nipples. He bit on them lightly and Steve squealed with pleasure. Finally they resumed removing each other's clothing. By the time they were totally naked, they were both fully erect, and they both liked what they saw. They were both uncut. In their hardened state they were each about seven inches and not too wide in girth. They both thought that would make fucking easier. Brady obviously had more fore skin. His purple head barely protruded through the sheath, whereas Steve's head protruded completely. They stood and stared at each other's private parts and then they began to fondle their cocks and balls. Suddenly Brady fell to his knees. "I can't resist any more," he said, and he took Steve's throbbing schlong into his mouth. Steve hadn't whacked off in a couple of days, so he started to cum almost immediately. Brady sensed that, and stopped sucking. He asked Steve to lie in his bed on his back. He removed a condom from his dresser drawer and rolled it down Steve's cock, which was pulsating with anticipation and desire. He also removed a tube of lube from the drawer and generously greased Steve's cock and his own ass hole. Finally, he positioned himself over Steve's cock and lowered himself gently. When Steve's cock could go no further into Brady's love hole, Brady sat stone still, letting Steve's desires wane. He spoke to Steve gently, telling him what a great lover he was, and he stroked Steve's cheeks and pinched his nipples until Steve wanted to cry. Steve could hardly stand it, and started gyrating his hips. Finally Brady began his dance of love, raising himself up and down, but never letting Steve's cock fall out of his man hole. After just a few strokes, Steve came, emitting one long wail and a plethora of cum. Brady sat on him until Steve was too soft to maintain their coupling. He raised himself off Steve, and removed Steve's cum soaked rubber. He dropped it down the toilet, and wet a wash cloth with warm, soapy water. He cleaned Steve as if he was a baby in a bassinet. They lie side by side resting. At last Steve reached over and started to stroke Brady's rock hard cock. "You don't have to do anything," Brady said. "I'm pretty done out. You can get me off next time." Steve would have been left with overwhelming guilt if he obeyed Brady, so he said, "Just as you wish, but I want to leave you with a lick and a promise." He bent over Brady and he took his cock in his mouth. He sucked for a short while and said, "I'll finish next Saturday." Steve was back in his dorm before midnight, just as he was every Saturday night after that, leaving his room mate and his few friends to wonder where he went every Saturday all day and all evening. In spite of that, none of them felt close enough to him ever to ask. One of Steve's required courses was Classical Civilization. He put off taking it until his junior year because he had heard that the only professor who taught this course was a total doofus, and a complete boor. He could not put it off any longer and enrolled in the course. On the evening before his first class, Steve decided to see what he could find out about this universally disliked teacher. The college's web site included a biography of every faculty member. Steve went to the site and clicked on Jeremy Whiting. Jeremy Whiting, PhD: Dr. Whiting received his doctorate in the study of ancient civilizations from Yale University in 2005. The subject of his thesis was "Rome, After the Fall." It is available in the college library. Dr. Whiting was born in Brooklyn, New York in 1979. He is single. He enjoys, opera, theater, and his favorite pastime is hiking. The blurb was not accompanied by a picture, and was not very enlightening except for Dr. Whiting's age. Steve expected him to be much older than thirty. He was practically a contemporary. There were more shocks to come. When Dr. Whiting entered the classroom for the first time, Steve did a double take. Jeremy Whiting was drop dead gorgeous. He was about six feet tall. He wasn't muscular, but his body was lean and solid. He had soft brown eyes and brown hair. His hair was uncombed but not untidy. It was rather attractively tousled. He never smiled at the class and Steve was sorry about that. He wanted to know what his smile would be like. Whiting addressed the class, in a deep baritone voice which would have been rather sexy, except for the fact that he spoke in somewhat of a monotone and droned on forever. Steve realized that it would be an effort to stay awake in his class. By the end of the first hour, Whiting had managed to bore the entire class to a near comatose state. No wonder his status among the student body was so low. Fifteen minutes before the class ended, Steve was dreaming about Brady and his other Saturday night friends. He hadn't taken a single study note, and couldn't tell you what Whiting was talking about. All of Steve's ennui changed during the fourth lecture. Whiting began to talk about the debauchery and the prevalence of homosexuality in the ancient Greek and Roman civilizations. In spite of his lack luster delivery, the class was all ears. He began to rant and rave about the homosexuals and attributed the fall of both civilizations to the "freaking queers." At last his voice started to become animated as his obvious hatred for homosexuals came out. "If we don't watch out," he spouted venomously, "they will bring down our civilization also." Steve, and one or two other closeted individuals, squirmed uncomfortably in the already uncomfortable classroom seats. Steve thought that such un-professor like behavior would end with that lesson, but Whiting kept bringing up the subject in almost every lecture, and displaying his hatred of gays, then and now. In spite of a physical attraction to the professor, Steve detested him. He would have registered a complaint, but he didn't want to out himself. Instead, Steve decided that he would simply murder the good professor. He vowed to commit the perfect crime. To that end, he knew that he had to become Jeremy's friend, without the other students becoming aware of it. Very few questions were raised in class because very few students knew what the hell Whiting was talking about. Steve refused to allow himself to become distracted by Whiting's droning, and he began to listen carefully to what he had to say. His plan was to jot down meaningful questions. Then at the end of the class, he would linger and approach the professor's desk as he was packing up his attache case. "Excuse me, Dr. Whiting," Steve said one day with a lilt in his voice. "May I ask you a question?" Whiting was stunned. This was the first time that any student had ever done this. His experience was that they usually bolted out of his class room. "Why of course, Mr. Mackey," Whiting answered. "Oh please, call me Steve," Steve said in the friendliest voice he could muster. "Steve then. What is your question?" "Well, sir, I'm majoring in engineering, and I was wondering if you could shed some light on how the ancient Romans developed the engineering skills to build the aqueducts? Did they have schools or was it just an innate talent?" "What a wonderful question. I don't have a definitive answer, but it is a good topic for conversation. If you aren't busy tonight, perhaps you would like to come over to my apartment this evening. We can discuss it over a cup of coffee. I live just a short walk from the campus." "That would be a singular honor for me, Professor." That's how it all began. After that, Steve visited Dr. Whiting at least once a week. During those times, he suffered more harangues about the perverts who brought down a great civilization, as well as wonderfully intellectual discussions about the civilizations themselves. Sometimes during the coffee break, Whiting would play his favorite opera arias for them. Other times he would play Broadway tunes. A strange thing began to happen. Steve began to hate Whiting more and more when he was raving and ranting about queers, but without realizing it, he was falling in love with him when they were conversing about other things, and listening to music. When he wasn't ranting against gays, Jeremy was handsome, warm, caring and loving. He was always concerned about Steve's well being, and even asked him to call him Jeremy, outside the classroom, of course. Steve learned that Jeremy had no family (murdering him would be easier). He wasn't going anywhere for the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday break. He had no place to go. Steve wasn't going home either, because his parents were going down to Florida to visit his maternal grandparents. Shortly before the Thanksgiving break he told Jeremy about his love for hiking. Jeremy's ears perked up. He loved hiking also. Of course, Steve knew that. "Two years ago, while hiking, I discovered a shack in the forest. I think it had been used by hunters in some long ago time. It was rotting away, but I renovated it and now it has become a retreat for me. I go there to study and do my homework and to get away from the world." He concluded by whispering to Jeremy in a conspiratorial way, "Nobody knows about this place. I've kept it a deep, dark secret. Now you know about it and you are the only one. Would you like to hike with me one day and see it?" "You honor me," Jeremy said. Then he did something which shocked the hell out of Steve. He embraced Steve and said, "It will be a pleasure to go hiking with you." "Great," Steve said. "How about at the Thanksgiving break?" "Perfect," Jeremy agreed. Jeremy spent the next two Saturday afternoons, preparing the cottage for the murder of Jeremy Whiting, PhD. The morning of the hike was bitter cold. Both hikers discovered that they liked to hike when it was so cold. They both found it extra invigorating. Steve told Jeremy not to bother with a back sack or food. The cottage wasn't very far and he had plenty of food and a wood burning stove. They met in front of Jeremy's apartment and headed for the woods. If Steve walked to the cottage as directly as he could through the dense woods, it was a rather short half mile walk. He wanted to pretend that the shack was more isolated than it was so he took a more circuitous route than a straight line. He had grown so familiar with these woods that he knew he wouldn't get lost. As they approached the cottage it started to snow lightly. "Let's hurry," Steve said. "It's only a little way more." When Jeremy saw the cottage, he also spied the outhouse. "Can I pee before we go in?" he asked. He didn't wait for an answer but headed straight for the outhouse. Jeremy waited for him to finish. He then held the door of the cottage open so that Jeremy could enter first. Jeremy was hardly inside when everything went black. A heavy two by two board had been carefully set behind the door. As soon as Jeremy was in the room, Steve grabbed it, and he whacked his teacher solidly on the head. When he regained consciousness, Jeremy found himself lying naked on a cot. His hands and feet were shackled to the frame of the cot. Things were blurry at first and he was trying desperately to figure out where he was and how he got here. He could see a fire burning in a stove and a teapot was on the stove. The room was warm enough for such a cold day, and he was surprised that he was not chilly. At last he could see Steve sitting at the kitchen table. He tried to find his voice. "Why?" he asked. His voice was pleading, pathetic, and Steve winced. For the first time he had doubts. "Why not?" he blurted out. "You're a homophobic son of a bitch. I brought you here to kill you" "So you are gay," Jeremy said hoarsely. "I suspected." "You suspected? If you asked me and I had said that I was gay, would you have destroyed the friendship that was growing between us." "I don't know," Jeremy answered honestly. "You are the first person, man or woman, that I could ever relate to. You are the first person that ever seemed to want to be my friend. That's why I buried myself in the ancient world. I couldn't seem to make friends with anyone in our world, that is, until you asked me a question." "For God's sake, you freak. You're thirty years old. Haven't you ever had a relationship with a woman?" Jeremy turned his face away from Steve and started to sob. "You're a virgin, an honest to God, actual, thirty year old virgin," Steve started to laugh hysterically. Jeremy started to cry harder. "Do you at least jerk off?" Steve wanted honestly to know. "Yes," Jeremy answered slightly above a whisper. "Didn't you ever get jerked off or jerk a friend off when you were a kid?" Steve was now curious and probing. Jeremy shook his head. "Never," he sobbed. Steve was incredulous. "No wonder you're such a freak. Well. I'm going to change all that. I'm going to make you more homophobic than you ever were." Jeremy was shocked to see Steve begin to strip. When Steve was naked, Jeremy could see his very erect member and he grew more frightened. As Steve moved, his cock bobbed up and down. The cot wasn't too strong and so Steve laid himself on top of Jeremy very gingerly. Jeremy could feel Steve's hard prick rubbing against his flaccid member. It felt so nice. This was so unexpected. Their lips were only an inch apart. Steve began to dry hump Jeremy's cock. As he felt Jeremy getting hard, he did something totally involuntary. He placed his lips on Jeremy's and started to kiss him. He never intended to do that. He hated this man. The next surprise came when Jeremy started to respond. Soon their tongues as well as there lips were locked in warm embraces. Jeremy's cock was now rock hard and rubbing against Steve's. "Is this how it feels to make love?" Jeremy asked Steve. Steve didn't answer, he just kept kissing Jeremy harder. Suddenly he slid down Jeremy's body and started to kiss his piss slit. Steve tried to part the slit with the tip of his tongue. He jumped when Jeremy yelled out, "Steve, Steve!" Again Steve chose not to say anything. Instead he enveloped Jeremy's cock and started licking up and down the underside of the shaft with his tongue, while his lips caressed the rest of the cock. Jeremy's butt raised from the cot. He was trying to get more of him inside of Steve. When he felt his orgasm coming, he decided not to warn Steve. Somehow he thought he would be punishing Steve if he came in his mouth. It shocked him when Steve swallowed every drop and declared how good it tasted. Steve licked him clean as a whistle. Steve went to a drawer in the cabinet and removed a dish towel. He rolled it up and placed it under Jeremy's head. "Now you fuck, before you die, I am going to give you your last meal. I'm going to let you see how good a cock can taste, you homophobic son of a bitch. I'm going to make you into a proper cock sucker." He straddled Jeremy's body and crept up until his cock was at Jeremy's lips. "Suck my cock," he commanded and if you dare to hurt me, I'll kill you." Steve was shocked at how Jeremy reacted to his command. Jeremy opened his mouth to receive Steve's rod. Steve had expected him to turn away. Since Jeremy's physical actions were limited by his shackles, Steve began to fuck his face. Jeremy had paid attention to Steve's blow job and he used his tongue to run up and down Steve's shaft. It amazed him how good Steve's cock tasted. He couldn't define what he expected to taste, but it wasn't this. When Steve announced he was cumming, he tried to pull out, but Jeremy held him tight with his lips. Steve came in his teacher's mouth and he started to sob loudly. Jeremy didn't expect that. He swallowed all of Steve's cum, and then asked with much concern, "What's wrong? Did I hurt you?" Steve stopped crying and remained silent. He dismounted Jeremy's body and started to unshackle him. "You're letting me go?" Jeremy asked. "You're not going to kill me?" "I still want to kill you, you bastard, but I can't. I'm too much in love with you. What I want to do is make love to you, and for you to want to make love to me. If you want to turn me into the police, I won't blame you and I won't resist arrest. Just get out of here and leave me alone." When he was free, Steve threw Jeremy's clothes at him. Jeremy dressed as quickly as he could and ran to the door. He opened it and closed it immediately. "Take a look outside," he said to Steve. There was one small window in the cottage. Steve looked outside. It was snowing very hard and night was coming on. Neither of them had realized the passage of time. Steve returned to the kitchen table, sat down and buried his head in his arms. He was crying. "I don't think we should attempt to leave until morning," Jeremy said. "Maybe the snow will stop by then." Steve could not stop crying. "I'm so sorry," he repeated over and over. "Please forgive me." Jeremy fell on his knees in front of Steve's chair. "Don't be sorry," he said. "It was a wonderful experience. It's also a relief not being a virgin any more. How soon do you think we could do it again without shackles? It looks like we have all night." Steve raised his head and looked into Jeremy's eyes. "We can do it as soon as you want and as often as you like. I love you. I want to be with you forever. But can you really be in love with another man after all you have said?" "Apparently, I can. You were right in your evaluation. I was a thirty year old spinster. What did I know of love? I know what love is now. You are love. Right now, I love you and I love me and I love my life and the whole world. I love everyone in it." Steve was still naked, but Jeremy was dressed right to his outer garments. "I think you are a little overdressed for love making," Steve said. Jeremy stripped quickly, and they lay down on the cot together. It was a tight fit and they loved it. "You said before that our relationship started with a question," Steve said. "I have another question I bet nobody ever asked you before." "Try me, my humble student," Jeremy said jokingly. Very seriously Steve asked, "Just exactly, how did the homosexuals bring down the Greek and Roman Empires?" Jeremy could not stop laughing. "I don't really know," he said.