Date: Wed, 23 Nov 2016 11:02:38 -0500
From: Philip Utley <putley@nyc.rr.com>
Subject: Randy and Professor Bob

When I was 14, my father, who was a professor, got a Fulbright grant to
teach English and folklore at the University of Turin, Italy. The family
was living in Turin. We lived in a big apartment hotel on the outskirts of
the town. Because it was well heated there were many Americans living
there, mostly medical students.

"Have you ever you noticed how Bob's wrist drops every once in a while?
It's creepy."

Donna Joy, our 30-year old neighbor, was an Irish Catholic housewife who
obeyed the pope and at that point already had five children. She and her
husband Tom came frequently to our apartment for cocktail parties. They
were good company for my parents. She and I were sort of buddies and had
good talks. But she had the prejudices of many middle-class people in that
generation.

"Yeah, I guess so. I've got to get another Coke. Can I get you another
martini?"

"No thanks, Randy." She touched my hand and gave me a partial erection.

I got another Coke, secretly spiked it with gin and started mingling
again. I was generally slightly shy but I found socializing easy at my
parents' parties, especially with a little alcohol under my belt. I saw Bob
sitting by himself so I sat down next to him. My penis, fairly well
concealed against my stomach, hardened further.

Bob was a 25-year old professor. He was quite good-looking: blonde haired,
with smooth fair skin and an angular face. He was quite assertive. My
parents knew he was a "homo," as gays were known in the 1950s, and they
were tolerant -- of him. But not of my desire for sexual
experimentation. Sometimes it seemed like nobody was. I had hoped when I
sat down next to him that I might get an offer. After all, he was an
assertive adult with the right mindset and I thought he could and should
take the lead. I had no idea what might constrain him.

"Thanks a lot, Randy. I get a real kick out of talking with you. Other
people, not always so much. I have a hard time talking to our neighbor
Donna Joy. What did she have to say to you?"

"She's getting along pretty well," I dissembled.

"I can sense her negativity."

"I can see what you mean."

The conversation drifted on to other subjects, none close to my heart.

That night I had one of my strongest erections ever when I masturbated. I
fantasized about 69 with Bob and about fucking each other.

				   ****

I was going to a local private school, learning Italian and Latin. I was
pretty lonely because I was 14. Friends were important to me and I wasn't
yet speaking the language very well.  But I spoke it better than my
father. Once I mocked his rudimentary, Spanish-laden Italian.

He said, "Eric, get into your bedroom and strip off everything. Put a
pillow in the middle of the bed and lie across it. I will be in there in
five minutes."

I didn't argue because it usually didn't work. When my clothes were off, I
fondled the penis that wouldn't stay soft. When I heard my father coming, I
concealed it by lying on the pillow.

"As you know, my fraternity paddle is in the States. I am going to see if I
can round up another paddle for your smooth little white bottom, which will
soon be very red."

 When he returned, he said "I knocked on the doors of the other
Americans. They were having a party and I told them you needed a good
licking. None of them had kids, but Joe had a ping pong paddle. You're
going to get whipped with that."

I couldn't restrain myself. "Dad, why did you have to tell them I was
getting a paddling? It's so embarrassing."

"The embarrassment is part of your punishment. I was only going to hit you
10 times but since you're so fond of argument him you are getting 20!"

 Whack! And on and on, on alternating cheeks. After the third the erection
was gone. After the fourth, I said,"Dad, that's worse than the fraternity
paddle because you're hitting each cheek separately."

"Randy, you are older and more biting in your attempts at humor. Moreover,
you can take more pain."

 He went on whacking. By the fifth, I was groaning. By the eighth, I was
sobbing. By the 15th, my sobs were accompanied by shouts of "Please" and
"Stop!" By the 17th, there was a knock on the apartment door. My father
went to the door. The partying Americans were asking if anything was wrong.

"Randy is getting paddled for impertinence. Come in and have a drink. First
you can watch the last few strokes of Randy's paddling."

All seven trooped into the bedroom. I buried my face (now as red as my
bottom, I was sure) in the bed.

"He's getting 25 strokes. It was originally 10, but he likes to argue."

I shut up about the extra five strokes, which were undoubtedly the result
of my protest about the double cheeked paddling. It continued and so did my
screams, muffled by the bed. When it finally ended, I turned my face toward
my father and the guests. Five of them looked away, but Joe and Jerry
smiled sympathetically as the others left the room. They put some of my
hand lotion on my bottom and rubbed it into my hairless cheeks. They each
kissed my bottom cheeks. Then they turned me onto my back, wiped off my
tears and kissed me on my mouth. My erection returned. They left the room.

 I took off my shirt, put the pillow at the head of the bed, lay on my side
because my bottom hurt so much. I had one of the best masturbation sessions
in my life.

			      *      *      *

"Randy, guess who's in Florence?" said my mother when I came home from
school one October day.

"Santa Claus?" I was pretty sardonic even at that age.

"Can't you be nice? I'm trying to do you favor. Bob sent me a letter saying
he's there as a guest professor at the University. I called him and
talked. I mentioned that you were a little lonely."

"Oh, Mom...."

"Randy, he invited you down for a few days. He reserved a room for you in
his hotel. You can take the fast train, the Rapido, tomorrow morning. You'd
better start getting packed."

			       *     *     *

I arrived and checked in just in time for a late lunch. Bob invited me to
go with him to see an outdoor copy of Michelangelo's David. We viewed it
from all sides.

"David is pretty good-looking," I said. But it's funny that he is not
circumcised. He's Jewish,

 "Maybe they didn't circumcise in those days. Are you circumcised?

"Yes. Are you circumcised?

"Yes. I think it looks better."

"I've got some good-looking uncircumcised friends."

When we got to his room, we sat down. He talked about some friends of his,
a couple who used reefers, as they were still called in those days.  "I
would like to try one!"

He rolled the joint, lit it and we shared it.

 The conversation drifted onto the Italian language. I argued something
that I had read: that it was polite to people with the second person plural
"voi" instead of always using the third person "lei" or "loro"
form. Emboldened by the marijuana, I became quite vociferous in defense of
my position. He eventually squelched me by pointing out that that usage had
been popular under Mussolini but not before and after.

We continue to talk somewhat desultorily for a while. I sensed that the
argument had deadened the atmosphere but I couldn't think how to change
it. Finally I rose from my chair and said:

"I'm tired. I'd better go to my room."

Then it occurred to me! "I'm sorry I was so so irritable about the
language. I'm just learning it. But that doesn't justify my getting
angry. I need a spanking."

"When you tell your father, I'm sure he'll oblige."

"No, I was hoping you could spank me right now. My father says the sooner I
learn a lesson the more likely I am to remember it."

His eyes lit up. "I could do that."

Success! Physical contact! I stood up. I walked toward his straight back
chair as he turned around and sat in it. I stood before him and he slowly
took off my shoes, socks, shirt, undershirt and finally my white briefs. My
banana shaped erection bounced slightly forward (my friends called me
"banana boy").

I lay on his legs, my penis between them and my beautiful white bottom
facing him.  He stroked the smooth dimpled cheeks and the smooth crack,
making me shudder with pleasure.  He picked up a bottle of whiskey and
poured some of it in. It hurt like hell, stinging my rectum. Almost
immediately I became very drunk.

"When you take it in that way, it goes to your head fast!"

 He began spanking my bottom with his hand.

"Harder!"

It was erotic. I could feel his erection. But the spanking wasn't what I
was used to so I asked him to spank me harder several times. "Do you have
something that will hurt a little more?"

"You are the first boy that I've spanked. What should I use?"

"I'm used to my father's fraternity paddle and his belt."

His eyebrows furrowed. "I guess you really want to be punished. I'll use
your belt," he said, unthreading it.

And then he started whacking my smooth bottom. I had forgotten how wide and
thick my belt was.

Splat! Splat!

It was really hurting now. I lost my erection. He went on about 20
times. By then I was crying.

"I'm sorry," he said. I rubbed his penis with the back of my hand.

He pulled me up, sat me on his lap and kissed me. We went on kissing a
couple of minutes, then I put my mouth on his fly and drunkenly kissed
it. The fly was wet with precum. I started unbuckling his belt. He quickly
undressed as I removed my shirt.

I marveled at his 8 inch erection. I couldn't take my eyes off it. "That's
a beautiful circumcision!"

"You need something for that red bottom!"

He went to the bed, pulled off the covers and opened the drawer on the
bedside table. He took out a bottle of skin lotion, sat on the bed, pulled
me over his knees and spread the soothing lotion on the cheeks..

"That feels so great! Can we fuck each other?"

I twisted around on the bed to see him answer. I saw a furrowed brow.

"Can you keep a secret?"

"Sure!"

He pulled me into an embrace. We continued embracing as we lay facing each
other, kissing, caressing and rubbing our penises together.

"Would you like to go into me first?" said Bob.

"No, your fingers putting lotion on my hole felt so good, I want you to go
in."

He pulled away, put a pillow to my crotch, pulled me around, pushed me
down, spread my legs, kneeled between them, put lotion on his penis and my
hole and pushed. It took a minute or so, but soon he was moving slowly in
and out. It hurt a little at first but not more than the belting. It got
more and more erotic and he plunged faster and faster until he came.

Victory! I had finally screwed up the courage to say something, even if it
was only that I needed a spanking, and the result was bliss.

I turned over and we were face-to-face. We kissed and hugged for a while.

"Do you still want to go into me?" He said.

"Sure do!"

"You're so good-looking, I'd like to watch you while you do it. Can I pull
my legs back?"

"I'll do it in any position you like."

He rolled over, pulled his legs back, put his index finger on his perineum
and smelled it and sighed and said: "Grease us!"

I got the lotion, then put some in his hole. I put some on my penis,
positioned myself and pushed against his hole. It resisted momentarily,
then opened and I pushed in a little bit. After a while the rectum relaxed
and I began a slow in-and-out motion. I gloried in the sensual bliss of the
rubbing of the frenulum against the mucous membrane, something that I only
get when I fuck.

Finally I started plunging faster and faster. I shot more than the usual
number of times but of course I couldn't see how much semen came out
because I was inside that wonderful hole.

Finally I pulled out, hugged Bob's naked body while he hugged mine. In that
position we fell asleep until I started to feel cool and pulled the sheet
and blanket over us. We slept until morning. Bob bought me breakfast, then
took me to the train station, where I caught the next Rapido for Turin.