Date: Thu, 25 Jun 2015 14:41:57 -0600
From: Colton <coltonaalto@gmail.com>
Subject: BBC on Campus - Chapter Ten

My usual disclaimers:

* My experiences are in everything I write, sometimes an image that I
recall, sometimes much more.  This story, however, is fiction.  Any
resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

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* This story depicts unprotected sex. In real-life, be safe!

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coltonaalto@gmail.com.


BBC ON CAMPUS

CHAPTER TEN – BIG TEN FOOTBALL ROYALTY

I was in my office one afternoon, working on my thesis, when someone
knocked on my office door.  I expected to see a student from one of the
seminars I taught.  Or maybe one of my rock climbing quasi-roommates, even
though none of them had visited my office.  I had a brief vision of opening
to door to see a hot stud, naked and begging to be fucked.  I would pull
him into my office, shove him onto my desk and force his legs into the air,
and in no time my cock would be greased and ready to invade the victim's
waiting asshole.

It might have been a mistake to fuck the frat boy Trent and then the hot
Prof Kent in my office.  Now I kept thinking of fucking whenever I was in
my office, when I should have been working on my thesis research.  Shaking
my head to clear the quick fantasy, I told myself that I needed to get my
rocks off more often.

I opened the door, and instead of a college student, a black man filled the
doorway.  His head was shaved and a thick goatee, flecked with gray,
surrounded his mouth.  He wore a gold polo shirt that said `Westcliffe
Football.'

"I'm Akili Brooks," the man said as he stretched out his hand.

Akili Brooks didn't need an introduction.  After being an All-American
football star at Michigan, where he was called one of the best cornerbacks
in Big Ten history, he had gone on to a career in the National Football
League, where he was a consistent pro-bowler.  He played 16 years in the
NFL, retiring after winning the Super Bowl.  Fans still talked how he
turned around a playoff game ten years ago by returning two interceptions
for touchdowns, both from his own end zone during a two-minute span in the
fourth quarter of what had been a losing game.

I hadn't followed Brooks after his retirement, but I quickly surmised that
he must be on the coaching staff of Westcliffe's football team.  The team's
head coach had mentored a half dozen big time college and pro football
coaches, and as a result Westcliffe had the reputation of being one of the
top places to start a coaching career.  Westbrooke didn't offer athletic
scholarships and didn't play in the same division as the big time football
schools, but in its arena, the school had been very successful.  Brooks
apparently was following in the steps of the earlier coaches that started
at Westcliffe.

Surprised by his presence in my office, I introduced myself and offered
Brooks a chair.  He refused, saying, "This will only take a minute, and I'm
late for a meeting as it is.  I was wondering if I could enlist your help.
I'm the faculty adviser for the Black Student Union – not the biggest
group on campus as you can imagine – but during football season I
frankly do a crappy job because of the schedule of away games and
recruiting visits.  The BSU has an event coming up that I'm going to have
to miss, and I was hoping you would step in and help out."

Living in a town dominated by a college, surrounded by six sophomore rock
climbers, and spending my days teaching undergraduate seminars, meant I had
more than enough exposure to college kids.  Jake and Kent weren't college
kids, but because they were professors, being around them wasn't a real
break.  I would have been happier if Brooks had asked me to help out at an
old folks' home.  But I wasn't about to turn Akili Brooks down.  "I'd be
happy to, Mr. Brooks," I replied.

"That's great," Brooks smiled.  "But call me Akili.  Mr. Brooks is my
father.  Hell, my grandfather."  He gave me a warm chuckle.  The man could
put people at ease as soon as he met them.

"Sure," I smiled.

Akili paused.  His stare at me lengthened, just past the point that
signaled, at least to me, something beyond a normal conversation between
two men.  "I have to run, but I'll be in touch with the details," Akili
said.  He paused again, looking into my eyes.

An unwritten code applies when men look at one another.  A quick glance
means nothing, perhaps even dismissal.  A slightly longer look signals
engagement, like when two men are introduced.  But a stare that focusses on
the eyes and lasts a second too long crosses the line, making straight men
uncomfortable – and gay men excited.  The problem on college campuses is
that college kids haven't learned the rules.  Because of the novelty of my
6'5" frame, my light black skin and my long dreadlocks, college boys
routinely gave me long stares that meant nothing.  But Akili wasn't a
college boy, and his stare set off my gaydar.

"Actually," Akili finally said, "if you're free for dinner tonight, I can
fill you in then."

Nobody turned down dinner with Akili Brooks.  And even if the man in my
doorway hadn't been Akili Brooks, I wouldn't have turned down dinner with
him.  He was a handsome, distinguished man with confidence and a presence
that I found intensely appealing.  There remained the remote chance that I
was misreading the signs and all he wanted to do was discuss the BSU.  But
I had nothing to lose and everything to gain even if that was the case.
"Sounds great," I said.

"Good," Akili replied, his eyes still locked on me.  "How about the
University Club, say around 8:00 p.m.?  That's about the earliest I can
make it with football practice and all."

"I'll be there," I replied.

The look Akili gave me made my heart beat a little faster, but with my
schedule I didn't have time to ponder the possibilities before showing up
at the Club, promptly at 8:00.  Akili was already in the restaurant, seated
at a quiet booth.

I Googled Akili before arriving.  He was 42, having started his pro career
at 23 before retiring three years ago.  He took a year off after football,
but then accepted the Westcliffe job.  He was starting his third year at
Westcliffe, coaching the defensive secondary.  Based on how the Westcliffe
cornerbacks and safeties had performed under his tutelage, he was already
being rumored as a candidate for high profile coaching positions.

I watched several video clips of his press conferences and was impressed.
Akili had the ability to take control of the room and a presence about him
that I found intoxicating.  Spend a few minutes with him and you were ready
to place your fate in his hands.  He had that kind of power and magnetism.
If he stayed in the college coaching ranks, he would be a great recruiter
and coach.  His authority on the sidelines would never be questioned.  If
he opted for a professional coaching job, recruiting would be less
important – although signing free agents still required a personal
element – but his leadership and command would be no less noticeable.
Success is never guaranteed, but Akili had everything necessary to make it
happen.

As a player, Akili had been listed at 6' and 200 pounds.  I suspected he
had never quite been 6' and had put on a few pounds since retiring, but
neither was surprising.  His head was completely shaved; I assumed because
he was balding.  I suppose that's the point of shaving your head – to
obscure the facts.  But you never know.  Between Akili's dome and my long
dreadlocks, we were an odd combination.  To say nothing of the fact that
two black men in a Montana restaurant was an odd event to begin with.

The conversation about the Black Student Union took at best two minutes,
and then shifted.  Akili had played on some top NFL teams and with some
great players, and he was happy to relive his experiences.  I was intrigued
by his inside perspective on players and his stories about being in the
NFL.

"I was lucky," Akili said.  "Sixteen years and I never had a major injury.
In particular, I never had a serious concussion, although when I first
started playing, concussions weren't on anyone's radar screen.

"I always thought I would go into coaching when my playing days were over,
and the Westcliffe job is a great starting opportunity.  I figured to be
here four or five years, so the first year I decided to build a house up in
the mountains.  I love the mountains in the winter, and winter is the only
down time in football, so I figured after I left Westcliffe I would still
use the house.  It was supposed to be finished by the end of the summer,
but some Brazilian marble got held up at the west coast ports, and the
house won't be finished until next week."

Ironically enough, Akili and I shared something in common, aside from the
obvious fact that we were both black men.  We were at Westcliffe to study
with one of the top guys in the field, pick up a priceless credential, and
move on.

"Where are you living now?" I asked.  Akili had made a fortune in the NFL –
his last contract paid him $10 million a year – so he could afford to
buy most of the town if he wanted.  I figured his house was in the
exclusive gated community of million dollar houses outside town.

"I'm in the Presidential Suite upstairs, which isn't bad and is a lot less
of a headache than a house will be." Akili smiled.  "Being a confirmed
bachelor, I may get lost once in the house I move in."

Was `confirmed bachelor' a signal me?  In some circles, it was a euphemism
for being gay.  Akili asked some questions about my background, and seemed
genuinely interested.  As the night wore on, I couldn't help but feel that
this was a date.  We could have settled the details about the BSU in a two
minute phone call, or an exchange of emails, so the idea of needing to
discuss it in person, over dinner, was a pretense.  Perhaps after two years
in Montana Akili wanted to spend time with another black man and maybe, as
one of the few black men in town, he felt an obligation to take me under
his wing.  But as the evening wore on and the wine disappeared, I suspected
more and more that Akili was gay and interested in me.  I sure as hell was
interested in him.

Akili had never married.  I hadn't seen rumors about him being gay, but
that wasn't a big surprise.  I decided to test the ground.  "What do you
think about Michael Sam?" I asked, bringing up the first openly gay college
football player to be drafted by the NFL.

Akili's eyes showed sudden caution.  This is a subject he's been asked
about, and he's careful when he discusses it, I thought.  But in another
moment, Akili relaxed and smiled.  "I admire the kid a lot.  He had the
courage to take a step that nobody else in the NFL has ever taken, and that
says something.  I must have watched the video of him kissing his boyfriend
on draft day a hundred times.  One of these days that kiss will be
commonplace, but the first one made history."

I sensed wistfulness in Akili's response.  And also resignation.  He was
gay and envied Michael Sam, but he knew it was a path he wouldn't follow.
It's not the decision I would have made if I was in his shoes, but I
shouldn't judge him too harshly, I thought.  He's a generation older than
me, old enough to be my father or Michael Sam's father.

We were the last diners in the restaurant by the time the check arrived and
Akili claimed it, rebuffing my effort to split the bill.  "I'm asking you
to help out with the BSU, it's the least I can do," he said.

As he paid the bill and we got up from the table, I realized the Akili was
not going to make a move.  He wanted to, but was unsure of himself, unsure
of me.  I had been in this situation with older men before.  Indeed, it had
been something of a specialty of mine growing up in Chicago, and later as a
college student in Boston.

A step outside the restaurant's front door, I came right out and asked, "Do
you mind if I come upstairs for a nightcap?"

Surprise showed on Akili's face, but excitement, too.  "Uh, no, not at
all," he said.  "That would be great."

The Westcliffe Hotel, which housed the University Club, had been renovated
a few years earlier and was classy in a Victorian way, with stained glass
and ornate wood trim.  We took an old elevator with an open grill to the
top floor.  As soon as we were inside the suite, I made my move to take
control.

I pushed Akili against the door and bent down to kiss him.  I had 6 inches
on him, although he had 60 pounds on me.  He gasped and opened his mouth,
his big hands gripping my sides and pulling me next to his body.

I explored Akili's mouth with my tongue, finally breaking the kiss.  Lust
showed in his eyes.  "There is one rule tonight," I said.  Akili frowned at
my diversion.  "You are going to do everything I say, exactly the way I
order you to do it.  Down to the tiniest detail."

I wouldn't have been surprised if Akili told me to go fuck myself and get
out.  I had made a calculated gamble, and there was no assurance it would
work.  Two types of men would accept my terms.  First, submissive men,
excited by the prospect of a dominant stud taking over.  Kyle and Jesse
were both submissive, although neither fully fit the profile.  Kyle was
less submissive and more teenaged slut, and Jesse had a streak of defiance
and would submit only to the right man.  Of the men I had bred in Montana,
Kent might be the closest to a good sub.

At the other extreme, confident, self-assured men would accept my terms.
Men that were experienced enough not to worry about their ability to handle
the situation, but were also interested in pushing the boundaries and
exploring what I was offering.  Like Jake.  I was betting Akili fit into
that category, but my play was nothing more than the roll of the dice.

Akili didn't kick me out, but he waivered, contemplating my plan.  It was
safe to conclude no man had ever said anything like that to him, let alone
a young guy barely old enough to drink.  I brought my finger to his mouth,
saying, "My first instruction is not to say anything.  Not a single word.
And the second is to take your clothes off.  Slowly.  I'm going to enjoy
watching you undress.  I want to see your body.  I want you naked and
hungry for cock."

Akili stood frozen.  He watched, puzzled, as I settled into a big arm
chair, kicking off my shoes and stretching my legs out.  "I'm waiting," I
said.  "Do what I say and I promise you this will be a night you'll
remember forever.  Think about it.  You want it, and you wouldn't have
become the best cornerback in the NFL if you never took chances."

Akili took a deep breath and started to say something, but I cut him off
with a wave.  "Remember, not a single word.  You'll do everything I say.
Everything."  I halfway expected him to throw me out.

Akili made his decision, pulling his polo shirt over his head.  I was glad
he didn't start with something inane like his shoes.  The man still had an
impressive physique, a light spray of hair covering his muscular chest.  He
was proud of his body and deserved to be.  He dropped his trousers, kicking
off his shoes and pulling off his socks.  He didn't hesitate to slide his
boxers over his hips, standing before me fully naked.

I suppose Akili had stripped in front of men in locker rooms every day
during his life in football.  Sixteen years in the NFL, four in college.
Probably another five in high school and junior high school.  A quarter of
a century of being naked in locker rooms with other boys and men.  But this
was different.  It was sexual.  Only the physical motions were the same.

For a 42 year-old, Akili had a damn hot body.  He had massive thighs.  I
remembered reading about his incredible vertical leap.  His cock was cut
and beginning to rise from a bushy forest of curly black pubic hair.  Akili
obviously wasn't into manscaping like the teenaged and 20-something guys on
campus I had been balling.  Akili's black nuts were covered by a thick
forest of hair.  The fur covering his ball sack was so dense I could barely
make out the shape of his balls.  Guys had stared at Akili's balls in high
school and college locker rooms before I was born.  I wondered how many of
the men gazing at Akili's fur balls over that span had wanted to taste the
milk inside them.  And how many had gotten to sample it.

Akili's dick was not huge but not small.  It curved down and slightly to
his left.  His growing erection revealed he was turned on and gave me all
the assurance I needed.  "Get me a drink," I ordered.  "Bourbon, beer,
whatever."

Akili frowned again, wondering what I was up to, but poured a glass of
bourbon and added a couple of ice cubes.  As he handed the drink to me, I
said, "Down on your knees."  A brief hint of defiance crossed Akili's face.
He would not have taken that order from a white man, but my order carried
no racial overtones.  He resisted because of my age.  As a football coach,
he gave orders to men my age, rather than the other way around.  But he had
come this far and dropped to his knees in front of me.  I took a long
drink, staring down at him.

I unbuttoned my jeans, fishing my cock from my underwear.  A flicker of
surprise showed on Akili's face as he was confronted with the size of the
prize he sought.  He stared at it, snaking down my leg.  I had him
completely in my control now.  He was hungry for me.  Hungry for the raw
sex I was about to deliver to him.

Akili looked at me with questioning eyes, wanting my cock.  I gave him a
small smile and said, "Suck it."  Whether I was ordering Akili to suck me
or granting permission to him to do what he wanted to do anyway didn't
matter.

Akili may have been in the closet, but that hadn't stopped him from
becoming a masterful cocksucker.  He grabbed my cock by the base, ensuring
that it got hard fast, and licked the head, his big lips feeling soft and
smooth and his tongue darting across my shaft.  In little time his wet,
warm mouth engulfed my piece.  He took my big tool down his throat with no
trouble.  Jesse and Kent were good cocksuckers.  Surprisingly, Alex fit
into that category too, despite lack of experience and being straight.  He
got extra credit for the metal stud in his tongue.  Kyle was adequate at
best and Sancho was pathetic, but compared to Akili none of them could hold
a candle.  Jake?  Hard comparison, but for my money, I would take Akili.  I
had forgotten how an eager, experienced man can suck dick.

I leaned back in the chair and moaned, relishing the feeling of one of the
best blow jobs I had experienced in a long, long time.  I sipped Akili's
bourbon, mostly to distract me from the sensations from my cock and to
ensure I didn't cum too soon.

It was a surreal.  The man on his knees in front of me, naked and making
love to my stiff rod, was a famous sports hero, his name and face easily
recognizable.  He was wealthy, attractive and twenty years older than me.
I had only met him only hours ago.  But he would be my sexual slave for the
night.

Akili deep throated my cock, working both of my big eggs into his mouth,
even pulling my legs up high enough to slip his tongue into my asshole.
When his mouth wasn't on my fuck rod, his hands were, slowly sliding the
foreskin over the head of my cock and then pulling it all the way to the
base of my pole, making my rigid dick stand up like a flag pole.

All good things must come to an end, and Akili's masterful work on my dick
pushed me to the edge.  As Akili's mouth closed over my cock and I felt it
slide deep into his throat once again, I closed my eyes and saw stars.  Cum
gushed from my balls and flooded Akili's hungry mouth.  He lapped every
drop up, swallowing and savoring my load.  No need to clamp my hands on his
shaved head and order him to eat my spunk.  Akili wanted it on his own.  He
milked every last drop of cum from my cock, continuing to gently mouth me.

Akili didn't know it, but that was little more than the opening scene of a
long play.  He had given me such an awesome blow job that I was hornier now
that I had been before.  And I had been plenty horny before, because it had
been several days since I spent the night pumping Alex's rock boy ass.

"You're not done," I said to Akili.  "Not by a long shot.  That was just
the kickoff."  I saw the same flare of excitement in Akili's eyes that I
had detected earlier.  "Keep sucking.  My bull cock is gonna live in your
holes tonight."

My cock softened slightly but soon was rock hard again.  I reluctantly
pulled it from Akili's mouth, sliding my jeans to the floor and kicking
them off.  My shirt came off next.  Akili's eyes never left my body.

"Get my cock good and lubed up, unless you want me to fuck you using only
your own spit," I said.  Akili retrieved a tube of lube and coated my dick.
I remember thinking that the tube was going to be empty by the end of the
night.

I got to my feet, guiding Akili to the couch, where I put him on his knees,
shoving his face into the back of the couch.  Guiding my cock to his hole,
I pushed the head into his ass.  His sphincter resisted for a moment, then
relaxed and admitted me.  Akili gave an appreciative moan.

I began to pull out and push in, sinking my rod into Akili's hole half an
inch farther with each thrust.  It took a while, but I eventually claimed
the football jock's ass, as my pubes pressed against the black skin of
Akili's butt.  Now I was ready to fuck.

I rode Akili's ass, starting with short fucks before pulling out farther
and farther and thrusting back inside him.  With the initial pressure of my
first climax behind me, I was ready for a long, marathon fuck.

It wasn't as much of a marathon as I had planned.  I fucked Akili's hole a
good fifteen or maybe twenty minutes, but the sight of my big black cock
disappearing into Akili's black hole and Akili's muscular, mature body
beneath me was enough to send me over.  I rammed my cock as far into Akili
as I could, eliciting a surprised gurgle from the football jock.  My balls
fired and seeded his hole.

If Akili thought I was done after nutting in his mouth and then in his ass,
he was mistaken.  I would have started a new fuck more-or-less immediately,
but I wanted him in a different position, so I rested my cock until it got
past the sensitive stage and then pulled out of his hole.  I turned him on
his back and immediately re-entered him, driving my cock into his guts and
beginning to ride him again.

This time I could see Akili's eyes as I drilled his ass.  Excitement and
lust shown in his face.  Akili's black fuck rod was dripping pre-cum,
leaving silvery strands across his abs.  I bent down, my dreadlocks
covering his face, and roughly kissed him, driving my tongue into his
mouth.  My cock was in control, plunging into Akili's man hole and turning
him into my personal cum dump.

I spent the night fucking Akili's brains out.  We catnapped for half an
hour here and there, but I was incredibly horned up and Akili must have
been into it, too, because he complied with my orders at each step and
never said a word.  By the next morning in the shower, when I finished
fucking his ass for the last time, I had shot seven times, twice in Akili's
mouth and five times in his ass.

They say guys are at their sexual peak at 18 or 19, but if that was the
case Akili was having a second childhood.  He blew five times, and weirdly
enough it took him less time to climax with each orgasm.  By the last time,
in the shower with his ass impaled on my fuck rod, I swear I stroked his
dick barely three or four times before he shuddered, squeezing his ass
around my cock and discharging a small stream of white spunk.

I kissed Akili for a long time as I was leaving his room that morning.  He
was still naked, his clothes in the same heap they had been in the night
before.  We had both fulfilled our ends of the bargain.  Akili had done
everything I ordered him to, with precision.  And I had given him a night
he would never forget.

I had a devilish idea, thinking I should ask him to autograph the empty
lube tube.  I didn't, however.  I didn't know him well enough to be certain
he would find it funny, and it wouldn't be something I would keep in any
event.  Akili was in the closet and I didn't want to threaten him with
something as silly as an autographed lube tube.

					* * *

I knew as I left Akili's room that I wouldn't sleep with him again.  He was
on a path of becoming a big time football coach, and he would be
successful.  He was personable, smart, knew football, and was willing to
work at it despite not needing the money.  But that life did not lend
itself to being seen with an academic type, half his age, sporting long
dreadlocks.  Moreover, while Akili had let me control him for one night, to
him, it was just that – a one night lark.  Submitting to me night after
night wasn't part of his makeup.  And doing anything different than
controlling the men I fucked wasn't part of my makeup.  We would both have
to rely on our memories of our night of sex.

After our night together, Akili was thankful for my help with the BSU and
cordial when we met.  But, as I anticipated, he kept an invisible wall
between us, treating me as a colleague but nothing more.

My brief fling with Akili caused me some introspection.  Akili was the
exact image of a man that excited me sexually.  I wanted to control and
dominate him precisely because of his ability to control and dominate
others.  But where would hunting for men like Akili get me?  Probably a lot
of one night stands.  Not that a one night stand with Akili Brooks was a
bad consolation prize by any means, but I was playing a game with long,
long odds.


TO BE CONTINUED...

If something about this chapter or the rest of the story struck a chord,
let me know -- I like hearing from readers.  Coltonaalto@gmail.com

Chapter Eleven is underway; another rock climber story.  I hope you stay
tuned.


© Copyright Colton Aalto 2015