Date: Sun, 22 Nov 2009 23:33:58 -0800 (PST)
From: Peder Pederson <pederdagreat@yahoo.com>
Subject: An Osirian Tale: Chapter one

An Osirian Tale




by





D. V. Zomba

Copyright 2000


Contents


I. In the Beginning	3
II. An Experiment	14
III. Confronting Reality	25
IV. Possibilities	38
V. Intimations of Immortality	53
VI. In the End	69

I.
In the Beginning

	Darren slowly rose to consciousness, slowly as if from a dark, bad
dream, a dream from which he could not shake off the dark miasma of
foreboding. With the considerable will that he possessed, he forced his
eyes open. Pastel forms swirled unconnected, out-of-focus, before him, some
vaguely recognizable others not. Slowly, ever so slowly he willed these
objects to come into focus. As they did, Darren also became aware of the
low-level sounds that accompanied the washed-out forms. Strange,
unrecognizable odors permeated his post-dream state and he suddenly became
aware of an itching feeling on the sole of his left foot.
	"Mr. Jansen. . . Mr. Jansen, how are you feeling?" issued from one
of the focusing, muddled forms. Vaguely he perceived the face of a smiling
woman, with white wings on her head. No, it was a hat. . . . a nurse's hat.
	"Fine," he mumbled, as he knew not what else to say.
	Images flew across the screen of his brain, strange images in
unrelated, unconnected sequences. He closed his eyes to focus more on those
forms--Mari with her raven-black hair, the Gun Flint Trail, a balcony in
Pangkor, members of the college football team. Briefly he mused on that
latter image.
	"Why that?" he thought.

	Darren Jansen had worked hard all his life--all of his eighteen
years. His family had been poor--hard-working might be more accurate; there
had always been ample food on the table, lovingly prepared by his Mom; his
Dad worked hard and was never out of a job; the Jansen house was adequate
for the family of five--he had a younger brother, Johnathan, and sister,
Marilyn--and the old Ford generally got them to where they wanted to
go. But, they didn't have the "extras" that so many of his friends'
families possessed. At a young age, that didn't seem to matter in a loving
household.
	But as Darren was mid-way through high school, his parents had
quietly informed him that it would probably be beneficial if he got a
part-time job.
	"You need to save some money for college," his Dad had told him. He
had had a paper route since he was ten, but it provided only enough for his
immediate needs--an occasional burger and coke, a movie and Christmas and
birthday gifts for his family.
	College had been a given. Neither his Mom nor his Dad had been to
college, but, from an early age, he, as well as his brother and sister,
were expected to attend college.
	"Education is important," his Mom stated repeatedly.
	So, Darren got a summer job, after his sophomore year, working long
hours in a local canning factory at minimal wage and then a part time job
once school started again in the fall. Soon after, his Mom also began to
work. Apparently that was not an easy decision since it was prefaced by
long and sometimes heated discussions between his Mom and Dad. By the end
of his senior year he had managed to save, what for Darren seemed like a
princely amount.
	College had been a given, and that given was La Crosse State
College. It was a small state school some forty miles to the south where
the in-state tuition was within the means of the Jansens.
	"You will have to commute," he had been told. La Crosse State had
been only a teachers' college until twenty years previously when it had
been "elevated." It provided an adequate education, particularly for those
who could not afford the state university or one of the small, exclusive
and competitive liberal arts colleges.
	Darren Jansen had worked hard all his life and especially in
school. He was not at the top, but near the top of his class. He loved the
sciences, particularly biology. English and the social sciences were areas
which required more of his time, but he 'managed. ' Athletics were 'out,'
not because he didn't enjoy them, but his paper route and then his part
time job did not allow for the hours that extracurricular athletics
required. Nonetheless, he was a competent athlete--he loved swimming in the
local river, running through the woods, ice skating and later skiing. He
looked forward to the gym classes in high school and the teacher was
forever suggesting that Darren try-out for this team or that one. But, he
just couldn't.
	So, it was a mild surprise to him and his family when he was
contacted mid-way through his senior year by Mc Leicester College, one of
the small, exclusive and competitive liberal arts colleges nearby. He was
offered a tuition scholarship through the Biology Department. Apparently,
the Head of the Department had seen Darren's Science Fair project, which
dealt with genetics, and was suitably impressed. Later, he found out that
Mr. Highbridge, his science teacher, who had recognized his latent
potential, had contacted the Dean at Mc Leicester College and had
recommended Darren for a scholarship.
	The offer of the scholarship was not without its problems. The
semester's tuition at Mc Leicester College was five times that of La Crosse
State College--a considerable amount for the Jansens. However, Mc Leicester
College was over a hundred miles away, and commuting would be
impossible. That required that Darren would have to stay in one of the
dorms.
	"I can pay for my room and board," he said eagerly. The meager
savings that Darren had amassed, his 'princely' amount, would all but be
wiped out in the first year.
	"What about your books and other supplies?" his Mom asked,
concerned.
	"You need to live, Darren," his Dad added. He fervently wanted this
opportunity for his son, but could not fathom where the family could supply
the extra expenses. "We can help a little," he added, "but, there will
always be extras. . . ."
	"I can get a job," Darren countered.
	"How can you go to college and work at the same time?" came his
Mom's retort, pained distress darkened her normally bright blue eyes.
	"Other people have done it," came the insistent retort.
	Slowly shaking his head, his father said, "I don't know Darren, it
seems like too big a bite."
	"Dad, I can do it. Let me try!"

	So Darren entered Mc Leicester College in the fall. He was able to
get into a work-study program through the Athletics Department. That added
a much needed amount to his sparse resources. He immersed himself into his
studies with all the vigor of youth, knowing that he had to excel. And, he
did. His work-study job required not too much time, fifteen hours a
week--picking up the towels left in the men's locker room, manning the
entry desk at the college pool, taking tickets at the athletic events and
other miscellaneous tasks. The work-study program at Mc Leicester was
tailored to the needs of students who needed the extra money, like Darren.
	It was late one Thursday afternoon when Darren hurried to the
gym. He was later than usual, he had been studying for as mid-semester exam
in chemistry and he had lost all track of time. But, that didn't matter as
his hours were flexible. Besides, today was
'pick-up-the-towels-after-football-practice-day. ' One of his less favorite
jobs. But, he performed this task efficiently. Menial tasks did not bother
him, particularly if they led to other ends.
	The locker room was rather long with two doors at one end. One
doorway led off to the communal showers and the other snaked past the towel
counter, trainer's room and coaches' office to an outer hallway. He slipped
out of his shoes, set his book bag on the counter separating the towel
storage, washer and dryer from the locker room, straightened up a small
pile of folded clean towels and glanced into the shower area. It was
perhaps twenty by twenty feet of gleaming white tiles on the walls and
floor, the shower-heads drooped from the walls, "Like limp cocks," Darren
always thought, with their control handles below. It was empty and the
floor still glistened from its recent use.
	The locker room consisted of rows of lockers running perpendicular
to the narrow width of the room and butting up against one wall. The other
end of the lockers stopped about five feet from the other long wall
creating a long narrow passageway. In between each facing row of lockers
was a long wooden bench with steel pipe-legs cemented into the tile
floor. Rather a usual arrangement. There were five locker-bench spaces. In
the first row Darren picked up a half dozen soggy towels from the floor an
bench, returning them to the large canvas hamper where they were supposed
to have been deposited.
	"The football team are a bunch of messy half-wits," but then
thought better of his negation and said to himself, "I'd probably do the
same thing." He had cleaned the first four rows and padded to the fifth
one. As he turned into its narrow confines, he was met with a sight that
stopped him dead in his tracks.
	Gene Villarosa was standing there, nude with his hips thrust
forward. In front of him was Dick Perkins, kneeling, also nude and sucking
Gene's cock! The long wooden bench was all that separated them.
	Gene Villarosa was the star running back of the football team and
Dick Perkins was the equally renowned receiver. Both of them were
'big-men-on-campus' not only because of their athletic prowess but also for
their academic ability and Gene was the Student Senate's
Vice-President. Both were good looking and enjoyed a high level of
popularity. Both dated equally popular and bight coeds. They were looked up
to, envied and emulated by every other lower-classmen--especially the
humble freshmen.
	In one brief second Darren registered forever in his mental
computer that sight. Gene, he recounted in his memory, was
superb--six-feet-one-inch, one-hundred-ninety pounds of perfectly formed
and solidly maintained muscle. His feet, planted apart, gave rise to the
muscular calves and formidable, beautifully formed thighs. His buttocks
were, likewise, muscular, round, firm and deeply dimpled as he thrust his
hips forward. His waist was narrow, stomach flat and ladder-like with
smooth muscles, his chest was deep and shoulders broad. Strangely there was
little body hair on Gene's torso or thighs, except, that is for a
sprinkling of hair on his lower legs.
	"Maybe he shaves himself," flashed through Darren's mind. Gene's
blue eyes were closed in erotic reverie, his head with its thick, curly,
brown locks was thrown back emphasizing his, 'Adam's apple,' strong
Aquiline nose and his mouth which hung open. At the base of his stomach was
an ample thatch of dark cock-hairs, below bobbed, in time with the
ministering mouth's lunges, hung a pendulous, blue-veined, hairless
ball-sack. Darren noted the thickness of Gene's turgid cock, but could not
judge its length as it was alternately slipping in and then out of Dick's
moist mouth and encircling lips. But, what he glimpsed gave evidence of a
solid, veined shaft.
	Dick Perkins was a somewhat smaller version of
Gene--five-feet-eleven-inches and one-hundred-seventy-five pounds. But, in
every other way quite similar to his suck-buddy.
	In the brief instant Darren registered all, and involuntarily
sucked in his breath more in surprise than shock. Dick opened his eyes and
they pivoted to where Darren could be seen. He quickly drew back from
Gene's cock--causing a moist, popping sound as the swollen head slipped
past his encircling lips. Gene's freed cock leapt upwards and bobbed
rigidly, allowing a brief glimpse at its substantial length. A length that
was capped by a thicker, mushroom-like cock head, nearly purple and
glistening from Dick's saliva. Gene glanced down to see why that luxurious
sucking had stopped. Seeing Dick's averted glance, he turned his head to
witness Darren standing transfixed, mouth agape at the entrance to the
aisle.
	"Get lost!" he growled. The tenor of his voice and the predatory
glare required immediate compliance.
	"Yeah, Okay," was all Darren could say as he quickly exited the
area.
	Some minutes later, as he was standing behind the counter folding
towels, Gene appeared and entered the shower room. He was completely nude,
his large, detumescent cock swung languidly from side to side as he
walked. Gene purposefully looked Darren straight in the eye with a fiery,
defiant gaze. Darren quickly looked down to the towels he was by now
refolding.
	Shortly, Dick passed the counter, clothed and he too glanced at
Darren as he dropped his towel in the hamper. However, his eyes held an
unabashed sheepishness, the opposite of Gene's stare. Dick gave an
imperceptible nod as he passed. Darren watched Dick disappear around the
corner.
	"Of all the people. . . ," he thought to himself.
	It was not that Darren was homophobic, he just could not bring
himself to accept what he had just witnessed, especially from those
two. Their public persona reflected the opposite--a kind of straight
machismo that was readily accepted and tacitly admired in Middle
America. No, he was not morally offended by what he had witnessed.
	Even though the Jansens were from the lower end of the
socio-economic continuum, his Mom and Dad had engendered in all three of
their children a tolerance for all things different. Quite frankly,
homosexuality was not a subject to which either his parents had spent any
time discussing. Rather, they planted the seeds of racial and ethnic
tolerance within their children and would brook no bigotry or prejudice in
their behavior. So, it was not unusual that this tolerance of things
different might also have been transferred to sexual preference as
well. Darren remembered Jess Slatery from high school. Everyone said he was
gay. Whether he was or not, Darren didn't know and frankly didn't care. He
was quite effeminate, that's a fact. He also possessed a sarcasm that
brought gales of laughter from Darren and besides, they liked the same kind
of movies and both were 'science freaks. '
	Darren busied himself as he heard the shower stop. Gene exited the
shower room and walked with a purposeful gait back to the last aisle,
vigorously drying his muscled form as he went. Darren couldn't help but
admire the magnificent, retreating body with it trunk-like thighs, firm ass
and broad shoulders.
	A few minutes later, Gene appeared at the counter, deposited his
towel, faced Darren and barked, "You didn't see anything! Okay?" The 'okay'
was more a command than a question.
	"Yeah, sure," was all Darren answered.

	Darren saw Gene and Dick in the locker room whenever he had 'towel
duty. ' But he made sure that he was never late again.
	It was some three weeks after that fateful vision in the locker
room and after his usual evening laps in the pool, that he hauled himself,
dripping, out of the water. He groaned at his aching muscles.
	"What's the matter Darren?" questioned Pete Anderson, the Athletic
Department's trainer who had supervisory duty that night.
	"Kind of sore. Guess it's 'cause lifted too many book boxes at the
library last night."
	"What are you doing over there? You work there too?"
	"No. They're moving everything to the new building and they need
some extra help. Besides they paid twenty bucks for four hours work."
	He stood and stripped the water from his arms and torso, wincing
slightly and began to towel off.
	"Listen," Pete said, "You take a long hot shower and come to the
training room and I'll give you a good massage. That should lessen the
pain."
	"Geeze, thanks, Mr. Anderson, but it's kinda late and I don't want
to keep you."
	"No problem," was the reply.
	Darren stood under the hot shower, as hot as he could stand, for
longer than usual. The pelting of the hot water already began to lessen his
discomfort. He toweled dry, wrapped the damp fabric about his waist and
walked to the trainer's room. The room was not too large, holding Pete's
desk, a stainless steel cabinet, a whirlpool and pad-covered stainless
massage table behind a folding screen.
	"Jump up here," Pete said, motioning to the table. He was removing
two bottles from the cabinet.
	"This is really nice of you," Darren replied.
	"No problem, besides you should get some benefits from all the work
you do around the Department. Now lay on your stomach and try to relax."
	Darren complied, rolled on to his stomach and cradled his head in
his arms. "I've never had a massage before," he admitted.
	"No?" asked Pete, "well it's good for what ails you."
	Pete's oiled fingers began to knead the muscles in Darren's
neck--at first gently and then with more insistence. Then he moved to the
shoulders and upper back, each time repeating the easy motion followed by
the stronger massaging. Darren was nearly lulled to sleep when the oily
hands moved to his lower back, the source of his discomfort. He winced and
groaned.
	"Is this where it hurts?"
	"Yeah. . . Awwh, Right there!" he blurted out as Pete touched a
particularly sensitive muscle.
	Pete reached for a small clear bottle of liquid and dribbled some
onto Darren's lower back. A pungent aroma filled the room.
	"What's that?" Darren queried.
	"It's something a friend of mine sent me from Thailand, called Kwan
Loong Oil. It's a liniment used by boxers he tells me. Quite good,
actually."
	As the ministering hands began to gently knead the offending area
Darren marveled at the combination of heat generated by the oil along with
a cooling sensation at the same time. After some minutes the discomfort
miraculously subsided under Pete's hands.
	"It's phenomenal!" Darren thought.
	Pete Anderson lifted his hands and wiped them on a towel.
	Darren pushed himself up, "Thanks a lot," he uttered.
	Pete gently urged him back down on the table. "Not done yet," he
declared. "Can't do a half-assed job."
	Darren was somehow relieved. The massaging hands had felt so good,
he did not want them to stop. Pete moved to the end of the table, poured
more of the neutral oil on his hands and began to massage Darren's
calves. For a man who wasn't too tall--five-foot-ten-inches--Pete Anderson
had big hands. They grasped the lower calves, just above the ankles and
were nearly able to encircle them. Then he pushed his enveloping hands
upwards, exerting some pressure, to the knees and then back again. This he
repeated a number of times alternating the pressure.
	"That feels good," Darren murmured. Then he felt oil being dribbled
the length of both his thighs. It tickled slightly.
	"Spread your legs a little," to which Darren complied almost
hypnotically.
	Pete's hands, in consort, moved up first along the outside of his
thighs, then the top, and then the inside. First lightly, almost
imperceptibly which sent strange sensations coursing through Darren's body
particularly when the moved up the sensitive inner thighs. The action was
repeated with more and more pressure. Then stopped.
	Darren could then feel those large hands grasp his thighs, just
above the knee, thumbs on the inside, splayed fingers on the outside. They
moved up his thighs nearly to his ass, to where the draped towel fell
across his buttocks, and then they were forcefully rotated outwards, the
thumbs exerting more pressure than the fingers and back down to the
knees. He could feel this latter action spread, slightly, his ass cheeks as
the thumbs rotated outwards. It was a strangely pleasant sensation. This
maneuver was repeated a number of times. Darren imagined that with each
upward movement the hands were ending farther up, the thumbs seemed to be
invading deeper and deeper into that dark private place.
	His breath quickened. Little spasms coursed through his body.
	"I'm just imagining," he said to himself. But still the electric
sensations raced through his being. One other disconcerting fact had
reached his brain. . . . he was getting hard!
	"This can't be!" And then with one of the upward motions of Pete's
hands, the thumbs did come briefly in contact with his ass hole! Galvanic
shock waves raced through his being. His whole body tensed and thankfully
the hands were removed.
	"I'm imagining," he said again.
	He had never had a massage before and thought to himself, "I'm
being stupid. . . . Nothing's wrong. . . . This is normal!" He tried to
will his offending cock to soften. That effort was defeated due to the
freshly remembered sensations.
	Pete Anderson flipped the towel, which had been covering Darren's
ass, up over his back. Darren's eyes popped open, he felt oil trickle over
his ass cheeks and an amount rolled tantalizingly down into his ass-crack
towards his anus and balls. The sensation took precedence and his cock
spasmed. Pete's hands grasped those round, firm orbs and began to languidly
knead them, fondle them, manipulate them. Darren perceived that now the
massaging was somehow very different. . . . less clinical. Those hands and
fingers moved over his luxurious cheeks in consort, every once in a while a
thumb would venture into the oiled cleft.
	Darren's mind spun out of control. . . . No! His emotions were
spinning out of control! His cock, imprisoned under his body, was aching
from its confinement.
	After some minutes, mercifully the massaging--no, the manipulation
of his ass--stopped. He felt the towel being pushed upwards towards his
shoulder. Thumbs were placed on either side of his spine at mid back and
moved downwards, towards his ass. As they proceeded, the pressure increased
'til that dimpled 'V-ed' area just above the beginning of the cleft was
reached and the pressure was released. Again the action was
repeated. Darren began to breath easier and his cock's spasming lessened.
	"That feels good," he moaned. The first words that he had dared to
utter for some minutes.
	After the sixth or seventh repeat--he could not remember--the two
bracketing thumbs were replaced by one. This time down the spine's ridge to
the beginning of the cleft where pressure was applied. Again the action was
repeated. At the third repeat the thumb did not stop at the point where
pressure had been applied before, but ventured an inch or two into the
valley between his firm ass cheeks, and then back.
	"This is an aberration!"
	Again the thumb proceeded down the spine-ridge, passed the dimpled
'V-ed' area and to the point where the thumb began to be obscured by the
twin muscled of Darren's firm cheeks. . . . and then back. Again the thumb
proceeded down the spine ridge, passed the dimpled 'V-ed' area, deep into
the cleft and stopping just short of his quacking, puckered opening.
	Darren began to tremble again, his cock jumped back to its
previously turgid state. And, again the thumb proceeded down the spine
ridge, passed the dimpled 'V-ed' area, deep into the cleft and came to rest
on his quacking, sphinctered ass hole. He groaned, deeply, almost
animal-like. He could feel a slight amount of pressure being applied as the
thumb's broad pad massaged that tight buttoned opening. The tremblings
increased, his breath became gasps, and with each rotation of the thumb on
his ass hole his cock lurched beneath him. He was out of control!
	Quickly, the thumb was removed. "Turn over onto your back Darren,"
Pete gently commanded.
	Darren did as he was bid. In turning over he quickly grabbed the
towel to cover his raging erection in as vain attempt to hide that
offending member. His whole body was flushed--partly from the erotic
sensations, partly from embarrassment.
	Pete smiled at Darren's confusion and obvious state of
excitement. "Nearly finished, Darren," and then added, "You said that this
is the first time you've had a massage?"
	All Darren could do was to nod his head as he tried to focus on
Pete Anderson's eyes. Pete's hands began to lightly massage his chest.
	"Massage is an art," Pete said, no almost crooned. "In massage, the
whole body must be involved," he purred.
	Those gentle hands were now centered on Darren's dark aureoles--the
thumbs rotating around their circumference. Darren closed his eyes as he
savored this new strange, wonderful sensation.
	"The body is a magnificent work and must be cared for," he
purred. Darren was silent. The thumbs and forefingers gently clasped the
ridged nipples and lightly rolled them. Darren's turbid cock lurched,
tenting the towel over his loins.
	"There are only beautiful, wonderful mysteries in the body,"
continued the seductive voice, "mysteries that should be sampled."
	Darren listened to this voice and tried to comprehend what was
happening to him. He had long ago passed the point where he could have
willfully left, but by now the luxurious sensations that held him could
neither be denied nor left unexplored. To say that he was confused would
not be entirely accurate. He was truly bewildered, completely beyond any
logical understanding or comprehension. He felt that he was being driven by
some unseen, unknown, incomprehensible force, and then he felt the towel
being lifted away from his body.
	He could not open his eyes!
	His cock was rigid, completely up standing to a full seven
inches. Pete removed the towel. Crowned by a reddish-lavender, plumb-like
knob atop a lightly veined shaft. This lascivious, willful element rose
over a mat of curly light golden-brown cock-hairs and from an opulent,
hair-dusted, pink, puckered ball-sack.
	Pete admired this pole and lightly encircled it with an oiled
hand. The touch of Pete's hands caused Darren to moan and his body arched,
then relaxed down onto the table's surface. Slowly Pete moved his hand up
over the throbbing cock-head and rotated his fist slightly. Darren whipped
his head, involuntarily to one side. The hand descended to the base of the
cock and gently squeezed the hot shaft, while the other hand gently cupped
the ball sack, fondling the twin orbs inside. Slowly, the hand began to
rhythmically move up and down the pole, rotating slightly as it proceeded
up and down its length.
	Darren was completely centered on the luxurious sensations being
engendered in his surging cock. Without conscious volition, his body
twitched, his mouth lolled and alternating gasps and groans issued
forth. Pete let loose of those beautiful balls and his middle finger snaked
down behind them, into that dark, oiled cleft to that puckered opening.
	Darren groaned low and animal like as he felt that delicious finger
pressing against his tightly sphinctered opening. The pressure gently
continued and the finger slightly rotated. With his heels planted firmly on
the table top, he arched his back. The pressure on his ass-hole continued
until that round gate surrendered and the finger slid in a short ways.
	Darren gasped, deeply exhaled and dropped back onto the table. The
fist-fucking hand continued its progress up and down that electrically
charged shaft and bulging crest. Only now the inserted, probing finger
began so slowly mimic the movement of the other hand, in and out, in and
out.
	Without warning, without preamble Darren arched high off the table.
	"AAARRHH. . . ," issued from deep in his being as copious amounts
of lustral fluid arched high in the air from his cock. s
slit-opening. Spasm after spasm shot forth and then just as quickly
subsided as the arched body fell back to the table. His breathing was
rapid, beads of perspiration covered his oiled body. He lay there
exhausted, wonderfully relaxed and in a dual state of euphoria and
consternation.
	Gently, he felt the towel wiping the pools of cum from his chest
and abdomen. And just as gently he felt a clean towel being placed over his
mid-section, covering his detumescent cock. Only then did he open his eyes.
	Pete Anderson was smiling at him as he wiped his hands on a fresh
towel.
	"Rest a while, Darren, then take a shower. I've got to leave now
and I'll lock the door so you can take your time."
	All Darren could do was to nod his head, half in acknowledgement,
half in thanks. Pete walked around the screen and left.

	Later, while sitting in the cafeteria, alone, he considered what
had happened. He glanced up to see Bob Reinfeld, his roommate, tray in hand
sit down across from him.
	"You look exhausted! What's the matter, a hot fuck this afternoon?"
Bob blurted out in his naturally exuberant way--loud enough for the
occupants of the surrounding tables to hear, most of whom glanced over with
a combination of interest and amusement. Gene Villarosa one one of them. He
was sitting with Cynthia his 'steady,' soon to be fiancé. Darren glanced
inadvertently in Gene's direction was was met with a look of dark, ominous
amusement.

	A couple of weeks later, late one Thursday, during 'towel duty,'
Darren was bent over the dryer pulling out the towels. Suddenly he felt a
hand planted firmly on his ass. He shot upright and turned to see Pete
Anderson's smiling face.
	"Darren," he said, "come into my office a minute."
	"I've got to get these towels folded before I leave," Darren said,
not knowing what other excuse to give."
	"They can wait," he smiled, then with what can only be described as
a soft but firm command, "Please, come into my office." Pete turned, walked
into his office, not waiting for a reply. Darren followed obediently. Pete
Anderson closed the door and motioned Darren behind the screen.
	Confusion, mixed with embarrassment and a bit of fear pervaded
Darren. He walked behind the screen as an automaton.
	"I've been thinking about you," Pete stated as he lightly touched
Darren's chest.
	"Mr. Anderson, I really have got to go." he stuttered. His knees
began to tremble.
	Pete Anderson did not answer him, but simply continued to massage
his chest, concentrating on Darren's nipples which soon became rigid and
clearly visible through the light cotton of his T-shirt.
	"Please, Mr. Anderson," he pleaded and tried to brush Pete's hands
away from his nipples.
	Pete merely lowered his right hand to Darren's crotch and cupped
his cock and balls. He could sense that the cock was beginning to swell.
	"Pleaseee. . ."
	Pete backed Darren up against the table as if cutting off all
avenues of retreat, and languidly began to massage Darren's opulent
basket. By then his prick was nearly at full erection. Pete hooked his
fingers into the band of Darren's sweat pants and with one deft motion
pulled them down to his knees. The hard cock sprang forward, proud and
throbbing. Pete grasped the pulsating piece of erotic muscle and began to
slowly manipulate it.
	Darren quickly swirled upwards into the erotic miasma that Pete's
hand was causing as well as the memory of that first massage. Any guilt
that he might have harbored was quickly drowned in the delicious carnal
sensations that he was experiencing. He braced his hands on the edge of the
table, leaned heavily against it and surrendered to the swirling
sensations. He closed his eyes, partly in the vain thought of halting the
sensations, but more accurately so that he could concentrate on them.
	He could feel that wonderful hand moving over his super-charged,
pulsing cock. Nothing more. Then quickly the hand was removed and just as
quickly the sensation was replaced by something more wonderful--if that
could be. Darren opened his eyes and glanced down to see the whole length
of his cock disappear into Pete's mouth.
	"He's sucking my cock!" Darren shouted to himself. The feeling of
his swollen cock being buried and alternately removed from the that hot,
moist tunnel with its tongue flickering over the throbbing cock-head was
literally indescribable. Back and forth Pete's head bobbed, self-impaled on
that hot jerking suck-rod. Sucking sounds added to the already erotic
overload that Darren was experiencing. He felt two hands cup his
ass-cheeks, pulling them forward, and plunging the complete length of his
formidable cock deep down that luscious, pleasure-giving throat. Darren
groaned, gasped, panted. And he felt his cock being freed from that
wonderful place. A popping sound issued forth as Darren again opened his
eyes.
	"Do you like that?" Pete questioned, his moist lips dripping
saliva.
	Darren could not answer, but he nodded his head.
	"Fuck my mouth," Pete commanded.
	Darren's brows furrowed into a questioning look.
	"Fuck my mouth, Darren" Pete repeated and again slipped his mouth
over his cock. This time, he again grasped Darren's ass and rhythmically
forced them forward and backward, in and out of his mouth.
	Darren understood and quickly began to flex his hips, fucking
Pete's mouth. Pete groaned. Deeper and deeper Darren sank his cock into
that exquisite mouth until he was shoving the whole thing down Pete's
throat. Unlike before, he did not close his eyes but watched every
delicious movement, every luxurious second.
	Pete pulled away. "Do you like to fuck my mouth?" he asked.
	"Yes," Darren rasped and added silently to himself, "I want to fuck
your mouth. . . . I want to FUCK it!"
	Pete took that big cock again and Darren began his fucking
motion. Without knowing why, but that he had to, Darren grasped Pete's head
and forced his cock down the older man's throat--once, twice, three times
he plunged his throbbing cock into that juicy hole. Darren became aware of
the building sensation in his being. His cock was going to
explode. Galvanic, erotic shock waves welled up deep in his core. His eyes
snapped shut.
	"I'm going to COOMMEE!" he uttered as he thrust deep into Pete's
mouth as spasm after spasm of pearly cum shot down Pete's throat. Two,
three, four jerking spasms and then Darren pushed Pete's head away. One
last pearl of cum oozed from his cock-slit. Gently Pete extended his tongue
to catch that salty drop.
	"That was good," Pete cooed.
	"Yeah, nice," Darren admitted as he slowly opened his eyes and
focused on the flushed face inches from his still hard cock. As he focused,
Darren thought he saw a movement in his peripheral vision. He glanced to
where he saw the movement and focused upon a smiling face.
	"Shit. . ."was all Darren could say as he quickly reached down and
jerked his sweats up.
	"What's the matter?" Pete queried.
	"Gene. . . ," Darren gasped, "he saw. . . He saw us." The last
phrase was more a whimper than a statement.
	Pete stood up, "Gene Villarosa? Don't worry. He won't say
anything."

	That night, Darren purposefully went to the cafeteria quite
late. He wanted, no, he needed to avoid Gene. But who should be sitting at
a table near the entrance but Gene along with Cynthia and Dick Perkins.
	Darren averted his eyes.
	"Hi, Darren, how's it goin'" Gene called out pointedly.
	Darren was forced to acknowledge, "Fine," as he walked on.
	Their eyes met briefly and Gene shot a quick, dark, knowing
half-wink. Darren saw a perplexed look cover Dick's face and realized that
Gene had, indeed, not said anything.
	Ever since that first time when Darren had caught Gene and Dick,
they never talked or greeted each other on campus, merely a half-nod as
acknowledgement.
	"Why has Gene suddenly become friendly with him?" Dick questioned
to himself.

	The year progressed, Gene, Dick or Darren never again verbally
acknowledged each other, but when ever he saw Gene, the latter would give
him a knowing wink.
	"What an arrogant ass-hole." Darren thought. Gene Villarosa and
Dick Perkins graduated that spring and effectively left Darren's sphere.
	Darren did well in his studies. His grades were more than good
enough to insure his scholarship. Two or three times in the spring semester
Pete had 'serviced' Darren. Darren never sought him out. As a matter of
fact he was careful and assiduously tried never to be late in the locker
room. In truth he avoided Pete Anderson. But, there were those two or three
times when it was unavoidable. After each time, Darren grudgingly admitted
that he had received a certain amount of physical gratification. But, it
was a sense of propriety, or maybe guilt that caused him to avoid Pete.
	The next three years he was able to get his work-study assignment
in the Chemistry Department. He avoided the locker-room, and swam in the
pool only on Sunday afternoons when there were numerous students and some
faculty families splashing around. Whenever he saw Pete on campus, which
was infrequent, the latter would flash a half-smile longingly.