Date: Sat, 30 Aug 2008 12:19:08 -0700 (PDT)
From: Mark Arbour <markarbour2000@yahoo.com>
Subject: Chronicles of an Academic Predator 12

CHRONICLES OF AN ACADEMIC PREDATOR

Published First at :  http://groups.yahoo.com/group/arbourtales/

	Before you read this story, there are a few things you should consider:

1. It contains graphic descriptions of sex between men.  In some cases,
these depictions may get kinky, and include borderline S&M.

2. It is set in the early 1960s, an era before the Civil Rights Act of 1964
when segregation and discrimination were the norm.  African Americans were
referred to as Negroes or Coloreds, although the "N" word was offensive
then as it is now.  I have retained the language of the era because it
reminds me how far we have come on race relations.

3. Be aware that the effects of inflation have been profound.  A good rule
of thumb is to consider that $1 in 1962 is probably similar to $10 in 2008.
So just add a zero at the end of any number.

4. Some authors are good enough to create a mood through their words.  I
need help, so I'll be posted recommended musical selections throughout the
story.



CHAPTER 12



Musical Recommendation:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zry4taNnGqs&feature=related
"Last Kiss" by J Frank Wilson and the Cavaliers


June 22, 1962

	Light.  I saw light.  I didn't want to open my eyes, I wanted to
sleep, but the damn light was shining through my eyelids.  I squeezed them
shut and heard talking.  I heard my mother saying something about the fact
that I moved my eyes.  Of course I moved my eyes.  Why couldn't she just
turn the fucking lights off and let me rest?  Then I heard beeping noises,
and more voices, voices I didn't recognize.  I wracked my memory, trying to
figure out where I was.  Flying through the air in the Pontiac, then
crashing.  This must be a hospital.

	Well, at least I'm alive.  Alive, whoever I was.  I recalled my
grandfather's letter.  Every word was etched into my memory.  I'd always
been calm and unflappable.  The only people who'd gotten through my shields
were those who I was romantically involved with.  Peter.  Andre.  Stefan.
I thought about each of them.  Of all of them, the one I wanted here most
was Andre.  I couldn't tell him about my real father because I'd promised
myself to keep the secret.  That's a shame too.  He'd know what to say,
know how to make it seem alright.  Or at least he'd fuck me and then I
wouldn't care.  That made me smile, which evoked more noise from the people
around me.  Fine.  No rest for the weary.  I opened my eyes.

	There was my mother.  "He's awake!  He's awake!  Thank God you're
awake.  You've been in a coma for almost 24 hours."  I looked at her,
trying to find the love I once felt for her, trying to forgive her, but I
couldn't.  Not yet.  I smiled anyway, putting on the fake facade.  She was
sidled away soon enough by the doctors and nurses.  All the activity was
slowly pulling me out of my haze.

	Then there was my father.  I genuinely smiled at him, and he held
my hand.  I squeezed his back.  The doctors tried to push him away to check
that phenomenon out, but I held on as tightly as I could, and stared at him
as intensely as I could.  It was like I was trying to send a telepathic
message to him, a message that said "I love you."  I saw tears in his eyes.
I think he got it.  Even though I wasn't his real son, if I get out of this
place I'm going to do everything I can to be the best son I can be.

	Then he was gone, and there was a doctor.  He was an ugly older man
with horrible breath.  "Well son, it seems like you're going to be fine."
I chuckled to myself.  So did he think he was my father too?  I'll have a
whole cadre of Dads if this keeps up.

	He continued.  "You've had a bad concussion, so we'll want to keep
you in here for a few days.  Other than that you got off lightly.  Your
left arm was broken in the fall.  It's in a cast now.  So besides that and
some bruises, you are one lucky guy."

	"Thank you Doctor," I said, surprising everyone.  My parents moved
forward to talk again, but the doctor was having none of it.  "And now he
needs to rest," he pronounced and then, much to my relief, hounded them out
of the room.  I heard them say goodbye as they left and then I drifted off
to sleep.

	I woke up later and it was dark.  My whole body ached, the pain was
intense.  I lay there, wondering how to contact the nurse, but I seemed to
be all alone.  Then I felt a hand gently holding mind, a familiar touch.  I
needed to turn my head to the right to see who it was, and that seemed to
require a Herculean effort.  It was worth it.  There, looking down at me
with his light blue eyes was Stefan.  I smiled at him.

	"How did you get in?"  I croaked.  My throat was sore and dry.

	"I used my charm and sex appeal to get past the front desk," he
said, making me laugh.  The laughter only lasted for a minute though,
because it caused intense pain.

	He got a worried look on his face.  "Are you OK?"  I could only
manage one word in response: "Pain."

	Stefan got up and left, leaving me alone.  Alone.  It dawned on me
that he was the only one that I had a legitimate connection with, aside
from Andre.  He was here because he was my lover, not my cousin.

	He returned with the nurse.  "Pain" I said to her, and she injected
something into my IV.  "Young man," she said to Stefan, "He's not supposed
to have visitors.  You'll have to leave."

	"No!" I croaked as loudly as I could.  It must have been loud,
because they both looked at me, startled.  The nurse looked at me.
"Dr. Crampton, hospital rules prohibit guests this late at night.  He has
to leave."

	I looked at her with my most determined expression.  "No.  He
stays."

	"I'm sorry, that's hospital policy."  God I hated bureaucrats.

	"Doctor.  Get me the doctor.  He stays."  I was not going to lose
this battle.  I did not want to be alone.

	"The doctor isn't on this floor." She said.

	"Get him.  Either he stays or I leave."  I started to move around,
almost ripping loose my IV.

	"You have to lay still.  You'll rip out your IV."  I kept
squirming. "Alright.  I'll track down the doctor, and in the mean time he
can stay."

	I calmed down.  "Thank you."  She grumbled as she left.  Stefan
returned to his seat and held my hand.

	"You're going to get me in trouble," he said, and leaned in and
kissed me lightly.

	"Not a chance.  I'll defend you."  The pain medicine was kicking
in.  I felt great.  "That stuff they gave me is pretty good."  I giggled,
and he laughed.

	"Looks like it.  They say you're going to be OK.  You scared me to
death."  He looked at me, and his expression told me something I already
should have known.  He was in love with me.  I love him, but am I in love
with him?  Can I be in love with more than one person?  The pain meds
kicked in even more, and I left those thoughts for a time when I was
thinking with more clarity.

	"Sorry babe.  Didn't do it on purpose.  That's why they call it an
accident."  He laughed with me.  "How's my car?"

	"You lived, but the Pontiac is no more."  That was sad, very sad.
I was attached to that car, a Christmas present from my father.  Or the one
I called my father.  Well, I had lots of money now.  I'll get a new one.
Maybe a Thunderbird.  I giggled.

	"Your car is dead and you are laughing?  What kind of heartless
bastard are you?"  We both laughed together, only stopping when the doctor
interrupted.  At least it wasn't halitosis guy.

	"I understand you are causing problems in my hospital," he said
imperiously.

	"I simply want my cousin to stay here with me."  I looked at him as
clearly as I could, stoned as I was from the meds.

	"As the nurse told you, that's against the rules."  No wonder she
was such a bitch about it.  She had to deal with this guy.  I saw his name
tag.  It said Claremont General.  Perfect.

	"If you can't bend the rules for me, maybe you can bend them for my
father.  He donated the money for one of the wings in this hospital,
possibly this one.  Please feel free to call and wake him up."  I said this
calmly, not in a threatening manner.

	"I'll be right back," he said.  No more than a few seconds later he
came back in.  "The young man can stay with you, but he has to stay in your
room."

	"I can do that," Stefan said in perfect English.  Damn he was
getting good.  And with that, the doctor left.

	"That was pretty cool.  You showed him."  He wanted to gloat over
the victory.

	"Money and power go hand in hand.  You just have to be careful to
use it correctly.  When I see him later, I'll make a point to thank him and
make him feel good about doing me a favor.  Too much attitude gets you in
trouble."  He looked at me with a funny expression.

	"I'm sorry; I wasn't trying to lecture you.  I was more thinking
out loud."  He smiled down at me.  All night I dosed in and out, and all
night he stayed there with me.  Finally, as morning rolled around, I made
him go home and get some sleep.  The doctor came in to see me as he went
off duty.

	"Doctor, thank you so much for letting my cousin stay with me.
After the accident I just couldn't stand the thought of being alone."

	He looked at me thoughtfully, and then smiled.  "Well, sometimes
the rules have to be broken."  I couldn't agree with him more.


June 26, 1962

	I sat in a wheelchair reading the paper, waiting to be released
from the hospital.  I'd just finished an argument with my mother about
getting to Chicago.  She didn't see how I was going to drive with a broken
arm, and she was adamant that I was not going to fly.  This month there had
been two crashes, both Air France 707s.  In her mind, there was no better
airline than Air France, and if their planes were dropping out of the
skies, surely all of them would soon follow.  Well, she can say what she
wants, but as soon as the July 4th festival is over I'm out of here.

	The Supreme Court just issued two decisions sure to piss off the
Baptists in town.  First, they'd declared that mandatory prayer in school
was unconstitutional.  Then, as if to pour salt in the wound, they'd
declared that photographs of nude men are not obscene, decriminalizing nude
male pornographic magazines.  Good news for me, I joked to myself.

	My parents came in with the nurses and I was finally freed from
Hospital bondage.  It was irritating the way they made me roll out of the
hospital in a wheel chair when I was perfectly capable of walking, but I'd
bent their rules enough already.  A short drive home and I was back in my
bedroom, with peace, tranquility, and no bossy nurses.  I rested for a few
hours and then got up to wander around.  Vella yelled at me to rest but I
ignored her.  I felt fine, just a little stiff.  That and the fact that my
left arm was temporarily useless.  I'd survive that too.  I'm right handed,
after all.  My father took the afternoon off and came home to surprise me.

Musical Recommendation:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RmZdvVnMXCc
"The Chain Gang" by Sam Cooke

	"You feel like going out?" he asked me.  My mother immediately
began to protest but I shut her down.

	"I'd love to get out of here for a while."  My father smiled an
apology at my mother, but I didn't bother.  We drove down the hill in his
blue Cadillac.

	"Well, the Pontiac was totaled so we'll need to get you a new car.
You want another Pontiac?"  I loved car shopping.  This would be fun.  I
decided to play with him first.

	"I was kind of thinking of trying a Mercury or a Dodge," I said
matter-of-factly, looking sideways to see his grimace.  I started laughing.
"I'm just kidding Dad.  Let's check out the Chevy dealer."  That brought a
strange reaction from him.  Chevrolet is the entry level brand.  He was
already irritated with my mother for driving Oldsmobiles, now his son
wanted a Chevy?  But he took me there anyway.  An hour later I was the
proud owner of a brand new Corvette.  He wouldn't let me drive it home
because I was still doing pain meds, but the dealer promised to deliver it
tomorrow.

	We had lunch together, and I decided that this news from my
grandfather had, in addition to rocking my whole world, made me appreciate
my father's sterling qualities.  He was a hard worker, intensely loyal to
his family, considerate to his wife (maybe too much so), and seemed to
genuinely care about people.  Not just us, his family (I had resolved to
continue the charade, so I guess I'll fully immerse myself in the role),
but his employees and even his fellow townspeople.  Even if he's not my
biological dad, I love him.

July 4, 1962

	The last few days had been deadly dull, except for my new car,
which I'd started driving as soon as I got it.  My mother tried to argue
with me, but I'm 26 and I'm in charge of my own life.  I've said to myself
over and over again that I plan to keep my true paternity a secret, and I
vowed that I'd act the same as I did before, but I was having a real
problem doing that where my mother was concerned.  I'm sure she noticed
that I didn't converse with her like I used to, and I disregarded all of
her advice and suggestions.  I was doing my best, though, and it would have
to be good enough.  Maybe with time I'd become a better liar.

	The 4th of July festival starts with a big parade (my father is
usually in it, riding in a Cadillac convertible) that ends in the town
square at the Claremont Commons, a fancy name for the city park.  It's all
very feudalistic if you ask me.  All the wealthiest people in town, along
with local businesses, provide free food, soda, and beer for the populace,
who proceed to get shitfaced and puke all over the place.  There are always
a few who make total asses out of themselves, which gives people something
to talk about.  Personally, I think that's the real reason why they still
have this thing.  Last year Mike Ayers, a mill worker in his 30's, decided
to strip off all of his clothes and proceeded to walk around the park
chatting to people as if nothing was wrong.  The whole town found out that
he had a pretty nice dick.  The year before that, Jenny Crandle staggered
into the dessert table and smashed the big cake to the ground, much to the
irritation of the baker.  It's always something.

Musical Recommendation:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FZpUIBNUqak
"Palisades Park" by Freddie Cannon

	I skipped the parade as my single act of rebellion and opted
instead to meet everyone at the Commons.  I ran into tons of people I
hadn't seen in a long time.  Old teachers who were proud of me, friends who
were married with kids, old ladies who had known me as a child and thus
felt obliged to pinch my cheeks.  My mother would be busy, she was usually
the belle of the ball, so I decided to try and find Stefan.

	I spent a good hour wandering around the park.  I'd had enough beer
that a bathroom break was now in order.  The bathroom in the Commons is
towards the back of the park and shielded by shrubs, as if the people are
ashamed of having potties out there so they hide them.  In fact, they make
an excellent cover for guys to cruise there, which happens occasionally.  I
never cruised there myself, though.  Too close to home, where I was too
well known.

	As I rounded the corner I noticed three big guys hovering around
another young man, taunting him.  I recognized the ringleader of the
taunters, Jeff Hayes, Frank's younger brother.  All the Hayes boys were
bullies, so it didn't surprise me to find him here leading the crowd.  I
didn't know the two guys with him, but bullies always have a gang of
followers who are, by definition, brainless.  Jeff Hayes is even bigger
than his older brother, and has that same devastatingly handsome Tony Dow
look going on, except Jeff has dirty blond hair which makes him look even
sexier.  He wore a t-shirt with rolled up sleeves that exposed his bulging
biceps, his golden tan adding a nice sheen to his body.  Aside from
appreciating Jeff's masculine beauty, I was rather uninterested in the
whole scene until I realized that their victim was Stefan.

   	I moved in rapidly then, getting there just as Jeff pushed Stefan
hard, knocking him down.  He banged his head on the ground and for a minute
I thought he was unconscious.

	"What the fuck are you doing Jeff?" I was in his face yelling at
him, which must have looked pretty hilarious to a bystander.  Me, short,
slight, with an arm in a sling, challenging 6'5" Jeff Hayes, bulging biceps
and all.  The three looked at me in complete surprise.  I looked over to
see Stefan sitting up, looking dizzy.  "You OK?" I asked him.  He nodded.
I turned back to Jeff.

	"This queer was staring at my cock and licking his lips.  He wants
to blow me, fucking faggot.  Any faggot in this town is gonna get his ass
kicked."  The smell of beer on his breath was overpowering.  He was
hammered.

	"Jeff Hayes, this is Stefan Schluter, my cousin.  Stefan, this is
Jeff Hayes" Stefan moved forward, politely holding out his hand.  Jeff
slapped it away.  "I ain't shaking hands with no queer.  Probably had his
fingers up some guy's ass."

	"I suggest that you learn some manners Mr. Hayes," I said, using my
cold, level voice.  If he would have known me, he would have seen the anger
beneath the veneer.

	"Yeah, or else what?  You gonna kick my ass?  Bring it on pretty
boy."  He stood in front of me looking as menacing as he could.

	"You're a real hero Hayes.  Pick a fight with a guy half your size
who's arm is in a cast."  His friends snickered behind him which just
fueled his anger.  "I think that instead of dealing with you myself, I'll
just have your dad kick your ass for me."  That worried him a bit.  He'd
learned to be a bully from his brother, and they'd learned it from their
dad.

	"Yeah right.  My dad ain't gonna kick my ass over some stupid
French piece of shit."  I just looked at him and his friends and said
nothing.

	"Come on Stefan," I said to him, and we walked off.  Jeff and his
buddies watched us leave.  I could tell Jeff was going to say something
else, but one of his friends whispered in his ear and he shut his mouth.

	I looked at Stefan.  "Sorry about that.  Those guys usually aren't
such assholes, they were just drunk.  They won't cause you any more
problems."  There was fire in his eyes, though.  He was really pissed off,
but he didn't say anything.

	We walked around the Commons, and I introduced him to some of the
local cuisine.  I think his favorite was barbecued ribs.  Mine was watching
him eat them.  We finally found my mother talking to Barry Schluter.  They
were standing underneath one of the tents that Bill Hendrickson had set up
for his employees.  My mother, looking sleek as usual in a form fitting
short sleeve dress, greeted us cheerfully.  Her dress was light blue, and
she had red and white shoes and a red and white purse to go with it.  Too
funny.

	"Are you boys enjoying the festival?"  She inquired cheerfully.
She looked around to see if any of her friends were around so she could
show me off.

	"Some thugs just beat me up and knocked me down," Stefan said in
English.  "I bumped my head pretty bad."  Barry Schluter's face started to
turn red.  He had a temper.

	"Who knocked you down?"  He said, almost in a yell, but not quite.
He looked at me for an answer.  This was not good.  I looked at my mother
helplessly and she shrugged her shoulders.  "Jeff Hayes", I told him.
"I'll be right back," Barry told us, grabbing Stefan by the hand and
heading towards Bill Hendrickson.  My mother and I shared a concerned look,
the first real communication we'd had since "the letter".  We meandered
over to where Barry was yelling at Bill Hendrickson, not close enough to
get involved, just close enough to rudely eavesdrop.

	"Dammit Bill, that Frank Hayes is a thug, we all know it, and so
are his kids.  His son Jeff just shoved my grandson down and damn near gave
him a concussion.  Can't you control those guys of yours?  Or are you going
to sit by while they terrorize the whole town?"  I looked at Bill
Hendrickson, looked at him carefully.  So this was my real father.  Tall,
blond, and beefy, with a beer gut that wasn't out of control, but still
noticeable.  He was a handsome man now, but when he was younger he must
have been stunning.  I put that in the back of my mind as something to
consider when I was damning my mother to hell.

	Bill Hendrickson was a good ol' boy, and always ready to calm a
situation and make a deal.  "Well hello there Stefan, it's nice to meet
you.  I'm Bill Hendrickson.  I own the local mill over there down by the
river.  I'm sorry if some of our extended family from Hendrickson's Mill
roughed you up, but don't you worry, it won't happen again.  You stop by
some time and I'll give you a tour, maybe do lunch."  Yeah, like that will
happen.  He shook Stefan's hand and Stefan beamed a smile at him.  Was he
hitting on my real dad?  God this was weird.

	Barry calmed down.  "Thanks Bill.  Sorry I got so heated.  Those
Hayes have been a problem in this town for a long time.  I hope you can
square them away."

	Bill shook his hand.  "No problem Barry.  I'll handle it."  My
mother and I cringed.  Bill searched the crowd, looking for Frank Hayes.

	Stefan came back and we went off, just the two of us.  "Is
something wrong?" he asked me.  I'd been quiet ever since we'd been alone
again.

	"Remember how I told you about power and how you have to be
careful.  This may be one of those times."  I knew it didn't come out
right, but I guess no matter how I said it he would have been pissed.

	He turned to me, showing me that angry look I hadn't seen since
before we left for Chicago.  "Is this the part of the day where you mount
your high tower and pronounce judgment on me and point out all the things
I've done wrong?"

	I needed to backtrack.  "Look Stefan, I'm sorry.  That came out
wrong.  You're doing great.  In fact, I can't imagine anyone doing any
better.  There's no way you could know the repercussions of your
grandfather's actions."  He looked at me dubiously.

	"You'll cut me some slack?  I'm not quite myself these days.  You
know I'm very proud of you."  That seemed to do it.  He smiled at me, and
we strolled on.  That night, during the fireworks, we sat in the Commons
with the other people, enjoying the show that consumed 5% of the town
budget.  It was dark, and I felt his hand gently grab mine.  I leaned over
and whispered in his ear: "This isn't the first time I've been with you and
seen fireworks."

	That night we got permission for him to spend the night and when he
entered me, I saw the fireworks all over again.