Date: Thu, 4 Sep 2008 11:21:19 -0700 (PDT)
From: Mark Arbour <markarbour2000@yahoo.com>
Subject: Chronicles of an Academic Predator - Chapter 17

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 17


August 13, 1962

	The last month had been pretty uneventful.  After all the
excitement in June and July, the calmness had been welcome.  I found that
being in a pressure-cooker had ultimately caused me to lose my calm veneer,
and worse yet, to lose control of my emotions and myself.  A month of focus
and hard work had helped center me.

	September 4th is the day classes start, so I turned away from my
research to plan for the next semester.  I was teaching two classes.  The
History Intro lecture hall class and a senior-level class on Modern French
History, the period from the Revolution to the present day.  I'd taught
both classes before, so most of the requirements were organizational, not
developmental, but I still had to figure out the morass of systems and
procedures at the university.

	Today, though, was a big day for me.  It is our first faculty
meeting that I'll be attending.  I'd met all of my colleagues and they
seemed to be a great group.  Maybe they were just extra nice to me because
my father bought them new windows.  I was finding that the same political
forces that worked in Claremont, the careful injection of power and money
into a system to get results, worked here.

	Adams stuck his head in my office and smiled.  "You ready rookie?"
I grabbed my meeting "file folder" with notes and a pad and headed to our
conference room.  We were the first ones there, but Adams knew the pecking
order and suggested a chair for me.  As the other professors came in we
chatted amicably about their latest projects.  Bob Jensen came in and
glowered at everyone, taking his seat near the head of the table.  Finally
Dr. Peterson arrived and started the meeting.  I'd learned that he was a
stickler for punctuality, but I was still impressed that everyone was here
on time.  Usually getting professors together was like herding cats.

Musical Recommendation:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BpoyJ-lZDKI
"Talk Too Much," by Joe Jones

	"Welcome to the fall semester gentlemen.  You'll find your agendas
in front of you.  First of all I'd like to introduce you to JP Crampton,
our newest assistant professor.  He brings with him a broad area of
expertise, but his prime focus has been on French History and, more
recently, on the process of decolonization."  Everyone nodded and grumbled
a brief welcome, pretty effusive for a group of introverted guys.  "I'd
also like to thank Dr. Crampton's father for his generous gift to our
department.  I don't know about you, but I'm certainly enjoying getting to
see the outside without feeling it blow into my office."  That brought
applause and laughter.

	We went through various items, mostly assigning faculty members to
University committees.  The worst one of all, Faculty Governance, which was
responsible for evaluating policies and procedures for the faculty, fell to
me as I expected.  Adams got on compensation, which was almost as bad.

	Just as we were about to adjourn, Bob Jensen spoke up.  "I'd like
to add a new topic to the agenda.  I think we need to talk about office
allocation."

	"I don't see what there is to discuss," said Peterson.

	"I just don't think that it's reasonable for the most junior member
of our faculty to have the nicest office in the department.  They are, per
university customs, supposed to be allocated based on seniority.  It should
be given to Dr. Broughton as senior member."  Peterson looked intensely
irritated, but I wasn't.  I'd expected this.  I just didn't expect him to
throw Broughton into it.  We got on great, and I sure didn't want to go
head to head with him.

	"I'm happy just where I am," said Broughton.  He didn't like change
in general, and changing his own world would have been upsetting in the
extreme.

	"Well then," said Jensen, "it should go to the next most senior
faculty member."  We all knew that was him.  Everyone looked at me.  How
would I handle the bully?

	"Dr. Jensen, I would be happy to relinquish my office to you as
soon as you write me a check for $1,568 to compensate me for the costs of
renovations."  He tried to intimidate me with his eyes.  Like that would
work.

	"We don't pay for offices around here.  They're allocated, and
they're allocated based on seniority."  Jensen pressed on.

	I saw Peterson get ready to intervene but I jumped in.  If I didn't
stick up for myself now, I'd be fighting this guy all year.  "I've tried to
fully familiarize myself with the customs and procedures of the University.
You are quite correct that the allocation of offices is primarily based on
seniority, but it is considered a "custom," and as such is inferior in
status to binding agreements such as employment contracts.  Prior to
investing significant money into the office, I asked, and Dr. Peterson
agreed to include that in my overall contract, which will expire in five
years."  The other faculty members simply nodded.

	Dr. Peterson intervened.  "Gentlemen, I think we've spent enough
time on this.  We have more important things to worry about than offices.
Everyone is where they are supposed to be, and they will stay there."

	He adjourned the meeting, and I went back to my office.  Adams
followed me.  "Good job!  Most people just buckle when he starts on his
tirades."  Like most of these guys, Adams hated confrontation.

	"If I don't confront him he'll walk all over me."  Like he walked
all over you, was the unspoken end of the sentence.  He nodded and went
back to his office.

	I had just delved back into my work when Dr. Peterson came in.  "A
moment, Dr. Crampton?"

	"Certainly sir."  I stood up and walked over to the "sitting area"
and offered him a chair.

	"I just wanted to say that you handled yourself well in today's
meeting.  Dr. Jensen can be a little obstreperous when voicing his views,
and he usually lacks tact and diplomacy."  He was talking to me as a
mentor, not a boss.

	"Dr. Peterson, may I speak candidly."  He eyed me up and down and
nodded.

	"Dr. Jensen is a bully.  He doesn't use his fists, he uses his
words and his seniority, but it's the same abuse that many in this
department probably put up with at some point in time.  That's why he
wields it so successfully."  Good job, JP.  You just called the whole
department a bunch of pussies.

	"If I back down from him, he'll walk all over me.  I've never
tolerated bullies, never.  I don't think that at an esteemed institution
like this we should allow his behavior to exist, but I feel that I at least
have the right to object to it when it is directed at me."

	He looked thoughtful, and pondered my words for a moment.  "You're
correct.  And I'll support you, as long as you treat him with respect and
use the same tact and diplomacy that he seems to lack."  He smiled at me
and I smiled back at him.

	"Yes sir."

	When I got home that night there was a letter from Jeff waiting for
me.

Dear JP,

	I feel guilty because I should have sent this a long time ago.  I
want to thank you for everything you've done for me, but I'm not always so
good at expressing myself.  I love the wallet, but you didn't have to put
all that money in it.  Your Dad has been great, and has given me some work
for the rest of the summer.  When school starts, I'm going to do what you
suggested and just live off the money I save from that job, plus what you
gave me.  My goal is to get a scholarship, maybe even to Northwestern.

	I don't mean to sound all weird, but I miss having you around.
That week I spent in Chicago was the best time in my life so far, except
maybe that touchdown I made at last year's Homecoming Game.

	I've been staying with Sammy.  They've got lots of room, and I
would feel kind of funny hanging around with your parents.  They've been
great.  I know that you were glad to get out of this crappy town, but I
hope you'll come back and visit soon.

Jeff


	It was great to hear from Jeff, but it reminded me of how nice it
was to have him here.  I think that I was able to relax more with him than
anyone else.  He is just so comfortable to be around.  Still, these young
guys just fucked up my emotions, and I probably fucked up theirs.  And that
made me think of Andre, and how much I missed him.


August 16, 1962


	I had four C.V.s in front of me, candidates for the two TA
positions I was allowed to fill.  The TA would assist me with the classes,
tutoring and grading or even teaching if I so decided.  In essence, they
were student flunkies, Grad students who used the jobs as a stipend to
subsidize their living expenses.  I'd posted a sign on the bulletin board
on Monday, soliciting applications.  I heard footsteps on my floor and
looked up to see Dr. Jensen, followed by two students, one male, and one
female.  He was holding my flier.

	"What the hell is this?  I already selected the T.A.s for the
history intro class."  He motioned to the two students behind him.  He was
supposed to teach this class but managed to get out of it and pawn it off
on me.

	"I'm sorry," I said to them all in general, "but I like to choose
my own staff."  The girl looked defiant, probably Jensen's toady.  The guy
looked concerned.  I directed myself to them.  "I would encourage you both
to apply.  I just started reviewing resumes, so I'll need your C.V. today."

	"You don't understand," Jensen bellowed, "I've already hired them.
They ARE the T. A.s"

	"Dr. Jensen, do not raise your voice in my office.  Ever.  If you
want to teach the intro to history class and choose the T.A.s, be my guest.
Otherwise, the class, and those positions do not concern you."  I went back
to my work, in effect dismissing him.  He stormed out, followed by the
girl, presumably to go yell at Peterson.

	"Dr. Crampton?  Can I talk to you for a minute?"  said the young
man.

	"Certainly," I said, and motioned him over to the sitting area,
closing the door on the way.  "What's on your mind?"

	"I'm Jason Strubbe.  I think you already have my resume on your
desk."  He was right, I did.  And he was the top candidate at this point.
"I really want, and I really need this position.  I'm willing to work hard,
do whatever you need.  I hope you won't hold it against me that Dr. Jensen
was the one who introduced me."

	I looked this young man over.  He was bookish, dorky even, with big
glasses and pants that were too short.  "Expecting a flood?"  would be what
kids in high school would say to him.  But he seemed sincere.  I asked him
about his background, and what he wanted to do.  It dovetailed nicely with
my areas of research.

	"Jason, stop by and see me tomorrow and I'll tell you if you have
the job, OK?"  He still looked nervous.  "Right now, you're at the top of
my list."  That seemed to placate him.  He shook my hand and left.

	I went back to work, expecting a visit from Dr. Peterson shortly.
It only took 45 minutes.

	"Dr. Crampton, I understand you had an unpleasant encounter with
Dr. Jensen?  He says you were very rude, and threw him out of your office."
There was a slight grin on his face that told me that he wasn't here to
discipline me.

	I explained the encounter to him.  "Well, I'm not surprised at
that, or his reaction.  And I told him just what you did.  So the T.A.s are
yours to choose."  And with that he left.

	I wonder how many times Jensen was going to fuck with me before
he'd had enough?  Or was he going to make this a blood feud, with only one
of us surviving here at the University?  If he did, I was going to have to
be more proactive or I'd lose the battle.  He's got tenure, I don't.  So
the only way he leaves is if he quits, or does something so obscene that he
has no choice but to leave.  All of this was a huge distraction, not just
to me, but to the whole department.  What might we accomplish, what laurels
might we earn if only this asshole was out of the picture?

August 17, 1962

	This paper was not coming together like I wanted it to.  I was
fighting the conclusions, fighting the data, and I was going to have to
admit that my hypotheses were all wrong.  And that pissed me off.  I was
just trying to figure out how to save four months' worth of work when
Nancy, Dr. Peterson's assistant came in.  "Dr. Crampton, Dr. Peterson would
like to see you in his office as soon as possible."  That was unusual.
Peterson liked to get out and about, and rarely were people summoned to his
office unless it was something serious.

	I walked in to find Dr. Peterson and Dr. Jensen waiting for me.
Jensen was grinning from ear to ear, while Peterson looked visibly
concerned.  "Dr. Crampton, Dr. Jensen has brought some serious ethical
concerns, ethical concerns about you, to my attention.  I wanted to address
them immediately."  I nodded and sat down.

	Peterson nodded to Jensen, who continued.  "According to my
sources, you agreed to pass all the football players in your class if the
coach would give some of your friends, kids from your hometown,
scholarships next year."  He was pleased with himself, I was relieved.
This I could handle.

	"Those statements are absolute nonsense."  I said simply.

	"So you deny them?"  Jensen said, acting like a prosecutor.

	"I deny them."  I said calmly.  He was expecting me to bluster,
rant and rave, do, in essence, what he would do.  Instead, by denying them,
the burden of proof fell back onto him.

	He looked at me, puzzled.  "Well, I don't believe you.  I have
credible information that you did exactly that."

	"Dr. Jensen, your information is false.  If you are presenting
formal charges, then I request that you produce this proof.  If you are
just making accusations, I must warn you I consider them to be defamatory."
I looked to Dr. Peterson.

	"Quite right.  Dr. Jensen, if you have witnesses, or other proof,
please produce them.  Otherwise, I have no reason not to believe
Dr. Crampton's denial."  Jensen was really pissed off now.

	"Isn't it obvious?  Didn't you see that big kid in here with him?
He even scrimmaged with the team.  Crampton made that one of the conditions
to pass the players."

	"Are you implying, Dr. Jensen, that anytime someone from my
hometown scrimmages with the football team I have violated some ethical
tenet?"

	"Enough of this," said Peterson firmly.  "You want to produce your
evidence, I'll evaluate it.  Otherwise, such accusations are unacceptable."
And with that he ended the meeting.

	"A moment Dr. Crampton," said Peterson.  I waited while Jensen
stormed out.  "Just in case this goes any further, can you tell me what
dealings you've had with the athletic department?"

	"Certainly sir.  Coach Davis invited me down to visit and rolled
out the red carpet.  I told him that I wasn't going to treat his students
any differently, except," and I paused for effect, "I told him that I'd
adjust their due dates for assignments and tests if they were traveling to
play out of town, and that I was willing to make myself, or my T.A.s
available to help his players if they needed it.  Then he asked me about
where I was from, and if they had a good football team.  I told him they
did, and told him about Jeff, and he asked me to invite Jeff down to meet
him and scrimmage."  He studied me closely.

	"Then I see nothing to worry about here.  I'm sorry to have
bothered you."  And with that, I was dismissed.

	I walked out of the office pissed off, really pissed off, but I
made sure that I had an expression of victory on my face.  So it was a
blood feud.  Jensen was determined to get rid of me and then move into my
office.  What a petty idiot.  I got back to my office, closed the door, and
started making some phone calls.

	Jason knocked on my door and came in, closing it behind him.  I'd
hired him this morning, and he'd jumped right into planning for the
semester.  I liked the guy, and I was looking forward to working with him.

	"Dr. Crampton, I need to talk to you."  I motioned him to sit down.
It seemed I was destined to get no work done today.

	"I really appreciate you hiring me, and I feel like I owe you my
loyalty.  I heard about what happened with Dr. Jensen today.  You may find
it interesting that Sarah, the girl that was supposed to be your other T.A,
well, she's dating Scott Mallory."  He looked really uncomfortable; it's
tough to obey two masters, and he had just made the choice.  He'd chosen
me.

	"Thank you Jason.  While that's interesting, I think the fact that
you've told me confirms to me that I made a great choice in hiring you.
I've got some errands to take care of this afternoon, but I'll be back on
Monday.  Let's do lunch, my treat."

	He beamed with pleasure at my compliment and almost stumbled over
my carpet as he left.  I'd have to deal with Jensen soon, before he
distracted me too much or damaged my reputation.

	I left and went back to my Condo.  I picked up a pizza on the way
home, grabbed a beer from the fridge, and sat down to watch the news.  I
didn't expect the news to cheer me up, but I didn't expect it to be as bad
as it was.  There was a picture of a young man, Peter Felcher.  It turns
out that he was 18 years old, and tried to escape from East Germany by
crossing over the Berlin Wall.  He was caught and had been shot in the
pelvis, but he collapsed into the "no man's land" area roped off by the
East Germans.  So there he lay, for over an hour, screaming for help which
never came from either side, and bled to death.  The world is a horrible
place.

Musical Recommendation:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5GwX-IuACEc
"Stuck on You," by Elvis Presley

	The door buzzed.  I looked at the clock on the wall.  7PM...who
would just stop by at this hour?  And how did they get past the concierge?
I strolled over to the door and opened it carefully.  A strong hand forced
it open, startling me.

	"Andre!"  I was surprised, happy, and speechless.  Overwhelmed.
There he was in his uniform, his hair buzzed off, looking every bit like
the military man.

	"Hey there JP.  Did you miss me?"  I slammed the door and leaped
into his arms.  I felt him hug me back, and I wanted to talk to him, to
look at him, but I just couldn't let go.  Tears streamed down my face, but
I couldn't stop them.  I decided that if I couldn't let my guard down with
Andre, then life just wasn't worth living anyway.

	"OK baby, OK, let me go.  I wanna see your place.  Plus I'm hungry
and I smell food."  Typical Andre.  Good thing I'd gotten a large pizza.
I'd planned for leftovers, but that wouldn't be happening.  I showed Andre
into the living room and got him a plate for his pizza, and a beer.

	I guess I thought that when Andre came home I'd jump into his arms,
kiss him passionately, and fuck him like a two dollar whore.  Yet when he
was here, in front of me, that just didn't seem right.  I could tell that
he had changed, and I knew that I had.  We were friends first, and we had
to reconnect.

	We sat and ate pizza, and then I rummaged through the kitchen to
find more food for Andre's insatiable appetite.  Meanwhile, he wandered
around my new place.

	"Damn JP, this place is amazing.  Maybe I will marry you and move
in here after all," he joked, remembering my fake proposal to him in Paris.
That led us down memory lane, so to speak, talking about our trip and the
fun and challenges that went with him.

	At about 10pm, when normally we'd be getting ready to head out,
Andre started to yawn.  "Tired?" I asked him.

	"Yeah, I've been traveling all day, and they don't exactly book you
first class."  We both chuckled.

	"Let's make it an early night tonight, then we can hit the town
tomorrow," I suggested.  Just then there was a loud roar.  Thunder from a
summer storm.  We both stood up and walked out onto the balcony.  The gusty
wind blew around us, warm and moist with humidity, while out over the Lake
we could see the lightening flashing across the sky, as if it was attacking
the water in an epic battle.  He put his arm around me, and I put my arm
around him in return.  We stood there watching the awesome light and power
of the storm, his presence filling me with happiness, filling the void that
had been there since he left.

	He looked down at me and I looked up to meet his eyes.  "Welcome
home Andre," I said with a smile.  "It's good to be home," he said, and
then moved his mouth down to meet mine.  It started out as a friendly kiss,
one with lots of emotion and not much passion.  I moved my hand up to run
it through his buzzed hair and he turned me to face him.  Feeling his body
pressing against mine, feeling his cock swell against mine, fueled the
passion.

	I led him to my bedroom and we stripped off our clothes, pausing to
kiss.  I loved the taste of his breath, the flavor of his mouth mixed with
Marlboros; it was such a man's taste.  He pushed me down onto the bed and
moved down on top of me, renewing our kiss and grinding his groin into
mine.  Heaven, this was heaven.

	"Andre, make love to me," I whispered in his ear urgently.

	"Are you sure?  I'm worried that I'll hurt you."  Where did that
come from?  What made him think he had hurt me?  Or that he would hurt me?
Oh fuck it, I'll think about that later.  I pushed him off of me and onto
his back, not easy with my sore arm.

	I grabbed the Vaseline and smeared some on his huge cock, and on my
ass.  He looked at me, worried.  I straddled him, hovering over his cock,
my own raging erection aimed right at him.  Slowly I lowered myself onto
him, feeling him pierce through my ring, sliding in almost effortlessly.
There was a bit of pain and discomfort, but this was Andre, and I love him
so much, and I wanted him so badly, that my body just responded, absorbing
him.

	I began to move up and down, my cock hard and dripping, my ass
squeezing him, subconsciously mimicking the same movements Stefan had used
on me the first time we had fucked.  Andre looked up at me in amazement.
This was nothing like the last time we had sex.  Then I had been passive,
kind of like a wife who was just doing her duty.  Now I was the active one,
now I was the one in charge, and now I was obviously enjoying myself.  Even
better, I knew I was better, good even, and I knew he loved it.

	"Do I look like I'm in pain?"  I taunted him, as I moved up and
down on his huge pole.

	"No baby, you look hot as hell, and you feel great.  Oh my God, you
feel amazing."  He reached up and grabbed me, pulling my head down to his,
pulling my lips to his.  I could feel him pant into my mouth, and felt the
urgency of his movements pushing me to go faster.  We were both close, but
I blew first.  I had never cum when we had sex before.  I felt the orgasm
boiling up and I had to break our lip lock, I needed to breathe.  I leaned
back to make sure I hit my spot, and then I came.  I know I moaned, OK
screamed.  I almost blacked out, it was so intense.  My first shot blew up
over Andre's head, the second hit his neck, and the rest of my load
splattered all over my chest.

	Andre looked at me with wide eyes, amazed by my orgasm and well on
his way into his own.  He groaned and grabbed my hips, pulling me onto him
while he shot into me.  I was so keyed up, and so sensitive, that I swear I
could feel the pulsing of his cock and the shots of his semen as he coated
my intestines.

	I collapsed on top of him, my cum smashed between us, seeming to
cement us together.  We were both panting so hard we couldn't talk.  Andre
caught his breath first.

	"That was the best, the absolute best sex I have ever had."  I felt
myself blushing but I looked up at him anyway, and my red face made him
laugh.  "Have you been practicing while I was gone?"

	That caught me a little off guard.  "Have you?"  I shot back.  He
looked back at me and we both realized, at almost the same time that we had
inadvertently strolled right up to the abyss, staring down at a topic that
could really screw things up.

	"I'm always practicing," he joked.  "Sometimes all by myself."  I
laughed at him.  Leave it to Andre to joke us out of the dead end.

	"I never demanded that you not fuck anyone else..." I said, pausing
for emphasis.  Then I continued "....when I'm not around."  He laughed at
that.

	"Damn, why would I want to?"  That got him a kiss and a big smile.
He made me so happy, so very very happy.  The other guys I'd fucked around
with, they'd been fun.  Mechanically, physically the sex was good.  But
Andre was just as good as them, and the emotional intensity he brought, the
love he gave and took from me, raised me to a level that I didn't think I
could get to.  This was Nirvana.

	"Um, I think we're starting to stick together," Andre said.  I
laughed.

	"Come on, let me show you the shower."  I got up slowly, peeling
myself off of him, and led the way into the shower.  We took turns spinning
under the shower, and then I grabbed the soap and began working it over his
body.  He was always fit, always muscular, but his training had toned him
up and made him harder.  I ran my hands down his chest, soaping him up,
running the bar over his nipples.  He pulled me to him, and now instead of
semen squishing between us, it was soap, slippery soap.

	The feel of his body sliding against mine was great, but the feel
of his lips on mine was even better.  I felt his cock poke me as he
hardened and I giggled.  I reached down and grabbed it with my soapy hand
and began stroking him slowly.

	He turned me around so I was facing the wall, grabbing on to the
door handle as I felt his hand slide up my crack, spreading soap as it
went.  I felt him move closer, and then I felt his cock at the entrance of
my hole, ready to go again.  I pushed back into him, wanting him back
inside me, wanting to join with him again.

	Maybe it was because it was so soon after we had sex, or maybe it
was because I wanted him so bad, but he slid in smoothly, no pain, no
hesitation.  I heard him gasp, and then he started pistoning in and out of
me.  He started out slowly, and I adjusted my stance so he hit my magic
spot.  Last time I'd been in charge, this time it was his turn.  He grabbed
my hips and began to really thrust into me, pounding my ass, while I
stroked my own cock in time to his movements.  This time he came first.
Feeling him expand in my ass and explode sent me over the edge too.  Good
thing we were already in the shower.

	We headed back to the bed where Andre got in and laid on his back,
and I instinctively snuggled up to him, enjoying the feel of his strong
chest under my cheek.  Andre was so much harder, firmer, than Jeff, who was
cushier and cuddlier.  Then I chided myself for thinking about Jeff when I
was here in bed with the love of my life.

	Andre's breathing was slow and rhythmic, and soon it was joined by
a soft snoring.  I smiled to myself.  Poor guy must have been exhausted
when he got here, and then I wore him out.  I molded my body to his,
deciding that if I had Andre, I would never need anyone else.  He is my
everything.

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