Date: Thu, 11 Sep 2008 18:08:23 -0700 (PDT)
From: Mark Arbour <markarbour2000@yahoo.com>
Subject: Chronicles of an Academic Predator 23

CHRONICLES OF AN ACADEMIC PREDATOR

	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 23

Video Recommendation:
President Kennedy Addresses the Nation about the Cuban Missile Crisis.
Long Version:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5OOGA-xrLyg
Short Version:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W50RNAbmy3M


October 22, 1962

	I'd been pouting and bitchy all week, mad that my trip to Brussels
had been canceled and mad that I hadn't heard anything further from Andre.
He'd pretty much left me high and dry, and I was fully prepared to feel
sorry for myself and celebrate with a pity party.  Then today word came
that the President was going to air a special address at 6pm, and I
realized that something big was going on.  I felt like a complete idiot for
being such a twit, and poor Jason, having to live with me, bore the brunt
of my bad mood.

	To try and make it up to him I'd stopped and gotten pizza so he
didn't feel obligated to cook, and we sat in front of the television glued
to the screen waiting for the President to speak.  Rumor had it there was
yet another problem with Cuba.  At 6pm, the President appeared and laid out
the problem.  He was so young and handsome, so smart, so suave, so
cultured, that he made me feel confident in his abilities.  Still, his
words were disturbing.  The Soviets had put nuclear missiles in Cuba and we
were demanding their removal, voluntarily or otherwise.  Instead of
immediate air strikes, which would have been what I expected, he had found
a finessed position by declaring a naval blockade of Cuba.  An air strike
probably would precipitate a world war and nuclear annihilation.  A
blockade may result in the same thing, just a little bit later.  What would
happen when the first ship refused to stop?  What would happen if that ship
was fired on?  What would happen if Soviet warships, specifically
submarines, responded?  Was Billy out there in the Thresher?  Would he be
vaporized with us?  What about Andre?  Brussels would be ground zero, the
NATO HQ.

	Jason and I sat there silently and stared at the television long
after the report ended.  He looked at me nervously.  "War?"  He asked.

	I thought about it.  "Maybe.  Actually, it seems likely."  Would
the world end now?

	"What should we do?" he asked me.  "Should we leave the city?  The
big cities are sure to be obliterated.  We might be able to survive in the
country."

	"You may be right, but I'm not going anywhere.  If it comes to
that, I'd rather be vaporized here than to suffer a slow death from
radiation poisoning in the country."  I was firm in my commitment.  I'd
made that determination a long time ago.  The concept of immediate death
was part of this cold war, something we all had to deal with.  "That's my
personal decision, though.  You can go if you want to."  I had no right to
make that decision for him.

	He studied me carefully.  "I'll stay too.  You're right; it makes
no sense to flee."

	We spent the night glued to the television in case there was more
news.  I had two couches, and we each took one and slept on it.  In the
morning, we woke up stiff and tired, but at least we woke up.

October 23, 1962

	I went to the store in the morning and bought another color
television.  The stores were chaotic, but fortunately most people were
buying radios.  Still I had to wait in line quite awhile just to pay for
it.  I drafted a few students to lug it into my office and set it up,
finding a station that got decent reception.  NBC ended up being the best.
I put it near my sitting area so people could sit down and stay up to date
on the crisis, and made sure that the secretaries knew they were welcome to
take a break and watch the news.

	The consequences of my action were that my office was crammed full
of people watching the television, so to get any work done I had to move to
the conference room.  Peterson found me there.

	"Dr. Crampton, thank you for bringing the television in.  It's a
distraction, to be sure, but I don't think anyone would even be here if we
didn't have it."

	"No problem Dr. Peterson.  Do you think there will be war?"
Peterson is a brilliant man.  His guess would be better than anyone's.

	"It's touch and go, but my gut tells me there won't be.  It's a war
no one can win."

	"I hope you're right."

	His calm demeanor was not shared by the populace.  Around the city,
food and hardware stores were picked bare.  It was impossible to find
tires, and there were massive lines at gas stations.  Schools were
canceling classes (not universities though) and people were fleeing the
cities.  The news was estimating that 10 million people were leaving the
cities, seeking safety in rural America.  I tried to call home but the
lines were too busy.  I simply couldn't get through.  All through the city
there were clumps of people crowded around radios and newsstands, just like
people did in my office.  It felt like the whole nation was holding its
breath.

	That night I decided to sleep in my own bed.  The tension was
starting to get to me.  I figured that if I could disengage from the
crisis, even for a bit, I'd be much better off tomorrow.  I was lying in
bed reading when there was a knock at my bedroom door.  Jason came in,
looking scared and nervous.

	"JP, I can't sleep.  I'm so uptight.  What if I go to sleep and the
last thing that happens is I'm awakened by a big boom then fried to a
crisp?"

	I motioned for him to sit in the bed next to me.  "There's really
nothing we can do about it.  I know it sounds fatalistic, but if it
happens, it happens.  You have to put it out of your mind and try to
relax."

	"I know you're right, but it's easier said than done.  I don't want
to die now.  Shit, I'm still a virgin.  The only thing I've done is, well,
is that blow job you gave me."  He blushed.

	"And that wasn't good enough?"  I teased.

	"No, it was great.  And those kissing lessons paid off big time
last weekend.  But it would have been nice to get laid before I'm turned
into atoms."

	I laughed.  "So first you ask me to teach you how to kiss, then you
ask me to blow you, and now you want to fuck me, is that it?"  He laughed
too.

	"I don't know," he flirted.  "Are you as good at that as you are at
blow jobs?"  I felt the danger signs, the horniness rising in my blood
stream.

	"You wanna find out?"  I asked and looked into his eyes.  He moved
closer to me and showed me how much better he'd gotten at kissing.  In
seconds we were free of our clothes and he was on his back with me sucking
him.

	I grabbed the Vaseline from the nightstand and lubed his huge pole.
This was going to take some work.  I sat on him, taking him in a bit at a
time, forcing myself to relax.  Still I had to back off a few times before
I could take it.  Finally I felt him gorge into me, filling me up like
never before.  It didn't feel good; it didn't feel comfortable, at least at
first.

	I started to ride his pole and he watched me intently.  After a few
minutes we changed positions and I got on all fours and he fucked me from
behind, doggy style.  He rammed that huge monster cock of his in my ass
time and time again, while all I could do was kneel there and take it.
Gradually, very gradually, I got used to it, and then it started to feel
good.  It was the weirdest thing.  It seemed to take forever for it to feel
good, but once it did, I shot my wad almost immediately.  He lasted a bit
longer than me, and that was my true test of endurance, because without
being stimulated myself, it was pretty painful.  But he shot, finally, and
I could tell it was quite an orgasm.  I'd have cum dripping out of my ass
all day tomorrow.

	He collapsed next to me and seemed embarrassed.  "So was it as good
as the blow job?"  I asked him

	"It was un-fucking-believable.  I can't, I..." he was so hyped he
couldn't talk.

	"You're not going to weird out on me are you?"  I asked him.

	He smiled at me.  "No, I'm fine.  Thanks so much.  That was
bitchin'.  Now I can die a happy man."  He went to get up and leave.

	"Hey Jason, you want to sleep in here tonight?"  He looked at me
kind of funny.  "I don't know about you, but it might be nice not to be
alone if the world is going to end."  He nodded and slid into bed next to
me.  We didn't touch at all, but it was nice to have him there.  Besides,
having my ass reamed by that massive dick of his had cleared my head.  I
slept soundly.

October 24, 1962

	The tension remained as the crisis continued.  Everyone went about
their business while making sure they weren't far from a television or
radio.  Somehow, having 10-15 minutes notice before the missiles arrived
seemed to be priceless.

	Watching the news brought mixed signals.  There was the palpable
feeling of relief when most of the Soviet ships stopped dead in the water,
or reversed course.  At that point, I think the general feeling shifted
from probably war to probably peace.  Still, there was one ship that hadn't
turned back, and the President had authorized all forces to go to DEFCON 2,
the first time the alert level had ever been raised that high.

October 28, 1962

	All week the tension remained high, but I began to sense that an
end, a peaceful end, may be possible.  The rumors were rife about frantic
backroom diplomacy, wild and crazy in some versions, logical and rational
in others.  There was a major setback on the 27th, when a U-2 spy plane was
shot down over Cuba, but then, today, the news finally came through.
Khrushchev pledged to remove the missiles.  A collective sigh of relief
seemed to inveigle the nation.  Jason took the opportunity to go to a
party.  I took the opportunity to sleep.

	I was awakened the next morning by the doorbell.  It was the
Western Union Guy again, with another telegram for me.  I signed for it and
opened it.

TO: JP CRAMPTON FROM: LT ANDRE CLERREAULT, USA DATE: OCTOBER 29, 1962

SORRY ABOUT BRUSSELS STOP NEW ORDERS STOP WILL BE IN CHICAGO NOVEMBER 9 TO
12 STOP

	The first thing to hit me was glee.  Andre was coming home!  He was
coming home!  Even though it was only temporary, he was coming home.  I
literally danced around the condo.  Good thing Jason wasn't home, he'd
think I'd gone nuts.  Then I started to re-read the telegram and two things
put a little fly in my ointment.

	First of all, he mentioned new orders.  What did that mean?  Where
was he going?  Please God, don't send him to Southeast Asia.  Anywhere but
there.  I kept up hope that his knowledge of French would keep him in
Europe.  Unfortunately, Vietnam, Laos, and Cambodia were all former French
colonies where French was still widely spoken.

	The next problem is that he'd be here the same time I'd promised to
be in Claremont.  There was no way I could go to Claremont unless I took
Andre, and that would be just too weird.  I had this vision of being in bed
with Andre on one side of me and Jeff on the other, a fun fantasy to be
sure, but in real life a disaster.

	That evening I bit the bullet and called Jeff.  Vella answered and
had to track him down, but she finally got him to the phone.

	"Hello," he said, his deep voice sounding even deeper on the phone.

	"Hey Jeff.  How's it going?"

	"Fine.  What's up JP?"  Obviously Jeff didn't like to chat on the
phone.

	"I've got some bad news.  I won't be able to make it back to
Claremont on the weekend of the 10th.  I'm so sorry.  I know that means
I'll miss your birthday."

	There was total silence.

	"You promised you'd make it."  he said.  This was so not like him.
Usually he was so laid back.

	"I know Jeff, but I can't leave Chicago that weekend."  Please
don't ask why, please don't ask why.

	"Why?"  Shit.

	"My college roommate, he's in the army and he's being transferred
overseas and he's going to be in town for that weekend.  After that he's
gone for I don't know how long."  I thought about lying, about making up
some university commitment, but I couldn't do that.

	"So he's more important to you than me?"  he asked.  What the fuck
was going on?  This didn't sound like Jeff at all.

	"Jeff, it's not like that at all.  Come on, you know that.  I
promise I'll make it up to you over Thanksgiving.  And I even got you the
most amazing birthday present."

	"You can't buy me off JP," he said.  This was turning into a
disaster.

	"Jeff, are you OK?  What's going on?"  There was more to it than
this.

	"I'm fine; I just thought you'd keep your promises."  More silence.

	"Look, I gotta go.  I'll see you over Thanksgiving," he said, and
then he hung up.

	I sat there staring at the phone, stunned and confused.  What was
going on in Claremont?  Why did that place constantly fuck with me?  I
decided that the only thing I could do now that my decision was made was to
enjoy my time with Andre and hope that I could repair my relationship with
Jeff over Thanksgiving.

Musical Recommendation: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kmbh9WWs4_A
"My Boyfriend's Back", by The Angels

November 9, 1962

	I stood waiting at the train station, waiting for Andre.  I was
beside myself with impatience, but I maintained my external cool.  I'd
bought Jason off by getting him a hotel room downtown for the weekend so
Andre and I could have the condo to ourselves.  Jason had argued about it
until I actually had to get rude with him, but we worked it out in the end.
I still hadn't heard from Jeff, even though I'd tried to call him three
times.  He obviously didn't want to talk to me.  I reminded myself that I
promised to keep that out of my thoughts for the weekend.

	The train pulled into the station and I watched the people unload.
There were uniforms, so many uniforms, that I had to look carefully to spot
Andre.  Then I saw him, tall, dark, and handsome, toting his duffel bag
effortlessly on his shoulder, sauntering toward the gate and toward me.
When he saw me he dropped the duffel and hugged me.  It was a brotherly
hug, but we were in public.  God it was so good to see him.

	"It's great to see you Andre!  You look healthy!"  I said, chatting
as we headed to the car.

	"You look great too JP.  Really great!"  He leered at me and made
me blush.  He laughed at that.

	We got in the car.  "So what's going on?  You're being
transferred?"

	He sighed.  "I'm being transferred to Saigon.  Before you start
freaking out, it's a pretty cushy post.  I'm being attached to the Embassy
to do translation work."

	"I'm sorry Andre.  I don't mean to be a pain in the ass.  You know
I'm doing research on that area, and it's a mess.  You're walking into a
quagmire."

	"You may be right babe, but I don't have much of a choice do I?"  I
realized that he didn't want to go as much as I didn't want him to go.
Beating him up about it would just force him into defending something he
didn't believe anyway.

	"You're right.  I'm sorry.  Besides, at least you got an easy
billet."  He smiled at me, appreciating my sensitivity.

	We got back to the condo and, of course, got to work making food.
Jason had stocked the condo to the roof with food, so we really wouldn't
have to go out unless we had to.

	"Can't go out on the balcony this time," I joked as he looked out
the window.  There was already snow on the patio, and ice had formed on the
railing.

	"Chicago sucks in the winter," he said.

	"It sure does," I said, and I dropped to my knees, unzipped his
pants, and took him into my mouth.

	November 12, 1962

	Here I was, back at the train station crying like a baby.  I
watched Andre disappear into the station and tried to bite back those
tears, but I couldn't.  It was cold outside.  Cold and miserable.  Just
like me.  I drove carefully because of the snow, and got back to the condo
safe and sound.  Physically at least.  The condo seemed cold too, although
the heat was on and the windows were sealed tight.  I locked myself in my
room, collapsing onto my sheets that still reeked of sex.  Maybe I'd never
wash them.

	The weekend had been glorious.  It was funny, because after getting
fucked by Jason, getting fucked by Andre seemed like child's play. And boy
did we fuck.  It was like we couldn't get enough of each other.  We didn't
leave the condo once, and had seriously depleted the food supplies.  That's
the thing with Andre and me.  There's this deep physical connection, which
is good, but an even deeper emotional connection.  As much as I care about
Jeff, or cared about Stefan, or thought I cared about Peter, none of them
came close to Andre.  He is my soul mate.  And now he's on his way to
Vietnam.  I buried my head in my pillow and sobbed.

	Jason came home and knocked on my door.  After he got no response
he knocked again.  "Come in," I muttered.  Jason came in and saw me, red
eyes, distressed.  I thought about trying to hide behind my facade, but I
just couldn't.  I didn't have the emotional strength.

	"Are you OK JP?"  He asked.  I just looked at him and he came over
and wrapped his arms around me.  I cried, cried, and cried.  I didn't do
that in front of people.  I simply didn't do that.  But Andre was gone, and
that was a tragedy.  And Jason was here, and he was a comfort.  He left me
after awhile and I finally fell asleep.  Tomorrow would be another day.
Tomorrow I would start looking forward to Andre's next visit.  At least
there will be a tomorrow.

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