Date: Tue, 24 Sep 2013 21:56:46 -0700 (PDT) From: Macout Mann <macoutmann@yahoo.com> Subject: IT STARTED IN A PARK 6 This story is completely fictional and any resemblance to actual persons or events is purely coincidental. The story also contains explicit sexual acts between males, so be warned! This story is also brought to you through the generosity of the many donors to nifty.org. Without their contributions this site could not exist. Please consider a gift to nifty.org today. You'll be glad you gave. Your comments and criticisms are appreciated. Please write me at macoutmann@yahoo.com. Copyright 2013 by Macout Mann. All rights reserved. IT STARTED IN A PARK by Macout Mann Chapter 6 Fall Semester Classes began. Christian's major responsibility was Introduction to Art History, a survey course being taken by over fifty undergraduates. He also held a graduate seminar in which students were pursuing their special interests. His introductory course contained the usual mixture. A group of art majors fulfilling requirements, a group of other students looking for an easy or interesting elective, and a few seriously interested in art history. There was always at least one lisping, limp-wristed queer in such classes, the sort Christian had always detested. "They're the ones that give homosexuality a bad name," Christian used to tell friends. This go around it was Sammie Caldwell who filled the role. Yes, Sammie was his real name. He was only 5' 8" tall, had no visible musculature, unkempt sandy hair, and a pale, puffy face. There were also three members of the football team in the class. That intrigued Christian to the point that he placed a call to the coach. "Oh my god!" the coach exclaimed. "We suggested that they take an introductory art class. We were thinking about Art 101, where they teach you the principles of drawing and how to use a paint brush. I guess they figured `introduction' always means the same thing." "Well," Christian responded. "My course isn't a crip, so they may want to drop out, but I think it's pretty interesting." Actually, Christian's opening lecture was so entertaining that only one of the football players decided to change courses. He described the famous early cave drawings in France and postulated all sorts of reasons why early men with no artistic heritage of any kind would want to draw primitive pictures of animals on the walls of their houses. The semester progressed. Christian felt he'd found his calling. His colleagues and his department head found him to be competent and personable. Both his graduate and undergraduate students thought he was a good teacher. Sammie told an acquaintance he was "thrilling." Christian's sex life was equally satisfying. Once he'd overcome his hesitancy to have friends to his apartment, he and Jim developed a weekly routine. Thursday was Christian's lightest day, so Jim would bring a six pack as soon as he got off work. They'd have a couple, suck and fuck with abandon, and then Jim would go home to his wife and kids. He and Rick Worthington shared each other's bed from time to time. They developed a shared friendship with Christian's department head and several other faculty, so their close association didn't raise any questions around campus. And he and Vernon gradually became best friends. They enjoyed all of their mutual interests, including more trips to hear the symphony. They even went to see the Warriors bloodied by the Georgia Bulldogs. After frosting their balls at the game that Saturday they wound up at Christian's apartment. The apartment was warm, but that wasn't the only reason they had both removed their shirts. They were totally relaxed and sipping brown liquid from ice filled glasses when the doorbell rang. Jim was at the door. "Myra and the kids went to see her mom," Jim said. "I thought I'd take a chance that you were home." "Come in," Christian said. "Oh," Jim said upon seeing Vernon. "I don't mean to interrupt anything." "No problem," Christian assured him. "Jim, this is my good friend Vernon Ramsay. Vernon, meet Jim Hart." The two strangers greeted each other warmly. "Make yourself comfortable, Jim. Let me fix you a drink," Christian offered. "Bourbon o.k.?" "Thanks," Jim laughed. "Make myself comfortable. Does that mean take off my shirt?" "Take off whatever," Christian laughed. Christian handed a highball to Jim and said, "Vernon and I went to the game and came back to lick our wounds." "Yeah, I heard part of it on the radio," Jim replied. "Yall really got your asses kicked." "Yeah, but sometimes we can beat Vanderbilt," Vernon said. "You at the university too, Jim?" "Nah, I frame houses for a living. None of that highfalutin' shit for me." "Actually, Jim and I met at the same place you and I did," Christian told Vernon, "at Cranston Park. He was playing with his kids, and we got to talking, and one thing led to another." "Oh?" Vernon smirked knowingly. "Oh, yes," Jim admitted, scratching his crotch. "So you're bi then?" Vernon asked. "Fuckin' aye," Jim said. "I get to have all the fun." "Well, I guess I better be going," Vernon responded. "I don't mean to keep anything from happening." All three men laughed, as Christian said, "I don't think there's anything going to happen. At least nothing we all haven't done before." They continued to chat. Vernon was interested in hearing about Jim's boys. The oldest is four, the next one eleven months behind, and the youngest not quite two. Jim said that there definitely wouldn't be a fourth. Myra had her tubes tied. After another drink the guys were losing the few inhibitions they had when Jim arrived. There was much clawing of crotches. Vernon and Jim were sitting at opposite ends of the couch, and Vernon finally slipped over next to Jim and with his right hand grabbed a handful. "You don't mind, do you big fella?" "What do you think?" Jim answered. He reached for Vernon's package as well. "I'm not goanna be left out," Christian interjected. He stood and came to sit next to Vernon, who used his left hand to play with Christian's hardening dick. "I wanna be `Lucky Pierre,'" Vernon singsonged. Soon Vernon was being spit-roasted like he had been in Atlanta. This time it was Christian's dick up his ass and Jim's down his throat. Still, Christian sometimes visited the park. One evening in early November just before dark—it was chilly but not cold—Christian was making his way up one of the trails leading away from the pavilion. "Oh hello, Mithter Ballard." It was Sammie Caldwell. "Hello, Mr. Caldwall," Christian responded. He was prepared for a chance meeting with someone who knew him. "So you like to take walks in the woods too." "Yeth indeed, Sammie giggled. "And I like to do other things in the woods that are more fun. Gay things." "Really?" Christian was unruffled. "What do you mean?" "Oh...you know. Like I thaw yew and thome other man do out here one time. Thucking each other's dicks. Yew didn't know anybody was watching. But I was."