Date: Wed, 24 Jan 2007 00:11:24 -0500
From: carl_mason@comcast.net
Subject: PROFESSOR KENYON - 4

PROFESSOR KENYON - 4

Copyright 2007 by Carl Mason

All rights reserved.  Other than downloading one copy for strictly personal
enjoyment, no part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted in any
form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, except for reviews, without
the written permission of the author.  However based on real events and
places, "Streets of New York" is strictly fictional.  Any resemblance to
actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely
coincidental.  As in real life, however, the sexual themes unfold
gradually.  Comments on the story are appreciated and may be addressed to
the author at carl_mason@comcast.net

If you would like to read additional stories by this author, please turn to the
"Authors/Prolific Authors" link at the beginning of the Nifty Archive.

This story contains descriptions of sexual contact between males, both
adults and teenagers.  As such, it is homoerotic fiction designed for the
personal enjoyment of legal, hopefully mature, adults.  If you are not of
legal age to read such material, if those in power and/or those whom you
trust treat it as illegal, or if it would create unresolvable moral
dilemmas in your life, please leave.  Finally, remember that maturity
generally demands safe sex.


CHAPTER 4

(Revisiting Chapter 3)

"Kristin, it's just not going to work.  I don't know what happened, but
I've got to go.  I'm so very, very sorry."  The young lady said quietly and
with commendable compassion, "Apology accepted, Brad.  Don't let it get to
you.  One experience in the sack, one test score, one argument with your
boyfriend...it doesn't tell you much...at least enough to get upset about.
If you wish, you can go down a fire escape at the end of this hall and
avoid the crowds."  The thoroughly distressed boy nodded his head in thanks
and, averting his eyes, dressed and left as quickly as possible.

(Continuing Our Story - When It Rains, It Pours)

Given the brilliance of his departure for the dance, it would have been
impossible for the Professor not to notice the depression that set in on
his return.  All he wanted to do was to mope, and neither food nor
affection - let alone the calls of teammates or the pressure of studies -
had the slightest effect.  Finally, when the gymnastics team was becoming
desperate given the fast-approaching meet with Cornell, he allowed Paul
Kinney and Barry Lassiter into the house and told them where he was.
Evidently, they convinced him that he wasn't a social pariah - who was
probably suspected of being far worse - and gradually he returned to the
living.  Not that he was exactly bubbly, but at that point, the Professor
was willing to take anything he could get!

The next crisis came three or four days later when Kenyon heard loud curses
and the sound of things being thrown emanating from Brad's bathroom.  Lest
Man Mountain tear the place down, the Professor went upstairs and enquired
(gently) if there were anything he could do.  The bathroom door opened to
disclose a youngster whose whole body was shaking with a frustration
rapidly turning into anger.  However distracted by the inflammatory sight
of the gorgeous kid in his briefs, Kenyon forced himself to get the story
straight.  In brief (pun intended), he had to remove all hair from his body
below the eyes for the coming competition.  The simple truth was that his
nerves were still so shaken from the experience with Kristin that he
couldn't manage a razor to save himself.  (Three or four good nicks from
which blood was still seeping convinced John that he was telling the
truth.)  For three or four commendable reasons - plus a few others - his
landlord and mentor offered to do the job for him.  Closing the downstairs
blinds and throwing a plastic sheet on the dining room table, he had the
boy doff his briefs and stretch out as comfortably as possible.

His upper body presented no great problems - other than the fact there was
so much of it.  It appeared, parenthetically, that Brad was naturally quite
a hairy kid.  A great deal had begun to grow back since his last shave.
For that reason, the Professor decided to use an excellent electric
trimming razor first and then follow it up with a manual razor with shaving
soap.  The hair came off his heavy arms, shoulders, and pecs with no
problems whatsoever.  Quite a bush had grown back in his pits, but after
using a little powder it came off, too.  There really wasn't enough hair on
his abs or his powerful lower stomach to provide a problem, and with a few
swipes it was gone.  Kenyon paused when the came to the boy's pubes.
"You've regrown quite a forest down here, Brad.  How do you want me to
handle it?"  The youth's voice shook a bit, but he answered quickly, "The
latest thing seems to be to leave enough stubble to provide a shadow in the
pubic area, but no more.  All of the genital hair has to come off.  Ok?"
"Yep," Kenyon mumbled and kept working.  Taking care of the public area, he
then deftly used the trimming razor to remove most of the hair on and
around the youth's genitals, as well as on his perineum and in the crack
between his buttocks.

Brad's long muscular legs stretched out across the table.  His thighs were
perfectly shaped, true works of art.  Though he sometimes complained about
them, his rounded calves belonged in a statuary museum, as far as the
Professor was concerned.  Here the hair was heavy, and it piled up as the
razor moved lower and lower.  When he had gotten the front side, he had
Brad stand while he took the plastic sheet out into the back yard and shook
it.  The boy smiled wanly and put his arm on John's shoulder as he climbed
back up on the table.  The lower reverse side of the youngster's
magnificent body was also quite hairy, but it surrendered to the electric
razor without incident, as did a goodly amount of hair on his buttocks.  As
the fair skin unsullied by hair emerged to glow softly in the light, Kenyon
had to keep himself under tight control.  The boy's upper torso was
necessarily heavily muscled as only a gymnast's or a bodybuilder's can be.
His legs and buttocks, however, were in perfect proportion...pure muscular
art.  The Professor found himself brushing aside the strands of hair simply
to run his hands over skin that was smooth as silk.  Clearing his throat
and swallowing, he quickly finished off the youngster's back and neck.
Sheer poetry in flesh...the epitome of youth.

"Ok, bozo, I'm ready to take the manual razor and shaving cream to you.
Want to take a little break before we begin?"  "Yeah, dad, thanks," Brad
responded.  "Do you mind if we sit together on the couch?  I'm a little
stressed and need to steal a little of your energy and guts."  Kenyon put
his arm around the lad's softly glowing body and pulled him close.  Kissing
him on top of the head, he murmured, "I don't think you need to 'steal'
anyone else's courage, son.  You're one of the bravest people I've ever
known."  (The Professor noticed that he had called him "dad" for the first
time in several weeks and seemed to be returning to a state when he could
analyze his problems.)  Brad sniffled and pushed even closer.

Noting that there were tears in the boy's eyes, the Professor asked if he
wanted to finish up at that time or continue on the next evening.
"Whatever you want, bozo.  I'm good with it either way."  Brad raised his
hand and touched Kenyon's face before answering, "Let's go for it, dad.
(Pause.)  I love you, you know."  "I know," John answered quietly.  The
close shave was messy and it took a while, but eventually all that remained
were Brad's genitals.  Deciding not to make a big thing out of it, John
simply lathered the entire area.  He then gently grasped the boy's soft
six-inch tube, held it up, and removed any stubble from the base and lower
portion of the shaft.  He was about to take Brad's large ball-stuffed
scrotum into his left hand when the youngster let out a little cry and
lifted his torso off the table as he reached his arms out for the
Professor.  "Oh, Dad," he sobbed.  "Oh, Dad."  With that, he took Kenyon's
hand and placed it firmly atop a cock that was now blazing hot, at least
eight inches in length, impossibly swollen, and hard as steel.  Before
Kenyon could do anything, however, the youngster began screaming, "Fuck!
Never, never, never!  I said I'd NEVER do that again!", leapt off the
table, and ran through the kitchen and out the back door!

Recovering faster than he ever though possible for a thirty-two-year-old,
Kenyon followed within seconds.  When he reached the backyard, however, he
had to screech to a halt.  The young Olympian was sprawled out on the icy
ground, groggy from having tripped over a cracked spot in the walkway.
Inasmuch as there was no way that the Professor could have hoisted the
solid hulk into his arms - or carried him had he been able to lift him - he
simply helped him to stand and stagger back towards the house.  Inside, he
helped the lad to crumple onto the couch and sat there, holding him in his
arms.  It all came out.  God!  That terrible, humiliating evening at the
Alpha Alpha Alpha House...  He had to take a chance!  Sobbing
intermittently, Brad told of his life before coming across country to the
University.  He recounted his continuing battle with his homosexuality.
Disclosing the prostitution problems, he noted how placing a john's hand on
his hot cock had become his sign that he was fully ready for action.
During his few therapeutic sessions, he had vowed that he would never again
take that route to fulfilling his sexual needs.  His passions aroused
beyond his ability to control them, he had unintentionally fallen back on a
similar gesture to reach out to Kenyon.  He sobbed that he had loved him
since he set eyes on him at the door on that dark, frigid December
afternoon.  Now, he sniffled, it was all over.  Kenyon wouldn't want him,
nor would anyone else.  What in hell was to become of him?

"Well, let's see," the Professor said.  "You've found a father who loves
you and will stand by you.  Although you face some serious work to get back
on top of your studies, you're a student at a fine university.  You've
built a beautiful, strong body and honed it for success in a demanding
sport.  You've made some great friends - unless those guys who stopped by a
few days ago were really enemies-in-disguise!  And maybe, just maybe,
you've learned something about your sexual self that will reduce your false
starts and pain in the future.  Why wouldn't I want such a son?  Brad
turned, almost throwing himself at the Professor and tucking his head under
Kenyon's chin as they fell back on the couch.  After a quick clean up and
shower, he fell into the first restful sleep he had enjoyed for days.  The
last thing he remembered was the unfamiliar feeling of security as his
father kissed the back of his neck and softly stroked his hair.

(Family)

It was time for the big gymnastics meet with Cornell.  The Big Red team
arrived.  The Professor met Cousin Andy over at the Harris Gym where he
also exchanged a few pleasant words with their coach.  On reaching the
house, the handsome senior had quite a surprise.  His father and mother had
made the long trip down from Vermont - and, after an intensive campaign of
shameless begging and promises, had brought little brother Lenny with a
devilish friend named Fred.  Poor Brad...  He was now at the beck and call
of TWO ten-year-olds!

Professor Kenyon had outdone himself for dinner!  Roast beef with an herbed
Yorkshire pudding, horseradish sauce (for those who liked it), creamed
spinach, a crunchy Waldorf salad, and a refreshing orange sorbet sent
everyone into long paeans of praise for the chef.  French bread and an
excellent Napa Valley Cabernet Sauvignon complemented the feast.  Brad did
wonder (loudly) why he didn't cook like this more often, but when John
showed his fangs and growled menacingly at him, he shut up!

Having experienced long days, and facing an even more demanding one, the
house darkened for sleep and quieted down somewhat earlier than usual.
(Oh, the ten-year- olds didn't, but that was par for the course.)  Brad
noticed that Andy was having quite a problem getting to sleep.  As a matter
of fact, about 1:30 am he simply got out from under the covers and sat on
the edge of the bed.  "You ok, cuz?" Brad whispered.  "Yeah, Brad...just
too much adrenalin flowing, I guess."  "Want to come over here and let me
work on the shoulders for a bit?"  "I sure would, Brad, but will it bother
you that I sleep in the raw?"  "Not if it doesn't bother you that I do,
too," Brad laughed.  For a few minutes there were confused sounds
(including giggles) as two really big youngsters fitted themselves into the
same single bed.  Then one heard little more than soft moans and an
occasional "Oh, yeah!"  Clearly, they traded off at some point, for the
moans became Brad's.  "Oh, yeah...that really feels great," he muttered at
one point.  "Are you sure, cuz?" Andy asked.  "REAL sure!" Brad responded,
whereupon the predominant sounds became those of sucking, moans, and gasps
for air.  Ere long, both hunks exploded, rested for a few minutes, and fell
into a tight hug before there was relative silence.  The last sound from
either of them came when one - impossible to tell who - grunted, "Move your
damned butt a little to the right, cuz!"

In the morning, both boys - equally bright eyed and bushy tailed - clomped
into the kitchen, their arms around each other's shoulders and grinning
widely.  "Ready for a big day?" Kenyon mumbled over his second cup of
coffee.  "Oh, yeah!" they answered simultaneously.  The Professor knew
something was up, but barely awake, he just couldn't figure out what!

(The Gymnastics Meet)

Given the weather problems mentioned earlier, both a basketball game and a
gymnastics meet were scheduled for the same Saturday.  Rather than hold the
events at different hours, the Athletic Department decided to have them run
simultaneously in different venues.  The gymnastics meet would be held in
the older Harris Gymnasium while the basketball game would take place
across campus in the new Tyler Pavilion.  They had a good crowd for the
basketball game, but the surprise was the mob of students, faculty,
townspeople, and guests who packed the old gym.  Although the purists
thought it a bit much, the Music Department actually provided a pep band
for the event.  People had heard a great deal about the gymnastics team,
especially the new man from the West Coast, and they were going to see for
themselves.

Inasmuch as the three adults, plus the two kids, hadn't watched a lot of
gymnastics, they decided to concentrate on Andy and Brad's performances.
They weren't disappointed.  Andy's work on the pommel horse was as smooth
and flowing as a summer stream.  Constantly shifting his bodyweight from
hand to hand, never allowing his body to come to a stop, and using one
pommel or handle and then two, Andy moved up and down the apparatus,
occasionally straddling the horse as he flared his legs, occasionally
turning, occasionally working high in the air and then dangerously low to
the horse.  Finally looking like nothing other than a helicopter, he spun
in circles and then released neatly to a solid landing on the mat.  When he
stuck his perfect landing, it seemed as if everyone in the gym had been
watching him, for they rose to their feet as one and broke into deafening
applause and cheers.  Given the difficulty of this event, some of the more
experienced onlookers thought his excellent score of 9.85 was conservative,
to put it mildly.

One will guess that everyone in the gym was also watching Brad when his
turn came on the rings.  It didn't seem to matter that he was only
eighteen.  The spectators jammed into the old Harris Gymnasium felt the
spirit of the ancient Olympics descend on the boy's shoulders as he strode
confidently out under the rings.  (Kenyon felt a pang of disappointment
that he could not compete in the nude.)  For a moment he stood there
quietly, proudly, in the beauty of youth.  Then he was lifted up to the
rings.

During the few minutes of his routine, his body remained straight with no
arching; his arms showed sturdy and strong with no shaking.  He swung on
the rings with apparent ease; the rings never moved on their own.  Whether
a handstand or a cross, every move was made with absolute precision; a
Swiss watchmaker could not have designed them better.  Quickly, the boy
piled up points as he combined strength and swing elements, culminating in
an absolutely spectacular maneuver.  Smoothly, his body under complete
control, he swung into an inverted cross, held it for a clear two seconds,
swung smoothly into a planche, holding it for two seconds, and then swung
with great grace (and fantastic strength) into an Iron Cross which he also
held for two seconds.  One had the feeling that he could have swung there
motionless, a pleasing expression on his handsome face, for considerably
longer.  The old hall that had seen so much by way of both glory and
tragedy simply exploded when he gracefully descended with no more visible
effort than had characterized his entire routine.  When the judges
announced their score, 9.975, the hall exploded into boos and foot stamping
that shook the old wooden structure.  If ever they had seen a ten...  Brad
probably didn't hear it, for at that moment he was riding jubilantly on the
shoulders of his teammates.  As the pep band pounded away, he was being
carried from the rings to the team bench and thence around the perimeter of
the floor.  One gymnastics afficionado in front of the family was literally
hanging on to his companion's shoulders in exhaustion from the intense
concentration.  Kenyon heard him mumble, "And dear God, that was from a
freshman!"

The more experienced Cornell team won the meet by a clear margin.  Andy won
three event blues, a silver, and a bronze ribbon.  Brad came home with the
rings blue and a hotly contested bronze in the floor exercise.  Brad winked
as he approached the family outside the locker rooms only to fold his dad
into a bear hug and pound him on the back.  ("Thanks for coming, dad," he
whispered into his ear.)  Following close behind, a slightly embarrassed
Andy followed suite with his dad, who hrrumped...but didn't run away.

Andy was traveling with the team which would depart as soon as the boys
were packed up.  He only had time for a quick trip back to the house to
pick up his bag.  He was able to hug Brad in their room and tell him how
much he looked forward to their getting together again.  With a wink, he
said, "Maybe we can raise some hell during Spring Break."  (He also told
Brad that he had watched most of his routine, concluding seriously that he
hadn't seen anything better on the rings even in the Olympics!)  He rode
back to the Harris Gym with his mother and dad to catch the team bus.  They
stayed overnight, but left early for the Green Mountain State.  It was,
they thought, a fantastic family visit.  There had to be more of them!
Cousin Lenny evidently felt the same way, for he and his sidekick, Fred,
bugged Brad all evening, spending a good part of the night squirming around
in his bed.  When John asked him the next morning, however, if he were
still alive, he just grinned.


To Be Continued