Date: Sun, 28 Jan 2007 02:19:17 -0500
From: carl_mason@comcast.net
Subject: PROFESSOR KENYON - 5

PROFESSOR KENYON - 5

Copyright 2007 by Carl Mason

All 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 5

(Revisiting Chapter 4)

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.

(Continuing Our Story - Palmaa)

It turned out that the Saturday of the Cornell gymnastics meet and
basketball game provided the last halfway decent weather of the month.  The
remainder of January and early February was absolutely miserable - cold,
icy, snowy, and heavily overcast throughout.  True, It seemed to go by
fairly quickly for Brad had the team and some serious studying to do in
order to get back on top of his studies.  As Chairperson of the History
Department, Kenyon still had one course to teach.  He also wanted to lay
out a new book as well as to begin serious background research.  As
Presidents' Day (Monday, February 19th, a University holiday) approached,
however, the winds were still howling, the snow was still flying, and
people had begun to notice that they were suffering from serious cases of
"cabin fever."  The Professor decreed that it was time to get out of town
for the long weekend.  Hearing no argument from his grinning, always-
ready-to-go roomer, he made reservations at Palmaa, a famous old
Scandinavian resort over on the coast.  The nighttime trip was long and
difficult, but the roads were good, they were reasonably clear, and
Kenyon's four-wheel-drive vehicle met all challenges.

"It used to be the private estate of an 1890s railway baron...an enormous
piece of land for the East," Kenyon explained as they neared the coast.
"For nearly forty years, it's been owned by a Swedish conglomerate that has
refused to sell one square inch or, God forbid, lease any land to
developers.  For most of my adulthood, whenever life has become a bit much,
I have gone over there to jog along the beaches, steam the crap out of my
cells in the sauna, and enjoy some classically-prepared healthy food in one
of their superb dining rooms.  It's 'different,' son, but I hope that you
will enjoy it as much as I."  Brad didn't answer, for at that moment they
had approached a gate.  The guards, acting much like East German Stasi
during the Cold War, inspected their papers and finally waved them through.
"The guards don't seem too friendly, dad," Brad observed.  "The Guards?
They aren't very friendly," the Professor replied.  "If they were, the
place would be overrun with crap just like the rest of the coast."  For
miles they drove through a pine forest in which nothing other than a few
guard jeeps were to be seen.  As they approached the coast proper, the
trees began to thin out and a few people were seen jogging in the frigid
air.  In one small valley, there were even people playing volleyball!
"DAD!!" Brad erupted.  "These people . . ."  "Yep," Kenyon completed his
sentence.  "These people don't have any clothes on!  Welcome to the oldest
nudist colony in the United States, son, and, I think, the nicest."
Eventually, they approached a massive old building that looked suspiciously
like a great hotel of a considerably earlier age.

In a process that bore the patina of European manners, registration was
quick and efficient.  Almost before they knew it, they were in their
delightfully comfortable room and the bellboy was placing their two small
cases on racks.  As Kenyon fumbled for a bill, the young lad managed a
quick grin in Brad's direction.  "Nicely built...nicely built," Brad
chortled to himself.  After the boy had departed, Brad gave the two-room
suite a quick once-over.  Clearly, it seemed to include every amenity
imaginable.  Returning from the bedroom, he said with something of a leer,
"I only saw one bed, D-a-d..."  "Right!" the Professor replied, speaking
just a little too quickly to be convincing.  "That was all that was
available on short notice.  Do you mind?"  "Last thing I'd mind, Dad," he
laughed as they moved into the bedroom where they began undressing and
placing their clothes on hangers.

Kenyon looked at him with pride...and, ok, with more than a little lust.
"God, you're a handsome brute," he growled.  "Agrhrr-r," Brad snarled and
pounded him lightly on the upper arm.  "Your jock buddies are teaching you
bad habits," the Professor replied.  "Oh, I have a few of my own," the
youth snickered as he pushed the older man down on the bed and leapt on top
of him like a great cat.  Over and over they rolled, neither getting much
of an advantage.  Finally, Kenyon got the lad on his stomach and began
licking his back and buttocks.  "Stop that, you old pervert!" Brad giggled.
"I'm ticklish!"  That's a good thing to know," Kenyon gulped, raising his
head from his workplace.  "Try this!"  With that, he pried the boys cheeks
apart and began lathing the crinkled flower that was revealed.  "Oh,
Dad...oh, my God...Don't stop!" the words came pouring out of the youth as
he writhed so as to give the man a bit better access.  "Oh-h-h-h-h-h..."
Raising his head for a moment, the Professor growled that he had wanted to
do this since he had first seen him in the outside doorway.  Then he
resumed his labors, gradually forcing the tip of his tongue into the flower
that was now opening like a camera lens.

Grunting and moaning, Brad tried to work his butt just a little higher,
receiving a slap on the rump for his troubles and the growled comment that
everything was under control.  His stiffened tongue fully extended into the
youth's anal canal, the man was forcefully moving his head up and down.
Abruptly, he stopped, removing the fleshy dildo.  "Oh, no, dad!  Don't do
that," the boy whined.  "Don't do that!"  "Ah-h-h," he moaned as two
heavily lubricated fingers continued the fucking.  With a precision that
reminded one of the boy's work on the rings, the fingers opened him up,
loosened the anal muscles, and promised more as they rubbed against the
lad's prostate.  When a third finger joined them, the boy began to writhe
under the master.  Suddenly, heavy sweat broke out all over his body and a
continuous moan poured from his throat.  "Dad, dad, please dad," he panted.
"Oh, dad, come into me.  It's never been like this!  Oh, my god, no more,
please.  I'm yours...always yours...please!"

With one quick, nearly painless thrust, Kenyon plunged his thick cock into
the glorious flesh and claimed it for his own.  As the youth's moans took
on a timeless melodic wail, he pressed deep into him.  Though he wanted to
fasten his teeth on the back of that muscular neck, he forced himself
simply to kiss it wildly as the rhythm of his loins carried him far beyond
anything conscious.  Feeling it coming like a magnificent streamliner
rushing down the track, he gasped convulsively for the last bit of air and
exploded into the youth.

He must have lost consciousness.  When he came to, he was no longer
physically joined to the lad.  Brad lay alongside him, softly kissing him
and whispering largely unintelligible sounds into his ear.  His face was
damp with the boy's tears. "The lad had been correct," he thought.  It's
never been like this."  With a soft grunt, he reached out, enveloped the
youngster in his arms, searched for his lips, and fell asleep.

When they finally awoke, it was nearly 3:30 in the afternoon.  Kenyon
realized that he was still holding the boy who was returning to
consciousness.  Suddenly Brad's eyes - as blue as the East Passage on a
summer day - opened and stared into his soul.  With nary a hitch, he
reached out and kissed him lightly on the tip of his nose.  "Hi, dad.  I
love you," were the youth's first words.  With that, the muscular athlete
muttered something and stretched until he popped out of John's arms.  Lying
on his back on the bed, he vigorously stretched his limbs to their full
extent and yowled, "Oh, yeah!  WOW!"  "Well, Man Mountain, welcome back to
the land of the living," the Professor laughed.  "If we're going to jog on
the beach for a bit before supper, we'd better be about it!"  Brad raised
up on one elbow and gazed at Kenyon with the strangest expression.  "Dad, I
may never be able to jog again.  Hell!  I may never be able to walk again!
You can't be serious!"  "Yep," the Professor grunted and lightly grabbed
the family jewels.  "Be careful now.  If you don't join me in the shower
pronto, I may squeeze these things and then you'll have more than walking
problems!"  Muttering dire curses barely under his breath, Brad allowed
himself to be helped to his feet and into the nearby shower.  Given the
fact that he was a teenager - and an accomplished athlete - it wasn't long,
however, before the hot water, the soap, and his dad's loving ministrations
had him shadow boxing in the shower stall.

"I don't think I'll ever be comfortable in this situation," Brad muttered
as they walked side by side through the hotel lobby.  "Nudist propaganda
has it that when everyone is naked, no one notices," grunted John.  Kenyon
had to know how partial a truth this was, for one would have had to be dead
(and buried) NOT to notice the spectacular young man in their midst.
Fortunately, they were soon on sand and took off in a slow lope down the
beach.  It was cold, but in all truth, neither man felt it as oppressive.
Clouds scudding across the darkening sky still allowed them to see the
remnants of a winter sunset.  Soon they returned, barely winded, to the
hotel and ascended the broad outside steps, their arms around each other.
Their relationship had reached an entirely new level.  Whatever their
various commitments, they were deeply in love and the glow from their souls
surrounded them with a softly iridescent nimbus.  And so it was when, after
a quick shower, they entered the dining room and a gentle silence fell over
the crowded room.  Once again, "reality" surrendered - if only for a brief
moment - to magic and beauty.

Brad enjoyed his first sauna that evening, though he always contended that
John generated more heat and sweat than the steam bath!  Perhaps it's
reasonable to take his word for it, for they quickly returned to their
bedroom for additional experimentation.  They would never forget this
"Winter Break."  The next day and a half saw additional jogging, even some
horseback riding (from which it was harder, considerably harder, to recover
than sex!), massages that celebrated the Swedish contributions to our
culture, and imaginative, healthy food that satisfied even the most
persnickety.  The young Colby even managed to make lasting friends among
the many mothers who had to take this Winter Break with their offspring.
The middle school boys' "coach" was ill.  Management was just about to call
off the afternoon's activities (and dump responsibility back on their
parents!) when Brad volunteered to take his place for the day.  Soon eight
boys between the ages of 11 and 13 were jogging about the property, playing
volleyball, and even taking part in the resort's traditional Polar Bear
Dip.  (The mothers reported that they usually found it difficult to get
their kids into the bathtub, let alone into a frigid, gray February sea
that could easily have supported chunks of ice!)  It seems that they
(parents and kids) were firmly convinced that "Coach" was God!  The fact
remains that Danny Melton, a well set up thirteen-year-old, won two of the
Polar Bear Dip prizes and, as far as one could tell, was not about to let
his big sisters forget it!  Both Brad and John agreed that it was difficult
to leave Palmaa.

(Dakota)

Not long after returning home, Brad's first grades came out.  Actually, all
things considered, they were quite good.  Kenyon was quite pleased over the
interest in history that he was displaying and also thought that a couple
of articles he had written for the sports section of the campus newspaper
were quite promising.  Though not provided as a formal reward, he surprised
the lad one evening at the supper table with an entry-level digital camera
and no instructions other than to see what he could do with it.

It seems that his Soc. course was deeply involved in a study of
"homelessness."  Brad, of course, had enough personal experience with that
phenomenon to develop quite a head of steam as the unit continued.  For
instance, he came home with several digital pictures of homeless folk and
conditions right in town that had received high praise from his instructor.
One was subsequently published in the local paper.  Perhaps the Professor
shouldn't have been so surprised when he came home late one evening from
the library and heard noises upstairs in what had to be Brad's bathroom.
Walking upstairs, he knocked on the door and called, "Brad?"  The door
quickly opened to disclose his son, a towel wrapped around his middle to
protect his school clothes.  He also saw that somebody was in the bathtub!

It seems that Brad had found a homeless twelve-year-old by the name of
"Dakota" downtown under a bridge, brought him home, and persuaded him to
get into the bathtub with the promise of food.  Asking if he might join
them for a minute, he sat on the toilet while Brad continued giving Dakota
a bath.  He was a scrawny little guy comprised mostly of coltish legs and
clown feet.  His bright red hair was long and stringy - and John thought he
could see something moving at its roots.  Otherwise, he didn't have much
hair beyond shadows in his armpits and a little red fuzz above a three-
inch (soft) cock.  Unfortunately, he had needle marks on the inside of his
elbows. The youngster smirked as he noticed the Professor's eyes examining
him - and then tried to conceal the needle marks.  Asking Brad if he gotten
something for his hair (yes, on the way home), he asked the boy if there
were something that he would especially enjoy for supper.  "Nah," the waif
rasped.  "I'm not choosy."  "Ok, guys, I'll see you downstairs in the
kitchen," Kenyon said calmly, "in 30 or 40 minutes, ok?"  "Ok, dad, and
thanks," Brad exclaimed, quickly throwing an arm around his neck.

Dakota's eyes nearly popped out of his head when he looked at the kitchen
table and saw TWO great burgers - with all of the trimmings - French fries,
and a coke staring back at him.  "WOW!" he exclaimed and rushed for a
chair.  Remembering some manners from God knows how long ago, he paused and
asked with a wide toothy smile, "All for me?"  "All for you, Dakota!  Eat
hardy!" Brad replied.  Even at eighteen he could scarcely believe it, but
in a relatively short time, every plate or glass in front of the gremlin
was clean...not even a crumb was to be seen!  "Like to watch some TV?" Brad
asked.  "YEAH!" came the emphatic answer.  The Professor made himself
comfortable in his chair while Brad and the boy took the couch.  John
grinned to himself as he watched Dakota position himself as close to his
hero as he could possibly manage without climbing into his lap.  Tuning the
big plasma TV to a Disney show, Brad settled back.  The boy's eyes were as
big as saucers as he watched with intense concentration.  As the program
continued, however, they slowly became heavier and heavier until he fell
over onto Brad, fast asleep.  "I'll take him upstairs, Dad," Brad said
proudly.  "Fine, son.  Then come on back down so we can talk."

"Are you mad with me, Dad?" Brad inquired as he returned to his seat on the
couch.  "No, son.  I'm prouder of you than I've ever been.  You have a
heart, and you've got the makings of a fine man."  Blushing, the youth
glanced down at his hands, then smiled and looked straight back into his
father's eyes.  "But I haven't covered all of the bases, have I?"  "Nope,"
Kenyon replied, "but I think you've done pretty damned well for eighteen."
Grinning, he added, "I'd like to make a few comments.  How gentle do you
want me to be?"  "Straight from the shoulder, Dad.  Wouldn't have it any
other way."  "Ok," the Professor said quietly.  "Here's what I see."

"We can be reasonably sure that the lad uses drugs."  Brad nodded his head
in agreement.  "I think the only thing harder for a person to control than
alcoholism is a drug addiction.  Whether he wants to or not, chances are
he'll steal us blind to feed his habit.  Secondly, the boy is sexually
active.  Given the drugs, that increases his chances of carrying some
pretty nasty sexually transmitted diseases.  The HIV virus is only one of
them.  Even without drugs, son, one in five Americans under twenty-one
requires treatment for an STD.  If you think there's the slightest
POSSIBILITY that you might have sex with him, that's something to consider.
While I'm on the subject of sex, something else comes to mind.  The fact
that you're more than a couple of years older than he opens you to the
charge of rape if your activity is ever discovered.  It wouldn't help that
you were eighteen; it wouldn't matter that it was consensual.  Further,
son, believe me when I tell you that he's not the only one who would cause
trouble you couldn't get out of if he went to the authorities.  A teacher,
a buddy, a religious figure, a health care person - ANY ONE OF THEM could
cause an investigation - and this could happen after an interval of several
years.  Question: Are you prepared to end your career and/or your life on
such a note?  Hold on.  I think I heard something upstairs.  Why don't you
go up and check on our guest.  Then we can continue."

A few minutes later, Brad came to the head of the stairs.  The professor
could see that he was crying.  "He's gone, Dad - and my camera and wallet
are gone, too.  He left this note on my dresser.  "Sorry, Brad, to have
gotten you in trouble.  I think that you and your dad are great people.
The things I took are only a loan.  I'll pay you back as soon as I can get
to work.  Love, Dakota" The youngster stumbled down the stairs and straight
into Kenyon's arms.  "Sorry, Dad," he sobbed.  "Having a heart can be
painful," Kenyon whispered into his ear, "but not having one can be far
worse.  Do you want to go and see if he's ok?"  "Yeah, Dad, please."  "Take
the car, but be real careful.  It's icy and you haven't been driving that
long."

About a half hour later, Brad returned sadly reporting that Dakota was
nowhere to be found.  The Professor went into the kitchen and returned with
a beer and a diet soda.  Returning to his chair, they began to talk about
the evening, what had happened, and how they felt.  Perhaps an hour later,
Brad heard a tapping on the window beside the back door.  As he opened the
door, Kenyon heard a great shout.  A few seconds later, Dakota came riding
into the living room on Brad's shoulders.  When the boy saw the Professor,
however, he said, "Let me down, Brad!"  Turning to the Professor, he said,
"I heard what you and Brad said, sir - and every word of it was true.  It's
worse than you said."  His lips were quivering as he continued.  "I don't
want to be this way, sir.  I brought back Brad's stuff because I...I...like
you too much to steal from you.  If there's any way I can stay, I'll do
anything you want.  One john told me that there are doctors who could help
me get off the stuff if I had the money to pay them.  Of course, he only
wanted me to earn some money by taking care of him."  With that the boy
broke down completely.  "PLEASE let me stay, sir, PLEASE!" he cried through
his tears.  When he saw that the Professor's arms were held out towards
him, he made a beeline for him and climbed up into his lap.  The long colt
legs and clown feet didn't fit so well, but chances were, the Professor
thought, he could put up with it if his second son could.


To Be Continued