Date: Sun, 6 Sep 2009 06:06:52 -0700 (PDT)
From: Henry Brooks <hankster1430@bellsouth.net>
Subject: The Shack in the Forest Short story

Steve Mackey was in his junior year at a small private college in upstate
New York.  He had chosen this school because it was located near a small
city with enough amenities to satisfy any college student, and it was
surrounded by forests on every side.  Steve was a nature lover.  Nothing
gave him more pleasure than to wake up every morning and gaze out of his
dorm window at the lush forest setting.  In the winter, the trees glowed
with new fallen snow, and the sight of such serenity soothed and comforted
him.

During the very first week of his freshman year, he had celebrated his
eighteenth birthday all by himself.  His room mate had offered to celebrate
with him by partying at a local bar, but he had refused the well intended
offer.  Instead he celebrated by taking a hike in the forest.  He was no
more than a half mile from the perimeter of the forest when he came across
an abandoned shack on the edge of a small stream.  Behind the shack was a
decaying outhouse.  Steve opened the door of the shack.  There was a tiny
kitchen table, two chairs, a cot, a pot belly stove and some rusty cooking
utensils.  There was a shelf along one wall that contained some old tin
cans of food.  In a free standing cabinet he also found a set of flatware,
service for two.  Steve reckoned that at some distant date in the past,
this shack had been used by hunters.  The forest still abounded with deer
and other smaller wild life.

As close as the shack was to the clearing, the foliage was so thick that
nobody could spot it, unless they happened across it just as Steve had
done.  Immediately, the young man made a decision.  He claimed the shack as
his own.  Over the next few months, he set about making the shack
habitable.  The first thing he did was to make sure the chimney flue was
clear.  He cleaned out and polished up the pot belly stove, stoked it with
fire wood, and set it ablaze.  In minutes the shack was warm and toasty.
He dusted the place, and disposed of all the rusty utensils and flatware
and replaced them with shiny new ones.  He knew he could rinse the utensils
in the stream, so he supplied himself with dish towels.  He bought a thick
mattress for the cot, and canned goods now filled the shelf.  He bought a
lamp that operated on batteries, and stood it next to the cot.

Every Saturday, he went to the one room cottage (he no longer referred to
it as a shack) and cleaned it up.  He would make bacon and eggs on the
stove and eat in solitude at the kitchen table.  When he cleaned up after
breakfast, he would move the lamp near the table and do his homework and
study his lessons.  When he wearied, he would nap until evening.  Then he
would return to his dorm, freshen up, change clothes and go into town.

From the way he conducted his life, most of his fellow students, including
his room mate, considered Steve to be a loner.  They knew he disappeared on
Saturdays, but nobody questioned where he went, so his shack remained
undetected.  None of the people he knew ever saw him on Saturday nights
either, but nobody asked where he was or what he did.  He went to another
of his secret places.

When he was a freshman, Steve had gone into town one Saturday night.  He
decided he would have a good meal in a restaurant instead of the usual
boring food in the school cafeteria.  He sat alone at a table when he was
approached by a young "townie" who Steve guessed to be about 23 or 24 years
old, and very good looking.

"Do you mind if I sit here?" the townie asked.  "All the other tables seem
to be fully occupied."  Steve looked around.  There were plenty of empty
tables.

Now Steve may have chosen a rural college to attend, but he was not naive.
He had grown up in Manhattan, in an area close to Greenwich Village.  He
had hung out in the Village many a Saturday evening, and never had trouble
scoring.  His good looks and athletic frame assured him of a good time.
There was no doubt what the townie had in mind and Steve was raring to go.

"Have a seat," Steve said, and he motioned to the empty seat across the
table.  The townie moved the chair so that it was at right angles to Steve.
He sat down and his knee rubbed against Steve's knee.  Something started to
swell between Steve's legs.

"My name is Brady," the townie said, extending his hand.  Steve shook his
hand and said, "I'm Steve.  It's really nice to meet you."  The waitress
came over and took Brady's order.  The two young men were not shy, and
before their meal was over they knew all about each other, including the
fact that they were both gay and very, very horny.

"I'd like to buy you a beer," Brady said.  There's a nice, intimate bar
very close to my apartment.  It's not exactly a gay bar, there aren't any
in this town, but on Saturday night most of our brothers hang out there.
The owner is very gay friendly, and why not?  We are his best customers."

Brady took Steve to the bar and introduced him to four or five of his
friends.  From then on Steve spent his Saturday nights with these guys.
The first night, he slept with Brady, of course, but over the course of
time, he got to sleep with all of them.  Sometimes he slept with two or
three at a time.  They would have become a close band of brothers but for
the fact that they were all townies, and they knew that Steve would leave
some day so they never quite let him all the way into their circle.

When it came to bedroom activities, Brady was the best of the bunch.
Believe it or not, he preferred to give rather than to receive.  That does
not mean to say that he didn't like to receive.  It was just that he
derived more pleasure from pleasing his partner.  This was evident to Steve
from their first coupling.  Brady insisted on doing all the work.

He took Steve to his apartment after they had consumed a couple of beers.
They undressed each other slowly, baring their chests first.  Before going
further they pinched and fondled each other's nipples and both men sighed
at the pleasure.  Steve reached for Brady's belt buckle, but Brady stopped
him.  Instead Brady leaned down and started to suck Steve's nipples.  He
bit on them lightly and Steve squealed with pleasure.  Finally they resumed
removing each other's clothing.  By the time they were totally naked, they
were both fully erect, and they both liked what they saw.

They were both uncut.  In their hardened state they were each about seven
inches and not too wide in girth.  They both thought that would make
fucking easier.  Brady obviously had more fore skin.  His purple head
barely protruded through the sheath, whereas Steve's head protruded
completely.  They stood and stared at each other's private parts and then
they began to fondle their cocks and balls.

Suddenly Brady fell to his knees.  "I can't resist any more," he said, and
he took Steve's throbbing schlong into his mouth.  Steve hadn't whacked off
in a couple of days, so he started to cum almost immediately.  Brady sensed
that, and stopped sucking.  He asked Steve to lie in his bed on his back.
He removed a condom from his dresser drawer and rolled it down Steve's
cock, which was pulsating with anticipation and desire.  He also removed a
tube of lube from the drawer and generously greased Steve's cock and his
own ass hole.  Finally, he positioned himself over Steve's cock and lowered
himself gently.

When Steve's cock could go no further into Brady's love hole, Brady sat
stone still, letting Steve's desires wane.  He spoke to Steve gently,
telling him what a great lover he was, and he stroked Steve's cheeks and
pinched his nipples until Steve wanted to cry.  Steve could hardly stand
it, and started gyrating his hips.  Finally Brady began his dance of love,
raising himself up and down, but never letting Steve's cock fall out of his
man hole.  After just a few strokes, Steve came, emitting one long wail and
a plethora of cum.  Brady sat on him until Steve was too soft to maintain
their coupling.  He raised himself off Steve, and removed Steve's cum
soaked rubber.  He dropped it down the toilet, and wet a wash cloth with
warm, soapy water.  He cleaned Steve as if he was a baby in a bassinet.

They lie side by side resting.  At last Steve reached over and started to
stroke Brady's rock hard cock.

"You don't have to do anything," Brady said.  "I'm pretty done out.  You
can get me off next time."

Steve would have been left with overwhelming guilt if he obeyed Brady, so
he said, "Just as you wish, but I want to leave you with a lick and a
promise."  He bent over Brady and he took his cock in his mouth.  He sucked
for a short while and said, "I'll finish next Saturday."

Steve was back in his dorm before midnight, just as he was every Saturday
night after that, leaving his room mate and his few friends to wonder where
he went every Saturday all day and all evening.  In spite of that, none of
them felt close enough to him ever to ask.


One of Steve's required courses was Classical Civilization.  He put off
taking it until his junior year because he had heard that the only
professor who taught this course was a total doofus, and a complete boor.
He could not put it off any longer and enrolled in the course.  On the
evening before his first class, Steve decided to see what he could find out
about this universally disliked teacher.  The college's web site included a
biography of every faculty member.  Steve went to the site and clicked on
Jeremy Whiting.

Jeremy Whiting, PhD: Dr. Whiting received his doctorate in the study of
ancient civilizations from Yale University in 2005.  The subject of his
thesis was "Rome, After the Fall."  It is available in the college library.
Dr. Whiting was born in Brooklyn, New York in 1979.  He is single.  He
enjoys, opera, theater, and his favorite pastime is hiking.

The blurb was not accompanied by a picture, and was not very enlightening
except for Dr. Whiting's age.  Steve expected him to be much older than
thirty.  He was practically a contemporary.  There were more shocks to
come.

When Dr. Whiting entered the classroom for the first time, Steve did a
double take.  Jeremy Whiting was drop dead gorgeous.  He was about six feet
tall.  He wasn't muscular, but his body was lean and solid.  He had soft
brown eyes and brown hair.  His hair was uncombed but not untidy.  It was
rather attractively tousled.  He never smiled at the class and Steve was
sorry about that.  He wanted to know what his smile would be like.

Whiting addressed the class, in a deep baritone voice which would have been
rather sexy, except for the fact that he spoke in somewhat of a monotone
and droned on forever.  Steve realized that it would be an effort to stay
awake in his class.  By the end of the first hour, Whiting had managed to
bore the entire class to a near comatose state.  No wonder his status among
the student body was so low.  Fifteen minutes before the class ended, Steve
was dreaming about Brady and his other Saturday night friends.  He hadn't
taken a single study note, and couldn't tell you what Whiting was talking
about.  All of Steve's ennui changed during the fourth lecture.

Whiting began to talk about the debauchery and the prevalence of
homosexuality in the ancient Greek and Roman civilizations.  In spite of
his lack luster delivery, the class was all ears.  He began to rant and
rave about the homosexuals and attributed the fall of both civilizations to
the "freaking queers."  At last his voice started to become animated as his
obvious hatred for homosexuals came out.  "If we don't watch out," he
spouted venomously, "they will bring down our civilization also."

Steve, and one or two other closeted individuals, squirmed uncomfortably in
the already uncomfortable classroom seats.  Steve thought that such
un-professor like behavior would end with that lesson, but Whiting kept
bringing up the subject in almost every lecture, and displaying his hatred
of gays, then and now.  In spite of a physical attraction to the professor,
Steve detested him.  He would have registered a complaint, but he didn't
want to out himself.  Instead, Steve decided that he would simply murder
the good professor.  He vowed to commit the perfect crime.  To that end, he
knew that he had to become Jeremy's friend, without the other students
becoming aware of it.

Very few questions were raised in class because very few students knew what
the hell Whiting was talking about.  Steve refused to allow himself to
become distracted by Whiting's droning, and he began to listen carefully to
what he had to say.  His plan was to jot down meaningful questions.  Then
at the end of the class, he would linger and approach the professor's desk
as he was packing up his attache case.

"Excuse me, Dr. Whiting," Steve said one day with a lilt in his voice.
"May I ask you a question?"  Whiting was stunned.  This was the first time
that any student had ever done this.  His experience was that they usually
bolted out of his class room.

"Why of course, Mr. Mackey," Whiting answered.

"Oh please, call me Steve," Steve said in the friendliest voice he could
muster.

"Steve then.  What is your question?"

"Well, sir, I'm majoring in engineering, and I was wondering if you could
shed some light on how the ancient Romans developed the engineering skills
to build the aqueducts?  Did they have schools or was it just an innate
talent?"

"What a wonderful question.  I don't have a definitive answer, but it is a
good topic for conversation.  If you aren't busy tonight, perhaps you would
like to come over to my apartment this evening.  We can discuss it over a
cup of coffee.  I live just a short walk from the campus."

"That would be a singular honor for me, Professor."


That's how it all began.  After that, Steve visited Dr. Whiting at least
once a week.  During those times, he suffered more harangues about the
perverts who brought down a great civilization, as well as wonderfully
intellectual discussions about the civilizations themselves.  Sometimes
during the coffee break, Whiting would play his favorite opera arias for
them.  Other times he would play Broadway tunes.

A strange thing began to happen.  Steve began to hate Whiting more and more
when he was raving and ranting about queers, but without realizing it, he
was falling in love with him when they were conversing about other things,
and listening to music.  When he wasn't ranting against gays, Jeremy was
handsome, warm, caring and loving.  He was always concerned about Steve's
well being, and even asked him to call him Jeremy, outside the classroom,
of course.

Steve learned that Jeremy had no family (murdering him would be easier).
He wasn't going anywhere for the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday break.  He
had no place to go.  Steve wasn't going home either, because his parents
were going down to Florida to visit his maternal grandparents.  Shortly
before the Thanksgiving break he told Jeremy about his love for hiking.
Jeremy's ears perked up.  He loved hiking also.  Of course, Steve knew
that.

"Two years ago, while hiking, I discovered a shack in the forest.  I think
it had been used by hunters in some long ago time.  It was rotting away,
but I renovated it and now it has become a retreat for me.  I go there to
study and do my homework and to get away from the world."  He concluded by
whispering to Jeremy in a conspiratorial way, "Nobody knows about this
place.  I've kept it a deep, dark secret.  Now you know about it and you
are the only one.  Would you like to hike with me one day and see it?"

"You honor me," Jeremy said.  Then he did something which shocked the hell
out of Steve.  He embraced Steve and said, "It will be a pleasure to go
hiking with you."

"Great," Steve said.  "How about at the Thanksgiving break?"

"Perfect," Jeremy agreed.

Jeremy spent the next two Saturday afternoons, preparing the cottage for
the murder of Jeremy Whiting, PhD.

The morning of the hike was bitter cold.  Both hikers discovered that they
liked to hike when it was so cold.  They both found it extra invigorating.
Steve told Jeremy not to bother with a back sack or food.  The cottage
wasn't very far and he had plenty of food and a wood burning stove.

They met in front of Jeremy's apartment and headed for the woods.  If Steve
walked to the cottage as directly as he could through the dense woods, it
was a rather short half mile walk.  He wanted to pretend that the shack was
more isolated than it was so he took a more circuitous route than a
straight line.  He had grown so familiar with these woods that he knew he
wouldn't get lost.  As they approached the cottage it started to snow
lightly.

"Let's hurry," Steve said.  "It's only a little way more."

When Jeremy saw the cottage, he also spied the outhouse.  "Can I pee before
we go in?" he asked.  He didn't wait for an answer but headed straight for
the outhouse.  Jeremy waited for him to finish.  He then held the door of
the cottage open so that Jeremy could enter first.  Jeremy was hardly
inside when everything went black.  A heavy two by two board had been
carefully set behind the door.  As soon as Jeremy was in the room, Steve
grabbed it, and he whacked his teacher solidly on the head.


When he regained consciousness, Jeremy found himself lying naked on a cot.
His hands and feet were shackled to the frame of the cot.  Things were
blurry at first and he was trying desperately to figure out where he was
and how he got here.  He could see a fire burning in a stove and a teapot
was on the stove.  The room was warm enough for such a cold day, and he was
surprised that he was not chilly.  At last he could see Steve sitting at
the kitchen table.  He tried to find his voice.

"Why?" he asked.  His voice was pleading, pathetic, and Steve winced.  For
the first time he had doubts.

"Why not?" he blurted out.  "You're a homophobic son of a bitch.  I brought
you here to kill you"

"So you are gay," Jeremy said hoarsely.  "I suspected."

"You suspected?  If you asked me and I had said that I was gay, would you
have destroyed the friendship that was growing between us."

"I don't know," Jeremy answered honestly.  "You are the first person, man
or woman, that I could ever relate to.  You are the first person that ever
seemed to want to be my friend.  That's why I buried myself in the ancient
world.  I couldn't seem to make friends with anyone in our world, that is,
until you asked me a question."

"For God's sake, you freak.  You're thirty years old.  Haven't you ever had
a relationship with a woman?"  Jeremy turned his face away from Steve and
started to sob.

"You're a virgin, an honest to God, actual, thirty year old virgin," Steve
started to laugh hysterically.  Jeremy started to cry harder.

"Do you at least jerk off?" Steve wanted honestly to know.

"Yes," Jeremy answered slightly above a whisper.

"Didn't you ever get jerked off or jerk a friend off when you were a kid?"
Steve was now curious and probing.  Jeremy shook his head.

"Never," he sobbed.  Steve was incredulous.  "No wonder you're such a
freak.  Well. I'm going to change all that.  I'm going to make you more
homophobic than you ever were."

Jeremy was shocked to see Steve begin to strip.  When Steve was naked,
Jeremy could see his very erect member and he grew more frightened.  As
Steve moved, his cock bobbed up and down.  The cot wasn't too strong and so
Steve laid himself on top of Jeremy very gingerly.  Jeremy could feel
Steve's hard prick rubbing against his flaccid member.  It felt so nice.
This was so unexpected.  Their lips were only an inch apart.  Steve began
to dry hump Jeremy's cock.  As he felt Jeremy getting hard, he did
something totally involuntary.  He placed his lips on Jeremy's and started
to kiss him.  He never intended to do that.  He hated this man.  The next
surprise came when Jeremy started to respond.

Soon their tongues as well as there lips were locked in warm embraces.
Jeremy's cock was now rock hard and rubbing against Steve's.

"Is this how it feels to make love?" Jeremy asked Steve.  Steve didn't
answer, he just kept kissing Jeremy harder.  Suddenly he slid down Jeremy's
body and started to kiss his piss slit.  Steve tried to part the slit with
the tip of his tongue.  He jumped when Jeremy yelled out, "Steve, Steve!"

Again Steve chose not to say anything.  Instead he enveloped Jeremy's cock
and started licking up and down the underside of the shaft with his tongue,
while his lips caressed the rest of the cock.  Jeremy's butt raised from
the cot.  He was trying to get more of him inside of Steve.  When he felt
his orgasm coming, he decided not to warn Steve.  Somehow he thought he
would be punishing Steve if he came in his mouth.  It shocked him when
Steve swallowed every drop and declared how good it tasted.  Steve licked
him clean as a whistle.

Steve went to a drawer in the cabinet and removed a dish towel.  He rolled
it up and placed it under Jeremy's head.  "Now you fuck, before you die, I
am going to give you your last meal.  I'm going to let you see how good a
cock can taste, you homophobic son of a bitch.  I'm going to make you into
a proper cock sucker."  He straddled Jeremy's body and crept up until his
cock was at Jeremy's lips.

"Suck my cock," he commanded and if you dare to hurt me, I'll kill you."
Steve was shocked at how Jeremy reacted to his command.  Jeremy opened his
mouth to receive Steve's rod.  Steve had expected him to turn away.  Since
Jeremy's physical actions were limited by his shackles, Steve began to fuck
his face.  Jeremy had paid attention to Steve's blow job and he used his
tongue to run up and down Steve's shaft.  It amazed him how good Steve's
cock tasted.  He couldn't define what he expected to taste, but it wasn't
this.  When Steve announced he was cumming, he tried to pull out, but
Jeremy held him tight with his lips.  Steve came in his teacher's mouth and
he started to sob loudly.  Jeremy didn't expect that.  He swallowed all of
Steve's cum, and then asked with much concern, "What's wrong?  Did I hurt
you?"

Steve stopped crying and remained silent.  He dismounted Jeremy's body and
started to unshackle him.

"You're letting me go?" Jeremy asked.  "You're not going to kill me?"

"I still want to kill you, you bastard, but I can't.  I'm too much in love
with you.  What I want to do is make love to you, and for you to want to
make love to me.  If you want to turn me into the police, I won't blame you
and I won't resist arrest.  Just get out of here and leave me alone."

When he was free, Steve threw Jeremy's clothes at him.  Jeremy dressed as
quickly as he could and ran to the door.  He opened it and closed it
immediately.

"Take a look outside," he said to Steve.  There was one small window in the
cottage.  Steve looked outside.  It was snowing very hard and night was
coming on.  Neither of them had realized the passage of time.  Steve
returned to the kitchen table, sat down and buried his head in his arms.
He was crying.

"I don't think we should attempt to leave until morning," Jeremy said.
"Maybe the snow will stop by then."

Steve could not stop crying.  "I'm so sorry," he repeated over and over.
"Please forgive me."

Jeremy fell on his knees in front of Steve's chair.  "Don't be sorry," he
said.  "It was a wonderful experience.  It's also a relief not being a
virgin any more.  How soon do you think we could do it again without
shackles?  It looks like we have all night."

Steve raised his head and looked into Jeremy's eyes.  "We can do it as soon
as you want and as often as you like.  I love you.  I want to be with you
forever.  But can you really be in love with another man after all you have
said?"

"Apparently, I can.  You were right in your evaluation.  I was a thirty
year old spinster.  What did I know of love?  I know what love is now.  You
are love.  Right now, I love you and I love me and I love my life and the
whole world.  I love everyone in it."

Steve was still naked, but Jeremy was dressed right to his outer garments.
"I think you are a little overdressed for love making," Steve said.  Jeremy
stripped quickly, and they lay down on the cot together.  It was a tight
fit and they loved it.

"You said before that our relationship started with a question," Steve
said.  "I have another question I bet nobody ever asked you before."

"Try me, my humble student," Jeremy said jokingly.

Very seriously Steve asked, "Just exactly, how did the homosexuals bring
down the Greek and Roman Empires?"

Jeremy could not stop laughing.  "I don't really know," he said.