Date: Sat, 18 Sep 1999 20:10:13 EDT
From: Alex Carbine
Subject: University cash flow

Usual warnings and disclaimers. If you are too young don't
continue..scenes of explicit sex between consenting
males...always use a condom...etc.

University Cash Flow
by Alex Carbine

I had never been away from my home town before I went to
University. It was all very new, finding accommodation and
moving my few things in, discovering my way around the
campus, shopping for myself and doing my own laundry. It was
a whole new world. The only thing I did not have was money.
Of course, I was not the only one in that boat, nearly every
student I talked to was short of a few pennies.

Mr. Harris, a forty-five year old course tutor, left a message
after about three weeks to say that he would like to see me and
find out how I was settling in. His note included a time and
directions to his study. I am not one to blow my own trumpet,
but I always make a point of never being late. So I arrived at the
faculty house about twenty minutes earlier than I needed to. Mr.
Harris's study was round the back on the ground floor, near the
back door. I strolled round the house to the back and walked
along the flower border at the edge of the grass. Several of the
windows were open, and the wind caught the net curtains
making them fly with the breeze. A pair of french windows were
open onto a path which led across the lawn to a sundial. Like
the smaller windows, its long net curtains were occasionally
billowing out with the wind, which is what happened as I
walked past. One of the nets caught on the button of my jacket
sleeve, and as I stopped to disentangle myself I looked into the
room. Spotlit in a shaft of sunlight streaming through the open
windows was a man with his pants down standing behind
someone else who I could not make out, who was bent over the
study desk. I had never seen the act of sex before 'in the flesh',
only in magazines, but I knew instantly what was going on. It's
a co-ed University and who wouldn't take any of the girl
students if offered. I moved out of the opening of the french
window and let the net curtain fall into place. There was no
sudden call or reaction so I had not been detected. I carefully
moved to the next window and sneaked a look. The man
standing with his pants down was moving his bottom back and
forward and I knew he was fucking whoever was bent over the
desk as I could hear the rhythmic pants of the receiver who was
breathing deeply in time to the strokes of the man behind. My
knees were trembling with excitement and I could hardly breath.
Then I suddenly wanted to cough. A noise like that would alert
the people inside. Desperately trying to keep my cough in, I
streaked silently along the back of the house to the portico of
the back door. The door was open so I entered and exorcised my
cough. I looked at my watch and had about five minutes before
my appointment. I followed the instructions Mr. Harris had
given with the note, and found his study by the name plate on
the door. There was a chair beside the door, so I sat and waited
for the next few minutes. It was not long before I heard voices
approaching the door and the handle turned. I stood up as the
door opened and Timmy Watson, a boy from my lecture group
came out. Mr. Harris was shaking his hand and saying,
"Remember, any time you're a bit short there's always help just
round this corner." "Yes, thank you Sir, I'll remember. And
thank you for this time. I'm glad Evans told me to come and see
you."  "Bye!"  "Bye bye Sir!"

Mr.Harris's smiling gaze turned to me. His hand shot out and I
automatically shook it. " You'll be Carbine. Come in, do come
in." He stood to one side holding the study door open. I walked
in and stopped dead in my tracks. Over on the other wall a pair
of french windows stood open onto the lawn. The wind caught
the net curtains and parted them to show the path leading to the
sundial. This was the very room I had been peeking into, which
meant that .... it was Mr. Harris, and he had been  fucking
Timmy Watson.

"Are you all OK old man?" I heard a distant voice asking. I
came back to reality with a rush. "Oh Yes, rather. Just a bit of
sun." I answered with a weak smile. I sat down in a deep, well
worn leather chair which he motioned to with his hand. He sat
in a similar chair facing me. As he sat down I noticed that his
fly buttons were mostly undone, but he did not seem to notice or
know.

"How are you getting on? Digs OK? Food? Finding your way
around?" He stuck his hands in his trouser pockets and
stretched his legs straight out, leaning back into the chair. His
fly gaped a bit more. My mind was racing ten to the dozen. I
had heard Dick Evans and Timmy Watson chatting in the lunch
break. Dick was in his last year of his degree course and knew
the ropes. Timmy had been bemoaning his lack of bank balance
after putting down deposits for this, that and the other, and
buying his text books. Dick had suggested he go see Mr. Harris
and then said something under his breathe that I could not hear.
Timmy just laughed and said "What really? No!!" I did not hear
any more as someone knocked over my cup of tea and I had to
sort that out. Now here I was, and I realised I could turn it to my
advantage.

"You interested in sports? I think they've got the cricket team
up and running, but I'm sure there are plenty of other sports you
can get involved in." Mr. Harris was staring up at the ceiling as
he spoke, and I gave a non- committal answer. He brought his
head forward so that he was looking down his body at me and
said "What type of sports do you like?"  At that instant I made
up my mind. At my last school I had had three gay affairs, and
knew which way my path pointed.

"Indoor ones mainly," I said and openly scratched my crutch
three or four times. Mr. Harris became motionless. His eyes
locked with mine. "Indoor sports.. Much more fun," he
answered and scratched his own crutch as well, still with his
eyes locked on my face. I looked down at his crutch as he
scratched his balls. He did not stop after three of four scratches
but continued almost massaging himself there. I looked back to
his face. His eyes were boring into mine. I nodded and smiled.
"Yes indoor sports can be so much fun, with the right people.,"
I repeated.

Suddenly he leaped to his feet and stood infront of me, holding
the crutch of his trousers, " Team sports or just one-to-one?" he
asked. "One-to-one is just fine with me, but I'm sure I could get
interested in team sports if I was introduced to the right group."
One of his hands went into his flies (so he did know, the craft
old sod!)  and pulled out his semi-limp cock. He pulled the
foreskin back and revealed the purple head. A dew drop of pre-
cum formed in the piss slit. I sat up in my chair and looked up
at his face. His neck was beginning to glow slightly red with
excitement. "I never suck cock before tea," I said, not wanting
to gobble a cock that has just been up someone else's shit shute.
"But you can suck me off if you want," I finished. He gave a
chuckle. "Direct little sod aren't you. Give you your due though,
youre quick on the uptake." His cock was stiffening. "Get your
kit off, then. Let's see what you have." He started to wank his
growing hard-on. I watched as his hand slid to and fro. I stood
up and took my jacket off, folded it and laid it over the back of
the chair. My shirt and trousers followed. I heard him suck in
his breath and say "Yessss!" quietly to himself as he saw I was
wearing a jockstrap, something I always do. I turned my back to
him and with my right hand pulled at the right cheek of my arse
so he could see my dark brown ring, then I bent down and
untied my shoe laces. He came up behind me and ran a finger
up the crack of my arse gently. "Too much," he murmured. I
turned to face him. He held the cup of my jock and gently
squeezed my balls. My cock was making the front of my jock
stick out and a wet spot was just becoming apparent. His hand
moved up to my cock and he started to wank me, his fingers
tracing the outline of my glans through the cotton fabric. "I
want to see it" he said, his breath coming in slightly short jerks.
I moved away from him and took off my shoes and socks, then
moved back so he could fondle me.  "It'll cost you," I said. His
hand stopped momentarily as he slowly wanked me. I was
almost fully hard by now and my cock is nine inches and thick
without being fat. His hand slowly weighed me up and then he
said, "What do you usually charge?" I looked up at him and
smiled. "I'm just a poor country lad," I said in an accent, "What
be the City rates then?"  I then took hold of his rigid tool in my
left hand and started a complimentary wank in the same style as
he was doing to me. "It'll be worth your while," he said and
dropped to his knees. With both hand he pulled my jock down
below my knees. My cock sprang out at him. One of his hands
went to my ball sac, the other to my shaft. His mouth closed
round the end of my dick and his tongue started to work. I stood
there with my hands on my hips, jutting my cock out infront of
me whilst he went apeshit, giving me the best blowjob I had
ever had.

He pulled my foreskin back and licked round the rim of the
glans. He gently squeezed my balls. His head bobbed up and
down my shaft whilst his hand wanked the base of my cock so
the skin on my shaft tightened and slackened as he sucked at
my knob. I very quickly got close to cumming, and pulled away
from him moving over to the desk. There were only a few
papers on it and I swept them to the floor, then lay on my back
with my legs bent at the knees. He stood at the end of the desk
and went down on me. Then I was aware of a finger against my
anus. I lifted my legs up by holding my knees so that he could
easily get to my ring. He stopped sucking me and, moving
down, started to rim me. What a wonderful sensation it was to
feel his tongue probing my sphincter. I concentrated on relaxing
and his tongue was able to slide in deeper and deeper. He went
back to my cock, and I felt his finger slide right up into me.
Then I could feel my climax suddenly near. His finger massaged
my prostate gland and I started shooting my wad. One, two
three, four, and still he massaged my prostate so that I came and
came. Seven, eight, nine. I could feel myself turning inside out
with the muscular spasms of cumming. His head was just
moving slowly now. He had taken the whole of my offering in
his mouth. His finger slipped out and I was able to put my feet
back on the table. I lay there for a few minutes getting my
breath back. Mr. Harris was saying something over the other
side of the room but I was still miles away. Then he swam into
view with a cup of tea in his hand, "I'm sorry," he said, "was
that one lump or two?"  "About ten or fifteen," I said. "Silly
boy," he said, warming to the joke, "in your tea."

That was the first time of many that I visited Mr. Harris, and
always I was able to pay my bar bills and everything. After a
few visits he suggested we went to a party, and that was when
the 'team sports' started, but that is another story...to be told
at a later date.