Date: Sun, 26 Jun 2011 17:21:32 -0500
From: Martin Heidegger <mheidegger@hotmail.com>
Subject: Queer Road  "Hallowed Halls"

DISCLAIMER: This story is a work of fiction about teenaged boys and men
confused over their sexuality.  There are graphic descriptions of sexual
activity, most of it homosexual.  If you are not allowed to read such
material, stop now.  Author retains copyright.


			Hallowed Halls


	Schuyler Brandt was having an outstanding day.  He had just beaten
his arch rival from the Sigma Chi house to advance to the finals of the
intramural tennis championship, and he was wearing his lucky jock strap.
He walked into the locker room on top of the world, sweaty but victorious.
Zipping his racket into his bag he surveyed the territory; his territory.
It was mostly empty on a Thursday afternoon, but that didn't bother
Schuyler.  He didn't need a crowd.
 	The jock had been his older brother's, and he'd started to wear it
out of pride.  As the elastic gave way, and his endowment expanded to equal
or exceed what his brother had packed into it, the pouch no longer pulled
the organs into his groin, but let them flop about as he walked.  Sometime
around his junior year in high school, some of his teammates took an
unnatural interest in Schuyler's manly virtues, and Schuyler took an
unnatural interest in their interest.  It was a dance, a game that Schuyler
became very good at.
	He stowed his racket in the locker and took off his shoes, then
turned to see who was watching.  One kid, across the room, in a wet
swimsuit, was drying his feet.  Schuyler pulled his white tennis shorts off
and stowed them carefully in the locker, aware of his dick nestled
comfortably in the family pouch as he folded and then refolded the shorts
and shirt to get them exactly in the center of the upper shelf of the
locker.  He turned and pulled his socks off, pointing his shapely butt at
the kid, taking his time.  When he stood back up to fold the socks in the
same deliberate fashion, he stole a glance.  The kid was still in a wet
suit.  He turned and looked directly at him, the kid pretended not to see;
wonderful.  He walked over there, bouncing along, nuts swaying in the long
worn out pouch, fine butt cheeks flexing, big fraternity smile leading the
way.
	"Hi, I'm Schuyler Brandt."
	"Shane Stoop," he said awkwardly, standing up, dragging his eyes up
from the display Schuyler had put right in front of his face.
	"You a freshman?"
	"Uh, yeah.  Is it that obvious?"
	"No.  I just haven't seen you here before.  Welcome!  Say, could I
borrow some shampoo?  I seem to have left mine at the house."  Schuyler
stood there with a big smile, waiting.
	The kid stood there for a moment, not reacting to the request.  He
was medium tall, pale, hairless, and well proportioned.  With some training
he'd have a jock body and be playing the other side of this game in a year
or two.  But, now he was fair game.
	"Sure, yeah, here," he said, retrieving some Head and Shoulders
from his locker.
	Schuyler took the shampoo, nodded acknowledgement of the loan and
turned, walking back to his locker, flexing butt cheeks and relishing the
kid's discomfort and conflict.  Once at his locker, he pulled off the jock
and folded it carefully, taking care to angle toward the kid so he could
see clearly what the jock had covered.  He turned abruptly and walked to
the showers.
	Returning from the shower, trailing water the whole way, Schuyler
found the kid mostly dressed.  Offering the shampoo back to Shane, Schuyler
stood there nude, private parts swaying as he vigorously dried his hair.
	"Thanks, Shane."  He found a minor defect on his shoulder and
addressed his entire attention there, giving Shane a chance to take in
whatever body parts interested him without the awkward glare of his gaze.
Then abruptly he turned back and queried, "So, what are you taking this
semester?"
	Shane responded, stammering out his schedule.
	"Oh, Econ 101; a bitch.  How you doin'?"
	"OK, I guess."
	"I aced it.  If you want any help, stop by.  I usually study
upstairs, in the old coach's office.  It's open most nights."
	"Well, thanks."
	"No problem.  I usually get there about eight.  Tonight would be
OK."  He turned and walked back across the locker room.  At his locker he
bent over to dry his feet, taking care between the toes before drying the
feet, calves, thighs, butt, cock and balls, and then up.  The audience
excited him almost to erection.  Shane was gone when he finished.

	"Yeah, see how the slope of that graph moves up as you go along the
axis there?"  Schuyler leaned over and rubbed his cock shamelessly along
Shane's shoulder.  Shane didn't recoil.  Sure now, Schuyler stood and
rubbed his cock through his Levis.  Shane looked up, eyes on a bulge in
Schuyler's pants.
	Across the sidewalk and up one floor the old professor squeezed a
long dormant but not dead cock in his pants.  The game was playing out like
it had so many times before in the long abandoned coach's office left open
by his connivance with the building supervisor.  He took a sip of very old
brandy and adjusted his opera glasses.  Schuyler was a dependable seducer;
he'd had a half dozen boys in this office in the past year; almost a
record.  He was good.  The old penis erected as Schuyler guided Shane's
face down onto his dick, slowly pumping it past minimal initial resistance.
Shane pulled Schuyler's briefs down to rub his hands across the taut butt
cheeks as they flexed, pumping dick into his mouth.  It was all over too
soon for the old professor.  Schuyler's butt moved quickly a dozen times
and his head snapped down when the climax hit, and Shane held onto the
cheeks as the dick sank into his face.  They were immobile for a minute,
Shane milking the last of Schuyler's sperm, then pulled off.  Schuyler
stepped back and wiped of his dick, then stuffed it back into his pants.
It was over that quick.
	The old dick wilted, unsatisfied.  The boys studied for another
half hour and were gone, turning out the light.

	"Professor Wilkins?  Professor?  You in?"  Harold, the building
superintendent knocked, then opened the door with his pass key.  It was
morning.
	"Yes, Harold.  By all means come in."  The professor hurried toward
the door.  He was dressed in his suit pants and starched shirt and tie,
though with his reduced schedule he didn't have a class until next week.
	Closing the door and locking it, Harold scanned the room for signs
they might not be alone.
	"It's just us, Harold," the professor reassured.  "Thanks for
locking up late again.  Another freshman was learning the ropes last
night."
	"Good."  A pause, then, "Say, I've got a date this afternoon and
didn't get a chance to shower."
	"Oh, yes.  Oh, let me clean it for you."
	Harold unzipped his work pants and fished out a large soft
uncircumcised penis.  He flopped it a couple times but it remained soft,
then he opened his belt and lowered his boxers and cupped the elastic under
his balls.  The professor pulled up an ottoman and sat down, grabbing the
penis.

	The smell of a dirty dick; old urine, stale semen, sweat, and a
hint of butt crack wafting up out of the boxers sent the old man back.  A
lifetime enjoying the smell of boys and men flashed by, and his old penis
erected again.  He sucked in the still flaccid dick and the taste
intensified the memories.  He remembered his first awkward encounter as a
teen, compelled by a bigger friend to suck, and then the wonder of his own
climax when the friend did his part.  His first boyfriend, and the first
time he took his catamite research assistant to a faculty party as a
couple.  They felt so avant garde.  He exposed his own member, once so
proud and sought after, and stroked it.
	The professor flicked through the memories, stopping on an
encounter long ago, with Charles, his research assistant, on a Sunday
morning after that faculty party.  They lay nude in bed, drinking coffee
and reading the Sunday paper.  The professor had the book reviews while
Charles did a crossword puzzle.  Charles lay on his side, propped on an
elbow, his white rounded ass opened just enough to expose his recently
fucked anus.  A drop of semen still clung to one of the puffy rosettes,
pink, inviting.  The professor ran his hand along the buttocks and down to
the anus.  He touched it.
	"Sore?"
	"Yes," Charles said without looking up.
	"Some lotion?"
	"Yes, carefully"
	The professor rolled to the night stand and found some lotion.  He
spread it on his hands and began to massage the buttocks, working toward
the anus.  Charles remained motionless.  Circling the anus with his index
finger, the professor stopped to apply some more lotion, then slowly
inserted the finger.  No response from Charles.  He retreated and then
returned, burying the digit all the way, then began a well lubricated slow
rhythmic pulsation.  Charles sighed, resigned to being fucked again.  He
lay the crossword puzzle on the floor and rolled onto his knees, pointing
his buttocks at the professor.
	Back in the present, though only partially erect the professor felt
a climax approach.  He swallowed Harold's now swelling penis and cupped the
balls.  In a couple minutes his crisis came and he grasped Harold's now
exposed buttocks and his frantically pumping fist pushed him into the
spasm.  It was intense, and he lost his balance and Harold had to steady
him to keep him from falling.
	"Do come again soon," the professor said, his composure now
regained.  He thrust a handful of bills into Harold's hand as he opened the
deadbolt.

	Harold crossed the campus and entered his lair, the back door of
the steam generation plant that housed the boiler that heated the whole
campus.  He'd walked briskly, and his dick was stiff in his pants;
certainly not because of the ministrations of the old professor, but
because of the young man he'd seen idling along the path around from the
library, backpack slung over his shoulder.
	"Knock knock," Shane Stoop said, brushing his longish hair from his
eyes as he peered into the oily mechanical room.
	"Yeah," Harold replied, dick near to bursting in anticipation.
	Shane entered, looking around.  He dropped his back pack on the
table and walked back to the boiler, curious, then turned, "You have
something for me?"
	"Oh yes."
	"Is it big and hard?"
	"Oh yes."  Harold stood, revealing his erection.
	"And, is there something else?"
	Harold pulled the roll of bills the professor had given him and
dropped them on the table.
	Shane picked up the roll and thrust it into his pocket without
unrolling it.  He opened his pants and slid them over his slender hips.
His erect penis was smaller than Harold's but no less stiff.  It rose out
of a sparse patch of pubic hair; each hair individually trimmed to mimic a
pubertal patch just sprouting.
	The effect on Harold was electric.  He grasped the boy and
attempted to kiss him on the lips.
	Shane recoiled, laughing, still the flirt.  He stepped closer and
grasped Harold's erection. He smiled, his face inches from Harold's, but
retreated when Harold advanced.
	"C'mon!"  Harold pleaded.
	Shane kneeled, holding Harold's thick prick, admiring, examining.
He pumped it several times and then looked up. He smiled, then slowing
allowed it to touch his lips, and then oh so slowly, advanced it into his
mouth.
	"Aah."
	Shane licked, and bobbed on the dick, wetting it so well that
saliva ran down the shaft and soaked into his boxer shorts.  With one last
bob he took the entire thing into his throat, then withdrew leaving a
sloppy wet dick.  He stood and spit into his hand, then turned a leaned
over the desk, his buttocks arched, inviting.  He smiled over his shoulder
as he wiped the spit between his butt cheeks.
	Harold lost no time.  He pulled back his foreskin and advanced the
erection to Shane's butt.  Shane pulled his cheeks apart and his anus
winked as Harold's dick head slid down the crease.  A thrust and a grunt
and Harold was in.  In no mood for foreplay he thrust again, getting a
grunt of discomfort from Shane.  Another thrust and Harold was in to the
mid shaft.  He waited a moment and began a slow rhythm while caressing the
flawless butt and pulling it higher.  The exquisite pleasure lasted only a
few dozen pumps and Harold emptied himself into Shane's rectum with some
frantic thrusts and a loud grunt.  They stood immobile, the older larger
man all but collapsed on the boy, whose butt muscles were milking out the
last drops of Harold's climax.
	Shane stood and Harold stepped back, his long penis slid out of a
stretched open butt hole and hung there dripping, obscenely long and veiny.
Harold stuffed it back into his shorts.  Shane grabbed a tissue from a box
on the desk and wiped his behind, dropping it into the wastebasket.  He
stood and faced Harold, leaning forward to offer a kiss.  Harold, no longer
burning from the heat of desire, pulled away.  Shane snickered and pulled
up his pants, pulled out the roll of bills to admire it and walked
nonchalantly to the door.