Date: Sun, 24 Aug 2008 19:36:48 -0700 (PDT)
From: Mark Arbour <markarbour2000@yahoo.com>
Subject: Chronicles of an Academic Predator- Chapter 6

CHRONICLES OF AN ACADEMIC PREDATOR

Published First at :  http://groups.yahoo.com/group/arbourtales/

Before you read this story, there are a few things you should consider:

1. It contains graphic descriptions of sex between men.  In some cases,
these depictions may get kinky, and include borderline S&M.

2. It is set in the early 1960s, an era before the Civil Rights Act of 1964
when segregation and discrimination were the norm.  African Americans were
referred to as Negroes or Coloreds, although the "N" word was offensive
then as it is now.  I have retained the language of the era because it
reminds me how far we have come on race relations.

3. Be aware that the effects of inflation have been profound.  A good rule
of thumb is to consider that $1 in 1962 is probably similar to $10 in 2008.
So just add a zero at the end of any number.

4. Some authors are good enough to create a mood through their words.  I
need help, so I'll be posted recommended musical selections throughout the
story.


CHAPTER 6

Musical Recommendation:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8uG5IIlHFGc
"Sweet Nothins" by Brenda Lee

	Andre reached down and grabbed it back out of my hands and tore it
open.  "Come on, let's see what it says."  He started reading, while I just
stood there, unable to think, unable to move.  "Says here they want you to
come work for them."  He got a huge smile on his face, and grabbed me in a
big bear hug, picking me up off the floor and swirling us around.  "You got
it JP!  You got it!"

	He put me down and handed me the letter.  I read it once, then
again.

Dear Dr. Crampton,

	We are pleased to offer you a position as Assistant Professor of
History starting with the fall semester, 1962......"

I'd gotten it.  I was going to Chicago.  I couldn't contain my joy.  I
jumped up and hugged JP again.  I'd done it.  I'd made the launch
successfully, and I'd done it on my own.

	"We have to celebrate!"  That was Andre's answer to everything,
have a party.  "What do you want to do?  Let's go out and hit the town."

	"When do you have to report for duty?"  The wheels in my mind were
whirling.

	"June 11.  I figured I'd be in Claremont so I leave from Columbus.
Why?  What are you thinking?"

	"Let's go to Paris."  There, I threw it out there.  Wild, crazy,
expensive, and totally unexpected.

	"Yeah right.  Paris.  No really, what are you thinking?"  He didn't
believe me.

	"I'm dead serious.  Pack a bag, get your passport.  Let's go."  He
just stood there looking at me like I had three heads.  It was incredibly
pleasant to leave Andre speechless for once.

	"There is NO WAY we can go.  We've got all kinds of shit to do.
And there's no way I can afford it."

	"Bullshit.  We don't have anything to do.  We have to be out of
here tomorrow anyway, and we're all packed up.  We can leave this crappy
furniture for the next victims, and pile the rest of our stuff in the
Pontiac."  He'd given me the arguments, now I'd shoot them down one at a
time.  "And don't worry about the money.  My parents will pay for it.  My
mother would be thrilled that we're going to France.  And you know what?
Even if they don't, I'm a working man now, and I've got a real job."  I
said that with a cocky grin.

	"Mr. Working Man, huh?  Look, I don't want to take money from you
or your parents.  You guys all do enough for me.  I feel guilty enough as
it is."  This had been a recurring theme for him; he just didn't get it.

	"Look Andre, here's the deal.  First of all, feeling guilty about
money is bullshit.  You know why?  My parents consider you part of the
family.  They'd be insulted if I raised an issue like that, and they'd feel
the same way if you did."  For some reason, that comment seemed to bother
him more.

	"So screw that.  I'm moving to Chicago, you're going into the army
and they'll send you God knows where, and I'm really going to miss you.
You're the best roommate, and the best friend I've ever had.  So spend some
time with me before life drags us in different directions."  I think I was
as stunned as he was by that statement.  I'd never expressed my feelings so
openly.  What the fuck was happening to me?

	"Wow JP."  He just looked at me, thinking.  Then he smiled.  "I
love you too.  I'll go dig out my passport and pack."

	So we both frenetically finished packing up, first for a trip, and
then the shit we were moving out of our place.  First I called my mother
and told her about my job, and that we were going to Paris.  She was
thrilled and told me to be careful, but to have a good time.  That and the
lecture on how I needed to take some time to go visit my relatives.  That
wasn't in my plan, but I didn't argue about it.  I'd beg for forgiveness
when I got home.  Then I called the airlines and booked a flight out of New
York tomorrow evening.  I figured I'd deal with the hotel later.

	The next morning found us driving north to New York City, taking
pretty much the same route I took to go meet Billy.  The morning after that
we were landing at Orly Airport in Paris.

June 2, 1962

	There are cities in the world that are homogeneous, and then there
are those few, rare gems that are truly unique and special.  Cities like
New York, San Francisco, London, Rome, but most of all, there is Paris.  To
be in Paris with the one you love is truly the apex of romance, even if
that love isn't exactly returned.

	I'd blown financial caution to the wind and booked a room at the
Ritz.  Neither one of us had slept much on the plane (like you're supposed
to) so the first order of business was a nap.  We woke up in time to go out
for the night.  It's amazing how restorative a shower and clean clothes can
be.  We took the Metro over to the Left Bank to find a cool cafe for
dinner.  Then we scrounged around looking for a good dance club, to no
avail.  We ended up walking back to the hotel, enjoying the bright lights
and vitality of Paris.

	The City of Lights, and it surely was.  We crossed onto the Ile de
la Cite, past Notre Dame, past the Conciergerie, past the Palais de
Justice, then across to the Right Bank.  All of the grandeur and beauty
seemed to drive us into an introspective mood.

	"So JP," Andre asked me, "What do you see yourself doing in ten
years?"  Interesting question.

	"Well, hopefully I'll have published enough papers to get tenure.
That's the real beauty of working at a university.  Job security, with the
freedom to pretty much do what you want."

	"No," he responded, "I meant personally."  I felt a chasm opening
beneath me.

	"I don't know.  What about you?"

	We walked along quietly for a few minutes while he thought about
it.  "Well, I'd like to be married to someone that I really love, and who
loves me back.  And I want kids, lots of kids.  I love kids.  I don't know,
beyond that a job that makes me happy and pays the bills."

	I was glad it was dark and he couldn't see my disappointment.  I
lived in a Pollyanna world where he would eventually decide that he loved
me and we'd live happily ever after.  But even if that came true, there was
no way, barring a medical miracle, I could ever give him kids.  And he did
love kids, had a way with them, just like he did with my nephew Richard.
At times like this, the real world crashed in on my fantasy and I had to
struggle with the emotional carnage, only usually it happened to me when I
was alone, not in the middle of a very personal conversation.

	"You seem awfully quiet."  He was prompting me.

	"Sorry, I was just thinking.  I don't know if the family thing is
for me.  I can't imagine anyone putting up with my moods and quirks for any
length of time.  And kids, well, I don't seem to do well with them until
after they are at least teenagers."  That nonsense sounded a lot better
than telling him I was a fag.

	"I don't know about that.  I managed to live with you for two
years, two great years as a matter of fact."  He smiled down at me.

	"You're right."  I paused, stopped walking, and looked up at him.
"Andre, will you marry me?"  I asked, joking.  We both started laughing
pretty loud.

	"I don't know if that would go over too well in the army.  You're
not exactly the typical army wife."  That made us laugh even louder.  Peter
had taught me well.  I was learning to use humor.

	The next day, to humor me, we spent most of the day wandering
around the Louvre.  The artifacts are interesting, but more important to me
is the palace and its historic significance.  Most people run to see the
Mona Lisa, or the Venus de Milo.  Not me.  Exploring the wings that, at
their ends, were actually part of the Tuileries Palace before it was burned
to the ground, that's my idea of a good time.  Andre excused himself after
a few hours and went back to the hotel.  I got back and found him sound
asleep.

	That night we found a good dance club, located near the infamous
Pigalle area, and had a blast dancing with French beauties.  We had three
huge advantages.  First of all, we're Americans, which gave us that foreign
air that women can't seem to resist.  Second, we spoke fluent French, so
there was no language handicap and it made us seem cultured.  Finally,
compared to the other guys there, we were pretty damn handsome.  I wonder
where the handsome guys in Paris hang out.  I wonder if there are bars or
clubs where guys go to meet other guys.  Do they beat queers up here like
they do in the US?  Were the guys at those bars masculine guys like Peter,
or Polari-speaking dudes like Georges?  I could wonder all I wanted,
because I'd probably never find out.  I don't see myself building the
courage to go to that kind of place, especially not in the US.

	As usual, Andre was making good progress with a cute brunette named
Isidore, while I was politely flirting with several girls.  I found that if
I didn't dance with just one person, I didn't get stuck trying to ditch
that girl later in the night.  So we danced and danced, until I finally
noticed the time.  5AM. I forgot that bars and clubs stay open later here
in Paris.  Suddenly I felt dreadfully tired, like the walking dead.  It had
been a really long day.

	I went over to grab Andre and go home.  He pulled me aside.  "JP,
Isidore wants to show us this great place to see the sunrise."  That meant
that Isidore was going to take him somewhere to fuck him, and the "us" was
purely figurative to make me feel included.  I played the game.

	"I'm exhausted.  You go.  I'm going to head back to the hotel."

	"Are you sure?  I mean, you don't mind being left alone?"  He was
probably remembering my maudlin statement about spending time with him.

	"No, really, I'm tired.  You go.  I'll see you later, and if I go
out before you get back, I'll leave you a note."  Guilt was a currency I
tried to avoid spending.

	"Thanks JP.  You're the best."  And with that they walked out, arm
in arm.  I fought down pangs of jealousy yet again and grabbed a cab back
to the hotel.

Musical Recommendation:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GwjAPAkf5_I&feature=related
"Calcutta" by the Lawrence Welk

	I slept until noon, showered, and prepared to hit the city again.
Andre had not come back yet, no big surprise, so I wrote him a note and
headed out.  I decided to go over to the Left Bank and visit the Sorbonne.
There was a professor there, Jacques Gireaux, who is probably the most
renowned expert on the Algerian-French relationship and I had used his
material extensively in my papers.  Whether I would find him there was a
shot in the dark.

	It took me almost an hour of searching and questioning people to
find Prof. Gireaux's office.  It was in an old building (aren't they all?)
and he was protected by a diligent secretary.  I explained to her who I
was, that I was here on vacation from America, blah blah blah.  She was
polite enough and told me to have a seat.  I waited.  And waited.  And
waited.

	Finally, after about 45 minutes, a stunningly handsome young man
came out.  Tall, with brown hair that was messy in a sexy studious kind of
way, an oval face with a long, thin aquiline nose.  I stared at him
intently, trying to figure out which feature made him so appealing, and I
decided that it was his neck.  He had a large, muscular neck that curved
out and merged into his shoulders, while his Adam's apple was prominent in
just the perfect proportion.

	"Professor Crampton?"  He asked as he walked towards me.  I stood
and held out my hand.  "I am Marc Sievres.  I am assistant to Professor
Gireaux."

	"A pleasure to meet you Marc," I said, putting on my most charming
smile.  Damn, this guy was hot.  He even had a smooth deep voice to go with
his sexy neck.

	"Professor Gireaux has been absorbed in his studies," he rolled his
eyes when he said that, "But we broke his train of thought long enough to
get his attention.  If you will follow me, he would like to meet you."

	He guided me past the secretary and into the inner sanctum of
faculty offices.  There was a desk outside his office, which turned out to
be Marc's, an additional guard to protect their famous boss.  He opened the
door and held it for me motioning me in.  As I walked by with my hands at
my side, my left hand brushed across the crotch of his pants.  It was
inadvertent, I swear it was, I thought to myself with a smile.  I thought I
felt him push a little bit as it did.  I smiled up at him and went in.

	The office was large, for Paris, and an absolute mess. There were
papers everywhere, and in the midst of them was a small, old man, probably
in his 60's, with spectacles balanced on his nose, poring over some article
or paper.  I heard the door shut behind me as Marc left us alone.  He left
me standing there for what seemed to be an eternity, but if I could be calm
and cool with Rosenberg, I sure as hell could be that way with this guy.

	He finally looked up and studied me carefully.  "So, you are
Monsieur Crampton.  And you have come all the way from the United States
just to visit me?  What can I do for you?"

	"Actually sir, I was here on vacation, but I have read all of your,
er, work that I could find, and I sited it extensively in my own research.
I just wanted to meet such a distinguished scholar, and to say thank you
personally for the help your research provided me."  Flattery is the
continental way.

	He looked at me with some consideration.  "I have read your papers,
monsieur."  Inside, my nerves were boiling, but I kept them under control.
He read my stuff?  I was published, certainly, but that those studies
should make it to France and that he should take the time to read them was
stunning.

	"I am flattered that you took the time to wade through my work."

	A slight grin flickered on his face.  "You shouldn't be.  I read
everything written about the struggle with Algeria, especially those things
that cite my work."  I had no real response for that, so I nodded my head
at him in an abbreviated bow.

	"Your work was good.  You are young and unseasoned, but you have
potential.  Next time, you must send me your articles so I do not have to
wait for the publications."  I was floored.  This was praise from the
master himself.

	"Thank you sir.  I will certainly send you articles.  Would you
also permit me to correspond with you?"  I looked at the mass of papers and
figured that would be a waste of time, but worth trying.

	"Mais oui." he replied simply.  After that we spent the next hour
chatting about recent developments, the dismemberment of the OAS and the
execution of Edmond Jouhaud, and the prospects for a lasting peace.  We
were interrupted by a knock at the door.  It was Marc.

	"Pardon me Professor, but you must leave for your meeting with
Chairman Calonne."  Marc nodded to me respectfully.

	 "Of course, of course.  It was a pleasure to meet you Monsieur
Crampton."  He extended his hand.

	"The pleasure was mine," I replied, shaking his hand.  And with
that he dashed out of the office, shutting the door behind him.

	"He always keeps his door closed.  That way no one knows if he is
in here working or not."  Marc said with a smile.  He eyed me up and down.
"Have you seen his extensive library?"  With that he walked over to the
bookshelves.

	I joined him there with my arms still at my side, and he moved
close to me, not so close as to be considered rude, this was Europe after
all, but close enough to make contact.  I was getting some major vibes from
Marc, so I decided to play along.

	"What is that book there," I asked, pointing at one almost directly
above me, but beyond my reach.  He leaned into me and reached up for it,
and now I felt his crotch rub against my right hand.  I moved my hand
slightly, and he pushed back slightly.  He told me the title, but I didn't
really care.

	"What about that one?"  I asked pointing to one a little to the
left.  He had to lean into me even more, and this time I moved my hand more
purposefully.  I felt him press against my hand; only the thing pressing
against me was no longer soft.  He told me the title again.

	"And that one?"  I asked, pointing to the book to the left of that.
This time I turned my hand around, so when he pressed into me, he pressed
into my palm.  I could feel his hard cock in my palm, so I carefully closed
my fingers around it.  If someone would have told me this morning that I'd
be in the office of one of the most esteemed academics in the world playing
with his assistant's dick through his pants, I'd have thought they were
nuts.

	He thrust into my hand and I began to stroke him.  He moved his
hands down, grabbing my own throbbing cock through my pants.  I felt him go
for my zipper and I did the same.  In minutes we were standing in the
corner of the office, dicks protruding out of our pants.

	He had a nice cock.  It was long and thin, and it was uncut,
unusual for an American like me used to circumcised penises.  I dropped to
my knees and engulfed it in one swift movement.  He moaned and pushed into
me, trying to fuck my face, but I wasn't going for that.  He modified his
thrusts and I let him take over the movement, using the opportunity to
reach around and grab his ass.  His movements got more intense, and in just
a few minutes I felt a familiar salty taste in my mouth as he shot his
load.  I swallowed every drop like a champ.

	I got up ready to go when he stopped me and dropped to his knees to
blow me.  This really surprised me, since in the US usually guys don't take
the time to finish the other one off, at least during quick anonymous
encounters.  He was good, real good, and it didn't take me long to fill his
mouth.  It had been a long time for me, and I came so hard my knees were
weak afterwards.

	He wiped his mouth with his hand, smiled at me, and said "It was
fantastic to meet you."  He gave me a piece of paper.  "Here is my phone
number.  Give me a call if you have any more spare time while you are in
Paris."  And with that, he turned and left the office, holding the door for
me as I followed him.

	I got back to the hotel a little later than I told Andre in my
note, but it didn't matter.  He still wasn't back yet.  I decided to take a
brief nap.  What seemed like just a few seconds later I heard bells
ringing....the phone!  I woke up and answered it groggily.

	"JP, it's me!"  Like I wouldn't recognize Andre's voice after all
this time.

	"That's great.  What time is it?"  I looked at my watch.  8PM.

	"It's 8.  Look, I'm sorry I've been gone all day; I just kind of
got caught up in things, and...I hope you're not mad."  He sounded excited
but nervous.

	"Andre, it's really no big deal.  I spent most of the day at the
Sorbonne.  So where are you now?"  I was finally awake.

	"Um, well I'm kind of in the country."  Now he really sounded
nervous.

	"Which country?"

	"France you moron.  The country, you know, not the city."  He was
joking now, obviously in good spirits.  Must have gotten laid.  Grrrr.
"Isidore is from Brittany so we drove out here to see the coast."

	"So when do you plan to get back in?"  I had the feeling that I was
being set up for something, and I wish he'd just get to the point.

	"Would you be too mad if I came home tomorrow night?"  There it
was.  I guess I could get all mad about him bailing on me, but what good
would that do?  Besides, I certainly could find things to do in Paris.

	"No problem Andre.  What time do you want to meet?"  I could sense
his relief.

	"JP, you're the best.  I'll be back in the room no later than 7
tomorrow, so we can do a late dinner."

	"Sounds great."  I said and hung up.  Just great.

	I went back to bed and woke up early.  I decided to head out to
Versailles for the day.  I planned to do some research on Louis XV when I
had some time, and I wanted to get "in the mood".

Musical Recommendation: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z1Ft8Q4QgRs
"Te Deum" by Jean-Baptiste Lully

	The initial reason that I got into history is that I have a unique
ability.  If I do enough research, I can actually visualize a place as it
was.  The thing is that my visions are really intense, not in a paranormal
kind of way, but, well, it's kind of like I can create a movie in my mind.

	So when I got to Versailles, I was able to charm my way into the
Private Apartments without a tour.  It was an incredible experience.  I
felt as if I was in the room with Louis XV and Madame de Pompadour.  I
ended up having lunch with the museum director, and afterward he went with
me to explore some of the non-public, yet fascinating areas.  After a visit
to the Trianon, with its stately architecture, I headed back to the hotel.
I was there by 6, so I showered and changed, and waited.

	By the time 8pm rolled around, I was pissed.  I left Andre a note
and went out to get something to eat.  If he was going to be late, he could
have at least called.  I was mad at him for making me plan my day around
him.  I was mad at him for being late.  I was mad at him for not calling.
I was mad at him for not wanting to hang out with me, and picking some
chick instead. I was mad at him for not loving me.

	I made the most of my misery with one of my classic pity parties.
I boosted the effect by having a bottle of wine.  I left the restaurant and
decided to stroll along the Seine, a bit out of the way, but no reason for
me to hurry back.  As I was walking along the Seine, there was an area
across from the Tuileries Gardens where a lot of guys seemed to be just
wandering around.  If this was the US, I would think it was a cruising
area.

	There was an underground passage that went from the river under the
road, designed exclusively for pedestrians.  I figured it would beat
dodging traffic, so I went down the steps.  The passage was dimly lit, and
there were guys hanging around, some walking, some leaning against the
walls.  As I moved through the tunnel I felt the looks as I was undressed
by their eyes, noticing some of the really handsome guys, avoiding the
creepy ones.  As I got farther into the tunnel, I felt a hand here and
there touching my ass.  At first, it freaked me out, but after a few
minutes it was a real turn on.  Andre may not appreciate me, but these guys
did.

	As I came to the middle of the tunnel there was a crowd of five or
six guys standing in a semi-circle.  As I approached them, one of the guys,
a good looking guy who looked like he might be part Arab, moved aside to
make room for me.  All of them had their dicks out and were stroking,
watching two guys in the center of the semi-circle.  One guy, who was
really young, probably about 16, was leaning against the wall, partially
bent over.  Behind him was another guy, a tall handsome guy, fucking the
young kid's brains out.  The tall guy turned to face me and I found myself
staring right at Marc.  At first he looked surprised, then he smiled, and
started fucking the kid even harder.  He reached his hand out, moving it
towards my hard dick.  I took my cock out and let him stroke it while he
fucked the young kid.  Then he pulled the young kid away from the wall,
pushed him onto all fours, and told him to suck my cock while he fucked
him.  Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was Marc, I don't know, but I let
him.

	The kid slurped on my cock like a thirsty person swallows water.  I
felt my pants drop all the way, and soon there were several hands all over
my body.  There were hands playing with my nipples, hands stroking my balls
and my thighs, hands grabbing my ass, fingers stroking my hole.  The
attention from all these guys was overwhelming, and watching Marc, across
from me, fucking the kid, was indescribable.  Marc emitted a sharp cry and
pulled out of young guy's ass.  Another guy moved forward and dropped to
his knees with an open mouth, and Marc sprayed his load all over the guys'
face.  That did it.  I felt my orgasm boiling up and I blew my wad in the
young guy's mouth.

	After I finished, I opened my eyes and found that Marc had already
left.  I pushed the hands away from my body, hurriedly put my clothes back
in order, and practically ran out of the tunnel.  The whole encounter had
left me confused.  As intense as the sexual release had been, it seemed
really dirty and sleazy.  Hypocritical as that may seem to someone who'd
had a lot of sex in bathrooms, somehow I felt I'd crossed a line into the
realm of the really kinky.  That I enjoyed it was disturbing, very
disturbing.

	Even more disturbing, when I got back to the room, was that Andre
was still not back.  My emotions moved from angry to worried, and I paced
the room, hoping he would call or walk through the door.  As I waited and
worried, my anger disappeared.  I didn't care that he wasn't back on time
or that he'd been gone for two days.  I just wanted him to come back safe
and sound.  I looked at the clock.  2AM. I finally sat on the bed with my
legs bent and my arms wrapped around my knees, silently praying to God,
just in case there was one, that Andre would come home.