toward him now. “I'm Dean, what's your name?”
“David,” he shot his hand out to shake Dean's but got an awkward high-five in return.
“Can you help me, man? I'm gonna crash and burn in that class. This paper he wants us to write is killing me,” Dean still talked to his reflection rather than to his face.
“Um, sure,” David was a jangle of nerves inside, “I'd be happy to.”
“Cool,” was the response, “how about Saturday afternoon?”
“Cool,” David copied his tone exactly.
David gave him his room number and excused himself before he gave away any embarrassing secrets.
*****
Two days later, David found himself outside of Professor Kaufman's office door. Office hours were listed, from 4:00 to 7:00. It was only 3:45 and David's palms were already sweaty; it was difficult to hold the laptop and the book. He sat down in one of the old, wooden chairs that were lined up outside his door. He jiggled his knee up and down, told himself to stop and found that he started again immediately.
What was he doing here? He had made up the cover story and rehearsed it line by line over the last day, editing and re-editing until it sounded perfect. He was such a mess still. His pulse throbbing in his throat, his heart racing at a hundred beats a second. He wasn't sure that he'd be able to speak when the time came.
It was 4:10. David had checked his phone at least twenty times since sitting down and he had finally convinced himself that he should just leave. The Professor wasn't coming and at least this way, he had avoided making a complete fool of himself.
“David?” the voice was unmistakable and a chill crept down his neck when he heard it; the older man remembered him.
David turned around slowly, as if his being here were all coincidence, and smiled.
“Professor Kaufman, hello.”
The Professor looked him up and down for a moment and flashed the teeth at him before unlocking his door, “Did you need me?”
All of David's responses, from the polite to the perverse, flooded his brain and all he could do was nod yes.
“Actually, David, I wanted to talk to you anyway. I'm glad you stopped by.”
The door was open now and the Professor was waving him inside. His large hand on David's trembling shoulder seemed to burn through his clothes.
“Sit,” he motioned to the worn, brown leather couch to the right of his desk and, once David sat, gingerly and on the edge, the Professor plopped down next to him, legs apart, one thigh almost touching his, arms along the expanse of the upholstery. He looked David in the eye when he asked, “You didn't come to talk about class, did you?”
David let the strap from the shoulder bag slide down his arm, his bag falling to the floor. He felt goose bumps raise the downy, white hair on his forearms.
“It's okay, David. I saw you watching Miles and I. The way you looked at us. It was obvious…” he glanced down at David's crotch; he wondered if the Professor could see his cock jolt suddenly, “that you were turned on.”
“Well…yes,” David mumbled, his eyes to the brown material they sat on.
“So, let me guess. Gorgeous boy like yourself,” the Professor's hand was on his chin now, lifting his face so that he had no choice but to look into the large, dark eyes that were filled with something fierce David had never seen, “shy, quiet, first time away from home. You're a virgin - am I right?”
He wouldn't let David look away and he whispered as he stared, “Yes, that’s right.”
His body was moving back and David didn't realize that it was the Professor who was pushing him to lie down until it was too late and he felt the cool leather touch his hot neck.
“That's it, relax, David,” his voice was low and calm and the sensation of the man's breath on David's ear made him pant with lust.
“So, you like to watch, do you?” he murmured and then without waiting for the answer, the Professor's mouth opened and the teeth
“David,” he shot his hand out to shake Dean's but got an awkward high-five in return.
“Can you help me, man? I'm gonna crash and burn in that class. This paper he wants us to write is killing me,” Dean still talked to his reflection rather than to his face.
“Um, sure,” David was a jangle of nerves inside, “I'd be happy to.”
“Cool,” was the response, “how about Saturday afternoon?”
“Cool,” David copied his tone exactly.
David gave him his room number and excused himself before he gave away any embarrassing secrets.
*****
Two days later, David found himself outside of Professor Kaufman's office door. Office hours were listed, from 4:00 to 7:00. It was only 3:45 and David's palms were already sweaty; it was difficult to hold the laptop and the book. He sat down in one of the old, wooden chairs that were lined up outside his door. He jiggled his knee up and down, told himself to stop and found that he started again immediately.
What was he doing here? He had made up the cover story and rehearsed it line by line over the last day, editing and re-editing until it sounded perfect. He was such a mess still. His pulse throbbing in his throat, his heart racing at a hundred beats a second. He wasn't sure that he'd be able to speak when the time came.
It was 4:10. David had checked his phone at least twenty times since sitting down and he had finally convinced himself that he should just leave. The Professor wasn't coming and at least this way, he had avoided making a complete fool of himself.
“David?” the voice was unmistakable and a chill crept down his neck when he heard it; the older man remembered him.
David turned around slowly, as if his being here were all coincidence, and smiled.
“Professor Kaufman, hello.”
The Professor looked him up and down for a moment and flashed the teeth at him before unlocking his door, “Did you need me?”
All of David's responses, from the polite to the perverse, flooded his brain and all he could do was nod yes.
“Actually, David, I wanted to talk to you anyway. I'm glad you stopped by.”
The door was open now and the Professor was waving him inside. His large hand on David's trembling shoulder seemed to burn through his clothes.
“Sit,” he motioned to the worn, brown leather couch to the right of his desk and, once David sat, gingerly and on the edge, the Professor plopped down next to him, legs apart, one thigh almost touching his, arms along the expanse of the upholstery. He looked David in the eye when he asked, “You didn't come to talk about class, did you?”
David let the strap from the shoulder bag slide down his arm, his bag falling to the floor. He felt goose bumps raise the downy, white hair on his forearms.
“It's okay, David. I saw you watching Miles and I. The way you looked at us. It was obvious…” he glanced down at David's crotch; he wondered if the Professor could see his cock jolt suddenly, “that you were turned on.”
“Well…yes,” David mumbled, his eyes to the brown material they sat on.
“So, let me guess. Gorgeous boy like yourself,” the Professor's hand was on his chin now, lifting his face so that he had no choice but to look into the large, dark eyes that were filled with something fierce David had never seen, “shy, quiet, first time away from home. You're a virgin - am I right?”
He wouldn't let David look away and he whispered as he stared, “Yes, that’s right.”
His body was moving back and David didn't realize that it was the Professor who was pushing him to lie down until it was too late and he felt the cool leather touch his hot neck.
“That's it, relax, David,” his voice was low and calm and the sensation of the man's breath on David's ear made him pant with lust.
“So, you like to watch, do you?” he murmured and then without waiting for the answer, the Professor's mouth opened and the teeth
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