Dirty Little Secret Ch. 02

I was basking in the afterglow of a wonderful orgasm. It was good to have had a real cock in my mouth.

The feel and aroma of his crotch was fresh in my mind, and I could still taste him on my tongue.

My prick began growing in my damp briefs. I knew I would masturbate when I got home. At least this time I had a real cock to picture in my mind.

The next day I was sitting in my 'Applied Trigonometry' class watching Professor Eaton scribble an equation on the chalkboard waiting for him to turn and face the class.

I didn't know if it was just my imagination, but it seemed to me that whenever he wrote a problem on the chalkboard he'd get an erection.

When he finished and faced the class, sure enough, I thought I saw a small boner in his pants. I wondered if he went home at night, sat in front of his computer and stroked his cock while staring at a complex math problem.

A pretty girl suddenly came into the classroom and went to Professor Eaton. She said something to him, and he pointed at me. She came to me and gave me a note that read, "My office at 3:30 -- Professor Van Dyke."

It looked like I was finally getting my first tutoring assignment.

When the girl left I looked up and saw Professor Eaton standing before the class with his arms folded across his chest staring at me.

I blushed and said, "Sorry."

In my short time at the university I'd learned that Professors hated interruptions of any kind in their classrooms. Most of them seemed to be egomaniacal and didn't like it when they weren't the center of attention.

At 3:30 I waited in the outer office for Professor Van Dyke. The girl who had delivered the message was behind a desk staring intently at the desktop computer before her.

Suddenly I heard a buzzer and she motioned for me to go into the office.

"Well son, mid-terms are coming up and you are going to be a very busy young man," he said then handed me a three-page schedule of my upcoming tutoring sessions. "You'll be spending quite a bit of time in Dunce Hall."

I looked at him strangely. That seemed like a rather offensive nickname for the building with 'special needs' students.

He saw my expression and immediately understood what I was thinking. He smiled and laughed.

"That's spelled 'D-U-N-S-Z -- not 'D-U-N-C-E'...."

I blushed and smiled.

"It's actually in the 'Arthur P Dunsz Complex' -- have you been there?" he asked.

I shook my head.

"Arthur Dunsz is an alumnus and a huge benefactor to the university -- he's given millions over the years..."

Then he said: "Two-blocks down the street...it's a large and garish complex of buildings for the Athletic Department. All of the athletes on scholarship to the university are housed there. You'll be impressed when you see what they have...."

He shook his head and added: "It's a sad state of affairs when the Athletic Department gets most of the money, but then again, they bring in most of the money...."

He handed me a large folder that contained smaller manila folders with the names of each student, and their specific needs.

"Familiarize yourself with each student...the folders contain bullet points of the student's areas of weakness, concentrate on those and you'll do fine...I see from the schedule you have four football players and one who plays hockey -- all I can say is -- Good Luck!"

"I thought I'd be teaching 'special needs' students?" I asked him.

He laughed and said, "'Special needs' students -- 'athletes' -- really, what's the difference?"

I thanked him and left him laughing hard at his own joke.

When I got back to my room I studied each folder. I saw I had three sessions that night and two the following night. I studied their weaknesses and prepared lessons for each student.

I was glad I was ahead in my classes; this was going to take up more time than I'd previously thought.

It was a beautiful autumn night for a walk. The air was crisp, not too cold; the walk itself kept me warm.

I saw a huge marble sign on the lawn that read 'The Arthur P Dunsz Complex'; there was a map on a smaller sign. Professor Van Dyke was right: I was impressed -- there were so many buildings they needed a directional guide.

Dunsz Hall was located at the far end of the complex. I had to pass all of the other buildings.

Gymnasiums, swimming pools, work-out rooms, weight rooms, a huge cafeteria.

I read the hours for the cafeteria: 5am to 10pm.

Wow, I thought. The cafeteria in my building was only open for two hours for each meal. These people can eat whenever they want. I felt a twinge of jealously and resentment at their special treatment.

One thing I was grateful for was I'd be tutoring only guys. In high school I had worked with a few girls and found them to be rather difficult to teach. Their brains seemed to be wired differently than men. I considered most female conversation both tedious and frivolous. They seemed to have a hard time concentrating on the subject at hand.

I don't know. Maybe I was just afraid of women and the power they had over most men.

The 'Study Room' in Dunsz Hall was as big as I'd imagined. There were many private cubicles with desktops, and plenty of space to maneuver.

I set-up my laptop near the desktop and waited for my first pupil.

Suddenly I heard someone grunt behind me and looked to see a behemoth of a man/boy standing in the doorway.

I cleared my throat and said, "Mr. Walker?"

He said, "Uh-huh."

Good God, I thought. The man had to be six-three and weigh close to three-hundred-and-fifty pounds.

After Mr. Walker there were two more just like him -- both physically and mentally.

Three-hours seemed like a lifetime. All three needed help with material I'd easily learned in high school. I was patient and strict. When their minds wandered I immediately got them back on topic.

By the end of each session, they seemed to genuinely appreciate my teaching style. All three said it was easier learning with me than in the classroom.

As I was walking out I passed a computer room, a weight room, a common meeting-type room with big screen televisions. They even had a huge game room. I stopped and looked inside. It looked like a full arcade of video games, pinball machines, ping-pong tables, pool tables, foosball tables and other devices I didn't recognize.

I stood absentmindedly staring at a group of guys watching someone play pinball; they all had their backs to me. The guy playing suddenly stood upright and turned around. He was finished with his game.

He looked at me standing in the doorway; an odd expression crossed his face and he quickly turned around as one of his buddies began playing the machine.

What was that about? I wondered.

I went back to my room and studied for an exam I had the next day.

Then I formulated a plan for myself. I decided to get my own school work done before my tutoring sessions. This was going to take up more of my time than I'd thought, and I didn't want it to interfere with my schoolwork. I settled into a comfortable routine.

Two weeks later I received my first paycheck. It wasn't anywhere near what I earned at the construction job, but it would be enough so I wouldn't have to dip into my savings.

The next few nights went off as usual except for one thing: when I walked home I got the distinct feeling that someone was following me.

The two-block walk was filled with oak trees and a few light poles, but it was dark enough that I couldn't really see anyone. Every now and then I thought I heard footsteps behind me, but when I turned to look, no one was there.

One night on my way home, my sense of hearing was on high alert, but I didn't hear any foot-steps. I breathed a little easier.

Suddenly, in front of me, someone stepped out from behind a tree and said, "How are you tonight?"

My heart just about burst; I stopped breathing.

"I'm sorry -- I didn't mean to scare you," he said.

Oh my God, I thought. I know that voice -- that accent.

I squinted at the shadowy figure and said, "Kentucky?"

"You remember..." he said in his soft voice.

Of course I remembered. I'd been jerking-off nightly thinking about his cock.

When he got close to me I could see it was the guy who looked at me in the game-room. I had never gotten a close look at him that night at the park when he had a cap pulled over his head.

"I miss you," he said. "I think about that night a lot...especially when I'm in bed...."

Wow!! A guy has actually been thinking about me! I felt exhilarated.

"Why haven't you come up to me sooner? I've seen you a couple times in the game-room, and I know you saw me," I asked.

He coughed and turned his head.

"Well, uh...I, uh -- you know...." he mumbled.

Yes, I knew. I understood completely. He was hiding a dirty little secret, too.

"Nobody knows you're gay," I said softly.

He raised his voice in a defensive tone and said, "I'm not gay!"

I shook my head with sympathy. I fully understood where he was coming from.

If he was living in Dunsz Hall that meant he was an athlete on scholarship. I imagined it would be tough on him if the other jocks found out he was queer.

I held out my hand and said, "I'm John."

He briefly hesitated then shook my hand.

"I'm Lane," he said.

He was about 5' 10" and 160 pounds.

He was lean and slender, and didn't fit my stereotype of what jocks were supposed to look like.

"What sport do you play?" I asked.

"I'm on the swim team," he said.

That explained it.

"You must be pretty good to earn a scholarship," I said.

He smiled. "I was conference champ last year...I think I can do it again this year...my goal is to make the Olympic swim team."

He was good enough to consider the Olympics? Wow! I was impressed!

We stood there in awkward silence.

I finally said, "So, what do you want to do?"

We both knew what he wanted. I felt my prick jump inside my briefs.

"I, uh...I don't know," he said slowly, searching for words. "I want to be with you again...I never felt anything like that before...but...."

"But what?" I pressed him even though I knew the answer.

"I, uh...don't take this the wrong way, but I really can't be seen with you," he said matter-of-factly. "If you know what I mean...."

I knew what he meant.

"It's alright -- nobody here knows I'm gay," I said. "Being seen with me won't be the end of the world."

By the tone of his voice and his body language I could tell there was a major conflict going on inside his head.

"You seem awfully tense," I said. "I was taught how to give a pretty thorough massage -- maybe that would help you relax."

That was a true statement. Donny had me give him a massage every time we met in his motel room, and I became very good at it. I even read a book about the proper technique. And, I loved doing it! It thrilled me to run my hands over naked male flesh.

My prick became fully erect thinking about my hands on Lane's body.

"I don't know...how could we, uh, meet?" he stuttered.

"Well," I answered. "If you've been following me you know where I live."

"Yeah, well, sure, I know the door you go in, but—"

I interrupted him.

"I have the first apartment on the left just inside the door -- chances are no one will see you," I said, surprised at my own eagerness given that he didn't want to be seen with me.

Give him a break, I told myself. You know how it is trying to protect a dirty little secret. Plus, maybe he could lose his scholarship if people knew he was gay? I wouldn't think so, but who knows?

I said: "Now the door is always locked, but if you go around the corner of the building, the first window you'll see is mine -- knock on the window a couple times and I'll let you inside when no one is in the hallway."

Then I added: "I could, ah, give you a massage right now, if you want?"

"Oh," he said, somewhat surprised. "I don't think I could...."

"Well, okay...it's up to you -- I have to go -- good night," I said and walked away from him sure that he would follow.

I walked about fifty-feet and looked back. He was still standing there.

When I reached my building he was nowhere to be seen. I was vaguely disappointed but not surprised. He was scared to death of his desire for men, and I could imagine the torment he was experiencing inside his screaming brain.

There were no surprises the next few nights. Once I was finished tutoring, I would look around inside the gameroom before I left -- I didn't see Lane.

On my way home, I walked slower than normal searching the shadows positive he would appear and ask to be with me; once again, more disappointment.

I felt sorry for Lane. He was fighting a losing battle. His desires/natural inclinations versus societies accepted behavioral standards.

And I was sure he knew full well if he let society win the battle, he would be a lonely, depressed man his entire life.

I also knew that a hard penis wins that battle more times than not.

.

The next night, when I was finished with my first student, I wanted to get a can of soda from the vending machine before my next pupil arrived. I hurried out of my cubicle, walked around a blind corner and literally ran into another guy.

The collision sent me reeling backwards and I would have fallen to the floor if not for his hands catching me as I was going down. As it was, I ended up on my knees looking up at him.

Oh my God! I thought. My heart pounded as I looked at this blonde-haired, hunk-of-man's gorgeous face. I'd never seen a face as beautiful as his.

"Oh, geez, I'm so sorry!" he exclaimed as he offered me his hand to help me stand.

"No, no -- it's my fault -- I was in a hurry -- I didn't see you...." I profusely apologized.

I took his hand but something prevented me from standing immediately.

Instead, for some reason, I lowered my eyes to his crotch. There, six-inches from my face, was his manly bulge. His cock wasn't hard, but his equipment sure filled out the crotch of his slacks.

He squeezed my hand and just before he began lifting me up, I saw his bulge grow larger. The outline of his semi-erect cock pressed against the thin fabric. I could smell the manly, musky aroma emanating from his crotch.

I became dizzy from his smell. I fought the instinct to kiss his bulge. I really, really wanted to plant my lips on the outline of his growing cock.

My own four-inch prick was as hard as it's ever been. I wanted this man; my heart ached with an urgent need to get close to him.

I had no idea if he was straight or gay, it didn't matter, all I knew was this is a man I wanted to be with and to pleasure.

In an instant, he pulled me up and we stood face-to-face. Rather, we stood with my face staring at the top of his broad chest. I guessed he was 6'3 or 6'4.

I looked up and gazed into his deep, blue eyes. I'd never seen that color blue before.

"Hey, I'm really sorry! Are you okay?" he asked in a rich baritone voice.

"I, uh...sorry," I mumbled. "Yeah, uh, I'm fine. That was pretty careless of me...."

For a brief moment, I thought I saw his eyes dart downward and quickly glance at my erection pressing hard against my jeans.

Wishful thinking, I thought to myself.

"Hey, you're the new tutor, aren't you?" he said enthusiastically. "Nice to meet you -- I'm Dennis -- call me Denny."

"I'm John," I said. I enjoyed his firm handshake.

"Fatty said you're a great teacher -- he's learning a lot from you," he said with a wide smile on his beautiful face.

I furrowed my eyebrows and he laughed.

"You know him as 'Raymond' -- we call him 'Fatty' -- he's our starting left tackle and we desperately need him to pass his exams so he can remain eligible to play."

I finally regained my composure and flashed him my biggest smile.

"Yes, he is coming along nicely," I said. "I think he'll be passing his exams."

So, 'Denny' is a football player, I mused. He must be pretty good if he's on scholarship.

"Are you here for a tutoring session?" I asked.

He grinned and said, "Yes, but I'm the tutor."

I was embarrassed by my mistake and blushed. He didn't seem to notice.

"I've been doing this a couple years now," he added. "You know, hopefully I can make a difference and help them learn. I get a real sense of accomplishment when they pass their classes."

Wow, I thought. Not only is he a hunk of gorgeous man, but he's a nice guy, too.

"Yeah, I know what you mean," I responded. "It feels good when I see they're catching-on to what I'm teaching."

"So," he said, the smile gone from his face. "Are you on a break? Want to get some coffee or a soda?"

"No, uh, I have a student coming in...I was running to the soda machine when I ran into you..."

"I don't want to sound strange or anything, but are you working tomorrow night?" he asked.

"Ah, yeah, I start at 6," I said, wondering what he was getting at.

"Why don't you have dinner with me in our cafeteria? I guarantee you haven't eaten the way the jocks do here...you gotta see this place!" he said. His enthusiasm returned.

I blushed again. What on earth is going on here? It almost sounded like he was asking me out on a date.

I smiled and said, "Yeah, sure, okay...you're right -- the food in my cafeteria is hard as shoe leather and tastes like it, too!"

"Great!" he said. "I'll meet you here at 5 o'clock and we'll go eat before work!"

"Okay," I replied. "I'd love a good meal for a change."

Just then my student Raymond came up to us.

"How they hangin', Goldilocks?" he smiled at Denny.

They were the same height, but Raymond clearly outweighed Denny by a hundred pounds or more.

"Fatty! You here for some fancy 'book-learnin'?" Denny asked playfully.

"Yeah, this little guy makes it fun," he answered.

Denny and I smiled at one another then I led Raymond back to my cubicle.

On my walk home, I thought about Denny.

Do all his teammates call him 'Goldilocks'? I wondered.

I mean, the name certainly fits. His good looks and long, curly blonde hair did make him look like he belonged in a fairy tale.

I didn't know what to make of his invitation. Was he coming on to me?

I laughed and felt embarrassed that I could think a studly football player was interested in me in any other way than as a friend. He was probably tired of hanging around with jocks all day and just wanted to have an actual conversation someone.

I was at the outer door of my building and reaching for my keys when I heard what sounded like a gas leak coming from the bushes next to the door.

"Psssst...psssst...."

Suddenly, a figure leapt out of the shadows and it startled me.

"Hey, John," I recognized the accent.

"Lane," I said, catching my breath. "You scared the crap out of me!"

"Sorry about that," he apologized.

He wore the same ballcap he wore the night we met. It was pulled low, covering most of his face.

"What's going on, Lane...you want to talk or something?" I asked, even though I knew what he wanted.

"Ah, I...can I come inside?" he asked nervously.

I quickly opened the door, looked down the hallway, there was no one there. I opened my apartment door and we both scurried inside as though someone was chasing us.

"Thanks," he said.

"Sure," I replied.

He looked around my small living room then sat on the couch. He began breathing normally again and removed his ballcap. I could tell he wasn't sure if he should be here.

"Want anything to drink?" I asked.

He relaxed and smiled and said, "No, thanks."

"How'd it go tonight?" he asked.

"Pretty good," I said. "These guys really want to learn...that makes it so much easier...so when does 'swimming season' start?"

He chuckled and said, "Our first 'meet' is in two-weeks...I should be ready, I'm getting into shape, and my times are improving...."

I decided to get straight to the point -- I'm not one for small talk.