My Student Pt. 01

"Look," I said. "Obviously, you don't need to tell me anything, this isn't an interrogation. But you reached out to me and I'm concerned about you. I'm here to lend a friendly ear, if you need one."

He didn't speak, and as he continued to look down, I started to get worried. Was he angry?

All of a sudden, I heard a sniffle, and I saw him wipe his eyes with his hand. I reached for the box of tissues on my desk and rolled my chair over to hand it to him.

"It's OK, buddy," I said. "Whatever it is, we'll get through it."

He took the box, pulled out a tissue and blew his nose. He looked up at me and his blue eyes were glassy, limpid as a glacier lake. God, he was beautiful.

"My parents disowned me," he said, then took a faltering breath. And then the tears started up again.

"Ho boy," I said. I got up to close the door to my office to give us a bit more privacy. I left it open, just a crack. I never fully shut the door when a student was in my office.

"What happened, Aaron?" I asked.

He grabbed another several tissues, and the story came spilling out. He had been home for spring break last week, he left his laptop open in the living room. His mom read an essay he was working on for my class, which blended the construction of the homosexual in western culture and the medicalization of same-sex attraction with his own experience, coming to terms with the fact that he was gay, closeted, and pathologizing his own attraction to men. That he'd known he was gay since he was twelve but hadn't come out to anyone. That his parents, finding out like this, had been apoplectic.

That he had wanted to talk to me about this ever since he was a freshman, and he'd wanted to come out to me, through his essay, since I was his mentor, his role model, that he wanted to be like me, a professor someday, and that now his parents were cutting him off completely, that he wasn't going to be able to pay for school on his own, that he'd have to drop out. He was speaking very quietly, not making eye contact with me. His tears were flowing freely.

I sat, listening, nodding, as he confessed all of this. I was generally pretty calm in the face of a tearful student, which was not such a rare an occurrence in my line of work, but this was Aaron, my most prized student, probably of all time, and the things he was saying sent my mind reeling. These past two years, I hadn't let myself hope that he was gay. Honestly, I had gotten a few inklings. He'd never mentioned a girlfriend, and he had a quiet intensity that just seemed, well, a little queer. But given my attraction to him, it was easier for me to just ignore the question of his sexuality. My imagination didn't need any more fodder.

But now, hearing that he was gay, seeing him so vulnerable, I felt a little rip, a tear in some deep part of myself. I felt something dark swirl up from the depths, coiling like black smoke. As he spoke, I felt as though a set of pieces on a game board were rearranging themselves in my favor.

I reached out and took one of Aaron's hands. I wrapped my other hand around it, his smooth, unblemished hand enveloped in my larger, coarser hands. I never touched my students. I would never touch a student like this.

"Aaron," I said, stroking the top of his hand with my thumb. "It's OK. Everything's going to be OK."

He shrugged and tried to smile at me. "Thanks, Professor. I know. It's just... I'm really scared. And I feel, kind of, well, hopeless." He pulled his hand away from me, and sat back in his chair, covering his eyes with his fingers.

"I understand, Aaron. I remember when I came out. My parents didn't react as horribly as it sounds like yours have, but they weren't happy." In fact, I hadn't spoken to my parents in years, but I didn't tell him that.

It looked like he was about to cry again. I kept talking. "Look, don't worry about school, or about the money right now. You need to take care of yourself. You need a shower and you need to eat something. And you need to change your clothes, kiddo. I can smell you from here." I smiled at him, and he gave a little laugh.

"And I don't think you should be alone right now," I continued, hearing myself exaggerate the concern in my voice. "Do you have roommates?" I knew he didn't. He had told me earlier in the semester that he was in a single dorm room this year.

"No," he said.

"I want you to come stay with me for a few days," I said.

He gave me a surprised look.

"I know it's not exactly orthodox, but I am going to insist. I'm worried about you. You need to be kind to yourself right now and I can tell that if I leave you to your own devices, you're not going to be," I said.

"You want me to stay at your house?" he asked. And I thought I saw a flicker of worry, a bit of concern in his eyes.

"Yes. We have a guest room and never have any guests. It's pathetic, really. Now, I want you to go back to your dorm, pack a bag with some clothes and whatever else you need. You can do laundry at my place, if, as I suspect, all your clothes are dirty." I winked at him.

He gave a little laugh. "OK," he said. He stood up and grabbed a few more tissues. As he moved toward the door, I saw him, in profile, his impossibly slender torso and stomach tapering into his pants. My hands tingled with the fresh memory of touching him, and I pictured my fingers tracing their way down his chest across his belly button, grabbing his hips, pulling him to my face.

"Hey, thanks, Professor," he said, at the door. "I really appreciate this."

"Don't worry about it," I said. "I have a meeting that should be over by 5:30. Meet me back here?"

I thought of my colleagues' offices scattered along the hallway. "On second thought, can you meet me at the entrance to the North Quad? We can walk from there."

"OK," he said, and then he was gone.

I sat back in my chair, and took a deep breath. "David, David, David," I said, quietly, turning back to my computer. Christ, another twenty-some emails had arrived just in the time I was talking to Aaron. I actually didn't have a meeting that afternoon, but I wanted some time to myself to go over what was happening, try to get my head around what I had set in motion. Tom was in DC this whole week. I pulled out my phone, debated for a moment whether I should text him, tell him that Aaron was coming over, keep myself accountable. My finger hovered over my messaging app, but then I put my phone down.

//

Aaron sat at the table, devouring a second huge bowl of pasta. I'd made my go-to creamy mushroom spaghetti for dinner. It was one of the few decent meals in my limited repertoire. Tom was the cook at our house.

"This is really good, Professor," Aaron said, for probably the third or fourth time. He wasn't giving any indication of slowing down.

"I'm glad you like it. And since you're in my house, you can call me David," I said.

He paused eating for a moment. "Mmm, I think I'll stick with Professor," he said, looking into his bowl.

We hadn't spoken much on our walk to my house. I'd shown him to our guest "wing", a hallway with a spare bedroom and bathroom. He'd taken a shower. When I called him for dinner a little while later, it looked like he'd been asleep. He sat at the table and I saw that his hair was fanned up, adorably, in the back, where he'd slept on it. He was pretty groggy, but he'd perked up with the food.

He looked tiny, sitting at the table. He was wearing an oversize T-shirt, and the elastic of the collar had given out, it drooped unevenly on his shoulders, exposing part of his collarbone. As I put the pasta down in front of him, I imagined that he was my son, and this was any other normal night, me calling him to the table for dinner. Tom had wanted kids but I had demurred, skeptical of the prospect, arguing that we barely had enough time to spend with each other as it was. And we'd only gotten busier as the years ticked by. Eventually, Tom had stopped bringing it up.

I picked at my food, not feeling very hungry, very aware of the dangerous energy coiling and uncoiling in my guts. "Do you want to talk about it any more, Aaron?" I asked, once he finished his pasta and declined a third helping. "About your parents or anything?"

"Not really," he said. "I just need some time to process."

"OK, just let me know if you want to talk," I said.

He nodded. Then he said, "Um... where's your husband?"

I realized I hadn't told Aaron that Tom wasn't going to be here. "Tom's in DC this week, he gets home Friday night. He'll be happy to know that we have a guest. He always complains about how our amazing guest room goes to waste since we hardly ever have visitors."

Aaron cocked his eyebrow as I said this, but he didn't say anything. After a moment, he said, "Well, thanks again for letting me stay here. Is it OK if I go lie down again?"

"Make yourself at home," I said, getting up to clear the table. "I'll put the leftovers in the refrigerator. If you get hungry again, just help yourself."

He got up and started to take his dishes to the sink, but I moved to intercept him. "I'll deal with the dishes," I said. "You go rest."

In the window behind the sink, I saw our reflection, me behind him, looming, almost a head taller than him, and at least twice as wide. Our eyes met in the reflection for an instant. He handed me the dishes, thanked me again, and then left the kitchen.

Washing up at the sink, I felt my cock harden. I'd been at almost constant erection all evening. Every time my mind returned to the fact that Aaron was here, in my house, I'd get hard again. I finished the dishes and went to take a shower. Naked, in the mirror of the master bathroom, I examined myself. Uff, I was so huge compared to Aaron. How could a person be so small? I wondered if there was any chance that he could be attracted to me. At the thought of him, my semi-hard cock rose to full mast, I watched the big head of it poke up along the ridge of my belly, curving up toward my belly button. Well, if he was a dick pig, perhaps he could overlook the rest of me, I thought. I wrapped my hand around my cock and gave it a firm squeeze. A large dollop of precum oozed out of my cock hole and dripped onto the floor.

"You were right, Tom," I whispered. "He's got me all worked up."

I got into the shower and tried not to think about Aaron. Afterward, I put on a pair of boxers and got into bed. I took my laptop from the bedside table and opened up my manuscript. I was close to finishing another book, and I had comments back from my editor that I needed to address. I was in the habit of writing for a few hours in bed before sleeping each night. I was dreadfully protective of this time. Tonight, I was grateful for the distraction to keep my mind away from the presence of the beautiful boy in my house.

Three hours flew by. It was close to midnight when I shut my computer, brushed my teeth, and texted Tom. I knew he'd be up, he worked until the early hours of the morning when he was in DC.

Goodnight, love, don't work too hard

Goodnight, D :-*

This was our routine most nights. Tom would prefer a call, but I felt that goodnight phone conversations always lasted too long, and I was usually exhausted after writing.

I turned off the light and laid down. Instantly, my mind spiraled. Bringing Aaron to my house like this was probably enough grounds for disciplinary action, at the very least, if anyone at the college found out. I was taking a huge risk. If nothing else happened, though, it would probably be fine. I'd tell Aaron not to tell anyone at school that he had stayed with me. But if it did get out, I could argue that it was as it seemed, he needed support and I provided it, that I was worried about him being alone, nothing more sinister than that. A couple of hardons, in a forest, nobody to hear them, nobody needed to know. I wouldn't be the first college professor to bend a few rules in order to help an ailing student.

But what if something did happen? My eyes snapped open at the thought. I felt my cock twitch to life again, press into my thigh, trapped against my leg by my boxers. Perhaps what Aaron needed most was a gay mentor, someone to guide him into the world of men. Of men's bodies. An experienced hand, an experienced mouth, an experienced tongue. A safe environment in which to coax open his virgin hole... Fuck, David. Stop this. My heart was pounding. I wasn't anywhere near sleep.

I got up and went out to the kitchen for a glass of water. Through the window over the sink I saw the moon, nearly full, illuminating the trees in our back yard.

"Um, professor?"

I whirled, startled, to see Aaron standing at the edge of the kitchen.

I fumbled for the light switch and turned on the lights over the kitchen island. Then I cringed, realizing I was only wearing a pair of boxers. We both stood in the kitchen, shirtless.

"Oh, sorry," he said, taking a step back. I saw him flick his eyes over me. I looked down. My cock was still mostly hard, bulging obscenely against my thigh. I moved my hand and cup of water over my crotch.

"What is it, Aaron?"

"I, um. I... I was just going to get some water." He was still looking at me, his eyes moving up and down my body.

"Cups are in the cabinet next to the microwave," I said. He moved toward the cabinet, still looking at me. He passed the microwave and came to stand right in front of me.

"Aaron," I said, "Hey..." He dropped to his knees. He reached up and pushed my hand away from my crotch. I watched him do this, as if through thick glass. He gripped my boxers and pulled them down. My cock sprung up and grazed his face, leaving a streak of precum on his cheek.

He looked up at me. Between my belly and my hard cock, I could barely see him, below me. "Aaron..." I said again. The voice of some weak and defeated part of me trying to stop what was happening. Then I felt him grab my shaft with his hand and put his mouth on the head of my cock. His mouth was warm and slick. I felt his teeth against the underside of my cock head and I jerked back, but he didn't flinch, he kept right on pumping me with his fist and his mouth. I put my water glass down and ran my thumb along his cheek as he sucked on me.

"Dear boy," I whispered. The sight of him, on his knees, devouring my cock was such an incredible turn on. I knew I must be leaking like crazy into his mouth. I was overwhelmed with the desire to taste it on him, I grabbed him by his upper arms and pulled him up to my mouth, kissed him. I tasted his spit, the faint cinnamon flavor of his toothpaste, and my salty precum. His hand found my cock, slick with spit, and he pumped me. I kicked off my boxers, reached for his pajama bottoms and thrust my hand down the front of them to grip his cock.

"Oh, Aaron," I murmured, when I felt him. His cock was long and slender. It arched upward in my hand. I lifted him then, and sat him on top of the kitchen island. I yanked his pajama bottoms down and off; he was completely naked in front of me. I ran my hands up his thighs, saw a golden fuzz on them in the bright overhead light. His cock stood straight up, bobbing slightly above a fleshy ballsack filled with two low-hanging, egg-sized nuts.

"Damn, kid." I said, grabbing his balls.

He smiled and pulled me toward him for another kiss. I gripped his cock in my meaty fist and stroked him. I felt his tongue on mine again. "Aaron," I said, pulling back from him, momentarily coming to my senses. "We can't be doing this."

"I know," he said, "But your hand's on my dick, Professor. It's a little late for second thoughts." Direct, as always.

As if he gave me permission, I bent to suck his cock. I reached under his ballsack to cup his nuts and get a grip on the foundation of his cock. I hadn't sucked a cock that wasn't Tom's in probably twenty years. It felt heavenly in my mouth. I took him in until I felt his dick pressing on the back of my throat. I took a breath and took him in deep. I felt his cock head enter my throat, I felt the muscles of my neck relax, felt myself suppress the urge to gag. It was like riding a bike, I thought, gratefully, a flicker of a thought in my brain. I worked my mouth all the way down his cock. His balls, cupped in my hand, were against my chin, my lips were pressed into his pelvis. I was massaging his thigh with my other hand. I came off his cock, stroked him a few times, then took him all the way in again.

"Oh my god," he said, his voice shaking. He was gripping my head with his hands as I inhaled his cock. I felt his body squirming with pleasure. I took my mouth off of him, grabbed his hips with both of my hands, and pulled him toward me. His body was so light, I felt like I could break him. I wanted to break him.

I lifted his thighs up and pushed his balls up out of the way to look at his tight little hole. With my thumbs I spread the cheeks of his ass apart to get a better look and then I pushed my face into his taint, felt my nose edge into the crease between his thigh and his balls, felt the weight of his big nuts on my cheek. I grabbed his shaft with my hand and stroked down, pushing his balls into my face. I bit him, gently, at the connection where his hamstring met his pelvis, then moved my lips toward his asshole.

"P-professor, please... no. N-not there." He was squirming harder in my grasp. I stopped and stood up over him. He was leaning back on his hands on the kitchen island, and I saw him, looking terrified, breathing hard. I released my grip on his cock. It slapped up onto his concave stomach.

"Aaron, I'm sorry," I said, stepping back from him.

"No, it's OK, Professor. I wanted this, I started this, I just don't think I'm ready yet... for that." He sat up, and then hopped off the counter. He reached for my cock again, and looked up at my face. "I've wanted this for so long," he said.

"Me too Aaron," I said. I kissed him, holding his neck with one hand and gripping his cock with the other. We stood there, kissing and stroking each other. My anxiety dissipated as we worked our hands faster and faster, until I could tell we were both close to orgasm. He broke our kiss. "I'm going to cum, daddy," he whispered. That sent me over the edge. I started to spasm, he squeezed my cock hard and I saw a spurt of my cum shoot out and hit his stomach. I squeezed his cock, too, felt him start to come. His jizz shot straight up and hit himself in the chest and stomach, as I continued to unload bolts of cum onto his thigh and pelvis.

We stood, twitching with orgasm aftershocks for a few moments, and then I released my grip on him. He staggered back a few steps and I saw that his slim body was covered in cum. He wiped his nose with the back of his arm and looked down at himself. He poked at the cum on his chest and laughed. Then he looked up and said, "Wow, this wasn't exactly how I pictured my first time."

"Oh, god, Aaron, please don't tell me this was your first time," I said. I grabbed a clean dish towel from beside the sink and handed it to him. He began to wipe cum off of his body.

He looked at me and I saw tears glistening in his eyes. "I'm so happy it was with you, Professor."

Guilt and shame washed over me, as I came slowly back into the reality of the moment and what had just happened. With my student.

"Aaron..." I said. "This was a mistake, I should never have let this happen."

His face fell.

"Not that I didn't want this. Obviously I find you, well, extremely attractive," I added, trying to mollify him. "But you're so young, and..."

"And you think you're taking advantage of me," he finished my thought.

"Yeah," I said.

"I know this is kinda weird, but... can we just... have this right now without analyzing it?" he said. He moved toward me. I reached out and hugged him, cradling his head against my chest. He wrapped his arms around me as I stroked the back of his head.