Summer Course Correction

He too was good looking, but in a rough, thuggish way. His hair was black and on the curly, rather kinky, side, and I could see by what was curling out from his neckline and at his wrists from his shirt when he was waving his arms around in the front of the room that he was hirsute. If Parker hadn't told me the two men had the same preferences in men, I would have assumed that Merton was a dominant power top and Brady his yielding submissive—that it was Brady who did the cooking and cleaning.

"Neither one of them do," Parker said, with a snort. "They have a houseboy who does it all. He's a great cook, which reminds me, they've asked us to come to dinner Thursday evening."

"Dinner? At their house? Professors serving dinner to their students?"

"As a matter of fact, they do have parties where they invite their students. The summer session is a lot more laid back than the main school year. Besides, I'm on the faculty too and helping them with this course. They invited me and told me to include anyone I wanted."

"And you told them you'd bring a male student? Do they know—?"

"Of course, they know about me," Parker said. "So, they'll know about you and me. This is a small campus. Everyone knows about everyone else, especially in the gay community. They know you're living with me, so knowing what we do isn't much of a leap from there. Thursday evening, 7:00. I want you to go."

What could I say? Parker had spoken. He made all of the decisions.

"So, we'll meet here first, and—?"

"I'll be having student consulting hours at the department. You can go over to their house on your own. You can't miss it. It's the pink house on North College Street, covered with white gingerbread curlicues. It looks like a wedding cake out of Great Expectations."

Pink, with curlicues, I thought. Now if that didn't scream submissive, I don't know what would.

I'd go, because Parker told me I would, but I didn't think I'd enjoy it.

* * * *

I was surprised that I didn't see Parker's Mustang in front of the professors' house when I arrived there on foot that evening. The distance between Parker's apartment and the professors' pink gingerbread Victorian house on North College Street was walkable—nearly everything in a small town like Bridgewater was walkable from one place to the other—but Parker's Mustang hadn't been in his parking space at the apartment house. I'd assumed he'd parked on campus to handle his office hours and would drive from there to dinner and we'd both go home in his car.

In fact, there weren't any cars parked in front of the professors' house.

Myles Merton met me at the door with wine glasses in his hand and with a merry smile on his face. He handed one of the glasses, filled with red wine, to me. He had on lime green cotton lounge pants cut billowy and a cotton shirt, also cut billowy, that was open half way down to his navel. I'd been right—he was hirsute, with curls of black hair covering his chest. He was barefoot.

I looked around at a well, and expensively, decorated living room off to the right of the entrance foyer and dining room off to left. At the back of the house, through the dining room, I could see a young, Hispanic guy working in the kitchen. I could see the other professor, Elliott Brady, back there too, standing next to the guy who obviously was cooking. Brady, who was dressed like Merton was, but in baby-blue cotton lounge pants, had a hand on the Hispanic guy's rump. His other hand was holding a glass of white wine. He turned and saw me with Merton in the foyer, smiled, and moved in our direction. He too was barefoot.

Those were the only people I could see in the large rooms I could see from the foyer. A grand staircase rose up in front of me on its way to the second floor. Soft lighting bathed the living and dining rooms and Spanish guitar music playing softly somewhere, but I was a bit late for the party and I was the only one there other than the professors and the young guy who obviously was their cook—among other duties.

I looked in the dining room. The table was set for dinner—but only for three.

"I'm sorry I'm late," I said to Merton. "But I expected others to be here. Parker."

"Oh, no, I'm sorry if you got that impression," Professor Merton said. "We like to meet our students informally for one on ones. Parker didn't tell you he would be here too, did he?"

"I think he mentioned he was the one invited and was told he could bring someone else. And he didn't say that there wouldn't be others here too."

"Is that so? Interesting," Merton said with a smile, gently taking me with a hand on my upper arm and coaxing me toward the dining room. "We thought we'd start off on the back porch with drinks and nibbles. Julio is fixing us a luscious dinner, I'm sure. Come along. We'd like to know all about your interest in history and your preparation to this point. Parker tells us he's trying to get you to transfer to Bridgewater from . . . where is it? Randolph-Macon. And he tells us you are a champion swimmer. You certainly look like you're built sleek for it. Come along now."

Brady met us in the doorway between the dining room and the kitchen. Julio looked up from his dinner preparations and gave me a friendly smile, as Merton guided me through the kitchen and out onto a screened porch off the back of the house. The garden was large and immaculate and there were deep rattan chairs for us to sink in, a professor on either side of me.

"That's not all Parker told us," Brady said, as he walked up to us at the chairs. "Tell this luscious boy what else Parker told us, Myles."

Merton laughed. "He told us to tell you to give us whatever we want, Drew." Merton put a hand on one of my elbows and Brady did so as well on the other as they helped me sink into a rattan chair between them and both turned smiles on me.

"You think you can do that, Drew?" Brady asked.

And so it goes. They didn't seem to need an actually vocalized response, so I didn't provide one. I didn't leave either. I sank back into the chair.

The next something more than half an hour, in which I had three glasses of wine, the two leaned into me, touching me here and there with fingertips, smiling at me, doing what they could to make me comfortable, and expertly pumping me for information on my past and my interests. Although they didn't directly cover my sexual preferences, they had their way of getting that information out of me too without my radar going up too strongly—not that I didn't know I wasn't letting them know what was on between Parker and me.

They were gay too—and submissives too, I believed—and they were making me welcome, were letting me know that they, as professors here and the teachers of my summer classes, could help grease skids for me—and they were making it quite evident they liked me. Nothing physically threatening about this.

Dinner, served by Julio, who kept giving me surreptitious little smiles as he minced around the table, was as excellent as they indicated it would be. It was running on toward 9:00 before Brady suggested that I might enjoy seeing a film on the Roaring 30s that they had gotten to show in class later in the course, and we retired to a study that was at the back of the foyer, between the living room and the kitchen. There was a widescreen TV over the fireplace on the back wall, with a brown leather sofa facing it, and a big desk pushed up to the back of the sofa. It was June in the Shenandoah Valley, but Merton turned a gas fire on in the fireplace when we entered. Brady motioned me to sit in the center of the sofa and the two men, of course, wound up sitting on either side of me.

I can't say I didn't know where this was going now. My thoughts of the two men both being submissives had worn away during drinks for dinner and dinner itself, starting with that hand I'd seen Brady plant on Julio's bum when I entered the house. Julio was swishy and flamboyant. I had no question what he was. But Julio was leaving the house, the dinner dishes having been washed up as we used them so that he was finished before we rose from the table to go to the study.

And there was Elliott Brady himself. He had come across as a bit swishy himself in the classroom and from his elegant looks, but there was no question this evening that he was dominant between the two of them, he and Myles, or that he dominated Julio. He also was dominating me during our time on the porch and at the dinner table in every way but the physical, and managed to get across to me, albeit subtly, that it would extend to the physical if I would let it. As they'd made clear that Parker had directed me to "let it," I just waited for one or both of them to take it there. As for Myles, I had no idea why I'd ever thought he was anything but a top.

They had kept coming back to how they hoped to help me do very well in the summer course and how much help they could be if I decided to try to transfer to Bridgewater and obtain an athletic scholarship.

I can't claim that I hadn't been fine with casual lays in my recent past, even though I was trying restrict that while I was living with Parker. This wouldn't just be a casual lay. They both had something substantive to offer me. The question became, which one of them would be first? Would the other one want to watch? Or would they do me together?

They both were presentable. I was "happy" with the prospect and had been worked by the two expertly and efficiently. We were three men on a leather sofa in front of a TV showing, initially, a documentary on the Roaring Thirties. Although older, the two men, one on either side of me, were hunks and were dressed in loose clothing. The lights were low and there was a fire in the fireplace. There was no bearskin rug in front of the fireplace, but they had prepared me so well that one wasn't needed.

They each had an arm around my shoulders and they, subtly at first, and increasing boldly, worked me with their other hand.

They were kissing me on the lips, one after the other, and intimately exploring with their hands.

"We want to have you," Brady whispered in my ear. "May we fuck you now?"

"Yes," I murmured in return.

Almost in unison, each lifted one of my legs and hooked it over theirs, spreading me open. When I was unzipped and freed, and both of them were leaning over to take me in their mouths, I leaned back in the sofa and sighed, moving my hands to their baskets and uncovering, handing, and stroking them as well.

It was then that I realized that the video on the TV screen had changed to threesome sex. Two older guys were working over a younger one between them on a sofa. It was quite cleverly done. The porn movie transition in from the documentary in the same sepia tones as the vintage film from the thirties. I couldn't even tell when what was being depicted was of flappers at Coney Island became two hunks, one white, one black, sharing a young blond man.

When it got to the anal fuck, Myles took the initiative, bending me over the arm of the sofa on his side and covering me in a doggie. Elliott was off the sofa on that side, in front of me, with his cock in my throat. Halfway through the fuck, Myles moved me to where he was on his back against the sofa arm and I was on top of him, facing him, and fucking myself on his shaft in a cowboy.

As Elliott came back onto the sofa, positioning himself behind me, I looked toward the TV screen to see that the three guys on the sofa in the video were in this same position—one older guy on his back, the young guy riding his cock, and the other older guy saddling up behind the younger guy. So, that answered one of my earlier questions. They were going to do me together. This realization came in time for me not to be surprised to feel Elliott's bulb at my anus as he pushed his cock inside me on top of Myles's buried shaft, and the two began to pump me together.

Later, after I'd agreed to stay the night and we'd climbed the grand staircase to the second floor, Elliott stopped us in the upper hall, all of us naked, me between them, their arms encasing me and propelling me along.

"Look in this bedroom, Drew," Elliott said. "This could be yours if you came to live with us. We always like to have one of our students living with us."

Then we continued on down the hall to a much larger, grander bedroom, with a fourposter king-sized bed, where the two fucked me—three men in the bed—separately and together into the dawn.

They were in the kitchen, fixing breakfast, the next morning when I came down, groggy and not walking too straight. Before they realized I was in the dining room, I heard them talking about me—and Parker.

I left on good terms with them and with an offer on the table.

I had plenty of time to think it all through as I walked back to the apartment. Parker's Mustang was in his parking slot, but he was still in bed when I entered the apartment. The smell of the coffee I made, though, woke him and pulled him, just in his sleeping shorts, looking tousled but oh so sexy, into the kitchen.

"You just got home?" he asked.

"Yes."

"From Elliott and Myles's house?"

"Yes." I took my coffee and went into the bedroom and opened the closet door. I hauled my suitcase out of the back corner of the closet.

"How did it go?" he asked. Nothing to indicate that he didn't know what had happened in the pink Victoria gingerbread house the previous night.

"I'm sure you know how it went," I said, opening a bureau drawer and starting to transfer my clothes to the suitcase.

"What are you doing?" Parker asked.

"Moving," I said. "I'm going to live with Elliott and Myles?"

"Just like that?" Parker asked, putting his coffee cup down on top of the bureau and taking a step toward me.

"No, stay away," I said. "Yes, just like that. You're Elliott and Myles's pimp, aren't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"It goes all the way back to the museum and meeting under the Spirit of St. Louis, didn't it? You weren't researching anything. You were procuring a lay for your professors."

"What would make you think—?"

"I heard them say as much this morning. You stay on their good side by procuring guys for them to lay—to double. That's why you asked me if I'd doubled before, wasn't it? Because that's what Elliott and Myles like to do. And you checked out if I'd really do it by bringing in that black stud in the Dulles motel room. Well, the joke may be on you. They liked me so much that they asked me to move in with them. So, you may have worked your way out of your job pimping for them."

Just the look on Parker's face was all I needed to know in answer to that. Well, I did let guys double me, and Elliott and Myles did a good job of it. And they were offering me so much more than Parker did. There were two of them, and they both gave commands as well as Parker did.

So, that was that.