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:
-
It contains graphic descriptions of sex between men. In some cases, these depictions may get kinky, and include borderline S&M.
-
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.
-
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.
-
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 11
Musical Recommendation: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tSsiS-v6_6M "Theme From a Summer Place" by Percy Faith
June 20, 1962
Today is my birthday. I don't like birthdays, especially mine, with all the attention focused on me. This emphasis on the mile markers of the road of life just reminds me that I'm getting older and there's so much I still want to do. Plus there was the additional irritant, the knowledge that the guy next to me in the car, the guy I'd been having virtually non-stop sex with, was now officially 10 years younger than me. Luckily, I'd be spending most of today in my car heading back to Claremont. Now that I'd been to my condo and bonded with it, it was home now. Now I'm just going to Claremont to visit my parents.
The drive passed quickly, too quickly. The conversation between Stefan and I was friendly and relaxed. But we both knew that we'd be back to Claremont soon, and that things between us would change again. Hopefully we'd be able to solidify our friendship. I cringed at the possibility that we'd return to the animosity that we started out with.
I decided to go ahead and stop to our house first. We rolled in around 4:00 pm, and Tonto's huge white Crown Imperial was parked in front. I parked in back, where Sammy was out sweeping the walk. Stefan made a point to walk over and say hi, and shake his hand. His English was improving exponentially, and he even carried on a brief conversation with Sam. Sam looked at me with a question on his face, and I just shrugged my shoulders. I was so proud of Stefan.
Inside, I found Tonto and my Uncle Barry, along with my parents. They mobbed us when we walked in. Stefan told Tonto that he loved Chicago and my condo. He'd hardly spoken any English before, so she beamed with pleasure.
"So the place was nice JP?" my mother asked. I told her it was fabulous and described all the little details that the plans had left out. I made sure to thank Tonto and Barry for the great bed. When I said that, Stefan looked at me and I saw the twinkle in his eye.
My brother and his family came over later, and it was nice to spend some time with them. Jim is exactly like my father and rarely relaxes, so trapping him at home with my parents tended to force him to slow down just a bit. His wife is really nice, if a little shallow.
There was a dinner and cake, and Abe, Sammy, and Vella joined in for the festivities. I got some cool presents, all built around a theme. Everyone gave me art for my condo. My parents gave me two large paintings, very modern, that looked as if they'd been inspired by Jackson Pollack. Tonto and Barry gave me a beautiful sculpture that stands about 5 feet tall and looks like a very modern version of Rodin's "Thinker". My brother gave me a fountain, which was nice and would probably work best on my deck. These pieces would form the centerpiece of my décor, and I appreciated having a direction.
Sammy, Abe, and Vella stood off to the side, and I hoped they didn't feel bad because they didn't get me anything. Just having them here was enough. But Vella shyly pulled out a package wrapped in plain brown paper, about 2 feet by 3 feet. "This ain't much, but I hope you like it," Vella said. "Sammy's been painting a bit, and he did this himself." I tore open the paper and there was a painting, done in watercolor, of our house. It was a view of the house as if you were standing by the pool, and there, in my bedroom window, was a blurred representation of me. I noticed that, on close inspection, one could almost interpret a protruding member on the blurred figure, but no one but me would notice. I gave him a look and he snickered. Bastard. But it was a great painting, really well done. Of all the gifts, this one was the best.
"This is amazing. You have talent Sammy." I got up and hugged them all. My mother studied the painting carefully, then studied Sammy with a new, considering eye. In the end, despite my apprehension, it turned out to be a great birthday.
When the party was over and everyone was leaving, I insisted on driving Stefan home so we didn't have to lug all his stuff from my car into the Chrysler, and then into their house. While we were driving down the hill, Stefan asked me to pull over at a siding on the road. It was a popular place for lovers to make out, because it had a nice view of the city.
"Happy birthday," he said, and leaned over and kissed me passionately. When we stopped, now both hot and bothered, he handed me a small box. "I couldn't think of what to get you, and this is simple and cheap, but hopefully it will remind you of me." I opened it up and found a gold ring, wide but small, obviously designed for my pinky. The inscription inside said "love forever, SS." I put it on my right pinky finger and it fit perfectly. "I measured your finger when you were sleeping," he said shyly.
I kissed him again and only stopped when I realized that someone could drive by and see us, and the was the desire building up, the desire that could lead to us into going too far while simply parked on the shoulder of the road. "That is just the best present Stefan, but you didn't have to get me anything. How could I ever forget you?" I drove him home and unloaded all his stuff, then drove back up the hill to my waiting bed.
By the time I got home I was tired, really tired. The long drive, the party, all the food I'd eaten, not to mention the drinks, had taken their toll. I said goodnight to my parents, then headed to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. I always had a glass of water next to the bed when I slept.
"Night Vella," I chimed as I walked into the kitchen. I suddenly noticed Sam sitting at the kitchen table. "Hey Sam", I said with a nod to him. "Thanks again for the painting. That was the neatest present," I lied as I felt the pinky ring. Almost the best anyway. He beamed with pleasure.
Musical Recommendation: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ya8JM6lNs3U "The Lion Sleeps Tonight" by The Tokens
Making out with Stefan had another effect on me, and just thinking about him made me hard as hell. I was going to have to take care of business before bedtime. The windows were still open, but I liked it that way, seeing the lights of town in the distance. I stripped completely, lay down on my back and slowly started stroking my cock.
I fantasized that Stefan was there, that his lips were on mine, that his hard cock was pressing against mine. I reached around and pushed my own finger into my ass, pretending it was his. As deep as I was in my fantasy, I thought I saw some movement outside. I slowed down my stroke, and tried to look out nonchalantly. Was someone out there? Watching me?
There it was, movement! Someone was out there. I pretended to still be absorbed in my beat-off session, preparing myself for the next step. I counted slowly to three, then jumped out of bed and rushed out the door. There was Sam, standing in the shadows trying to stuff his own dick into his pants, looking terrified.
"Looks like I'm not the only big one around here" I said with a smile to Sam. "It's cool, don't worry about it Sam" He was practically shaking with fear.
"If momma finds out what I was doin' she'll kill me." He almost cried these words out.
"No one's gonna know Sam. Come on inside and relax." He really looked skeptical about that, but he acquiesced and followed me into the house. This time I shut the drapes.
He stood there, staring, still with fear in his eyes. I lay back on my bed, still naked, and started stroking my cock again. I looked up at him and noticed that his look had changed from terror to lust.
I stroked myself, tweaked my nipples, put on a grand show for him. His pants were bulging. I patted the bed next to me, and he slowly walked over to the bed. "Take off your clothes Sam, and join me." I was really being bold now, but he wouldn't do anything to get me in trouble because I caught him watching me.
He lifted his t-shirt over his head, showing me his chest and stomach. Sixteen and already the outlines of six packs. Then he dropped his pants and that monster flapped out and up. Damn he was big. Seems what they say about Negro men is true.
He lay down next to me naked and started stroking with me. I sat up and looked down at his body, watching him pleasure himself. Slowly I ran my fingers over his chest, gently rubbing his nipples. His back arched, and I realized that he was only 16 and wouldn't last long. I moved his hand off his dick and replaced it with mine, slowly stroking him while I sucked on his right nipple. I felt his hand wrap around my cock. We must have lasted no longer than a minute. He came first, shooting his wad all over his ebony chest. I took over beating my own meat and knelt over him, mixing my cum with his when I reached orgasm.
He smiled at me, and I smiled back. I handed him a towel. It was kind of uncomfortable now that we both had cum, and he seemed as anxious to get out of there as I was for him to leave. "Sam, I'm going to leave the door unlocked. Come by and see me any time, OK."
"Sure thing JP," he said, flashing me an evil grin, and he stealthily vanished from my room. I think I was asleep before he made it out the door.
June 21, 1962
I slowly roused myself from my sleep, and what must have been an amazing dream. I realized that it was no amazing dream; I realized that Sam was there next to me, gently stroking my dick. What a nice way to wake up! I stared at him and he got nervous and removed his hand. I grabbed his hand and guided it back to my dick. He smiled that amazing smile and went back to stroking me with a new purpose. In no time at all, I blew my load all over myself. As I lay there, enjoying my post orgasmic bliss, he stood up like he was going to leave, although how he was planning to do that with those tenting pants was a mystery to me.
I sat up so I was sitting right in front of him with his tent staring right at me. I leaned forward and kissed it through the fabric, running my tongue up and down the shape of his cock as it bulged in his pants. Apparently he really liked that, because before he could even pull his pants down, he blew his load in his underwear. He then hustled out, probably running off to get a change of clothes. "See you tonight Sam?" I asked. He smiled in return.
I showered and smiled, thinking about Sam. This was a twisted and dangerous road I was walking down. Not only was I messing around with another guy (illegal), I was messing around with a minor (illegal), and a Negro one at that (scandalous). I started to get hard again thinking about it, but I was starving, and hunger won out in the end.
As I was eating I went through my mail. I hoped I would have a letter from Andre, or maybe even Peter, but I wasn't so lucky. Instead there was a letter from an attorney in Columbus, Jacob Pratt, asking me to contact him regarding a personal matter. That was not a little disturbing. What could Mr. Pratt possibly want with me? Could it be that Isidore had decided to pursue Andre? If so, why would I get the letter from the attorney? I called his office and he asked if I could meet him that afternoon at 2pm. I didn't have any plans so I agreed. It was raining and gross outside, not the best day for a drive, but I guess it's better than hanging around the house all day. Besides, my curiosity, and a little fear, was too intense for me to put this off.
I made it to Columbus with some time to spare, but I headed directly to Mr. Pratt's office anyway. Luckily he was in and available early. Mr. Pratt is an older man, probably close to 70.
Musical Recommendation: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u2gvaDTpKMk "Duke of Earl" by Gene Chandler
"Thank you for coming on such short notice Dr. Crampton. There are some of your grandfather's affairs that concern you. Specifically, your grandfather left a trust, the proceeds and control of which revert to you upon your reaching age 26. According to my records, you reached that milestone yesterday. Happy Birthday."
I was stunned. I knew nothing about any trust. "Thank you Mr. Pratt. I had a very nice birthday. But this is all a surprise to me. I knew of no trust. And what about my brother? Did he get a something when he turned 26?"
"Dr. Crampton, I don't know why you weren't told about this trust. I am following the explicit instructions as laid out by your grandfather. He left this letter of explanation for you, and the proceeds of the trust have been invested pending your assumption as trustee. You'll find a list of assets attached. I will, of course, begin transferring these assets into your name. What address would you like me to use for future statements and correspondence?" He handed me a large packet. I was about to write down my address in Claremont, but I changed my mind and put my Chicago address down instead.
"Does anyone else know about this trust, or these letters?" I wondered who else was complicit in this deal, and who didn't tell me about this.
"My instructions, Dr. Crampton, were to maintain absolute confidentiality regarding this matter. As far as I know, there are only two people who are aware of the trust and the packet you are holding in your hand, and those two people are both in this room." Typical lawyer. Why couldn't he just say, `No, only you and me know about it'?
"Well I must thank you very much for your discretion and diligence. After I review this information, may I contact you if I have any questions?" I was anxious to study the packet, but I calmed myself and took my time.
"You are always welcome to contact me Dr. Crampton, but I fear you will be wasting your time. I cannot add any additional information to the contents of that packet." I wasn't clear if he would not or could not, but obviously I was going to get nowhere with him. I thanked him and shook his hand, then walked out with my packet.
Hunger reminded me that I hadn't eaten today, so I decided to take my packet to a restaurant and read it while I ate. There is a famous steakhouse close to Mr. Pratt's office, so I walked over there and requested a secluded table. That drew a raised eyebrow from the hostess, but I gave her a buck and she was more obliging.
She handed me a menu and I put both it and the packet in front of me. A cute young waiter was there in a flash, so I ordered, getting everything out of my way except the packet. It was pretty thick. I undid the seals and removed an envelope. It was addressed to John Paul Crampton, and, from what I can remember, it was in my grandfather's handwriting.
June 22, 1936
Dear John Paul,
You are only one day old now, but by the time you read this you will have turned 26. The first thing you'll be wondering is why I waited until you were 26 to give you this letter and trust. I'm using my own life experience to influence my decisions. It wasn't until I was 26 that I was mature enough to play an active role in Crampton Construction, so I'm hoping you have matured as quickly as I have.
To the point. My son, Jack Crampton, is not your biological father, and I, concurrently am not your biological grandfather. Some nine months ago your mother had a brief affair with another man. I was aware of it, because I know everything that happens in town, but your father was not and still may not be. I did not choose to interfere in the emotional aspects of their marriage. There are certain legal matters that did require attention, and I took it upon myself to settle those on your behalf.
Your natural father is Bill Hendrickson. He is probably unaware that you are his natural son as well. As I write this letter, those who are aware of your true parentage are me, your mother, and George Hendrickson, Bill's father. All have sworn to maintain that silence. I doubt that your mother is aware of this letter or trust, so, assuming that George and I are dead, you are the only person who is aware of the contents of the packet now in your hands.
You may ask why silence was deemed vital. There are several reasons. First of all, and most importantly to me and George, we wanted to maintain the reputations and integrity of our families. We have all worked hard to reach the positions of responsibility and stature we now hold, much too hard to risk it over a family scandal. Next, we felt that you would have a more normal and supportive childhood if there were no conflicts over your parentage. I hope that has proven to be true. And finally, such a revelation would probably dissolve two marriages, and that would undoubtedly harm the environment that your siblings would be raised in. It seemed to be in everyone's best interest to preserve confidentiality.
There were, however, legal issues to resolve. As a son of Bill Hendrickson, you would presumably be an heir to his estate, which, God willing, should be quite large. Such a legal claim would undo all of our efforts to keep this issue silent. Therefore, acting in your interests, I have negotiated a settlement with George Hendrickson, whereby he has provided $40,000 in exchange for you renouncing your patrimony. I accepted that renouncement on your behalf.
I had considered just absorbing the money into our family, but I didn't feel that would be fair to you, as it is your patrimony, not ours. Therefore I have placed it in trust for you, and, hopefully it has been managed well and will provide you with substantial resources of your own.
I would like to ask, or if need be to beg you to strongly consider maintaining the confidentiality of this whole affair. You will undoubtedly evolve to be a smart young man, and I'm sure you can see the damage that revealing this information would inflict. I don't know whether I liked you, or you liked me, so I can't rely on our relationship to influence your decision. I'm a difficult person to know, and even more difficult to love, so chances are that wouldn't work anyway. Instead, I rely on your inherit intelligence, compassion, and logic to respect my wishes.
Regardless of what happens, I pledge to you that I always will treat you and consider you as my true, biological grandson. I hope, as you read this, that you feel I have honored that pledge.
Alexander Crampton
Just as I finished reading the waiter brought my lunch. I sat the letter aside, staring at it, trying to digest both its contents and my lunch simultaneously. It was difficult. All my life I had been a Crampton. I had identified with my family, cloaked myself in their power, money, privilege, and pride. They had educated me, they had raised me, they had loved me, and, in my father and brother's case, they had done it under false pretenses. In reality, they didn't love me; they loved their son or brother. Two thirds of my family and my entire identity had just been carved away from me.
That meant that my sister-in-law was really my half-sister. And it meant that Tonto is not my aunt, another person tricked into loving me. And Stefan. Stefan is not my cousin. I pondered that for a second and that actually was a positive. At least my relationship with him wasn't incestuous. But Billy, my best friend bar none except Andre, my childhood companion, he wasn't my cousin either. I felt alone. Terribly alone. And I felt dirty, like I'd been part of this whole deceit, part of this huge trick. These people had all been fooled into caring about me, about even having me in their lives, and I am an unwitting accomplice. I found myself stuffing food into my mouth without tasting or noticing it.
The young waiter returned and asked me if I'd like something else to drink. "A double vodka, straight," I told him, and I ignored his funny look. The bomb that had just been dropped on me was short-wiring my brain, and I was having a hard time wrapping my head around it. I wondered if I ever would.
My mother! She was the reason for all of this in the first place. If she wasn't such a slut, if she'd been a faithful wife, none of this would have happened. And all these years she's known. All these years we've been so close, I'd considered myself her favorite, and she was lying to me about one of my most fundamental things. I'm sure she was bullied into doing it by my grandfather, but he's been dead for 15 years now. She didn't know about this letter or the money. So her plan was to never tell me. Or maybe she'd tell me on her death bed.
Musical Recommendation: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xsEB_BFQc7k "Goodbye Cruel World" by James Darren
The vodka came and I tossed it back and asked for another. The waiter said nothing but scurried off to get me what I wanted. I wanted to have my mother here in front of me right now, to call her a bitch and a slut, to tell her that I couldn't love someone who could lie to me about who my real father was.
My father or at least the guy that I thought was my father: He was the big dupe in this whole thing, and my heart went out to him. His slutty wife does one of the other guys in town and he has no clue. No wonder I don't look like him. But he's never shown me anything but the love and devotion any good father would give to his son. No, he's gone beyond that. Yes he lets business take up a lot of his time, but he is always there for me when I need him. If he knew about this it would devastate him.
That was the moment that I realized I would have to honor my grandfather's wishes. I could never reveal this secret. I could never do that to my father. Or my brother for that matter. I would have to join the ranks of the lying, cheating hypocrites and maintain the code of silence. Only now, instead of being an unwitting conspirator, I was now an active one.
The second shot of Vodka arrived and I downed it too; the young waiter seemed relieved that I didn't order another one. "Can I have my check please, and a box for my food?"
"Certainly sir," he said as he whisked off to run the tally. Probably glad to get the weird drunk guy out of his restaurant.
I thought of my grandfather, the crusty old bastard. He's right, he was tough to love. It would be just like him to dream up something like this so as not to jeopardize his family and position. And he'd sold me out for $40,000. I guess I could go back and sue, but I knew I wouldn't, and he knew that too.
That prompted me to look at all the other papers. They were financial statements, going back to 1936, delineating all of the revenues and expenses of the trust. I flipped to the last one, showing the current assets. The value, as of March 31, 1962, was almost $400,000. That's a shitload of money. Some was in real estate, some was in bonds, and the majority was in stocks. Now I'd have to find a broker to help me handle all this. Great. I guess if I was poor all this money would be a big deal, but I'd been so spoiled sponging off Crampton money that it didn't really resonate. That I was independently wealthy, very wealthy, didn't come close to replacing what I lost. I tossed a $5 bill on the table and walked out to my Pontiac. That was almost a 100% tip, but I figured money wasn't a problem, and I was a little tipsy.
The alcohol had dulled the pain, but I was still thinking clearly. I walked back to Mr. Pratt's office and asked to see him. He was surprised to see me so soon.
"Dr. Crampton, I told you that I can't answer any additional questions about that packet." He was defensive. He knew all about this. Crafty old fucker.
"Mr. Pratt, I'm wondering if you have a place where you could safely store this packet for me. I would prefer that it not accidentally fall into someone else's hands." His expression changed briefly, just for a second, to relief. Yeah, he knew, and he realized that I was going to honor my grandfather's wishes.
"Certainly Dr. Crampton. We charge..." I stopped him. "I'm sure you can bill me in Chicago. As you are aware, I can afford it."
"Of course," he said, and took the packet from me.
Ironically the weather had cleared up and the sun was shining. What kind of perverse symbolism was that? I walked to the parking lot and my waiting, shiny Pontiac. I thought about how I wanted a Ford Thunderbird instead, and how my father had refused to even consider it. According to genetics, I was a Hendrickson so I should be driving a Ford.
I'd gotten back to Claremont and was trying to decide whether or not to go home. Stefan was having his English lessons, and he was the only one I wanted to see, so I decided to bite the bullet and head up to the Heights.
The roads were slippery and I was deep in thought when I came to one of the many blind curves on Skyline. Coming down the hill, on the other side of the road, was a large utility truck. I saw it and even though it was within its lane I moved to the right to give it more room. I turned the wheel, and it seemed as if nothing was happening, so I turned it more. That was too much. I felt the right tire rumble through the gravel shoulder. I turned left quickly, trying to compensate, but it was too late. I felt the car slide sideways, then down, and then I was airborne. It seemed like I was weightless, floating for an eternity, but suddenly there was a shattering crash, and everything went black.