The book tour culminated in a month long guest lectureship at a prestigious liberal arts college in Sonoma County, California. After three weeks of fending off gay men, I was glad for the reprieve.
It was a small progressive institution with a highly respected creative writing program. My only responsibilities were to teach a seminar of eight students. The seminar met three times a week for two hours and a one hour personal tutorship with each student weekly. The writing assignments were rigorous and required careful assessments by me. For all this, I was being generously compensated with a ridiculous pile of money. Of course, housing was provided and rental car as well. All in all, a very sweet deal.
People imagine that being an author is a lucrative profession but most writers have to augment their income with teaching positions. I was fortunate to have sold the movie rights for two of my books but that income stream could not be counted on. For the security I needed, teaching was my best option. I was hoping this guest lectureship might provide me entree into the good life behind ivy walls where I could continue to publish as well as teach.
The campus was beautiful in a manner quite apart from your average beautiful campus. It was cradled in an arbored valley between the grassy hills of wine country just east of Santa Rosa and west of Napa Valley. The breeze was redolent of flowers and meadows. The architecture was Spanish Deco, a mix of traditional and modern chic. It was enchanting. I blame that enchantment for my being a few minutes late for my first session. When I finally arrived, seven eager faces awaited me around a deeply burnished oak table that took up half the cozy room. I apologized profusely and settled in to hear each student introduce themself. We were just finishing when the eighth and final student came bursting through the door. The embarrassed student quickly took a seat and extracted a laptop from his backpack.
"Sorry. Sorry," he stammered. "Really, I am so excited about this seminar. I meant to be early, but ..."
"Well, we had just finished introductions so why don't you tell me your name, hometown, and ambitions.
"Okay, I'm Lief Svenson from Hibbings, Minnesota and I hope to write literary fiction ..." he demurely added, "like you."
"Well, Lief, if you take this seminar seriously, you will arrive on time. That's important because your fellow writers already know something you don't..." Lief squirmed slightly as his pale Norse skin edged toward red. "... that I was also late." Laughter diffused the tension and Lief relaxed. "Hibbings? Do you know any Zimmermans?"
Lief gave a wry smile at my reference to Hibbings's favorite son, Bob Dylan. "I only get that question from people of a "certain" age. Most Gen Zs ask if I know any Eriksons."
"Okay, I find your reference to my age slightly offensive. On the other hand, I'm flattered that you consider my novels Literary Fiction so it's a wash." I sensed I was going to like this delinquent budding writer. I turned to the rest of the class. "Now let's get to work."
While I readily confess to having been swept into a lusty froth by several provocative men, I had never been attracted to a man at first sight. Until now, that is. At first glance I wondered if Lief was male or female. Slight of build, he was probably no taller than five foot six, with a torso of no particular definition. There was a swell to his hips, however, and I glimpsed a fullness in the seat of his jeans. His blond hair was shaggy with sweeping bangs that almost concealed his eyes, which would be a shame. They were pale blue and highlighted by the perfect arc of his eyebrows and the translucent sheen of his lids. Lief's skin was alabaster without the vaguest hint of a beard. Prominent cheekbones had a healthy rosy hue and his full, shimmering lips were tinted a feint pink. There was an androgynous quality to him that was enigmatically beautiful. Lief Svenson might well have been Liv Ullmann.
Over the course of the seminar each student was required to write a 30-page short story. In preparation for the first session, they had been tasked with providing me with descriptions of the main characters and a preliminary plot summary. As the session came to an end, I said "Please drop-off your assignments as you leave and I will see you on Wednesday."
An awkward silence ensued, then one of them informed me that the essays had been posted to the seminar's website. Now the awkward silence was mine. I cut a glance to Lief and said "This is what you get when dealing with a man of a 'certain' age."
As they laughed and began shuffling out, Lief stayed behind. "Let me help you find the seminar site," he offered.
With that, he took control of my laptop and started navigating his way to the site. I watched over his shoulder as his graceful fingers flashed across my keyboard. So close to him, I was arrested by a beguiling earthiness wafting off his nape. My mind began to fantasize and I was consumed with the impulse to nuzzle his neck. I breathed his musk deeply and, being so close to his ear, Lief must have heard. He looked up with a sheepish wince.
"Sorry," he said.
"About what?"
"I know I give off an odor."
"Don't apologize. It's not offensive. Just the opposite, in fact. What is it?"
"It's me," he shrugged. "Pheromones, I guess. I shower twice a day but it just comes back. It causes problems but what can I do?" His eyes were lucent pools -- deep, sensuous, promising. "Here on campus people are mostly cool but out in the real world ..."
"What happens in the real world?"
"Like ... I went to Santa Rosa with a couple of friends, both female, to catch a movie. I got pulled over. The cop was one of those closeted homophobes hiding behind a badge. When he got a whiff of me he was enraged by his arousal. That's how it goes with assholes like him. Cognitive dissonance over their unresolved sexuality makes them crazy. Anyway, he pulled me out, slammed me against the hood and started to frisk me. But it was more molestation than police procedure. He even thrust his crotch against my ass while patting down my arms. That only brought his nose closer to me and he got a bigger whiff and that sent him over the edge. My friends had their phones out and were videoing the whole thing. It's all on TikTok. He was visibly aroused when he patted down my legs. Or groped me, is closer to the truth. His hard-on was actually tenting his pants. If my friends weren't videoing and yelling at him, he would have either raped me or beat my brains out right there in public. It's a problem that soap and water can't wash away."
I was stunned by his story but my own erection attested to its truth. I was inclined to ask his sexual preference but knew that would be wildly inappropriate. Instead I said, "That would make a hell of a story to write about."
"Oh god, I'm not ready to write anything that personal ..." Then he added with a wink, "... even though I do occasionally write some pretty erotic stuff."
I laughed. "I'd bet every writer has a folder filled with that sort of thing."
"Ooh? You, too? We should swap some stories!"
"I'm pretty sure that could get me fired."
"Well, maybe someday. Anyway, I've got the seminar site bookmarked, so just click here and you're in."
Lief left me in his lingering fragrance. I gathered my computer and papers, then rushed back to my apartment to masturbate before my imaginings disappeared.
Ejaculating swept the prurient cobwebs from my mind so I began to read the writing assignments. They were what you would expect from such a selective institution, ranging from very good to excellent. Lief's was unquestionably the best. His characters were vivid yet flawed. His outline demonstrated pace and tension where actions met with consequences. Still, like the others, it was just a good start.
As the weeks went by, the seminar progressed better than I had anticipated, mostly because I learned as much about being an instructor as they did about being writers. The students shared their work each session and we collectively developed a very collegial dynamic of balancing encouragement with critique. That burnished oak table became a sanctuary where we challenged and nurtured each other.
Secondary to my objective of mentoring young talent was my determination to maintain a professional distance from Lief and his entrancing ambrosia. During the seminars it was as easy as keeping an expanse of burnished oak between us. Lief sensed my discomfort and always sat as far as possible. But that distance was impractical during our one-on-one sessions. Then, we sat an arm's length apart with just the barrier of our separate computers corralling my impulses. This allowed me to maintain my concentration around Lief, however, I still scurried back to my place to choke the old chicken.
Weekends were my opportunity to explore wine country. One Saturday after visiting the tasting rooms of four separate vineyards, I got back to town pleasantly buzzed but wanting more. It was ten-thirty so I dropped into a bar just off campus. Even though the place was hopping, I managed to squeeze onto a stool at the bar. With a bottle of craft beer in hand, I made a survey of the place. Two of my students were sitting at a crowded table off to the side and I spotted Lief rocking the dance floor surrounded by a coterie of three comely coeds. As lovely as the young women were, Lief shone above the others.
He wore white cuffed shorts and a salmon colored tank top. The shorts revealed shapely legs as smooth and agile as a Rockette's, and the fabric was taut around the roundness of his ass. Lief was a great dancer, and no matter what step his feet might take, his hips undulated with bawdy insinuation. He was sexy as hell and didn't care who knew it. Fascination had me by the balls.
I was into my third beer when Lief noticed me. He waved excitedly then excused himself from his friends and wound his way across the bar. "Professor," he teased, "it's great to see you out and about on a Saturday night."
"I should probably be in bed. I've been prowling through Napa all day and am definitely over-imbibed."
"Oh boy! The hottest faculty member on campus with his inhibitions drowned beneath the fruit of Bacchus. I'm glad I get to witness it."
Framed by lips glistening with a raspberry gloss, his smile was electric and his pheromonal musk became even more intoxicating when mixed with perspiration. Ardor fired within my loins and I realized the hazard presented by the combination of alcohol and Lief's proximity. I raised a halting hand.
"You are a caution, my friend," I said with slurred speech, "and you vex my roguish nature."
"Do you always flirt in pentameter?"
Alarm bells were sounding in my mind as I laughed. "Please don't encourage my bad pentameter." I waved to the bartender for my tab. "Now I better be off before I disgrace myself further."
Lief sighed as he let his eyes linger with mine. "Okay. I'm sorry. I don't mean to tease but ... I'm aware of the effect I have on you and it makes me ... well ... feel thwarted, I guess." Then he shimmied his shoulders to the beat of the music, turned, and danced his way back to his friends, his ass swaying coquettishly.
Thwarted, he said. Unfulfilled? Frustrated? Did he desire me, too? I glanced back as I was leaving. I caught Lief's eye and he winked.
