Everybody, male and female alike, on seeing Cortland Decker Crawford, couldn't help but stare at him. He could have been the poster boy for: hair styling, haberdashery, beauty and physical fitness products. He'd just turned eighteen and was breathtakingly handsome.
Cortland Decker Crawford could also have been chosen for: turd.url, boor.url, spoiledbrat.url and teenasshole.url.
He's a freshman, law student at Harvard; thus, his reason for being in Cambridge, Mass. His home is in Beekman Place in Manhattan's, upper-east side, where it's believed the greatest concentration of North America's filthy-rich have their home.
Try as I might, I could not picture the turd in his black robes with white dickey, pleading his case. I don't think Cortland Decker Crawford could've lowered himself to plead for his own life. But you know what, in spite of all his faults I still wanted to suck his cock; of course he didn't know that, yet.
My Grandma, Martha Alfredson, owned the male boarding house. Of course, a boarding house could never attract the elite, Harvard students, so Grandma cleverly advertised it as Chez Alfredson- french for Alfredson's Place. She'd been running the thirty room house, for which she got sinfully exorbitant rent, very successfully for more than thirty years; and we were completely booked for years in advance. Many of the boys, including Cortland Decker Crawford, were the offspring of former guests.
Oh, no, I thought to myself. It was two o'clock in the morning and I was in the kitchen drinking coffee when Crawford came in. It was my first opportunity to actually meet him, since he'd only arrived that day.
"Hi," I said, extending my hand, "I'm Zachary Alfredson, Mrs. Alfredson's grandson. Everybody calls me Zach, by the way."
"Yes." Was his reply, as he offered a forced smile. I wondered why he'd come into the kitchen. The uncomfortable silence that followed, though it had only been a few seconds, felt like a lifetime.
"Care for a coffee," I asked, "Or a glass of milk?" God, he was gorgeous. I couldn't figure out whether the tingling I felt meant I was on the verge of an erection, or that I needed to pee; it proved to be the former.
"I would like to have coffee, please." Hmm, coffee meant I'd have to expose my boner for a considerably longer time. Well, so be it, I thought, After all, I'm only twenty-two and I get an erection for no particular reason, a million times a day. Surely, rich kids have the same problem; and for him, at only eighteen, it's probably worse.
Wiping it completely from my mind, I got up and prepared his coffee. Of course, there's no way you can wipe a hard, throbbing dick from your mind, is there; especially with Cortland Decker Crawford close by and ogling it.
"Coffee's quite good," he said, breaking into a sincere smile, showing gleaming, perfectly straight teeth; he probably sees an orthodontist every month, I thought. "Do you work here with your Grandmother?"
"Yes, there's plenty to do around here; and she can't handle it, alone, anymore...It's a, surprisingly, large operation, you know," I proudly added. Then, considering the wealth of his family, I wished I hadn't. It was like comparing the profits of the corner, convenience store with those of Microsoft.
I felt uncomfortable with him but I didn't know why. Probably, it was because he'd always been the little prince who, now, found
it impossible to relate to the common class, of which, of course, I was one. Despite my hard cock and my desire to be close to him, I was relieved when Richie Foster showed himself in the doorway. He would, at least, share my discomfort. "Have you met Cortland Crawford?" I asked.
"Hi, ya, Cort, how's it hangin'?" Richie asked, making Prince Crawford cringe at being called Cort. Trust Richie to set off on the right foot, I thought.
"I'm quite well thank you," replied Cortland, sarcastically, "I presume that was what you were asking me." I felt embarrassed for Rich; he was such an easygoing guy.
Oh, God, no, I prayed, silently, my heart pounding when Richie picked up the book I'd been reading. I'd quickly dropped it on the chair next to me when Cortland had, unexpectedly, arrived."Oh, wow! Is this ever hot," said, good old Richie, "Listen." He ordered, and began reading. '... and they were a gang of at least eight; all strong, young guys. They ripped my pants off and pressed my knees against my shoulders; it was so awful, Freddy, they all had such big, hard erections. I was totally helpless; they pulled me to the to the ground. I screamed, in agony, when one shoved an enormous erection, all he way, into my anus. Then another, even larger, stopped me from screaming by straddling my face and forcing it into my mouth. I, tried to not swallow his ejaculation, but before I could turn my head to spit, another one pushed his way in. I was sure they'd kill me...'." He laid the book on the table, shifting his big, blue, laughing eyes from me to Cortland. "Can I borrow this, I'd love to know how it ends?"
"I don't know who it belongs to, so we should leave it right here, where I found it."
During Richie's reading, I watched for Cortland's reaction; on at least two occasions his hand disappeared beneath the table and there was a little squirming going on. My guess; however, was that he was locking his erection between his thighs to keep it well hidden. "Well, I'm going to bed, guys; try not to fight, huh?"
From my room I was able to see Richie leave, followed, about two minutes later, by Cortland. I went to turn off the lights; the book wasn't there. I doubted Richie would've taken it, especially after I said he shouldn't; I couldn't be sure, though. Hercule Poireau, I was sure, would've suspected Cortland Decker Crawford. I couldn't sleep, so, attempting to satisfy my curiosity, I went upstairs. Richie's room was dark but Cortland's light was still burning. It was all circumstantial evidence; and until I had Cortland's cock in my mouth, he'd only be a suspect.
During the following few weeks Cort had often joined me in the kitchen for our middle-of-the-night, coffee klatch. Generally, he had come to accept the Cort shortcut; actually, all the guys had started using it, so he had no choice. He only prayed hoped his parents would never hear of it.
He had changed dramatically. The others began to like him and welcomed him into their little groups. He and I became very good friends. I think he saw me as his mentor. Surprisingly, we became close enough that he admitted he had taken the book.
"I never read anything like that, before," he said, blushing, "I can't believe guys do the stuff in that book...do you think it's all true, Dach?"
"Sure," I told him, "Google it, you'll be amazed at what guys do...start with fetishes," I suggested.
"Could we, maybe, Google together, sometime," he asked. He was dead serious and I almost cracked up.
"Sure! Anytime you're ready, Cort; you just let me know when."
How about tomorrow night, instead of meeting for coffee?" he asked, apologizing because he only had a laptop. "Sure," I told him, "We can Google on your laptop."
I wondered if his parents had ever allowed him to go out without security. He told me that their greatest fear had been that he might be snatched and held for ransom. I was certain that had been the reason he'd been unable to communicate; he simply didn't know how.
