A week after Labor Day I went to the university to register for fall classes.
The hall where registration took place was crowded and noisy with students running around asking silly questions; not knowing where they should be. It was pure chaos. In other words, everything was normal.
It took me three hours but I managed to get the classes I wanted. Before I left the hall, I checked the large bulletin board and scanned the notices with ads like 'Roommates Wanted', 'Cars for Sale' and 'Help Wanted'. One notice caught my eye.
It read: "Tutor Wanted -- Math or Computer Science major needed to tutor special needs students. Room & Board plus small monetary compensation. See Professor Van Dyke in Tammany Hall, room 308."
I could be a tutor, I thought. I did it for two years in high school. Room & board? Wow! This could be the opportunity I need to get out of my parent's house.
Tammany Hall was next to Monty Hall where many of my classrooms were located. On my way there I wondered what I was doing.
First off, I was only a sophomore, and these positions usually were given to seniors, or students working on advanced degrees. Secondly, my parents would never allow me to move to the campus. They were control-freaks and wanted to keep me under their thumbs.
"What do I have to lose?" I said out loud, as I walked quickly across campus.
Inside room 308, four other students were waiting in an outer office. I could see they were older than me, so I figured I had no chance of getting the job over them.
I was disappointed and turned to leave when an older woman sitting at a desk called out to me, "Young man, please complete this application. It shouldn't take too long until Professor Van Dyke can see you."
I reluctantly took the application and sat down to fill it out. I figured it was a waste of time, but I didn't have anything to do the rest of the day anyway.
I was the last student sitting in the office when the woman said to me, "Professor Van Dyke will see you now."
When I walked into the office an older man I guessed to be in his fifties, introduced himself and we shook hands. He took my application and had me sit in a chair in front of his desk.
I saw his eyes narrow as he studied me.
"Just how old are you, son?" he asked.
"Well," I said, "I'm eighteen but I'll be a sophomore this year. I carried a full load of college credits my senior year in high school."
"Very impressive," he said as he settled into a thick leather chair and began reading my app.
"You're a double major -- computer science and math?" he asked.
"Yes, sir," I replied. I began feeling better about this, but I didn't want to get my hopes too high.
"And you tutored students at your high school, I see."
"Yes, sir," I said.
"Describe that experience for me," he said. He stared at me waiting for my response.
I cleared my throat then spoke: "I found it very rewarding. I worked with kids who were either failing or very near, and I was able to help bring their grades up to C's and B's, and in one case, a boy who was at the bottom of his geometry class received straight A's the rest of the term...I enjoy helping other students achieve positive results."
Actually, the kids I tutored were mostly big pains-in-the-ass, but I knew a person had to sell themselves during job interviews.
He suddenly looked at me in a quizzical manner which made me think he'd seen through my crap.
"Is your father's name 'Fred'?" he asked.
Uh-oh, I thought. My dad's such an asshole, if this guy knows him that would kill any chance I have for the job.
"Uh, yes, sir."
"And he owns Tri-State Construction?"
"Yes, sir," I said very softly.
He looked at me for several seconds with a puzzled expression.
"And you have a brother named Jim?"
I nodded.
"Strange," he said. "I've played golf with your father every week for two years and he always talks about his athletic son, Jimmy, but I don't recall him ever talking about you."
I felt my face blush a deep red. My feelings were hurt and my eyes misted over with tears.
He saw my pain; he knew he'd embarrassed me. It was easy to see he regretted his words.
"Ah...this position will take two-three hours a night of your time...would you be able to tutor other students and maintain your GPA?"
"I know I can do it, sir...I would love to have the opportunity to try."
During the drive home from the university I sang along with every song on the radio whether I knew the words or not.
I suspected Professor Van Dyke had given me the job out of embarrassment for his insensitive words, or with him knowing my dad, he felt sorry for me.
I didn't care -- when he offered me the job it was the single happiest moment in my life. I could finally get out of that house of horrors with or without my parents approval.
I told Professor Van Dyke how my parents didn't want me to live away from home.
He'd said, "Leave your father to me."
And sure enough, as I left his office he was speaking to my dad on the phone.
When I got home my mother immediately confronted me in her shrill, hysterical manner. The way she acted, you would have thought life on earth was coming to an end.
"This is impossible!" she shrieked. "You're just a boy -- you can't live away from home -- something terrible will happen to you! I'm not signing the consent form!"
And for the first time in my life I fought back.
"I'm eighteen, mom -- I don't need your consent! I'm doing this whether you like it or not!"
"GO TO YOUR ROOM -- WAIT TILL YOUR FATHER GETS HOME!"
She had always thought sending me to my room was some sort of punishment when, in fact, that was where I wanted to be anyway.
Without even thinking, I stripped to my string, bikini briefs, sat on the chair at my computer table and fired up my laptop.
When it was ready I typed in 'peniscocksandpricks.com' and clicked the mouse.
This site was my sanctuary - my home away from home. I would stare at two-three pages of erections first then click on links that took me to the wonderful world of man-on-man sex.
Thanks to Donny, I had now performed all the sex acts that were displayed on my monitor. When my prick began growing in my briefs, I looked over at my bedroom door and realized I hadn't locked it.
Knowing full well that neither of my folks would ever come into the room without knocking first, I went and locked the door anyway.
I still felt tremendous guilt and shame over my dirty little secret.
I pushed down my briefs; my prick was standing straight up and I slowly began stroking it. I stared at my favorite photo of a young guy on his knees with a beautiful, hard-as-a-rock penis in his mouth.
I fantasized it was me on my knees sucking that cock -- Donny's cock, and I could almost taste his precum on my tongue.
"Good boy -- good boy," I could hear Donny saying to me. "Suck my cock, little bitch-boy - make me cum in your mouth, faggot...."
My hand went faster. I pinched my nipples until I groaned. My eyes glazed-over and I strained to cum.
Suddenly, I scrolled down the page until my absolute favorite photo was on the screen.
A boy like me was bent over a bed, his head and shoulders resting on the mattress, a man's large hands held the boy firmly to him; half of his long, hard cock was buried in the boy's asshole.
I closed my eyes and relived my nights with Donny.
I could feel Donny's hands gripping my hips as he thrust into me. There was no escaping his relentless ass-fucking of me. He was overpowering; he was too strong for me. He was having his way with me and there was nothing I could do about it.
Then I felt the cum begin to boil in my balls. Donny fucks me faster and harder; his huge scrotum banging against my tiny ball sac with every violent thrust.
His plum-sized cockhead bumps against my prostate. I moan and furiously push my ass back to meet him. I love his cock in my ass. I can feel every ridge and vein sliding against the clasping walls of my tight asshole.
His cock is alive inside of me. Pulsating, expanding, until I hear him cry out and feel the first blast of hot semen deep inside my bowels.
"OH-GOD-YES," I shout when the sperm and semen rush up out of my balls and through my rigid cock.
I squeeze my cock hard as the cum explodes upwards; I open my mouth thinking the cum will shoot so high I can catch it with my tongue. It lands on my belly, on my arms and hands. I am gasping and panting for air. My naked buttocks are gyrating wildly on the soft leather chair.
Soon I am at rest trying to regulate my breathing. The slight headache my mother gave me is gone. My hot cum instantly grows cold, and now feels sticky and uncomfortable on my moist skin.
There is a void deep within me, a hollow emptiness, I am alone. All I have accomplished is temporary satisfaction. The underlying problem will not go away.
Soon, my dick will get hard again, and as usual, I will relieve the sexual tension while my emotional needs go unattended.
Oh God, how I want to find another flesh-and-blood man who I can love and who would love me; someone who loves and respects me as much as I do him -- a man who will make my dirty little secret disappear forever out of acceptance and irrelevance.
Sitting at the dinner table that evening was a bittersweet experience. My mom and dad engaged in a back-and-forth battle of epic proportions with neither side willing to give ground to the other.
My mother's arguments made me feel young, stupid and incompetent; and for the first time ever, I silently rooted for my father.
"He's much too young to live on his own AND get all his schoolwork done," my mother nearly shouted. "He's immature; he can't clean his bedroom now; how on earth is he going to clean a whole apartment? Who's going to do his laundry for him? Who is going to cook for him? The other students will be a bad influence on him -- HE'S TOO YOUNG TO LIVE ON HIS OWN!!"
"He's eighteen, for chrissakes, he's old enough to join the army!" my father countered. "He's old enough to vote -- The boy has to become a man sometime -- Quit coddling him--he needs space to grow and mature as a person."
I suspected that last comment came from Professor Van Dyke when he spoke with my dad earlier.
In the end, with both of them steaming mad and simmering in silence, barely picking at the food on their plates, I basked in the sweet glow of victory. I ate everything on my plate, rinsed my plate, glass and silverware, and retired to my bedroom in triumph.
My father's final declaration, the last barrage from his artillery, had won the war.
"DAMMIT, MARY -- THE BOY IS GOING -- END OF DISCUSSION!!"
