One Summer at Stevens Point

Revised version copyright 2006 by the author.

Back in my dorm room I was too keyed up to sleep. There was no doubt that Mike Wagner wanted me, but he wasn't going to let himself have me. And there was nothing I could do about it. He wasn't the first man I'd encountered this week who was terrified by himself.

I finally decided to get in bed, hoping maybe sleep would sneak up on me. I clicked off the light, lay down and tried to relax. I tossed and turned for a long while, but finally physical fatigue got the upper hand. Just as I felt pleasant drowsiness finally begin to take over, my eyes flew open.

There it was again, an unmistakable soft tap at my door.

I quickly got up, snapped on the light and opened the door, not bothering to cover myself up even though I was dressed only in my briefs. I knew without looking who it was.

Mike was standing there, dressed in shorts and old T-shirt. He was barefoot, his hair still slightly damp. "I woke you up." He spoke softly, apologetically.

I shook my head. "It's okay. Come on in."

He hesitated. I jerked my head insistently. I knew he had gathered all his courage to be here and I wasn't going to let him get away now.

"Come on in before some mother sees me like this and reports me to the director."

He smiled at that and stepped forward. I drew back to let him in, then shut the door.

"Want to sit down?"

Mike shook his head. He tried to speak but only a croak came out. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I-- I know it's late and I'm sorry. I don't why I came here..."

"Yes you do," I said.

He opened his mouth to speak but I didn't give him a chance. Quickly I put an arm around him, drew him toward me and placed my lips on his, letting my tongue dart into his mouth. He tensed and tried to pull away, uttering a muffled protest, but I tightened my grip. After a moment he returned the kiss, his body relaxing against mine. I slid one hand underneath the waistband of his shorts and claimed, for the second time, the swelling cock in his thicket of pubic hair. Deftly I worked it to full erection, drawing his shorts down with my other hand.

I knelt and engulfed him, tasting the distinctive acrid flavor of an uncut penis, letting my tongue play over the sensitive area just below the head. Salty precum flowed into my mouth. Mike sighed softly and stroked my hair with one hand. I worked him until he began to groan more audibly, then abruptly I pulled away, leaving his cock wet with my spit, the head engorged and red.

I stood and looked into Mike's eyes. "Why did you stop?" he asked.

"I don't do guys for trade," I said.

"Trade?"

"I'm not into men who stand and do nothing," I said. This, of course, was not quite true. "Your turn, Dad."

I was taking a calculated risk--he might turn on his heels and leave again. On the other hand, I sensed that Mike wasn't going to take the lead. For him to get any further on his journey of self-discovery I was going to have to push him.

He lowered his eyes. "I'm sorry. This is all so new to me. I know I'm acting like an idiot. Tell me what to do, Alan."

I shook my head, smiling a little. "You don't need a teacher, Mike. Not for this. Just go with the flow."

Mike hesitated, then slowly raised his hand and ran it down my chest. "You have a nice body," he said.

"Thanks," I said. His hand crept into my briefs and grasped my cock tentatively.

"Feels nice," I encouraged him.

"May--may I suck it?"

I was amused but touched by his shy request. "Sure," I said. Mike moved toward me, his shorts still halfway down his thighs. "Hold on." I pulled off my underwear, then turned my efforts to undressing the rest of him.

"You are one magnificent looking man," I said, taking hold of his wrist and drawing him with me as I backed toward the bed.

In a moment he was kneeling with his head in my crotch as I sat on the edge of the bed, bobbing up and down with awkward eagerness. His obvious need made up for his lack of technique, but finally he accidentally scraped me hard enough so that I yelped.

"Watch those teeth, man."

"Oh Christ, I'm sorry," he said.

I pulled him upward. "Stop apologizing. It's not going to be perfect the first time you try it. You should know that, being a Suzuki Dad."

I lay back on the bed, Mike stretching out on top of me. We kissed some more, but somehow the mood wasn't right. I nudged him over onto his back and grasped his cock, intending to bring him off and end it. As I got a rhythm going, though, Mike stopped me.

"I don't want to cum yet."

I stifled a sigh. "Tell me what you want, then."

Mike looked at me. "You're sweet, Alan. Thanks for putting up with me. I know I must seem foolish to you."

I shook my head, embarrassed that he had read my mind. "No, Mike--"

He continued as if he hadn't heard, the words rushing from him. "I always knew I had these feelings. But you can't be that way in a small town in Wisconsin. So I buried them, for the sake of my marriage, my daughter.

"Then Lois died, suddenly. Heart attack. I was devastated, of course. But slowly I started thinking about--being with someone again. Only I knew it couldn't be a woman. I had absolutely no idea where I'd ever find anyone, though. I'd just about given up, until this week. But I've watched you teach Molly, talked to you, heard you play. You're a kind and gifted man. And you're so handsome."

Now I was blushing. "Mike, I'm not God or anything. Just a horny guy who thinks you're hot stuff."

Unexpectedly a knowing look appeared in his eye. "Am I hot enough for you to fuck?"

Caught by surprise, I sputtered. "You--you want me to fuck you?"

Mike nodded.

"Well, I don't know." All of sudden I was the uncertain one. "You know, it can be hard the first time. I don't want to hurt you."

"Alan. I'm forty-six years old. I've thought about being with another man for so long. I don't know when I'll have another chance with someone like you. Please."

I thought of another objection. "Problem is, I don't have any protection--" All of a sudden I remembered that wasn't true. There was a condom tucked away in the outer pocket of my toilet kit.

"I don't care." Mike's chin came up. "I trust you."

I shook my head, stroking his bearded cheek. "Let me teach you one thing right now, Dad. Never let anyone put their bare cock up your ass on a first date." I changed tack and playfully tapped his nose. "Besides, I lied. Hang on a sec."

I reached to the desk next to the bed and retrieved the kit. Sure enough, it was there when I unzipped the pocket, the wrapper a bit battered but intact.

"Now let's see." I fished out a bottle of Cornhusker's Lotion. "Hmm—oil free. That ought to do."

Mike was lying on his back, his eyes following my every move.

I opened the bottle and poured the thick, fragrant substance onto the fingers of my right hand. "Knees up," I said. Mike obeyed, planting his feet apart to give me access. I reached underneath his balls into the crevice between his cheeks, found the soft, puckered flesh of his asshole and slipped inside with one finger. I heard his quick intake of breath.

"Hurt?" I asked.

"No. Just feels strange."

"Take it easy, try to relax." I slid past the smooth warm flesh and gently stroked the firmer mass of his prostate.

"Nice."

I pushed a second finger in and began to slide in and out, twisting my hand, opening him up. Mike's feet rose in the air and he tossed his head from side to side, sighing with pleasure. Seeing his enjoyment was definitely getting my juices flowing again, judging from the state of my cock.

"Damn, that's sweet, Alan."

"Ready for the next step?" I asked him.

"God, yes."

"I'll be honest with you, Mike. It might hurt a little at first. Let's try it with you on top," I said, pulling him to a sitting position. I tore open my condom, quickly unrolled it over myself and covered it with another handful of Cornhusker's.

I lay on my back on the bed. "Straddle me." Mike obediently knelt above my prone form, his cock pointing stiffly outward, dripping precum. I took a twisting swipe at it with my greased hand, grinning at him as he gasped.

"Now just sit down slowly. I'll make sure it gets to the right place." I took my sheathed cock in one hand and his ass with the other. As he bent his knees and lowered himself toward me, I looked into his face and smiled encouragingly.

"Take a deep breath and relax. Pretend you're taking a shit, push out."

Mike closed his eyes. I felt the head of my cock slowly slide in, stretching him. All of a sudden I felt the ring of his sphincter muscles close around my shaft and knew I was in.

"Oh god!" Mike cried. "It hurts." Abruptly he pulled his body up, disengaging himself. "Shit. I wanted this so bad."

"Mike, listen to me. Your muscles cramped, that's all, they're not used to it. Rest a moment and we'll try it again."

He shook his head, his face forlorn. "I don't think I can."

"Mike." I wasn't going to let him turn back. "You said you trusted me. Do you trust me now?"

A beat, then Mike nodded. "Good man," I said. "It's going to happen this time. Do exactly what you did before." I pressed into him again, even more gently and slowly, whispering, "Relax...take it easy...breathe." Again I felt him opening, and the ring of muscle grab my rod. His anus squeezed my cock spasmodically as he took more and more of me. He didn't pull up this time. Finally I felt his weight on my pubic bone. He had taken me all the way in.

"You got it all, baby. How does it feel?"

Mike's eyes were screwed shut, his mouth taking in quick gasps of air. He let out a short, incredulous laugh. "Jesus, I'm doing it. I'm getting fucked. I can't believe it."

His happiness was contagious and I smiled in response. "Believe it. Now use me. I'm all yours."

Mike quickly got the hang of it and began to ride my cock. I pushed his knees upward and planted his feet on the bed so that he was squatting, thrusting my body upward to meet his downstrokes. He grunted with pleasure at every movement, his face turned upward, his eyes closed, drinking in the new sensations.

"Lean backward," I said. Mike obeyed and his eyes flew open. I knew my cock was rubbing against his prostate. "Good, huh?"

Mike grinned down at me. "What other things can you teach me?"

I struggled to a sitting position, keeping him impaled on me as I cradled him on my lap. I bent forward and tongued one of his nipples. Abruptly Mike's hand grasped my head, drawing my face toward his. Our mouths met, teeth, lips and tongues grinding against one another. I reached down and began to masturbate him as we kissed. Muffled noises began to emanate from Mike's throat.

He broke away and cried out, "Oh god, I'm going to cum."

"Do it," I said through gritted teeth as our movements became frantic. "C'mon fucker, give me that sweet load."

We were both conscious of the thin dorm walls, but Mike's gasping breaths seemed as loud as shouts in my ear as hot fluid erupted from his cock, spotting the hair on his heaving stomach and chest and running down over my pumping hand. I felt myself lurch past the point of no return and screwed my eyes shut, grunting half in agony, half in ecstasy as I shot, and shot again into the rubber buried in Mike's ass. I let go of his cock and clamped my arms around his body as both of us heaved and shook with the convulsions of orgasm.

Finally I relaxed my grip, and we melted into a sweaty, sticky embrace. After a while I eased Mike's body back onto the bed, pulling my spent cock gently out of him. He grimaced as it popped out. "I think I'm going to feel this in the morning," he said.

"You will. Every time you take a step you'll think of me," I teased him. I bent down and licked some of the cum off his stomach.

"That's not safe, is it?"

I smiled at him. "I trust you."

I sat up and pulled the rubber off, wrapping it in tissue paper and tossing it in the wastebasket. When I was done, I lay down next to him on the narrow bed and took him in my arms. Mike nestled his head against my shoulder.

After a few minutes he stirred. "I'll fall asleep if I stay here any longer. I've got to get back. If Molly wakes up alone she'll be scared."

I knew better than to argue. "Okay. Let me clean you up." I got a towel from a nearby chair and wiped his body, mournful at the thought I wouldn't be seeing it again. Mike stood and put on his clothes, then turned to me. We hugged, prolonging the moment as long as we could.

"I probably won't see you in the morning." His voice was gruff. "We're going to get an early start, around six." He stopped. "Alan, I don't know what to say. Thank you."

I smiled at him, though my chest felt tight. "Thank you will do just fine. You're welcome. See you next year?"

Mike nodded. "I hope so. Good night." He slipped out the door.

The bustle and noise of the building being vacated woke me at six-thirty, voices and feet hurrying past my door. I dressed quickly, opened the door and padded in my slippers down the hallway to where Mike and his daughter had been staying. The door was open, the room empty. I walked in. A faint scent of aftershave hung in the air. I had known they would probably be gone, but a hollow feeling still rose in me. Finally I turned and went back to start my own packing.

My evaluations from the students I taught and their parents were good, and I was rehired for the following summer. Sitting in another small dorm room a year later, I scanned my roster looking for Molly's name, but it wasn't there. The Wagners weren't listed on the master schedule either.

I mentioned them to Dorothy King, the Institute director, who had a remarkable memory for names and faces, considering how many kids and parents came to Institute every summer.

"I noticed they weren't back," she said. "No idea why. Nice family. Unusual for a single father to come with his child."

She sensed my disappointment. "You know, we have everyone who's been to Institute during the last five years in our database. You can come by the office and get their information if you want to contact them."

I shrugged and said, "It's nothing. Thanks anyway."

Later that week, though, I changed my mind. When I got home that August I sat at my desk in my apartment, with the paper on which I had written Mike Wagner's address in front of me. Beneath it I also had written his phone number, but I knew I would never use it.

Over the next few hours and with many false starts, I wrote, inquiring after him and Molly, hoping that she hadn't stopped playing the violin, keeping everything light and conventional in tone. Only at the end did I add: "I missed seeing you this year. I hope you'll keep in touch."

I mailed it the next day. I told myself I didn't care whether he responded or not, but the way my stomach clenched every time I collected my mail that fall mocked my attempts at self-deception. The Christmas holidays came and went before I conceded that he wasn't going to write back.

Though I returned to Stevens Point to teach year after year, I never saw Mike Wagner and his daughter again.

It didn't hurt to remember him after a while. Once in while, either at the Point during the summer, or in the big city during the year, usually in bed just before falling asleep, images would come back-- the tenderness in his blue eyes when he talked of Molly, the hair on his chiseled chest, his gasps as he climaxed, his penis pulsing in my urgent hand. Meanwhile, my own life proceeded, and I was mostly alone. I tried to bury myself in my work, and most of the time I succeeded. Mike Wagner's memory was a mirage, a faraway dream. Perhaps I had imagined the whole thing. Still, I treasured what remained.

TO BE CONTINUED