I always sit close to the new boy on the sofa, and while I am advising and lecturing him, my hand will occasionally rest on his shoulders; sometimes gently stroke the back of his neck; then move to his thigh, first giving it a friendly squeeze then very softly, trace my fingertips back-and-forth over his inner thigh.
"You know I'm not gay, right?" said the cute little bugger with big blue eyes, shifting uncomfortably beside me.
Once they ask me that question, or blurt out "Sorry, I am not gay" I know I have them right where I want them...that within a few minutes I'll have their hard dicks out of their pants and not long after they'll be stroking mine, as well.
"Of course you're not, I knew you weren't gay the moment we met!" I say with a sincerity I have perfected over the years.
Then I lie with a smile on my face: "My ancestors are from France β all of us French people use our hands to express ourselves...don't let it bother you, okay?"
"Oh, okay, Professor," he softly replied.
When he averts his eyes I glance at his crotch. I can plainly see the beginnings of an erection. It generally takes fifteen-twenty minutes before the special 'breath mint' I give the boys when we first meet to take affect.
After ten-minutes or so, their youthful pricks begin to slowly rise. They start to shift uncomfortably on the sofa; they subtly try to hide their growing excitement with their hands.
This is when I go to work on their thighs. These boys are so sexually inexperienced, I am positive they rarely, if ever, have felt another person's hand this close to their genitals.
I talk softly to this boy but I doubt he is paying attention to my words. He is so horrified by his bodies reaction, he simply nods, and occasionally clears his throat.
I love the expressions on the faces of eighteen-year old boys when they find themselves sitting next to me with raging hard-ons...they become befuddled and confused, red-faced and mumbling, and in many instances, scared to death as to why they would spring a boner being with an old guy like me.
Once he is fully erect, I make sure he sees me staring at the bulge in his pants then I say, "You probably haven't been with a girl in a long time, have you?"
Nine-times-out-of-ten the boy will turn bright red when he sees me looking at his crotch; he'll then try to cover the bulge with his hand and stutter some nonsense such as "Uh, yeah, it's been way too long" or "Yeah, I've been too busy studying" or my favorite "My girlfriend is coming to town this weekend β I'll get laid when she gets here!"
I am certain that most of the boys living in my building are virgins, or have little-to-no experience with females.
How do I know this? Because I rent to only the shyest, quietest, and nerdiest boys who the university sends to me in search of an apartment; and frankly speaking, during our initial interview, if my cock doesn't twitch or get hard inside my slacks the boy has no chance of living here.
With a look of grave concern on my face, I ask the boy, "Tell me the truth, son, you've never been with a girl, have you?"
Half the boys will vehemently protest, "No-no, I've had sex with girls β lots of girls!"
I will glare at them and remind them that I demand total honesty; that if they wish to receive grant money for their education, and live in my building rent-free, telling the truth is not only desirable, it is mandatory.
Seventy-percent of the boys will then admit to being virgins, but most will insist they have 'done things' with girls.
The little blue-eyed cutie next to me was no exception. I had him figured to be as pure as the driven snow.
"I had a girlfriend my senior year," he said.
"Did you have sex with her?" I ask him.
"Well, yeah, sure we did!" he said.
"Did you two fuck?" I bluntly ask so I can see his reaction.
His cheeks immediately redden. I squeeze his thigh so close to his crotch his body shivers then I intentionally brush the bulge in his pants with the back of my hand and he cries out, "PROFESSOR!"
"You never had sex with her, did you, son?" I say to him.
He sadly shakes his head and replies, "Well, not what you said...but we did 'things' in my car."
This is the time to get personal and break down the boy's barriers. I use crude language for the shock effect.
"Did she suck your cock?" I forcefully ask the trembling boy.
"Oh no, she was a good girl β she wouldn't do that..." he said softly.
It was time to go on the offensive.
"If you didn't fuck her and she didn't suck your cock then you lied to me when you said you 'did things' with her in your car β I won't tolerate liars, boy!"
"No-no, Professor, I'm not lying β she used her hands on me...you know..." he said through watery eyes.
"Well then boy, call it what it is...she gave you handjobs, right?" I asked firmly.
"Yes, sir...she gave me h-handjobs...." he reluctantly said.
"Okay, good...and naturally, you and your closest boy friend or friends gave each other handjobs too, right?" I asked with a straight-face.
His blue eyes shot wide open. "No, Professor β we never did anything like that β I told you I'm not gay!"
I narrowed my eyes, scrunched my face, and said, "Why would you think boys giving each other handjobs is gay? My God, son, you're very naΓ―ve, aren't you?"
"B-But I, uh, well..." he stammered.
"I read that you're from Wisconsin, right?" I asked him.
"Well, yeah, but we never---"
I interrupted him, "I've had several boys from Wisconsin living here and they all assured me giving their closest friends handjobs is quite normal growing up there...too bad you missed out on that, you wouldn't be so sexually frigid and backwards like you are now!"
I don't recall ever having a boy from Wisconsin staying here, but what the hell?
My voice softens. "You know, son, if you want to live here I have certain 'house rules' I expect my boys to abide by..."
"I, uh, know you expect us to maintain at least a 3.75 grade average, sir," he replies in a weak voice. "...and I can do that!"