Too Young

Dear Readers,

I apologize for the time of which I've taken to get the next parts to you. I know a lot of you were hoping for another chapter of "Prom Night." If you've taken a look at the comments on both the last chapter of that story and the previous chapter of this one, then you know now that I still intend to continue both of them. If you haven't stumbled across that yet, then I'm happy to tell you that the next part of "Prom Night" will be arriving shortly (I'm editing it now.). I want to thank everyone, again, for reading and for your feedback. I hope you'll all enjoy where both stories will go as much as I enjoy writing them.

Till Next Time,

-Steve

*****

Too Young

Part 2: Wednesday

"Temptation to behave is terrible." - Bertolt Brecht

He could have drunk a whole bottle that night.

But Jason Argos knew that wouldn't do. Whiskey was fine, but too much of it would bring the memories back. He didn't want that. With them would come the loneliness.

It wasn't that Jason didn't want to remember Michael. He loved him. But twenty-six years was a long time. Too long to spend more time crying over it. Jason took a sip of his whiskey in the second floor apartment he rented four blocks from campus. Its warmth spread through him as he lounged on the sofa, watching the television in the corner which was tuned to the local news.

Damnit, Michael.

The phrase rang in his mind again and again, until he had to mentally push it from his brain. It wasn't fair, Jason knew, but life seldom works out the way it's planned. Although he had tried since he was gone, Jason found there was no one with which he could connect. That was why he stuck to the sidelines, not even having a kiss with another man until that Friday.

He thought of Ben.

Maybe he had been too hard on the kid; he was clearly an excellent writer. Probably the best in the class, although he'd never admit it. But boys needed to date boys and men needed to date men. That was the way it worked for years, probably ever since anyone could remember. And what craft Ben was skilled in was nothing to compensate for immaturity.

But was it immaturity at all?

Jason didn't know.

Sure, he could see no reason why the boy would openly kiss him to try to settle a dispute. But there was something more, in the writing. Ben was never cocky like some of the other students; he did not say much of anything in class at all.

Just settled in and let his writing bring whatever praise it would, humbly. And when it came time to revise drafts, Jason had to admit the boy was a cut-throat.

Did he look down too much on that?

Jason considered it as he drank in the dimly lit apartment, also silently wondering how long Ben took writing his piece.

***

Ben didn't know why he did it.

It was nothing he would have normally considered with Professor Argos. And nothing he ever did in an argument before.

So why, then?

His mind fielded the question, but Ben had no answer for it. It was an act that came natural, spurred by a push within him. It bypassed all logic, ideas, and decision making to feed off of primal instinct. There was no answer for why it happened the way it did because there was no motivation behind Ben's act.

That was at least the way he reasoned it when he thought about it during his other classes throughout the day.

He had to apologize to Professor Argos; there was no way around it. Even if the man was an asshole, he was the man who would be grading his papers and helping him improve throughout the rest of the semester. Ben knew if he didn't that it'd be awkward for the rest of it and even potentially harder to pass the class.

Ben tried to imagine his options as he stared at the cracks in the plaster ceiling above his bed. The afternoon sun poured through the blinds of his dorm room, making their web of lines glow darker against the white background. On one of the lines zig-zagging, he could imagine the uncomfortable silence of facing Argos as he apologized.

What does someone say to that? "Sorry I kissed you, now please don't fail my next assignment?"

Ben almost laughed at that, thinking that it could be a real sight to see. He could almost imagine the pissed off look on Argos's face; the man wouldn't be amused at all.

Then there was a different option.

But that involved a lot of paperwork.

***

When the Wednesday session of his Creative Nonfiction class came, Ben made sure he was early. He held his paper clipped packet of papers close to himself, breathing slowly as he watched his classmates file in to take their seats. With each arrival, Ben knew that it would be moments before Professor Argos himself would arrive, and his fear tangled into knots as he considered what might happen.

But Argos never arrived.

The rest of the class waited ten minutes, then left Ben alone in the room. He sat there for a few moments, wondering how he could go through with his plan now. Email was an option; it would be painless. But regardless of whether or not he emailed Argos, Ben knew he would need the man's signature. That meant an email and a meeting in person. He didn't know if he could handle that awkwardness.

Ben shouldered his backpack, slowly walking out of the room and then continuing toward the exits. As soon as he was outside the building, the warm touch of sunlight hit him, and he understood what had to be done.

He had to find Professor Argos.

It was the only way to get his signature and ensure the man was out of his life indefinitely. With his mind made up, Ben looked through his phone to find the PDF of the Creative Nonfiction class syllabus. He scrolled until he found the professor's contact information at the end and found his office listing:

TAFTON BUILDING, SUITE 345.

Two buildings away. Ben didn't waste time thinking it over any longer; he started on his way walking faster than normal. He reached the glass and steel Tafton Building five minutes later, took an elevator to the third floor, and found the office suite down a long hall of drab industrial carpeting. He approached in silence, telling himself that once his meeting with Professor Argos was finished that it would be over. When he at last reached the open office door, Ben took a deep breath before stepping in front of it.

"Can I help you?"

It wasn't Argos but a short woman with long red curls who was sitting on his desk. She looked up from a literary magazine she was reading while a girl at the other end of it was frantically writing on notebook paper. Ben didn't know what to say.

"Can I help you?" The woman repeated.

"Errr.. I was just looking for Professor Argos," Ben stammered.

She nodded, then turned to her student as she rose to her feet. "Keep writing, Julie; you only have another twenty minutes for that essay." She faced Ben. "He's not here right now; actually, he's cancelling all of his classes today. He's taking a personal day. I'm just using his office because they're fixing some pipes in mine. Is it important?"

Ben could feel his heart beginning to quicken as he tried to think of a reasonable excuse; if he told this woman the truth, Argos would know of his plan before it could be put into action. He decided to only give her a piece of what was true. "Erm... Well, I kind of need him to sign a form for me, and I kind of need it done as fast as possible. Actually, today if it can be helped... I can only have him sign it..." He trailed off, his eyes trying not to give himself away.

After a moment, she nodded, took a sticky note from the top of the laminate desk, and scrawled something on it. Then she took Ben into the hallway with her a few feet from the doorway. "Here...if your form is really that important... I'm not really supposed to do this, but he is a pretty good friend of mine. And if you're really thinking about dropping his class, he'll want to meet with you about it right away. He lives about four blocks away from campus." She bit her lip and then continued. "Just please destroy it afterwards; we usually try not to give anything like this out."

Ben was speechless as he took the sticky note from her. He didn't know he was that obvious. "How did you...?"

"Please, I've been an adjunct long enough to know when a student's going to drop. Anyway, that's between you and him. Good luck." She left him there in silence and went back into Argos's office.

She shut the door behind herself.

***

When Ben pulled into the parking lot, he looked at the address scrawled on the sticky note again to make sure he had the right place. What lay before him was not an apartment complex but a Fluff and Stuff laundromat. Its broad front windows gave the impression that it was once some kind of store but was long ago refurbished with rows of white top loading washing machines.

He coasted his rusted Hyundai through the gravel lot and then stopped. On the far side of the paint peeled building, a burgundy pickup truck with a Tilly University faculty parking sticker sat facing the side of the building. When Ben pulled in beside it, he found that there was also a set of wooden stairs behind the building that stretched up to the second floor.

He got out with his form, breathing deeply. He could feel his chest tightening as the nervousness set in; this would be the moment of truth. If Argos signed his Withdrawal Form, Ben would be finished with the class and free to take it with another professor—any other professor—next semester.

And if he doesn't?

Shut the fuck up; you're going to fucking jinx it.

He didn't want to think about that possibility, but he reasoned that if Professor Argos was just as uncomfortable from the kiss that he would most likely want Ben out of his class too. Slowly, he climbed the shaded steps, his feet kicking away stray leaves from last fall as he did. When he reached the top, Ben checked the address again and held his Withdrawal Form closer to his chest.

Apt. 2 Harper St

He passed the first door with its brass number 1 plate and then stopped at the far end of the wooden decking. Ben's eyes went from the brass number 2 plate to the darkened windows, then back again. He tried to play out in his imagination what the tall professor would say, but his mind was blank. He found his fingers crinkling the paper note in his hand and stuffing it into the pocket of his khaki shorts.

Finally, Ben knocked.

He wasn't sure for a moment if he had actually done it as he stood in the stillness of the tree covered deck, waiting. But then the front door opened to reveal the burly Creative Nonfiction professor, clad in jeans and a tank top. They eyed each other for a minute in silence before Ben found the nerve to speak.

"Hey."

"Hi," Argos said.

Ben swallowed hard. "I was wondering if you could sign a form for me... I'm sorry to bother you."

Argos said nothing, only held the door open wider for the smaller man to come inside. Ben did and found himself in a small kitchen with Formica countertops and a linoleum floor that squeaked when he walked on it. Argos shut the door behind them, and they were alone together. They paused, and Ben took a moment to look at him. Based on the amount of hair poking out from the top of the tank top and in his armpits, he guessed that Professor Argos had to be very hairy.

"So what kind of form is this?" Professor Argos asked him, yanking Ben back to reality. Argos walked into the next room. Ben followed into what he found was the living room, furnished with an old couch and a newer television in the far corner. Mint green carpeting stretched from one end of the room to the other, making the white walls look dingy. Argos took a seat on the couch.

"Well, it's a Withdrawal Form; I'd like to drop your class." Ben hesitated as he chose to sit at the other end of the couch. Although it was older, he found its cushions to feel like pillows, and it helped him to relax.

Argos leaned forward to sit on the lip of the couch, the tiny coffee table in front of him looking like a doll's toy from his bulk of a frame. When his professor buried his head into his hands, Ben caught a glimpse of the hairs poking out the back of Argos's jeans.

The man's probably hairy on his ass too.

Stop it! He's an asshole; don't even think about him like that.

But Ben could not deny that Argos was attractive for a professor. Even if he was an asshole.

His thoughts were torn away from the mental debate by Argos's words. "I'm afraid I can't do that, Ben."

Ben's hands clenched and unclenched as he tried to calm himself. The form crinkled a little each time, until the sweat on his palms made the paper damp. "What?"

"I'm sorry, Ben."

"Ha! You're sorry?" Ben couldn't hold it in as he dropped the form on the table. He was afraid of Argos doing this. Overriding Argos's decision would be tough.

Argos bit his lip, then started. "Ben—" But before he could continue, Ben cut him off.

"You're unbelievable," the college student said. He was on his feet in an instant, making tracks for the door. Argos followed. "First, you feed me some crock of shit about age, and then—"

Ben didn't bother looking over his shoulder as he spoke, and if he had, he would have seen just how angry he was making Professor Jason Argos. "Are you going to fucking let me talk, or what?"

The professor's words stopped Ben in his tracks.

Argos breathed a heavy sigh. "Don't fuck yourself over because of me."

The younger man turned around slowly. "What do you mean?"

Argos rolled his eyes and shook his head in disbelief. "What do you think I mean? You're a great writer."

Ben shook his head. "Oh, great, more bullshit from the professor who doesn't give a shit." He turned away to open the door, but before Ben could reach the knob, Argos gently spun him around and backed him against the wall. He put one of his bearish arms on either side of Ben, his thoughtful eyes looking deeply into Ben's.

"Ben," Argos lowered his voice, almost laughing, "Are you going to let me finish? Or do I have to tie you up?" Ben disregarded Professor Argos's joke, just returned his gaze to the man. Their eyes locked. When the college student said nothing in response but looked to the floor, he continued, "Please listen to what I'm saying."

Ben was silent.

"Ben, you're a terrific writer. If I'm honest, probably the best in the class. You have so much potential and have accomplished so much hard work this term. You have the highest grade in class. I'm sorry if I was too rough on you, and you know what, you were right. I was the biggest asshole to you. Just please don't fuck yourself out of all your hard work because of my fuckup."

Ben said nothing.

"Okay?" Argos finished.

The look on Argos's face was softer, unlike the gruff expression Ben knew so well from class. When he looked at it, he saw a man different than the one he thought he knew. The sight of his eyes made tears well in Ben's eyes; he didn't mean for them to form. But once they did, he found that he couldn't hide how Argos affected him.

Argos watched him in silence. He didn't flinch as Ben stared back at him, not even when Ben's soft hands touched the warm flesh on the back of his neck.

Then, slowly, Ben watched as the face of the softer Argos got closer to his own. He didn't know if he was pulling his professor in or if the man was doing it on his own accord. But their lips met in a soft kiss.

Their lips were about to break apart, and then they crashed together again, harder. The two men—one older and the other younger—attacked each other with hungry mouths as they longed for another kiss. The lips dueled for dominance, their make-out session growing deeper with each moment. Ben could feel himself pulling Argos in as if he would slip away at any moment, as if his survival depended on his professor's lips.

Argos pulled the younger man away from the wall just enough to wrap his arms tight around Ben. When he did, Ben could feel the warmth of the tank-top close against his chest. Argos's chest rose and fell against him, and he felt safe in the older man's embrace, knowing that it was just the two of them. No one else in sight. His arms adjusted to hug Argos closer by his lower back, seeking to let his older partner know how much he wanted him right then.

Then they were moving.

But Ben couldn't say where. The other side of the kitchen? The living room? His mind was disoriented as their lips fought to cover every part of each other in affection. He felt the scruff of Argos's neck and chin as his lips kissed him all over, could feel the tingle of the hairs on the back of his own neck stand up as Argos planted kisses of his own just below Ben's earlobe. He was aware that they were moving, and a tiny glimpse allowed him to see another doorway.

But that was all.

Their feet were tangles as they moved, kicking off shoes and slippers, as if they were snakes shedding their skins. With every touch and lip-lock, their hands grew bolder, exploring each other's hairlines and their backs underneath their shirts. At last, Ben made the first move, breaking away to roll Argos's form fitting tank-top up his body, and with the professor's help, over and off entirely.

He could finally look at just how hairy his professor's chest was. The mat of hair was thick up top, growing into a dusting on his lower abdomen. A gold cross lay on the mat, hanging low almost on the same level of his small nipples. A thick trail of hair ran down the center from there and stopped just above his waist, like the cross and the trail were arrows pointing down to where Ben would find he was hairiest. It was a coarse hair, lightened with age in silver tips on the strands. Ben's cock twitched in excitement.

Their arms found each other again, and Ben could feel the tingle of Argos's lips and scruff on his neck as the professor held his student close. Argos ran his tongue from under Ben's ear down to his shoulder where he gave the boy a suckling kiss on the shoulder. Ben felt the tip of Argos's teeth give a slight nibble with it; his body shuddered from it. He would have lost his balance from the pleasure if his fingers hadn't clung to his professor. He moaned as he stretched up to the man of six foot five, and his tongue fought to pleasure any inch of the hairy professor it could. It traveled through the scruff on his neck and down to the Argos's collarbone.

The older man let out a sigh of pleasure, then roughly pushed Ben away to peel his shirt off. The fabric rolled up his body with such speed that it brushed Ben's face like a wash cloth scrubbing his pores. Still he could not have cared less; his body had given over to the moment. No thoughts, no what-ifs about why this was happening. There was only bliss in the moment.

Pure fucking for the sake of fucking.

As soon as the shirt cleared his head, tousling his coppery red hair, it was gone. Thrown somewhere across the room in the confusion as Ben rushed back to Argos. Their bodies collided as the back of Argos's knee backed against an unmade full-sized bed. The older man lost his balance and fell back into the covers, dragging Ben down on top of him in his protective embrace. Ben could feel Argos's hairy body encircling him as he fell with him, the coarse hairs caressing every bit of his exposed flesh they touched. His torso—devoid of hair except for a small tuft in the center of his chest and around his belly button—tingled with the sensation of the thick black-gray fur.

As soon as they collapsed on the bed, however, Ben was roughly sprawled on his back, where Argos trapped Ben's wrists in one of his hairy paws above the boy's head. His mouth suckled and kissed Ben's chest, emitting a whimpering moan from the boy as Argos's tongue danced on the skin. It trailed down to his right nipple first, and Ben gasped as Argos began sucking it. His mouth ravaged the erect circle, alternating between softening it with its warm, wet tongue and lightly scrapping its teeth across it. Argos's other arm pulled the college student's waist close to his own, where the large bulge of his jeans mashed against the smaller bulge Ben had.