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Meeting with the Professor



Meeting the Professor.jpg

I could see his hulking topless form from across campus.  His body seemed to reflect the sun, like the wet rocky face of a rain-soaked mountain.  It was like light sought out and emphasized every muscled bulge and tensed ripple.  For an entire semester, I had obsessed over what his body might look like under his clothes and now I was going to find out.  He saw me walking up and he smiled – more sunlight was deflected towards me.  He was sitting on the back of my car, obviously waiting for me.  It was clear he knew I couldn’t avoid him if he surprised me this way.  I walked hesitantly toward him, forcing myself to not look at his body. 


“Hiya, Professor.”


“Good afternoon, Oliver.  Um . . . you’re on my car.”


“I this your car?  Wow, who would have guessed?”


“Is there something I can do for you?  Something that you want?”


His smile turned a little mischievous.  It was a subtle change, but his eyes signaled the change, as well.  My heart started to race and its beat pounded in my ears.  A little sprinkling of sweat appeared at the back of my neck.  I felt at that moment – with profound certainty – that the handsome young man gazing back at me knew me better than anyone else in the entire world.  I felt the urge to turn and walk away quickly, but the warmth from the sun he emitted enveloped me like a heavy blanket on a cold night.  I was trapped, but I knew I didn’t really mind. 


“Come on, Professor, we both knew this is where I’d be on this particular day, at this particular time, dressed in this particular way.”


“We did?  I usually have all appointments with students carefully marked in my calendar, Oliver.  I don’t recall setting up this particular meeting.”


“I’m twenty-three, the semester officially ended about an hour ago, I’ve already met all the requirements for graduation, and this so-called appointment has been booked since the first day I walked into your class.”


“I don’t understand.”


“A biceps-hugging light blue t-shirt and butt-hugging jeans with holes at the knees.  Don’t say you don’t remember, Professor.”


My god, what guy with blood pumping through his veins and air in his lungs could possibly forget the sight Oliver described?  It was etched in my psyche for eternity.  It had been the fodder for enough dark night, self-satisfying seed spilling I couldn’t have erased it from my mind if my life had depended on it.  He had walked into the large crowded lecture hall of almost one-hundred and fifty students and it had been like a spotlight hit him at the doorway, followed him to his seat, and highlighted him for the entire class . . . well, actually, the entire semester.  Today, the sun was his spotlight.  I cleared my throat – in hopes that it might help me to dismiss a growing excitement in a specific region in my body. 


“I was actually a little bummed that I couldn’t go shirtless in your class, Professor.  I know that would have pleased you a lot.” 


“Oliver, I’m not so sure we should be having this conversation…”


“Professor Michaels, every time we had a meeting in your office your hands shook, beads of sweat formed on your forehead, and the most eloquent teacher at the university fumbled for words for the entire session.  Trust me, I’ve learned to read the signs from guys I turn on.  I also think about you every time I lift some heavy weight in the gym and during other not-to-be-mentioned activities, as well.  You pretty much dominate my mind every waking hour.  You can’t honestly tell me that you thought the attraction was only one way, now can you?”


He was completely right – I had noticed his lingering around after class, his volunteering to be on any class committee that had to meet with me, and the way his clothes had become tighter every time he showed up for class.  I’d even noticed he wrote my name a few times in the margin of a book he borrowed – obviously forgetting it was there when he returned it.  The adorable, juvenile, love-sick action had confirmed my suspicions and fueled masturbatory sessions for many weeks.  The book of Rilke’s poetry with his handwriting still had a place of honor on my bedside table. 


“Oliver, I don’t know…”


“Professor, don’t.  Please don’t disregard me as if this were some kind of childlike crush.  I’ve added twenty pounds of muscle mass this semester, simply because working out helped me to survive the torment of not being able to talk to you – honestly and openly.  It’s been hell and heaven at the same time for me.  I’m thinking it’s been the same for you.  Please, let’s not waste time pretending there’s nothing going on here – between us.  As sure as I am that the sun will rise tomorrow, I’m even more certain that this kind of connection doesn’t come around that often.  Technically, I’m no longer a student at the university.  As we both know, walking across that stage in a few days is just pomp and circumstance.  It’s all for show.  Treat me like an adult, please.  Don’t patronize me.”


You would have thought a huge boulder had just been lifted from my shoulders – that’s the kind of relief I felt.  Briefly, I imagined the beefy stud in front of me holding that big boulder above his head, my very own Hercules rescuing me, but then I quickly dismissed those thoughts.  It was a force of habit.  The freedom his words caused, however, was undeniable.  My body was suddenly no longer tense and the dizziness in my head disappeared instantly.  I signaled for him to move over and slid up on the back of my car beside him.  I put my satchel across my lap, not wanting my body’s reaction to his huge muscles and his loving words to reveal my inner thoughts even more at that particular moment.  I paused to give us both a moment to calm down. 


“Twenty pounds, huh?”


“Of pure muscle.”




“Not nearly as impressive as the ninety-nine I worked my ass off to get in your class.”


“You did work very hard.  Do you know how hard it was for me to not give you a perfect score on your final paper?”


“Even though I felt bummed, Professor, I was actually impressed that you didn’t give it to me.  I tend to get things I don’t deserve, sometimes.  I guess people like to reward the work I’ve done with my body.  I know you’re into all of this, but you didn’t let that sway you on my grade.  That’s showed a lot of integrity.”


“What makes you think I’m into your body?”


“Look under your bag for the answer, Professor.”


I turned to look at his beaming face.  ‘Touché,’ I thought and smiled back.  We held each other’s eyes for a few seconds.  His dark skin, perfect teeth, broad nose and humongous traps made me stop breathing.  It felt similar to the first time I had ever seen the ocean or the moment I noticed gay undercurrents in the poetry of Walt Whitman for the first time.  You realized a seismic shift was happening even in the simplicity of the moment.  I let my smaller clothed shoulder brush up against his beefy arm.  Even though it was not a skin-to-skin touch, it sent off lightning-like jolts in both of our bodies.  The young man actually sucked in air and I could tell his abs tensed inward hard.  My toes cramped badly from being instantly scrunched in my shoes.  We didn’t stop looking at each other.  It was simultaneously the most comfortable and awkward moment of my life.  I was lost and didn’t know how to move forward.  I did what I always did in those situations.  I turned to poetry.


“when I fall,

i don’t just fall in love.

clumsily, i stumble

down and then I land”


To my utter surprise, Oliver recognized the poem by Cnè and continued.


“awkwardly and graceless,

stuttering utterly at the foot

of a handsome man”


Silence surrounded us as we drank in the intoxicating vastness of the moment.  He was simply gorgeous.  In that miniscule moment in the scheme of the world, I felt the weakest and most powerful I had ever felt in my life.  I was shocked that two opposing feelings could exist so vividly at the same moment.  I knew the muscled man before me felt the same way.  I wondered if it was bizarre for such a strong body to suddenly feel defenseless and small.  I had a feeling Oliver was experiencing the ‘weak at the knees’ syndrome for the first time.  Or maybe not.  I experienced it every time he was around. 


“I came one time when you read poetry in class.”


You could have knocked me over with a feather.  At first, I thought he was joking, but the look on his face assured me he was not.  My face revealed my shock.


“It was the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to me.  It was also the most exquisite orgasm I’d ever had.  You’d be amazed to know the strength it takes to not jerk about wildly or scream in ecstasy while you ejaculate profusely in such a public place.  Luckily, it was at the end of class and I was able to dart out the door before the aroma of semen permeated the lecture hall.  I couldn’t go to any of my afternoon classes that day.  I was too spent.”


“I’ll have to read that particular poem to you in a more private setting one day.”


You would have thought he had just won the Mr. Olympia contest from the look on his face.  He had rightly noticed the promise of an intimate rendezvous in the future.  He tensed his chest and arms in joyous celebration and my eyes were drawn to the flex like a moth to a flame.  It was his gift to me in response to my revelation.  I had a feeling my satchel rose a few inches – my response to his tightened body was instant and uncontrollable.  He let his hand drop between our legs and stroked my thigh lovingly with a big strong forefinger.


“I’m much more than just muscle, Professor.”


“I know that, Oliver.  It would be easy for me to ignore you if you were just a pretty body.  Don’t get me wrong, your muscles are what made me notice you.  I’m a sucker for big bulges.  But it was your mind, your talent, and your sensitivity – laid out in your poems, papers, and other work that made me fall in love with you.”


There it was.  The miraculously most honest thing I had ever said in my entire existence and it came out so easily.  No poem came close to matching the emotion in that moment.  My words were like the big bang that had created the universe.  Oliver’s massive chest heaved upward as he let out a slight gasp.  His eyes instantly filled with tears, as did mine, and it seemed like we were in a race to see who had the first drop to slide down a cheek.  It actually happened at the same exact moment – surely that was some kind of sign.    


“This kind of joy usually makes me want to flex.  I like to pose when I’m happy.”


“Then I’ll need to make sure you are happy a lot.  I know we’re out in a public area and all, but surely a quick biceps flex would be acceptable.”


“Would that please you, Professor?”


“You have no idea how much, Oliver.”


The young man lifted his right arm slowly, never taking his eyes away from me.  He clearly wanted to soak up my reaction.  My gaze, however, was only on the massive biceps that was being tensed into a hard, bulging, mighty mass.  It was my time to gasp.  I worried that the underside of my satchel might end up getting very sticky.  What I beheld wasn’t just an arm – it was a mountain of thick, solid, blood-pumping, vein-covered muscle that made the gorgeous Oliver like a god, in my opinion.  I’d seen those big things straining the sleeves of so many shirts I could have sketched them perfectly upon request.  But seeing his right gun flexed powerfully just for me was thrilling beyond what I ever could have imagined.  I knew my eyes had popped open wider and my chin had fallen downward – making my mouth into a gaping hole.   How could a man carve such beauty simply by lifting heavy weight?  I found it hard to even fathom the hours upon hours Oliver had spent in the gym molding that perfect mound of manly brawn.  Here was a work of art that would never become old or unimpressive to my eyes.  I was simply overwhelmed at the thought of Oliver possessing hard muscles and power beyond that of normal men.  He was a Greek god to me and I was so ready to worship.


“I dream about you touching my arms all the time, Professor.”


“Funny . . . I dream about the same thing.  I think it’s time you start calling me, Phillip, don’t you?”


The bulging biceps ballooned bigger and harder in response.  I had clearly granted a secret wish that had existed for a while.  I was pleased my given name could bring him so much pleasure.  Oliver lowered his arm.  It was as if he knew, like I did, that continued posing could lead us into territory not appropriate for a parking lot in the middle of campus.  I immediately missed the engorged hard biceps, but was happy that my gaze could return to his handsome, smiling face.  He continued to stroke the side of my thigh with his finger. 


“My roommate has thankfully never figured out why I sometimes say your name loudly in my sleep.”


“Maybe he thinks you have a thing for Phil Smith, that junior who is captain of the swim team.  He is hot, after all.”


“What?  No way.  He’s too young for me and wouldn’t know a good poem if it slapped him across the face.  You think he’s hot, huh?  Should I be jealous of his tight swimmer’s build?”


“We both know you were aware of the answer to your question before you even asked it.  My dreams are never filled with a swimmer’s body.”


“What are they filled with, Phillip?”


The satisfaction he received from saying my name for the first time was so obvious that the joy was infectious.  I smiled at the sound of it rolling out of his beautiful mouth.  He said it again, just to make me smile more.  Oh, how I longed to kiss those perfect lips and feel his strong tongue invade my mouth. 


“Mostly by what you just flexed, Oliver.”


“That little thing?”


“Yes, your little arm that dwarfs mine by about five times.  Those arms that make your shirtsleeves look like they are constantly struggling.  Those mountains that often keep me up late at night.”


“No pun intended.”


“Hah, yes, no pun intended.”


“It took me a while to figure out you were into muscle.”


“I’m ‘into’ a lot of things, Oliver.  A man’s physical form just happens to be one of them.  Especially if the form is very well developed, as yours is.  I’m afraid there is part of your dear old Professor that is very shallow and somewhat improper.”


“I’ve always hoped so.  I’ve wanted you to do improper things to me for a very long time.”


“Oliver, I’m almost twice your age and less than half your size.  You should be looking to meet some hot guy that spends his time in the gym and not the library like I do.”


He gave me a serious look, then closed his eyes, and began to speak beautifully. 


“They are so moving in
their sadness, gentleness and longing –

all the sad old men who once

were all the sad young men.


How can you not be moved

by their loneliness and desolation –

their faint dreams and hopes

of love, a new love, a friendship?


…When I was younger and better-looking

I always offered myself to old men.

I had young men too, sometimes, but

with the old I felt a special love…”


A young huge bodybuilder slipping so easily into a James Kirkup poem had to be one of the sexiest things I had ever experienced.  The idea of listening to him speak this way for the rest of my life seemed like the gift of some miraculous cure for a terminal disease.  It was as if I were truly, just now, feeling the sun for the first time – and, again, that star’s warmth reached me because it radiated from the celestial being that sat beside me.  I suddenly thought ‘to hell with what anybody thinks’ and leaned in to kiss the muscled angel whose eyes immediately welled with tears, again, when he realized what I was going to do.  I never doubted that a kiss from those delicious lips would be more pleasing than childhood cotton candy, Nutella on toast, or, even, heaven itself.  The softness of those tools of love juxtaposed with the incredible huge hardness of his body made me feel like I was the first person to ever combine the taste of bleu cheese and honey or mint and chocolate.  This beautiful behemoth let me come to him – let me lead the entire kiss.  It was as if he forfeited all of his natural alpha-ness just to please me . . . or maybe it pleased him more than I could know.  No tongues parted teeth in that first kiss – clearly both of us just wanted to brush lightly against that holy chasm filled with lust, which we knew we would finally dive into at a later time.  For now, a simple peck would seal an engagement that had been planned by the universe that first day of the semester.  I pulled my head back and smiled as he kept silent with his eyes closed for a while, as if he were memorizing all the feelings of the moment for a lifetime of looking back on that first time.  He finally spoke after about a minute.


“I know this is highly inappropriate, Phillip, and it will totally ruin the moment, but I will always want to be completely honest with you.  I have never longed to throw my legs over a man’s shoulders and be plowed hard as much as I do right now.  It’s like if we don’t have sex soon I am going to self-combust and take out half the planet with me.”


“That sounds a little painful.”


“You have no idea how long and hard I have ached for you.”


“I beg to differ.  I understand and have felt similar pain.”


“Ha, fair enough.  I guess you do understand.  Um . . . what happens now?”


“I haven’t the faintest idea, Oliver.  I vote the biggest guy has to decide.”


“And I vote the oldest guy has to decide.”


“I’ll make you a deal.  We’ll ask the first person that happens to come by and we’ll do whatever they say.”


The doubtful look on Oliver’s face made it clear that he was worried someone might find our relationship totally inappropriate and tell us to go our separate ways.  Like me, he would not be able to bear that answer.  My somewhat slightly evil smile made him clue into what I already knew.  He glanced around and saw Professor Harry Gilmer – one of my oldest friends at the school – walking toward the parking lot.  With some trepidation, but also with total trust in me, Oliver answered.




“Hey Harry.  Do you have a minute?”


Harry Gilmer was loved by everyone on campus.  He was a seventy-five-year-old gay man, who pulled no punches and never apologized for being completely himself.  He had noticed us long before he was within hearing distance.  By the sly look on his weathered face he had surmised what was going on even before we had called out to him.  Luckily, his car was just two spots over so we weren’t inconveniencing him too much.  I was touched deeply when Oliver slid off the back of the car to greet the elder professor.


“My dear Phillip and if it isn’t one of our finest soon-to-be graduates, Oliver Gold.”


“Hello, Professor Gilmer.”


“You’re looking particularly bronzed and protuberant this afternoon, Oliver.  Could it be that our young man, here, is all aglow because he is experiencing, as the Greeks would say, multiple kinds of wondrous love at the same time – perhaps Philia, Agape, Ludus, and Eros all wrapped up together?  What do you think, Phillip?”


“Um . . . you forgot Pragma, Professor Gilmer.”


“Oh goodness me, Oliver.  Pragma – longstanding love.  Well then, this is very serious, indeed.  No wonder you look as if you had swallowed the sun.”


Dear old Harry noticed the way our planet’s source of energy seemed to be favoring Oliver, today.  Harry also noticed the look in my eyes and realized a world of information all at once.  It was as if he were looking into my soul.  He smiled at me and gave me a ‘you dirty little rascal’ wink.  I turned bright red. 


“How might I help you two gentlemen on this fine amorous afternoon?”


“Well, to be perfectly honest, Harry, it seems that for an entire semester a formidable bond has been developing between Oliver and myself.  Our true feelings have been only recently revealed and now that we are fully aware of this information . . . this desire, we are at a loss as to how to move forward.  We made a pact with each other that we would ask the next person that walked by and, to our great fortune, that turned out to be you.  So, we’d like for you to impart your wisdom upon us and know of our intended promise to do whatever you suggest.”


The desperate look on Oliver’s face was priceless.  It was almost as if he thought his pleading eyes could somehow sway the elder professor’s decision.  The absolute joy and enthusiasm in Harry’s face made me smile.  I had only made the deal with the gorgeous muscled stud because I had seen Harry coming.  Legally, there was absolutely nothing wrong with Oliver and I getting together.  Even the young man’s logic about him being technically out of school was spot on and would prevent me from getting in trouble even with the most conservative members of the administration.  Our eventual entanglement was guaranteed – that had been apparent to me for a while, but how to move on from sitting and chatting on the back of a car truly did baffle me.  It seemed like rushing off to some bed would be demeaning to this beautiful romance.  I knew it had been building for an entire semester, so it wasn’t exactly new, but I did want to move cautiously to the next step.  I wanted to honor the incredible connection that had already been established.  I wasn’t ready to move immediately into sticky sheets or any disappointments the golden, broad-shouldered, young man may experience after our first sexual encounter.  Basically, I was nervous that, for him, reality might not live up to his dream.  Prolonging that sad fact somehow guaranteed a few more hours of my blissful joy.  At the same time, I longed to get my hands all over Oliver’s bulging body. 


“Well, you give me a very important task, gentlemen.  This duty cannot be taken lightly, not when such pure hearts are at stake.  I feel like St. Peter at the gates, able to bless you with an eternity of happiness or send you into a darkness beyond measure.  I think some more information is needed before a judgement can be handed down.”


I sensed Oliver’s humongous body suddenly relax and realized, without even turning to him, he had figured out what was going on.  He was, of course, a very smart young man.  In mere seconds he realized I was truly not sure of how to proceed and that our present time with Professor Gilmer was purely artificial – except that the elder teacher would certainly give us some good advice on how to move forward.  The young man probably figured out that Harry Gilmer had been in this exact predicament many times over the years.  His words of wisdom, while guaranteed to give the blessing Oliver so desired, would also be beneficial in many other ways.


“Tell me, Phillip, in a few words what is it exactly that you would bring to this happy union.”


I chose to turn and look at Oliver.  His face had a relaxed smile, again, and there was a knowing look in his eyes.     


“Total and utter devotion.”


“Well that sounds promising, albeit perhaps a bit smothering.  And you, young and strapping Oliver, what would you offer this blessed accord?”


Oliver remained looking at Harry – but had a huge playful grin.


“Isn’t that obvious, Professor Gilmer.”


“Possibly, my dear boy, but please illuminate us.”


“Powerful stability.”


As he spoke these words, the young man threw his arms up into what could only be described as one of the most jaw-dropping double biceps poses that either Harry or I had ever seen.  Poor Harry stumbled a few steps backward because he had not been prepared for such a sight.  Oliver’s arms were amazing – huge veiny mounds that screamed of manliness and strength.  I suddenly felt small and frail, but it wasn’t a bad feeling since I had such a virile stud who wanted me.  Both Harry and I stared for what seemed like an eternity at the giant arms in front of us.  Oliver clearly loved the fact that he could make us both speechless.  He finally dropped his arms, having no need to continue proving his point.  It took us a few more seconds to gain control of our bodies and our tongues.


“Well said, mighty Oliver.  You make your point most emphatically and no man, in his right mind, would attempt any kind of rebuttal.  Some things are just too powerful to contradict.  Gentlemen, I am now ready to impart my totally unbiased and heartfelt opinion on the matter you have placed before me.  I also want you to know that I was in no way swayed by the thought of what kind of damage Oliver’s huge armaments could impose.  The size of what I believe young people today call his ‘guns’ did nothing to influence my forthcoming judgement.  Those gigantic instruments of power, which could…”


“Okay, Harry, we get your point.  What’s your advice?”


“Assuming Oliver has some kind of tent-sized top he could put on over his vast torso, I would advise an afternoon of martinis or whatever libation one gives to young beefcake these days and then an early supper.  I always find that a good buzz and a full stomach usually do more to help one find answers to life-altering situations like yours more than anything else.  I suggest very dry vodka martinis with either a twist of lemon or delicious cocktail onions.  Those have always helped me make the best decisions.  And now, gentlemen, I must depart.  Oliver’s little display has reminded me of some video tapes I hid away some years ago.  I must go retrieve those and make sure they are still as wonderful as I remember.  But before I go, as payment for the wisdom I have so unselfishly bestowed, might I be so bold as to request one little fondle of that gargantuan mound of muscle Oliver calls an arm?”


“It would be my pleasure, Professor Gilmer.  Grope away.”


“Oliver, my boy, a gentleman never gropes.  Heavens.  I will simply massage that elephantine arm of yours for a few seconds and then be on my way.”


From the proud look on Oliver’s face you would have thought he was bringing food to an impoverished village in some remote developing country instead of allowing an old queen to simply cop a feel of his huge muscled arm.  The big young man took a step toward Professor Gilmer as he raised his massive biceps into the air again.  Harry’s hand looked tiny when it pressed up against the side of Oliver’s flexed arm.  Immediately, the older man started rubbing his fingers and palm all around the undentable bulging mound of muscle.  None of us said a word.  The only sound was Harry’s appreciative heavy breathing.  Oliver looked over at me and smiled – conveying how happy he would be when it was me feeling his body.  Harry dropped his hand and looked Oliver in the eyes.


“Thank you, my boy.”


“Thank you, sir.”


“Phillip, let’s have tea tomorrow.  I expect you’ll have a lot to tell me.”


Harry had started moving toward his car as he nodded his head at me, but then he stopped and looked at Oliver again – drinking in his huge upper unclothed torso.


“On second thought, dear boy, let’s make that tea sometime next week.  I think you’re going to be busy for a few days.  Ciao, gentlemen.”


And just like that the adored Professor Gilmer got in his car, started the thing, gave a little wave, and drove away.  I imagined Harry drinking his martini that afternoon completely nude, watching ancient porno videos, and happily remembering how Oliver’s hard biceps had felt like stone.  Suddenly, the big young man of my dreams was standing right in front of me.  I noticed we were basically the same height but his size made it seem like he was a giant. 


“A buzz and some food with you does sound nice, Phillip.  We can think of it as an appetizer.”


“Or we could skip to the main course.”


“Neither of us really want to do that.  We want to continue this foreplay on as long as we can.  Giving into our base desires so quickly kind of makes the unrequited love thing of the last semester seem pointless.  I’d like to save you for dessert.”


“On one condition, Oliver.”


“What’s that, Professor?”


“You don’t put on your shirt until we get to the restaurant.”


“Done.  I have a request, too.”


“As it should be.  What is it?”


“Let’s honor Professor Gilmer.  Take me to a place where the two of you would normally eat and introduce me to vodka martinis.”


“Um, those are really strong drinks, Oliver.”


“I think this big bod will be able to handle it, Professor.”


Striations popped out all over his chest as he tensed his pecs.  I looked from one to the other and then on to his tensed enormous arms.  Truer words had never been spoken. 

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