Begging's, oral, anal, m/Mm
This story is a work of fiction and contains descriptions of explicit sexual acts of boys and men discovering their sexuality. It contains graphic scenes of sex between consenting underage boy and adult males... If this type of content offends you or you are under the age of 18 do not read it.
Author's Note:
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Copyright 2017 Wolf, all rights reserved.
You may contact me at pomowolf74@yahoo.com if you like. All flames will be ignored.
Larry and Music Professor
By
Wolf
I went to a very small school near Wheeling in West Virginia. Called Bethany College, a town without street-lights or a gas station.
I was struggling with my sexuality, and my professor, named Mr. Oliver Manning, zoomed in on me, as did a frat brother.
(whom I saw again, after 50 years for a reunion...great catching up on our lives after all those years.)
When Mr. Manning started grooming me, it caused a lot of turmoil in my mind because he was the same age as my dad.
I had very little use for my dad, because of a couple of things I didn't meet him until I was two-years-old, because he was in the Army during World War II, we didn't bond like my younger siblings did. Growing up in his home wasn't always pleasant.
In 2004, I picked up my mom from the hospital and was wheeling her into their condo, Dad was standing by the door and bitching that I didn't close it. Well, 58 years of loathing came to a head and I let him have it. I took great delight in telling him to "GO TO HELL!" He was so senile that he quickly forgot about what I said. Mom wanted me to take her back to the hospital.
Mr. Manning was born in 1919 and died in 1994. He was about 5'9" and a typical West Virginia kind of man, lean and fit. He was at the right age to be a member of the generation that fought during World War II. He had a deeply weathered craggy face, and with a pipe in his mouth all the time. He was a classical pianist, he lived in Wheeling, when not staying with a daughter in Bethany. His wife was a pianist as well. They conceived their daughter before he shipped-over-seas. His daughter and I were both born in 1943.
I lived in the frat house next door to his home. Mr. Manning invited me for dinner at his home, and his wife was not home for some reason. He was my college music professor, and he plied me with stakes, bourbon and Coke. When I was drunk he sat next to me and started feeling me up. He even kissed me. It felt strange to be kissed by a man with stubble on his face. He rubbed my crotch, and I sprang a boner strong enough to tent up my tight-fitting jeans. When he pulled on the front the five copper buttons the jeans popped open. He opened the fly of my boxer shorts, and pulled out my cock and balls. He stroked my cock until I had the biggest boner of my life. He eventually stopped kissing me and bent over, placing his head in my lap. He took all of my cock into his mouth and deep throated my cock. He gently rolled my balls between his fingers too. It felt like it lasted a lifetime as he sucked my cock, but I couldn't cum. Just when I thought I would never cum he forced my hand into my shorts and stuck a finger into my asshole. I squirted instantly.
He insisted on me calling him Oliver when we were lone after that. He found ways to get me in his office during office hours regularly. While in his office he sucked my cock, and took out his own cock for me to suck on. He had a small dick, and his crotch was shaved clean, and his chest ad body was hairless. One afternoon he produced some Vaseline and greased up his cock and my asshole. He prostrated me across his desk and stuck his cock in my ass. It hurt but by the time he came I squirted cum all over his green felt blotter.
My roommate figured out what was going on between me and Mr. Manning, so he started making me suck his cock, or he would tell our classmates. He used the same threat to make me allow him to fuck me too. For the four years of college I was getting fucked three and four times a week. It didn't take long before I didn't feel complete without a cock in my mouth or ass.
Mr. Manning even bought my class ring. He wrote love poetry to me, for years after I graduated. Many years later I wanted to visit him, but his sister wrote to me that he had died. I often wondered if he would have wanted to have sex with me again, although I no longer looked the way I did when I was in college.
If you enjoyed the story and have a story you want me to write about your introduction to the world of male sexuality, please send your outline to pomowolf74@yahoo.com