Flat to Let

Nick came out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist. He would have turned to go into his bedroom—in fact, he should have done that—if he hadn’t seen that he’d missed with the toss of the used condom toward the wastebasket in Brandon’s room. And there was the spilt condom packet on the floor next to the bed too. Brandon was laid out on his stomach on his bed, his right arm dangling off the side of the bed and his face turned to the door, a spent look on his face that managed a satisfied little smile at the same time.

Nick had fucked him good. Nick was built and gave very good fuck. He’d been a little rougher than usual this time, maybe. But Nick had been a little pissed that Brandon had wheedled for the afternoon fuck during midterms when they both had papers due, and Nick was a bit jazzed, on edge, because of the college pressure this week.

The fuck wouldn’t have happened at all except that Nick had been passing the open door to the apartment’s one bathroom and had been arrested by the view of Brandon shaving off the hair in his pits with an electric razor and then moving to taking all of his pubic hair off, not just trimming it down.

“What the fuck are you doing that for? You got lice?” Nick asked in a gruff voice.

Brandon laughed. “No, I’ve heard a rumor that Ashcroft is kinky that way. He wants his sex partners body shaved. I need an ‘A’ in his class.”

Terence Ashcroft was a history professor at the college, and Brandon was taking a class from him and also was trying to land him as a faculty adviser. History was Brandon’s major. Terrence Ashcroft also was a hunk for his age.

“That seems a bit extreme,” Nick said.

“Maybe, but you wouldn’t believe how sensuous it feels to shave yourself all over. Look. It’s got me hard. And, more important, look, it’s got you hard watching me do it.”

Nick couldn’t deny that. Brandon had been working on him, working on getting him into bed, all afternoon, but Nick, pressed for time and attention, had resisted. And now he was hard. He could either take the time to take care of that himself, or he could . . .

“I wonder if it would be even more arousing if you had another guy to shave you,” he said.

“I think I’ve gotten harder just thinking about that,” Brandon answered.

Nick entered the bathroom and, larger bodied and more powerful than Brandon was, he took over the rest of Brandon’s shaving, while Brandon gasped and moaned for him. He then took the newly shaved young man up in his arms, Brandon wrapping his legs around Nick’s waist, his hard cock pressed into Nick’s belly, carried him back to Brandon’s room and bed, laid him out on the bed, got his cock inside him, and laid him good.

Nick was irritated, though. This wasn’t how he needed to spend his afternoon. It hadn’t helped that Brandon had thoroughly enjoyed the missionary fuck and then had said he was too tired afterward to give Nick some attention too. Nick was a flip-flop kind of guy and Brandon had been avoiding doing his part since Nick had moved into the off-campus-dorm two-bedroom, one bath, apartment where Brandon had a room to let. Brandon said he was into flip-flop when he’d let the room to Nick, but he hadn’t carried through yet.

Nick wasn’t any neater than any other male lacrosse scholarship premed college sophomore, but he’d thought that if he made a point to tidy up from the fuck they’d just had, it would show Brandon how ticked he was. It didn’t work. He’d picked up the condom and dunked it in the trashcan this time, but he made the mistake of sitting down on the side of the bed to reach down for the condom packet.

Brandon wasn’t as exhausted as he had been letting on. As soon as Nick sat down beside him, Brandon was up, plastering himself to Nick’s back, and had brought an arm around him, undone the towel, brushed it aside, and, after running his fingers through the blond curls of Nick’s pubic bush, fisted Nick’s cock. His other hand was making little swirls in the tuffs of blond hair covering Nick’s pecs. As pissed as Nick was, he couldn’t resist and hand job and leaned back into Brandon and let his roommate stroke his cock. Nick was young, virile, and fit. The best term for that was “ever ready to go again.” He laid back and moaned as Brandon slow-jacked him.

“We could have shaved your pubes off while you fucked me,” Brandon whispered in Nick’s ear. “I understand that’s how Ashcroft does it.”

Nick was irritated and had no intention of resuming giving sex, but he hadn’t communicated this to his cock. He went right into another hard erection. He’d been eating his Wheaties regularly, and he was a very much in-shape nineteen-year-old athlete.

Coming out of a sloppy kiss on Nick’s throat, while Brandon stroked his roommate’s cock, Brandon whispered, “Do me again. We need to let loose of some more tension so we can study all night for tomorrow’s exams.”

Nick had quickly figured Brandon out. He’d want Nick fucking him all night. Brandon was a natural at the books, and he had his history professor wrapped around his finger—or probably panting after his ass, Nick thought. Brandon, in fact, had a very nice ass and took cock really well. He certainly was winning this battle—although not without a fight.

“Knock it off, Brandon,” Nick growled. “You may not have to study for your history exam, but I sure as hell have to study for my biology midterm. And I have a paper to write for rocks.” Rocks was the college jocks’ term for geology, one of the sports program’s “gimme” courses.

“That’s what I want, lover. I want you to knock me up—breed me. Get your rocks off with me again. Give me your baby. Fuck a baby into me.”

That was another thing Nick didn’t like about Brandon. When he was hot for it from another guy, he reverted into acting like he was a girl—a girl who wanted to be knocked up. He had a definite feminine side. He even had long blond hair that he usually wore in a ponytail, but, in sex, would let down and would make sounds and words like he was a woman being raped and impregnated. Nick knew Brandon wasn’t above wearing a slip, panties, and stockings with a guy. His hair was down now, and Nick liked running his fingers through Brandon’s hair when it was down. Acting the girl might work with some guys, but not with Nick. He was all man, and, although he liked to flip-flop, he wanted the other guy to be all man too.

The downside was that Brandon was a horny all man, and his cock had interests in sex that superseded what Nick mentally was aroused by. Brandon got Nick, naked, onto his back on Brandon’s bed. Brandon was on top of his roommate, kissing down his body and then sucking on his cock. Nick’s cock wanted to have sex again. Brandon’s hand felt its way to the nightstand, opened the drawer, managed to extract a condom packet and slit it, and then it was all over except the ejaculation.

A condom got rolled on Nick’s cock, Brandon saddled himself on Nick’s pelvis, positioned the cock with his hand, descended on the shaft, and started to rise and fall on the cock. After a few moments, Nick gave in and took over. He grasped Brandon’s waist between his hands and started providing the power that had Brandon’s loose, blond hair swirling around his head, Brandon moaning and groaning happily, and Nick slamming his roommate’s ass up and down on his shaft. Brandon’s hands were working his own pecs and his willowy body was arched back. With his hair down, the image was of a young blonde baby riding Nick’s shaft.

“Oh, baby. Do it. Give me your load. Fuckin’ breed me. Yes! Shoot that load! Give a girl a baby. Slam a kid up in there.”

Brandon collapsed again off to the side when he’d released his load up Nick’s belly and Nick soon thereafter had dumped his in the bulb of the condom.

The blond student, once more lying on his stomach on the bed, right arm dangling off to the side, and his tongue hanging out, was clearly too exhausted to return the favor. In disgust, Nick rolled off the bed, muttered something about yet another shower, a lost half hour of study time, and maybe time to go room hunting again. The threat of finding other living accommodations was coming more frequently now, but Brandon just ignored it. Nick had a bit of satisfaction upon leaving Brandon’s room with his towel clutched in his hand, though. This time the condom went right into the trashcan when he tossed it in that direction. Nick laughed.

“Yeah, baby,” he said, as he walked out of Brandon’s room.

“Glad it was good for you, too, sweetheart,” Brandon called out in a weary voice.

“Whatever,” Nick answered, flipping him the bird over his head, but not turning on his way out.

* * * *

Brandon dragged Nick to a party the next Sunday afternoon to celebrate having survived the midterm exams—or having the pleasure to assume he had before the grades were posted—and for managing to get his geology paper in on time. It wasn’t the sort of party Nick wanted to go to, but it was the only offer he’d had for Sunday afternoon. There would be food and drink. It would be food and drink he didn’t have to pay for. He was working his butt off to get through college at as little food and drink expense to himself as he could manage.

It was to be rather a highbrow gathering, Brandon admitted, but he wanted to keep in good with his history professor, Terence Ashcroft, whose house was the venue for the “wine, not beer” gathering. Brandon couldn’t turn down an invitation from someone who had been sniffing around him all semester and who controlled the grades for that course. He’d even shaved himself from below the eyebrows to his feet in case he had a chance to enhance his standing with—or lying down for—the professor. Ashcroft had told Brandon he could bring someone, but he had made a point of saying that that someone should be very attractive—and young and male. To Brandon, that meant inviting Nick.

As it turned out, it meant that for Ashcroft as well.

He met them at the door of a large, apparently two-story house, but not exactly, brick house in a lush garden on a large lot not far from the campus. The street was lined with trees that met overhead and meandered around a bit so that it didn’t exude the feeling of being a suburban environment. The question of how many stories it was occurred because the entry was half way between two floors, and the lower floor, on the front, was sunk to the lower sill of the windows. The lot sloped down from the front yard, so the lower floor was a walk-out one on the back. It was what one called a split foyer when such designs were popular in the 1960s.

Ashcroft was standing inside the open front door, on the foyer landing, greeting arrivals—and there were some sixty people who showed up for the party and fanned out in the living areas of the upper story and out onto the extensive terracing at the back of the house.

“Hello there, Brandon. Glad you could make it,” the professor said, as he shook Brandon’s hand. “And this must be Nick, who you’ve told me about,” he said warmly as he took Nick’s hand.

Nick got a double shock. First, he was surprised not only that Brandon would have told his history professor anything about him, but also that Ashcroft would remember Nick’s name—and give him such a warm smile. What shocked Nick the most, though, was the double signaling the man was giving Nick in his prolonged handshake. First, in what most would think was an awkward miss of connection, which wasn’t, Ashcroft sheathed Nick’s thumb in his enclosing fingers. In Nick’s world this was a declaration of being a seeking submissive. After what appeared to be a stumble, though, Ashcroft folded his thumb under and against Nick’s palm when they shook in an apparent normal position, and he rubbed the thumb against Nick’s palm. To Nick, this meant he gave cock too. So, if he was following the standard signs of Nick’s set, Ashcroft was advertising himself as a flip-flopper and was doing it to Nick, who had been expressing disappointment with Brandon for not giving as well as receiving.

So, was this what Brandon had been telling Ashcroft—that Nick had been bugging him to flip-flop—and was the history professor boldly offering himself as a remedy for the situation?

Nick took a closer look at Terence Ashcroft. He was British, Nick knew from what Brandon had told him. But he wasn’t what Nick had expected otherwise. He was tall and well-built and exuded a manly air. He wasn’t at all effeminate, which Nick associated with British academics, especially ones he’d heard were gay. He wasn’t in his fifties or sixties, either. He was maybe in his late forties. There was a little graying in the hair, but this was noticeably only because of how dark his hair was. The darkness also reflected how hirsute he was, with heavily matted forearms and hair curling out of the neckline of his sports shirt. He was bearded and had a mustache, but both were closely trimmed. They weren’t as close-cut as Nick’s own blond, purposely five-o’clock shadow chin cut, though. Nick wasn’t short, but the professor was a good four inches taller than he was. He exuded vitality and strength. Nick also was mesmerized by the man’s patrician British accent.

Everything about the man was “all go” as far as Nick was concerned upon first meeting. He didn’t have time to say anything or send any signal back, because there were other guests at the door behind him, and Ashcroft smoothly turned his smile and attention to them. Nick got the impression, though, that he didn’t need to signal back to Ashcroft—that the professor was so sure of himself that there was no question that Nick would hook up with him, if that was what Ashcroft wanted. There was something in the way that Ashcroft smiled at him that told Nick Ashcroft understood perfectly what the gay handshake maneuvers meant.

One thing was sure: Ashcroft knew who he was and was confident that Nick would be there that day. The man also seemed to be sure that he could and would bed the college sophomore. That was, of course, three things, not one, but Nick was off balance and not able to maintain count. He drifted around the crowded room and out onto the back balcony and then down to the terrace, having quickly become separated from Brandon, and also quickly realized that he was definitely outclassed at this party. Although he saw many faces he recognized, they were not on people in his social league. Constantly in his thoughts was meeting up with Ashcroft again at the party, but that didn’t happen for some time.

To the left up the half-story of stairs from the entrance foyer was a large living room. Straight ahead from the top of the stairs was the dining room with a food-laden table. Nick spent considerable time drifting in and out of this room, grazing off the table. To the left of the dining room was a large kitchen that opened in front into the living room and on back to a large sun room. The terrace and rear-sloping, wooded backyard stretched out, below an outside balcony, beyond the sun room, which was on the second floor on the back of the house. Nick was only to find out later that three bedrooms and two baths, one en suite with the master bedroom, flowed off to the right from the public rooms. He wondered what was below this level, but no one seemed to be going downstairs, so he didn’t do so for a while either.

One thing that most of the guests—and there was a full crowd of them—seemed to have largely in common was that many of them were gay. The gays were a large contingency at the college, large enough not to get flak from the others, and they were out in full force at the party. Not everyone was gay here, Nick thought, but more than he originally thought probably were. This apparently was a party where the gays could comfortably congregate. It also was a party where they safely could let loose. Nick saw a whole lot of touching. In fact, a lot of the guests were intimately touching him, as they thought they could call it an accident if they were challenged, in recognition of shared interests and the freedom here to express it. Nick was new “meat” for the gays of the higher class and they were eager to check him out and categorize where he fit in their interests. He was quite handsome enough to raise more than just their interest.

It wasn’t long before Nick found you could get a little high on wine as well as beer. It wasn’t long after that before he found that the bedrooms were being put to use as were the wooded corners of the backyard. And it wasn’t all that long before Nick used one of the bedrooms himself. The college faculty and favored—and most attractive—students provided a large contingency of those at the party, but rich alumni and the college-associated academic press where Ashcroft had a book nearly ready to launch were represented, as were those in the arts locally. To balance, some real hunks had been invited from the college sports teams—young men who, even if primarily straight, knew where their scholarships and grades came from. There were even a couple of black bull football and basketball team players, like Destin and Cal, who were there, standing a head taller than any of the rest and making more than their share of trips to the bedroom wing. Nick, of course, was one of this group. He was a star lacrosse player on the college team.

An hour into the party, Nick was trapped in a corner of the living room by two of the publishing house contingent, Zach, Ashcroft’s acquisitions editor, and Tyler, the publishing house’s managing editor. It boggled Nick’s mind that the acquisitions editor was actually higher in the house’s hierarchy than the managing editor was, but Tyler was the cuter and sexier of the two and the more persistent in the hunt.

Nick and Tyler had run across each other in a gay bar downtown a couple of times already, so this wasn’t a first encountered. They’d done a little flirting and touching before and Nick had always intended to pursue that, but on earlier occasions he’d wound up leaving with someone else. Tyler was letting him know now that Tyler had always intended a hookup as well. There was flirting and touching and a bit of groping all around between Tyler, Zach, and Nick before one of Zach’s friends pulled him away.

Then it was just the two of them, Tyler and Nick, and their time obviously had arrived. Tyler lured Nick into one of the bedrooms simply by combining palming Nick’s package and saying, “You can lay me out right here on the coffee table in front of all these people and fuck me if you want, but do you know the bedrooms are free game at one of Terry’s parties? They’re just off that hallway over there. There’s a sign on the doors you can flip to claim occupancy. Terry’s very accommodating.”

In transit, they passed the door to the master bedroom, where the black bull football player, Cal, was between the legs of a major college donor and a cougar twice Cal’s age named Megan and giving her good fuck. Nick saw a hefty donation to the college sports fund in the next week or two. In one of the smaller bedrooms, Tyler gave Nick a blowjob and Nick gave Tyler a standing fuck, both of them trouserless but otherwise dressed, up against the wall next to the door.

The party was in full cry.

* * * *

“Are you finding the others at the party welcoming, Nick?”

I found that the guy from the college press welcomed my cock quite well, thank you, Nick thought, as he turned to find that he had connected with the party’s host, Terence Ashcroft, at last. Of course he’d recognized the smooth, cool accent right off. “Yes, thanks. It’s a great party, Professor Ashcroft.”

“Call me Terrence, Nick. And I’ll call you frequently, if you’ll let me.”

Nick blushed. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen so many intellectuals in a private home in my life,” he said, feeling rushed a bit in going where Ashcroft is so quickly headed. “It makes me feel like an ignorant bumpkin.”

“I’m not sure the home is private enough at this moment. But, no, there aren’t usually so many queer people on the make to be seen in one place in a quiet college community like this. I’ll grant you that. But a man as built and sexy as you are has no need for showy intellect.”

The compliment—and flirt—weren’t lost on Nick.

“And Brandon,” Ashcroft continued. “Are you two a hot couple? Fucking each other equally?”

“Not equally,” Nick answered, thinking now of the double signaling Ashcroft had given at the door and deciding, since the professor was going to be so forward, to go with the flow here. “Brandon doesn’t give as well as he takes—not nearly as well.”

“And you like it both ways, is my guess.”

“Yes, to be frank. And I’m not courting Brandon. We’re roommates, but I’m looking to change that. I’ll be apartment shopping soon, I think. Or looking for another room. I can’t really afford an apartment on my own.”

“You are having trouble financially, are you?”

“I have to work hard on the side—I caddie at the Hampden Club golf course and wait tables sometimes for special events there. It’s hard going when I have to cover studies and live up to my lacrosse scholarship requirements too. I sorry to have to admit being lower class at as classy a party as this.” Nick stopped there, embarrassed and showing that he was by the expression on his face. Ashcroft would think he was shopping for a sugar daddy. And just maybe he was.

“Class isn’t what it used to be, and quite often it’s not fun—it can ruin having a good time. I know how having to work as you must is. I worked through my university studies too.”

“You did? Was it hard manual work like I have to do?”

“No, but it was what you would consider menial, I think. I was a barber. Can you see a history professor cutting hair and shaving faces? But you doing muscle-building work benefits us all. You are a beautifully fit young man. I would love to shave that face of yours to see how handsome you really are.” He lifted a hand and stroked Nick’s chin. “Tell me, if you and Brandon fucking doesn’t thrill the two of you anymore, do you two do it with others?”

Nick had just done it upstairs with a publishing house editor. He almost blurted that out, but changed what he was going to say. “Brandon’s certainly free game,” he said, remembering that Brandon was on campaign to land the professor and not wanting to cramp his roommate’s style on that.

“That’s good to know. Brandon’s a real honey,” Ashcroft said. “But I was really thinking more about you. There are other ways to make money than menial labor. I’m not above buying young men I want.”

Before Nick could respond, other guests who had been looking for Ashcroft found him and pulled him away to deal with some crisis or other that they had. As he was leaving Nick’s side, Ashcroft smiled saucily at him and said, “It so happens I have a flat for rent. Right here in my house—right under where we’re standing. And the rent is highly negotiable if it’s combined with benefits.”

* * * *

“Hey, buddy—yes, you, Gorgeous. Can you do me a favor?”

Lay under you? Nick thought. Sure thing. I’ve laid here but haven’t been laid here yet. The guy in the kitchen tending bar was a hunk and a half. Hispanic. A Spanish lover. “Sure, if I can,” Nick answered. He’d been wandering around, looking for Ashcroft. He wanted to get laid, and he’d had offers aplenty, but he wanted Ashcroft. Ashcroft had said he bought young men. If he’d flipped a dime at Nick, he’d have had a sale. Nick was thinking of the possibility of getting a cheap apartment—even maybe for free—if he laid Ashcroft and/or been laid by Ashcroft—or, preferably, both. The bartender probably was from the catering company, and he obviously was very busy.

“I can’t leave here and we’re out of ice. There’s more in the freezer downstairs. Would you be a champ and bring some more up?”

“Sure. Where downstairs, do you think?”

“Go downstairs and turn to your right. There are two rooms on the front of the house, bedrooms, and a bathroom at the end of the hall. The big room, the door is down near the bathroom, is the storage room running along the back of the house. The freezer is in there. A big white thing. You can’t miss it. It will be humming at you. I wouldn’t be surprised if it gave a big bruiser like you a wolf whistle.” He laughed and gave Nick a friendly smile to let him know that the guy didn’t really think he was a moron.

What Nick thought, though, was that maybe the Hispanic hunk wasn’t from the catering company. Maybe this was Ashcroft’s live-in. He knew his way around the house.

When Nick got to the bottom of the stairs, he saw that the only way he could go was down a hallway to the right. There was a wall on the left and a closed door straight ahead. The bartender had said the storage room door was at the end of the hall to the right, though, so Nick didn’t try the door in front of him. The door to the second bedroom on the right, in the corner of the house was ajar and the sounds of sex were drifting out. He knew both of the men. Brandon was under Terrence Ashcroft on the bed and the history professor was doing his student with much vigor and moaning and groaning on Brandon’s part in a missionary fuck. Their trousers were off. Brandon was hairless and, in contrast, Ashcroft was as hirsute as a satyr. Brandon had a pained expression on his face that told Nick that Ashcroft must be low-hung. The young man’s tongue was out and wagging. He was blowing bubbles and looking at the open door with eyes that were flashing but apparently couldn’t see Nick at the door. He was being fucked really, really well.

“Fuck,” Nick muttered, descriptively, not feeling all that charitable at the moment.

He found the storage room door and the freezer and the ice without any trouble. What he had trouble doing was not resenting what Brandon was getting and he wasn’t. Upstairs, he wandered around a bit, for almost another hour, chatting and flirting, touching and being touched, kissing and being kissed, groping and being groped—but always closing it down at the proposition stage. He’d seen Ashcroft fucking. He wanted to hold out for the possibility that he and Ashcroft would be fucking before the party was over. Ashcroft was surprisingly athletic; Nick didn’t want to exhaust himself until he got into the clutches with the man too. He could see them rowing real hard against each other and flipping over so often they’d be doing it on the floor.

After working himself out of yet another proposition, he was going down the upstairs bedroom hallway to take a piss in the bathroom at the end of the corridor. In passing a half-open bedroom door he saw that a six-foot-nine redheaded basketball team player who most called Red, though his name was Justin, was fucking Zach, the academic press acquisitions editor. Another missionary, another tongue hanging out, more blowing of bubbles, another good fuck Nick wasn’t getting. Zach turned his head, saw Nick, and beckoned to him. He’d spoken of threesomes when they were flirting earlier, working into doing it with Nick and Tyler before a friend had pulled him away. Red was a player. Nick was sure he’d do a threesome, and he had a dick that would make Nick yodel. But Nick didn’t want to end his afternoon that way.

He went outside, the notion that there was an apartment for rent in this house running through his mind. Not that he’d ever be able to afford an apartment in this area of town. It must be what was closed off on the left when he went downstairs. He wondered if it had a separate entrance. He went out into the front yard and around the side of the house. Yes, there it was. He tried looking in the windows but the drapes were closed. He continued around to the back of the house and then, chatting this way and that, worked his way into the wooded garden, wanting to be by himself for a few minutes. He was still buzzed on wine. That happens when you don’t stop drinking the wine, and he’d continued doing so.

In the back of the garden, in a wooded area, he saw Brandon again, this time backed up into the crook of a tree, his legs hooked on the hips of the black bull football player, Dustin, who was fucking him against the tree. Brandon obviously was in ninth heaven. He was getting it again and Nick wasn’t.

Another three-quarters of an hour and the crowd was beginning to thin out. Brandon had already left, with Dustin, giving Nick a quizzical look, which Nick had answered with a nod. Whatever he had going with Brandon now was over. Brandon obviously was moving into his black bull period. Nick wished him well and did what he could—not wholly successfully—not to envy him. That had been one humongous cock Dustin had been stroking him with.

He’d been there nearly five hours. It would be dark in another hour. He’d driven, so he still had a way to get home—to go home and start looking on line and in the paper for a new place to live.

He was at the door, ready to leave, when Ashcroft reappeared. He’d just about convinced the last of his guests that the party was over. The caterers were taking away the remnants of food and wine.

“Don’t leave. Stay until after the others have left, Nick,” Ashcroft said, putting a hand on Nick’s arm. Nick looked down at the man’s forearm, covered with swirls of black hair. His mind went to Ashcroft’s bare buttocks, also covered with swirls of black hair, as the buns constricted and released while he was fucking Brandon. A chill of want went up Nick’s spine.

“But it’s time to leave. The guests are clearing out. You’ve been nice about it, but I can tell you want the party to be over.”

“I don’t want my party to be over,” Ashcroft said in soft, accented tones that sent another chill up Nick’s back. “I thought you might want to see the flat I have to let. No, that’s not fair. You know why I want there to be just the two of us here. Come, let’s walk in the back garden while the caterers clear up and out.”

Nick was backed up to the same tree crook where Dustin had fucked Brandon, and Ashcroft leaned in for a deep kiss. Nick felt his zipper being pulled down and the long, sensuous fingers of a hand releasing and slow-stroking his cock. Nick’s spirits soared. He was going to be fucked and maybe Terry would let Nick fuck him too. At least he was going to be fucking with Terry.

* * * *

They didn’t fuck in the garden. They kissed and rubbed against each other, and Ashcroft relentlessly stroked Nick’s cock. But before Nick could fire off, he stopped and said, “It’s getting dark. They should be finished cleaning up. Let’s go inside.”

They went in the house, where everyone was gone except the bartender, who was finishing up in the kitchen. They sat on a couch in the sunroom—now more of a moon room—and kissed and touched and groped.

“Would you like the bartender to stay?” Ashcroft asked.

As tempting as that was, Nick didn’t want to do a threesome with Ashcroft yet. “Maybe not this time,” he answered. “I’d like all of my attention to go to you.”

That obviously pleased Ashcroft. If possible, he became even more intimate.

When the bartender left, they unzipped and freed each other. They kissed and stroked, and when Nick leaned over and took Ashcroft’s cock in his mouth and sucked it, the professor reclined onto the arm of the sofa, moving around to stretching out on the cushion, one leg on the back of the sofa and the other one across Nick’s lap as the blow job continued and continued and continued until with a jerk and a long sigh Ashcroft released in Nick’s throat.

But they still didn’t fuck.

Ashcroft rose from the couch and walked around the rooms where the party had just happened and which the catering company had cleaned up so you couldn’t tell there had been a party in the house that day. Nick didn’t know what the man was looking for. Nick didn’t know why they weren’t fucking.

“What is it, Terrence?” he asked.

“I don’t know if you would want to . . . whether you would . . . will.”

“The kink I’ve heard about is true?” Nick asked. “You have a fetish of only fucking fully shaved men?”

Ashcroft stopped in front of him and said, “Brandon told you?”

“Brandon told me, but only because I walked in on him shaving his body. He said he was doing it because he heard that’s what you wanted and because he wanted you to fuck him. And you did that today. You fucked him. I saw you doing it. But you don’t want—?”

“God, yes, of course I want to fuck you. But for me to really enjoy it, you’d have to—”

“I’d have to be shaved.”

“Not your head. Not your eyebrows. No one would really know it tomorrow, with you dressed. But, yes, the rest of your face . . . and on down.”

“No one would know it tomorrow? You mean—?”

“Yes, I want to shave you and fuck you tonight.”

“There are other nights. I can shave, if that’s what it takes,” Nick said in a small voice.

“That’s not all of what I want. With you I would want there to be the maximum arousal—for both of us.”

“What else could there be?”

“I told you. I was a barber when I was going to the university.”

There was a pause and then realization. “You want to do the shaving. You want to shave my body yourself.”

“Come downstairs. I want to show you the flat I have for rent.”

At first Nick thought he’d lost him, that Ashcroft was trying to change the subject, back away from it, but then he realized. “You want to shave me and fuck me—and, me fuck you—in the rental apartment. God, that would be sexy.”

“I have it all set up. I set it up soon after you arrived this afternoon. I’ve thought of little other than shaving you and the two of us fucking since you arrived this afternoon. Come downstairs with me.”

* * * *

He did have it set up. Lights were on in the apartment when they went down there, and tea candles were lit and set around in the bathroom. The apartment was large—only four rooms, three of them running together and only one bedroom and one bath, but all of the rooms were large and luxuriously appointed. There was no way Nick could afford an apartment like this. The bedroom was at the front of the house, under the upstairs living room. It wasn’t as big as the living room, because a large bathroom, across from a walk-in closet was set where the inner part of the living room was upstairs. But the kitchen was there, running into a dining room, or study, to the right side, fronted by a small foyer, and the room under the upstairs sunroom was big enough to be living room and dining area combined. The door to the outside was set in another small foyer between the bathroom and the kitchen area.

The bathroom was set up for the shaving. Everything was marble and mirrors. There was a bathtub the size of a jacuzzi and a separate, glassed-in shower cubicle. All of the walls and the ceiling were mirrored. When they had both stripped, they were both able to watch themselves and each other from every angle as Nick was shaved and the two fucked far into the night.

A large glass bowl sat on the counter at the sink, all ready for the soap inside it to be lathered up in large volume. There was a shaving brush to whip up the lather and there was a straight razor. If Nick thought he would be done by an electric razor, he’d thought wrong. When he saw the razor, he wondered momentarily whether Ashcroft really had ever been a professional barber, but then he decided he didn’t care. Seeing the magnificent body of the hirsute man naked had his cock at full staff and he ached for the fuck.

And there, next to the razor, a small stack of condoms. Three of the packets were already open, the condom disks extracted and laying on their packet, ready for quick use.

Three of them. So, who got to use two?

Ashcroft pushed Nick into the counter at the sink and came in close behind him. He put his arms around Nick to hold him there and reached out for the bowl and brush. Running water in the bowl, he lathered up the shaving cream in front of Nick’s captive body, while Nick looked into the mirror—at the shaving cream being prepared, down at the razor that was going to be used, over his shoulder at the concentration with which Ashcroft was working, and into his own face, the lust of anticipation clearly marked on him.

Ashcroft indeed was an artist at the shave. He shaved Nick below the waist first, turning the young man to the side, facing a full-length mirror. Ashcroft went down in a crouch, commanded Nick to spread his legs, and then he lathered up Nick’s legs and shaved them. He stood, lathered up Nick’s buttocks, and shaved him, pulling the buns apart to shave his entrance. He paused, encircled Nick’s waist with an arm, and fingered the young man’s anal entrance for a few minutes after having shaved around it. Nick moaned. He groaned as the shaving-cream covered finger breached his sphincter and explored inside. Ashcroft was generous with the shaving cream in Nick’s hole. It obviously was going to be the lubricant for an anal fuck.

The finger came out, and Nick held very, very still as his groin was lathered and Ashcroft, still standing behind him, shaved his pubic hair completely off and shaved the cock and balls as well. Despite holding still, Nick was hyperventilating from the attention being given his package, and, after it had been shaved, Ashcroft paused long enough to stroke Nick to an ejaculation with a shaving cream-slathered hand. It didn’t take long before Nick’s cum was splashing the mirror in front of him.

Ashcroft turned Nick back toward the sink then, pushed his chest down over the sink. He made Nick’s head turn to the side so that he could see Ashcroft pick up one of the condom disks. His hands came away from touching Nick and Nick heard the snap of the condom being rolled on and adjusted. Ashcroft leaned over and whispered, “Yes, I’m going to fuck you now.” Ashcroft made Nick watch in the mirrors as the man buried his sheathed cock in shaving cream.

While keeping Nick’s chest hovering over the sink, Ashcroft pulled his head back so that Nick could watch his own face—and Ashcroft’s face over his shoulder—and then, as Nick groaned and grunted and watched the penetration and subsequent pumping in the mirrors, Ashcroft forced himself up into Nick’s passage, grabbed the young man’s hips between his hands, and administered the first fuck in long, deliberate slides through the lubricating shaving cream, picking up in speed and intensity as they approached liftoff. Nick was being efficiently and expertly fucked—and he watched all of the cock action in the mirrors.

“Oh, God! Oh, shit! Oh, fuck!” Nick cried out in a repeated mantra, exclaiming one expression or the other with each deep thrust of the cock. It was a glorious fuck.

When he was done and remaining inside Nick, Ashcroft pulled Nick erect again, lathered up his face, and shaved it. He lathered up his chest and belly and shaved them. He lathered up Nick’s arms and shaved them. And, last he made Nick raise his arms and he lathered up the young man’s pits and shaved them. This took a good twenty minutes and Ashcroft was hard inside Nick again.

So, he fucked him again, using another condom, standing in front of the mirror over the sink, putting the now-fully shaved other than his head and eyebrows sex partner into a full Nelson, his arms laced under Nick’s pits, forcing the young man’s arms over his head. Ashcroft’s hands cupped Nick’s head, and as he fucked him in long, deep strokes, he turned Nick’s head from side to side and straight forward, giving him a three-angled look of himself, shaved smooth, being fucked, shaving cream being fucked out of his hole and dribbling down his thighs.

The experience was erotically fascinating and arousing for Nick. He was fully submissive. He wanted it all. He got it all. Both men came again in a gush of release.

Ashcroft let Nick sink to the marble floor and he went over and started running a warm bath in the large tub. He came back to Nick, took the third open condom disk and crouched down in front of Nick, taking the young man’s cock in his hand and rolling the condom on it.

They climbed into the tub together, Nick on his back. He noticed there was another small pile of condom packets on the wide edge of the tub, and he went hard again quickly. In water coming half way up his chest, Ashcroft lathered his own ass with shaving cream, saddled himself over Nick’s pelvis, held Nick’s cock in position, and descended on the shaft. He rode Nick’s cock to an ejaculation. Then, making use of the pile of condom packets on the tub lip, Nick side-split fucked him to another ejaculation. And, finally, Ashcroft was draped over the wide-surfaced side of the tub, arms dangling over the side, and Nick mounted on his ass, arching the man’s head back by the hair, and Nick riding his ass hard as the two watched themselves fuck to exhaustion in the mirrored walls.

They remained there afterward, Nick covering Ashcroft’s body close, his cock still impaled, moving languidly inside the older man’s channel.

The marble floor was littered with used condoms and residue of packets. They both focused on them at the same time and laughed. Nick counted them out loud and said, “I’ll clean those up as soon as we get out of the tub.”

“We may never leave this tub,” Ashcroft murmured.

“We’ll have to. We’ll run out of rubbers,” Nick said. They both laughed.

“That’s a good point. Maybe I’ll have to buy stock in the Trojan brand and install a vending machine in here. So,” Ashcroft continued. “Do you want to rent the flat? It’s yours if you want it.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t think there’s any way I could afford it,” Nick answered.

“You haven’t heard the rent conditions and the discount program for services rendered yet,” Ashcroft replied. “For starters, you’ve already paid the first two months of rent right here, this evening. I think as long as you remain shaved and keep me as your barber, you most certainly can afford to live here . . . under me.”

“And if I sign up for your class next semester.”

“I’ll put your ‘A’ in an envelope right now. That would be an ‘A’ for ‘I own your shaved ass.’”