PG13's Blogs

You remember all those stories about fifties and sixties universities: ‘good grades for good favours’.  It happened on the gay side too, but rather more secretively, given the times.

Some were seduced by the prof.  Some just offered themselves to the prof.  Some had to do the seducing.  I was in the last group, since I was not especially attractive, and also short and chunky. 

To me, the prof was hot in any case.  Craggy face, thick hair, as thin as Ichabod Crane.  As Washington Irving said of his Ichabod:” his clothes bagging and fluttering about him, one might have mistaken him for the genius of famine descending upon the earth, or some scarecrow eloped from a cornfield”.  I know that doesn’t sound hot but it was.  He was almost an insect, a predatory one.

Grade benefits were not really the issue for me; I was doing fine.  In fact, I used my intellectual capacity as something that would attract him.  And looked at him very directly, knowing full well he had sex with his students.  I was always among the last to leave his seminars.

One day he continued to engage with me as the others left.  The room was empty save for us.  He asked if I’d like to come to his campus apartment to continue our conversation.  We were on!

Inside his place, doors closed, he was on me without any pretense of wanting to continue our conversation.  Well, it wasn’t a very good conversation anyway as we had both been distracted by the sex to come.   

I was pretty sure that there was a part of Ichabod that was not thin, awkward and gangly.  And I felt it in our first embrace, a long thick hardness pressed against my stomach.  I was so eager to experience that largeness.  Tonight that cock was mine!

I knew he wanted to fuck me, and I very much wanted to be fucked by him, but I also wanted to possess his body myself.  My chance to steer our encounter the way I wanted to came out of his shyness.  He turned away to take down his pants.  It was so easy and so right to say, making clear my desire: “What an exquisite ass!”  He was aroused by the compliment and modeled his ass before me.

I wasn’t kidding in my compliment.  His proportions were angular, insectile, but perfect.  The tight tiny globes of his ass were taut, with indentations on the outside.  They needed to be kissed, licked and bitten.  But then I saw his treasure: his sweet hole, a lovely rosebud nestled in a forest of dark and thick pubic hair. 

I knelt before his ass, my hands wrapped around his hips finding his member, a round and thick hardness of many inches.  And at the same time my face and my nose and my lips and my tongue were exploring the wonders of his hairy cheeks.  What hard and tight muscles!  But the temptations of treasure were too hard to resist for long and his lovely rosebud beckoned.

Making love to as ass with my mouth is one thing I’m really good at.  I had him groaning and whimpering in seconds.  He spread his legs wider, still standing.  Every breath of his was a moan and he was rocking.  We needed to do this prone.  We ran to the bedroom.  Ichabod laid on his back, legs and hips raised.  Given his position, I knew that this next round of tonguing could get my cock into his ass.

My tongue and lips went to work.   His hole was kissed, rimmed, then penetrated in flicks and thrusts, then widening the hole with my tongue to push some spit in, then creating suction with my lips to pull it out.  Ichabod was one continuous moan by his point.  When I came up for hair, he said “Seed me please”.

Kneeling over his ass, my cock seemed to have a magic homing device.  It found his hole without my hands or his hips.  Sliding into him was easy, his hole was so ready.  Soon my groin was pressed hard against his ass, his dense coarse hair scratching me, his hard globes resilient against my pressure.  My softer body luxuriated in the resistance of his scrawny angles and the unyielding strength of his torso.  But we didn’t last long.  His body was at first trembling, sending little pulse shock waves up my dick, then his ass muscles began to pulsate, stroking my dick, sucking the orgasm from me.  Even as a bottom, Ichabod was in control.  Still I wasn’t complaining; I had a long and very satisfying orgasm, which ended in a very wet kiss.  Ichabod had a small prostate orgasm, but not a full cum.

And he was still hard.  His cock was a thing of beauty, but almost a thing of horror too.  How could something that monstrous be attached to so slender a frame?  And below his cock, balls that were practically basket balls, huge and hairy, hanging low.  You see a package like that and I think you want to marry that guy, have him seed you forever.

When I eased out of him, I raised up his hips and sucked some of my cum leaking out of his ass.  While I shared that musky taste with Ichabod, I was spreading his pre-cum on his cock.  I had been thinking of sitting down on him, controlling the entry, but Ichabod had his own ideas.  He pulled me down to spoon with him, the hardness of his groin and chest against my back, the hot shaft of his cock pressed hard against me.

However much I wanted him inside me I was nervous about something that big opening me up.  But he knew how to handle his size.  At the start his tip was just gently pressing against my hole.  As a master cocksman – and he was – he knew that I would grow desperate to have him inside me.  And that’s what happened.  There was a little pain on stretching my cherry, but he eased back and forth until I opened more easily.  The first few inches were a source of warmth and joy and welcome.  I gave a low guttural groan of desire.   How good he felt!  But then resistance and pain; my entryway was blocked, constricted.  He stopped and pulled back a little, then just rested and throbbed inside me.  My opening and my entry way were awash in pleasure and need.  My whole body ached for him.  The next phase of my boy cunt relaxed, and with a happy “Oh!” of intense pleasure he slid in another few inches.  I could feel him deep, deep inside me.  This was new territory for me, a wondrous land of having so much of another person inside me, owning my guts.  And then, once again, he was blocked.  I had no idea what to do.  He did.  Once again he waited.  Once again my body was crazed with lust, wild with want.   Almost involuntarily, I began tiny thrusts against him, pushing at that one part of me still closed.  I whimpered a little each time, but he was moving in fractionally.  And then the last barrier gave way.  The rest of him slid smoothly in, causing no pain in my love canal but causing my eyes to bug out with how much of him was in me.  I felt so fulfilled when I felt his groin against my buttocks, his thick bristly hair scratching my young skin.

He was still within me for a while, but his body moved around mine.  His legs enclosed mine, his chest pressed my shoulders down, his elbows were on either side of my head.  He enveloped me.  I could feel his hardness and his body hair against me.  His sweat and his musk scent was heady and strong.  I licked one of his arms; he shifted to run his fingers through his armpits, and push them in my mouth.  That sensation was so intense my hips thrust against him, and I grunted in need.  And with that signal, I got fucked.  That was the word for it, although there was artistry in his fucking.  His first withdrawal was almost all the way out.  I felt my insides collapsing as he left, a physical pain and an emotional loss.  I would have wailed if he had left me.  But he came back, a slow steady unstoppable piston stroke till he was all the way in again.  Taken!  Split wide open, speared.  The sensations were off the scale: huge bodily pleasure and a huge sense of being possessed utterly.  He did the same retreat and re-thrust again, and then again.   By the third time, I had lost control of my body: my eyes were streaming, my face was snot covered, my mouth was drooling, I was giving little gasps and cries, my hips were jerking.  My identity disappeared; all my being was focused on the enormous member inside me.  So I don’t remember a lot about the rest of the fucking, except that it went on for a long time.  Occasionally he would kiss me, sometimes pushing his spit into my mouth.  He licked my face, bit my neck, sucked my fingers.

Although the rhythm of his thrusts did not change much, I could tell he was nearing his climax, his seeding of me.  His body was awash in sweat, slippery against me, a strong musky reek filling my senses.  The arrival of his orgasm was heralded by hissing and clicking sound, little coughs. Then his movements became less fluid and more jerky.  And then he just started to vibrate, deep within me.  He looked at me with an evil smile, as if I had lost my identity to him.  And in a way I had, willingly.

After his climax, he became still.  His hold on me increased, as if it was necessary that his insemination continue.  I was held in his cocoon, like a fledgling moth, well fertilized.  Wet with his sweat, surrounded by his hardwood body, I was feeling a little raw and hammered.  But it had been an extraordinary experience.

After quite a while, he slowly withdrew from me.  It was time to get my ass back, but I still felt a sense of loss.  I could feel his sperm following his out; I was leaking.  I reached back and tasted him, his musk, his seed his essence.  My hand was soaked with his cum, as was the bed below me.  He rolled onto his stomach, spread his legs.  Even slightly flaccid, his cock was still huge.

“Clean me” he said.  I was groggy and not a little sore, but I still had a serious adoration on for his cock.  So I slid down his body and kissed his groin, his bush wet and fragrant with sperm and sweat and musk.  I rubbed my cheeks, my forehead, my lips against his licked his sweaty bush, balls, ass and cock.  I tongued and kissed everywhere, sometimes sucking too.  I rested finally, placing my head on his chest, mouth the width of a finger away from the head of his cock.  There was no way I could take all of him, or even most of him in my mouth and throat, and I was pretty sure he knew that, so I just waited for his needs.  And I saw or rather felt his cock begin to grow; my head hadn’t moved, his cock had lengthened as his erection returned.  All I had to do was open my mouth and receive him.  Which I did, with great pleasure.  He didn’t crowd the back of my throat, but he filled my whole mouth.  His hands moved to hold my head in place while I stroked as best I could with my tongue and sucked a little.  It wasn’t long before that musky reek filled my senses again and his clicking noises returned.  Sperm flowed into my mouth, not in spurts but as a steady flow.  He gave me room to drink his seed, except I was more gulping than drinking.  Only towards the end as the flow eased did I get a chance to savour his seed: a pungent animal flavour.  Right away I knew I would want it again.

But this time, when he was done, he pushed off my head, and lay still, clearly depleted, looking skeletal, half dead.  “Leave me now”, he said, and so I did.

My walk to my room was through campus.  In the early evening I must have looked a sight.  Walking “I’ve just been fucked” funny, reeking of sweat, sperm and anal sex, a big grin on my face.

I had sex with Ichabod three other times; each was an amazing experience.  But then a new favourite took my place, as I knew would happen.  But all that year I was a star student, according to my grades.

These days, I doubt professors can get away with what was common then.  But when I became a professor myself, and then retired, I learned there were other ways to work the system.

But that’s another story.