Professor David Baxter couldn't help getting a little hard as he made out the pairings for the upcoming project in his intro to cultural anthropology class. It was the "alien cultures project," in which groups of two would have to investigate each other's cultures.
To make it interesting for the students, he'd always take very unlike people - a plain, mousy girl and a vivacious sorority sister or a white country boy and a hip black urban kid - and put them in pairs.
It was a sure-fire assignment: one student would introduce the other to a culture they probably had no idea about, certainly no direct experience with; observations and photos were recorded in the field notebook; the experience would be discussed between the two of them; and then, the situation would be reversed - so the skater, having been to evangelical church service would now take the religious girl to a thrash-metal concert. An analytical paper would be turned in along with the field notes.
As he filled out the pairings sheet for this semester's class, Professor Baxter was savoring the feeling of an intense hard-on because of one pairing in particular: he put Reed Larson together with Chance Taylor.
The thought of throwing these two together evoked an incredible fantasy of lust for David, a closeted, middle-aged professor who savored each and every one of the handsome males in his class. And Reed and Chance were two he could not get enough of.
Reed was a senior, clearly taking an intro course to get left-over area requirements out of the way. He was an absolutely gorgeous, male-model-quality blonde: tan, with a very sexy, powerful build, always clothed in the coolest outfits. He had a face that dared you to look away, perfectly formed. His smile was radiant.
And there was a vivaciousness to him that made David think sex with him was probably electrifying. He wore his hair in a kind of butch crew-cut that was a real turn-on. A real heart-breaker, all right. David had him pegged early on in the semester as being gay, and so wasn't surprised when Reed wrote matter-of-factly about the gay male dating scene for his "courtship ritual" paper.
Chance was also gorgeous. A freshman on the wrestling squad, he had the clean good looks of an all-American jock: short, choppy hair, mesmerizing blue eyes, and a body to die for. David had to catch himself from staring the first few weeks of the course, when the weather was still warm enough for Chance to show up in T-shirts.
He favored tight white ones, which achingly set off his amazing biceps: they were probably a couple inches bigger than what would have been the proper proportion for his body, and their big, curvy mounds just begged to be stroked and licked.
In his white T, and wearing old jeans, David thought Chance looked like he was about to go work in the field with his dad. Those tight shirts showed off his hard pecs and abs off perfectly. He'd lost track of his lecture a couple times when he'd gotten mesmerized by the boy's hard nipples.
"Oh, come into my office and let me just rub my hands and face all over you!" David's libido kept aching to cry out. But Chance was a very shy, ostensibly straight young man from upstate farm country, refreshingly naive in all the answers he gave in class, often quoting what his parents had taught him, and weighing that lore against the theory they were reading.
As his mind brought Chance's picture into view, David dwelled on one of the boy's best features: those full, bee-stung lips of his. Imagine them tracing over your chest or caressing your cock. Ooh la.
Throwing these two together for an intense week-long assignment had David stroking himself in dreamy bliss. What would their two cultural sites be? Baseball game and leather bar? Dirt bike rally and runway show? State fair and drag act? How would Reed be able to keep his hands off Chance, David wondered? Oh, to be young again, he mused.
He put down his pencil, locked his office door, and, with visions of those two licking and sucking and kissing each other, he jacked himself to an incredibly satisfying climax.
When they got their pairings that day in class, Reed was pleased. He'd noticed the young freshman he'd be teamed with - hard not to, the kid had a great build. He couldn't say much more, though, just that the kid was a sweet, simple, good-looking freshman.
The answers he gave when called on were almost embarrassingly innocent, often referencing "my momma" and "my daddy" (a couple students would laugh, which Reed thought pretty crappy).
Chance was sort of hoping to be teamed up with the gorgeous sophomore, Sarah Smithson, but this Reed guy seemed awfully nice and very smart. Plus, he was clearly not a freshman, so it probably wouldn't hurt to have an experienced upper-classman helping him on the project, which was worth thirty percent of their grade.