by Juniper Bell
“Sounds like you have a tale to tell.” Merriman’s eyes gleamed from deep inside a nest of wrinkles. “Will it involve,” he lowered his voice, “illicit relations? You know I’m an old lecher and can’t turn down a chance to hear a dirty story, especially a true one.”
Jack took the liberty of picking up his mentor’s plate and coffee cup. “That’s what I’m counting on. I need your help, Professor.” He led the way to the far table, where they both sat down.
“Professor, I’m… I’ve become…” How to explain it? “Obsessed.”
“Surely not surprising. I’ve noticed how fiercely you devote yourself to your doctoral thesis.”
“I’m not obsessed with Sparta at the moment. I wish I were. You have no idea how much I wish that. It’s…” He leaned forward. “You know I’m a resident advisor at Adams House. I try to be the solid, rule-abiding, responsible sort.”
“One might even say you try too hard. You’re too good-looking to pull it off, with all that dark, unruly hair and constant jaw stubble. One senses the passionate soul lurking under that dutiful exterior.”
“See…” Jack ignored the comment about his looks, a topic that always embarrassed him. He accepted his coffee from the waiter, then waited until the man left. “That’s just it. I’m not here for sex. I’ve had plenty of sex in my time.”
“The sexually successful local boy from the streets of South Boston.”
“Now I’m a Classics student, for Chrissake. Latin conjugations, Greek poetry…that’s what I’m supposed to be thinking about. I’ve never had any problem keeping it zipped at Adams House.”
“You’re a better man than I.” Merriman tipped his coffee cup to him.
“No, I’m not. I’m a liar. All this time I thought I was immune to that crap. All the flirting and hooking up and keg-partying. I found it disgusting, the way the students carry on. And then the breakups, and the tears, and the grades falling apart, and more tears, late-night sobbing in the stairwell, girls tapping on my door, ‘Mr. Cartwright, I really need to talk to someone…’ Do you know I keep a stash of hot chocolate for heartbroken twenty-year-olds? The little marshmallows really help. I keep telling them to focus on their studies and avoid the drama. But now the joke’s on me.”
He broke off. It was harder to confess than he’d thought. If anyone will understand, it’s Merriman, he reminded himself.
“Spit it out, boy,” ordered the older man. “I have a limited lifespan ahead of me. Does the woman inhabit your domain?”
“No. Her two friends do. I was curious about the three of them because they’re always together. And I admit the girl is beautiful, in her own way.”
“If you’re speaking of Clare Gaston, she is most certainly beautiful.”
Jack’s jaw gaped open. “How…”
“Word of the three students from Louisiana who are joined at the hip has reached even my exalted ears. Clare took my epic poetry seminar. Belton’s a nationally ranked wrestler, did you know that?”
“Yes.” He even knew all his stats and the fact he was known for his vicious short-arm headlock.
“Luc Saint Giles is from one of the wealthiest, oldest families in the South. His father essentially ran Louisiana until he died. Mother’s a fainting Southern lady. I hear Luc has the run of things now. He does as he pleases, but authorities are assured he causes no harm. The family donated a substantial sum to the School of Government in exchange for giving Luc’s two friends a little extra consideration.”
Jack stared. “You’re kidding.”
“Oh, they were both qualified. More than qualified. But admittance to Earlton doesn’t always depend on qualification, as we all know.”
Jack hadn’t expected such a mother lode of information. “Do you know anything else? Did they grow up together?”
“Rob’s mother worked for the Saint Giles family, according to his application. He was granted the same educational opportunities as Luc. They grew up as close as brothers.”
“Well, not quite like—” But Jack broke off. He had doubts about telling Merriman what had happened now that the man knew the students involved.
“Boy, you’ve already brightened my aging, pain-filled day considerably. If you don’t continue the story, I may resort to desperate measures.”
So Jack took a deep breath and told him.
First advice
Earlton Faculty Club—two pots of coffee later
By the time Jack had finished, Merriman looked twenty years younger. He sat up straighter in his chair and drummed his fingers on the white linen tablecloth. His eyes darted left, then right, as if he was picturing the scene over and over again in his mind.
Jack heaved a long sigh of relief. It felt good to recount the story to someone, and as he’d expected, Merriman appeared unfazed.
“I mentioned the word obsession. I need to get them out of my mind,” said Jack through gritted teeth. He hunched over his plate of scrambled eggs, glaring at Professor Merriman. “I’ve read your memoir. You’ve had every kind of affair under the sun. How can I stop thinking about those three? I want them out of my brain. Every time I close my eyes, I see her legs splayed open. I see Rob huddled over her. Luc stroking his cock.”
Jack wiped his hand across his forehead. God, he was losing it.
“I used to be obsessed with sex, but now I’m done with it. I OD’ed on sex. Now all I want is to finish my damn thesis. But you know the last time I did any work on it? Three weeks ago. And that was because Luc and Clare went to the library. I followed them and took the opportunity to get some work done while they studied. She wore jeans and a little cream-colored sweater with orange polka dots embroidered on it. Luc played with his pen as if it were a cigar and jiggled his leg nonstop. He also made a few spit balls, which landed in Clare’s hair. She didn’t even look up when she flicked them off her head. He laughed and looked wicked.
“Do you know what obsession is about, Merriman? It’s about the details. All these tiny little details that burn themselves into your brain until there’s no more fucking room for anything else. They left around ten thirty. I lost track of them in Earlton Yard.”
“Where was Rob?”
“Probably at practice for the Princeton match. Do you see what I’m talking about? This is absolutely insane. I’m completely obsessed. By all of them. Catching them in bed together was the last straw.”
Merriman chuckled. His coffee was long finished, his napkin lay crumpled on his plate, but he showed no signs of wearying of the conversation. “So you want my advice.”
“I do. Should I report them? But for what? Should I confront them? Should I corner Clare and make sure she’s a willing participant?”
“Why don’t you take them up on their invitation?”
“Invitation?”
“How can you be so dense, boy? Rob left that backpack on purpose. They intended for you to catch them. They want you. And if you don’t accept their invitation, I may have to kick you out of Earlton myself.”
Inane Scrawlings, October 24
J hasn’t ratted us out yet. L has been nervous. We had to give him a full-body, four-handed oil massage, he’s been so stressed out. I oiled his asshole while R stroked his cock. I know my finger up his ass is just a taste of what he could enjoy if J joined us, if J’s penis took the place of my hand. I dirty-talked to him as I finger-fucked him. Imagine it’s J and he’s ramming his thick cock up your ass, spreading your cheeks with his blunt hands, drenching you in lube until we’re all slippery and sliding over each other. I bet J would make us do all sorts of dirty things. Imagine J naked, I bet his cock is huge, just like his whole body. Everything about him is so powerful, imagine all that strength pouring into you. L came so hard I thought he’d never recover.
That’s why I think L is developing his own crush on J. He was the one who told J about our “Most Fuckable” vote. We hold secret little votes like this everywhere we go. Our school counselor back in Petit Bayou would have been shocked to learn she was vote
d “Most Likely to be a Secret Porn Star”.
We have dirty minds. We admit it. Especially me and L. R’s more serious. It’s not hard to get him going, but he’s never the one to initiate our naughty word games and such.
Professor Merriman’s been voted “Most Likely to do Ecstasy While Listening to Rush”.
I think I might be voted “Most Likely to Die of an Unrequited Crush” if we don’t do something soon.
First night’s sleep in a week
Adams House—Jack’s suite
Jack washed down four capsules of Tylenol PM and slept like the dead. In the middle of the night, a terrible noise penetrated his sleep. In his dreams, it sounded like an ambulance, which made sense because he was being taken to the hospital with his bunny rabbit, who’d gotten his leg caught in a trap.
He kept telling the ambulance attendant to turn off the siren—it was disturbing his bunny—but the annoying man wouldn’t listen. The bunny turned into Clare, naked Clare, who was so thirsty she wanted to suck on his cock. He let her, even though the attendant kept watching.
Then someone was in his room, making him sit up, shaking him. He tried to fight at first, but the person was so damn strong.
Waking up was like swimming to the surface of a deep, murky lake.
“Cartwright. There’s a fire. You have to get up.” Rob tugged at his arm. The kid’s strength was freakish.
“Not…real,” he managed. Fire alarms happened frequently at the Earlton dorms; fires rarely.
“They think this one might be real. They’re looking for the resident advisor. Some kind of procedure. Come on, get up.”
Rob lifted him out of bed and plopped him on his feet. Jack looked down at himself. Boxers, luckily. Not so luckily, the remains of his nighttime boner peeked through the opening.
Rob didn’t seem to care. Jack wondered if anything threw Rob off stride. He could probably defend a fortress against a horde of marauding knights and barely break a sweat. Rob snagged the jeans and sweater Jack had tossed off the night before and thrust them at Jack.
“Clothes. Dress. Then we gotta go.”
“Thanks,” Jack mumbled as he pulled on his clothes. “Where are the others?”
“Everyone’s outside. It’s cold, so take a jacket.”
He hadn’t actually meant “everyone”. He’d meant Clare and Luc. But he wouldn’t confess that. “Is anyone hurt?”
“Not that I know of. But I’m not in charge here. Last I heard the firemen were checking the tunnels.”
Rob bundled him out of the room. They hurried down the stairs and burst into the cold darkness outside. Students huddled on the wide terrace out front, a fashion parade of nightwear. Jack stopped to talk to the fireman posted at the door. He explained who he was, and was told the fire had been started by an unauthorized toaster oven with a frayed wire.
The whole time, he surreptitiously scanned the crowd for Luc, Clare and Rob. Had they all been together when the alarm went off? Had they been fucking the way they had before? Probably not exactly the same—maybe Clare had been on her hands and knees, with one man on each end, taking Rob in the mouth, Luc up the ass.
God damn it. Hard again.
“Are you okay, Mr. Cartwright?”
Clare’s soft voice made him jump at least a foot. “Yes. Fine. You guys?”
“We’re fine. We were still awake. Studying.”
Sure. Studying. Jack rubbed his forehead. He needed more Tylenol. With whiskey this time. Clare wore soft pink sweatpants and a thin tank top under a charcoal gray sweater. Her nipples lifted the thin ribbed cotton of the tank. His fingers twitched with the need to feel their pebbly hardness.
What if he touched them right now? Just picked up his hands and put them to her breasts. Surrounded those erotic dark points with his fingers. Pressed the firm flesh until it hardened even more. Brushed the sweater back from her shoulders so he could see her entire chest. Teased her nipples until they stood out like bull’s eyes in a target. Until her breath came in steamy clouds and her moans rose into the crisp sky.
“Well. That was lucky. I was fast asleep.”
“We know. We were worried about you when we didn’t see you come out.”
“So you sent Rob in to get me.”
“The firemen didn’t want him to go. But you can’t stop Rob.”
He remembered the exact color of the lips of her pussy. The exact sound she made when Rob licked between her legs.
Madness.
“Thanks for returning Rob’s backpack,” she said softly, as if for his ears only. “We haven’t seen you since then.”
“I’ve been wrapped up in my thesis.”
“I see.” Her face fell, which made him feel terrible. He lifted his hand, wanting to reassure her, then let it drop back down.
“I…uh…I’ve been thinking.”
“So have we,” she interrupted. “We want to explain. Will you come see us?”
Explain.
No other word could have cut through his fog. An explanation, above all things, was what he craved.
Chapter Four
First Proposition
Adams House, Rob and Luc’s suite—the next afternoon
Jack tapped on the door, a bit nervous as to whether they’d all be clothed.
“Entre-toi!” Luc called.
He pushed open the door and found that not only were they dressed, but the room had been reorganized. The futon was now a couch shoved against the front window. The desk chairs had been dragged to the middle of the room and arranged around a low mahogany table. Jack had been inside enough million-dollar professors’ homes to know that table cost someone a great deal of money.
Next to the fireplace, Clare was pouring boiling water from a glass coffee carafe into several mismatched mugs. Jack ate up every detail of her appearance. Black velvet pants, tighter than her usual style. An old-fashioned jacket of bottle green. The words “smoking jacket” came to mind. As she turned to smile a greeting at him, he saw little barrettes over each ear.
He pulled his gaze away from her and studied the room. Like most Earlton dorm rooms, it consisted of a common room, a bathroom and a number of bedrooms, two in this case. Students spent a remarkable amount of time decorating their common rooms, considering they’d be moving out at the end of the year. No one ever got to keep the same room two years in a row.
But Luc and Rob had their room decorated as if they never intended to leave. A thick carpet covered the floor from wall to wall with a pattern of twining green leaves and pink roses. A large painting dominated one wall. It featured a gracious white plantation home next to a river. Several boys raced across its endless green lawn.
“No, that’s not us,” said Luc, watching him. “But it could have been. That’s so we don’t get homesick.”
“How could you get homesick when you have all your childhood friends with you?” Jack accepted a mug from Clare, proud of how his hands didn’t even tremble when their fingers brushed.
“It’s a cold, unfriendly place, Massachusetts.” Luc winked. “We do what we can to keep the temperatures up where we like ’em.”
Jack decided to ignore the double entendre. He’d formed a strategy for this session. Straight, to the point, get his “explanation” and get out. ”What do you all want to tell me?”
“You see, it’s like this,” said Luc, dropping into a chair and propping one ankle on the opposite knee. Rob and Clare sat down as well, but Jack decided he’d rather stay upright for now. “We’ve all been fantasizing about you since we moved into this dump.”
Jack choked on his Earl Grey tea. Instantly all three jumped to their feet, but he held out his hand to stop them. When he’d gotten control of his coughing fit, he cleared his throat and gestured for them to sit down. They did so, watching him closely, awaiting his next move.
He ought to leave now. Walk out of the room and never address any of them again in anything other than an academic context. Instead he asked, “Why would you do that?”
> “You’re hot,” said Luc simply. “And Clare likes you.”
Clare bit her lip, gazing thoughtfully into her teacup.
Luc continued. “It may look like I’m in charge, but in actual fact, it’s Clare. We both do whatever Clare wants.”
“Yeah, right,” she scoffed softly.
“We’d both kill for Clare, if we had to.” Rob’s grim statement dropped like a stone into the conversation. Clare turned her face away as pink crept up her cheeks. She fiddled with her mug, which had the logo of a public radio station on it.
Luc uncrossed his legs in the fidgety manner of a restless student. “Don’t tell all our secrets, Robbie. But yes, c’est vrai. We will both defend our Clare to the bitter end. But that’s because we adore her and we know she would do the same for us.”
Jack saw the pink completely take over Clare’s face. Some secret was being alluded to here. His heart went out to her. Her friends might defend her to the death, but right now they were embarrassing her.
“I think you’re making Clare uncomfortable,” he told them. “I think you should stop.”
Both boys looked at him. Boys—he called them that out of habit, but they weren’t typical boys in any respect. Under the weight of their combined gazes, he knew they were men. Unusual men. Maybe extraordinary.
“Okay, first explanation. How old are you?”
“I’m twenty,” said Luc promptly. “Rob and Clare are twenty-one. They had to wait for me to graduate so we could attend college. And I was in no hurry to finish my schooling and come North. I had a nice life back at La Rivière.”
“Why did you all come here?”
Clare gazed solemnly at him over the edge of her mug. “I wanted to come.”
“Didn’t I tell you?” Luc chuckled. “Whatever Clare says.”
Jack looked at her, even though it was like looking directly at the sun. “You always do everything together?”