Seducing Professor Coyle(8)

By: Darien Cox

But then Reggie came into his office after class that spring day, tears in his eyes, and begged him to change his grade. He claimed his mother had been diagnosed with a life-threatening illness the week he’d had to write it, and swore that he’d prove with his next paper that he’d kept up in class. The papers were a good portion of the semester grade, and Reggie couldn’t afford the F, he said. Please. Change my grade. And Peter had. He’d bumped it up to a C, on the condition that the boy’s next paper would be stellar.

But his next paper wasn’t stellar. It was another piece of toilet trash that looked like he’d written it in his sleep, was half the length the assignment called for, and partially covered with a sticky substance that looked like ketchup. Peter gave the paper an F, and washed his hands of it. Or so he’d thought.

Reggie had shown up in his office yet again, and had the audacity to ask him a second time to amend his grade. When Peter refused, things took a dark turn. “My last paper was the same quality and you gave that a C. How are you going to explain to the dean why this one gets an F? Especially when I tell him you made me suck you off for the C, and this time I refused, so you failed me.”

Peter could still picture his smirking face, the pure hatred in his eyes. “Everyone knows what you are, Dr. Coyle. Who do you think they’ll believe? A star athlete or some cock-muncher?”

Peter had stood firm, refusing to be intimidated, even when Reggie’s mother—who incidentally was in perfect health—reported him, believing every word of her son’s bogus story. The university had stuck by Peter, and ultimately Reggie’s parents decided to drop the lawsuit they’d filed against him, asking for an exorbitant amount of money for pain and suffering. Peter had often wondered if they’d come to suspect their son was lying, or if Reggie himself couldn’t stomach the thought of a public trial where he’d have to claim he sucked off a professor for a grade.

Either way, Peter had won. Or so he thought.

But the rumors made their way through the university, among teachers and students alike, and there was no putting that ugly cat back in the bag. Regardless of his vindication, there were those who still wondered if something untoward had happened with the student. The stain of that suspicion was forever fused to him, so he left. He’d stayed with Thorn for a time, struggling to get himself back together, and took the job at Kelsingford when a position became available. No one at this school knew anything about his personal life, whether he was gay or straight, and that’s how it would stay. As for the students, well, he dealt directly with them as little as possible. He no longer trusted those shining, eager young faces he used to love lecturing to and interacting with. He could barely stand to look at them now.

As he smoothed down his clothing, checking himself one last time in the mirror, he was pleased to find his erection ebbing. Thank God. He grabbed his keys and headed out of the house, anxious to get to the party so he could have this boner tended to promptly.

His conscience was troubling him over this state of unanticipated arousal he’d been in ever since Benjamin LeClair left his office. The boy had fascinated him in a way he was unaccustomed to. He’d never been attracted to a student before, and hadn’t even allowed his mind to go there. Yet something about Benjamin’s green eyes, the way they watched him...something else was there, behind the anger. There was a vague sexual tension in the room, despite the boy’s obvious annoyance with him.

To his shame, Peter had found himself analyzing the student after he left, noting his perfectly ironed clothing and his manicured nails, wondering if he was straight. Student! It was unthinkable to have these feelings, yet his cock kept reminding him it didn’t give a damn what he thought, it wanted to fuck Benjamin LeClair, with his sandy hair falling over those wild green eyes.

More shameful still, he’d looked up Benjamin’s profile to find out his age. He was twenty-three, older than most students. And there was something in his eyes that made him seem older still, a hardness suggesting life experience, something Peter rarely saw at Kelsingford.

It doesn’t matter, he thought as he pulled his car out of the driveway and headed down the road toward the party. He’s still a student, and he’s still too damn young for you. Peter decided he’d simply find a similar looking young man tonight at Thorn’s—there were always a bevy of willing young prospects to go around—and he would safely, and without risk, fuck Benjamin LeClair out of his system.

He had to get the boy out of his mind, and quick. Because on Monday, unless the student produced some compelling evidence that he’d turned in that test, Peter was not going to budge. Benjamin was getting an F.