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As I drove to work, I seriously debated about how strong my will would be to not give in to what I wanted. I knew myself well enough to know which side of me would win. And at fifty-one years of age, I was fine with it and didn’t give a fuck.
What sealed the deal for me was last week when we went to the gym together. My eyes couldn’t behave, and I didn’t try to make them. Justin’s gray gym shorts gave me more than an eyeful of what lay behind the cotton fabric. He worked out in a thin white undershirt, and for the first time, I could see his chest muscles and toned biceps. He would fill out more over the next couple of years, and I ached to be by his side to witness his growth.
The devil in me was more than present while I watched Justin do pull-ups. As he dangled from the bar, his undershirt raised, giving me a view of the bowed lines that started at his hip bones and disappeared into his shorts.
The victory went to the devil while I sat on a bench in the locker room and watched Justin in the shower. He didn’t go into the open shower section but into one of the individual stalls. There weren’t doors on those stalls, but there was a vinyl curtain. The curtain covered about ninety percent of the opening, but each time someone walked by, it moved in the breeze. The movement of the curtain was what gave me a few peeks at Justin’s cock.
I wasn’t the only one looking, though. Before we even began our workout, I caught Justin staring at my body as we changed into our workout clothes. Several times during the workout, I would catch his eyes wandering toward my groin. I made sure that while I showered, I left the curtain open so he could look all he wanted. As I dried off, I watched him watching me. When he brought his eyes up from my cock and saw that I was looking at him, he smiled and didn’t look away. His cheeks were red, but he didn’t look away in shame. He eventually returned to getting dressed. As I opened my locker a few over from his, I tossed a teasing comment out to see how he’d react.
“See something you liked?” I mumbled quietly as I stepped into my boxer briefs.
“Maybe.” His tone was just above a whisper. This encouraged me to continue.
“Careful which stalls you stare into.”
“I only stared into ones I knew I liked,” he replied softly. Like throwing gasoline on a fire.
“Next time, leave the curtain open. I’d like more than a peek.”
Justin’s smile reached his bright red cheeks as he nodded.
It was good to see him start to come out of his shell a little. Our time in the gym silently revealed some of Justin’s cards. I think they were cards he was very accustomed to keeping close to the vest, maybe out of fear. I wanted him to see my cards too. I just needed to figure out how.
Since the first visit to the gym, Justin had been toying with or teasing me in class. My eyes were already drawn to him in class, and often, when I’d glance at him, he had his pen or pencil resting between his lips. When we made eye contact, he’d either inflate one side of his cheek or pushed the inside of his cheek outward with his tongue. In our last class, I spotted him running his tongue along his bottom lip. I managed to force myself not to look at him again during class because I feared losing my concentration on the lecture. Each time I paused to take a drink of water, all I could think about—and picture—was Justin on his knees in my office, choking on my thick cock.
But today in class, Justin seemed a bit withdrawn, which concerned me. My gut reaction was something was wrong between us. Not that there had been anything aside from some flirting, but I feared losing him in a sense. And maybe that was part of the imprint that both Quincy and Thomas had left on me.
Though that was my initial reaction and concern, it wasn’t the most rational one. There was probably a better explanation, one which I’d seek out after class when I’d see him in my office. His sister could have had a bad night, or even that fucker bully could have said something to him. Either way, I’d find out soon.
On my way to my office after class, I planned on sending out an email to the students in my afternoon labs, letting them know it had been canceled for the day. I needed to find out what was going on with Justin.
Irrationally, worry naturally settled in my stomach while I waited for Justin to appear. He had been showing up almost right after class. He usually stopped off at the bathroom and then made his way to my office. As I paced in front of my window, an unpleasant thought crawled into my head: what if he stopped showing up?
I was mid-stride to my desk to send out the note about the afternoon labs being canceled, when there was a knock on the door, followed by the door opening. Justin. Relief spread through my body temporarily. At least he was here in front of me. And as long as he was here, I could talk with him.
“Hi, Professor,” Justin said, sounding distracted. He closed the door, walked toward his table, and set his backpack down. He rambled on about the lecture I gave in class today, but I cut him off and sat on the edge of my desk.
“Justin, what’s bothering you?”
He frowned, put his hands in the pockets of his jeans, and looked down. Please don’t run away from me. I opened my mouth to say it, but the urge to reach out and touch him short circuited my mind and prevented me from doing anything other than trying to keep my hands off him. He was within touching distance, and I could have reached out, grabbed him by his sleeve, and pulled him to me. The longer the silence spanned between us, the more the worry set in. Was it his sister? Other family problems? The fucking bully? Money? School?
“Justin, please talk to me. I want to help, and I can help. You just need to talk to me.”
“I feel guilty.” He finally looked up at me. His hazel eyes gutted me. It was like Quincy begging me to help. “Professor,” he added, and a faint smile appeared on his face.
“Guilt is a natural feeling, Justin. What are you feeling guilty about?”
He laughed and looked away again.
“Honestly?”
“You can be honest with me, Justin. We’re friends, and this is a judgment-free zone.” I wanted to impress upon him that we could talk about anything. I wanted that with him. Though I wanted to talk with him about many things, right now, I needed to focus on what he wanted to talk about and get off his chest. He was trying to open up as best as he could, and I needed to encourage that.
“There’s so much I feel guilty about, Professor.” His eyes eventually found their way back to mine. They were filled with so much. Sadness, remorse, fear, anger. It was a lot for a nineteen-year-old.
“Why don’t you tell me what has mostly been weighing you down and causing you to feel guilty,” I suggested.
He nodded but looked away again. His eyes moved slightly as he focused on different objects outside.
