Roll Me Over

The door was down an alley—a dark alley.

Keith always felt surreptitious, somehow guilty (although he knew that he had committed no crime) when he cut off from the main street and walked briskly, hoping no one would see him or recognize him, past the garbage cans, the litter of dirty old papers and empty beer bottles, to the entrance with the simple plaque overhead, City Health Clinic.

He opened the door unhesitatingly and started up the creaky stairs in the ancient building.

A young man appeared at the top of the landing, coming into view from around a corner.

Shit, thought Keith. It’s one of my own students.

“Well—Mr. Bramson!” said the boy, grinning broadly. “What are you doing here?”

The same thing you are, you bastard, Keith thought. To get a shot of penicillin in my ass. Do you want to make a big deal out of it?

Christ. It was just his luck something like this would happen. He hadn’t even got into the main office and here was someone recognizing him already. Now the word would get all over the campus in nothing flat. He could see the headlines in the student daily: POPULAR YOUNG PROF OBSERVED AT CITY VD CLINIC.

The boy was in his American Lit 202 class; Keith had noticed him at the beginning of the semester and had realized full well that he was gay. He knew from the way the boy smiled at him that they had no secrets from each other. The boy had his number, too. It takes one to know one, and all that jazz.

Even so, aware that they operated on the same wave length, Keith did not relish the idea of meeting one of his own students on the steps of the City Clinic.

“How are you, Pete?” Keith said. He ground his teeth in a determined effort to be pleasant.

You should be called Peter, too, Keith thought, the way you display that bulging basket. You have even got the nerve to shove it into my face right here on the steps.

“I never thought I’d be meeting you in a place like this,” said Peter, still grinning. He was obviously enjoying the situation very much.

POPULAR YOUNG PROF APPREHENDED BY AN ENTERPRISING STUDENT screamed the headline in Keith’s mind.

“We’re all human, Peter. Even the best of us has to visit a doctor once in a while.” Keith knew he was sounding like a pompous ass. He was furious that he had to make excuses or explanations to this brash, impertinent kid.

“Oh, sure. But most people go to their own private doctor. Don’t you have a private doctor? Only guys without much bread come here to the City Clinic.”

“Is that so?” Keith’s voice was frigid. “Well, I suppose we all have the right to make our own decisions in matters like this, wouldn’t you say?”

“Oh, yeah. Sure. I guess so.”

“It’s been nice seeing you, Peter. Take care.” Keith continued up the stairs.

“Oh, Mr. Bramson.”

“Yes?” Keith turned.

“I was wondering. Your lit class is sure interesting, but some of the material—it’s damned difficult, you know. I was just wondering, do you ever do any private tutoring?”

Keith hesitated. Did the kid really want help with his studies, or was he threatening some kind of blackmail? POPULAR YOUNG PROF FORCED TO GIVE GOOD GRADE TO POOR STUDENT. Or was he perhaps suggesting he’d like to get together with the teacher for a roll in the hay?

Fat chance of that. Keith wasn’t about to put his neck in a noose. “As a general rule I don’t tutor,” he said firmly.

“Oh, I couldn’t pay you, of course,” Peter went on, seemingly undaunted. “I mean, I couldn’t pay you in cash. But I could always do a little work for you, in your office or in your apartment. Some of the kids who’ve been to parties at your place say it’s really a swinging pad.”

“I like it,” said Keith. “Yes, I’ve conducted seminars in my home occasionally. There’s nothing unusual or irregular about that.” Keith knew he’d been placed on the defensive; he resented it, but Peter had the upper hand for the moment, and he couldn’t help his instinctive reaction.

“Oh, I know it’s quite common—for college teachers to be friendly with their students. There is nothing wrong about it. We’re all adults.”

“Yes. Well, I’m sorry, Peter. I don’t think I need any help or have any work for you to do at the moment.”

That should fix his hot little wagon, thought Keith. Jesus, the crust of some of these kids! And if a teacher ever got involved with a student (and there were some of them, he knew, who did) and there was a scandal, it was the teacher who got blamed, never the smart-ass kid who threw himself at the teacher and pushed his way into the teacher’s bed. There’s no justice, Keith thought, there’s really no justice anywhere at all.

“You don’t have to give me an answer right now,” said Peter. To Keith’s utter amazement, the boy reached down to his crotch, ostensibly to scratch his balls, and rubbed his cock, swelling hard in his jeans. “Think it over, Mr. Bramson,” Peter continued softly. “If ever you decide you need me—for anything—let me know. I’ll come running, I promise you.”

“That’s very generous of you, Peter,” said Keith, swallowing hard, “but I really don’t think—”

“I’m very good. I can do anything, any kind of work you want me to do.”

“No, Peter. No.”

“In my opinion, Mr. Bramson, you’re one of the most swinging profs on the campus. I mean, you’re not like the rest of those graybeards. You’re still young enough to understand the kids in your classes.”

You can say that again, Keith thought. “Well, good-bye, Peter. If ever I have any work for you to do—in my office, I’ll be happy to let you know.”

“Do that, Mr. Bramson. You won’t regret it, I know. I’m really very good—at anything you might want me to do.”

Still shaken from his confrontation with Peter on the stairs, Keith presented himself at the main desk.

“The name is Bramson,” he said in a low voice. “Keith Bramson.”

“Yes sir?” The Negro girl smiled pleasantly. “What can we do for you?”

Keith resisted an impulse to glance over his shoulder. He was always afraid, in this place, that somebody would overhear him and somehow brand him and condemn him. He knew that it was foolish to feel that way, but there it was.

He cleared his throat. “You have a card on me, I believe,” he said. “I was here in August, and I was told to report back in three months.”

The girl produced the data from her files. Very efficient, thought Keith, very nice and very impersonal. And, after all, why not? She probably greeted cases of gonorrhea and syphilis every day of the week. Well, of course she did; it was her job, wasn’t it? There was no reason to think that his case might hold any novelty for her.

“Oh, yes—here we are.” She asked his address, verified it with her record, and made a notation on the card. Then she tore off a number ninety-eight from the pad on the counter. “Will you take a seat in the rear, please? Your number will be called.” She handed him the slip of paper.

Keith was familiar with this routine, too. This assembly line, this dehumanization was what he wanted. If he had been so inclined, he could have explained that to Peter on the stairs. Anonymity was what he sought; he didn’t want to talk a problem like this over with his regular doctor; it would have been too embarrassing. At the City Clinic he was just a number and not an individual at all. It suited him fine, the whole arrangement.

There were two small sections of folding chairs at the rear of the room. Perhaps a dozen of them were occupied. There were a couple of girls, obviously whores, giggling together in the front row. A hippie type with long blonde hair and beads and bare feet sat in one section to the side. There was an older man in a conservative gray business suit. Three nellies sat in a row by themselves, in the center; they were giggling, too, like the girls.

Keith sat at the back in a row where he was alone. He opened a paperback novel. He had brought it with him to help him pass the time while he waited for his turn and his number was called.

A voice came over the loud speaker. It said, “Number sixty-nine. Number sixty-nine, please, in room twelve.”

Everybody laughed.

One of the whores stood up. “That’s me, honey,” she said happily. “That’s my number.”

“Sock it to ‘em, baby,” said the hippie. “Tell ‘em what it’s like, on your back all day.”

“Better than on the stomach, sweetie—like you, the girl said sweetly. She handed her purse to one of her friends. “Hold this for me, will you, Gladys?”

“Don’t forget to write, honey,” said Gladys. “We’re going to miss you.”

Keith went back to his novel as the girl disappeared down the hall. He knew from experience that he might have to wait an hour for his turn. The numbers were not necessarily called in sequence. He had given up trying to figure out why this was. It was possible, too, he might be called in ten minutes. There seemed no fathomable order of system about the assembly line. He was prepared, however, to wait the afternoon if it was necessary.

A young man in a white T-shirt and with kinky blonde hair sat down beside him. Keith’s eyes wandered from his book to the kid’s crotch. Wow, he thought. It looks like there’s a lot of love muscle in there.

“Hi,” said the boy. He was aware of Keith’s scrutiny, and he didn’t seem at all surprised or embarrassed about it. He had a healthy tan, and his teeth were dazzling white as he flashed his smile.

A real surfer type, thought Keith. POPULAR YOUNG PROF CAUGHT IN BED WITH SCUBA DIVER. He probably spent the whole summer on the beach, and he probably uses sun lamps at the gym all winter. “How are you?” said Keith, his voice warm.

“A little nervous. It’s my first time in this place.”

“It may not be your last,” Keith replied. “Don’t worry. It’s all very simple.”

The boy eyed him with mixed wonder and curiosity. “You’ve been here a lot?”

Keith laughed. “Well—I would not say that, exactly. “It’s my second or third time.”

“I got this card in the mail. It said somebody had turned in my name. It really pulled my cork. Do you know what it means?”

“Nothing to worry about. It’s a very good thing, really. Somebody came in with a dose, and they asked him who he’d had sex with lately. That’s how come they have your name, and that’s why they sent you the card.”“Jesus. If my family ever finds out! I mean, with my name on a list—“

“Oh, it’s very confidential. Even the police can’t get at their records here. It’s a way they have of controlling the disease. It’s a very good thing, really.”

As he reassured the boy, Keith found that his own tension was eased. They both began to relax.

“Number eighty-five, please,” said the voice over the loud speaker. “Eighty-five, please. To room nine.”

“My name’s Bob Hemingway,” said the boy. “What’s yours?”

“Keith. Keith Bramson.”

They shook hands. Keith felt the slightest sense of intimacy in Bob’s touch; his grip was firm and strong—did it linger a bit in my grasp? Keith couldn’t be sure.

“How long do you have to wait in this place—before they call your number, I mean?”

Keith shrugged. “It depends. They don’t call the numbers in order. They may call you right away, or you may have to wait a long time.”

“I guess you know all about it.”

“I don’t know that much. The first couple of times I was called in just like you were. Somebody gave my name and they sent me a card. I never did find out who… This time, though it’s different.”

“You’ve got it?”

“I had it,” Keith admitted. “I did have it, three months ago. But I’m okay now. Today I’m back for a routine check-up, a blood test, just to make sure.”

“Oh,” Bob grinned. “I guess I don’t have to feel nervous sitting next to you then. I’m not likely to catch anything.”

“Not likely,” Keith grinned, too. His eyes wandered down to the bulge in Bob’s pants. It seemed even bigger now. What the hell, he thought, take a chance. He spoke softly. “That’s quite a piece of equipment you’ve got there,” he said. “It looks delicious.”

“You look good to me, too,” said Bob. “How old are you, anyway?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“Great. Just right for me.” Bob flashed his white smile. “I’m twenty-two—we ought to get together sometime.”

“Crazy. I think I’d like that. I’ll give you my phone number.”

“I’ll give you mine, too,” Bob said. “Maybe we can have a drink later in the week.”

Keith tore a piece of paper from his pocket notebook. They wrote their numbers and exchanged them.

“Wild,” said Bob. “I’ll be looking forward to it.”

“Number ninety-eight,” said the voice on the speaker system. “Room eleven, please. Number ninety-eight.”

“That’s me,” said Keith. He squeezed Bob’s knee before he stood up. “Don’t forget now. We’ve got a date.”

“Crazy. I won’t forget. Don’t you forget!”

He had spent five weeks that summer in Mexico, studying Spanish at a school in Guadalajara, and visiting Puerta Vallarta, Manzanillo, Ajijic and Mexico City on the weekends. In general, having a glorious time for himself. He had loved every second of it.

At Pancho’s bar in Guadalajara a hustler named Carlos had tried to make a deal with him. Carlos was virile and charming, and it was hard for Keith to resist him, but he had done so because there was so much fantastic free stuff around. Why, he’d argued with Carlos, should a man have to pay for sex when he was young and certainly good-looking enough to be wanted for himself and not his money?

He hadn’t made it with Carlos, but they had shared a few drinks and struck up an amiable camaraderie. One afternoon, just after siesta time, he had been strolling on Calle Juarez, the main street in Guadalajara, and had bumped into Carlos, who was walking with a friend. He had introduced him to Keith. “Mi amigo Francisco,” he had said grinning widely. “Paco”

Keith’s eyes had bulged. Francisco was dark and exotic. A bit city (which he did enthusiastically) and to proudly display his gringo to his friends and to get a free meal occasionally. He asked for nothing else.

It was a delightful arrangement.

On the fourth weekend they planned a trip to the beach at Manzanillo. Keith had struck up a friendship with a tall blonde, slightly hippie-type guy named Tony, who had driven his white Triumph down from San Francisco. They had planned to go in Tony’s car to Manzanillo, and Keith asked Francisco to line up a date for his friend, the blonde with long hair.

It was at this point that Francisco produced Andres.

Keith flipped. He had thought Francisco attractive, but from the moment he met Andres he knew that this was the kind of man who could really light his fire. Andres muscles, firm and hard, the sleepy sensuality about him, the animal tension in his strong body made Keith shiver. He had to have him.

The question was, with Tony and Andres in one room at their hotel in Manzanillo, and Francisco with Keith in another, how could they manage to get together?

The fates helped him out. It developed that Tony, to Keith’s astonishment, wasn’t interested in Andres at all. This was inconceivable to Keith, who was half out of his head with desire and longing for the classic Latin face and firm brown body.

Tony, however, dug chicken. On the Saturday afternoon he took off in his car down the road in search of a teen-ager he had noticed as they had passed through a small village the day before.

Keith was left alone with the two Mexican boys. Andres, who had expected to be with Tony, seemed a little bewildered by what was going on and there was a hurt look in his eyes, but he was a good-natured boy and he tried to accept what was going on, although it was obvious he didn’t understand it.

Keith, Francisco and Andres lay on the beach, absorbing the hot sun, splashing in the surf and getting high on beer and tequila.

By midnight Tony hadn’t come back. (Keith figured he must have scored with the teen-ager.) Francisco was by this time far-out drunk, and with much effort Keith literally poured him into the bed in their room.

Excitedly, he went looking for Andres. This was his chance.

He found the Indian boy on the patio, under one of the palms which grew out of the floor. He was still in his tight black swimming trunks, gazing out to sea. He, too, had had a lot to drink, but he seemed more in control of himself, he could hold his liquor better than Francisco.

In high anticipation Keith drew up a chair and sat beside him.

They were silent for a moment, listening to the pounding of the surf, hearing the whisper of the palms in the gentle breeze, watching the stars. A group of French boys had been serenading a couple of American girls for several hours; the music of their guitars and the sound of their pleasant young voices still floated faintly through the warm night air.

“Muy hermosa, esta noche,” Keith said softly.

“Si. Verdad. How you say in English—very beautiful?”

“Si, si. Muy bien.”

Andres smiled. His dark eyes watched Keith closely, a little wary, a little encouraging. Keith couldn’t help himself. It was the first moment they had been alone together; it was impossible for him to contain his excitement. He feasted on Andres’ muscular body, he ate it with his eyes.

“Paco. Donde esta?” said Andres.

“In bed. Sleeping. Durmien- do.”

“Bien.” Andres put his hand on Keith’s knee.

Keith’s heart jumped. Andres was giving him the signal, he had received Keith’s message and was returning it. His fingers pressed the flesh about Keith’s knee.

“Sabes Io que yo quiero?” said Keith, his voice shaking. “You know what I want, Andres?”

“Si. Un esposo.”

Keith laughed. “Si. A husband. Un marido. You guessed it. You guessed right, baby.”

Andres hand now left Keith’s knee. Keith, like Andres, was still in his swim trunks. He wore a shirt, unbuttoned and open down the front. Calmly, confidently, with the sleepy smile on his face, Andres slipped his hand inside the shirt to caress Keith’s nipple…

Keith shivered.

While Andres continued to play with his tit, to rub it and squeeze it, to manipulate it until it was quite hard, Keith reached over boldly to put his hand on the boy’s crotch. He had seen the swinging cock that afternoon in the shower, but he had never seen or felt it rigid and erect. It was swelling, getting bigger by the instant; it was bursting to get out of the confines of the black swim trunks. “Maravilloso,” said Keith, his body quivering. “Maravilloso. “

“Me quieres?” said Andres.

“God, yes. I want you. I want you like hell, baby. Mucho. Te Quiero, my Andres. Te quiero mucho.”

“Damos un paseo.” Andres stood up.

“En la playa? The beach?”

“Si. Porqueno? No Io quieres?”

“Si. Lo quiero mucho. Lo dijeque te quiero mucho, querido. Y te quiero en la luz de la luna—pero hacer sexo en la arena…” Keith hesitated. “No se, querido.”

He wanted Andres to know that he desired him, but the idea of sex in the sand was not altogether irresistible.

Andres shrugged. “La arena. No tiene importancia, eso.”

The sand on the beach, he said, would not bother him at all while they made love.

They walked barefoot, their arms around each other’s waists, away from the hotel. The night breeze, gentle and warm against their flesh, caressed them like butterflies.

A hundred yards down the beach Andres stopped. He took Keith into his arms and kissed him. His lips were full, moist and soft. “Don’t tell Paco,” he said in Spanish, murmuring into Keith’s ear. “He wants you for himself alone. He would be jealous.”

Keith’s hands traveled down the small of Andres’ muscular back, tracing the ridge of his spine. Their lips were blended. The kiss was sweet, like honey. Andres tongue plunged into the cavern of Keith’s mouth, exploring it and claiming it. Keith moaned. He could feel the hard rod in Andres’ trunks, pressing against him; he could feel his own cock, swelling and straining in response. His balls had begun to ache. His heart was pounding and his breath was coming in quick, uneven gasps.

His hands were on Andres’ hips. He began to tug at the trunks. Andres brook away from him and stepped slightly back. He smiled at Keith and reached out to squeeze Keith’s rod, a shaft of steel. He put his hands on Keith’s trunks and began to slip them down.

They stripped each other and stood naked in the moonlight. Keith marveled at Andres’ beauty. He was a pagan prince, the high priest from an Aztec temple. His body was classic, perfectly formed, against the background of the sea and the sky and the stars. His cock was a phallus the ancient gods would have worshiped; they would have honored it with their sacred rites.

Andres took Keith by the hand. “Ven,” he said, pulling Keith into the surf. The water swirled around their ankles. They didn’t let go of each other, but held each other’s hand like native bucks as they walked farther into the sea. Playfully, Andres splashed a little water into Keith’s face. Keith splashed back. Andres let go of his hand and pushed him, laughing as Keith lost his balance and fell. But Keith was off his feet only a second; Andres caught him with one arm and drew him close and kissed him. Their damp bodies clung to one another. Keith grabbed Andres’ cock and began to pull at it and beat it.

Andres’ head went down to take one of Keith’s nipples into his mouth. He ran his tongue around it in a circle. He sucked it. He tickled it. He teased it. Keith groaned in his delight and pleasure. Andres’ tongue traced a moist journey down Keith’s body, circling his navel, onward and into his pubic hair. The water was a few inches above their knees. Then Andres went farther down to take Keith’s prick into his mouth.

Keith grabbed Andres by his ears, pulling the magnificent head onto him as the Indian boy took the pulsing dick down his throat. Standing, his legs wide apart, Keith threw his own head back to gaze upward at the stars, to revel in the beauty of the night, the thrilling completeness of the moment. He gloried in the feel of Andres’ soft lips as they ran the length of his cock, back and forth—back and forth—

Then Andres pulled away.

Puzzled, Keith looked down to see why the boy had stopped. Andres was on his haunches in the water; on his face was an expression of utter adoration, almost worship as he gazed upward at Keith’s young body. “Dios,” he said huskily. “Dios mio. Estas magnifico. Su cuerpoesta hermoso en. Todo, Keith baby—todo.”

“Yes,” said Keith. “Entiendo,” He wants me, Keith thought, as much as I want him. He is worshiping my beauty, too. Dear God, this is the way it is meant to be, and so seldom is!

Slowly, with the look of desire close to pain on his face, Andres rose to his feet. He put an arm around Keith’s waist and another around his knees, then lifted him to carry him to the shore.

They had no blankets. They dried each other’s body with Keith’s shirt, then spread it on the sand.

Andres put Keith down gently on his back. There was no need for more foreplay; they were ready for each other. Andres raised Keith’s legs onto his shoulders. Then he spat onto his hands and rubbed his saliva onto his prick.

Keith lay breathless, waiting for the onslaught. In the warm night, with the sound of the surf in his ears and the view of the bright stars in the sky above his head, with a pagan lover about to claim him, Keith wished fervently that he could capture this moment and cherish it forever. It was too perfect. It was not possible that he would ever be happier. “Paraiso,” he breathed. “Es paraiso.”

“Si,” Andres replied softly. He lowered himself, ready to enter his eyes were filled with gentleness and love.

Keith felt no pain at all as Andres’ huge prick invaded him. He really knows how to do it, Keith thought joyfully. Andres looked down at him, smiling, the desire in his eyes, and began his slow even movements in and out. Keith reached up to caress the side of Andres cheek.

“Dime en ingles,” he said.

“I’m—fucking—you.”

And Andres—responded. “I’m—fucking—you… I’m fucking you, Keith baby.” In rhythm with his thrusts he repeated the phrase over and over; each time his pronunciation improved.

“Amante,” So Keith breathed. “Amante mio.” His hips were rotating, moving up and down with each plunge that Andres made into the bowels of him.

“I—like—to—fuck—you,” said Keith. “I—love—to—fuck—you!”

Dutifully, Andres repeated. “I—love—to—fuck—you. I love to fuck you, Keith baby.”

His movements were coming faster, thrusting deeper, pulling out a little more and entering farther, accelerating in speed and rhythm; he bent down to kiss Keith’s mouth and bit his lip. Keith’s nails clawed at his back. Keith arched his spine away from the sand, straining to meet him. In a wild spasm Andres exploded; Keith felt the hot juice squirt into him and he felt the ecstasy of his own release as his cock shot its liquid bullets onto his stomach and onto the sand beside him.

They went into the water again, kissed and fondled each other, and a little later they returned to the patio of the hotel and their separate rooms. “Don’t tell Paco,” Andres entreated, and Keith didn’t. Francisco never found out about that night on the beach.

Andres visited him two times at his hotel in Guadalajara during the last week, however. It was a nice arrangement. Keith had Andres at siesta time and Francisco in his bed all night.

Keith was quite honest when Francisco confronted him with the evidence. “Yes,” he confessed in Spanish. “Andres has a beautiful body and I wanted him, but it doesn’t mean that I care any less for you, Paco.”

He gave them each a small gift when he left Mexico. He promised to write to them, and they promised to meet him when he came back the next summer, but he understood full well that he might never see either of them again. They were merely a delightful interlude to look back on.

He arrived in San Francisco to face a problem. The friend who shared his apartment had fallen in love during his absence and informed him, when he got back, that he was vacating the premises.

Keith was annoyed. “Damn it, Vern,” he said. “We made an agreement when we moved into this place; have you forgotten that? We swore we wouldn’t let anything foolish like a love affair split up our household.”

“I know.” Vern gestured helplessly. “I know we promised each other that. I feel miserable about letting you down this way, but I’ve found somebody I think I can really make it with, Keith. He wants me to live with him, and I want to do it.”

“Well—what about me? You know I can’t afford the rent on this place alone. It’s too expensive for one person. Besides, what about all the furniture we’ve bought together?”

“Don’t worry. Hugh and I have talked that over. We’ll need some things ourselves. We’ll buy some of the furniture from you—Keith, it won’t really be that hard to find a new roommate. I’m sure you’ll find somebody.”

“I guess I’ll have to,” Keith replied, disgruntled. “I don’t really have much choice, do I?”

Vern was lost in his new love. “He’s great, Keith. Wait till you meet him. You’ll understand why I fell for him.”

At first Keith was unimpressed with Hugh, Vern’s new lover, when he came to dinner. He seemed a bit on the scholarly side, quiet and retiring, rather ordinary and unexciting. As the evening wore on, however, he opened up and became more communicative, and Keith had to admit that he was the sort of guy who could grow on you.

I’m acting like a child, Keith thought. I ought to be glad Vern has found somebody he can care for and who cares for him.

Hugh shook Keith’s hand very warmly when they said goodnight. “We hope to see a lot of you, Keith. You and Vern have been good friends for a long time. There’s no reason why all of us can’t have some great times together.”

Oh, sure, thought Keith, there’s nothing like a cozy threesome.

It was a day or so after Vern moved out, a week after his return from Mexico, that Keith felt the first discomfort, the first faint itch in his rectum.

He mentioned it to one of the boys who lived in the apartment above him. “It could be piles,” the friend said. “Why don’t you get some Preparation H and see if that helps you?”

He did, and while the medication relieved him for a few hours, it was obviously no real solution to the problem. The itch came back, more persistent than ever.

“Examine your stool,” the friend advised. “If there’s white film over it, it’s almost certain to be the clap you’ve got.”

He followed this advice, too, and was horrified to discover that there was indeed a filmy substance covering his feces. He had lived to the age of twenty-seven and had never had a veneral disease—the thought of it frightened and unnerved him.

“It’s nothing,” said his friend. “A shot of penicillin will take care of it… The only thing is, don’t delay. Get treatment for it right away. The symptoms disappear, you know, and you think you’re okay when you really aren’t. It stays in your system and crops up sometimes years later. Go to your doctor or down to the City Clinic. You’ve been there before, haven’t you?”

“Yes, a couple of times when somebody gave my name—but I’ve never been there because I was sick myself.”

“There’s always a first time, baby,” the friend said, laughing. “Join the club!”

So he had followed that advice and had gone to the clinic. The doctor who examined him had put him through the routine: Keith had “milked” his cock so the doctor could see if any matter might come out of it, he had bent over and spread the cheeks of his ass so the doctor could probe up his rectum and get a specimen, and he had been given a blood test.

“If you don’t hear from us in three or four days, you’ll know you’re all right. If we need to see you, we’ll call you in.”

A card came in the mail. He had it, all right, just as he had suspected. He was asked to report to the clinic. He did so, and received his penicillin. The doctor advised him to come back in three months’ time for another blood test. “It takes that long for syphilis to show up in the blood. We want to be sure you haven’t got that, too.”

It was Andres, of course, who had given him the clap. It must have been Andres. It was rather a shattering denouement to such a romantic interlude—but what the hell, Keith reflected, the price he was paying for those stolen moments with the pagan god was worth it, every bit of it. He had no regrets for anything.

During the next three months he stayed close to home, sobered a bit. Vern and Hugh invited him to dinner a couple of times, but he refused. He wasn’t exactly celibate during the next few months; had sex a few times, but it was always oral, never anal. Nobody had fucked him since Andres.

POPULAR PROF OBSERVED AT CITY CLINIC.

Once again imaginary headlines in the student newspaper blazed in Keith’s mind. His conversation with Bob Hemingway, the blonde surfer, had relaxed him—but his self-consciousness came back as he answered his number and walked down the hall to room eleven. He felt that a thousand pairs of eyes were following him.

He recalled the meeting with Peter on the stairs. Christ, he thought, I hope I don’t run into anybody else here who knows me!

He knocked softly on the door of room eleven.

“Come in.”

He stepped inside and closed the door of the room behind him.

The doctor was studying a report on his desk. He raised his head and smiled. “Well—it’s a pleasure to see you again, Keith.”

Keith’s mouth fell completely open. “Wha—what are you doing here?”

“I work here. It’s my job. Didn’t you know that I was a doctor?”

“No. No, I didn’t know. How could I know that?” Keith’s stomach was beginning to churn. “I mean, Vern didn’t tell me. So how could I know?”

“He’s been disappointed you haven’t come to see us—and so have I, I might add.” Hugh leaned back in his chair. He seemed amused at Keith’s nervousness, but thoroughly professional and at ease. He motioned for Keith to sit down.

Keith sat. “I got a dose when I was in Mexico,” he blurted out. “I was embarrassed. I didn’t mention it to Vern.”

“I hope the sex you had down there was worth the discomfort you’ve been caused.”

“Well, yes. It was, as a matter of fact. I loved it.”

“Good.” Hugh smiled. “The clap is nothing to worry about these days, but there’s a new strain of it among the hippies that’s causing us a little trouble. Have you had it before?”

“No, never. This was the first time. I had a shot of penicillin three months ago that seemed to take care of it, but they told me to come back in November for a blood test.” The shock of seeing Hugh so unexpectedly, and here, of all places, had so rattled him that he had trouble controlling his voice.

“Good, boy,” Hugh nodded approval. He glanced at the manila folder on his desk, examining the record of Keith’s case. “Well, that’s easily arranged. In the meantime, as long as you’re here, it can’t do any harm to get another specimen.”

Keith felt the sweat break out on his brow. That means, he thought, that I’m supposed to drop my pants, bend over and spread my cheeks…

Hugh was quite calmly twisting a bit of cotton onto the end of a stick.

What shall I do? Keith thought frantically. Get up and run? No, of course not, that would be childish. Ask for another doctor? My God, I can’t do that, he’d be offended…

Hugh turned to him expectantly. He smiled. “Ready?”

“Yes—yes, of course.” Keith cleared his throat and swallowed hard. He stood up from his chair. His fingers were trembling as he loosened his belt and unzipped his fly.

“It might be a little more comfortable for you if you bend over that table,” said Hugh. He pointed.

“Oh. All right.” Keith’s pants and jockey shorts were around his ankles as he followed Hugh’s direction, bent over the table and grasped it firmly by the sides. He closed his eyes. I’m going to be calm about this, he thought. Km going to be as unemotional and detached about it all as he is. He’s just a doctor and I’m just a patient.

THE POPULAR PROF CAUGHT BARE-ASSED.

“You’re quite sure you haven’t picked up anything since you’ve been back from Mexico? Do you have symptoms of any sort?”

“No. None at all.”

“Do you have any trouble urinating?”

“No. Not really. A little burning sensation sometimes.”

“Hmmmmm. That could be caused for a variety of reasons… Have you ever had any prostate trouble?”

“No.” What is this? Keith wondered. What’s all this leading up to? Why doesn’t he just stick that thing into me and get it over with?

“I think it might be a good idea if we gave your prostate a little massage. We’ll see if it causes any discharge in front.”

“Oh? Do you think that’s necessary?”

“It’s advisable. It can’t do any harm. You did say you’d experienced a burning sensation in your penis, didn’t you?”

“Well, yes. Once in a while. But I don’t think it could be anything serious—maybe it’s just caused by something I ate or drank.”

“A massage will take only a minute or two.”

Trapped again. Looking over his shoulder, Keith saw that Hugh had put on a pair of rubber gloves. He closed his eyes.

“Just relax now.”

POPULAR YOUNG PROF ASSAULTED BY THE DOCTOR.

“Keith Bramson, very well-liked young instructor of English and American literature, was brutally attacked during a routine visit to the City Clinic yesterday. Completely without warning, the doctor on duty cruelly stuck a finger up Bramson’s ass…”

Keith flinched at the first contact with his flesh. Then he tried to do as Hugh had suggested, to relax. He felt the probing finger in his rectum. It was wriggling like a tadpole inside of him, twisting and turning. It moved easily, loose and free. The bastard must have put some kind of lubricant on those gloves, Keith thought savagely. Really, I ought to protest! Why am I letting him do this to me?

“Do you feel anything?” Hugh asked softly. “Is there any reaction at the front door?”

That was a stupid question. Pressed against the table, with the friction in front and Hugh’s finger up his ass from the rear, he was supposed to stay cool and collected about it all? His prick had begun to get hard…

“Stand up,” said Hugh. “We’ll investigate.”

Things were thoroughly out of control. AH right, you shithead, Keith thought. You started this. You damned well better be able to finish it. Almost brazenly Keith rose from the table to reveal his cock standing rigid like a flagpole from his loins.

“Well,” said Hugh. “I do notice some reaction. Have you had any discharge?” He took hold of Keith’s prick.

“Really, Hugh. Is this entirely professional?” He laughed a little nervously. “Is this grip really necessary?” Keith’s face was hot and flushed; a tremor ran through him as Hugh manipulated his cock.

“Oh, don’t be embarrassed by your erection. I assure you, it’s a normal male response. Yes, I’d say you’re quite a healthy young man.” Hugh was still fingering Keith’s dick, gently pulling it, twisting it this way and that. “Hmmmmm. There doesn’t seem to be any unusual discharge—just a bit of pre-coital lubricant.”

“What did you expect—fireworks?”

Hugh released him. “Well,” he said, patting Keith on the shoulder, “back on the table, my friend. We’ll get that specimen.” He seemed all business; it was hard to tell if he was taking liberties or simply doing his job.

Keith resumed the angle.

Any doubts he had felt about the basic purpose of this examination were promptly removed by what happened next. He had expected to feel the quick, tiny jab of the stick with the cotton on it. Instead, as he waited tensely, with his eyes closed, he felt a tickling sensation near his balls.

“Wha—what are you doing?”

“Hold still,” Hugh said quietly. “This isn’t going to hurt you. Youmay even enjoy it.”

Alarmed, Keith grasped the sides of the table even tighter. At the same time he felt the blood throbbing in his cock. He was now beginning to get really excited.

The tickling continued. It was light, elusive, darting from one spot to another. Like the touch of a feather, only it wasn’t a feather. The tickling moved back now, traveling expertly to the rim of his tight opening, the symbol of the most feminine side of his nature. In a sudden shock of recognition he realized what was happening, what was going to happen…

POPULAR YOUNG PROF HAS TONGUE STUCK UP HIS ASS.

Hugh’s hands clutched the cheeks of Keith’s buttocks and spread them wide.

“Hugh!” Keith cried. “My God, somebody might come ini”

“Not a chance. Hold still.”

Keith quivered as he felt the snake move into his rectum. It slithered in and out. It went around the side of him. It darted. It pushed. It moistened him and loosened him. It drove him wild.

“Oh, my God,” he moaned. “Hugh—what are you doing to me?”

“Hold still. Just relax and hold still.” Hugh’s voice was commanding now, firm and strong. “Do what I tell you.”

The tongue had withdrawn. Keith lay quivering, bent over the table, his insides ready to spill out on the floor. The sweat was covering his forehead; he could feel little rivulets streaming down his bare back. There was an ache in his balls, a stinging itch in his dick. He lay breathless, waiting in agonized anticipation of what he knew was coming next. His heart was pounding so hard and so fast he was sure it would break through the walls of his rib-cage at any second.

Then he felt it, the invasion of his innermost being, the claiming of him. A steel shaft pushed its way into his bowels.

It was the first time he had known the beautiful sensation of a man’s cock inside of him since that last time, three months ago, with Andres.

He gloried in it. He writhed and twisted as Hugh fucked him. Christ, he thought, did I underestimate you, lover! He wanted Hugh’s dick to go so far into him that he could taste it, that it would choke him.

Hugh was on Keith’s back, biting his shoulder. “Is it good? Am I giving it to you good?”

“My God—it’s great, Hugh. Don’t stop. Oh, Jesus. Fuck me, FUCK ME!”

“I’m coming.”

“Wait! Please—hold it! Not yet! Just a few more—“

“I’m going to shoot, Keith.”

“Damn it, wait a minute. I want to come, too—at the same time.”

“Christ, what a tight little ass you’ve got. You’re a beautiful guy, Keith.”

“I didn’t know. When I first met you, I had no idea you were such a man. No wonder Vern went ape over you! Oh Christ, Hugh, you are what I need. A bull stud like you—all night, every night. Why didn’t you tell me you could fuck like this? Push it into me, honey. Shove it in!”

“All the way—Oh, Christ! Oh, shit! Goddamn.”

“Oh—Mother of God!”

“If you were a woman I’d sure as hell knock you up every nine months.”

“Knock me up now, baby. Let me have it now! Shoot that lovely wad all the way into me!”

“I am, baby. I’m coming good. Christ!”

“I feel it. I feel it, Hugh!”

“Ugh—God—you, too?”

“Yes. Yes. Oh, yes. Yes, baby.

God! Oh, godDAMN…”

Keith’s voice trailed off as he experienced the ecstasty of his completion.

In a moment they had straightened their clothes, calmed their cocks, zipped up their pants, and stood facing each other, smiling.

“Wow,” said Keith. “I certainly didn’t expect this kind of a treatment when I walked in here.”

“We do our best to please. After all, we’re financed by the city.”

Keith laughed. “Crazy. Incidentally, I feel kind of guilty. I don’t know how I’m going to look Vern in the eyes next time I see him. Does he know you play around on the job like this?”

“How do you think we met? It’s all right. We have an agreement. As long as nothing interferes with our relationship, it’s all right. We just don’t tell each other the gory details.”

“I guess that’s a sensible arrangement.”

“You can go down the hall for your blood test,” Hugh said amiably. “I hope I see you again, soon, Keith—under different circumstances, of course.”

Keith grinned. “If I’d known about your special kind of treatment, I’d have visited you before, believe me! I guess a guy never knows which doctor he’s going to get, though, does he?”

“There are several other men here who can take care of you just as efficiently as I have.”

“I doubt that,” Keith said happily, “but I’m always willing to give any man a decent chance.”

“Very white of you.”

“It’s a swinging place, this clinic. I’m certainly glad you’re all medical men striving to control disease.”

Hugh chuckled. He held out his hand. “Well, give me a ring sometime. We can always arrange a quickie—during lunch hour, maybe.”

Keith went into his arms and kissed him. “Good bye, doctor, and thanks for everything. I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’ve made me feel so much better!”

“That’s my job.” Hugh patted Keith’s rump and squeezed it. “Take care of that, till the next time.”

At the door, Keith turned. “Hey! I just remembered. You forgot your specimen.”

“I got the specimen I was after, baby.”

Keith laughed. “Yeah,” he breathed in mock passion, “Oh, yeah, baby. You sure did!”

He walked down the hall to the room where the nurses gave the blood tests. He passed the folding chairs where others were waiting for their numbers to be called. Good luck! he thought. / hope you all have as good a time with the doctor as I did! Bob Hemingway was gone. Keith fingered the piece of paper with Bob’s telephone number on it. It was still safe in his pocket. I’ll make it with you later, baby!

He sat at the table, fist clench ed, while the nurse wrapped the rubber hose around his arm and inserted the needle. He watched the blood ooze out of his veins.

POPULAR YOUNG PROF IS FUCKED BY CLINIC DOCTOR.

No, that didn’t sound right. It wasn’t euphonious.

DOCTOR FUCKS TEACHER.

Much better. More concise. More attention getting. Besides, Hugh was good enough, he deserved top billing. Keith laughed.

The nurse looked at him, surprised. “Something funny?”

“Don’t mind me,” said Keith. “I’m a little hysterical today.”

Es la vida, as they say in Spanish. That’s life. You have to take it as it comes—and it’s coming to me pretty damned good.

He had a great job, and he made good money. He had good friends. He was going to make it with a groovy blond surfer. He could see Hugh again, any time. He had an open invitation.

There was always Guadalajara again, next summer—and Andres, maybe, waiting for him. If not Andres, then someone else, someone just as exciting, if not more so.

What the hell else could a guy ask for?

He walked down the rickety stairs of the City Clinic, out the front door with the plaque on it, and down the alley with its garbage cans and its litter. The autumn air smelled fresh and clean.