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Live and Learn
|Oddly enough, Josef Howard and I were inspired to write stories about hunky professors granting their students muscles virtually simultaneously--this one and his "Fun with Math". Fortunately, it led to a very nice correspondence and online friendship. Here's to you, Josef!|
|The door of my office swung lazily open, the light from the hallway cascading over my desk and illuminating the garish green memo paper laid on its top. A grand start to a glorious Thursday, I groaned to myself. Green always meant that Dr. Erwin had taken offense at something and that I had to go get my butt blistered.
Well, whatever it was could wait until I was good and ready. Shucking my coat and slinging my hat onto the nearby rack, I sat down and started to access my daily schedule, stopping only as a shadow from the doorway cast across my computer screen. Too narrow for Erwin, so I swung my chair around.
"I thought I heard you come in," said Jacqua, Dr. Erwin's secretary, who was leaning against the door. "Dr. Erwin wants to see you right away. He's been sending me to look for you."
"Tell him I'll be there in just a second," I said, swinging back around towards the computer screen to hide the grin on my face. Jacqua's outstanding talents as office help had very little to do with filing or typing. A normal secretary would have simply used the intercom, but in the five years Jacqua had worked for Dr. Erwin, she still hadn't figured out why there were all those little buttons on the phone. Fortunately, her boss did very little that required any help from her--in a clerical sense. As the click of her six-inch heels faded down the hallway, I put the computer on sleep and got myself mentally ready to bait the fat lion in his den.
"What kind of a mood is he in?" I directed as I walked into the outer office, the scrape of Jacqua's nail file a nice counterpoint to the tuneless whistling coming from Erwin's half-open door.
"A good one, I think," she said innocently. "He's taking me out to lunch today."
Uh-huh. I knew what he was having for dessert. "Have fun," I smiled, pushing the office door open.
The chair squeak that I had begun to dread like no other started as I stepped into the room. Unusual--Erwin used to let me sweat for a little bit before he'd actually acknowledge my presence. As he turned around, my eyebrows shot up--for starters, he was smiling. Even more interesting, that little quiver in his jowls, which I had only seen before at the awards ceremony when I had received the outstanding graduate student fellowship, was moving like an obese earthquake. "Tom! Good news," he squeaked, in that voice like fingernails down a chalkboard. "Do you know who Dr. Francis is?"
Only the Nobel Prize winner for four years ago in both medicine and genetics, and the most famous researcher at State who nobody ever actually saw around here. "He emailed me today and said he would like to talk with you about performing some research," Erwin bubbled, jowls going up and down like a gross waterbed. "It would be a great opportunity for you!"
And more research money into Erwin's coffers. "Thank you sir," I said, trying to keep a civil tone. "I'll get in touch with him today." Erwin smiled and turned around, indicating the interview was over. My perfect pitch writhed in agony as he started to hum contentedly, and I quickly fled back to my office.
I touched my computer and froze stock still. There was an email up on the screen, and I knew I'd closed out the system: "See you at 4:30 P.M. today, Lower Research Annex, room 12. Dr. Francis"
Well, two could play at the file access game. Quickly I slipped the Zip disk that I'd commandeered from Dr. Erwin's office (like he knew how to use it) and opened my way into the system access codes for our network. I called up my files and froze again. Someone had accessed virtually all the data I had in the university system today and had made a creditable attempt at breaking through the firewall that shielded my hard drive. With a few keystrokes, I invoked my bloodhound program and started tracing the tap back to its source. "Computer located in Lower Research Annex, room 12"
"Indicate Dr. Michael Francis last access protocol"
I sat back. This guy was definitely good--it had taken me a whole semester to crack the data access language needed just to enter the system and devise some tap programs. He had pulled up all of my stored data without using any hacking programs. Carefully I retraced my steps, slowly cyber-brushing my tracks.
"Locate data, Dr. Michael Francis?"
Like hell. Try this passcode on for size.
"Access opened. No data present"
What? You couldn't exist at State U without some form of a data file. But after five tries, I figured out that he'd found a way to do it. Curiouser and curiouser, I thought to myself. It'll be interesting to meet this guy and figure out why he needed to know how many parking tickets I hadn't paid. Seeing that it was four already, I shut down and headed out.
Lower Research Annex was in the back quadrangle of the campus, the place where the seniors used to tell the freshman that the ghosts of past experiments haunted the buildings and sidewalks. When the new Research Park had been built, almost everyone had moved out there, but there were still a few lights on in dingy windows as I hurried along the drab sidewalk. Reaching the building, I pulled out my ID to open the access lock, but the door swung open simultaneously.
OK, this guy is really good, I thought to myself. Hurrying down the gray halls, my footsteps echoed loudly. There wasn't another soul in the building--nothing but empty offices with old desks and chairs pushed carelessly out in the hallway, a film of drab dust covering everything. Suddenly Room 12 loomed up in front of me, lights visible through the cracked safety glass in the institutional door. Quickly I opened it and plopped into the first chair in front of me.
Surprised, I noticed that I wasn't in the standard office with a secretary--this was the main itself. A pool table-sized mahogany desk crouched in front of me, absolutely bare of paper or plaques or anything. Instead of diplomas on the wall, there were simply mirrors--gold-framed, wood-framed, silver-framed, all reflecting my quizzical glance. With that, the big leather chair on the other side of the desk swung around and I came face to face with Dr. Michael Francis.
And almost wet myself. Dr. Michael Francis was 6'5 and who knows how many pounds of healthy muscle. His broad frame stuck out in perfect relief underneath his classy dress shirt and tie, his beard framing an achingly-handsome face with two intense green eyes peering from under a brown buzzcut. "Thomas Remington, I presume," he rumbled in a deep, manly baritone.
"Y-yes sir," I squeaked back. Up till that point, I'd never thought of a guy as downright sexy, but Dr. Francis could turn on a dead man.
"It's good to meet you," he said, looking me over from top to bottom. I thought I saw a little twinkle in his eye. "I'd like you to come out to my place tomorrow for supper. 5 P.M. I'll send you the directions." He turned back around. I snuck back out the door and fled to my truck, not knowing why, but having to get somewhere safe quickly. As soon as my house door slammed shut behind me, my hands were working my cock, finally shooting the huge load that had seemed to come out of nowhere on my frantic drive through downtown and three red lights. What in the heck was going on? I had never even dreamed about another guy before. Quickly I plugged in my laptop--only to see another message pop up on the screen: "Map and directions included. See you at 5 P.M."
Friday crawled by. Finally the magic hour arrived. I got in my truck and drove out of town along the darkened road the map indicated, oak leaves blowing out of the ditches as I sped past, trees rising like dark sentinels along the sides. "Talk about living in the boonies," I muttered. I hadn't seen another house for six miles--not that you even could through these thickets. Suddenly an iron gate loomed up in the headlights. I slammed on the brakes and skidded forward, gates parting just as my brush guard would have opened them. I jounced another mile or so up a foreboding hill, no light visible on either side, until suddenly there was a small log cabin with a big front porch and a truck parked in front. This had to be the caretaker's cabin. I must have missed something, I thought. Quickly I jumped out of the truck and strode up to the front door. I raised my hand to knock, but the door opened.
"Glad you found the place," Dr. Francis boomed. He gestured, "Come in. Make yourself at home."
"Thank you sir," I said, tenatively walking in the door.
"None of that sir business here, Tom," he chuckled back, extending a huge hand. His eyes met mine and twinkled again. "Call me Mike. Supper's on the table."
"Yes sir--I mean Mike," I replied, flustered. I stepped up to the table and stopped again in shock. Beef stroganoff--my favorite dish. How in the hell did he know that?
"Let's eat!" he said, gently shoving me down into a chair. His muscular forearm shot out and grabbed my plate, which he proceeded to fill with noodles and sauce. Glutes rippling, he moved to the other end of the table, dished himself a massive helping, and started eating lustily. I sat, chewing slowly, not daring to take my eyes off him. I didn't know what was going on and every ounce of common sense in my body was telling me to get the heck out of there, but somehow I just couldn't leave. I tried looking around, but it was just like his office--more mirrors of every type everywhere. No matter where I looked, I couldn't escape that massive figure inhaling stroganoff.
"Is it OK?" The rumble of his voice broke the silence. I jerked back to his eyes, now staring at me.
"Sure--great," I said, hurriedly picking up my fork and eating again. I finished my plate just as he did, both of us looking up at the same time. He grinned. "Leave the dishes here. Let's go over to the living area," indicating the sofa and chair set over in the corner. He sprung up and landed in the chair with the graceful ease of a jungle cat. Stunned, I followed him over, the bulge in my jeans getting larger and larger with each second. Damn that hot washer. I sat down on the couch and faced him, somehow noticing for the first time that he was only wearing a white T-shirt and jeans. His chest hair poked out of the top of his T, which almost glowed with the strain of muscle. His jeans were just as tight and contoured to tight, solid legs the diameter of a good tree trunk.
"You like what you see?" Oh great, had I been staring?
I tried to stutter an answer, but he held up his hand. "It's OK Tom. I was rather hoping you would. You see, I've brought you here for a purpose tonight. When I looked through the grad student records, yours seemed just right--smart, athletic--and when you tried to hack my system, you showed me you were spunky too. All of those are the qualities I was hoping for." For what? "W-what did you have in mind?" I said, wondering very strongly about the possibility of making it to my truck before he tried anything. He grinned. "As you know, I'm a geneticist. And you also know that I received the Nobel Prizes in biology and medicine for my work with genetic splicing in bacteria. However, I have also done some work with what I call genetic enhancement--taking a gene series from a species and expressing each individual gene under ideal conditions. Ultimately, it allows you to grow a perfect specimen of that species."
"Where did you publish that?" I said, temporarily distracted by the intellectual possibilities.
"You're looking at it," he chuckled.
"What?" I screeched.
He laughed even harder. "Yep. The first time it worked experimentally, I had just been diagnosed with cancer and was tired of being sixty years old. So I decided...what did I have to lose? I went ahead and experimented on myself--and what you see," he said, flexing in front of me, "is what constitutes perfection in the human genetic code. But there's only one problem."
"And what might that be?" I said, frightened but intrigued. Evidently this process worked and I was beginning to think of possibilities for myself that I had long ago buried in my subconscious.
"I want a son." I froze as he spoke those four words.
"But how can I help with that? With that body, any woman in the world would be glad to have your child!" I stuttered out.
"It doesn't quite work that way," he said, coming over to the couch. I retreated to my corner of it as his massive bulk came over closer, his pants beginning to bulge in front. "I don't want a woman. I want my own muscleson--and I want it to be you."
I thought my entire brain had blown a fuse. "B-but how....what....why...."
"Don't think any more," he said, moving over to the side of the couch and enveloping me in his arms at superhuman speed. "Just feel." He pressed his lips to mine, his tongue moving into my unresisting mouth. Quickly he peeled open my shirt and pulled my jeans past my waist. He paused, smiled....and with one quick flex of his pecs tore his shirt to tiny bits, his arms and diamond-hard chest blowing outward like a volcanic eruption of pure muscle. He flexed his neck and popped the remaining shreds of his collar. My cock shot upward and then, with a roll of pure ecstasy, blew all over his massive upper body. He growled with animal pleasure, his cock forcing and ripping its way out of his zipper like a massive veiny snake, at least 12" and super thick. With one sudden quick movement, he was at my waist...paused.....and shoved it into my ass. I felt the pain as it ripped its way in, but just as suddenly, I felt my ass give and flex for it, like this was what it had been made to do. Pulses of pleasure coursed through my body as he shoved over and over again, legs bursting out of his pants as he braced and thrusted. Finally, with a massive roar, he shot into me, a river of pure liquid warmth, pushing through my whole body like a nuclear core. In the thrill of pure ecstasy, I passed out as his massive body crashed down on mine.
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