Photo Story #14 (Patreon)

The first time I saw him, it was my second week of my senior year of college. He was my Art History professor and I was instantly in love with him. 

He wore tailored suits that hugged his muscular, gym toned body, his face was equal parts handsome and cocky, and he had this silver streak at his temples that made him look older and sophisticated. 

Professor Robert Dawson was an absolute god! 

I'd spent the best part of my first semester drooling over him in every single lecture. His voice was deep and rich, like a dark chocolate that I couldn't get enough of. As soon as he started talking, my dick would twitch inside my boxers, and my concentration was done for. Instead of listening to what he said about the Impressionists, I just listened to his tone as I stared at his tight bubble butt, barely contained in his suit pants, or his bulging biceps, in shirts that had clearly been tailored to hug every muscle and curve. 

By the second semester, I was dangerously close to failing my mid-term, and I was unsurprised when Professor Dawson asked me to visit him during his office hours. 

My hands were sweaty, and no amount of wiping them on my jeans would stop it, as I approached his office door. 

"Come in," his voice rumbled after I'd eventually knocked gently. 

"Hi, Professor," I said as I pushed open the door. 

"Ah, Mikey, come on in and take a seat," he said with a warm smile that made my stomach flip. 

I nearly tripped over my own feet as I crossed the small space to the chair on the other side of his desk. 

"I thought it would be worth us having a chat about your grades. I'm disappointed that you're doing so poorly when your other professors tell me that you're top of their classes. What's going on?" 

As he talked, Professor Dawson came around his desk and sat on the edge of it, his thighs spread, his suit pants creasing at the seams from the extra pressure, his meaty bulge just inches from my face. 

"Mikey?" 

I looked up from his crotch, my cheeks burning red with embarrassment. "Sorry, Professor, I . . ." 

"Call me Rob," he said with a smile. "Are you okay?" 

I nodded like a bobblehead. "Yes, I was just . . . umm . . . yes." 

My eyes strayed to the fly of his suit pants, the mound there making my mouth water. How could I be so close to what I'd lusted after for months, but still unable to touch it. 

Professor Dawson cleared his throat and stood up, much to my dismay. 

"I think I see what's going on," he said as he folded his arms, his biceps bulging in his shirt and distracting me in a different way. 

"You do?" I practically squeaked. 

He nodded. "I would like to hear it from you though. I don't want to assume." 

My mouth went dry as I imagined telling him that I had a massive crush on him. I didn't want to fail Art History, but could I really admit that my issue was with my teacher? 

"I . . . I have a . . . crush on . . ." 

Professor Dawson smiled at me. "You have a crush on me?" 

I nodded as I blushed furiously, my cock starting to harden in my boxers at the cocky, smug expression that he now adopted. 

"I thought that might be the case. You know I'm your teacher and that nothing can happen between us?" 

"I didn't expect anything. I . . ." 

Professor Dawson raised his hand. "Don't be embarrassed. I know what I look like, and what impact that can have on some people. I should maybe stop getting my suits so tightly tailored." 

"No," I yelled, before clapping my hands over my mouth. 

Professor Dawson laughed. "Perhaps you'd be a little less distracted if I wore something baggier?" 

"No, please don't. I'll try and focus . . . Rob." 

Professor Dawson raised his eyebrows suggestively. "Using my name like that sounds more like we're two guys in a bar, rather than professor and student." 

His tone was teasing, and I was starting to wonder what he wanted out of this.

"I guess it does, Rob," I said, with more confidence than I felt. 

"It does. I suppose if we were just two guys in a bar then we wouldn't have to worry about consequences. We could just appreciate the fact that we're two good looking guys who have an appreciation for one another." 

My brain practically exploded as it tried to process that Professor Dawson had just called me good looking. Did he want me too? That was impossible! 

"Wait! Do you . . . do you have a thing for me?" I asked, as I stood up. 

For the first time, Professor Dawson looked nervous as he walked over to the window, his back and his impressive ass facing me. 

"Sorry, I didn't mean to imply anything . . ." 

This was my only chance to try and pursue this. If I did nothing, or left that office, then I could kiss goodbye to ever knowing if there was something there. 

So, I walked over to him, and slid my hands into the pockets of his suit pants, my right hand immediately connecting with the firm girth of his hard cock. 

"Fuck," he whispered as he put his hands over mine. "This wasn't supposed to happen." 

"Too late for that now . . . Rob," I said as I brushed my thumb over the head of his dick, his muscular body tensing against mine. 

"Fuck it," he growled, before pulling my hands free of his pockets, turning around and kissing me, his hands fisting in my t-shirt as his tongue parted my lips. 

"This stays between us, Mikey," he said, his lips still against mine. 

"You've got it . . . Rob." 

He chuckled, his deep voice vibrating against my lips before he resumed the first of many kisses.