Tangled Web CHAPTER ONE
Dive into the gripping world of “Tangled Web CHAPTER ONE,” a bold gay sex story that weaves passion, desire, and unexpected connections. Join the journey as characters navigate their deepest fantasies and discover what it truly means to be entangled in love and lust. Unlock the adventure now!
A glance at his closet was all you need to know Mr. Marcus. There, hanging in fussy uniformity were his jackets, trousers, shirts, and even ties, various yet not too varied shades of gray. Flannel, tweed, corduroy – softened with age, defying passing trends. And yet, almost hidden in the back was a dress shirt, white with light blue checks, the shirt he wore when he felt especially daring.
Today was such a day. The early fall light fell magically through the leaves of the tall trees surrounding his little house, the change of season announced by branches of red and gold among the green. The tang of fall air, warmed by a lingering summer sun drew him out of his grayness, calling for a gesture, he decided on the special shirt and to forego a tie.
He walked along the path that led from his home to the college administration building where he worked as an accountant, though every three semesters he taught an introductory accounting class. Mr. Marcus was proud of his membership among the faculty, it was a small but important distinction among the business office staff. He was occasionally invited to faculty events, each time he felt honored. The Provost called him by his first name, Stuart. Everyone else knew him as Mr. Marcus. He was secretly pleased to his toes when a student from one of his classes recognized him and addressed him as Professor or Doctor Marcus, though he always fastidiously corrected them that he did not deserve those titles.
The ‘girls’ of the business office, as they were called but had long passed middle age, noticed his rakish change of fashion. He blushed at their compliments, remarking that the beauty of the day called to him.
His feeling of daring was again piqued as he stood in the lunchtime line in the cafeteria. He chose, not the usual luncheon special, but a bologna sandwich, apple and bottle of iced tea. Why? So he could enjoy his meal a plein aire. On such a lovely day, only French would do to express his thoughts, though his French had long since faded to a few bons mots.
An ancient stone bench at the foot of a grand maple called invitingly from across the Quad. The stone was warm from the sun as he sat. His senses were alive with the smells of fall, the warm sun on his face and hands, the sounds of birds and student conversations. His seemingly pedestrian lunch abounded with flavor. He closed his eyes, raised his face to the sun and drank in every sensation.
“May I share your bench?”
From deep in his meditation, Mr. Marcus heard the deep, rich voice reminiscent of a rumble from the great Chaliapin whose recordings lay gathering dust in a cupboard in his living room.
“Of course.” The daring Mr. Marcus of a moment ago withdrew into the painfully shy Mr. Marcus, accountant. He lowered his gaze to his feet. There to the left of his own carefully polished, tightly tied shoes were naked, somewhat furry ankles above scuffed loafers many sizes larger than his own. Frayed cuffs of khakis in need of pressing led past knees to long, muscular thighs evident in the pant’s legs. A hand rested on one of these thighs, the back covered by fine hair, golden in the sun light. The hair coarsened on the veiny forearm, exposed by shirt cuffs rolled to the elbow. The blue shirt sleeve strained against the bicep it enclosed. The broad expanse of shirt across the chest had three buttons open, exposing pectorals covered with dense hair. The neck was closely shaved, the chin strong but showing a shadow of beard. The lips were full, in a broad smile, teeth a little irregular, but very white. The nose was angular with signs of a long ago break. And the eyes, blue like the sky, gleaming with intelligence. Mr. Marcus licked his lips.
“I’m Calvin Stephenson.” He held out his large hand for Mr. Marcus to shake. “I’m covering classes in Economics for Dr. Childress during her absence. This sure is a beautiful campus, nothing like UCLA. When I heard about the chance to teach here, I jumped. Thankfully, the administration liked me well enough to make the offer, so here I am. Too bad about Dr. Childress, I hear its cancer. They can do a lot more with that these days. And you are?”
His words were like a bass aria, resonant and rich. The sound struck Mr. Marcus’s ears and vibrated in his chest, a vibration he could feel to his core.
“Oh, forgive me. I was lost in this lovely day. I’m Stuart Marcus, sometimes accounting teacher, usually assistant to the college treasurer. Nice to meet you Professor Stephenson.”
“They usually call me Calvin, or to my close friends, Cal. Stu, you’re one of the administration people I need to see today, process payroll forms and all.”
No one had called Mr. Marcus ‘Stu’ since he was an undergrad, many, many years before. The sun paled in warmth to the radiance of ‘Cal’.
“Welcome to the college, Calvin, Cal.” Mr. Marcus’s daring was returning. “We’re on the ground floor of the main building any time you can stop by. We’ll get you all settled in.”
“Thanks Stu. This college is certainly friendlier than I’m used to. I will say the visiting faculty accommodations are bit like going back to college. I had forgotten what a dorm bed was like until somewhere in the middle of last night. The food in the cafeteria isn’t bad, but I do miss having a kitchen to cook in for myself. I really enjoy cooking.”
Mr. Marcus leaned back to take in the man next to him. He would have guessed football or rugby would be his likely pursuits, not cooking. The intense masculinity of this man was off putting to Mr. Marcus who was self conscious in the presence of most men. He made the excuse of needing to get back to work and scuttled off. As he crossed to Quad, he looked back twice, both times meeting the eyes of the large man who waved and smiled at him.
***
Safely back in his office, he sat at his desk, hearing his own heart beating loudly, and not from his hurry across the Quad. He logged onto his desk top, entered his security codes and stared at the screen full of numbers. His mind played over and over the scene on the bench. He prayed that he had not offended Professor Stephenson. He consciously slowed his breath and calmed down, a feeling of excitement hollow in his chest.
“Professor Stephenson to see you, Mr. Marcus.” It was Gladys, a sunny but portly member of the business office front desk staff.
Mr. Marcus’s heart raced again. “Professor Stephenson” he offered in greeting.
“Cal” the large man corrected engagingly. He held out his hand across the desk to Mr. Marcus. Mr. Marcus shook it, thrilling at the touch that repeated the greeting from outside.
“I’ve got all the forms right here” he said, indicating a daunting stack of papers on his desk as he sat. Cal moved around to lean over Mr. Marcus, reading over his shoulder. Cal rested one hand on the desk, the other on Mr. Marcus’s shoulder. Mr. Marcus breathed in his scent of aftershave and man musk. His head reeled. He gathered himself to continue their business, producing forms and responding to the documents Cal presented. “There’s just a few forms you have to sign. Do you have proof of citizenship with you? Yes, a passport will do. Social Security Card? Okay. Number of dependents? Zero? Marital Status? Single. Okay.” Mr. Marcus noted these items with interest.