[Breeder] Committee Work

[TheBreeder]

To see Breeder's original blog post click here

After the Thursday Morning Questions entry I posted to appear while I was on the road last week, one of my readers, Mark, had a question.

I can't get this Q and A out of my mind, it's so titillating:

"If you replied to an ad such as on craigslist for an anonymous fuck and walked in but discovered you knew the bottom from work or elsewhere, what would you do?



This situation has happened to me with a teaching colleague. I fucked the hell out of him."



I would love to hear the whole story. How you took a potentially very awkward situation and just ran with it. Had you guys ever exchanged any sexual vibes before this? Was it more hot (or hot in a different way) because he was a colleague? And how about afterward, at school or faculty meetings etc., anything lingering...?

About a decade ago I was teaching part-time at a local university and managed to get roped into some committee work. I grumbled and griped about the extra assignment because I don’t think any of the other part-timers had been asked to do that kind of crap. I didn’t really protest, though, because the committee was primarily social and one of the perks was getting tickets to a lot of free stuff. And free stuff is, you know. Free stuff. Even if it is the university theater department’s stultifying retelling of As You Like It in Vietnam War drag.

There were a few more committee members—a graduate student who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else, a professor of linguistics who was supposed to be the committee’s chair, and two female faculty who really ran the show and talked so much that all I needed to do was show up and work sudoku puzzles at the table’s far end.

Our typical meeting went a little something like this: the two female faculty members would enter the room together when the big hand was on the twelve, talking about some change in departmental policy that was totally and absolutely outrageous and not to be borne. It was a conversation that would continue until the big hand was on the three.

At that point the linguistics professor would stare at them over his wire-rimmed glasses, adjust the bow tie that was his trademark (and a gimmicky trademark I always thought it was), clear his throat, and suggest that we get the meeting back on track. Then he’d slump back defeated in his chair when neither the grad student nor I would look up from our (free) muffins and our sudoku and magazine, and let the women keep talking. Eventually the hour would be up, and the graduate student and I would grab our free stuff and vamoose, leaving little clouds of dust where we sat, much like the Warner Bros. Roadrunner, minus the “beep-beep!”

I felt a little sorry for the linguistics professor because he was having to do all the committee work by himself. Yet I wasn’t so sorry that I, you know, volunteered to help or anything. When my service period ended, our relationship chilled a little bit. I hadn’t been his ally (or let’s face it, all that helpful) on the committee, I didn’t have an interest in linguistics, and I wasn’t impressed with the professor’s reliance on his quirky little glasses and that stupid bow tie to remain relevant to the students. When we’d pass in the hall, we’d nod. In the parlance of drag queens, neither of us was quite ready to cut a bitch, but the atmosphere was definitely severe up in here, if you know what I mean.

Cut to about six months after I’d taken my last free ticket to a student-run experimental set of dramatic monologues based on the weaving of the Bayeaux Tapestry. I was on one of the online sex sites—Men4SexNow.com, I think it was—when I got email from someone with a pretty hot profile. The guy was in his late thirties and had a tight, muscular body, visible in the photos only from the neck down. His dick was an average size, but his butt was round and beautiful. My photos were of my cock and of a few fuck shots, as this was back in the days when I didn’t have my face exposed all over my profiles as I do now. He asked if I wanted to come over and find him naked in bed ready to be fucked. I replied that I would be at his place in twenty minutes.

The guy lived in a nice home in one of the city’s better suburbs. I parked my car in his drive, walked through the open front door, found the way upstairs, and walked into his bedroom. “You ready to get fucked, stud?” I said, kicking off my shoes and dropping my jacket onto the floor.

“I sure am,” said the guy, rolling over.

And of course it was the linguistics professor.

There was a long, terrible, breathless moment after we recognized each other and didn’t know quite what to do. He was totally naked save for a pair of socks. I had my shirt half-open and my fingers clutched one of the lower buttons. “I didn’t realize it was you,” he stammered.

Well, no shit. Because I know if he had, he would’ve blocked me on the website or something. And if I’d been aware of his identity, I would never have come over. I would’ve simply saved the pictures for blackmail purposes and gone on to the next bottom. (I’m kidding. But I would’ve saved the photos to snicker at.)

I knew I had a choice to make at that moment. I could play it off and exit gracefully. I could sigh and be disdainful and stalk out in silence and cut him in the halls next time I saw him. Or I could do what I ended up doing, because my life motto is pretty much to always take the piggiest choice.

Plus, he still had a hard-on.

“And I didn’t realize you were Clark Kent,” I told him.

The joke went over like a lead Frisbee. “What?” he asked.

“Glasses,” I said, pointing to the spectacles on his bedside table. Then I made vague motions to the area of my neck. “Bow tie. Phone booth.”

“Oh." He blinked.

We were at something of an impasse. I decided to cut to the chase. “Hot dick!”

“Lemmeseeyours!” he sputtered without hesitation.

And that was how, a couple of minutes later, I had the university's premiere tenured linguistics professor up on his knees with his butt on my face.

We had sex maybe for a total of seven or eight times over the space of four months, and then kind of stopped. After that we were fairly good buddies, though. We had lunch together on a weekly basis for a very long time, did some more committee work together (in which I actually participated), and got to be pretty good friends. He had a taste for the college boys and would actually steer some of the more bottom-y prospects my way, while I pointed out a few more dominant personalities out to him. We would compare notes and assign informal grades on extracurricular subjects. It was a good working relationship.

But I still never got the bow tie thing.

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