(by Edward Zeusgany, copyright 2000, all rights reserved)

At the end of August, Parmly took the Concorde from Paris to New York. He needed to see his Uncle Frederick, to hire an accountant to handle the income from his trust, and to open a brokerage account for the investments he planned to be making with the majority of the receipts. His Uncle had recommendations for him, an account manager with Bache, the same brokerage house that his Uncle used; but an accountant from a different firm. The uncle and nephew had meetings with each of these men. Frederick began by impressing upon them the idea that Parmly would be making his own decisions. Then Uncle Frederick would leave, so that they would have to deal directly with Parmly.

On September 4th, the day before registration, Parmly flew to Hartford-Springfield, where a limousine was waiting to take him to Amherst. He had obtained permission to miss freshman orientation. He arrived with one garment bag and a carryon, intending to purchase most of what he would need in the Amherst area.

A few minutes before two in the afternoon, he arrived at his dormitory, Plimpton Hall, where he had a single room. It was a mixed dorm, that is, there were upperclassmen as well as freshmen. Most of the sophomores, juniors and seniors were coming to campus on this day, also.

After hanging up his clothes, he took a walk around the campus, aided by a map, in order to familiarize himself with the locations of building, that he would want to visit in the next few days. Then he made a similar trip to the center of town, adjacent to the College. He made purchases at a combination newsstand and stationer. After buying a few books at the Jeffery Amherst Book Store, the same place where Prof. Heston had shopped a few weeks before, he returned to his room.

Before dinner, he sat outside reading. The food at Valentine Hall, he found acceptable, but uninspired. Then he worked in his room, studying the Wall Street Journal, Barron’s and a couple of financial magazines.

About nine o’clock, he decided to brush his teeth and wash up. There was no one else in the bathroom when he entered. As he was washing his face, another student entered, an upperclassman, Parmly presumed, given the heaviness of his growth of beard since morning.

“Are you lost?” the young man asked, apparently directing the question to Parmly.

“Lost? No,” Parmly replied.

“You can’t be a student,” the young man stated, in a voice and tone that seemed to contain a challenge.

Parmly made a closer examination of the youth, who confronted him. The fellow was nearly six feet tall and stocky. Short, brown, curly hair framed a square face with strong features. His appearance was ordinary, being neither handsome nor ugly.

“Well, I am,” Parmly stated in a manner that did not respond to the challenge, either with timidity or aggression.

The young man’s mistake was understandable, considering that Parmly looked young even for his sixteen years. A little over five feet tall, he had a slight build and delicate features. His face showed no trace of whiskers, the complexion fair, his skin smooth and unblemished. Parmly’s straight, sandy blond hair was cut short. Most people would take him for fourteen.

The young man went to the toilet and returned. He waited in the bathroom, while Parmly finished brushing his teeth.

“You must be a freshman, then,” he said.

“That’s right. What is your class?”

“I’m a sophomore,” the young man replied, his voice still gruff. “How old are you, anyway?”

“Sixteen.”

“You don’t look it.”

“How old are you?” Parmly asked, maintaining a firm tone of voice.

“Twenty. My name’s Bill Matthews, what’s yours?” the young man said, extending his hand.

Parmly dropped his towel to avoid taking Bill’s hand, but Bill was quicker and retrieved it for him. Bill put the towel around Parmly’s shoulders, but kept his hands on the ends.

“There. Now it wont slip away on you.”

“I’m Parmly Billings.”

“You’re almost little enough to fit in the palm of my hand,” Bill said, laughing, his face very close to Parmly’s

“Not Palmy, Parmly,” Parmly said, emphasizing the r.

“Oh, Parmly,” Bill repeated with the same emphasis. He was still holding on to the ends of the towel that was wrapped around Parmly’s neck. “Why don’t you come down to my room for a while.”

“No,” Parmly replied. He did not like the way Bill was trying to intimidate him.

“No?” Bill repeated. “Not, ‘no thank you,’ or ‘no, some other time,’ just ‘no?’”

Parmly looked Bill, calmly, right in the eye. “That’s right, just ‘no,’” he reiterated.

Bill let go of the towel. “Some other time,” he shot back and left the bathroom ahead of the younger boy.

The following morning, Parmly noticed that other students from the dorm seemed to be avoiding him. It was little things that gave him this impression. There was a distance kept in passing, about six feet away when there was a more direct path to where they were going, diverting their gaze so that their eyes would not meet his and require an acknowledgement, even slightly, of his existence. However, that afternoon in the Campus Center, a student approached him quite directly.

“Parmly Billings?” the student asked.

“Yes?” Parmly responded.

“I’m Walter deForrest. There’s something going on that you should know about.”

“Yes?”

“I don’t mean to upset you, but there is a student going around telling people that you are gay.”

“Really?” Parmly smiled, as though in amusement. “What is this person saying, exactly?”

“That last night, in the bathroom in Plimpton, you asked if you could give him a blow job.”

“How absurd,” Parmly said.

“Of course,” Walter commented, “I just thought that you would want to know.”

“Who is it that’s saying these things?”

“Bill Matthews.”

“What do you know about him?”

“He’s a jock, football and lacrosse. He had to do an extra year at prep school, before they’d accept him here.”

“Where is he from?”

“Boston area, Wellesley, I think. His father’s a building contractor, housing developments.”

“Thank you for telling me, Walter, I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome,” Walter said and departed.

Parmly made a phone call.

Two days latter, Bill Matthews received one from his father. Bill’s father told Bill that he was about to lose some important investors in his business, because of Bill’s harassment of Parmly Billings. The Billings, his father explained, were wealthy and very influential. He ordered Bill to undo the damage, and that if he did not, or if anything like this happened again, he would drive up to Amherst and take him out of school. He also told Bill that he was a damn fool. He was at Amherst to make friends with people like Parmly Billings. Bill’s protests that he had only told the truth and that he did not want to be friends with fairies, did not seem to impress his father, who only repeated his threats and told him to grow up.

This presented Bill with a difficult problem. If he told people that the incident with Parmly had never happened, they would wonder why he had made it up. Telling the truth was out of the question. Of course, Bill was heterosexual, but he liked the idea of compelling a pretty boy to suck his cock. He would have like to have forced Parmly to his knees and using the towel, draw the kid’s mouth onto his prick. The thought of banging his dick into the back of Parmly’s throat excited him.

It would be even better if the boy gagged and cried. When he was about to shoot he would grab Parmly’s head and hold him, so that he couldn’t pull away, while cum flooded his little mouth. He would hold him like this until his rod was soft. Then, still gripping the boy’s head, he would make him stand up, and wouldn’t release him until he swallowed it, or until he couldn’t hold it anymore, and the saliva and jism seeped through his lips, drooling down his chin and onto his shirt. Then he would slap the faggot’s face hard and tell him that next time he was going to shove it up his ass. Bill got a hard-on thinking about it.

He had been afraid that Parmly might have suspected this and said something about it. So Bill had struck first, blindly and foolishly, as it happened.

Then he hit upon what he would do. He would tell people that his story had been intended as a joke on a freshman, a little hazing, that he never thought anyone would take it seriously. Seeing what damage had inadvertently been done, he felt it was his responsibility to clear it up, without regard to the embarrassment it might cause to himself. Thus, he could confess to a silly mistake, but seem noble in correcting it. One of his tactics would be to apologize to Parmly, in person, and in front of witnesses.

Walter deForrest happened to be present when Bill Matthews made his act of contrition. Afterward, Walter asked Parmly, if he thought Bill’s apparent regret to be real. Parmly told Walter about the phone call he had made, and again thanked Walter for his assistance. The story about the phone call gradually circulated among the sons and daughters of the really important families.