Chapter 14
Luke squirmed on the kitchen chair; he’d never known that an innocent, everyday item could be an object of torture. He tried to concentrate on the list of words in front of him covering topics that could be related to cheating or exams. His favorite was shpargalki, which sounded like a new flavor of Italian ice cream but really meant crib notes. At least the vocabulary was more interesting than the honor code. He had to copy the honor code twenty times a day for the next week. He could already practically recite the thing verbatim. By the end of the week, he’d probably be able to do it backward and forward and in more than one language.
The kitchen door banged; it had to be Sheldon. For a slight man, he could rattle the windows when he closed a door, and the floor shook when he walked. “Hey, I’m home.”
“Yes, we see,” Tilden said, steadying the icon on the wall that was now swinging wildly from the aftershocks of the door closing. “Sheldon, the goal is to keep the house standing after you enter.”
“Sorry, Tilden, you know me,” Sheldon said with an apologetic grin.
“Go back out and come in without shaking the foundation.”
“You’ve got a stick up your butt today.”
Tilden jumped off the counter, where he’d been grading papers, and landed two swats on Sheldon’s hip as he hustled him back out the door. “Don’t push me today.”
“Two boys getting to your legendary patience,” Sheldon said with a grin.
“No, but three are. I asked you to go out and come back in like a gentleman. I’m still waiting.”
Sheldon stomped out the door. Only Tilden’s hand on the knob prevented the door from reverberating in the frame as he exited onto the back stoop. Sheldon came back in with exaggerated care, closing the door with infinite caution and bowing before Tilden. “Does that meet your majesty’s expectations?”
“Well done, my good sir. Now I require multiple proclamations for the royal court.” Tilden pointed to the kitchen table. “Sit. Write.”
“I guess I went too far,” Sheldon said to Luke. Sheldon didn’t look upset at his impending punishment as he bounced into the chair like a red-haired pixie. “And now I get to join you. Tilden’s a bear about lines; he always makes me do part of them in Russian, and my Russian’s bad.”
“Would you prefer that I send you to your room and let Milton spank you?” Tilden dropped a pad of paper and two pens in front of Sheldon. “I wrote the sentence in both Russian and English. I won’t make you do the translation, unless you want me to?”
“Oh, no,” Sheldon said with a wide grin. “If you make me do the translation, we’ll be here til midnight.”
Luke studied Tilden, his lines forgotten. It sounded like they were teasing each other, but Sheldon was in trouble. How could he seem amused about the prospect? Luke rubbed his hand; he hated lines. For the stuff in Russian, Tilden insisted that his hand writing be precise, something about Russian penmanship being more uniform. Tilden had given Luke the tiny graph paper that Russians tended to favor for writing paper, but as an American he would have preferred normal college ruled notebook paper. Luke bent back over the paper and painstakingly copied the verbs “to take an exam” and “to pass an exam” for the fifth time. The perfective meant “to pass” and the imperfective meant “to take the test with no comment on success.” At least there were only two forms, not like the verb “to read” with its myriad of prefixes that could mean “to read to completion,” “to glance at or to skim,” or anything in between. Tilden had just introduced the crazy notion of perfective and imperfective verbal pairs, stating that it was the most difficult moment in Russian, and at least in Luke’s mind, it seemed that Tilden must stay up nights scheming on how to introduce new verbs to Luke and Mike.
Sheldon couldn’t have written more than two or three sentences before he whispered to Luke, “So, what got you in trouble?”
“School,” Luke wasn’t sure he wanted to share more details with Sheldon. Milton’s partner had a wicked tongue, even if only in fun, and Luke wasn’t up to being laughed at.
“It had to have been big the way you’re shifting around in that chair. You must’ve been paddled.”
“Sheldon, do your lines.” Tilden’s voice had a different cadence to it than the previous exchange about the door.
Sheldon must have heard the new inflection and tone because he mumbled a quick, “Yes, sir,” and dropped his eyes to his work.
The only sound in the kitchen was the scratch of pens, the rustle of papers, and the occasional groan from Tilden when he had to add numerous red marks to a student’s paper. Luke had seen Tilden grade enough papers to know that an F probably caused the professor more distress than the student. Tilden was now mumbling to himself as he scribbled on the paper.
“This is a third year student and she can’t even translate a simple sentence about a boy going to the park. What six year old drives a car back and forth multiple times to the park? Luka, how do you say Pasha goes to the park?”
“Pasha idyot v park.”
“You’ve had less than three months of Russian, and you got it right. Maladets. This person couldn’t even get that sentence right. I can’t give points for creative misuse of Russian.” Tilden tossed the paper down in frustration and stood, locking his arms behind his head and stretching. “I’d like to go pick up Mike. Do you think you two can refrain from killing each other while I’m gone?”
“Yes, sir,” both Luke and Sheldon said in unison.
“Maledtsi, you can talk together, but work on your lines, and Sheldon don’t pick on Luke.”
“I hear you loud and clear, tovarishch kapitan,” Sheldon said with a mock solute.
“I mean it, boy.”
“Yes, sir.”
Luke watched Tilden pull on his coat and hat, more than a little nervous to be left alone with Sheldon. He inched his chair away from Sheldon as if he expected Sheldon to start acting like his cousins behaved on long car trips. Luke remembered being the butt of many unpleasant jokes and more than his fair share of slaps and kicks from his cousins. It had always seemed that they started it, but that he got punished, yelled at, and dragged up to the front seat to sit between his cousins’ parents and to listen to their grueling lectures on appropriate vehicle etiquette. Each night they would stop at a tiny motel with a handful of rooms and yellowing tile in the shower. Invariably Luke would end up on the floor, wrestling with one or both cousins, and when they went out to dinner, he’d be left sitting on the bed to think about his inappropriate behavior. He’d end up eating a cold and greasy take out supper alone while his cousins raced around the motel grounds or swam in the pool. Luke was sure he was supposed to remember the trips to the Grand Canyon and Yellowstone with fondness; instead he remembered them with dread. Sitting alone next to Sheldon gave him that same feeling of dread.
Luke felt Tilden’s hands on his shoulders and a faint kiss on the back of his neck, only a tickle. “Sheldon won’t bite, and he might be able to help. He’s really very sweet; he just likes to play,” Tilden whispered, and then he was gone.
Tilden had only been out the door a few seconds before Sheldon started wiggling and grinning. “So, are you going to tell me what got you in such trouble, or will I have to pry it out of you? I have my methods,” Sheldon said with an atrocious, fake German accent.
“Leave me alone. I’ve got to get this done.” Luke hunched his shoulders, curling into a ball over his paper.
“Tilden’s not worried about us finishing, or he wouldn’t have left. If a top’s serious about punishment, he supervises it. Trust me. I’ve been on the receiving end of plenty of serious punishment. Milton likes a short leash.”
Luke remained silent, pretending to be engrossed in his vocabulary list.
“The strong silent type. I have a cure for that,” Sheldon said with a laugh, got up, and vanished upstairs for a moment. He came back downstairs carrying a small desk lamp. Sheldon had changed into old fashioned riding pants that ballooned out over his thighs and tall, black boots. He plugged in the light and shined it straight into Luke’s eyes. “You will tell me everything,” he said, pronouncing the w’s as v’s and making harsh guttural sounds.
“Sheldon, stop. I need to get this done. They’re already furious with me.”
“You will tell me everything,” Sheldon repeated.
“Sheldon please,” Luke choked, swallowing back the tears.
“You are such a good boy,” Sheldon mocked, moving the light.
“No, I’m not.” Luke buried his face in his arms. He wasn’t going to cry in front of Sheldon. He’d never hear the end of it. He could just imagine Sheldon laughing and pointing at him. He’d probably tape a big sign that said cheater on Luke’s back or something equally horrible.
“Hey, hey, hey, I was just trying to have some fun.” Luke was surprised to feel Sheldon’s hand gently stroke his back and massage his neck. “I’m sorry. What happened today?”
Maybe it was the soothing strokes on his back or the sudden concerned tone but Luke blurted out his dreadful deed before he could stop himself. “Milton caught me cheating.”
“Bad, huh. Join the club. Did he tell you about the time he caught me?” Sheldon said, pulling Luke’s head out of his hands. “You know, you don’t have a monopoly on stupid behavior.”
“What happened?” Luke asked.
“It’s a long, gruesome story. Let me make some cocoa, and I’ll tell you the highlights.” Sheldon bounced over to the stove and with a terrific clatter of pans started the cocoa.
Luke bent back to his lines only to stop again when Sheldon passed him a steaming mug of hot chocolate. “Won’t you get in trouble if your lines aren’t finished?”
“Maybe,” Sheldon said with a shrug. “It won’t be the first time. I won’t break, and I can write and talk at the same time.” Sheldon blew on his cocoa and took a long swig. “So, Milton caught you, huh. At least you’re in a relationship with Tilden. I got nailed when I’d hardly met Milton and then had the audacity to lie to him. It wasn’t a smooth move. It did get me here though, just in a roundabout way. So I guess it turned out OK, and it will for you also.”
****
As Sheldon started to tell Luke the highlights of his misadventures with internet papers, he was surprised at how the details of the event came streaming back as if it were yesterday.
“Mr. Zath,” Professor Brown said, leaning over Sheldon’s desk, “You will meet me in my office immediately after class. This meeting is not optional.”
Sheldon sagged in his chair as the professor stepped away. Sheldon had always thought the idea of someone freezing your blood with words as highly improbable until it had just happened. With just those two sentences, his professor had caused goosebumps to form on his legs and an aura of controlled dread hung over his head like a stubborn thunder cloud in high summer.
What had he done? The rest of the class was getting their papers back, and all he had was a threat. A serious threat if the professor’s tone of voice and piercing black eyes were any way to judge. Could he know? No, that was impossible; the website had guaranteed that their papers were undetectable by all known plagiarism software. Plus Professor Brown was a visiting instructor, he certainly had better things to do than search for cheating students when he wasn’t a full time faculty member. It was the professor’s visiting status that had led Sheldon to select this course. He figured it would be an easy way to gain the final humanities credits blocking his path to graduation. Sheldon couldn’t have been more wrong. It was some kind of brutal combination of history and literature that required thousands of pages of dull reading. The CliffsNotes version of the Russian classics or Hollywood films were not adequate to answer the intricate exam questions. It was spring quarter, time for playing Frisbee on the quad, not sitting in a dusty library with Anna Karenina.
Sheldon watched as Professor Brown returned to his podium and started today’s lecture. Sheldon had always thought Professor Brown was good looking in a dark, mysterious way as if his ancestors hailed from the ancient silk roads. Today when Brown loomed over his student, Sheldon could imagine him planning invasions with Chinggis Kahn and the Golden Horde. Watching Brown was at least some compensation for suffering through the tortures of the final tsars. When Sheldon listened, Brown was a good lecturer, but today he couldn’t keep his mind on the subject. Sheldon kept seeing the professor leaning over his desk. He could almost taste the menace; Sheldon swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. The only time Sheldon had seen such controlled power is when he and his friends had, on a lark, gone to a leather bar and gotten smashed. They’d been hustled into a taxi by two doms in exquisitely tight leather pants. If Sheldon hadn’t been terrified, he would’ve propositioned one or both of them. Needless to say, he’d never had the courage to go back.
Maybe the professor was a dom. Sheldon shuddered as he imagined the kiss of the whip across his back. No, that was ridiculous; he probably had a wife who taught art history and two children in private school on the honor roll. Sheldon’s fantasies were interrupted by the bell. Sheldon stood and shoved his notebook in his backpack when he realized that he had no idea where the professor’s office was located. He loitered at his desk pretending to repack his bag and tie his shoe until the classroom emptied out.
“I thought I told you to meet me in my office,” a quiet voice hissed in his ear.
“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know where it is.” Sheldon was surprised by the deference in his voice. He usually spoke to a professor like a peer; he’d even been known to call a few by their first names.
“Follow me,” Professor Brown said with a curt nod.
Sheldon trailed the professor down two flights of stairs to a stark, tiny office in the basement. It looked more like a monk’s cell than an office. A monk’s cell would have had more decorations; at least a crucifix would have adorned the institutional green walls. The only natural light was from a small, glass block window mounted high on one wall. Professor Brown didn’t sit; instead, he leaned against the desk, his arms crossed, and he didn’t invite Sheldon to sit either. Sheldon eyed the two papers on the battered steel desk.
“Do you know why you’re here?” Brown demanded. The ice in his voice could have snapped power lines.
Sheldon licked his lips and stared at the scuffed tile floor. He thought he spotted mouse droppings in the far corner.
“Boy,” the professor’s voice cracked like a whip. “Look at me.”
Sheldon dragged his eyes up from the floor and tried to assume his most open and innocent expression as he sought the professor’s face. Sheldon shivered as he was captured in the pools of molten blackness. Without conscious thought, Sheldon spread his feet to shoulder width apart, dropped his head, and shifted his arms behind him, clasping his right wrist in his left hand, the picture of a submissive parade rest.
“Get your eyes off the floor, boy. You can’t hide from me down there.”
Sheldon jerked his head up. He’d never had a teacher speak to him like this. What did he think he was, his slave? Sheldon was prepared for a dramatic outburst, but a glare from Professor Brown froze the words in his mouth.
“I’m going to ask you one more time why are you here, Mr. Zath?”
“I don’t know,” Sheldon croaked when it became obvious that Brown wasn’t going to continue until he produced an answer.
“What was the topic of your paper?”
“The aristocracy’s changing views of serfdom in Russia.”
“Yes, and where did you get it?”
“I wrote it.”
“Do you want to try that again?” Professor Brown’s voice was deceptively soft, as if he were having a chat at an elegant tea party.
Sheldon shifted nervously but remained silent.
Brown reached behind him, picked up the two papers, and handed them to Sheldon. “This is the paper you turned in as your own work, and this is my friend’s paper from graduate school. As you will notice, they are identical.”
Sheldon stood, grasping the two papers, unable to look at them.
“Look at them,” Professor Brown roared. “Read the second paragraph for me.”
Sheldon stared at the papers. The identical sentences danced in front of eyes like a group of devils circling a bond fire. In a shaky voice, he read the paragraph in his paper.
“Now read the other paragraph.”
“It’s identical, sir.”
“Yes, it is. Do you want to revise your story?”
Sheldon squirmed under Professor Brown’s sharp glare. “Yes, sir. I purchased it off the internet.”
“From where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you still want to lie to me?”
Professor Brown didn’t mince words. He was now standing practically on Sheldon’s worn running shoes. Sheldon arched away, trying to get out of his icy glare. “No, sir.”
“Where did you get the paper?”
“Papertown on the internet.”
“Have you done this before?”
Sheldon scuffed his foot against the faded tile and remained silent.
“I assume that’s a yes,” Professor Brown said with a weariness in his voice. “It’s probably too late to save you, but you’re going to hear this anyway.” He took the papers from Sheldon’s hand and tossed them on the desk. Professor Brown gave Sheldon the most scorching, devastating lecture on academic integrity and overall honesty that he’d ever heard.
Sheldon swallowed hard and blinked back tears. He wasn’t going to cry, not in front of this arrogant bastard.
“Mr. Zath, you have failed this class. If I were the dean, you would fail the semester, and I would place a note on your transcripts. I guess for you it’s fortunate I’m not the dean. I have informed your academic advisor of the plagiarized paper and have been told a failure in my course will prevent your graduation this spring as it was a required humanities credit. Use your time wisely, young man, because you have been given a second chance. Good day.”
Sheldon stood, shocked. He’d hoped he’d only have to redo the paper or worst case fail the class. He’d forgotten that without these credits he wouldn’t meet the humanities requirement for the college of arts and science, and it sounded like convincing his advisor to waive the requirement was out of the question. That bastard Brown was responsible for this. Sheldon dragged himself out of the office and wandered aimlessly around the campus, wiping his eyes on his sleeve until he found a secluded bench and collapsed on its worn surface between the carved initials of lovers and let the tears flow freely.
The sun was dropping behind the trees when Sheldon felt a hand on his knee. He jerked, expecting it to be a homeless guy laying claim to the bench or a campus cop urging him to move on. Instead it was Professor Brown who was crouched down in front of Sheldon, his brow furrowed with concern.
“Are you OK?” Brown asked his voice just one notch above a whisper.
“Yeah, no thanks to you.” Sheldon wiped his eyes with short, vicious strokes.
“Have you been here since class this morning?”
Sheldon nodded, clutching his backpack to his chest.
“Is your car here?”
“No I took the T.”
“I’ll walk you to your stop.”
“After you’ve totally fucked my life over, you’re now being the Good Samaritan. What are you some kind of pervert? Get off on making college students miserable?”
“Have you eaten?”
“What that’s got to do with anything?” Sheldon yelled in frustration. He couldn’t figure out this professor. Brown had given him a blistering lecture this morning, but now his voice was soft, almost lulling. He should be angry. Sheldon had said enough for the most saintly, cookie baking grandmother to use a wooden spoon for more than mixing.
“Perhaps low blood sugar is causing your irrational behavior.” Brown snagged Sheldon’s book bag and swung it over his broad shoulder and headed towards the street crowded with cheap eateries, combination nail salons and tattoo parlors, and boutiques selling certified organic dog food and free trade cotton.
Brown was fifty feet down the path, disappearing between the high bushes when Sheldon took off after him. “Wait; you’ve got my stuff.” Brown didn’t pause, and Sheldon was forced to chase after him. Sheldon caught up with his professor as the path merged onto the main thoroughfare. The sidewalks were clogged with students—groups holding hands and smiling; revolutionary types, barefoot with long flowing hair, arguing amongst themselves and forcing literature on all comers; and pale, haggard premed students clutching oversized science textbooks. Brown took the pamphlets from the Young Communist League and the Warriors for Texas and shoved them in the pocket of his khakis, never breaking stride.
Professor Brown slowed and entered Joe’s Hamburger Shack. As always it was crowded, and the smell of hamburgers on the grill and chocolate shakes hung in the air. Brown weaved his way to the counter and ordered two hamburgers, fries, and Cokes. He grabbed an order number and retreated to the rear of the restaurant where it was less crowded and the noise was at a minimum. Sheldon was forced to follow as his professor still had firm control of his backpack. Sheldon sat in the chair across from his nemesis and stared at the photos on the surrounding walls. He’d been here plenty of times with his buds but never paid attention to the decor; he was usually too busy talking and laughing. The photos showed scenes of cops beating rioters with truncheons and dragging men clad in odd bits of leather into a paddy wagon.
“Joe was a gay rights activist and a leather man long before it became socially acceptable.”
Sheldon snapped his head around at Brown’s voice and stared at his professor with open curiosity. A vision of his professor in tight leather pants, an open white silk shirt, and a coiled whip in his hand flashed through Sheldon’s mind. Sheldon blinked and came back to reality as Brown started speaking again.
“I’m a historian and have a special interest in the civil rights movement worldwide.”
Sheldon nodded. For a moment, he felt disappointed. Had he wanted his professor to declare that he was gay and that he played hard every weekend? The whole idea was beyond ridiculous. At best Professor Brown saw Sheldon as an errant student, at worst a stray puppy who needed a meal and a pat on the head before being dropped off at the humane society. And yet his mind kept picturing Brown at one of those bars where subtle, agreed-upon signals made a guy’s interest clear. Wouldn’t he look hot in tight 501 jeans and a rainbow handkerchief in his left pocket? But Brown was a historian. He probably wouldn’t use the simple color codes for gay, straight, or bisexual but the more complicated ones from the golden age of gay night life.
Stop it, Sheldon told himself. This is the bastard that screwed up your graduation, and he probably has a wife and two lovely kids waiting for him in suburbia.
A teen with more piercings than Sheldon wanted to contemplate dropped their lunch on the table with a resounding bang, interrupting Sheldon’s musing. Much to Sheldon’s relief, Professor Brown didn’t try to talk except to offer the condiments. Sheldon didn’t think he could’ve managed an intelligible conversation with the overwhelming feelings of guilt and embarrassment being top dressed with an overlay of lust.
When they had finished, Brown dumped the remains of their lunch and dropped a few coins on the table for a tip before slinging Sheldon’s backpack over his shoulder. “Where do you live?”
“On the blue line, fifth stop.”
“Come on.” Brown walked out of the restaurant to the transit stop without looking back, leaving Sheldon to scramble behind him or risk losing his bag. At the stop, Brown pulled out a smart transit card. “Do you have a transit pass?”
“I forgot to buy one.”
Brown raised an eyebrow and shook his head but reached into his pocket for the correct change.
Sheldon stared at his professor, an expression of open dismay on his face. Sheldon’s apartment was in a less than desirable building. Secretly he wondered what his neighbors were selling since unsavory people came and went at all hours of the day and night, and his own apartment looked like he needed an emergency management team and their hazmat trucks. Something told him if Professor Brown saw the apartment, he’d be spending the rest of the evening cleaning, and he didn’t have the energy for that. He’d never seen Brown without his perfectly ironed khakis and oxford shirt in the exciting colors of white or light blue and polished dress shoes.
The bells of the arriving train clanged before Sheldon could elaborate on the upcoming nightmare. The train was crowded, and they both ended up standing the entire journey, constantly shifting to make way for other passengers. At their stop, Brown signaled for Sheldon to lead the way. They turned down an alley, avoiding the sofa with exposed springs, crossed three sets of railroad tracks, and sprinted across a viaduct before arriving at the back of Sheldon’s apartment building.
“Do you do this at night by yourself?” Professor Brown asked.
“Yeah.”
Brown grimaced but handed Sheldon’s bag over without speaking. As Sheldon turned away, Brown grabbed his wrist and spun him back around. “Don’t do anything foolish tonight. Have a friend over; call your parents; go to that new action flick everyone’s raving about. This is my card.” Professor Brown handed Sheldon a plain white business card with his home, cell, and office numbers on it. “Call me if you need me.” Brown released Sheldon’s wrist, turned around, and left.
Sheldon fingered the card: Milton Brown PhD, Associate Professor of History and Government, Banner College. He almost called out to the figure who was briskly disappearing into the gloom of the alley. Sheldon didn’t understand, but when Brown had grasped his wrist it had felt like—he wasn’t sure—an anchor in the wind.
Sheldon didn’t see Brown for almost another year and a half. He’d kept the card until he moved out of his student digs, but he could never find the courage to call.
Sheldon pushed his way towards the barman. He was at a party hosted by a major sponsor of the television station where he now worked as a lowly intern. He’d been surprised that he’d been invited, but the boss, Jack Hamford, had insisted; he’d even given him a ride since Sheldon couldn’t afford a car. Jack, he insisted on being called Jack, said too much formality stifled creativity in the workplace. He insisted that Sheldon would have a good time: live music, dancing, and plenty of free booze. Plus, as Jack had said with a sly grin, it was a chance to see one of the last great estates within commuting distance of Boston. How often did mere interns get to stroll around thousand acre compounds? Sheldon decided the bigwigs had just wanted a peon to fetch and carry. This was the third time he’d waited in line for drinks, and getting his toes stepped on by increasingly inebriated old guys was not his idea of fun. Sheldon grabbed the drinks, three vodka tonics for Jack and his friends and a beer for himself, and made his way back to the table.
Their table was in a dark, out of the way corner, pushed against the band’s sound equipment. Only Jack was still at the table, pushing ice cubes around his empty glass with the miniature pink plastic sword that decorated his last drink.
“Barney and Lee went off to dance with their wives. Come sit over here.” Jack patted the chair that was right next to his ample frame. “We’ll have a nice chat. I always like to find out more about my new interns. They often have such fascinating ideas.”
Sheldon placed the drinks on the table and sat down in the indicated chair, sitting in the far corner of its flimsy seat as far away from Jack as possible. Jack swallowed down the first drink with alarming speed and reached for the second. It seemed to Sheldon as he reached for the second drink that Jack had moved his chair closer and now his thigh almost touched Sheldon’s short clad leg.
“I understand you think our TV station should offer more gay and bisexual friendly programing.” Jack leaned in close as he spoke.
“Yes, sir.” Sheldon froze as he felt a pudgy hand on his thigh and a thumb start to stroke under the hemline of his shorts.
“You suggested a soap opera featuring all gay couples including a master slave relationship and perhaps a threesome.” Jack was speaking calmly as if it were perfectly normal to be stroking the thigh of his intern.
Sheldon tried to block out the feeling. He wanted to slap the man’s hand away, but he was his boss. Maybe he could make an excuse, an urgent need to use the toilet, and disappear into the crowd. Oh, God, he didn’t have a car, and he didn’t have enough money even if he knew where he was to be able to call a radio car. Where would he go if he did manage to slip away for a moment? The hand was becoming more insistent; it had now wormed its way all the way under his shorts, and he could feel a finger probing for his cock and balls.
“Sheldon dear, I’ve been looking all over for you. So this is where you disappeared to.”
Sheldon snapped his head around to see who had spoken. Professor Brown was standing over the table with his hand held out.
“Come, I have some dear friends who are dying to meet you.” Brown grasped Sheldon’s wrist and pulled him tight to Brown’s chest. “Just smile. But unless I’m badly mistaken that didn’t look consensual,” Brown whispered before continuing to chat about some trivia of mutual acquaintances in a normal tone to Jack.
“It wasn’t,” Sheldon whispered, making no attempt to pull away from the professor’s grip.
Brown slipped his arm around Sheldon’s waist and guided him out of the tent as if they were lovers. He tucked Sheldon’s head against his chest and whispered, “Make this look good.” After they escaped the crowds, Brown released Sheldon’s waist, but Sheldon didn’t step away. “Do you want me to keep my arm there?”
“Sorry,” Sheldon blurted out, stepping away as he felt his face turning red. “I didn’t want to impose, Professor Brown.”
“You weren’t imposing, and I think you can call me Milton now. You have graduated, haven’t you?” Brown asked, snagging Sheldon’s hand and holding it like two old-fashioned lovers out for an evening summer stroll.
Sheldon blushed deeper, but he didn’t try to pull away. As they strolled around the lake, the sounds of the party faded and soon the sounds of the night insects, the deep strenuous voice of the bullfrogs, and the occasional splash as a disturbed frog or duck made for the water dominated the night symphony, the sounds of the watering hole at night long before man’s roads and machines. In the distance, Sheldon could hear the occasional buzz of traffic and the roar of an airplane overhead stretching the illusion of the natural night but not shattering it.
They must have walked two kilometers along a thin gravel path before Milton spoke again. “Sheldon, who was that man pawing you?”
“My boss.” Sheldon walked another hundred meters in silence. “Thanks for rescuing me. It was more than I deserved.”
“What do you mean?” Brown asked his voice no louder than the crunch of gravel underfoot.
“After last year, you certainly don’t owe me any favors. And tonight without you I would’ve ended up in that slimeball’s bed.”
“No one deserves to be raped.”
“It wouldn’t have been rape, just awful sex.”
Brown halted and turned Sheldon to face him. “Are you telling me you wanted to have sex with that man?” Brown asked.
In the dim light of the waxing moon, Sheldon was sure that Brown couldn’t make out his face or see that his cheeks glistened with silent tears. “No, it wouldn’t be my first choice, but I don’t think he could physically overpower me, so I must be consenting in some way. I don’t think he would physically hurt me.”
“That doesn’t matter. It doesn’t have to be physical force. Economic or emotional force is just as wrong.”
“Oh, God, you live in such a perfect world. I cheated to get ahead. What’s so different about using a little sex to get ahead?” Sheldon jerked his hand out of Brown’s grip and stomped off down the path.
“Sheldon Zath.” Professor Brown’s voice rang out with all the authority that Sheldon remembered from that dreadful class. “Is this about using sex to get ahead or punishing yourself for last year? Come back here and talk to me.”
Sheldon hesitated. Brown’s voice cut right through him as if it took over his brain and his legs couldn’t move any farther. He grabbed a handful of pebbles from the path and skipped the small stones into the lake with short angry strokes, but he didn’t keep walking.
Sheldon was still throwing rocks into the lake when Brown reached him and pried his fingers open, forcing the rocks to fall back on the path. “How long have you been punishing yourself?”
“Who gave you the right to walk around in my head?” Sheldon spat.
“No one yet, but I hope you will.” Milton’s voice was soft, almost lulling. Sheldon had to lean toward him to hear the words over the chirping of the night insects. Brown ran his thumb over the back of Sheldon’s hand, making small circles. “I think I misjudged you last year. When you had the audacity to lie to my face, I was angry, and I wanted to shake you badly. I was very harsh when I scolded you about your paper.” Brown was speaking slowly as if he were evaluating each word and phrase before he said it aloud. “That evening when I found you on the bench I should have taken you home with me. The implications of taking a student home—I couldn’t get over my own fears. Not a few times I thought of calling you...” Brown shook himself like a dog after a swim as if he wished he could shed the memories like a dog sheds water.
“Professor—”
“It’s Milton now.”
“Sorry pro—uh—Milton. I cheated. I lied, and it wasn’t the first time. But you were the first person to pull me up short. I tried to hate you when my friends graduated, and I stood on the sidelines. We called you all kinds of vile names; I even considered trashing your car or your house, but it seemed too much effort when we were sober, and you lived too far away for spontaneous, drunken revenge. Oh, God, I’m babbling. I’ll shut up now.”
“Sheldon, my little imp,” Milton said with a fondness in his voice that Sheldon had never heard. “Come here.” Milton tugged Sheldon to his chest and folded his arms around him. “If you want me to let you go, just tell me,” Milton whispered into Sheldon’s ear.
Sheldon knew he should pull away, but he couldn’t. He was comfortable against Milton’s chest; his head tucked into the larger man’s shoulder, the feeling of Milton’s short beard against his cheek. Milton said nothing; he snugged Sheldon against his side and guided Sheldon down the path until they came to a bench tucked into a reed filled shallows. Milton sat and pulled Sheldon down on top of him.
“I asked you the day I gave your paper back if you’d cheated before. You dodged the question, but I assumed the answer was yes. Is that correct?”
Sheldon nodded.
“Tell me about the other times.”
“I paid a math major to do my math homework, and I studied off the old tests for Spanish. We kept them in a file at the fraternity house.” Sheldon took a deep breath before he continued. “I used a paper service for two of my papers in the English lit class I took.”
“How do you feel about those?”
“Like I cheated.”
“You did.”
Sheldon burrowed deeper into Milton’s chest.
“Do you feel guilty?” Milton prodded, rubbing Sheldon’s back.
“Yeah, I got away with it, but it’s not something I brag about. I’m ashamed now.”
“How do you feel about the time I caught you?”
Sheldon hesitated. “At first I was angry. You’d ruined my plans. Now I don’t know. Guilty, I think.”
“Sheldon, I punished you. You don’t need to feel guilty. Did you retake the class?”
“No, I took a history of television from variety shows to reality TV. I didn’t have to write any papers.”
“Do you feel guilty about that?”
“Yes, I’m not even Catholic, but I’ve got their guilt complex,” Sheldon said sarcastically. “Maybe I should try some self-flagellation. It worked for the saints.”
“Sheldon, how long have you been punishing yourself?”
“I don’t know,” Sheldon whispered. “I’m a jerk; I deserve to have someone hurt me, and you’re being all decent just like you were that evening after you caught me.”
“Do you think I should have left you on the street, easy prey for vagrants, skinheads, and who knows what else?”
Sheldon sniffed and choked back tears. “I just get away with things all the time. I’m cute and sweet. Nobody ever thinks I’m the one who drinks the last Coke and doesn’t replace it or kicks the copy machine and breaks it. Even you said you would’ve punished me more if the school would’ve allowed it.” Sheldon burst into tears and tried to pull away, embarrassed by his outburst.
“Stop now,” Milton said, his voice crackling in the night air. “You’ve got me in this; now you’re going to deal with me. Am I clear?”
Sheldon froze as Milton’s voice cut through him. “Yes, sir.”
“OK, boy, so what are we going to do about you?”
Boy, Sheldon blinked. He thinks I’m a submissive. “I’m not a sub. I’m not a boy.”
“Sheldon, it’s not a bad thing to be a boy. You’re a submissive, and you like to get in a little trouble. You’d probably like to brat.” Milton brushed Sheldon’s hair from his forehead and kissed him firmly. “I like submissives, and I like you, and I can cope with bratting.”
Sheldon shivered as Milton’s lips brushed against his ear. If he was a submissive or a brat—brat seemed like the less scary word—then Milton must be a top. Oh, God, what did that mean?
Milton must have read Sheldon’s mind. “Yes, I’m a dominant, and I’m unattached.”
Sheldon lay against Milton, enjoying the comfort as he tried to wrap his befuddled mind around the concept of dom and sub. He’d always thought he was vanilla. Well, he did like a little tease and power games and who hadn’t surfed the web, but to allow someone to punish you, to spank you, to put you in a corner, to make you write lines, to control your life—he’d never thought he wanted that. But he liked Milton’s arms around him. “Do you punish your boys?” Sheldon stammered.
“Yes, is that what you want? Will it make you stop punishing yourself?”
Sheldon snuggled closer to Milton, not ready to answer, and Milton seemed content to wait. Finally Sheldon whispered, “Would you spank me?” Jesus, where had that come from. He’d said it now; he couldn’t take it back.
“It won’t be foreplay, not this time,” Milton said, his voice calm as he ruffled Sheldon’s hair.
“Will it hurt?”
“Yes, but I won’t harm you.”
Sheldon swallowed. Why was he having this conversation as if it was something he wanted? “Will it get rid of the guilt?”
“If we do it right.”
Sheldon sat in the darkness, glad that Milton could not see the emotions flooding him like waves in a storm. He listened to the night and his hitching breath. A frog jumped into the pond, and the reeds rustled below him. “I want you to do it.”
“Do what, Sheldon?”
He was going to make him say that frightening word. Sheldon inhaled sharply. “I want you to punish me—to spank me.”
“Have you ever been spanked?”
“No.”
“This won’t be the games I play with a submissive at a club. This is about your inability to let go after your term paper misadventure. I will bend you over my knee, drop your shorts, and spank your bare rump. You’ll want me to stop long before I will. You will cry. It’s a painful, emotionally draining, and exposing activity. Earlier that man was already manipulating your psyche and humiliating you. You must decide if you’re willing to trust me enough to see you unprotected and vulnerable. I won’t do it to harm you or manipulate you, but it’s frightening, perhaps the most frightening thing you’ll ever do, especially the first time. You have to surrender yourself to me. Give me your absolute trust. If you’re not willing to do all these things, spanking you would be wrong.” Milton rubbed Sheldon’s back, not hurrying the young man in his lap.
“If I say no, will you think less of me?” Sheldon managed to say.
“No, this is your decision, not mine. To coerce you either mentally or physically would be abuse.”
“I’m such a screw up,” Sheldon muttered more to himself than to Milton. “Now, I can’t come up with enough guts to go through with this.”
“Sheldon, we can always do this later.”
“No!” Sheldon was surprised by the fierceness in his own voice. “I can’t take feeling this way all the time-—out of control—guilty—useless. Please punish me. Spank me.”
“Sheldon, you understand once I put you over my knee you’re committed until I finish.”
“Yes! Are you going to make me beg?”
“Stand up.” Milton gave Sheldon a gentle push, helping him to his feet. “Take off your shorts and put them on the far side of the bench and then step between my knees. Your safeword is red. Do you understand that?”
“Yes, sir.” Sheldon knew what a safeword was, not that he’d ever thought he'd be using one.
It was a warm night, but Sheldon shivered as he stepped between Milton’s thighs, the warm breeze ruffling his boxers. He couldn’t have worn plain boxers today; no, they had cartoon animals scampering across the seat.
“OK, you still want to do this?”
“Yeah.” Just get on with it, Sheldon thought, before I chicken out.
“Bend down and grab my ankle; it will help keep you in position.”
Sheldon felt for Milton’s ankle. His eyes were screwed shut, and his breathing was rapid in anticipation of the pain. He felt Milton wrap his left arm around his waist and secure his hand behind his back.
“I’m going to hold your hand this time. I don’t want to swat your fingers if you move.” Milton took down Sheldon’s boxers and laid his hand on Sheldon’s butt. “Breathe, boy. Have we talked enough?”
Sheldon managed to nod. He was shaking, and Milton hadn’t touched him yet. Suddenly he felt Milton lift his hand and then a sharp sting as it came down on his right cheek. Before he could adjust, flames landed on his left cheek. Milton spanked fast; Sheldon quickly lost the battle with tears. “Stop. It hurts,” he choked.
“Breathe. I’ll get you through this.” Milton’s voice was soft, but he didn’t slow the rhythm of the spanking.
Sheldon jerked, trying to shield his ass any way he could. Milton had to stop soon; his hand would be bruised. A swat landed on his thigh, and Sheldon wailed. His tears were continuous as he hung over Milton’s knee, clutching Milton’s ankle as if it were a life preserver on the high seas. Sheldon could no longer hear the swats over the sound of his sobbing.
Milton was rubbing his back, murmuring a litany of reassurance. Sheldon wasn’t sure for how long the spanking had been over. He should have listened to Milton; he’d warned Sheldon loud and clear. People did this for fun. Were they crazy? Sheldon felt Milton swing him back on his lap with infinite care not to touch Sheldon’s burning ass.
“I’ve got you now. Cry all you want.”
Sheldon leaned into Milton. Gradually his sobs faded to soft hiccups and a slight wheeze in his breathing. “I’m sorry I’m such a wimp.”
“Didn’t I tell you that you would cry?”
“Not like this, I’m a baby.”
“You needed to cry, and if this gives you the outlet you need, I can provide it.” Milton wiped Sheldon’s cheek and kissed his forehead. “Are we all square now? No more guilt.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good boy. Do you think you can get up?”
“Don’t leave me here!” Sheldon said with rising panic in his voice.
“Never.”
That single work carried more force than any vague promises and insincere platitudes that Sheldon had heard from a parade of people. Sheldon wrapped his arms around Milton and kissed him on his cheek.
“I’m going to walk you to my car, make your excuses to that delightful man who was your escort, and then take you home. We’ll sort everything else out in the morning.”
“You’re a wreck. I got tears and snot all over your shirt.”
“It’s dark. No one will notice.”
It seemed to take forever to walk to the car. Sheldon was tired, his ass hurt. He didn’t want to walk. Finally in exasperation, Milton placed both hands on Sheldon’s shoulders and pushed him forward.
“I’d like to get home before dawn, and the walk will help prevent you from stiffening up.”
Sheldon leaned back into Milton’s chest, digging in his heels. “I’m tired.”
Milton shifted a hand down below Sheldon’s waist and patted lightly. “If you make me have to carry you, I’ll make this a lot sorer. So march, boy.”
“Yes, sir.” Sheldon scrambled forward to get away from that threatening hand.
Milton’s car was a tiny, unimpressive hatchback, tidy but not new. From somewhere in back, Milton produced a pillow and tossed it on the passenger front seat. He eased Sheldon down on the seat and buckled him in, leaving the door open for ventilation. Milton stroked the hair damp with sweat from the spanking and the ensuing walk. “Easy, boy, I’ll be right back.” A quick kiss and he was gone into the night.
Sheldon let his head rest against the cheap vinyl seat back. Through the windshield he could see a sprinkling of stars. The three bright ones were Orion’s belt, and somehow they pointed to the North Star, but he couldn’t remember the details. The North Star the guide for explorers, the beacon for runaway slaves. Sheldon’s musings were interrupted by a light, gliding kiss and the thump of the door closing. He closed his eyes as the car started in motion.
The car had stopped in front of a large house with its porch lights shining brightly. The porch was a large, curved affair, covering the entire front of the house. Between each pillar, massive hanging baskets were bursting with flowers. Sheldon struggled with his seatbelt in the dim light of an unfamiliar car. Milton stooped over him and unbuckled it. Sheldon remained in his seat, feeling a strange languidness overtake him. Milton wrapped his arms around Sheldon and swung him up into his arms.
“Wrap your arms around my neck and hold on with your knees. We’ve got to climb some stairs, and I don’t want you falling.” Milton maneuvered through the darkened house with easy familiarity and deposited Sheldon on a large bed covered with a crisp white summer throw. Sheldon closed his eyes and hugged his knees to his chest. Behind him, Sheldon could hear Milton rummaging in the drawers and a T-shirt and a pair of boxers landed on the bed.
“Change. I’ll see if I can dig you up some toilet articles.”
*****
“I think you can imagine the rest of the evening,” Sheldon said to Luke. “But suffice it to say your little cheating episode was nothing.” He bent back to his lines and scratched a few words on the paper before closing his eyes with a slight smile playing on his lips as he remembered the incident.
*****
Sheldon started to roll on to his hip to change his clothes. He pulled one tennis shoe off and started on his left foot when his laces snarled. In frustration and exhaustion, he fell back on the bed and covered his head with a pillow. He could taste the salt of tears in his mouth again.
“You didn’t get very far, did you?”
Sheldon peeked out from beneath the pillow. Milton’s voice hadn’t sounded angry, and he was smiling at him. He’d changed into some candy striped pajamas that made him look like he was modeling the latest fashion in prison wear.
“All right, my little leprechaun, since I don’t want to get kicked in the middle of the night by your shoes, I’ll get you changed.” Milton sat on the edge of the bed, pulled Sheldon into his lap as if he were a toddler, and bent down to remove his remaining shoe. “You got this in a prize winning knot. It helps to untie it before you try to pull it off.” Milton worked the knot out with his agile, long fingers and slid Sheldon’s shoes and sock off. “Lift your arms. Let me get your shirt.” Sheldon raised his arms as compliant as a rag doll. “Stand up, and I’ll get your shorts.”
Sheldon stood. This was the second time today that he’d bared his ass to this man. Milton slid Sheldon’s shorts and boxers down, letting his hand rest on Sheldon’s inflamed butt as he pulled up the oversized boxers. Sheldon reached to place his hand on Milton’s crotch as their bodies rubbed together.
“Not tonight.” Milton plucked away the errant hand. “You’ve had enough tonight, and it defeats the purpose of the aversive.” He shepherded Sheldon into the bathroom and coaxed him into brushing his teeth and washing his face before he herded him back to bed.
Sheldon licked his lips as he watched Milton slip under the coverlet. Even the loose fitting pajamas couldn’t hide his raw sex appeal. Milton reached over and slung Sheldon onto his chest, kissing his forehead. “Sleep. I’ve got you.”
Sheldon woke as the sun was just starting to peek through the muslin curtains. He was still draped over Milton’s chest; a warm arm slung possessively over his back. The only sound was Milton’s slight snoring. Sheldon wondered if it was the quiet that had awakened him. The apartment he shared with two friends reverberated with noise from the passing trains. Used to sleeping with the constant rumbling and clank of bells, the quiet was disconcerting, tomblike.
Slowly Sheldon slid out from Milton’s arm and tiptoed to the bathroom. He ran his hand across his rump; it was still hot, not truly painful, but not normal either. He wouldn’t want to throw himself down on a hard chair today. He pulled down his boxers and twisted to see his butt in the mirror, pink but no bruising. Finishing in the toilet, Sheldon returned to the bedroom. Last night’s clothes had vanished, probably policed into a hamper by a super efficient top. Sheldon stood uncertain for a moment. Wandering around in this strange house in a T-shirt and boxers that threatened to slide down his hips at any moment didn’t sound like a good prospect, and he wasn’t sleepy.
Milton had shifted since Sheldon had crawled out of bed and now lay sprawled across the coverlet. His pajamas had slid down his hips, showing an enticing peek at what lay underneath. Milton had said no sex last night, but it was now morning, and there had been no new prohibition.
Sheldon dropped on the bed and touched the treasure still hidden under the pajamas. When Milton continued to snore, he grew braver, untied the drawstring, and pushed the pajamas down further. Sheldon’s hand touched the large balls and slid down the limp cock almost reverently. He watched fascinated as the cock sprang to life under his stroking while the man still slept.
Suddenly a hand grabbed the back of his neck and tugged him forward. “Boy, you better finish what you just started if you know what’s good for you,” Milton growled. A hand landed on Sheldon’s butt, not hard enough to be a swat, but too hard to be a pat.
Now that Milton was awake, it took only a few more strokes to bring him to completion. Milton groaned and grabbed Sheldon’s T-shirt and pulled him down on Milton’s chest, trapping Sheldon’s hard cock between them.
“Does this mean I get to keep you?”
“Oh, yeah” Sheldon grinned, trying to reach his blood filled appendage to relieve the pressure.
“Oh, no you don’t.” Milton slapped Sheldon’s hand and with a quick heave flipped Sheldon on his back, pinning his boy’s hands above his head.
Sheldon yelped as his tender butt bounced on the mattress.
“Serves you right, starting this after punishment. Keep your hands up there and let me play,” Milton growled.
Sheldon shivered as Milton licked down his chest. Milton nipped at his captured boy’s nipples, causing Sheldon to arch against him, moaning incoherently. In one swift move, Milton dropped to Sheldon’s groin and engulfed his new lover in his mouth. Sheldon came almost immediately, spraying cum deep into Milton’s throat. Milton swallowed and traced his fingers up his lover’s spent body, finally stopping at his mouth, where he slowly traced Sheldon’s lips.
“Was that good for you?” Milton asked, his eyes laughing.
“Oh, God, where’d you learn to do that?”
Milton smiled and kissed Sheldon on the lips. Sheldon could taste himself as he relaxed into the kiss, ceding full control to Milton. One final kiss and Milton grabbed his now limp and compliant boy and hoisted him out of bed. “Shower. I’ll get the sheets. I want to introduce you to Tilden before he finds us here in bed.”
“Who’s Tilden?” Sheldon managed to enunciate; his brain still felt woozy as he tried to shift gears from great sex to mundane living.
“The guy whose paper you ripped off,” Milton said with a sly grin.
“Oh shit!”
“Don’t swear. Shower now. He’s an early riser.”
****
“Sheldon what are you laughing at?”
“I was just thinking about the first time I met Tilden. It was his paper I plagiarized, and of course Milton recognized it in an instant.”
“Shit, that does sound worse than peeking at a few notes.”
“Oh, yeah, it was. I can remember siting in this very kitchen, clutching a cup of coffee, and Milton introducing me as his new lover who tried to turn in his best friend’s paper. I thought I’d die of embarrassment. Thank God, Tilden’s a sweetheart. He smiled a wicked grin, wrapped me up in a hug, and gave my very sore butt a good pat. I about jumped out of my skin. At the time, I didn’t know Tilden was a top, and I wasn’t about to let him know that Milton had spanked the daylights out of me the day before.”
“That sounds awful,” Luke said.
“It got worse from there. Even though I’d already graduated, Milton made me study all the subjects I’d cheated on. I think I wrote ten papers for the one that I’d tried to pass off as mine. Plus Milton got a friend to tutor me in math, and Tilden tutored me in Russian since I’d faked my way through Spanish. Spanish would’ve been a hell of a lot easier. It was when Tilden was teaching me that I found out he was a top. Milton was out of town, and I went on strike about doing the Russian and gave Tilden an absolute earful. I think it was about as close as Tilden’s ever come to spanking me. I got swatted into the corner, and my mouth washed out with soap. Avoid that all cost. It’s flat cold gross. At least Milton considered us all square, and he didn’t spank me when he got back.”
“I’m sure Milton’s going to make me continue to go to class and do all the work for history, even though I’ve flunked the class.”
“That would be his modus operandi,” Sheldon said with a laugh.
“I know; I feel so bad that I did it to him.”
“Oh stop with the guilt trip.” Sheldon threw a ball of wadded up paper at Luke. “At least you didn’t drive drunk, or send one of them to the hospital with a head wound.”
“You did that?” Luke asked, his voice rising in wonder.
“Mace caused the head wound by pitching a plate across the kitchen, and before you look too shocked he wasn’t trying to hit anyone. I did the drunk driving. As one brat to another, don’t do it. I get in trouble a lot but not like that, and I’m still here.” Sheldon’s expression became serious. “That was the only time I thought Milton might kick me out.” Sheldon bent back to his lines as if he were embarrassed by the memory. “I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have brought it up. I don’t think I can talk about it.”
“It’s OK. You don’t know me well, and I don’t want to pry into your private affairs. Would you like some more cocoa?”
“Luke, you’re sweet, but I think I better get on these lines. Do you have yours done?”
“Almost.”
“That sounds like one of my answers. The tops insist on yes or no. Almost, maybe, perhaps, sort of won’t cut it with them.”
They had just settled back to their lines when Mike and Tilden returned, carrying two large shopping bags stuffed with food. “Did you get your lines done?” Tilden asked, sweeping the empty mugs off the table with one hand. “Or did you spend the whole time drinking cocoa, chatting, and dressing up?” Tilden asked, looking at Sheldon’s breeches and boots with an amused expression on his face.
“Napisal,” Luke replied and triumphantly handed Tilden his lines.
“Khorosho.” Tilden ruffled Luke’s hair. “You used the perfective verb. Excellent. See how handy it is when the verbs have a built in way to stress completion.”
Luke wasn’t sure if it was handy or merely confusing but he nodded anyway. He was enjoying the praise, and he didn’t want to break the mood.
“Sheldon, go into the library and finish up,” Tilden said. “I’ll call you when we have supper laid out. Milton’s staying late to grade exams, and Trent and Mace have a book signing.”
Dinner passed pleasantly. Sheldon chatted about the latest gossip at the station, and Tilden tried to engage both his brats on the Secretary of State’s visit to the Republic of Texas. Luke didn’t follow politics, and he ate quietly while Sheldon and Tilden argued the merits of constructive engagement to decrease persecution of non-Christians. After dinner, Sheldon idled in front of the television, and Tilden hauled out the Russian Scrabble game. Luke was bad at Scrabble in English, and in Russian he was hopeless. He couldn’t even make the first word without Tilden looking at his rack and helping him. Luke realized that Tilden in a round about way was trying to help them prepare for their Russian exam, but he was in no mood with a rack full of hard signs and combinations of letters forbidden to go together by Russian’s elaborate spelling rules. After he snapped at Tilden for the third time, Tilden tipped Luke’s letters back into the box and sent him off to bed.
Luke lay on the bed fully clothed and flipped through his Russian textbook. He wasn’t going to go meekly off to bed at eight like some six-year-old.
“I thought Tilden sent you to bed?”
Luke looked over his shoulder to see Milton standing in the doorway, his hip propped against the door frame and his arms crossed. Luke already recognized the stance as a top on the attack. “I’m in bed.”
“In bed means in your pajamas under the covers with the lights out, not sprawled sideways across the bed muttering to your Russian textbook. Go on now; get changed.”
Luke tossed the book to the floor and stomped off to the bathroom. He pulled on his pajamas, letting his clothes lay where he dropped them. Running his toothbrush under the tap, he halfheartedly scraped it against a couple teeth, splashed some water on his face, and called himself ready for bed.
Milton had turned down the covers and patted the bed when Luke emerged from the bathroom. “Hop in.”
Luke grimaced but obeyed.
Milton pushed Luke’s hair back and kissed his forehead. “Are you worried about your Russian test tomorrow?”
“I thought you guys wanted me asleep, and now you want to chat.”
“Watch yourself,” Milton said with a hint of warning. “I’ve heard your Russian; it’s excellent for a first year student.”
“You’re just trying to make me feel better.”
Milton sighed and stood up. Luke watched in the shadows of the single lamp as Milton rummaged through the odds and ends stored in the bottom of the wooden chest at the foot of the bed. He pulled out a portable tape recorder, and a stack of books and cassette tapes rubber banded together. “This is the text Tilden and I used when we took Russian back in the Dark Ages.” Milton pawed through the tapes until he found the right one and shoved it into the recorder. “Here read and listen to this.”
Luke listened to the fuzzy, tinny sound coming from the tiny speakers. It was an ordinary dialogue about going to the movies: everything from choosing the film to buying the tickets. Milton rewound the tape several times until he seemed satisfied and then removed the tape and inserted a blank tape.
“Read the dialogue out loud.”
Mystified, Luke followed Milton’s orders.
“Again, as if you’re talking to someone, not reading a ridiculous textbook dialogue.”
Luke repeated the process several times until some criteria known only to Milton was met. Milton changed back to the original tape and instructed Luke to listen. He then repeated the process with Luke’s tape.
“They sound darn close, don’t they?” Milton asked.
“I guess.” Luke shrugged.
“You guess! Do you have any idea what kind of gift that is to mimic the sounds of a foreign language that closely? Here listen to me read it. I’ve had graduate level Russian, and I make Tilden wince every time I open my mouth. He tries to hide it, but I can see the twitch in his shoulders and hear him suck in his breath.”
“You really think I’m good at this?” Luke wanted to sound nonchalant, but he couldn’t hide the yearning in his voice.
“Silly boy,” Milton admonished in a light tone. “Have we ever lied to you?”
“No, sir.”
“That’s right.” Milton kissed Luke’s cheek. “Get some sleep.” Milton pulled the chain of the small table lamp, shrouding the room in darkness as he faded back into the hall.
