FIRST TIME ENCOUNTER 3-PACK BUNDLE
A Collection of Erotic Short Stories
by Aubrey Watt
with bonus story by Annabel Bastione
Website: Aubrey Watt's Blog
Twitter: @AubreyWatt
Copyright 2012 by Aubrey Watt
First ARe Edition: Feb 2012
ISBN: 978-1-4660-0579-2
Cover design by Aubrey Watt
Cover photo © Various (see individual books) - Licensed through Dreamstime.com
LICENSE NOTES
All rights reserved. This eBook is licensed for the personal enjoyment of the original purchaser only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the seller website and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
DISCLAIMER
The characters and events portrayed in this book are a work of fiction or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
MATURE CONTENT
This story contains sexually explicit material, and is intended only for persons over the age of 18. By downloading and opening this document, you are stating that you are of legal age to access and view this work of fiction. All of the characters involved in the sexual situations in this story are intended to be 18 years of age or older, whether they are explicitly described as such or not.
Table of Contents
Story 3: THE CAPTAIN AND HIS DOCTOR
Bonus Story: BLOW ME IN THE BATHROOM
Other Titles by Annabel Bastione
Tutoring Eric
It was almost Valentine’s Day and Eric had two problems, the first being related to the aforementioned holiday, the second to a wholly orthogonal matter involving academics, specifically math, specifically the fact that he was two months into linear algebra and had no idea what the word orthogonal actually meant.
This second problem was made even worse by the fact that his linear algebra exam was on Valentine’s Day and he was sure he was going to fail. This would not have been a real issue—Eric had come to terms with the fact that he and math would never get along—but Eric had already failed the required class three times and this was his last attempt before graduation. Having just gotten off of the phone with his dad, a no-nonsense engineer type who ate linear algebra problems for breakfast, he was certain that he would be disowned if he flunked the class. And that meant that he had—HAD—to pass this exam.
It wasn’t Eric’s fault that he had done so poorly the first three times around. His coaches had hired tutor after tutor to do his homework for him, and had reassured him the entire time; reassured him so much, in fact, that he himself thought that he was pretty decent at math and wondered why he kept missing questions on the tests that the professors gave him. But in the end athletic influence only went so far, and his math instructors had been forced (that was what they all said to him at the end of the semester—forced) to flunk him time and again.
One professor in particular had been especially apologetic, insisting that she adored watching him play and came to all of his games, a fact which he had found rather strange since she didn’t seem to know the first thing about football. Indeed, if he had only realized sooner that she was attempting to seduce him, he might have salvaged his math score for that semester and avoided this whole linear algebra fiasco in the first place. But Eric was completely oblivious to the effect he had on women, and the math professor went away disheartened, forced to give him a final grade of F.
The Valentine’s problem wasn’t getting a date; being the star wide receiver at a Division 1 school ensured that he would have his pick of whichever cheerleader he wanted. It was that after dating seventeen of the twenty cheerleaders on the squad Eric was beginning to question his own fundamental sexual nature. Many of his girlfriends, withering under his neglect, had ended up cheating on him, something which he didn’t much mind as long as they had the decency not to flaunt it, but he wondered why he didn’t mind. If he had a reputation as a playboy at the school it was simply due to the fact that none of the seventeen pom-pom holding beauties cared to let on that they had not been able to get him away from his video games long enough to get him into bed with them. They regaled each other with imagined stories of his thick, thrusting cock. They compared notes about how many hours he had lasted pounding them into orgasm via every possible orifice. They discussed how wild and furious he had been in the sack and detailed all of the creative sex acts which he had performed with them—performed, they said with faux sighs of remembered ecstasy, not just adequately, but superlatively.
So it was that Eric, star player of the football team and celebrated Casanova, made it to his senior year as a capital-V virgin.
***
Irving was named after the celebrated author, but he really wished his parents had just gone with the more humdrum John instead. When he knocked on the door of Eric’s room that morning, he was holding a calculator against his hip like a cowboy holds his pistol, ready for the quick draw in case a stray calculus problem should give him any trouble. If it were possible for him to grow a mustache, he might even have resembled Robert Redford as the Sundance Kid, with his slim figure and his blond hair carefully tousled. Eric opened the door, evidently not expecting him, as he was still in his boxers.
“Hi there, I’m Irving.” Irving held out his hand to Eric, who had been trained to shake hands by his coaches and thus gave his arm a bit more of a sporty pumping than Irving was used to.
“I’m Eric.” Eric beamed at Irving like they were already friends, but did not seem to have any idea what he was there for.
Irving held up the calculator. “Your father hired me. To tutor you in linear algebra.” He walked into the room and put his hands on his hips, surveying the mess of beer cans and dirty laundry. This would never do. He turned back to Eric.
“Let’s go to the library.”
Eric had by this time woken up fully, and realized that there was someone standing in his room. “My dad hired you?”
“To tutor you in linear algebra.” Irving was unfailingly patient whenever somebody didn’t understand something right off the bat. That was part of what made him an excellent tutor, he thought.
“But I’ve already got the football tutors.”
“Pardon my French,” Irving said, leaning a hip against Eric’s desk, “but the football tutors are bullshit.”
Eric had taken intro to French last semester and had passed magnificently with a C, but didn’t recognize any of Irving’s words from the course. “So, this is like, extra tutoring?”
Irving smiled. “Perfect. Yes, that is it exactly.” Another part of what made him an excellent tutor was giving generous praise for right answers. He plucked up Eric’s linear algebra textbook from his desk and strode out of the room, expecting Eric to follow him without question. Which, being Eric, he did.
***
Climbing down the spiral stairs, Irving led the way to the basement of the library, Eric following dutifully. Halfway down the steps, he banged his head on the stairs. “Ow!”
“Oops, should have warned you about that. Sorry!” Irving was not used to having particularly tall friends. As they reached the bottom floor Eric looked around in wonder. Yellowed books were stacked on their sides in shelves that reached back forever.
“I’ve never been down here,” Eric said, piling his notebooks on the oak table that Irving was already sitting in front of.
“It’s the art books,” Irving said. “They’re too big to fit in the normal bookshelves upstairs.”
Eric opened one of the books, a compendium of late impressionists. “This is awesome!” He flipped through the book, then turned to another. Irving coughed and fluttered some notebook paper to get his attention.
“We really should get to work if you want to get out of here.”
Eric looked up, beaming, and Irving was struck by how handsome he looked in different surroundings. “I never want to get out of here. This place is great!” He sat down at the table reluctantly, casting a wistful gaze over the shelves.
“Are you an art major?” Irving raised his eyebrow skeptically.
“Ha, I wish!” Eric said. “I hate math!”
Eric’s bright enthusiasm had a certain charm to it, Irving admitted to himself, even if he did profess to hate what Irving considered the most beautiful subject of study. “Why are you taking linear algebra then?”
“It’s one of the math requirements for accounting.” This had been a source of confusion for Eric, since he had already taken and passed all of the accounting classes without ever knowing linear algebra.
Irving frowned. “Accounting? Why on earth are you studying a math field if you hate math?”
Eric hung his head. “My dad’s an engineer. He said I should study something useful in case the football thing doesn’t work out.”
“And you’re okay with being an accountant?”
Eric tried to laugh, but Irving detected a hint of sadness in his voice. “I’ll be on the street before I’m an accountant. But he’s paying tuition for me, so . . .”
Irving had many things to say about this, but none of them were what he was paid for right now. He flipped open the linear algebra textbook. “Let’s get started with systems of equations.”
Eric’s face fell but he picked up his pencil bravely. Irving soon realized that Eric had very little background in math, probably due to the fact that he had been skirting by on Cs and Ds that were scraped together for him by his coaches. Still, he was not stupid, and he picked up the material quickly as Irving taught it. Occasionally he would get frustrated at a problem and apologized to Irving for getting upset, insisting all the way that he was terrible at math.
“I’m really dumb at this,” he said, scratching out another imperfect matrix row.
“You’re not dumb,” Irving said patiently. “This is hard stuff and it’s normal to have problems.”
“It it normal to be so frustrated I want to throw this calculator through a wall?” Eric stretched his arms over his head and settled back to the problem.
“Yes.” At Eric’s skeptical look, Irving continued. “It’s like working out. When you work a muscle hard, it gets sore. Same thing with working out your brain. If it’s easy, you’re probably not doing it right.”
Eric thought about this, accepting the analogy. “Then I must be doing it right, because my brain hurts.”
The two boys laughed, and Irving closed the book. “Take a break and do the review questions tonight. We’ll meet again tomorrow?”
Eric nodded, smiling, and Irving felt himself growing warm in his skin. The football player was handsome, sure, and incredibly charming, but there was no chance in hell. As they parted in front of the library, Eric waved back at him, sauntering off to practice, and Irving had to fight very hard not to look at his gorgeous ass as he walked away down the sidewalk. No chance in hell.
***
Later that week, Irving was coming out of the dining hall when he ran into Eric walking in with a group of students. He cast his eyes down; they had never met outside of the library, and he didn’t want to embarrass the football player in front of his friends. To his surprise, Eric detached himself from the group and came over to Irving, slapping him on the shoulder.
“Hey Irving, what’s up!” He waved over to the group. “Guys, this is Irving. He’s helping me with linear algebra.”
“Oh right!” One of the two girls spoke up. “You’re the tutor. Eric says you’re super smart.”
Irving could not help but blush. Had Eric said that about him? Maybe— No chance in hell, he reminded himself.
“Hey, there’s a party happening at the team house after the game tonight,” Eric said. “You should come!”
Not usually caught at a loss for words, Irving stammered out a murmur of assent and Eric went to eat with his group of friends, slapping him again on the shoulder as he left. On his way back to his room, Irving mentally berated himself for his inelegant response, not that it mattered, but what if it did? He was driving himself crazy with this nonsense, and he vowed to go to the party, have a few beers, and get out unscathed.
***
Eric was dancing with two girls to the deafening music and wondering if Irving was going to show up at all. He hoped he had not been too forward by insisting that he come to the party. Maybe Irving hated parties. Maybe Irving hated him. After all, the only reason he was tutoring Eric was because he was getting paid by Eric’s dad. He probably wouldn’t bother to come. This kind of negative thinking was not like Eric, and it bothered him that he was getting so worked up over someone liking him or not liking him. He determined not to care whether or not Irving came.
Having resigned himself to indifference, when Irving walked through the door Eric’s heart leapt into his chest and he forgot all about his resolution. He abandoned the dancing, leaving two spurned sophomores in his wake, and threw his arm around Irving’s shoulder, drawing him in.
“I’m so glad you came!” Eric said.
“What’s that?” The music was pounding so loud that the walls shook.
Eric put his head to Irving’s ear to repeat himself. “I’m so glad you came!”
Irving looked up like he was going to say something, but instead simply smiled. Eric felt a warm rush of pleasure come over him. He wanted to introduce Irving to everyone there, to include him in his circle of friends. Although he knew his dad was paying Irving, he felt as though he needed to do something else for the guy who was helping him so much—he had just passed his last quiz with a B, which was a minor miracle as far as Eric was concerned. So it was in a spirit of reciprocity that Eric introduced Irving to all of the most beautiful girls at the party, singing his praises to anyone who would listen.
Somewhere along the way, Eric got pulled away to tend to the liquor supplies. When he came back down to the party, he found Irving standing in the kitchen across a crowd of people, talking intently with the team’s second-string running back.
“Hey Eric.” One of his teammates punched him in the back. “What’s up?”
“Hey Grant, not much.” Eric had been turning over an idea in his head. “Hey, you met Irving, right?” He nodded his head across the kitchen to his tutor.
“Yeah, why?”
“Well,” Eric said, “I was thinking maybe we could hook him up with Melanie. She’s really smart, and Irving’s s great guy, and—”
He stopped as Grant bent over laughing. “What? You don’t think she’d go for him?” Eric frowned. Irving was good-looking in his own way, he thought.
Grant wiped tears of hilarity from his eyes. “Eric, you are legit stupid.”
“What?”
“The guy is gay.” Grant gestured over to the other side of the kitchen, where Irving was tilting his head flirtatiously towards the running back.
Eric’s face turned red. “Oh.”
“It’s okay, dude, looks like he’s doing just fine without you.” Chuckling, his teammate patted him on the back and walked into the kitchen to grab another beer.
Eric stood, looking at Irving laugh as he conversed with the running back. The guy raised his beer and tapped Irving on the shoulder teasingly. Having never much cared one way or another if his girlfriends cheated on him, Eric did not understand the pang of jealousy that now shot through him as he watched them talk.
***
The next day at the library Irving was waiting for Eric at the table, his head reminding him every minute or two with a dull pang that he shouldn’t have had those last three shots at the party. He actually had had a good time, despite Eric’s attempts to set him up with every cheerleader there. And that one other football player, he had been kind of cute . . . Irving rolled his neck, vowing to become more of a football fan in the future. Team spirit, after all.
“Hey, Irv!” Ducking carefully, Eric came down the stairs with his textbook in hand. A diligent student, he had been doing everything Irving told him to do. Oddly enough, that had been all that was necessary for him to pas the class. Despite the coaches’ notions that football players needed cheats and shortcuts, Irving had found that indeed all that was required was a bit of help and encouragement, and some good sports analogies. Eric was doing just fine.
“Did you have a good time last night?” Eric asked, and there was something funny in his voice.
“It was great,” Irving said truthfully. “What was that crazy catch you made that everyone was talking about?”
Eric’s face settled back into its normal optimistic glow. “Yeah! It was a Hail Mary in the last quarter. We were down by three and there was only like a minute left so the coach had me go all the way down the field. Eighty yard pass for a touchdown,” he said, crossing his arms proudly.
“That’s fantastic.” Irving smiled at him and turned back to the text. “So did you have any questions?”
Eric had quite a few questions for Irving, to wit: How does one find out that he is homosexual? Is there a list of common symptoms that I should look out for? And did you go home with the second string running back last night? Of these three, though, Eric was completely uncomfortable asking the latter two and mildly uncomfortable asking the first one. And even though he knew Irving was talking about math questions, he really wanted to know.
“How did you find out you were gay?” Eric leaned forward, his chin in his hands.
Irving was only mildly surprised by the question. “Well, the second time I found my cock in someone’s ass I knew it must be more than a coincidence.”
Eric blushed, and Irving was pleased to see that he had been able to shock him. He was also pleased to see Eric blushing. It really was quite cute on him. The pink set off his eyes nicely.
The football player leaned over and Irving could hear the curiosity in his voice. Every straight person was always so mystified by this, but it seemed quite natural to him. “No, but really. How do you know?”
Irving waved his hands in the air dismissively. “How do you know you’re straight? You just feel it. When a girl puts her tits in your face you don’t pop wood. When you see a cute boy go by you want to check out his ass. And then fuck it.”
Eric’s blush deepened into fire-engine red and Irving laughed teasingly. “Don’t worry, it’s not contagious.”
“It’s not that,” Eric stammered. “I’m just, you know. I’ve never had sex before. So I don’t know what it’s like. Either way.”
Irving was stunned into silence for a moment. Saying something like “What the hell?” seemed out of the question, etiquette-wise. But that was what he felt like saying. Instead, he shook his head.
“Are you some kind of uber-Christian?”
“What, you mean like saving myself for marriage?” Eric laughed. “No, just never ended up sleeping with any of the girls I’ve dated.” Eric paused, looking Irving straight in the eyes. “Don’t tell anyone.”
“I won’t.” He wouldn’t. Irving held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
“I thought they didn’t let gays into the Boy Scouts,” Eric said, and Irving would have sworn that he was flirting with him.
“Don’t ask, don’t tell.” Irving grinned.
They buckled down to studying, Eric’s test being that same week. He was still struggling with the hardest concepts in the class, but he was light-years ahead of where he had started, and pretty much ready to do well on his own after a couple hours of review. Irving was proud of him.
“So make sure you go over projections. And you have to let me know how you do on the test.”
“Oh, right. I wanted to tell you.” Eric scratched his eyebrow with his pencil. “There’s a party after the game that same night, if you want to come by.”
Irving laughed. “Party every week, huh? Sure, I’ll drop by. Maybe I’ll get to catch up with that running linebacker or whatever he’s called.” He noticed that Eric’s face twitched curiously at this and it gave him pause. Now that was interesting.
The rest of the week Eric was off studying on his own, and Irving found himself getting anxious about the test, perhaps more anxious than Eric was. He called him the night before, pretending he was giving him last minute reminders about what to do, but really just wanting to hear his voice. The next day he spent the afternoon picking out an outfit to wear, and sat nervously in his room not reading the book in his lap and thinking of witty things he could say to impress Eric’s friends. Irving arrived at the party fashionably late, but when he walked through the door Eric was nowhere to be found.
***
Upstairs Eric was huddled under a blanket, mired in uncertainty. The one thing he was certain about was that this was the most miserable he had ever been in his life. His linear algebra test had gone well, the recruiters at the game had been climbing over each other to congratulate him on his talent, but after he had gotten off of the phone with his dad he had climbed into bed and pulled the blanket over his head, crying like he was twelve again and had just broken his left arm. He had told his dad all of the good news but the most important piece of news in Eric’s life right now was one that he could not talk with his dad about. Not now, maybe not ever. Eric hit the back of his head against the wall, the padded thumps attempting to drive away unwanted thoughts.
There was a knock on the door. “Occupied!” Eric yelled from under the covers. The door opened anyway and Eric pulled the blanket down further over himself.
“Eric?” It was Irving, sticking his head through the door.
Eric peeked out from under the blanket, sniffing. “Hi.”