Brief character bios:
Bryan is 21 and 5’ 9” with a thin athletic body and bit of hair on his chest and a hairy belly, buttock, thighs, and legs. All of which is a shade of red. He also has a nice complexion with medium length; brushed, light blonde hair and a nice scruff of a red beard. His penis is a nice 6” which looks very nice and has a very cute round butt. Likes to think of himself as a red fox and hates to be considered or thought of as a twink. Think of Drake Bell with a beard but a little bit fuller than his actual beard.
Mr. Lucien is 45 and 6’2” with a bit of muscular/stocky build of a hard working dad. Has short black hair with some gray that is business styled and brushed nicely that goes nicely with his modern frameless reading glasses. He has a farmer tan with a good amount of short black body hair that you’d expect a masculine man to have all over his body except his back. He has a bit of a five o’clock scruff on his face that would make a hot goatee. And of course he has an amazing cliché 9” penis that is nice and thick and is just perfect and of course an amazingly firm and round ass. Think of Tom Chase in his older age but Josh West’s penis.

“I just wish I could have a relationship like you have with your wife Mr. Lucien,” I say with glum having dealt with the heaviness of feeling particularly alone today. I guess it was just one of those days where I felt the darkness more than usual.
“Yeah I’d have to agree with you. I’ve been missing that connection with somebody too. It really eats away at you,” Mr. Lucien says with a somber tone while he leans back in his chair staring idly by at his computer.
“See I knew you’d understand what I was saying. It just sucks that it….,” I trail off my thought, slapped in the face as my brain finally understands what he so casually threw out there that I almost dismissed it. My head had been down with my jaw resting in the palm of my hands but I quickly, yet discreetly glance up from the floor tiles and see him leaning back with his hands together like he was praying but with his fingers outstretched. I see the shine of his gold wedding band off the fluorescent lighting. I always admired his wedding ring. It was a basic band, modest and old-fashioned. And for some reason the word masculine swims through my head. If I stared at it long enough, wrapped around those strong, thick, rugged fingers; it would start to get me excited just thinking of all the erotic inducing ideas. If only he knew the thoughts and feelings I had for him over the past three years. The things I would want him to do with those fingers. But did I even understand those feelings? Immediately I’m filled with anxiety and depression. I don’t want to be gay!
No! I’m not if I don’t want to be! I can’t let this get to me, no, I’ve already figured out I’m straight, alright!
I close my eyes and take a deep breath and carry on. From his fingers I shift my eyes to his. Now acknowledging my attention to his confusing statement; and thus his eyes, he looks away from the email he’s been working on to casually, and ever so slightly shifts his head to peer back at me from the corner of his eyes.
“Uh…I’m not sure I ffffollow you Mr. Lucien. You do have somebody. You have your wife?” I stutter out more with a questioning inflection then a statement. Then as I think I have it figured out, I start to worry that Mr. Lucien has been feeling the things I’ve felt which made me feel horrible. This was the man that pulled me out of the darkness and dusted me off, saved this lost boy from his demons.
Well, most of them anyway.
If he even felt a twinge of sadness I felt at fault that I couldn’t protect the person I loved as a father.
As a father, right?
“Are things okay between you and your wife? Are you guys having any problems that I can help sort out? Come on, ha-ha, I’ll be your own personal couple’s counselor. I may be young but my mental age is a lot older than my physical age,” I bark out concerned questions and a small joke in hopes of lightening the atmosphere; which I could almost smell having a hint of fear.
“No, settle down there boss,” He says with a chuckle as he assumes regular posture and turns toward me, then crossing his left leg over his right and leaning back again with his hands intermingled and resting on his stomach. His demeanor seemed light and airy but his face was no poker face. There was nervousness in his eyes and it was throwing me off and making me want to throw up. Oh no, what did I do now? Did I say something that upset him? Did I say something in another class that he caught wind of? Did those fucking bastards up in the office remind him that he wasn’t supposed to be “counseling” me anymore?
“Relax, you did nothing wrong. There’s just something that I wanted to tell you and I feel like the time is right,” says Mr. Lucien almost as if he was reading my mind. Granted it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know when you see a deer in the headlights. But he’s always been able to read my mind. He always knows what’s eating at me and every time is able to assuage the anxiety.
“Well what was it that you wanted to tell me? You know I feel like I can tell you anything so I would want it to be the same for you to me,” I say with an awkward tone. Talking like that, with emotions I mean, always sounds weird to me. Like waiting for the gun to fire and the race to start, muscles tense, sweat starting to seep out from the pressure and heat, he answers.
“Listen, this is important as I’m going to tell you something very personal and risky but I feel comfortable telling you because I trust you, okay?” he finishes with leaning forward and giving me a stern look. I stare blankly at his face and I find myself emotionless. I’m not sure where he’s going with the conversation but I am intrigued and terrified.
“Okay I understand,” I say and swallow hard.
“Alright look…..I’m not really married,” he says plainly and quick. Like a Band-Aid. I’m caught off guard, granted I wasn’t really expecting anything. I sit there and let it set in, like venom slowly courses through a victims veins. I’m not really sure what this means or has to do with anything but I start to notice my silence has him on edge.
“Okay so…..what does that mean? You just made up having a wife, but what for?” I ask. I’m confused as to what any of this means.
“Yes and no. I’m not really married but the woman I claim to be married too does exist; she’s a very good friend of mine and she’s aware of the situation,” he finishes with a smirk.