The Englishman

Thanks to everyone for their support as I slowly wade back into the tidepool of life after several difficult years. I appreciate all the messages of condolence and while I still miss Dean terribly, he would be the first to tell me to get back to my work. I’ll try to start updating more regularly and to update the outdated information. Here’s a story from my college days. Hope it brings you some happy moments! – Chris


By Christopher Wyatt

Wanting to take a step closer to my dream of being a writer of erotica, I took a creative writing course in my second year of college. On the first day of class we were asked why we were taking the class. Most of the women professed their interest in becoming romance writers, while most of the guys were interested in science fiction or fantasy stories. While I momentarily debated going with a more tame answer, when my turn came, I answered honestly, “I want to write erotica.” Most of the guys laughed while several of the women looked at me with disdainful expressions.

“Well,” the instructor said without missing a beat, “then we’ll expect some very interesting stories from you, Mr. Wyatt.”

The class was definitely informative, but my real motivation that semester came from the instructor, Professor Rukin. He was actually an unassuming man at first glance; late 30s, long sandy blond hair that often looked like he had just stepped out of a windy walkway, and perpetually unshaven. He wore stereotypical cardigans that were often too big for him, and gold-colored wire-rimmed glasses and was several inches shorter than me. He spoke with a concise British accent that turned his slovenly appearance into that of a carefree artist, rather than an unkempt slacker.

After a few weeks of class exercises and instruction we were turned loose on writing short stories. Knowing we would have to read these aloud, I opted for a tame story about my first crush. While the comments from other students were favorable, Rukin said simply, “You disappoint.”

I was crushed. On top of the vulnerability of sharing a very personal experience, I was told it was a disappointment. I sat only half-listening to the other stories being read, lost in a world of self-doubt. Maybe I didn’t have what it took to be a writer after all.

When class was over I tried to make a hasty escape from the room, but Rukin was near the door and asked me to wait a moment. Once the last of the students had filtered out of the room, he sauntered over to me with his usual cockiness. He looked up at me, sighing, his arms folded in front of him as if he were a disapproving father about to lecture his disobedient son.

“I thought you wanted to write erotica,” he mused. Before I could answer he continued, “Yet, you write about a childhood crush. I would have expected that from one of these romance-starved women, but for you … most disappointing.”

“I thought a sex story would be offensive to read aloud in class,” I offered.

“What do you think most of these women were writing about?” he scoffed. “Swashbuckling heroes rescuing ingenues in distress. Why? So he can roger her on every piece of furniture in the castle. Next class, Mr. Wyatt, turn us on.”

I thought about it over the weekend and decided to write a balls to the wall — literally — story. before reading the assignment to the class, I warned them what it was about. Only two of the students left the room, though several of the others giggled through the racier parts. The small amount of classroom feedback was good, but when it came time for Rukin’s comments he merely sat on the edge of his desk with his arms folded in front of him. After a deep breath he compared the piece to a blow-by-blow retelling of a porn movie. adding that it was “devoid of erotica and little more than stylized smut.”

Though I was stinging from his acerbic criticism, I did my best to shake it off and listen to his closing instruction. Sitting in the front row, I was spared having to see any of my fellow classmates’ eyes on me, yet I was afforded a view of something I hadn’t expected. I noticed that Rukin wasn’t doing his normal pacing as he lectured; instead he stayed perched on the edge of his desk. As I looked at him, my eyes trailing down to his crotch, through his khakis I could clearly see the outline of his cock. It was practically hidden in the folds of material, but as the head of it snaked down his leg, it was evident he was sporting a full-blown woody. No wonder he didn’t want to stand up.

As the others filtered out of the classroom, I was again asked to wait. As I approached him, still sitting propped against his desk, he looked me directly in the eye as if he were sizing me up. “Another disappointment,” he said blandly.

Part of me wanted to reach out and grab his still hard dick and tell him that it showed me otherwise. Instead I remained silent, but refused to look away from his gaze.

“You’re one of the strongest writers in this class,” he said. “But where’s the passion? Where’s the feeling? You want to write erotica, but all you have here is a play by play. ‘His cock was now buried inside of me. He began thrusting into me.’ Tell me, Mr. Wyatt, how does having a cock buried inside of you make you feel? Not just physically, but mentally. Vulnerable? Powerful? Emotional? Violent? ‘Erotica’ isn’t always about the physical — remember 90% of sex is up here.” He tapped his temple several times. He paused, waiting for an answer, but I had none to give. I just stood there, feeling embarrassed, but still refusing to look away.

“All right. I have an assignment for you,” he said at last. “I want you to seduce someone.”

“Seduce?” I repeated, confused.

“Find someone you have the hots for — or even someone you don’t — and use your manly seduction techniques. Write down what you do, how they respond, but most importantly how it makes you feel. Take us inside your head and make us experience every sensation that you do.”

I thought about what he said over the next several days, and watched a few clips on YouTube about how to properly seduce someone. I also watched several porn movies, though most of them didn’t have much to offer. Every time I wrote something I would ask myself what feelings it would provoke. But most of the time when I wrote, my mind started straying to Rukin and his hard-on. Despite his cliche unkempt artist appearance, he was actually an attractive man. The more I thought about him, the more I wanted to unzip those oversized khakis and grab hold of his stiff wang.

During the next class, I couldn’t take my eyes off of him from the moment he walked through the door. As I wasn’t sharing this time, I wasn’t having to prepare to read, so I had plenty of time to study the professor. My eyes traced the length of his hair, the outline of his jaw, the squareness of his shoulders and the sharpness of his elbows. My gaze moved up his short legs to his small waist and finally centered on his package, which again seemed to be sprouting some wood as he was now sitting on the edge of the desk again.

I ran my eyes casually over his wrinkled button-up shirt to his scruffy chin, thin unsmiling lips, and finally to his bright hazel eyes which I found peering back at me. My heart jumped, but outwardly I didn’t move. I refused to look away and as we continued our staredown, I leaned back in my chair, adopting an air of defiance.

He broke his gaze when the woman who had been reading stopped. There was a quick discussion and then a young man in the back began. After a few minutes, his voice faded into a steady drone and I went back to staring at Rukin. He kept his attention toward the reader, but I noticed him beginning to glance my way every minute or so. As he did, I stared straight back at him. When he wasn’t looking at me, I would glance down to his crotch to see that his wood was now even more visible to me. It became almost comical and each time our eyes met now, I was smiling a coy but very amused smile at him.

He had told me he wanted me to seduce someone, so why not him? He was obviously responding to my eye play, and I did find him attractive …. I waited until he was again looking in my direction and then, slumped slightly down in my desk where he could see underneath it, I moved my hand to my crotch and squeezed my half-hard cock. He watched my hands gripping my cock through my pants, my thumb stroking the length of it several times, then looked back at my face. I moved my head to the side, never losing eye contact, and bit my bottom lip. He immediately shifted his position on the desk, moving his legs together and leaning slightly forward.

At the end of class he was still sitting on the desk after everyone had filed out, leaving their papers piled beside him on the desk. We were the last two in the room and still he remained sitting, though he was glaring at me with a less-than-pleased expression. I got up from my desk and approached him. My cock was hard and pushing against the front of my jeans. His eyes went to it immediately until I was close enough that he was forced to look into my face. I continued moving forward until I was practically standing between his legs. My heart was pounding wildly and I had to struggle to keep a calm appearance. We were so close now I could feel the warmth of his breath.

I leaned in even further, placing my paper on the pile beside him. I looked from his mouth to his eyes, we were so close I could have easily kissed him. I opened my mouth ever so slightly, and as slowly as possible moved it even closer to his. He inhaled quickly, nervously, his head tilting expectantly. When his lips parted and I knew, without question, I could have him then and there, my nervousness completely disappeared, replaced by a sense of power and self-assurance.

“See you Thursday,” I whispered, and slowly pulled away from him. I walked out of the room, stopping at the door only long enough to look back at him and see his normally cocky expression now one of shocked disappointment. I felt a rush of jubilation, followed quickly by a pang of regret. I wasn’t sure if I had just seduced him or acted like a cocktease.

When I got in bed that night, I replayed what had happened in my mind, only this time I took it further. I imagined kissing him, groping him, laying on the classroom floor with him driving his cock into me. I beat off quietly, trying not to wake my dorm roommate.

I started the next class on my best behavior, though while others were reading, I could feel his eyes on me. Finally, I looked up to see him sitting on his desk, our eyes meeting and his expression that of the cocky Englishman I had come to know. I felt a rush of adrenaline course through me, making me blush and my cock stiffen. I refused to look away from him, and we played a game of chicken with our eyes until the current reader had finished her story and he was forced to break his stare.

When the next reader was underway, I again felt his eyes on me. This time I looked back at him and ran my hand under my desk to my crotch, grabbing my hard dick through my pants so he could see. He shifted his legs slightly and I knew he was getting hard. I spread my legs a little farther apart and, extending my middle finger, ran it lower as if I was fingerfucking myself. He took a deep breath, his eyes glued to my crotch as he shifted his legs closer together. When his eyes met mine again I slowly mouthed the words “fuck me” at him.

His lips curved up suddenly in an almost devilish grin, which came just as the reader had finished her story. There was some class discussion, but all Rukin could say was “good.”

He went over the assignment for the next week, made several snarky comments and dismissed the class for the night, all the while still sitting on his desk. I didn’t bother getting up from mine and soon we were the only two left in the room. We both sat silently, staring at one another, sexual desire coursing through both of us to consuming levels.

I was the first to make a move. I stood up from the desk, crossed slowly to the door and locked it. I then turned back to him, our eyes again meeting as I slowly walked toward him and pushed myself up between his legs. Again I felt a surge of power and control as I watched his breathing quicken and his body tense. I leaned forward, painfully slow, inch by inch until my lips were so close to his I could feel his rough whiskers against my smooth skin. But each time his lips moved toward mine, I pulled back just out of reach.

I could feel the mixture of lust and sexual frustration pouring off of him, and it was an intoxicating sensation. I then noticed him trembling — ever so slightly, almost impossible to see without being nearly pressed against him. I pressed my lips to his ear and in a deep, low voice I whispered, “Fuck me.”

Before I knew what was happening, his hands grabbed my neck, and he pushed his mouth to mine, forcing his tongue inside. His kiss was so desperate it almost hurt, but the taste of him, the feel of him was electric. He was still kissing me as he walk-pushed me around to the back of his desk. He broke away from me only long enough to reach into his leather bag and pull out a condom, then fumble around in his bag with a frustrated look. Finally he dropped it on the ground and turned back to me. After one more tongue penetrating kiss, he roughly spun me around and bent my forcefully over the desk.

His arms circled my waist and his hands pulled frantically at the snap of my jeans. He yanked the zipper down and pushed my pants to the floor. His hands parting my ass cheeks, he buried his face between them and drove his tongue straight into me. I let out a high-pitched noise somewhere between a gasp and a yell as he tongue-fucked me like a madman. I’d never had a man work my hole with his tongue the way he was and he didn’t stop until I was practically dripping with his spit.

He had slipped the condom on himself while he was face-deep in my ass and now, standing behind me, one hand gripping my hip and the other his cock, he began roughly shoving his prick into me. I wanted to tell him to slow down, to take his time, but I clenched my jaw and remained silent as he entered me. His desire, his lust, his need to be inside of me, to fuck me as hard as he could — I wanted to feel it. I gripped the end of the desk with my hands as he took firm hold of my hips and began pumping his dick deep inside of me like some crazed Neanderthal.

He was ramming into me so hard the desk was shaking and my fingers hurt as they held on to the desk. I could hear him making a low guttural growl with each thrust. His dick felt long, though not so much thick, as it moved in and out of me at a mind-boggling pace. What little pain there still was was completely overshadowed by both the physical pleasure and the satisfaction of having driven a self-important artistic elitist into behaving like any common man with a set of balls and a penchant for a hot ass. Each time his dick pushed all the way into me and I heard his lust-filled whimper, it felt like a victory.

“I’m — fuck!” He couldn’t talk and his thrusts were now only a fraction of what they had been. I knew he was about to come. The noises he was making were primal and indescribable as he finally drove his prick all the way inside of me. He shook violently, holding on to me so hard it almost hurt. But knowing he was unloading his jizz into the condom, deep inside of me, took me right to the brink of coming myself. I already knew I had to be leaking precum like mad.

He pulled almost all the way out of me and then shoved it back in and held it there once again. It was then I felt his right hand fumble between my legs, grab hold of my cock and begin jerking me off. He didn’t have to wait long; after only a few strokes, my asshole clenching around his softening cock, I felt my entire body react. I pushed back against him and began to come. The orgasm washed over me from head to toe. Every part of me tingled and tensed as I felt my seed being jettisoned on to the utility carpeting below his desk.

He laid across my back for several moments, not moving. His hand still grasping my dick, his now half-hard cock still inside of me, he just held on to me until I finally had to stand up. As I turned around, I watched him take the cum-filled condom off his cock. It was pale, over seven inches long and thin with a pointed head. His balls were larger than average and hung low out of a large bush of pubic hair that looked like it had never been trimmed. He tied the condom and put it in his backpack, not wanting to leave it on school grounds.

We didn’t say a word as we dressed and he gathered his things. We both headed to the door at the same time, but just before he unlocked it, he stopped, turned to me and, looking me in the eyes, leaned up and gave me a gentle, almost loving kiss. As I showered in my dorm, I thought about what had just happened, replaying it in my mind. He was lucky he had a condom. I then realized he must have been searching his bag for some lube as well. It was then that a thought occurred to me that puzzles me to this day: if he had come prepared with a condom and lube to class that day … who had seduced whom?