By DR754
Today is Friday, August 5, 1967.
Three hours ago, I was a more-or-less law-abiding citizen standing in the Latah County Courthouse in Moscow, Idaho, waiting for the jury to bring back a “not guilty” verdict, as my pricey lawyer had assured me they would. Now I’m a fugitive from justice speeding through the Rockies with a handcuff around one wrist and no idea what to do next.
But let’s back up. My name’s DR754, I’m 38, and earlier this summer, I returned to the University of Idaho, my alma mater, to talk to classes at the School of Forestry and recruit promising students. One evening, I had taken the opportunity to, well, make a more intimate connection with a couple of students I’d picked up cruising the college town’s infamous bar district. Once a Vandal, always a Vandal, I reasoned.
Big. Mistake.


I started to stir out of my sleep. I was lying in a fetal position with naked skin pressing against most of the backside of my body. Matt was pressed up against me with one arm under my head and the other over my body lying on my chest. I could feel his engorged cock pressing between my butt cheeks pulsing. His breath made my neck tingle as be inhaled and exhaled. He was awake. He took the hand over my chest and lightly massaged my nipple. I moaned.