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College gave me more opportunities. My major was architecture which gave me access to blueprints of buildings; useful for studying old buildings.

With other freshmen architectural majors, I was given a tour of the tunnels beneath all the college buildings. Water and sewer pipes as well as electrical wiring. "You may come down here any time; look around, see how these were constructed fifty, sixty years. Come up with ideas how to improve on these. Don't forget to wear your hard hat."

I did just that. The blueprints of one old building showed where the men's locker room and shower facilities for athletes were housed. There was a tunnel beneath this building and I found a door marked ‘Employees Only.' It was unlocked. It led behind the men's shower room; a large room with more than thirty shower heads. Those shower heads over the years had become loose from the wall; just loose enough to see from behind the wall.

Over the next three months, I learned the schedule for every men's sport; specifically what time their practices finished. I was there waiting. It was a gold mine. White guys, black guys, Asians. Circumcised and uncircumcised. Big ones and small ones. I took them all in. My eyes had a feast.

Frankly, I liked looking at the big ones better. I'd never forgotten Mrs. Grayson on her knees sucking Chief Williams majestic cock.

I'd go back to my dorm and when my roommate was away, I'd play, fantasizing about those gorgeous cocks. That was my first semester. At home, I thought about some of those cocks, but I needed more.

Back at school I applied for a job at a motel; part of a chain. I could use the money, but within a week, I realized that it wasn't for me. It was too well built. However, just a few miles away, there was a motel similar to the one I'd left in my home town. It was built about the same time, and within a few days after I was hired, I found that in the maids' stations there were cracks between the sheets of paneling, similar to those in my hometown motel.

I could watch the goings on. Early mornings, late afternoons after check-in, and weekend mornings were a smorgasbord of activity. People are the same all over: there was fucking, sucking, pussy eating.

Then there was Professor Marlena Marston who taught photography at the university. She rented a room at the motel as a studio. You'll understand why she had a studio off campus as you read on. Fortunately for me it was right next to a maids' station and there were two small cracks in the walls where the paneling seams had separated and where I could watch.

You might wonder what there was to watch. I was just as surprised as you might be. Seventy-year-old Professor Marston hired students as models for her work. Work that had been praised in the avant-garde photography world for decades.

Her exhibits consisted of breasts, vaginas, buttocks of female students and penises, scrotums and buttocks of male students. No faces and no names attached.

She may have been a world-renown photographer but she was also a seducer. Her targets were those models; most of whom were freshmen. I was in awe of her skill as a seductress.

One day while I was just walking to the maids' station, Professor Marston was escorting a very good-looking young man into Room 17, her studio.

I found a comfortable spot to watch. The room had cameras everywhere; some on tripods, some just sitting here and there. "Okay, Paulie, I'd like to see your gorgeous body. Let's see you in your underwear."

Paulie took off his clothes except for his briefs. I sighed silently; Paulie had a significant bulge in those briefs. Professor Marston asked him for various poses. He didn't hesitate.

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