Dog Style (Part 1)

By: Anonymous CHAPTER ONE It was like I was drinking pure desire. His knees were over my shoulders, and my mouth was at his neck. I wanted m...

By: Anonymous

CHAPTER ONE

It was like I was drinking pure desire. His knees were over my shoulders, and my mouth was at his neck. I wanted more of it, more and more.

I was all the way inside. I pumped as hard as the small confines would allow. I had transcended all human limits of pleasure into something else.

Faster and faster, more and more. Finally, with an explosion, my semen poured into him.

*****

Oh crap. My eyes opened. Sweat poured down my forehead, and my heart was racing. I felt wetness around my erection. Man, I had just had the most intense wet dream of my life. I hadn't had a wet dream in years.

I had to get cleaned up. I looked across the room. Tommy, my college roommate, looked to be asleep; he was facing the wall and breathing deeply.

I reached down and felt around my crotch. It was unmistakable; the semen had soaked through my pajamas. At least my sheets seemed clean. I needed to get myself cleaned up.

I carefully got out of bed and grabbed a change of underwear and some new PJs. Tommy was a light sleeper so I couldn't get cleaned up in here. I'd have to go to the bathroom down the hall.

The hallway was dark and deserted. With a washcloth I cleaned myself up in the bathroom, stripping to the nude.

I looked at myself in the mirror. What is wrong with you that you have wet dreams at eighteen? I could answer that myself. I was 18, almost 19, and still a virgin. My reproductive system must have needed to release some pent up frustration.

I knew that if I really wanted to, I could find some girl who'd let me use her body. I was a skinny kid who loathed sports and athletics, but my face was handsome. My straight black hair topped a mug with a good complexion and a nice smile. I had really great teeth, girls used to tell me in high school. Some of them took an interest in me and tried to seduce me, but I always shied away from them. I had been raised in a strict Catholic family, and at first I thought I was just being virtuous. I was proud of myself that I desired abstinence instead of sex with girls.

But by the end of high school, I realized what I really wanted. It came in the form of a male gym teacher. Although PE was my least favorite subject, it was almost palatable when he was teaching. Sometimes when we were warming up, I would just stare at him and he led the stretches in front of me. And then I realized with horror what I was.

There was an openly gay guy at my school, a total fairy really. People derided him behind his back and even a little to his face. If I had to go through that I thought I'd kill myself from all the ridicule. I mean, people make fun of me enough without having to add the gay thing on as well. I made a vow never to indulge in my homosexual tendencies. I knew if I did, I'd get caught anyway, and then my social life would be dead on arrival.

Now, standing in the bathroom, I realized how frustrating that decision had made my life. My libido was stronger than ever, and it would just keep getting worse.

I started to get turned on again just looking at my naked body in the mirror. Disgusted at myself, I dressed quickly in my clean clothes, an went back to my room.

Tommy had turned over in bed, but his eyes were still shut. I stashed my dirty clothes at the bottom of my hamper, and got back in bed.

High school had been a bad time for me. Skinny, smart, and shy, I had been teased plenty of times. I didn't have many friends, I was a loner.

My home life was also stifling. My parents were always so strict. They were Venezuelan immigrants. To them, only the academic success of their children proved their status as Americans. I had two sisters, one older that always bossed me around, and one younger that was always incessantly annoying.

I spent most of my free time holed up in my bedroom reading novels. I loved science fiction and fantasy novels because they, more than anything, offered me escape from my own dreary life. My room became filled with dusty stacks of these novels. They were the only thing that made my depressing life palatable. I lived vicariously through the heroes of those stories, going on imaginary adventures in my head instead of living my own life.

At the end of high school, my grades were great and so were my SAT scores. I had gotten into MIT, and that's where I've been since the fall. I was dreading going to college, especially knowing that I would no longer have my own space. But I also hoped to turn a new leaf socially and make some friends.

But when I got there, everyone seemed so smart and intimidating. I knew I was just as book smart as they were, but on a social level I couldn't keep up. I dreaded having conversations with new people, although looking back, I didn't do anything to be ashamed of in front of them. When student would try to initiate me into their social groups, I always felt like I was the bottom rung. I was the one who they teased constantly for being naive. I would rather be a loner than be at the butt of everyone's jokes. So I went back to my old habits; avoiding the other students, and spending all my time either studying or reading.

Really the only one who I had a sustained relationship with was my roommate Tommy. The first time I walked into our room with my parents and all my luggage in tow, he was there, already unpacked. He was putting up posters of supermodels on his wall, wearing athletic shorts and a T-shirt that said Abercrombie & Fitch on it. I later learned that he bought most of his clothes from that store. He was obviously an athlete; he had a great body, all muscle, and tan skin too. His hair was blonde and shaggy, and as he turned to smile at us as we walked in, I noticed his face was good looking.

He was really great with my parents, convincing them that we would be fast friends and that he would keep me out of trouble. They loved him of course, and left less worried about me than they had been all summer.

But as soon as they were gone, I realized that the Tommy my parents had met was not the real Tommy. The real Tommy was arrogant and cocky, always bragging about his exploits in soccer or with women. He would always challenge me in really stupid ways, betting me he could beat me in an arm wrestling match, or betting he could eat twice as much pizza as me. Every time he did, I would agree with him, and drop the issue without actually playing the game. I think he was always disappointed.

The first couple of weeks he really seemed to take me under his wing. He introduced me to all the friends he was making, bought books with me, and even got me drunk for the first time. He laughed at every word I slurred.

I quickly realized I was developing a crush on my roommate. I wanted to be around him as much as I could. I felt like every time he looked at me and smiled that great smile of his, I was receiving a prize beyond measure. Feeling lost and frustrated, I reminded myself that Tommy wasn't even my type. I was attracted more to older men, not OLD men, just not men who were practically boys. But that didn't keep me from falling hard for Tommy anyway.

Soon, the novelty of being around me must have worn off for him. As the weeks went on, he stopped trying to include me in his social life, and just interacted with me when we were both at home. I tended to be there way more than he was. He was always out partying, and I was always in studying. A lot of times he would come home with girls and kick me out. I would go sleep in the common room where I would always get woken up by other students coming and going.

By the time our first finals came, I was well prepared but Tommy was a total wreck. He was smart, but he hadn't studied at all and skipped a lot of class. Of course he did badly.

When we came back from our Christmas break, he told me he was on academic probation. We were in a lot of the same classes, so he asked me if I could help him out, telling me that I was so much smarter than he was. I agreed to help, and we began studying together.

With him sitting across from me in the study lounge, I found my eyes

wandering away from the books and onto him. Ever since the first day we moved in together, I had had this problem. I was socially awkward enough without having to room with a guy that had such a physical effect on me.

He wasn't modest about changing in front of me. He would walk to and from the shower with just a towel around his waist, and would always dress in our room. At first, I would always avert my eyes when he did this, so he wouldn't think I wanted to see him naked. But as time went on, if I knew he wasn't facing me, I looked at him. His bare, hairless, muscular butt was always a favorite sight of mine.

After a couple sessions in the library, he insisted that we start studying in our room. I guess the library was just too stifling quiet for him. Sometimes, he would just be in his athletic shorts as he studied on his bed. With his eyes locked in his book, I would sneak more glances at him. His upper body was muscular, although not exactly toned. Whatever it was, it was still much more attractive than my skinny body, I thought. And I could definitely see the outline of his dick in his shorts, always running down his left leg. I figured he must not have worn any underwear under them, which was fine by me.

After we started studying together, he started doing better in school, and I started slipping. A lot of times I was so distracted when we studied together that I had to go back and relearn everything later. It really started to cut into my novel reading time.

But maybe it was worth it.

*****

"Let me see your answers."

There was an exam in Calculus the next day and the professor had handed out a study guide last week. I had solved all the sample problems on my copy. In typical Tommy fashion, he had been to a string of parties instead of studying.

"You should solve them on your own or else you won't know how to solve them on the test."

He shook his head. "I don't need to solve them myself. If I look at your answers and I'll remember them."

"No, Tommy, you should have thought of that--"

He jumped off his bed and came over to mine, where I was reading my latest novel in my PJs. Like usual, he was in his athletic shorts.

"Come on, I'll wrestle you for it," he said, pushing me a little with his hand.

I put my book down. "I'm not going to wrestle you."

"What, you scared, Rick? Let's see what you got. I win, you give me your answers. You win, I'll buy you a bunch of new Sci-fi books."

"No, it's stupid."

It was like talking to a deaf man. He grabbed me around the neck in a choke hold and dragged me off the bed. I tried to yell, but found myself unable to speak. I tried to struggle, pulling him onto the floor and trying to twist around before he put his legs around my back and squeezed me in a vice hold.

"Do you give?" he asked.

I couldn't speak, but nodded vigorously.

He let me go. I coughed and got on my hands and knees as he went over to my desk.

"I win," he said. "You wrestle like shit."

I got up as he retrieved my answers and started studying them. Feeling completely defeated and unable to argue, I never complained.

The next morning, I woke up at 6:45 like usual. Calculus started at 8:00. I went to take a shower. The showers were open, no stalls, but at this time there usually wasn't anybody in the bathroom to see me naked, which I preferred. When I got back Tommy still hadn't gotten up. Halfway through breakfast I decided to wake him. He usually slept as long as possible and then went to class without showering, if he went to class at all.

"Tommy! Get up!"

That was enough to rouse him. He looked at the clock. "Oh shit," he said, and was up, and running around the room frantically.

He dropped his shorts suddenly, too fast for me to avert my eyes, and I got a good eyeful of his soft penis. I turned away immediately. I didn't want him to see me looking.

After he threw on yesterday's clothes, we were off to class. The exam was a breeze, and I finished quickly, going back to the room. But it took Tommy a long time to finish, so I figured he must have been struggling.

I was right. Next week, when we got back our exams, he failed his. Now he was really nervous. If he did poorly in this class, he might be kicked out of school. He started studying with me again, and told me he wanted to start going to every class.

"When you do go, you just sleep through it," I said. "What's the point of that? If you're going to go, then listen."

"I'm always so damn tired. From now on, I'm waking up when you wake up."

So the next time I had to wake up early for Calculus, I woke him up too before I went off to the bathroom. I was washing my hair when he walked in, just his towel around his waist. He smiled at me as he discarded his towel. I looked away, hoping he'd take the showerhead that was the farthest away from my own, but he started up the showerhead to my left. What was he doing? When other guys came in to shower, they always gave people their space.

"I hate motherfuckin math. Always have."

I never had anyone initiate chit chat with me while we were both showering together. I wasn't sure of the etiquette, so I kept my eyes glued to the tile in front of me.

"You think maybe you went to the wrong university?" I asked in a sincere tone of voice, not condescending.

"No, cause I'm fucking good at math," he said.

After a bit he said, "That chick Stacey bought me a set of this fancy shampoo and shit, but I don't know. Do you think it smells too girlie?"

He was handing me a bottle of shampoo, which necessitated me turning to face him, getting a full view of his wet naked body. I took the shampoo, and smelled it.

"No. Smells fine."

I handed it back to him.

"Are you sure? I don't want to smell like a faggot."

Ugh. That word rang threw me with guilty insecurity. I shrugged. "I don't know, Tommy. I'm not the person to ask something like that."

I finished my shower and walked over to where my towel was to dry off. After that morning, he kept on waking up when I did and taking showers with me. I found it very disruptive. One time he came in, yawning and rubbing his eyes, his towel around his waist as usual. Only this time, I could see he had an erection. He was really tenting the towel out.

He just whipped the towel off, and laughed at himself. "I hate morning hardons," he said, tugging his as if emphasizing his point. He went over to the urinal and started to relieve himself. I couldn't believe he was being such an exhibitionist in front of me.

By the time he started up the shower next to my own, he was soft again. But the memory of his erection was still burned into my mind. It was the first one I had ever seen, besides my own of course.

*****

One Saturday night, not long after that, he was out at some party and I was in the room alone, reading a book in bed. At around eleven he came in the room, reeking of beer and cigarettes.

"Wassup, man?" he said.

"Just reading," I said.

He shut the door and started getting ready for bed, kicking his shoes off and stripping out of his shirt. He took his jeans off and then his boxers, getting into his favorite athletic shorts.

He jumped on his bed, and pulled a CD out of his pocket. "Terrance gave me some sick shit. Check it out."

Fumbling around with his computer, he stuck the disk into his drive, but nothing happened.

"What the fuck?" he said. "Why the fuck isn't it working?"

"Is it a CD?" I asked.

"No, a DVD."

"Tommy, your computer doesn't have a DVD drive, remember?"

"Oh yeah."

With that, he jumped off his bed, took the disk out of his computer, walked over to my desk, and stuck the DVD in my computer. A movie started in which a woman with huge breasts was going to a fake-looking museum set

"Scoot over," he said, jumping on my bed. The way my desk was situated, my monitor was hard to see from his bed. I did as he requested and sat sideways on my bed, with him sitting beside me. The woman with the big breasts, meanwhile, fell in love with a very fake looking statue of a nude male. I knew right then what I was watching.

"Is this porn?" I asked.

"Damn right."

"I've never seen one before," I said.

"Holy shit, are you serious?"

"Yeah."

"Well, enjoy it then," he said, leaning back.

After the museum closed, the woman snuck back in. She started giving fellatio to the well endowed statue, and it came to life. She seemed mighty pleased.

Since Tommy was between me and the monitor, I could look at him without him seeing me. He was starting to get erect, his penis pulling up the left leg of his shorts. Seeing that was enough to get an erection of my own. The woman was naked now and pleasuring herself.

"Oh shit look at that cunt," said Tommy.

I was looking instead at his hand grasping his erection through his shorts. He started to rub himself slowly through the fabric.

"Shit, Rick, I gotta get off."

He sat up, putting his weight on his feet, and pulled his shorts down to his knees. His erection sprang out of those shorts and hit his belly. With his eyes on the screen, he started to stroke himself. I couldn't believe this. He was sitting right up against me.

He looked over at me then. "Aren't you going to get off too?" he asked.

"No thanks."

"Come on, you're tenting out your pants there. Obviously you want to."

It's true, that's exactly what I wanted to do. He smiled at me. "We're buddies, right? Can't let a buddy jack off alone." I relented, and pulled my PJ's down. He looked at my erection, and smiled as my hand made contact with it before he looked back at the screen. I didn't get it. Was he making a pass at me? It seemed like he was. It felt great to jack off like this while watching him doing likewise, but I wanted more than anything to touch him. He was the one who wanted us to jack off together. He probably wanted me to take the next step.

Feeling bolder than ever, and being driven by lust alone, I let my free hand wander over to him. While he was looking at the woman getting penetrated, I had my hand a couple of inches over his thigh. I put my hand down, and grabbed hold of his erection. He turned around to look at me. His look was anything but friendly.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

My hand flew back onto my side. I wanted to take the action back as well. It was too late. He jumped off my bed, pulling his shorts up. I pulled my pants up too.

"What the fuck was that, jackass?" I didn't say anything. He looked ready to kick the shit out of me.

"Tell me something and I want a straight answer. Are you fucking queer, man?"

My silence was answer enough.

He laughed. "I can't believe it. A fucking queer as my roommate. To think I trusted you! And you just tried to molest me, you sick, perverted bastard!" He punched me in the cheek then. The blow was a numbing blast.

When I recovered, he was out the door. I heard him shouting in the hall, "Rick's a fag, he just tried to molest me!"

I heard him go into the common room and start yelling. Other people seeme to respond in hushed whispers. I couldn't stay there and suffer the humiliation. I had to go. I threw on my clothes, and packed my backpack full of clothes and toiletries. And then I was out of there, avoiding the common room, feeling like absolute crap.

In a few minutes I was in a bus going downtown. I sat in the back, where nobody could see me. And I started to cry. What was I going to do now? Go home? What would I tell my family? But I couldn't go back. I couldn't face Tommy again, or any of the rest of them. Even if he requested a change of roommates, it would take at least a week to move. I didn't want to skip my classes, but I had no choice. Tommy was in all my classes anyway. No, I wasn't going back.

I regained my composure and got off at the bus station. I decided to buy a ticket south. There was a bus leaving to Baltimore in a few minutes. My folks lived in Atlanta; it was in the right direction. I bought a ticket and was on my way.

I slept through most of the trip. When I wasn't asleep, I was thinking how stupid I was; how this was the most impulsive thing I had ever done in my life.

*****

The Baltimore bus station was full of activity at lunchtime the next day. I was trying to buy a ticket south to Charlotte but I didn't have enough cash.

"Can't I pay with my Credit Card?" I asked.

"No, cash only," said the cashier. "Our ATM's broken, but there's an ATM a few blocks down the street."

So, with my backpack on, I walked the long distance to the ATM machine and withdrew one hundred dollars, the full extant of my account. At school, there wasn't much I needed cash for. Now, I was hoping I could get home with what I got.

I looked around. Across the street from me was a coffee shop. I felt drawn to it; I hadn't eaten all day. And by the looks of it, it wasn't too expensive, which made it even more attractive.

As it was lunchtime, there were a fair amount of customers eating. The hostess didn't smile at me when I walked in.

"One, please," I said.

"Do you mind sitting at the bar or do you want a table?"

I wanted a table, but the way she asked, it made me feel like I would be a jerk taking up a table with just one of me. "The bar is fine."

Calling it a bar was a little misleading, since they didn't serve any alcohol there. There were a few other people sitting on stools at the counter, but she led me to a spot that didn't have anyone sitting next to it. As I walked towards the bar, I noticed a man sitting in a far booth alone who seemed to be tracking me with his eyes. He was real good looking in a masculine sort of way.

I sat down and picked up my menu. As I started to check out the breakfast selection, I got a feeling like that guy was still looking at me. I turned my head to see.

He was still staring right at me. Our eyes locked for a moment, startling me. He nonchalantly looked away out the window, and I returned my attention to the menu.

I ordered pancakes because they were the best value. But even after my food was in front of me, I was still getting that weird feeling of being watched. I purposefully dropped my napkin on the floor, and turned to pick it up. My eyes didn't linger, but I could tell the guy was still looking at me.

What did he want? I looked around the place. Everyone was white. Both my parents are Venezuelan. Could it be that the guy was racist? Had I stepped into a segregationist, white only coffee shop?

That didn't make any sense. Even though both my parents are Venezuelan, my mom only married my dad when she was pregnant with me. He's not my blood father, although he's the only father I ever knew. My real father was a white soldier my mom had married in Venezuela. He took her back to Atlanta with him. A few years later, after my older sister was born and I was on the way, he died of cancer. My mom inherited everything, and soon married an old flame from back home, effectively cutting the ties she had to my real father's sparse family. My younger sister was really only my half sister. She was dark, but me, I had light skin. I could easily pass for white if I wanted to, and had never been the target of racism before.

I finished my meal quickly and started to pay when someone sat in the empty seat to my left. Turning slightly, I was shocked to see it was the creepy guy. He looked straight ahead, and pushed his coffee cup towards the waitress behind the counter.

"Another cup, please, Jo," he said.

She poured him a refill. He looked to be about forty, maybe a little younger. He was probably about 5'11", but thick. He wore a pair of jeans and a white wifebeater, and I could tell by his big shoulders and arms that he was strong and fit. He was mostly bald, it seemed, and the hair on the side of his head was cut so short that I couldn't even tell what color it was. He had a strong chin covered with stubble, a broad, hooked nose like a boxer that had been in too many fights, and lips that stayed closed when he smiled at the waitress. He was definitely intimidating.

"I'd like to pay," I told the waitress. "I need change."

She took my twenty away. I pretended like something had caught my interest to the right, facing away from him.

"So what's your deal? Are you for real?" he said softly. His voice was a deep rumble.

"Huh? Are you talking to me?" I asked, not sure if he was or not.

"Yeah, I'm talkin to you. Whatcha gonna do about it?" He must have taken my question the wrong way. "Did you follow me in here? You gonna do me in front of all these bystanders?"

I didn't know what he was going on about. "Look, I think you have me mistaken for someone else. I don't want any problem with you, please." My voice was shaking.

The waitress was returning with my change. As soon as I had it, I jumped off the stool, and walked quickly towards the door.

I rushed back down the street towards the bus station, wondering what that conversation was all about and ready to get out of Baltimore for good.

A bit later, I heard a motorcycle on the street behind me. As it got closer, I turned to look. There was a man driving towards me on a large black Harley. He had on a black leather jacket on and a black helmet. But then I noticed that he was wearing blue jeans, and his open jack revealed a wifebeater underneath.

I froze. He had a gun in his right hand. He started to point it at me as he approached. Nobody else was in sight to help me.

I ran into an alley to my right as fast as I could, but he turned in behind me, and overtook me. He stopped his bike and jumped off, pointing the gun at my head.

"Freeze, motherfucker," he said.

"What do you want from me?" I started reaching for my wallet.

"Hands up or I'll shoot!" he screamed.

I stuck my hands in the air. "Take my money, I have a hundred dollars. No wait, now I have more like ninety."

"I don't want your fucking money, kid," he said.

I was shaking, trembling all over. This was the worst 24 hours of my life.

"You're really scared, aren't you?" he asked.

I didn't respond.

"Who are you? What's your name?"

"Rick--" I hesitated before saying my last name. It would give away my Hispanic roots.

"Where you from Rick?"

"Atlanta."

"How old are you?"

"Just 18. I'm a college student. MIT. I'm going home for a break." I figured the more he knew about me, the less likely he was to shoot me.

"Uh huh. What do you know about combat?" What the hell was he talking about? "Combat?"

"Yeah. You a fighter, Rick?"

"No. I've never been in a fight my whole life."

Then he seemed to sit there for a second, just thinking. The gun was still pointed at me. "If I shot you right now, would you be able to dodge the bullet?"

"What? No!"

"Should we try it just to be sure?" My eyes misted up. "No, please don't."

He lowered his gun. "You're coming with me. You try any shit, and I'll

kill your ass on the freeway, you got that?" I nodded, wanting anything but to go with him. He pulled off his helmet and handed it to me.

"You'd better put this on," he said. "I don't have an extra one." I put it on, feeling a little safer afterwards. He jumped back on his bike. "Get on," he said.

I cautiously straddled the bike behind him. With a rumble, the bike took off out of the alley. I almost fell off.

"Hold the fuck on!" he shouted.

Since there was nothing else to grab onto but him, I put my arms around his waist, over the leather of his jacket.

"Where are we going?" I dared to ask.

"To Philly."

"Philadelphia? But that's to the north. I've already been that way."

"Too fucking bad, Philly is our one and only destination. Now shut up."

TO BE CONTINUED