Chapters 1, 2 and 3 tell the story of Chris and Justin, roommates in their sophomore year in college. Justin is an athletic frat boy with lots of animal charm, and quickly turns the sexually inexperienced Chris into his live-in submissive. Justin's volatile and violent personality, however, eventually frighten Chris into asking his Resident Advisor for new quarters. Instead of sympathy, Chris receives a severe ass-whipping from his RA. Afraid to return to the room with Justin, Chris manages to find temporary housing with an older female friend; simultaneously, a hookup app leads him to Mark, who provides physical and emotional solace, including Chris' first kiss.
Halloween was over, but pumpkin cutouts and tattered cotton spider webs still adorned the doors and common areas of Kroetzger. Chris rolled his suitcase down the first-floor hall he hadn't entered for two weeks, a spring in his step. He looked calmer after his sojourn with his friend Pat, but the biggest contributor to his good mood was his date tonight with Mark. They had seen each other four times now. Four times! Each one had been better than the last. It was such a blessing to spend time with someone older. Granted, 27 was not old, but it was a world away from Chris' college-age peers. Mark had a much broader worldview, a more informed perspective. And he was just so damned hot. Muscular pecs with amazing dark hair, solid arms, a hairy belly, and an enormous uncut dick with pubes as dense as a black, hairy rainforest. But the eyes - the eyes would have kept Chris coming back no matter what the rest of him looked like. Warm, ardent, and a brilliant royal blue, shining over a sexy pair of lips, and a manly, trimmed beard. Mmmmm.
Chris put his key in the door of 119, and opened it confidently, knowing that his jock roommate, Justin, would not be home. They had not seen each other since Justin had punched him repeatedly in the stomach two weeks ago after coming home drunk; they had made up, if you could call it that, by email. Chris had deliberately picked a time to move back in when he knew Justin would be at his frat house - Friday at 6 p.m. That gave him time to unpack the clothes and books he had taken to Pat's house, and get showered and ready for his date with Mark. It had been a pain commuting to school from almost 60 miles away, but necessary.
Justin had not truly apologized in his emails; far from it. However, he had also not made any references to his head injury, or even to their sexual activities and the Dom/sub dynamic that Justin had forced on Chris from the day they moved in. Well . . . not entirely forced, Chris had to admit. He had been a very willing participant in almost all of it. He was sure that if he didn't have Mark to focus on, he would have been really craving Justin's meaty cock in his mouth, and his delicious musky ass in his face. And his feet. And . . . well, fuck it, Justin was an asshole, but he was still very hot. And Chris had gone from complete sexual inexperience to giving daily blowjobs and all sorts of other twisted shit. If it hadn't been for the violence, it would have been pretty great. Except . . . except he wouldn't have met Mark. Who was sooooo dreamy.
Chris may have had conflicting urges about submitting to men, but he sure as hell knew he loved to kiss. That was his favorite thing now, and it seemed to be Mark's, too. After their first meeting, they had gotten together for coffee three times, then headed back to Mark's condo for some messing around. Never more than oral yet - at first Chris' ass had been too swollen and bruised for Mark to really feel like he could do more than rub it sympathetically. Even today, if you looked closely, you could still see some fading yellow marks from the RA's razor strop. But also, Chris had carefully managed their time together so he was never there too long before he "had to leave to get back to Pat's" - enough time for some great cocksucking, for sure, but not enough for anything else. He had resisted dinner, too. Tonight would be the first time he'd have a meal with Mark. It was in part a strategy to keep Mark interested, but even more it was shyness, and the small voice deep inside him that didn't believe Mark could be genuinely interested in a short, cute but dorky guy with a small dick and chest stubble.
Ugh, that stubble. Chris had kept his face clean shaven, but had decided, with Mark's support, that his natural hairy chest was an easier, more comfortable, and all around better choice. It was taking for-fucking-ever to grow in, though. The pubes were coming back too, but Mark had threatened to shave them again once Chris was recovered enough to begin some Dom/sub kinkiness.
Sounds fun, Chris thought with a smile. He might be a little nervous, but after two weeks he was also incredibly horny to try some of the nasty things he and Mark sexted about, some of which he already knew he liked because he had tried them with Justin.
And then there was anal sex. Mark was not subtle about reminding Chris how much he wanted to plant his uncut dick in Chris' virgin hole and shove it repeatedly as far in as it could go.
Chris grimaced involuntarily. Even with someone as nice as Mark, it was going to hurt. A LOT, with a dick that size. And although he wanted it as badly as Mark did, still . . . it was his first time, and he wanted it to be special. Memorable, but in the right way.
Chris already had his outfit picked out for the dinner date - his one fancy shirt, dark blue with a nice pattern on it, and olive slacks. It looked good with his light brown hair and blue eyes. They were going to an Asian fusion place that Mark loved - not formal, but expensive. Mark's treat, obviously; Chris was a student, and his boyfriend . . . could he call him that? . . . was in advertising.
Dinner was early, at 7:30 - and in the city, too. Better hurry. There was one piece of extra business to attend to. Chris pulled a small package out of his backpack - a Fleet enema. Just in case. Doing this in a dorm wasn't ideal, which was why it was so important that Justin not be there. He would have to take it up his ass and hold it in his room, and then speed walk to the bathroom. Administering it in the shower, or in the stall, was ill-advised due to the risk of discovery. And he couldn't have done it this morning, because its . . . practical effect . . . would have been over by the time it would have been useful.
The things we do for the merest hint of possible sex, he thought. Christ, I can't wait until I have my own place.
Chris accomplished his mission without leaving a trail of spots on the carpet from his room to the toilet. Well done, you, he thought. You're a champ.
Fuck, that's what Justin had called him, when he had been feeling friendly.
Well, you're going a great job, kiddo. Chris smiled. That's what Mark called him sometimes.
Into the Jeep, heat on high against the November cold; drive, park, enter the restaurant.
And there was Mark, waiting for him. Impeccable in a trendy blue suit that matched his eyes. They kissed hello.
"You look great, kiddo," Mark smiled.
"Thanks, you too . . . Sir." Chris whispered the last word, feeling daring. Saying it gave him a hard-on.
Mark's eyes lit up. This little fucker was so damned cute. And the kinky depths that lay within . . . Mark could only imagine. He sprang his own boner, and walked to the table awkwardly, having a lot more to conceal than Chris.
Dinner was a dream. Great food, and the waiter benevolently didn't ask Chris for ID before bringing him a Manhattan. Chris had always wanted to try one, and had been trained a bit by shots of Justin's Knob Creek, of which there was always a steady supply in their room.
"Do you want dessert," Mark asked?
"I've eaten enough to feed a terracotta army."
Mark rolled his eyes, but kindly. Chris was a history major, and his attempts at humor were so endearing. He made jokes a man three times his age might have found funny.
"Me too. Let's take a walk."
"Ok," Chris agreed, buzzed from the bourbon, and eager to be alone with his older, studly . . . not quite boyfriend.
Mark paid the bill and they collected their coats.
"This way." Mark pulled Chris' arm into the crook of his own, and steered them past brownstones and storefronts.
"Where are we going?"
"You'll see, boy."
Chris immediately popped a woody at the magic word. It was interesting how Justin's use of the word "boy" and Mark's differed; they both made Chris hard, but he felt no apprehension when Mark said it, only delighted anticipation. When Justin said it . . . shit, when Justin said anything . . . he always felt an undercurrent of fear.
You miss that fear, a drunken and wildly inappropriate inner voice said to Chris.
