I had a moment of weakness. A lapse in judgment that should not cost me my entire future. It did not help that every fucking asshole within a ten thousand mile radius has a cell phone on them and everyone seems ready to record before maybe considering they should step in to do the right thing. I would have listened if someone had told me to stay, if someone had told me to hang tight that it was better to face the consequences, take responsibility for what I had done. But I didn't, I got scared and I fucked up and now -- well I found myself in a horrible situation.
My name is Adrian Bottelli, by the way, and this all started four days ago when I was driving home from a party. My best friend Steve and his girlfriend decided to throw a huge rager at his place and we partied until well past 2am. It was great, Steve's house is huge and the bedrooms upstairs had a constant stream of couples and groups banging and fucking and I think some even got into Steve's parents' toys, I saw some chick walking around with a double delight strapped into her, and she was wearing a dog leash and collar. I can't imagine people bring that to a high school party, though I also can't imagine why anyone would borrow someone else's dildos.
I always get tail, if I want it, and I wanted it that night. My choice from the available options was Leticia Jones. She was a tight, gorgeous black girl, she was a year ahead of most of us, back from college, and she and I had done some wild things when she was still in school with the rest of us. It was great to reconnect and it was great to see she had picked up some things in college, who says you don't really learn anything your first year? Just one example: she learned to it take up the ass, that had been off the table before and I was ecstatic it was on the menu -- she asked for it actually. She hated fucking with condoms and there ain't no baby oven at the end of that tunnel, her words, not mine. As if I was going to put up an argument and she needed to be persuasive!
After a great party, I headed home. I had only drunk two beers, I knew I was driving, I felt fine. It wasn't until the dark shadow crossed in front of me while I was going down Stuart Court, just half a mile from my house, that I remembered I had a fat blunt in my pocket. I had not wanted to smoke it -- because I knew I would be driving! I wasn't distracted, I wasn't texting, none of that -- and all of a sudden this thing, this animal runs across the street and hits my car. Or more precisely, I hit it with my car.
"Shit! Shit! Shit!," I was cursing and screaming and beating on my steering wheel. Here I was, captain of the football team, prom king, salutatorian, about to go to college in a few months, full ride scholarship to Clemson to play football, and I have alcohol in my system and a blunt in my pocket. It never occurred to me to throw the fucking blunt away. Why? It never occurred to me that Mayor Alvarez' fucking dog is always loose and it's fucking Mayor Alvarez' fault. My mind seized on this scenario where the cops search me, find the blunt, test my breath and everything ends. To be honest, at first I was not sure what I had hit, I thought maybe I would be lucky and it was a deer, or a true stray. But I was pretty sure the shadow I saw had a white streak down it's side, just like Jonas, the Mayor's dog. I got out of my car and went to the whimpering animal and confirmed it was indeed him.
Not sure what to do, I picked up poor Jonas, named after Joe, I was told, and walked him back to the Mayor's front porch less than 100 feet away and set him a few feet from the front door, off to the right. I laid him down, he was whimpering. I picked up a heavy rock (Don't go there, I'm not a miscreant!). I went back to my car and careful not to hurt the animal, I threw the rock at the Mayor's front door and sped away.
Relieved to be home, I went upstairs and stripped naked. I have always loved being naked and love the feeling of hot water washing every care away. After I toweled myself off, I walked back into my room, again naked, and took my phone out of my pants to leave it charging overnight. I noticed two messages had come in while I was showering.
"Who the fuck is messaging at this hour?" I mumbled to myself.
My whole world turned upside down with those two messages. Both were from Jordan, my neighbor from across the street. We had been close as kids but he came out when he was 14 and would not stop hitting on me. As much as I would ask him to stop, he kept pressing the issue and joking about how he would conquer me and take my hole and shit like that. It was really offensive and demeaning and he just would not stop. I finally told him we were done being friends. We had not spoken much in 4 years, just the occasional nod at neighborhood events.
Now, don't get me wrong, I am not some neanderthal who has never lent a helping hand, or accepted one, and I am not going to beat someone up if they offer to suck my cock. It's doubtful I would let them, but it's not the point. Be fucking polite! Be a human. Just because I look like Adonis reincarnated and I have the ass of Derek Jeter in his prime, does not mean you get to objectify me. I am not above beating the shit out of rude people. Hell, even that night when I hit Jonas -- shit, poor fucking Jonas -- even that night Steve and I doubled up on Leticia. That was another thing she learned in college. Our cocks touched, he wanted to also fuck her without a rubber and took my dick out when I was spent. But he's a friend and he's pure gold, I trust him to touch every one of my glorious inches!
Anyway, the first message was just a video. It was a video of me, getting out of my truck, picking up Jonas and carrying him to the Mayor's porch. My heart sunk to the floor. I remembered the fucking blunt and immediately flushed it down the toilet. I went back, the second message read, "Turn on your lights and stand at the window. I know you sleep naked."
He would have known that how? I didn't remember telling him but he had become friends with a couple of my exes, maybe that's how.
"Fuck off," I wrote back.
"OK, Adrian, but I will be sending this to Mayor Alvarez tomorrow, and to Clemson admissions," he replied.
Shit! How did he know about Clemson? There had been a story in the town newspaper, fucking journalists! "This isn't right Jordan. It's very fucked up!"
"So is hitting a dog and running away," he replied.
He was right about that. If this was the price to pay, then I deserved it. I flicked on my lights and went and stood at the window.
"Why the fuck were you out there at this hour?" I asked. I mean, it was 2:30am, who is out walking around at this time of night with a phone strapped to his fucking wrist?
"No that it's any of your business but the Uber dropped my off a block away so I wouldn't make my dad, he worries. I fucked Luke Lottoro and that took a while," he said.
I thought about that. Luke was one of my wide receivers, I loved the guy and had tag teamed a couple of theater gals with him. Why the fuck was he fucking around with shitty, pile of talking refuse, Jordan Koplowski?
"I want to see you hard," a new message from Jordan.
"Dude, this is really fucking shitty of you, I am jacked up on adrenaline still, this is absolute asshole behavior!" I sent back a voice message, I was pissed.
"It was shitty of you to abandon me because I was gay," he replied.
"I have tons of gay friends. I cut you off because you're an asshole, and this here proves it. A friend would try to help," I texted back.
"I am helping, I am helping you be redeemed. I am your path to taking responsibility," he said in a voice message that sounded like a voice over tryout for Lord of the Rings.
"I am not doing this," I replied.
"You are or goodbye Clemson, goodbye future, hello prison," he texted back.
I was close to tears. I didn't care if the whole world saw me jerking off. I have a great cock, I love sharing it. I think half the school has seen me naked, either because I like streaking a lot or because it's a chick and I fucked her good. I mean, it's a chubby, fat 8.5 inches, of course it's going to fuck good. And I don't skimp on preliminaries. Those women are there for me, I am there for them. But this asshole was coercive and a fucking lowlife. But what could I do? I ran, I really, actually ran.
I switched my phone to a porn video from my favorite site and jerked off in front of my window. I could see movement in Jordan's room as he pulled his curtains further apart. He was probably jerking off or recording this. I hated him, but what could I do? I wanted to get off and get this over with, so I focused on the video and started pulling on my dick, long tight strokes, the full length from the base to just under the head. I could feel the blood building up and it became pleasant to touch my now hard dick. One girl had taught me a cool trick, she had licked the palm of her hand, slobbered on it really, and she took my cock and painted small circles on the inside of her hand. It felt amazing and I had picked up the habit.
I was doing this when another message came in. Fuck him, I thought. I continued as I was for just a bit longer. Eventually I switched to my favorite, the two fisted stroke. I am certain that is everyone's favorite, it has to be, when your palms are stacked along your fat shaft and you can still see the head popping out, foreskin coming on and off a creamy dick head? Everyone loves that! Another message, what could be so fucking important?
The first message was OBE, "Move your fucking hand, I want to see!"
The second was infuriating. "Finger your hole," he was ordering me.
Now, if you think I'm some scared straight boy who has never fingered his hole, you don't know my generation. But if you think I like being told what to do by some spoiled, arrogant asshole, you don't know me. In my only small victory that night, I massaged my hole but never actually inserted my finger. To be honest, it felt really nice. It had been a very long time since I had done it last. Maybe after Jordan fucked off, I would do it again for my personal pleasure and actually say hello to my prostate.
I thought of every sexy thing I could think of and was about to come into my shirt when I imagined the asshole would be upset if he could not see me cumming (Why did I even care?). So, I pointed my fat hose at the window and blew my load all over the glass. It was a great load, not as big as the one Leticia Jones had up her ass that night, but it was big.
The next morning I woke up and went about my normal Sunday routine. I had slept in, took another quick shower, cleaned up a ton of spooge off my window -- that's not really part of the routine -- and dressed to go for a jog -- which that day had meant socks, running shoes and onion skin running shorts. It was a great run around the neighborhood, I went a full six miles. On my way back home, I passed in front of Mayor Alvarez' house just as he was returning from the vet's office. My heart sank again. They were still wearing their robes and pajamas and Mrs. Alvarez was crying.
"Mayor, Mrs. Alvarez, what's going on?" I asked.
The Mayor shook his head, he came and gave me a tight hug. I was sweaty and I thought I felt him take a deep wiff, but in that moment of distress, would he really be horned up after a sweaty, shirtless, 6'3" high school quarterback with 4% body fat, perfect teeth, no underwear, eyes the color of an Icelandic sky, wearing only onion skin shorts and a glorious mane of blond, curly hair? It seemed unlikely.
When he did finally pull away, I could tell he was upset.
I asked him again, "What's going on, why are you in your PJ's, is everyone OK?"
