Content/trigger warning: This series contains bullying, homophobic language, and non-consensual sexual acts, but they are integral to the plot and character development so please take them in context.
DUSTY
I'm sitting half out of the water fully hidden by tall grasses and crap like that, and I'm beating my cock like there's no tomorrow. I'm focusing my whole mind on Misty. Her short hair, lean athletic body, fucking her hard from behind. She's got small breasts, which I know it's weird but it's what I prefer, the smaller the better. I'm focused on how it feels to fuck her, always do it doggy style, looking down at her back, trying not to hear her high-pitched moans or the smell of her flowery soap or whatever the hell that is. Shut up for God's sake, Misty. If I've told her once I've told her a million times, it's really annoying, a real turn-off.
Even in those few seconds of me beating my rock-hard meat, another image keeps invading. That fag, piss and blood all over his face and body. Even though he looks like hell, at the same time I can also remember seeing that glow as he refused to submit to me, that strength that seemed to radiate from him in that moment, his invincibility, all of that keeps invading my mind. Fuck, think of Misty, think of Misty. Focus on looking down at her back, the memory of how it feels to ride her like I'm a goddamn cowboy, how powerful my fucking is, how deep, the incredible feel of release as I pump my jizz deep inside her.
"Unhhhhhhh!" And just as I'm about blow the biggest load I've ever shot in my life, my mind, like a fuckin' disobedient dog, flips back to that fag. His slim runner's build... "Unhhh!" The first spurt hits the goddamn sun and falls back to land on my mouth. His curly black hair wet with my rank piss... "Nhhh!" The second spurt goes even further and lands on my forehead, starts dripping slowly down my face. "Uhhh!" His hazel eyes, usually mild, but today, the electricity in them, the power... The third spurt hits me dead in the face as in my mind's eye my gaze travels down that kid's trim naked body... the fourth is still so strong it shoots up to the scruff on my chin as I try to remember the details of what his smooth chest looks like, his flat stomach, no fat whatsoever, the feathery trail of dark hair leading down, and then I lose count of the rest of my spurts of cum as they spray all over my chest and stomach, until finally the last big gob shoots straight up from my cock before landing, forming a thick pool of jizz at the base where my cock meets the rest of my body.
...
...
...
Damn. Shit. Fuck.
It takes me I don't know how long for my brain to start working again. Shit, without even thinking I've licked my lips and accidentally tasted my own cum. I spit it out immediately, but I still have the aftertaste in my mouth, kind of sweet and kind of bitter. I put my hand in the water and quickly wash out my mouth and then wash off my face. I realize I'm exhausted, like I've been running miles. On top of that, there's a gash on my chest and smaller scratches there and on my arms from where I was in such a rush to swim out from that cove that I didn't even notice that I forced myself through some branches and shit. I just lie there like a dead dog, too spent to move. And wouldn't you know it. My dick starts twitching again.
Fuck this shit. I get back in the water and absentmindedly rub the rest of my cum off of me and start swimming back to where my stuff is. I'm trying to feel satisfied at how I taught that kid a lesson. I won. He's a real weakling all right. I showed him. I showed him who was stronger. I made him respect me. I won.
But my mind keeps returning to that weird vision. The feeling at that moment is still burned into my memory like a brand on cattle. How shitty I felt, like the lowest of the low. How I hadn't made him do jackshit, not really. Truth be told, I don't feel like the winner at all. Crazy as it sounds, I feel like somehow, he was the one who won. Him, with his nose broken and my piss all over him, me standing over him gloating. How the hell could he have been the one who won?
What the fuck. By this time I'm back where I dropped my stuff, and still lost in my thoughts I put on my tank and sneakers, adjust my half-hard cock so that it's trapped in the waistband of my trunks so it's not so obvious, pick up my keys and towel, and head back to the parking lot, all on auto pilot. The lake is still packed with people, but I barely even notice them.
Stop thinking about him. Fucking stop thinking about him! Think about Misty. Taking her from behind. Slim body, looking down at her back, shooting my jizz into her tight dripping wet cunt... Don't think about that fag. Don't think about him. What else...
Suddenly an old, old memory surfaces. One I can hardly believe I'd forgotten. There was this kid in elementary school. Travis. The most popular kid in the school. The fastest runner, even beat out the fifth graders, friendly to everyone, good looking, and smart too. Played guitar. Everyone loved him, and he seemed like a god to us. He was in fourth grade, and I was in third grade, but everyone in the school knew about him. The girls all wanted to hold hands with him, the boys all wanted to be him, teachers were always praising him, comparing us to him.
I hated him. I made fun of him to my friends all the time. I criticized everything about him. His hair was too long, or if he got it cut, his hair was too short, his haircut was bad, his clothes were ugly, bet I could beat him at running if I was as tall as him. My friends joined in. Even back then I was the leader. But of course, all our talk didn't mean jackshit to Travis. He didn't even know we existed, let alone care about what a bunch of third graders thought about him.
He was only at our school for a year and then he moved away. But I couldn't stop talking about him, even after he moved. Every day for months I would tell my friends about what a loser that Travis was. He was so stuck up. He thought he was so handsome. He thought he was so special. They must have gotten sick of me talking about him.
I turn my thoughts from Travis and try to remember the first time I picked on that fag, my personal punchin' bag, but it was so long ago. He's a quiet kid, so I don't know what about him pissed me off enough to get my attention in the first place. It wouldn't have been because he looked weak. There were plenty of other kids at our school who were smaller and would have made for easier pickings. Maybe it's because the teachers liked him because he was smart, like with Travis. Or maybe it's because I somehow sensed that he would be harder to break, and so beating him would be more of a challenge. More fun.
