Chemistry Pt. 08

Against my tongue, his hole already feels loose and sloppy. I realize that he must have been preparing himself to get fucked, on his own, maybe with some sort of sex toy. Or maybe he's been fucked by someone else so recently that his hole is still wrecked. This thought drives me mad with desire, the idea that I am about to give this little slut another cock before his hole has had time to tighten up. The muscles at the base of my cock flex and tighten, eager to drive my shaft deep into his ass.

I push him up off my mouth and push my middle finger into him. He grinds down on my hand, not stopping the action of his mouth on my cock. I pull out my finger and shove two fingers into him. Fuck. He feels so warm and loose.

I lift his thighs off of me and half-push, half-toss him toward the far end of the couch. My cock pops out of his mouth as he rolls away from me. I sit up and swing my legs out to rest on the floor with my cock is standing straight up, covered in his slobber, glistening in the bright moonlight.

In a second, he's climbing back onto me, straddling my cock now, facing me with his smooth chest just brushing against my face. I wrap my arms around his body and pull him down onto me. His hands are behind him guiding my cock into to his asshole. And then I'm inside him, with almost no resistance at all, I feel my cock sliding up, up into him until his thighs are resting all the way down on my mine. I hold him there for a long moment, just thrilling with the sensation of being so deep inside his slender body. I feel his rapid breath and feel his hands on my shoulders, trembling slightly as he adjusts to the sensation of being filled up.

He feels so light in my arms, I lift him up, pull out of him, and then thrust back up into him. He tilts his head back and I run my hand up his chest and gleaming neck. We start to fuck and I feel his hard cock poking into my belly. His hands rest on my chest, gripping the material of Mahan's T-shirt as the intensity of our movements picks up.

He's making a soft whining sound as I fuck him. I wonder how many cocks he's taken in his ass, how many loads of cum. The thought fuels me to slam up into him even harder. He matches my thrusts in a counter motion, the muscles of his legs flexing against mine as me matches me stroke for stroke. His hands are in my beard and on my neck and his breath is coming faster and faster. I feel my orgasm coming on like a raging flood. I grab him in a tight bear hug and push into him as hard as I can. I feel my cock jerk and spasm inside him, sending jet after jet of cum into him. With my ear pressed against his chest, I can hear his heart racing and his shallow, fluttering breaths.

When the flood recedes, I release my grip on him and lie back on the couch with him still on top of me. I put my hand on his belly and I feel a sticky mess -- I'm not sure if he came or whether all this is just leakage. The T-shirt fabric across my stomach is coated with it, too. He tries to get up off of me, but I hold his thighs tight against mine. I don't want this moment to end. I trace the contour of his body up along his thigh to his stomach, the outline of his ribs, the slight protrusion of his nipples. Gingerly, he pushes my hands off of him and pulls himself up off of my cock, which slips out of his ass and flops, wetly, up onto my belly. He bends over beside the couch and pulls on his underwear, then he trails his fingers over the hair on my chest and chin, then runs his fingertips across my lips before walking silently back to his room.

I lie there for a few minutes, catching my breath and considering what has just happened. I just fucked a guy, another guy, a virtual stranger. I reach down to touch my slicked-up cock, still mostly hard from being inside whatever his name is -- Ben? -- in Ben's ass. I just fucked a dude named Ben. I pull up my shorts, and sit up on the couch. I get up and pour myself a cup of water from the tap at the kitchen sink.

When I come back to the couch, the TV is on, glowing, showing a flat black screen. Had it been on the whole time? No, I must have accidentally hit the remote when I got up. I look under the sheet on the couch to find it.

I can't find the remote. I turn back to the TV. An image comes onto the screen, fuzzy, dim, and gray-green. I can't parse the image at first, but after a few moments my mind resolves what I am seeing; it looks like a night-vision image of a living room, with a coffee table, a couch, and... I feel my hackles rise. The outline of a person asleep on the couch. A large form, a big man, from the look of him. The sleeping man shifts, turns his head. I start to tremble. I look at the couch I was sleeping on, then back at the screen. There is no doubt about it. The image is showing this room, showing me, asleep on the couch.

I watch myself sleep on the screen for a few minutes, too paralyzed with fear to move. Then, on the screen, the slinking body of the skinny roommate, Ben, walks into the frame. I watch him approach the couch, and stand next to it for what feels like a very long time. He's perfectly still. Eventually, I see my head turn to look at him, and my pupils are bright green pits, twin reflector dishes on the TV screen. I watch my arm reach out to touch his thigh, cup his ass, and feel around the front of his crotch.

I watch Ben straddle my face, and then I see something that causes every hair on my body to stand on end. The perspective of the image shifts, rises, and begins to move closer. Whoever, or whatever, is recording gets up and walks closer to us, step by slow step. By the time Ben is riding my cock, I estimate it is only a foot or so away. I see the image move even closer, toward my face, getting to within just inches from me. Then the perspective pans up and back, to look at Ben's face as he arches his neck back. I watch as Ben opens his eyes and looks straight at whoever is recording, straight at me, through the TV. His face contorts into a maniacal grin.

I shudder and leap up, suddenly able to move. I need to get out of here. The TV is still showing the ghostly green forms of Ben and me fucking, but I don't look at it, trying not to think about the thing that I'd done with Ben or the thing that had been watching. I am looking for my bag, my shoes. My clothes are in Mahan's room, I remember, but I don't care, I need to get out. My hands are shaking so hard that I can't get into my shoes, I can't work the laces, so I just carry them and my bag as I stumble down the stairs, and then I'm battling with the lock on the front door, trying desperately to get out before the thing can get to me. Then I'm out on the sidewalk, in the moonlight, running in my bare feet away from the house.

~

I sprint until I am too winded, and then I walk quickly back toward campus, and only stop to put my shoes on when my feet start to feel raw and painful from the concrete. I make it back to my dorm. Thankfully, I have my ID card and keys in my bag. I swipe in and walk up to my room, and quietly unlock the door.

~

Pete is gone. His bed is stripped of its sheets, just as mine is. I flick on the light and wince at the overpowering brightness in the room. As my eyes adjust, I look around in shock. There are papers taped up all over the walls, what looked like hundreds of white pages, each printed with the words, "I see you, FAGGOT" in large, bold ink. I trip forward and steady myself on my computer desk. This has to be some sort of trick of my mind. A breeze blows in from the open window and ruffles the pages lining the walls in a slow wave. I grab a piece of paper off the wall. It is very real. I stare for a long moment at the words printed on the paper.

All of Pete's stuff is gone, not just his bedding. It's like he's completely moved out. Did he put these papers up? I shiver. Does he know what is going on with me? How?

I stand for a moment, panicking, and then start tearing down all the papers. It takes me about fifteen minutes -- I have to climb up onto both beds and both desks to get it all down. I pile the whole lot into my trash can, print-side down. I am sweating and breathing hard from the exertion. I've soaked Mahan's T-shirt through with sweat, again.

There are no clothes anywhere. Of course not. My laundry is still downstairs, somewhere. I look in my closet and in a duffel bag I find a pair of old corduroy pants that I almost never wear, that I never even unpacked when I moved in, and I also find a dirty pair of rank-smelling underwear under my bed. I change into these, but can't find any other shirt, so I just keep Mahan's T-shirt on. I am still cold, though, so I put on one of my fall jackets, a black windbreaker.

It is past four in the morning. I am tired, but I am too spooked to sleep. I sit at my desk with the lights on and turn on my computer in order to put on some music to try to relax myself.

My email is up. I have a few unread messages.

One is from my RA.

Amir, we had to move Pete out of your room. You need to come talk to me as soon as you get this message. Or, call Res Admin. It is urgent that we discuss the situation.

I'm not sure what situation he means, maybe the fact that Pete put all this shit up in the room? My guess is, though, he doesn't want me to wake him up at four AM to discuss it.

The other email is from my mom.

Amir, your sister said you messaged her something crazy over the weekend. What is going on with you? You haven't called home in over a week. I'm worried about you and your father is still angry about the website. Call us as soon as you get this message!

What? What crazy message?

I open my AIM and scroll through my recent chats. There is Mahan, Nadiyah, and my sister. I click on my sister's handle. Our message history pops up in a new window.

AmirFIFA2002: Happy birthday, you old ho-bag

Child_of_Destiny_LOL: Eat shit, Amir

AmirFIFA2002: Oh, this isn't Amir.

"What the fuck?" I whisper.

Child_of_Destiny_LOL: OK then who is it?

AmirFIFA2002: I'm the guy Amir has been fucking.

Child_of_Destiny_LOL: what?!? LOL very funny

AmirFIFA2002: No, seriously. Your brother is a faggot.

AmirFIFA2002: And he thinks you're a stupid bitch.

Child_of_Destiny_LOL: Amir STOP this isn't funny

AmirFIFA2002: Not joking. Your brother is a fucking faggot.

AmirFIFA2002: I have him right where I want him.

AmirFIFA2002: I know who you are and where you live.

AmirFIFA2002: I know where your parents live.

AmirFIFA2002: And I will send your whole family to HELL

That is the end of the chat, dated Saturday, my sister's birthday. I sit back in my chair and take a deep breath, then pound my fists on my desk.

"Fuck!" I yell.

Jamie has worked himself into every corner of my life, somehow; he hacked my AIM, probably my email, too. He tracked down Carl, threatened my family. He is probably the one who put up all the papers in this room. Somehow, he even found a way to get to me at Mahan's apartment. And, most disturbingly, he is in my own head, filling me with horrific thoughts and urging me to do monstrous things with other guys, and filling me with thoughts of himself, of Jamie.

"Why are you doing this to me?" I say, with a feeling of utter defeat.

Tears come, and soon I am wracked by violent sobs. I hold my face in my hands. My life is falling through my fingers. I am so tired. I just want rest and respite from everything that is happening. I wipe my tears on the back of my arm and lie my head down on my desk, directly on the wood. The cool surface presses against my temple and I wish that the cool, numbing feeling would spread through my whole brain.

The AIM notification crashes through the quiet of my room.

DankCoyote: Are you ready?

I look at the words for a long time. My stomach contracts and I think for a second that I am going to be sick. Another message dings.

DankCoyote: Amir. I know you're there.

DankCoyote: I can see you...

I spin and look behind me. There's nobody there, nobody at the window. How could there be? I am on the third floor. Another ding.

DankCoyote: I see you, faggot

DankCoyote: LOL

I feel a surge of anger and reach for my keyboard.

AmirFIFA2002: YOU are the faggot! Get out of my head!

DankCoyote: Ho ho! The faggot speaks.

DankCoyote: I was starting to think you weren't going to be any fun any more...

AmirFIFA2002: Leave me alone

DankCoyote: Now, now.

DankCoyote: Take it easy

DankCoyote: The harder you fight me, the worse it will be

DankCoyote: The worse it will be for your sister

DankCoyote: For your pathetic little family

My hands are trembling with rage as I read his messages, which come slowly, maybe ten or fifteen seconds between each one.

AmirFIFA2002: GET OUT OF MY LIFE, you piece of shit!

DankCoyote: LOL. Soon enough, buddy. But first, I want to know, are you ready?

I want to exit AIM, sever the link, but I hesitate, feeling like this might be the only way to figure out what is going on. Hesitantly, I reach out and type.

AmirFIFA2002: Ready for what?

DankCoyote: You know what to do.

What? What am I supposed to do? I don't know.

AmirFIFA2002:??

DankCoyote: You know what to do.

I push my chair back and stand up. I walk around the room for a full minute, talking to myself.

"No, no, no, no," I say.

DankCoyote: Do it.

With a loud yell, I pick up my computer monitor and throw it against the wall over Pete's desk. It crashes down onto the floor to lie on its side. The screen is cracked. There are jagged lines running through the glass, but at least the screen is dark and Jamie's messages are gone.

I sit down on the floor and hold my head in my hands. I try to think about what I could do, where I could go.

There is a loud pounding on the door. Adrenaline hits my stomach.

Oh god. He's here.

"Dude, keep it the fuck down!" I hear someone yell, then more loud swearing before the door to the room next to me slams shut.

I exhale. The night becomes quiet again. I hear crickets singing outside in the courtyard. I lie down on the dark carpet of the dorm floor and close my eyes. There is a blissful absence... no images, no sounds, just the sensation of a breeze flowing through the room from the open window.