The Bully Pt. 02

God damn, I hated that guy.

Fuck, I wanted to choke on his dick. So bad. Admittedly, that might be seen as a somewhat strange way to deal with my hatred for him. I dunno what to tell you. I'm not a psychologist.

I didn't see him anywhere. Maybe the Headmaster had changed his mind and forbidden Leander to come on the trip anyway, my very convincing Jesus Argument notwithstanding.

A familiar car pulled up. Moments later, Robin and Leander got out. Smug bastards. Of course they would both be too cool to have their parents come along. They got their bags from the car and sauntered over to their fanboys, neither of them even looking at me as they passed by. Not sure what I expected, anyway.

Oh well. Probably for the better. If my mom knew how Leander treated me (the bullying, she especially did not need to know about the facefucking), she probably wouldn't let me leave — or worse, she'd want to talk to him about it.

Finally, the teachers — who didn't look any more awake than us, nor particularly thrilled to be here — started herding us onto the bus. Most guys jostled past me, in pairs or groups, wanting to get the good seats, no doubt looking forward to spend the entire ride to Italy together with their friends. I didn't have any friends so I was in no particular rush. The whole thing reminded me way too much of being picked last in P.E.

I ended up sitting next to Matthias, a short, kinda stocky dude who I knew little about, except that he wasn't above calling me names if he happened to be around Leander and his crew. Maybe he only did that so they wouldn't bother him, I dunno. I wondered briefly if his street cred would plummet now that he was forced to sit next to me for what promised to be a very long bus trip, then decided I didn't care. From the way he turned around in his seat to start a loud and animated discussion with the guys sitting behind us I figured he wasn't too thrilled about it. Guess I shouldn't expect any riveting conversation from his end for the duration of the ride.

Which, fair enough, really. I had my big, clunky iPod.

I looked out the window and saw my mom waving at me. I waved back. She looked like she might cry. I really, really hoped she wouldn't cry. My classmates would never let me hear the end of it.

After a couple of minutes in which everyone was frantically waving, the bus finally started to move. Cheers went up all around me, and I couldn't help but feel a little excited myself. I was on my way to Italy; besides the obligatory group visits to tourist traps, we'd get a lot of unsupervised free time. If I managed to get away from my classmates during those periods — and I had no reason to think I wouldn't; for once, they'd have better things to do than make my life miserable — this trip might actually be... fun. Rome, and ruins, and pizza, and pasta!

And most importantly, hot Italian boys! Or so I hoped.

***

What can I say about the bus ride to Italy? If you've ever been on a fifteen hour schoolbus ride throughout Europe, chances are you already know exactly what it's like. The noise, the terrible noise, the shouts and shrieks that gradually die down over the first couple of hours, when boredom starts to settle in. Matthias getting on my nerves as he shifted in his seat approximately every seven seconds to keep up his end of the conversation with the guys behind us. Not being able to look at my iPod's screen for more than half a second at a time because of motion sickness. The dullness of trees and fields and trees and even more fields and trees whizzing by outside, to be replaced much later by the dullness of mountains and more mountains when we crossed the Alps. The smell, dear God, the smell of thirty hormonal teenagers cooped up together in a bus without airconditioning in late May. The pit stop at a rundown French rest area and the horror when it dawns on you that everyone is in line for the toilets, and you're never going to be able to take a leak in the fifteen minutes it takes for the bus to refuel on gas and the teachers and driver on nicotine, so you realise you're just gonna have to hold it in for another couple of hours, and then you step back on the bus with a full bladder and after that tiny bit of fresh air you notice the smell is so much worse than you thought it was...

I could go on, but I think you get the point.

By the time we arrived in Italy, long after dark, all of us had transformed into irritable, sleep-deprived zombies again. During the interminable bus ride I'd been stealing probably-not-so-subtle glances at Leander, who spent the entire time sat next to Robin, talking and laughing and not once looking at me. I got it into my head that he must be deliberately ignoring me — easier to stomach than the alternative: I was simply not relevant to him.

At long last, the bus pulled into the dingy parking lot of a low-budget hotel some way outside of Milan. We disembarked, four bleary-eyed teachers guiding us towards the hotel. They ushered us into a cramped lobby, our feet shuffling on the threadbare carpet. Mr Florian, our History teacher, addressed us while De Witt and Mr Fleming (the French teacher) went up to the clerk to get everyone's room keys.

"Listen up, you bunch of delinquents," Florian said. "We're all tired, so I'll make this brief. Breakfast's at six — yes, yes, I know that's early, shut up — and we'll be back on the bus by seven, so we can get to Rome around noon. The hotel rooms are doubles, so queue up for the keys."

Excited chatter filled the lobby as people started discussing who they'd room up with together. My heart skipped a beat; I'd daydreamed a lot about sharing a hotel room with Leander, and I'd managed to half-convince myself it could happen. Never mind how it would look to any of our classmates, never mind how he'd been pretending I didn't exist lately. Clearly my hunger for his dick had made me delusional.

Mr Florian raised his voice. "No, no! I'm too tired to deal with this bull—nonsense. Your roommate will be whoever you sat next to on the bus, here and at the hotel in Rome."

The clamour subsided — except for one voice. "Oh, come on! You've got to be shitting me!" All heads turned to Matthias, whose face suddenly flushed beet red. A couple of guys — Robin among them, I noticed — sniggered. Leander didn't join in, still didn't even look in my direction, a bored expression on his face.

"Is there a problem, Matthias?" Florian asked, his tone suggesting there'd better not be a problem.

"No, sir."

"Good. Now all of you, queue up."

Much like Leander, now Matthias was pointedly not looking at me. I couldn't decide which bothered me more, being bullied and called "faggot", or being ignored. "Man," Matthias muttered. "This is bullshit."

I completely agreed.

***

"Okay. Okay. We need to lay down some ground rules here." Matthias surveyed the tiny space. A single king-sized bed took up most of the room — a bit of an unpleasant surprise for both of us, but I suspected Matthias took it harder, what with the not entirely untrue rumours of me being a faggot. "One: you stay on your side of the bed, and I stay on mine. And I better not wake up to you touching yourself." He paused to give me a hard look. "Or touching me."

I shrugged. "Sure." Honestly, I was too exhausted to be offended.

"Two," Matthias said, eyeing the bathroom — basically a shower cell/toilet combo in a nook with a paper-thin sliding door. "No shitting. If you gotta shit, just... don't. Hold it in. Seriously. That should go without saying."

"You got it." I yawned. "Can I sleep now?"

"The fuck are you asking me for? I'm not your mom."

"Right you are." I kicked off my shoes, took off my glasses, stripped down to my underwear and dropped my clothes on the floor — all while Matthias was giving me a scandalised look. How dare I take my clothes off before bed, right? I suppressed a giggle, suddenly finding his discomfort the most hilarious thing. I muttered a cheerful "Night!" and collapsed onto the bed, asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.

I dreamed about Leander. We were both hanging out in my room, as if we were friends. I had my back to him as I showed him my collection of PS3 games. When I turned, he reached out and wrapped his arms around me. Surprised by his uncharacteristic display of affection, I found myself kissing his cheek. He moved his face, nuzzled his nose against mine, our lips nearly brushing together. I felt warm and safe in his arms. Happy. I could stay wrapped up like this forever.

He moaned, a loud, high-pitched sound, nothing like the moans I'd heard from him before. Almost a parody of a porn actress, which made me laugh. I swatted at his face, playfully, eager to get back to our almost-kiss, but he wouldn't stop moaning.

Then he looked me dead in the eye and spit out a string of words in rapid-fire Italian.

I opened a bleary eye. Confusion hit me; this wasn't my room, this wasn't my bed. It took me a moment to get my bearings and remember the school trip and the shitty budget hotel. Oddly enough, I could still hear a man speaking Italian, a woman moaning, and something else — a fast, fleshy, somehow familiar sound, the source of it close to my face.

By the light of the wall-mounted flatscreen, the sound of which had woken me, I saw Matthias, sitting butt-naked atop the bed cover and masturbating furiously. He didn't notice me waking, his full attention on the TV — or rather, on the porn movie playing. I kept still, undecided whether to say something or to keep pretending I was still asleep.

While I tried to make up my mind, I noticed for the first time how... hunky Matthias actually was. I'd never paid much attention to him, what with most of my locker room ogling directed at Leander and Robin. You can call me shallow if you want, but I'd dismissed Matthias as "that short and stocky dude" — unfairly, as it turned out. His compact body packed some serious muscle. Bristly black hair covered his swollen pecs, running down in a line along his stomach to end up in a bushy mass of pubic hair. The way the muscles in his pumping arm shifted and rippled was... impressive. Good thing the bedsheet covered me, or Matthias might have noticed my tented boxers.

He was sitting up, his back against the single bed's headboard — and, more importantly, his crotch in my direct line of sight, only thirty centimeters or so away from my face. Matthias picked up the pace, breathing heavily; the headboard creaked, but he either didn't notice or didn't care. I wanted to get nearer, get an even better look — that's what I told myself, at least. The simple truth, though? You put a dick near my face and I'm gonna want to suck it.

I inched closer, pretending to shift my body in my sleep. Matthias' cock was gorgeous; shorter than Leander's but damn, thickest cock I'd ever seen. Like a beautiful, fleshy soda can. Just full of pleasant surprises, this guy. Lying closer, I became even more aware of his weight on the mattress, and of how it moved along in time with his frantic tugging. I caught a whiff of his scent, a musky tang. He hadn't showered either after spending a full day on the bus. Matthias let out little grunts and gasps, eyes still glued on the television.

It took all of my willpower not to reach out. I wanted to touch his dick, touch him, run my fingers up his hard-looking body and through his chest hair... The way he stroked his dick, his hand almost a blur, the meaty thwack-thwack-thwack as his fist hit his thighs over and over and over again, it all mesmerised me. My boxers couldn't possibly stretch any further.

Matthias' breathing changed. More gasps, followed by strangled, throaty little "oh!" sounds. His fist pumped even harder, which I wouldn't have thought possible. The entire bed was creaking now and I felt myself bumping up and down, up and down — if I hadn't been awake already, it probably would've woken me up anyway. For a second, I worried about getting a wayward elbow in my face.

Instead of an elbow, I got come. Matthias groaned loudly and blew his load. It was magnificent. It was a lot. And it just kept coming. He aimed for his own body, but the first jet of come flew up high over his shoulder and hit the wall. The next couple of spurts hit him in the chest, white semen sticking to that black fuzz. He groaned and spasmed, all those bulky muscles tensing up, so close yet so out of reach.

I heard Matthias catch his breath and drooped my eyes so I could still watch him while pretending to sleep. He looked at himself, at the come dripping down his chest, at the thick wad of semen stuck to his hand. "Ugh." I felt him shift his weight as he got off the bed. He held the seed-covered hand away from his body, dangerously close to my face. A glob of something lukewarm and sticky hit my head. A hissed whisper followed. "Shit."

Too stunned to move, I listened to Matthias' footsteps padding towards the bathroom. Before I even heard the splash of running water, I reached down and grabbed my own dick to start masturbating. I worried Matthias would hear the creaking of the bed over the sound of his shower, but I didn't really care all that much. While I jerked off, I thought of his dick, his body, of joining him in the shower — realising that, for the first time in weeks, Leander wasn't part of my masturbation fantasy.

I didn't last long. My balls contracted and I shot my own load into my boxers with a groan, just as Matthias turned off the water. I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep, my dick still spasming. Before Matthias got back into bed, I'd fallen asleep for real, his come drying in my hair.