I'd only been in graduate school a week and already I'd let my logic professor smother me with logic enough to get in my pants. (See the previously posted "Logic One Oh Ouch.") I was trudged back to the dorm from that penetrating experience, feeling very down and very sore, hoping that no one would ever learn about my humiliation; angry at the professor, not knowing how I was going to be able to sit in his class in front of him now. Worried about whether and what demands he might make on me for the rest of the semester. I wasn't that way. I didn't want to be that way. Nothing like this had ever happened to me in my safe world—my world before coming across country to this graduate school.
When I reached my dorm room, I didn't even turn on the light. My roommate, Lance, was already asleep in his bed. Or, so it seemed. His covers were rustling, so maybe he was jacking off again. He was always jacking off and always so proud to show off his dick. Granted it was a long one, maybe seven inches, but it was thin and had a crook near the end. He said that just made it all the more enjoyable for his partners.
Under the circumstances, I just felt disgusted and bummed out. And I felt I had to wash the filth of my experience this evening off my body—especially because the professor was right, I had enjoyed it and it was logical that I shouldn't feel any guilt over enjoying it. I hadn't hurt anyone else while receiving considerable pleasure. I grabbed a towel off my rack in the dark and my soap from the basin, stripped down, and headed for the shower.
It was 1 a.m., but steam was pouring out of the communal shower when I arrived. I turned to leave, not wanting to see anyone just now, but a voice boomed from the depths of the shower.
"Who's that? Someone there?"
I recognized the voice of the dorm counselor, Nate, a wrestling scholarship student in his last year of eligibility. He had been real nice in greeting me when I had arrived at campus, my car filled to the brim from the cross-country drive, already lonesome for home. Strange he was using the communal shower, however; I thought he had a bathroom of his own in the counselor's apartment.
"That you, Nate?" I called out. "It's kinda late for a shower, isn't it?"
"Late wrestling practice tonight; trying to get the knots out, but yes, it's late for a shower. What's your excuse?"
"A late dinner at a professor's," I answered, as I tossed my towel on the bench and entered the steam. I could barely make him out on the other side of the shower room, a big, black monster of a man, with bulging muscles everywhere—everywhere but downstairs, though, I could see. His penis, obviously in repose, barely peeked out of his black bush of pubic hair. What was showing, though, showed an extra large, cut head.
"At the professor's? What professor?" he called out to me. He was vigorously scrubbing away under his arms and across his massive chest with a sponge.
"Uhh. Professor Hollings, the logic professor."
A brief pause, and then a snort, "I see."
I wondered what he "saw." I harkened back to the warning I got before I went to Professor Hollings's house, and I reddened up, as I soaped up, wondering just how many people knew about Professor Hollings and his "meetings" with his new students.
I heard the sound of something hitting the floor of the shower and skidding past me into the corner. I looked up, and Nate was standing closer to me, a little smirk on his face. I couldn't help but notice that he was stirring down below. Not long, by any means, but bigger now, much bigger around, and sticking out farther.
"Soap, I dropped my soap," he said with a grin. "It's there behind you. Can you reach it for me?"
"Sure, Nate," I said, and I turned and bent over—and he was on me in a flash. He had his big mitts wrapped around the front of my thighs and was diving for my asshole with his tongue."
"No, Nate, stop that!"
