It had been three days since I had been fucked four times within two days, and I was hiding out. I had taken a by-week apartment made over from a motel not too far from the campus, dropped the logic class, and kept as low a profile as I could. I'd found the former motel too noisy to study in, so I was camped out in a small overgrown park nearby, where I was studying on an old picnic table. I thought that I would be completely hidden from view, but when I sat down; I saw that I had a straight-line view of the front of one of the fraternity houses. I had been studying pretty intensely for a couple of hours, when I realized that the sound of running water was intruding into my mind. It looked over toward the fraternity house, and, to my consternation, I saw Greg, the secretary from the painful incident at the dean's office.
He had his red Thunderbird convertible out in the circular drive in front of the fraternity house, and he was washing it with a bucket of soapy water and a garden house. I tried to return to my studies, but he was mesmerizing. The events of the last week must have been getting to me, must have been working at me in some fashion. His attraction could not be denied. He was stripped down to tight, low-cut latex biker's shorts and was barefoot. It was undeniable that he had a great body and fluid motions, just what a competing wrestler needed. As he ran a sponge over the car hood and the canvas top, his muscles rippled. I watched as he stood up and pushed a blond curl back from his face. I think he must have seen me then.
He smiled invitingly, but I pretended I didn't see him. He moved around to the other side of the car and did some more sponge work, if anything, flexing he muscles and doing stretches to loosen up his back more than probably was required to be washing a car. I felt something stirring below my belt. It couldn't be. Just because I had been repeatedly raped over the past several days couldn't mean that I responded to other men this way. But I couldn't fool myself. I had largely taken pleasure from all that had happened to me, even from the brutality of Nate and the dean. No, I couldn't fool myself, I knew, as I put my hand in my lap and stroked myself through the silky basketball shorts I was wearing.
Greg came around to this side of his car. He leaned over the hood and shimmied his rear end as he rubbed the sponge over the car. His butt cheeks were well defined in the rider's shorts, and they were nicely rounded. He turned full toward me, lifted the hose over his head, arched his back, and just let the water stream over his blond hair and down across his solid, well-cut torso. I could see he was laughing. He threw the hose down, went out of sight briefly, presumably to cut off the water, and returned with a hand towel. He tossed his head back and forth to fling off the excess water and then slowly toweled himself down. He dropped the towel and languidly ran his hand over his pecs and his six pack and his belly and down to his basket. He stood stroking himself there, just as I was stroking myself where I sat, and then I saw him laugh and walk straight in my direction. I was glued to the spot by the shock that he was coming to me; I should have gotten up and hurriedly left in the other direction, but I just sat there, watching him come to me.
Greg sauntered up to the table and around to my side and leaned his butt into the edge of the table right next to me.
"Well, hello there, Stud. Do you know that lots of people have been looking for you? Professor Hollings, your roommate, Nate, even the dean—especially the dean?"
"No, I'm not really aware of that. I'm just trying to get on with my studies."
"Do you know I've been looking for you too?"
"No, why would you be looking for me?"
"I felt we didn't really get to know each other the other day. And I would really like to get to know you better. I don't even know your name. What's your name?"
"I see no reason to get to know each other better."
