Mr. One Fifty-Eight
picks up where
Chris Donaldson
left off. Chris Donaldson and Justin Corvino were roommates during their sophomore year in college, which has just ended. Justin began the year by forcing Chris to suck his cock, and their daily sexual activity gradually grew into an intense, Dom/sub oriented relationship. Chris' feelings for Justin deepened into adoration and love; he rushed his macho roommate's homophobic fraternity in the spring, and hoped he would bond with Justin deeply enough there that his love would be returned. Chris' bid for membership in the fraternity was ultimately rejected; it turned out that Mason Evans, Vice President of the fraternity (and Justin and Chris' RA), had issued Chris the invitation to pledge as a cruel joke. The night of Chris' rejection did appear to cement his bond with his roommate, however, when Justin helped him escape to avoid further humiliation. All people depicted in this story are over 18.
*****
The late June morning sun streamed cheerfully through the bathroom window, the blinds open just enough to admit the natural light without allowing a clear view of the slim and toned body within. A young man stood in front of the sink, naked, running his hand over his chin. The two-week beard was redder than his dark blond hair, and had come in nice and full. It made him look older than his 20 years; in his mind, it also made him look a bit more butch. He would give up some youth for a little extra masculinity any day.
He was certainly manly in the body hair department, he thought, eyeing his chest and legs, but quickly passing over his crotch. His pubes were thick, but his dick was not. It wasn't big in any dimension, really, which was something he had always been self-conscious about – although he had also discovered over the last year that he sometimes got off when a particular hot guy would make fun of it.
He turned around, looking wistfully at the almost-faded bruises on his firm, white ass. They were from a belt and a paddle, and had been left there by the guy who liked to make fun of his dick - Justin, who had been his roommate last year at college.
Chris was glad his butt didn't hurt any more, but was sad to see the marks go. They felt like his last tangible memory of the past year – a year that had been filled with daily service to his roommate, both sexual and otherwise. They had had a rough start together – literally. Justin had slapped his face the day they moved in and forced him to suck his thick, uncut cock. But as the year progressed, Chris had warmed to his place as Justin's devoted cocksucker and spankee, his asslicker and foot worshipper. It had not been a hard role to fall into. He'd been attracted to Justin since he first laid eyes on him – his shaved head, large and warm brown eyes, and friendly smile; his hot jock bod, which wasn't cut or shredded, but just big and beefy without being stocky. You could see a little bit of a six-pack on Justin, but what Chris liked the most was how the muscles bulged and rippled in a generous and easy way, inviting you in. It was a hard body, but you wouldn't break on it.
Chris sighed at the flood of memories – it was really amazing luck that he had wound up in the same room as Justin. He had even tried to rush Justin's fraternity, but that had ended in disaster. Best not to dwell on it. Despite his rejection at SAE in April, the last several weeks of their spring quarter had been incredible in many ways – full of constant, awesome sex, Dom/sub bonding, and even a little bro-style camaraderie. That awful night at the beginning of Hell Week had connected them deeply – the night when Chris had been cut from the pledge class, and when Justin had finally made his way into his roommate's tight, nearly-virgin ass. After that, it had been pretty much non-stop fucking for the rest of the quarter in their fetid dorm room, where Chris had been reluctant to open the window despite the overpowering odor of Justin's un-deodorized armpits, socks, feet and nuts, the pungent smell of their regular anal sex, and layer upon layer of jizz. Chris had felt like he was living in the dank toe of a worn-out sneaker that had been used as a cum receptacle for about seventy unwashed cocks, and he loved every minute of it.
True, the affection that Chris craved hadn't come as readily to his roommate after that very emotional night, but the young sub was sure it was still there under the surface. It had been a fantastically difficult road to navigate: how to maintain the closeness with Justin without seeming clingy, how to bring more feeling into what was essentially a one-way, Dom/sub sexual relationship. And over it, of course, had hung their imminent separation, which was now two weeks old.
Justin was wealthy and well-connected. His summer would be spent at a paid internship in New York. Chris, on the other hand, had blown a sizable chunk of his inheritance from his mother on fraternity dues which he could not recoup, and he was still angry about the bill he had received in May for "de-pledging fees". He hadn't told Justin about it; they had never brought up Chris' unsuccessful foray into Greek life after that night. All of it was still too raw. Last week Chris had started working a temporary position at the historical society downtown, which wasn't glamorous, but suited his little introverted self just fine. And the money wasn't too bad.
No, it would actually be a great summer if there weren't a gaping hole in the boy's heart left by Justin's absence. September would not necessarily bring a reunion, either; Justin would live in his frat house for his junior year. Chris had found a cozy room on the third floor of a house about a mile from campus, which he would move into after the summer break. It was also a very nice situation . . . but a far cry from living a few feet away from a beefy hunk, who was always close enough to smell, and whose scent had made Chris continually hard.
Hard, Chris thought, is what your life is gonna be for a while. Suck it up, boy.
He padded to his old bedroom in his dad's house; living with his father for the summer wasn't ideal, but they basically never saw each other, making an effort not to cross paths. Chris hadn't stayed out late much yet, and was careful to be absent whenever it was meal time. His dad was a general contractor, and was almost always on an earlier schedule than Chris. His father knew absolutely nothing about the boy's life other than what he might have guessed; certainly he had no idea about his son's sexual relationship with his roommate, or his stint as a pledge. Chris hadn't even told Pat, his older friend who owned a gun range, and the only person to whom he had ever truly come out, about Justin or SAE. Deep down, he had never completely believed he would get into the frat, and so he had kept it all to himself to save potential embarrassment and unwanted commiseration later. Now he was glad he had.
He got dressed quickly and headed out to his beat-up Jeep, not looking forward to the hour-long commute into the city. For the hundredth time, he wished his old man hadn't insisted on living so far out. Justin was also from the area, but lived in one of the richer suburbs closer in, not in the next county like the Donaldsons.
Oh well.
As he did every day, he composed a love letter to Justin in his head as he drove, to pass the time. "Dear Sir," they always began. He didn't dare actually write one, for fear of driving his precious jock away. Justin had made a few comments about all subs being like women between their ears . . . the lines had never been pointed at Chris exactly, but it was obvious that any sign of devotion other than sexual would be tolerated to a point, but not appreciated. Not unless Justin's boy was in extremis. Only then would Justin step up. Like that night he had hustled Chris out of the frat and warned him to get away, even setting up a hotel room for him.
Justin was great when it really mattered, Chris thought. I just have to figure out how to get him in that place more often, where he's not afraid to show he cares about me. Without resorting to manufacturing a crisis, though. Ugh. Are all dominant men like that?
Well, be fair to him though, Chris continued to himself. He didn't completely stop kissing you after your birthday. It just didn't happen much, and never had that incredible, passionate abandonment you felt from him that night. He let himself be seen for who he was only once; you just have to appreciate that he showed you at all. And Justin prevented you from having the worst possible birthday. The beginning sucked, but the rest of it was pretty damn great, as long as he was there with you. So there's that.
The pace on the expressway was a crawl. Chris started turning a sentence over in his mind – something Justin had said that night at the Four Seasons. So much of their long conversation during that intense stay in the hotel had been so powerful, so memorable, but this little nugget, this throwaway, had been nagging at him for two months now.
"He was the first dude who blew me that I gave a shit about."
Justin had been talking about Andy, the guy who was so similar to Chris, and who had killed himself at the end of his senior year because he couldn't deal with being gay. It was an awful story, and Justin clearly still carried a ton of guilt with him for not having recognized the depths of Andy's distress; Justin blamed himself for missing the signs, and failing to prevent it.
And yet . . .
So casually, Justin had referred to guys blowing him regularly. Chris wondered, not for the first time, exactly how many dudes HAD sucked his former roommate off. And while it was nice to know that Justin cared about him more than the dozens (hundreds?) of other guys who had put their lips on Justin's fat cock, he did sometimes wonder if the affection the frat boy felt for him was more like what you'd feel for a pet.
Wow, this commute just got longer, Chris thought. Stop it. There is nothing productive to be gained from thinking like this. Write your Sir a nice submissive letter in your head, and find some other outlet for all this angst. Fall quarter is a long way away. You know you're not going to see him before then, and he'll probably only call you if he's drunk. He sends hot texts every now and then. It's not a lot, but it's all you have at the moment. Be patient and strategize.
Trying to imagine a way to get closer to his man when they weren't living together was one way to ignore the traffic, and the remainder of the drive and the morning at work both went by quickly. Chris' job was mostly a bunch of filing and data entry, but his colleagues were nice, and the building was deliciously cool in the awful Midwestern humidity, which had started early that year. No eye candy, though. The office was all dowdy women and nerdy, bookish men . . . and Chris sure didn't care if any of those guys' still waters ran deep. He had absolutely no outlet for his constant horniness, and no one to peg his fantasies on except a frat boy who was 800 miles away.
Chris usually brought his own lunch to save money, but hadn't felt like making anything this morning. He went out to the deli down the street a few minutes before noon, eyeing the folks at the swank Thai restaurant on the way with envy. He was just about to open the shop door and get in line when he heard someone call his name.
"Chris?"
