Little Stalker (4 page)

...and deeper...

With a firm hold on his cock, I push him against the wall. Grayson chokes back a

moan with a dazed look on his face as I rub his length once. I stroke him harder, faster, trying

to do it like I do to myself. When the look on his face is too much, I bend down to kiss him

and swallow down his series of moans.

Grayson’s hands fumble with my jeans. They’re very quick, and he has my pants

down in no time. Then he hangs onto my cock like a life-line, jerking me off with eagerness

I’ve never felt before. I mirror it, tuning in on his speed, all the while kissing his mouth and

thrusting my tongue inside, holding his hips against my body as tightly as I can with our fists

between us.

With surprising strength, Grayson turns us around, backing me against the wall. Then

he pulls his lips off mine and drops down on his knees. The heat from his mouth on my cock

has me sighing out a whimpering breath, and then I exhale a loud moan when his tongue licks

the head. My back arches against the wall when he plunges the length into his hot mouth.

His technique is amazing; the perfect suction and swirls and friction as he strokes the

base off my cock in opposition of his mouth. It feels
so
good. My hips move on their own in rhythm with his sucking. When he groans, I look down to see him jerking himself off, and I

just about lose it. My fingers twine through his soft hair, pulling lightly. His head stops

moving while his left hand slides over my hip and onto my ass, pushing lightly. I get the hint

and move in and out of his mouth on my own around his sucking. He moans deeper as the

hand on his dick speeds up, his eyes shut tightly.

Fuck.

He looks up through his thick lashes when I let out a whimpering moan. I’m so close

that my jerks have gone irregular, faster, farther into his mouth all the way into his throat.

Seeing those pretty blues gaze up at me sends me hurtling over the top, hitting my high like

never before. Grayson’s fingers dig into my ass cheek while he moans repeatedly as he

swallows down.

When it’s done, he rests his face against my thigh, breathing heavily while I try to

catch my own breath.

I drop down on my knees, greedily finding Grayson’s lips to kiss, tasting my own

cock and sperm on his tongue. It tastes weird, but I can’t stop touching him. He pulls me

down on top of him, his back landing hard on the cold floor. We claw off each other’s

clothes, and then I revel in the feel of my skin on his, my hands roaming – just touching

wherever they can. On their own accord, my hips hump against him, my cock already on its

way to resurrection.

I suck, lick, and nibble on his sweet neck. He moans from underneath me, his small

hands sliding over my shoulders and into my hair. His calves graze my thighs as he wraps

them around my body. That’s when my cock makes its way to his hole, I push against it. It

makes his moans deeper, needier, so I push again. I grab my shaft to guide it, holding his

shoulder for leverage as I try to push it inside.

“Ow,” Grayson whimpers, his nails digging into my back. “Wait, it won’t go in like

that.”

I barely register his protests and push again, the tip of my cock buried well on its way

in.

Grayson cries out and pushes against my chest.

Dazed and horny beyond reason, I raise myself up to see his constricted eyebrows and

teeth biting down on his full lower lip.

What the fuck am I doing?

He sucks air through parted lips as I pull out and get off him.

What the
fuck
was I doing?

He lifts himself up on his elbows, looking at me with those big blue eyes, his dick

thickening, feet splayed to either side.

“Hey, if you don’t have lube just use a lot of spit, okay? And a condom.”

I drop down on my naked ass against the wall and cover my face.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.

What felt so right only seconds ago now feels so, so wrong. That’s proof enough that I’m not

gay, right? I was just curious. I mean, the guy practically forced himself on me, and my body

reacted like a body would to naked skin.

But why did he feel so good? Why did touching him feel so right? Shit, I know why...

It’s because I’m...

“Coby?” he says, voice small and unsure.

I inhale deeply before I lower my trembling hands. My voice sounds only half as

defeated as I feel on the inside.

“Why have you been stalking me?”

He tears his gaze from mine, grazing his lower lip, biting down on it before he

answers without looking at me.

“Because I ... like you. I just didn’t think you were –”

“ – like you?” I finish for him. I can’t handle the G word right now. I know I’ve been

running away from it, but it’s always lurking in the back of my mind. It’s been that way for

years.

His big blue eyes scan my bare feet, up my shin, down to my crotch, and then very

slowly up my torso before meeting my gaze.

“Yeah. Like me.”

Fuck. Why does he have to look so...

I draw in a deep breath and hold it for a second before exhaling slowly.

“I’m not, okay? I’m not like you.”

I can’t meet the quizzical look he gives me, so I grab my jeans and get up off the

floor. The shirt gets to stay because there’s a long streak of white on it, right next to three

other long squirts on the floor.

I’m not like him. I can’t be. I have friends and family who wouldn’t understand. I

could never stand proudly and tell people I’m...like
that
.

He claws for his jeans as well, dressing one thin leg after the other with trembling

fingers, lifting his hips up to get it over his small ass.

Oh God, that ass... I nearly... What would it have felt like?

“Please go,” I whisper, interrupting my own disturbing thoughts and mental images.

He doesn’t look me in the face. Instead, he focuses on a spot on the floor, clutching

his red sweater to his chest.

“I’m not like you, okay?” I hear myself repeat, my voice almost pleading. “I mean,

I’m not...I’m not...I’m not
like you
.”

He slowly pulls on his socks and sneakers, as if buying time before speaking.

“But, you were so into it... I’ve never...” his voice trails off when he meets my eyes.

Why does my chest heat up every time he looks at me? Every time
I
look at
him
?

God, I want him, but I don’t want to
be
like him. And I don’t
have to
be like him if I don’t want to. I can sleep with girls, I’ve proved that. I start pacing the floor very slowly.

“I mean, I’ve never...” he continues, not looking ready to leave at all, and it’s hard

because the longer he stays, the harder it is to hang onto myself – the me that I was and the

me I want to be.
Need
to be.

“I mean, couldn’t you –” he continues.

Pacing faster, I fist up my fingers to fight the need to touch him again. I want to put

my arms around his small frame. I want to...to... Fuck. I want to fuck him so badly where he

sits, right there on the floor.

“Go,” I say so harshly he flinches back. “I said go, you fucking faggot!” My words

are followed by an immediate pang in my gut at the look of hurt on his face. I need to stand

by myself now because getting sucked off by him doesn’t make me a fully-fledged... – but if

I’d have fucked him... Or am I only ...like
that
... if I let
him
fuck
me
? What the fuck is wrong with me?

“You did this to me,” I snap, eyes tearing up with years of anger and frustration. “You

made me do this. I was fine before. Get the hell out and stop stalking me! I don’t want you

anywhere near me.”

I take a few steps toward him and tower over him, casting a dark shadow on his face.

His reflex is to hold his breath and cower, shielding his face as if waiting to be hit. When I do

nothing but to stare down at him with a heavy frown, wondering if he gets beat up a lot, he

peeks from between his fingers, rattling out a small breath. Then he scrambles to his feet, red

sweater in hand, and stares at me for a second. The unmistakeable hurt in his eyes makes me

swallow hard. When I take a step toward him, he spins around and runs out the door.

With a heavy heart, I make my way to the bedroom, swipe Ray’s books off the bed

and bury myself under my comforter. This day can’t end fast enough.

***

The Nova Britannia House is the most popular frat house on campus. It only takes in a

handful of recruits every year and is rarely open for outsiders. Both Ray and I applied, but we

didn’t get in. Well, I didn’t get in, and Ray declined his invitation like a loyal friend – not that I asked him to. I’m not upset with them though; they get hundreds of applications each year.

A lot has been said about the brotherhood, most of it probably a myth, but they do throw

kick-ass parties. Although I’m in no partying mood tonight, I seriously need a drink.

I spent the rest of the day re-playing the part where I made Grayson leave. I refuse to

let myself to think about anything that happened before that, not because it was wrong, but

because I don’t deserve to. The hurt on his face keeps flashing through my mind.

I dip my head back and empty a glass of tequila down my burning throat.

What I don’t want to think about, but evidently can’t
not
think about, is that I didn’t

have to force my dick into erection around Grayson.

With a numbing hand, I grab the tequila bottle and pour myself another glass,

ignoring everyone and everything around me.

Fuck.
There’s no doubt any longer. I know what I am. It’s just so hard to say it and

even harder to accept. Why me? What did I do to become this way? No one ever touched me

wrong when I was growing up. I didn’t know about
that
kind of sexuality until I was eleven, when I heard someone call a boy a faggot. I got curious and looked it up. What I found both

horrified me and excited me. Was that what did it? Did I become this way because of what I

read?

I think I’ve known since then what I was. But hell. I don’t
want
to be this way.

“It’s time to stop now,” says Ray over my shoulder.

I pointedly ignore him and down another shot of tequila, much to the two Britannians’

cheers. They’re beefy with brown and red hair and handsome smiles, but I don’t find them

attractive. Why is that? They’re guys, after all.

I’ve been scanning the big room, searching for Grayson, but each time I catch myself

doing it, I remember that I told him to stop stalking me. But stalkers don’t stop just because

they’re told to. He could still be here.

“Coby, I said that’s enough,” says Ray, dropping a big hand on my shoulder.

“Fuck off,” is my slurry reply while one of the Britannians pours me another shot and

tosses me a lime.

Hunter, the leader of Nova Britannia, walks up to the green card table and puts his

hands down on it, looking pointedly at my two new friends.

“Gary, Trevor, you guys aren’t up to anything, are you?”

“We’re just drinking, H,” says one of the beefs, casting Hunter a forced-looking grin.

When I down another shot, lick the salt off my hand, and clamp my teeth down on the

lime, I start to feel a little funny, like my soul is hovering around my body – trying to fit itself under my skin, but never able to puzzle itself directly.

“Ugh,” I groan, holding my stomach tightly. “I need ta pee...or throw ‘p...”

“Want me to come with you?” asks Ray, who only ever downs a couple of beers, even

when there are free drinks.

“Nah, ‘m fine.”

“Bathroom’s upstairs to the left,” says Hunter.

I stumble up the curvy stairs – or maybe they just look curvy because of all the booze

– and find a toilet to puke in. After I’ve returned a large chunk of what I’ve consumed, I sit

on the floor – back to a bathtub – and try to breathe through my cold shivers.

It feels like I’m getting sick.

The music thumps from downstairs speakers, and I can hear a couple moaning in a

room on the other side of the bathroom wall. But both their voices sound so deep, like two

guys...

I rest my forehead on my knee while Grayson squeezes his way into my mind for the

hundredth time this evening.

He didn’t do this to me. I kissed him first and asked if I could touch his cock. He

didn’t make me do anything. Then I practically ate him up after he sucked me off.

Why me?

The pang in my stomach won’t go away, and it doesn’t mix well with all the shit I’ve

been drinking.

I stumble forward to hunch over the toilet bowl, my previous mess still in it. Then I

spew my guts out while my body convulses and shivers. I try to spit, but it just hangs down

my lip.

The pang won’t go away. It only increases when I think about how he cowered from

me. He did that twice. Was he beaten up by someone he had sex with? Someone like me, who

was horny as hell for him, but then felt disgusted afterward?

It couldn’t be. I mean, he’s so shy and doesn’t look like someone who sleeps with a

lot of guys. But his sucking technique, and the way he talked about lube and spit as if it was

no big deal...

I jump at the sound of the bathroom door bursting in with two guys all over each

other. Kissing, moaning, working each other’s clothes off while fighting for control. My cock

swells in my pants as I watch them, numb and breathless.