Chris Donaldson Ch. 03

Don't look back. Remember him? Chris looked in the mirror. He was amazed at how much younger he looked. He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully.

Yeah, that looks more like a sub, I guess. More boyish. But what about the rest?

He looked down at his chest hair, dense and visible through his unbuttoned shirt. And what about his pubes, he thought? If they want submissive, nothing shows that like shaving your bush. Not just your sac, but the whole bush. And maybe the ass, too.

Inspired and horny, Chris got in the shower. He made sure the water was good and hot, and that he had been under it long enough to get his pores nice and open. Then he whipped out the razor. Carefully, he shaved his nuts. That was easy to do first; it was the most "normal" thing for a guy his age to shave. Then he steeled himself, and laid waste to his pubes.

A lot of guys I've seen have shaved theirs too, he rationalized, drawing on his experience in the showers at the gym. He felt his pubic mound, now bare. Shit. That was really different. He smiled. I bet Justin will like this, seeing me all shaved. Not that he ever notices that part of me much, except when he's squeezing my nuts, telling me to cum before my time is up.

Chris lifted his right leg and balanced his foot against the shower wall. Now the ass. He daubed his crack with shaving cream, and gingerly applied the razor. He had never done this before, and it was tender going. After about ten minutes, he was finally done; he ran his fingers up and down his pink crack and pinched to try and find any stray hairs. When none were left, he braced himself.

Now for the hard part.

For years, Chris had prided himself on his chest hair. While his dick had never reached the size of even the most average of his classmates, he had had chest hair when a lot of better endowed guys hadn't. Of course, all the jocks had shaved their wispy chest hair, but Chris had let his grow, taking pride in how thick it became. He wasn't manly down . . . there, but he sure as fuck was in the hair department. It wasn't a carpet, just the perfect amount, he had always thought. Kind of like ChiTown85's but lighter colored.

But now, it was time to let that go. An overwhelming feeling of submission overcame him, and he smeared shaving cream over his well-defined pecs. Belly too. Off it goes. Closing his eyes, he swept the razor down in clean, even strokes. Inch by inch, he denuded himself of his hard-earned manhood. In four minutes, he was smooth as a baby. All done. No more chest hair, no more pubes, no more ass hair, no more beard. All gone. Smooth. Submissive.

Chris stepped out of the shower and dried himself. He retrieved his phone from his bucket and snapped a selfie of his face and bare chest to send to ChiTown85. He wouldn't have liked me the other way, Chris thought. And Justin . . .

Justin is going to fucking love this. Maybe this will be the key. Smooth and submissive, virginal. Innocent enough to bring out his best instincts. Maybe he'll fuck me tonight, and maybe he'll do it nice.

Chris dressed and returned to the room. 11:01. That was a long shower. Well, figures - you shaved your whole body, practically.

Was this going to be one of those nights where he waited until he fell asleep without his hot roommate to serve? Fuck. Please no. Please let him come back tonight. And put his hot uncut dick in my mouth. And make . . . No. He won't ever.

Yes, you deserve it. And MAKE LOVE to you. In your newly shaved state. He won't be able to resist you.

Absently, Chris loaded his new pic onto the hookup site (he had the app on all his devices, just in case he needed to . . . check it). There.

"Sent", he typed to ChiTown85.

And now what? He walked over to the window, still naked. The tall shrubs outside meant that no one could see him. The small park between their dorm and the road gave them even more privacy from prying eyes and ears. Nobody knew what went on in room 119, nobody except him and Justin. He cracked the window open, feeling the sharp, cool air on his newly shaved genitals. His nipples hardened from the cold, and he shut the window. He heard the sound of a key in the lock. Justin was home! The hot jock was fumbling with the key and door more than usual. On an impulse, Chris turned toward the door and knelt. He bowed his head, and put his hands behind his back submissively. Like a present for his dominant, sexy hunk of a roommate.

Justin finally managed to open the door. He walked in, bleary-eyed, stumbling. He kicked off his sneaks. Looking up, he saw Chris kneeling on the other side of the small dorm room, in front of the window, leaning slightly to the left, toward his desk.

Ha. Faggot's ready for me. Justin lurched forward, and Chris looked up.

He saw Justin's cold, unfocused eyes looking at him, and Justin's mouth form into a thin-lipped line, as tight as the t-shirt clinging to his pecs and biceps.

He's been drinking, Chris thought warily. Be sweet, compliant, and careful tonight.

"What. The. FUCK did you do to yourself, fag?" slurred Justin, his gaze slowly descending from Chris' newly shaved face to his smooth chest and crotch. He stepped closer, unsteadily. "Stand up, bitch."

Chris rose slowly, choosing to keep his eyes down, trying to look the part of a devoted submissive who had bared his skin for his Dom, and would be willing to bare his soul, too.

"Turn around." Chris slowly pivoted so he was looking out the window again.

"All the way." Chris turned back to face Justin, still leery of looking him in the face. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash on his laptop screen; a new message. Shit, he had forgotten to close it.

Justin didn't notice. He was drinking in Chris' smooth body, the face that looked suddenly much prettier and more innocent than before. Justin's eyes hardened with rage.

"What did you shave for?" he growled in a low voice.

Surprised, Chris blurted, "I don't know, Sir, I just wanted to. I thought you would like it."

"Who the FUCK told you you could shave, faggot?"

"No- no one. I did it for you."

"What the FUCK made you think you could do ANYTHING without my permission, faggot?"

Chris repeated, in a smaller voice, "I thought you would like it."

"Who are you trying to look like? What the fuck are you thinking, shaving all your fucking hair?" Justin spoke slowly and menacingly, but stayed by his own desk, close to the door. He put his right hand out and leaned on his desk chair. "Where did you get that idea from, fag? That I would like it?"

Chris hesitated.

"ANSWER ME, FAGGOT!"

Chris dropped to his knees again. "I'm sorry, I just thought . . . you know . . . that you would like me better if I was smooth and clean . . . like . . . I don't know . . ."

"Like WHO?" Justin narrowed his gaze, his eyes suddenly snapping into focus. He didn't look bleary anymore, just pale. And angry. "LIKE WHO??"

Chris was at a loss.

"WHO ARE YOU TRYING TO LOOK LIKE?"

There was nothing to say, but Chris tried anyway.

"Like guys on . . . you know, smooth guys on . . . porn sites and stuff." His voice trailed off.

Justin tilted his head back and stuck his chin out. "Look at me, faggot."

Chris slowly looked up at Justin's face, no longer as handsome in his cold fury. Without breaking eye contact, Justin reached over and fired up his iPod, turning the volume up high. Chris stiffened. Justin's body relaxed. Chris stood up again, not sure what to do. Should he put his clothes back on?

With a sudden spring that belied his intoxication, Justin leaped across the room and grabbed Chris by the shoulder. Too surprised to react, Chris was unprepared as Justin's right hand balled into a fist. He slammed it into Chris' gut. Hard. Chris let out a cry and doubled over, gasping for air. Justin pushed him back against the window and punched his stomach again. And again. Chris tried to curl up into a ball, but Justin got in another hard hit on his solar plexus before Chris sank to the ground in a fetal position.

"Please, Justin," he wheezed, in incredible pain, "please stop! Don't hit me." He coughed weakly, trying to breathe.

Justin grabbed his shoulders and shook him. "You stupid bitch. You had no right."

Afraid he was going to get punched again, Chris tried to climb to his feet, struggling with Justin, who although drunk was still stronger.

"Stop it! Get off me," Chris protested, and shoved his roommate away as hard as he could. Justin stumbled over Chris' chair and lost his footing, falling backwards onto Chris' desk. His head connected with the corner of it with a loud THUNK. He was momentarily dazed, but managed to seize Chris' leg as before his shaved sub could escape.

He pushed Chris down to the floor, and grabbed his roommate's face with his left hand, squeezing his jaw roughly.

"I'm sorry," Chris wheezed, "I didn't mean . . . I wasn't trying to hurt you."

"You dumb motherfucker." Justin worked up some saliva and spit it in Chris' face.

Chris drew his hands up instinctively, and Justin took the predictable opening to give him another nasty punch in the gut.

"Stop . . . please . . ."

Justin shoved Chris' face away. He felt his own head. It hurt like a bitch. After a moment of staring at his roommate, he stood up.

Justin walked to his desk, grabbed his keys and a jacket. He put his shoes on and left, slamming the door. Chris slowly regained his breath, completely unable to comprehend what had just happened. He rose to his feet, bent over, still clutching his stomach. Fuck, that really hurt. That asshole. What the fuck was that all about? He hadn't been trying to be like anyone or look like anyone, just had made a spontaneous decision that he thought would please his man.

His man? Could he even really say that? What just happened aside, was there any real connection between them? Wasn't he really just a convenience? Chris winced, both at the pain in his gut and at the thought of how Justin must really see him.

He's right about one thing, I am stupid. Very stupid. He stood up by his desk. Aw, fuck. There was a small bloodstain on the corner from where Justin had hit his head. Despite his own injuries, Chris felt bad for his roommate. He hadn't meant to inflict any damage. Damn, that must have hurt.

The screen on his laptop flashed again. Another message on that damn hookup site. Chris wanted to shut the computer and regroup, but he couldn't resist the little closed envelopes, even in his present state. He opened the messages - they were both from ChiTown85.

"Nice pic!"

And just now, "R U there??"

"Yeah, I'm here. Thanks man. Gonna log off now, gotta finish my paper." Chris closed all the windows on his computer, and put his laptop in his backpack, along with his notes. He limped over to his closet and found some clothes. He dressed quickly, and tucked extra underwear and socks into his bag, plus two shirts. Anything else? He knew it wasn't safe to stay here, even if Justin had left. His roommate might have gone to SAE, or he might be in the hall, working up another rage and about to come back for revenge for his busted head. Chris knew what to do. If the hall might not be safe, he'd go out the window. It was only a short drop to the ground, and he could hide behind the shrubbery in case Justin was outside.

Chris opened the window, and deftly removed the screen, propping it up on the ground nearby. He carefully lowered his backpack to the dirt, and gingerly eased himself through the opening. Given his smaller frame, he fit through easily, although it still hurt to stand up. He shut the window as best he could from outside, and replaced the screen. Shouldering his backpack, he peered out from behind the bushes. No one in sight. He limped into the park, and down the sidewalk, around the dorm to the parking lot. There was no one near his beat-up Jeep. Thank God. He drove out of the parking lot and a few miles off campus, eventually pulling into a brightly-lit gas station. He parked and pushed a button on his phone.

Please be home, he thought.

Pat picked upon the second ring.

"Hello?"

"Pat, it's Chris. How are you?"

"I'm fine. What's wrong?"

Chris laughed awkwardly. Obviously, he wouldn't be calling his adult best friend, the only person (besides Justin, he supposed) he had told he was gay, at midnight unless there was a problem.

"I really hate to bother you, and I'm sorry to ask, but . . . I'm having some difficulty with my roommate, and I'm wondering if I could possibly use your spare bedroom tonight."

"Sure, of course, kiddo. What, is he making it hard for you to sleep there?" That question could refer to all kinds of things - Justin bringing home his girlfriend, playing loud music, incessant flatulence . . . Chris appreciated that Pat had deliberately left it vague, so that he could, too.

"Yeah. I need to be someplace else tonight. I'm really sorry."

"Don't worry about it. Where are you? When do you think you'll get here?" Pat was caring and efficient, and knew that Chris would tell her everything, or nothing, as he chose, in his own time.

"I'm just leaving campus, so I won't get to you for another hour and a half." Chris had grown up one county over from where he was going to school. Pat lived in a town about 20 miles from his dad's house. It was a long drive, but would give him time to think and settle down.

"Oh, ok. That's fine. I'll leave a key under the smallest pumpkin on the porch. Just let yourself in and make yourself at home. Will you need breakfast? What time is your first class in the morning?"

"It's at 9. We'll see if I make it."

Pat paused. "Ok. Well, we can talk in the morning. I don't need to go to the range until about 10."

"Sure. Listen, I really appreciate this."

"No problem at all. Drive safe and I'll see you in the morning."

Relieved beyond words, he pulled out of the gas station, irrationally checking the rear-view mirror for anything that looked like it might be Justin's car. No one was following him. Chris wasn't sure he would even recognize Justin's car, although he knew his roommate drove an Audi. They didn't interact outside the room. Still, he was paranoid now. As far as he knew, Justin was taking a hammer or a blowtorch to all his remaining belongings. That guy was so fucking volatile. And yet . . . even though Chris' insides still hurt and breathing was painful, he still wanted to focus on Justin's generally easygoing nature, his occasional genuine smiles, rather than his violent side. Even after more than an hour alone in his car, Chris couldn't get beyond, "I just don't know what came over him tonight."

He pulled into Pat's driveway, and got out of the car. The key was where she had said it would be. She had left the light on over the door, too. He let himself in. He had stayed here many times before, when his mom had been ill and his dad had been short-tempered with caring for her. Dementia was a bitch. Pat had been a saint. Calm, not intrusive, receptive to whatever he wanted to tell her. He had kept most of the details to himself . . . his mom not knowing him towards the end, her tirades about her family. Her bizarre and hurtful screaming about how all of the men in her family were "fags". That had been rough. Pat was solid, though. She had lent a sympathetic ear when Chris had wanted to talk, and had let him shoot as many hours at her gun range as he needed to put the misery out of his head. She had never charged him or his dad for that.

Chris filled a glass of water in the kitchen, and made his way to his bedroom. He brushed his teeth, peed, flossed, and changed into sweatpants and t-shirt in no time. He was bone tired. Reveling in the queen-sized bed after the twin bunk in the dorm, he fell asleep. He was safe for the moment.

He woke up with an aching hard on, his small dick caught uncomfortably in the sweatpants he had slept in. He reached down to adjust it, and started stroking it idly . . . he stopped, at first because he had become so unaccustomed to pleasuring himself without permission, and then because he remembered where he was. Not sure where Pat might be, he figured he should probably find another time for release. Maybe in the shower.

He rolled over and looked at his phone. 11:00! Holy fuck, he had really slept in. That meant Pat was probably at work. Maybe time to yank his dick after all?

But contemplating the day ahead and his situation made his dick wilt. He had just cut his first two classes of the semester; he might not have a room on campus anymore; and he probably had some kind of internal damage from the gut-punching he had taken the night before. He sat up carefully. Some aching in his abs, but not too bad, actually, no more than after a hard workout. He got out of bed - still not too bad. He wasn't going to want to do a lot of crunches for a while, but sitting up in bed was probably the worst pain he was going to have today, and it was already over. He found a couple of Advil and popped them absently. There was a note slipped under the door. He walked over and picked it up. It turned out bending over and straightening up hurt, too. Ugh.

"I thought it was best to let you sleep. I'm at the range until about 7 today. There's cereal and juice in the fridge, eggs too. Help yourself to whatever you want. You can stay here as long as you need to. Let me know if you'll be here for dinner. Pat"

Well, that was a relief - a respite from his drama at school, but not a permanent solution. Much as he might like to, he couldn't commute to the university from here. He sighed and trudged to the bathroom. He stripped his shirt off, and was startled at the absence of chest hair. Also, fortunately, there was an absence of bruising. A little bit of redness on his stomach, but that could be from the shaving. He was sore, but not damaged.

He tried to work out next steps while he showered and ate. The bottom line was that he was afraid to go back to his room with Justin. He didn't feel safe there anymore. In the bright autumnal daylight of suburbia, his . . . activities . . . with Justin felt a lot less sexy, a lot less fun. Too embarrassed to think about how he had been giving his roommate daily blowjobs and more, he focused instead on how to extricate himself from the dorm, or at least from his room.

He would have to talk to his RA, Mason. Explain what had happened, leaving out the sex part, of course. It wouldn't be too hard to evade awkward questions; he really had no idea why Justin had lashed out last night, and he could make it sound as though the guy was really unhinged, unbalanced. And drunk. Don't leave that out, he thought. The guy is a drunk, that's your fallback. Official campus policy was zero tolerance for underage drinking, although of course it was winked at in practice; if you got out of control, though, you could get in a lot of trouble, even expelled.

Buoyed by his hopes for a move, he packed his bag, made his bed, and left a note for Pat.

"Not sure if I'll be back tonight, but I'll let you know. Going to try and get moved to a new room; might take some time, but I can make other arrangements if it's going to be more than a few days. I'll text you if I'll be back this evening, and about dinner. Thanks so much for bailing me out. Love you, Chris."

Good. Now what? Back to campus, definitely no need to stop by the dorm; he could probably make his 2:00 class without issue. After that he was free to stop by Mason's room and see what could be done. He figured there would be a lot of official housing policy and paperwork, but he had a vague memory of someone on his hall last year requesting a change, and a solution being found remarkably quickly, albeit in another dorm. That would be a bummer; all of his classes were roll-out-of-bed close to Kroetzger, but at this point, he would be happy with anything that wasn't with Justin.