Chris Donaldson Ch. 03

It was incredibly frustrating, though, that he couldn't think of his hunky roommate without thinking of his huge, juicy uncut dick in his mouth. Or his incredible sculpted ass right in his face as he . . . Forget it. Forget him.

But you're horny. It's been three days since you blew a load. Fuck. No more time to jerk it now, I just need to find some other outlet for this. Something else to focus on.

Justin locked the door to Pat's house, and went and sat in his Jeep. It was the butchest thing Chris owned. His folks had offered to buy him a vehicle a few years ago as a birthday present, and he had chosen it to please his dad. It was used, but still in good enough shape. And along with myriad other small adjustments to his natural instincts, it had helped him pass when he wanted to.

He opened the hookup app from last night. Three messages from ChiTown85. Huh. Chris smiled a little. That's nice. He looked at ChiTown's profile pics again. Fuck, yes, that's very nice.

"Cool man, didn't realize you were in school, lol."

"Don't want to rob the cradle, man, but you're really goodlooking."

Chris smiled more broadly.

"Oops, here's a pic of me. Night."

Chris clicked on the picture and enlarged it. It was a shirtless photo on a beach somewhere; the perfect hairy chest was now attached to a . . . wow. Very handsome face. Short, dark beard and moustache, wavy dark hair . . . a strong-looking face with vivid, surprisingly blue eyes. Nice eyes, eyes that were smiling in the pic. And even, white teeth. Confident, friendly. Shit.

Chris' dick stiffened, and he started the Jeep.

"Nice!" He wrote back to ChiTown85. "Sorry I took so long to respond, I slept in, lol. You can rob my cradle any time ;)."

Chris took a more careful look at the profile. This was a kink hookup site, but ChiTown85 didn't list interests that revealed too much. Top only, it read. Well, that's not a problem, Chris thought, smiling.

Oral/anal, some kink.

Hmm. Chris would have to ask. His dick was yearning to break free of his jeans. Later, he thought. After you get back to campus, you can ask him what he's into. Let him respond first, see if he gives you any ideas.

Chris' 2:00 class went by in a blur of flirtation with ChiTown85, whose name turned out to be Mark. Whatever it was Mark did for a living, it appeared to allow a lot of time for screwing around on hookup sites during the day. Chris didn't have to broach the subject of "intos"; Mark asked first.

"Open, I guess," Chris typed. Then - "I'm a bottom. Pretty submissive." Fuck it, he went there. Why not? He knew it was true.

"Nice! I'm a dominant top. Into any kink?"

"Not real experienced, but open."

"What have you done so far?"

"Licked ass. Licked feet. That's about it, other than sucking dick."

"Hot ;). So you like foot worship? Size 12 here."

"Nice! Yeah, I do." Feeling bold, Chris wrote, "I like em even better when they're stinky."

"Fuck yeah, boy ;)!" Chris was now fully hard; French Lit was light years away.

"What else do you like?" Chris asked.

"I like tying a guy up. Spanking, discipline. Nip clamps. Some cbt."

Chris gulped. He had heard of all of that, but so far, they hadn't come up much in his fantasies. He had wondered a few times what it would be like for Justin to tie his hands behind his back while he sucked him off. Justin had also slapped his ass playfully a few times, but nothing real.

Just as well, Chris thought, he probably wouldn't be able to control himself in that department. Chris felt his abs reflexively and winced.

"Sounds hot, man ;). I could try some of that," Chris wrote.

"Cool! You sound like you'd be fun to play with sometime."

Chris did a little more probing, but Mark was more interested in the fact that Chris was an anal virgin. Their chatting got hotter and more graphic, and by 3:30 Chris had practically jizzed his pants. Holy shit did he want to get fucked. NOW. Damn! He couldn't wait to find someone to take his anal cherry. Maybe Mark?

Reality intruded on Chris thoughts, which had been consumed with the seemingly endless parade of pics Mark had shown him of his uncut, meaty, 9" dick. It was, it turned out bigger than Justin's but didn't look quite as thick. It would sure be a challenge, wherever it got put, that was for sure. But Chris had other stuff to deal with now.

He shouldered his backpack, and made his way back to Kroetzger. This could be tricky, because Justin was often home for a few hours in the afternoon on a Thursday before he went to the house or to see his girlfriend. He just needed to get to the top floor unobserved, though. Chris angled around the building cautiously and let himself in the south door. Up three flights of stairs as fast as his sore gut would let him. So far, so good. Down the hall to Mason's door. He had no idea if his RA would be home - he hadn't thought to see if there were regular hours for complaints or counsel. He knocked softly at 405. The cheery construction-paper cutouts from the first week were gone, replaced by a very businesslike placard that had been stuck on the door. It looked like an office. The principal's office, Chris thought wryly, never having been summoned to one, but still cowed by that kind of authority even a year and a half out of high school. He knocked again, harder.

The door opened, and Mason's tall figure filled the door frame.

"Oh hi. Wasn't sure someone was knocking at first."

Chris was a little intimidated by the senior's height and athletic build; he was not quite as lean and long as a runner, but there was definitely no fat on him, and he probably had chiseled abs, too. Chris didn't meet Mason's mildly disapproving gaze.

"Hi, Mason. Glad you're here. Um, can I come in? I need to talk to you about something."

"Sure, come on in." Mason stepped back with a distant but not unfriendly smile, and gestured for Chris to take a seat at a small table not far from the door. Chris had not realized that RAs didn't live in rooms designed for one person, but rather in doubles by themselves; it was one of the perks of the job. After his tight quarters with Justin, it looked like a mansion. There was the usual twin bed, but without the upper bunk, and a desk; there was even room for the little table and a nightstand, too. It was apparently an L-shaped room, and didn't look like it had a closet in the usual place, unless there was a door over to the right where he couldn't see it. Somehow, there was both more and less space than Chris thought there should have been. Weird.

He sat down. Mason remained standing.

"What's up? It's Chris, right?"

"Yeah," Chris blushed. He had forgotten to introduce himself, what a loser. "Chris Donaldson, 119. It's . . . about my roommate."

Mason cocked an eyebrow and sat down. Chris wasn't sure, but he thought he saw the corner of Mason's mouth turn up in amusement.

"Ok. Tell me what's going on."

"Well . . ." Chris had practiced this on the drive from Pat's to campus, and while his sexting with Mark had flustered him, he launched into his story shyly but clearly.

"He's a drinker."

Mason's other eyebrow went up. Obviously, he knew they were both underage, he knew what year everyone was.

"But I'm not ratting him out for that or anything," Chris hastened to add. "It's that he's very . . . volatile when he drinks. And last night he came back to the room and started beating on me. I don't know why. I was in the room, and he walks in, we're chatting casually, and then out of nowhere he slams me against the wall and starts waling on my stomach. Like five or six hard punches to my gut. I tried to get him off me, to stop, but . . ." Chris looked even more embarrassed. "He's, you know, bigger than I am and I was totally unprepared for it. Then he took off. I mean, there was no provocation, no argument, no fight, nothing. Just laid into me out of nowhere."

Mason looked at him calmly, waiting.

"Um . . . and that's it, really. He took off, like I said. And I packed up some stuff and went home for the night, I grew up, like, 90 minutes from here."

"Ok. So you're saying your roommate - what's his name? Justin? - assaulted you, right?"

"Yes."

"Ok. And?"

Chris was confused. "That's it. I'm telling you because I need to get out of that room. I can't live with him anymore. He's really unhinged. I mean, who does that? Who hits a guy for absolutely no reason?" Chris' words tumbled out in a rush.

"That's a good question. Why WOULD someone hit you for no reason at all? And where did he hit you again?"

"In the gut. Six times at least, maybe seven. It hurt a lot. And so I need to get out of there. A new room here in Kroetzger, or transfer to another dorm, I'm cool either way. But this is a dangerous situation." Chris was worried he was starting to sound too desperate. Mason was hard to read; if his fate and happiness for the next seven months rested in this dude's hands, he wanted him to be sympathetic.

"I see. We can get to that part in a minute. Now tell me again about how he hit you. You said you were just chatting casually. Tell me exactly what you said, what he said. And what time did this happen last night?"

Chris swallowed.

"About 11:00. He walked in. Stumbled is more like it, really. And I said hey, and he said hey, but just kept looking at me. Like I had done something wrong just by being there. I was over by my desk, it's by the window. He . . ." Chris paused. The truth was always the best, because he couldn't get caught contradicting himself, but how much to say? The truth with omissions. Not always easy to do.

"I had shaved my beard earlier, he was giving me shit about that." That was true, as far as Chris had been able to understand Justin's outburst. "And it was, you know, normal shit, just two dudes talking, he was teasing me a little." Yeah, just like two normal dudes, one of whom has been dominating the other for almost two months and the other of whom is kneeling bare-assed naked with an erection and shaved pubes. Nothing unusual at all. "And then BAM, out of nowhere, he just starts slamming his fist into my stomach. I went down fast, tried to curl up, but he kept hitting me."

"At least six times. Yes, you said that. That's a very serious accusation, Chris."

"Huh?" Chris stammered.

"You're accusing your roommate of assault. If this is true, we need to file a report with the campus police, and possibly the city police department as well." Mason looked very stern. "Can I see?"

"Huh?" Chris stammered again. "See what?"

"The bruises."

"Bruises?"

"On your stomach. Surely after that kind of a beating there are bruises. It's less than 24 hours ago." Mason gestured at Chris' shirt. Turning beet red, Chris pulled it up slowly.

"Hmm." Mason leaned over the table to look at Chris torso. "I can't see anything yet. You sure he didn't hit your chest?" He gestured at Chris again, clearly instructing him to remove his shirt altogether. This was getting humiliating. Chris reluctantly complied, looking at the floor as he did.

"Stand up for a second. Come around here." Chris shuffled over to Mason, becoming increasingly mortified. "Huh." Mason made a great show of inspecting every inch of Chris chest and stomach, and then looked up at Chris from his chair. "I don't see anything. Do you see anything?"

"Yeah, I do! It was red this morning . . ." Chris trailed off, looking down at his body. He looked so much scrawnier now without the chest hair.

"I do see a little redness, but it looks like razor burn. You said you took your beard off yesterday. Did you shave your chest, too?"

"Yeah," Chris mumbled.

"And your stomach, it looks like too. Yes?"

"Yeah."

"So the redness I see is from that, isn't it Chris?"

Chris looked up, a fire in his eyes.

"Are you saying you don't believe me? Do you really think I'd come up here and waste your time making something like this up?"

"Stand there for a minute." Mason got up and walked over to his desk. He came back with his phone. "Do you know what this is?"

Mason came closer; Chris' head barely reached Mason's chin.

"No, what is it?"

Mason showed Chris the picture on his phone. It looked like a nasty bruise. No, a bump. A bump and a bruise, and lots of stubble, like it was someone's . . . shaved head. Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Unlike what you're 'showing' me on your body, that's a real bruise, Chris. On someone's head. On someone's head who came in this morning and also told me his roommate assaulted him last night. Except this person had physical evidence."

Chris wanted to vanish. He reached for his shirt in an awkward attempt to reset the conversation, get out of this horrible place. Mason lightly but firmly moved Chris' arm back to his side.

"Chris, whose head is this? What do you know about this injury?"

Chris wanted to die. He had completely forgotten about Justin falling over the chair and cracking his head.

"It was an accident, Mason, it happened when I pushed him back after I got up. I was just trying to get him away from me, and he was so drunk, he fell over and banged his head on one of the desks." Chris looked up triumphantly at Mason, as if this explanation absolved him of any responsibility. "Mason, he was DRUNK. Extremely, completely drunk. He hurt himself, and I'm sorry it happened, but I didn't hit him, HE hit ME."

"Six times," Mason drawled.

"Do you seriously not believe me?" Chris asked. He felt like he was going to cry, he was so fucking frustrated. It had already been the worst night of his life - the guy he'd been having sex with, and who he had frankly been crushing on . . . fuck it, he had been crushing big time on Justin despite everything - that guy had, out of nowhere, gut-punched him till he could hardly breathe, had spit on him, and now Chris HIMSELF, in all his physical and emotional pain, was being blamed. This was too fucking much. He didn't want to cry, he wanted to explode.

"Calm down, young man. Don't yell at me."

Young man? What the fuck IS this?

Mason pulled his chair so that it was five feet in front of Chris, who now felt absolutely ridiculous standing there half naked. The RA sat down, stretching his legs out comfortably.

"You realize that from where I'm sitting, it doesn't look like you could possibly be being truthful with me? I had a visit from Justin this morning, upset like you, with a lump on his head the size of a ping-pong ball, telling me that you had pushed him down so that he hit his head, badly. I sent him to the clinic. Honestly, I hope he didn't wait too long, you might have given him a concussion."

Chris started to shake slightly, from nerves and from the exposure of his bare skin to the cool air in the room.

"And now you come in with what sounds like a really flimsy cover story that you can't back up, trying to blame your roommate for something you did. You did push him, you already admitted that, right?"

"No! Um . . ." Chris shivered. "I didn't push him hard, and it's not my fault he hit his head. I keep telling you, he was lit out of his mind. He's not 21, you know that, right?"

Mason frowned.

"Of course I know that young man. I don't have any evidence of his drinking, either. In addition to injuring him, you're also trying to trash his reputation. I don't think very highly of that."

Chris couldn't believe what he was hearing. He started to protest, but Mason looked at him sharply.

"Now you listen to me. I don't know what went on between you two last night, but I do know it sent your roommate to the doctor. So yes, you two have a situation that may result in your being separated, but perhaps not in the way you had in mind."

Chris started to shiver in earnest. He was afraid to ask for his shirt back, or even put his arms around his chest. Frustrated and anxious, he waited for Mason to finish his lecture.

"You realize that Justin may choose to file a police report. He may also hold you responsible for any medical bills."

Chris' heart sank and he started to feel nauseous.

"This could go to court. I don't know what possessed you to assault him. I'll give you credit for being ballsy, he's a lot bigger than you."

Which is why the assertion that HE is the victim is SO FUCKING ABSURD, Chris wanted to yell.

"As far as I'm concerned, I don't want to see any of that happen."

Chris looked up with relief, then quickly averted his eyes.

"One of the things you're in college for is to learn how to be an adult. That means working out your differences without resorting to knocking someone on the head," Mason said disdainfully. "That means being honest, talking things out, not pushing someone around and then running to the RA with made-up stories. You know, being a man. You're acting like a punk, Chris."

Chris didn't know what to say. The injustice of it all was overwhelming, but he suspected that the less he argued, the better it would be for him. Mason might save him yet - from Justin, the cops, court . . . Chris didn't want to think about it. He just wanted a solution that let him get his life back to where it had been before this damn year had started.

"Aren't you?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Acting like a punk. This is immature shit, Chris. You're what, 19? Running around crying to the counselor and lying?"

Chris went bright red at the last word.

"I'm not . . ."

"What's that? You're not what, young man?"

Chris sighed and closed his eyes, his body shaking uncontrollably.

"What you lack is accountability, self-discipline and respect. Whatever your issues with Justin are, you're going to have to talk them out. Resolve them peacefully and responsibly. Do you understand?"

Chris nodded. Are we done yet, he thought? He wanted to crawl into a hole, or at least into his Jeep and back to Pat's house.

"We don't know exactly what's going to happen yet. Like I said, if Justin is seriously hurt, this could get very bad for you. But if he's willing to move beyond it, then I expect you to be grateful, gracious, and move beyond it yourself. Understand?"

Chris nodded again.

"Alright."

Chris looked up. Mason's face was impassive. Unsure what to do, but assuming the interview was over, he reached over to the table for his shirt.

"We're not done yet."

Chris froze. Now what?

"Tell me again, how have you been acting, Chris?"

Chris swallowed. "Uh . . . "

"Hmm?"

"Not good, I guess."

"You guess? I see. Try again, Chris. What are you acting like?"

Chris blushed again. "Like a punk?"

"That's right, Chris, you've been acting like a brat. And if you act like a brat, I have to treat you like one."

Chris closed his eyes again, wishing with all his might he had never knocked on Mason's door. He didn't know where this was going, but he had a sinking feeling he could just about guess.

"How do you treat a bratty punk, Chris?"

Jesus Christ, this is brutal.

"I don't know. Send him to his room?" At least that would get him out of here.

Mason laugh was brittle.

"Eventually, yes, you will be sent back to your room. But first, I think you know exactly what you deserve for your behavior."

Oh shit. This was not happening. "I'm sorry, what?"

"You know exactly what I mean. What happens to bratty young men before they get sent to their rooms?"

"They get a time out?" Chris was stalling; he knew now what was probably coming, but he couldn't truly believe this was real.

"No. You know what happens. Tell me."

Mason was implacable. Chris mentally tried to remove himself from the room and hide far away in his own mind. From a distance, he watched himself answer:

"They get spanked."

"Yes, Chris. They do. You know you deserve this. Bearing false witness is a serious, serious matter." Mason sounded every bit the authoritarian, the principal Chris had never met. "So you agree you deserve this?"