Enough 2

III.

I got a message. OMIGOD a message!

Prof steered from a general question to a meeting. I let him without showing me a more detail photo of himself and giving his stats a second look. He didn't ask for photos either.

He proposed his office in the local university. I was stoked, Prof is a Professor in the university, it's hot and kinky!

I didn't trust my instincts enough, It was screaming no, but I was pushing against the waves.

I moved based on my assumptions.

Me [morning]: In the bus. On my way. Can I ask you for something?

Prof: Sure.

M: Role-play.

P: Can try what do you like?

M: I'm going to fail one class and I need some help or my scholarship would be shit.

I arrived in this dilapidated building in the campus. I later learned it was close to demolition. Inside, it feels like Silent Hill.

I went to the floor where his office was. After landing, all the sides were blocked with doors. I tried my left and right to no avail. The one in front of me opened.

Oh Jesus. I realized by then I should've asked for a photo. I'll admit, I still prey victim to the kind of thinking that things should be of a certain way even if you didn't do the work.

I went inside his office. It was dingy and awful, really the school should take care of its staff.

My imagination got the best of me. He's more like a superintendent or custodian.

He then locked the door, by jamming it with what seems to be a vary small screwdriver as long as my middle finger.

"Do you want to do the role-play?" He's sitting on his office chair in front of an overcrowded desk.

His radio is talking, "something in the girls bathroom... a clog." Static.

"No."

"Let's make ourselves comfortable." He walked over to where I was sitting, a fold-out mattress.

Foreplay was bland. He's probably enjoying it, but I was trying not to show my mental state on my face, which was a combination of repulsion, regret, and self-hatred for being swayed by my most primal instinct and irrational thoughts. He lay on his back while I made out with him, or rather while I sucked his moribund tongue. Move you idiot.

He used generous amounts of hand lotion and his fingers and dick slid in easily, I made it difficult for him by being fucked on my back with my legs up. I was remembering the last time Ace and I fucked, it was the first time on my back (after three years of fucking).

Because he's stomach was in the way, it was a laborious effort from the sounds of his breathing. Wheezes. From where I am, I can see under his nose; lots of white hairs in there. I wondered, if mine will look like that when I'm older. Probably.

We finally went on to spooning, still wheezing. I'm contracting my hole whenever he pulls out and pushing back at him to speed up the process.

He's plunging into me.

Pumping into my tank.

Cleaning my pipes.

Decloging my hole.

He stopped moving. Dead? He was fucking me and he died.

He sighed.

Oh.

My dick was wet, precum or spit I don't know.

He go a roll of paper towel and took out a feet or so with a movement familiar to all janitors and me. I wiped myself and stuffed it in my bag, for some reason I made sure that I never left any traces.

I was mute throughout the whole thing, answering as short as possible.

"So, hit me up when you want to talk or something."

"Yeah."

Later, he texted.

"I came a lot, did you feel that?"

Sure, there was evidence at the toilet. But I can't bring myself to lie, so I didn't answer.