Timothy stared from across the quad, furiously undressing him with his eyes. Lance Lockhart. For years now he had loved this boy from afar, his every thought, dream, and desire was shrouded in his powerful shadow. And as he innocently studied the silverwood sapling, jotting down whatever measurements he needed for ‘Intro to Botany,’ Timothy did what he always did from afar: daydream. Lance’s favourite grey bro tank and white cap, his silky white wrestling shorts, the gigantic and well worn white and gold Roshes gracing his feet… Every ounce of him was soaked in masculinity, oozed cockiness, and radiated sexual desire.
For one solitary moment, the pair’s eyes met. A sideward glance meeting a deep, invasive stare. Timothy buried his face in his Organic Chemistry textbook, pleading with whatever essence dictated luck that Lance’s gaze had passed him over. For a moment, he thought his childish tactic had succeeded. Yet, as he peeked over the top of the textbook, he saw Lance sauntering toward him across the green. As quickly as he could, he began to pack up his things, foolishly hoping to escape whatever interaction lay ahead. In the mad rush, the small diary he kept since childhood had fallen out of his Patagonia bookbag. Two strong, tan hand gently picked up the leatherbound book, gesturing it to him.
“I think you dropped this.” Lance’s beautiful, velvety, mahogany voice flowed out of his lips; a luscious craving he possessed since middle school. “What’s up Timmy? It’s been a while since I’ve seen ya around!” The two had only one class together, and the dimwitted, yet lovable Lance never let him forget it.
“Yeah, I, uh… Guess we have different schedules or something.” Timothy awkwardly grabbed the book from Lance’s grasp, shoving it deep into his bookbag. He quickly rose up, once again trying to feebly escape from the pleasantries, but felt the jock’s firm grasp envelop his wrist.
“I know it’s a little weird, but I need a favour, bro. Could you watch my dog while I’m in Georgia? We’re facing Emory in the finals, and I just wanna make sure that Ned is all taken care of. You can stay over, and eat my food, play the PlayStation…” Timothy silently nodded, and Lance let out a big sigh of relief. “Fuck, thanks man, here’s the key. I’m heading out in a few hours, so just head over after your classes or whatever. I’ll be back on Monday, aight?” Lance was already halfway across the quad, enroute to the busses which were lining up by the Gym. There was no take backs. Timothy would be spending the weekend at his dream boy’s house.
After he finished the painstakingly difficult Chemistry quiz, he bolted out the door, running for Lance’s place. It was just off campus, one street over from Greek Row. The house was infamous for having ridiculously wild after parties, riding the coattails of the neighboring frat houses’ ragers. As one might expect, the state of the house was slightly run down and decrepit, typical of college housing. The key turned in the front door lock, and opened the replacement front door.
Lance’s house was a disaster zone. From all the Snapchat stories and Facebook posts, this was the aftermath from the ridiculous football party the night before. Red solo cups filled with shitty beers were scattered across the house, atop tables, spilt over on the floor. The remnants of beer pong sat idle on the kitchen table, half smoked blunts and cigarette butts lay extinguished on the trashy linoleum. Even a pair of purple floral panties were strewn over a toppled over chair.
According to the instructions left on the stained countertop, Ned the Doberman was locked up in the bedroom. Timothy made his way upstairs, trudging past crumpled paper plates and crushed beer cans to arrive at the the bedroom door. He heard Ned clawing at the door, whining to be let out, so when the door was slowly opened, the cooped up dog burst out, covering Tim in slobbery kisses. After an adorable reunion, Ned rushed downstairs to eat whatever leftover pizza sat in the abandoned boxes, leaving Timothy alone in his idol’s bedchamber.
The mattress and boxspring sat in the corner of the room, barely covered with sweat stained sheets and cumstained tissues. The room smelt like a locker room, with Lance’s sweaty clothes scattered all around. A black leather Nike gym bag sat half open with a small golden cylinder poking out.
Timothy walked over, realizing the immense opportunity presented to him. He sheepishly opened the zipper, revealing Lance’s weightlifting gear, and a very old fleshlight. The smell of stale cum, smegma, and caked on sweat assaulted his nose. Years worth of wet dreams about what he’d do with Lance’s filthy gear flashed before his eyes, and before he knew it, he was stripping off his clothes. Excitedly, he slipped on the wet compressions & socks, taking a guilty huff of their strong scent. He picked up the black sweatshirt and tossed it on, lifting his arms to sniff the sour stench of pitsweat. He sat down on the bed, running his hands over the damp fabric that now clung to his skin, soaked in Lance’s musky juices.
The fleshlight beckoned to him, begging him to let out all the pent up tension that had built up in his balls. Grabbing the gold fucktoy, he was surprised with how heavy and slippery it was, coated in old lube. He twisted the top cap and pulled it off. Strings of off-white slime clung to the cap as it pulled away from the silicone lips, looking like cheese stretching from pizza. Lance hadn’t ever cleaned it. Old coagulated jizz intermingled with the fresh load he had clearly put in earlier that day, filling the room with salty-chlorine smell of semen. Timothy’s cock throbbed in anticipation, his senses heightened by the olfactory overload of cum and musk.
He pulled back his foreskin, and delicately thrusted his cock into the filthy fleshlight. The cum was slick and viscous, coating him in a thick blanket of smelly slime. The sensation was unlike anything he’d ever felt. No wonder Lance hadn’t cleaned it out, the built up loads and massaging protrusions added to the sensory overload.
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