Wolfchild

wolfchild-2

Wolfchild

There was a message on the wall. TO ALL THE HOT MEN AND CUTE BOYS WHO SATISFIED ME FOR THE PAST FOUR YEARS: I’M LEAVING THE CITY NOW AND I DON’T KNOW WHERE I’M GOING BUT I’LL ALWAYS REMEMBER EVERYONE WHO KEPT THIS TEAROOM HOT, ESPECIALLY THE BLOND RUNNER WHO LET ME SUCK HIS DICK ON WEDNESDAYS AND ALSO FERNANDO AND ALL THE REST OF YOU. YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE.

 

I leaned down and checked under the stalls.  No one but me in the men’s room on the seventh floor.  I reread the words which sloped down the wall.  I saw the writer on his knees, black marker in hand.  One last time in this tearoom and then he was gone, leaving only his message on the wall.  A wall like Lascaux, covered with drawings and stick figures, and egg-white dribbles of release.  I felt like I’d missed so much, like walking into a party that was almost over.  Everything that had happened here was already history.

 

I heard a door slam, and then footsteps down the hall.  I slipped into the stall next to the urinals, its walls as covered as the one I’d just been reading.  Acronyms and phone numbers, in pencil and ink.  Drawings of assholes and dicks and cum-dripping mouths. Meet me Wednesdays at ten I’ve got 8½ rock hard big black dick let me cum Uncut 7½ soft you can choke on my big Spanish dick I need a blowjob I’ve been waiting.  Black dick, Hispanic, blond-haired, and shaved, they were all advertising in the stall of a campus toilet.

 

The restroom door crashed open, and I sat down, carefully, on the very edge of the toilet seat.  I heard a man spit into the sink, and then water from a faucet.  I opened my backpack, stared intently inside.  The man began to whistle, and I mouthed the words. Then the towel dispenser cranked, and the door slammed open, and the whistling man was gone.

 

Right then is when I should have left.  I should have hurried from the stall and then down the hall.  I had a class to teach in twenty minutes.  I had notes to go over, a lecture to give.  And I had no business being in this restroom.

 

For the past couple weeks, I’d been eating my lunch in an empty classroom down the hall.  Away from all other faculty and the needs of my students.  I could sit alone in that classroom and read the newspaper section by section.  Without interruption.

 

I’d often heard the doors, opening and closing, and the footsteps down the hall, but always before I’d imagined someone might disturb me.  It hadn’t occurred to me there was another reason for being on this hall.  Blond preppy bottom needs to be spanked I’M A STRAIGHT GUY WHO’S CURIOUS (I HAVE A GIRLFRIEND BUT I THINK ABOUT GUYS) Need your dick sucked?  M-F, 10:00 — 2:30 No fems or fatties, please Where are the other tearooms on this campus? I’m new here I’M THE DADDY YOU’RE LOOKING FOR Call me TO the ASIAN with the BIG dick: Sorry about last week How about tomorrow? Me and my two frat brothers want to fuck a black boy If you are interested Horny sophomore looking for a football player to suck my eight-inch dick I’ve been hear since eight am and no one.  My dick was hard.  So many voices, such desire, and to think of all the lunch hours I’d wasted reading a newspaper down the hall.

 

Not ten minutes before, I’d left that classroom, just as I usually did when I finished my lunch, except this time I’d seen a boy at the other end of the hall.  Something about the way he walked, wearing jeans and a baseball cap and a hooded sweatshirt, and even after he’d turned the corner and disappeared, I’d followed him down the hall, into this bathroom.

 

The door opened again, and I heard it the way I’d so often heard it in the background of my mind, like a bell that tells you it’s time to eat.  There was someone else in the toilet.  Someone just inside the door.  Standing there, listening, just the way I’d listened when I’d first come in.

 

He came over and stood in front of a urinal.  I could see him through a hole in the wooden stall door.  Not his face, but his jeans, and his fingers unbuttoning—

 

I considered making a dash for the door, escaping down the hall – but something kept me from moving.  The man was just standing there, not peeing into the urinal.  And the room was so quiet.  I was seated on the toilet’s edge, almost holding my breath.

 

And then the man stepped back a bit and turned slightly toward me.

 

I jerked away from the hole, sat back on the toilet seat and rummaged in my backpack.  And then I leaned forward again, my eye against the hole.

 

The man was stroking his dick, breathing heavier now.  Making no attempt to be quiet.  We had broken the silence that had brought us together.  I ran my eye along the door frame, surveying his body.  Down his legs to his boots, then back up to his head. Dark glasses covered his eyes.   He poked his dick along the opening as his fingers reached over the door.  I stood very still.  I knew what I wanted but I didn’t want to think about what I was doing.  My eyes on the man’s dick, l slid back the bolt on the door.

 

The door fell partially open and the man pushed his way in.  He flipped my tie over my shoulder and unbuttoned my shirt.  I watched his fingers, stared at his dick.  I didn’t meet his eyes.  Long fingers, clean nails.  He yanked up my tee and touched my skin.

 

I reached around behind him and bolted the door.  I touched his shoulder, ran my fingers down his chest.  Grabbed hold of his dick.  He opened my pants; I was sticking straight out.  He pushed my pants to the floor and then ducked his head and pulled his tee behind his neck.  Broad chest, black hair.  I kept one hand on his dick, and the other on his chest.

 

Then he pulled me closer, one hand on my ass, and his finger slipped in, and I moaned without thinking, his entry so certain.  He kept me where he wanted, one finger inside and one hand stroking.  He kept me on the edge until he was ready himself.  Until his breath was short like mine and his finger went deeper and his hand stroked my dickhead and I shot against the wall just a moment before he did.  Great gobs down the wall, two more trails for history.

 

I was suddenly weak.  Sweat beaded my brow and my legs were shaky.  I grabbed the man’s wrist and pulled his finger from inside me.

 

The man watched me from behind his sunglasses as he swiped the wall, through his cum and mine, and then sucked his finger clean.

 

I wanted out then, more than ever.  Something thick was in my mouth and I spit in the toilet.  I pulled up my pants and spun the toilet paper round and round.  And when I turned back around, the man slipped from the stall.

 

At last I was alone.  I slid the bolt into place.  I wiped myself clean, back and front, and flushed the toilet, but the smell was still there.  I wiped down the wall, and flushed again.  Sweat and semen, so rich before release, so ripe in the air.  I needed a shower. I checked my watch.  Ten minutes to class.

 

The man was at the sink; the water was running.  He cranked out some towels.  And then it was quiet.  As quiet as the moment when he’d first walked in.

 

And then suddenly he was there, right in front of the stall door.  His boots, I saw him rise up and look over the door.

 

Quickly, I turned and flushed again.  I kept my back to the door.  I fiddled with my backpack.  I didn’t turn around, not until I heard the restroom door close.  Then I knelt and peered across the bathroom floor.  Once again, I was alone.

 

I darted from the stall and stood at the sink.  I stared into the mirror.  My face was flushed and sweaty.  I splashed my face with water, ran my fingers through my hair.  I tried to smile but I looked nervous.  I narrowed my eyes and willed authority into being.  The man admired by his students.  I’d been teaching for ten years.  I licked my palm and sniffed.  My breath reeked.  I placed my backpack on the sink, unzipped the front pocket. Breath mints, I needed breath mints.

 

I pulled out Steven’s house keys.  He must’ve left them in my backpack on the way home from the country.  I’d have to call him and—  I caught my eyes in the mirror. What had happened in the stall had nothing to do with him.  It was release, nothing more. An animal urge, ungoverned by reason, and I’d dealt with it, and now it was over.  There was nothing in the stall to prove I’d been there.  It was over, it was done with, and so I headed to class.

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