Sitting on the toilet of the fourth floor college men's room, I looked at the blank wall to my left and realized that it needed something. It was way too bland and boring! I pulled out the marker I kept in my shirt pocket, for just such occasions, and uncapped it. I thought for barely a moment before I started writing.

Hot, horny, 20 y.o. college student with 7 cut inches. Good looks, great body, seeks same for good times. Make me lick your big, fat cock!

There, that's better! I thought as I capped the marker and slipped it back into my shirt pocket. I read what I had just written and wondered what responses I would get. No doubt stuff like, Go fuck your mother, faggot! Or, You oughta be strung up and fucked with a red-hot poker! Or perhaps a religious one like, God will see all you homos burn in hell!

I'd gotten some of those in the past; but I didn't care about them. It always turned me on to see that sometimes men actually communicated back and forth on these walls, leaving hot, dirty messages for every one to witness. It turned me on, too, fantasizing that some guy had gotten off and shot a load in the bowl over the graffiti he was reading; writing on the wall that I had started!

As I sat there, I thought back to the best response I'd gotten, sparked by a message I scrawled on the wall in a high school bathroom during my senior year three years ago.

They call me Dongo! I got twelve inches of hot fuckmeat, enough to choke you, enough milk to drown you. Think you can take it up your ass or down your throat? Be here tomorrow, 3:30 p.m. If you're here, you'll get it all and more.

I had gone home, wondering who had written that response; student? teacher? janitor? Perhaps some jock or even a geeky nerd living out his fantasy of being master. The possibilities were endless and that night I jerked off three times, thinking about them.

The following day, I could barely contain myself as I went from class to class, anxiously awaiting the end of the school day. Classes would be done by three, and a lot of the teachers were there later, but most of the students were gone within five minutes of classes ending. No one lingered unless they belonged to a club that met after school, or were part of a sports team.

I had walked around most of the day with a half hard on, my cock ready to stand at attention at the slightest wind. I almost went to the bathroom to jerk off a couple of times that day, but I refrained. I wanted to save it.

And then classes were over. I lingered in the school library, the final half an hour agonizingly slow. But I managed. At 3:25 I thrust all my books back into my back pack and left the library, my heart tripping loudly through my brain. What would I find? Who would be there? I wondered. My knees felt weak, like rubber; but I pushed on.

My panic was nearly immeasurable as I stood outside the door to the boy's room. I hesitated a moment, my left hand on the cool metal. From inside, I heard voices mumbling. Something inside me told me to run, to flee this place and never look back. But if I did that, I knew I would always wonder. Besides, what did it matter? Whomever was in there, how would they know I had been the one that wrote on the wall? All I had to do was stand in front of the urinal or go to a different stall if things seemed a bit suspicious. They would never know it was me!

I swallowed loudly and pushed the door open slightly.

Four of the school's biggest goons were in there; all of them trouble makers. And I had fantasized about all of them. They always walked around with huge, obscene bulges, obviously placing great pride in what was to them, and me, the most important aspect of their maleness; their cocks.

The four big boys stood in the middle of the bathroom, laughing and talking, adjusting their crotches. But the one that caught my eye was Timothy Kelly, captain of the football team. He stood there smoking, which wasn't allowed, arms crossed, his ass leaning against the sink. His long legs were crossed at the ankles and when the door opened, he cast a sideways glance to see who was coming in.

As hard as my cock was, and as bad as I wanted them, I took a step back, letting the door slam shut. The noise got their attention and from outside I heard one of them yell. 'He's here! Let's get the little faggot and fuck his ass!'

Terrified, my heart pounding, I managed to make a quick getaway through a nearby exit. They had not seen me, so I knew I would be safe.

Sitting on the bowl in the men's room at college, I was reminded about that afternoon that could have been. I fantasized about what might have happened if I had walked in. Would they really have fucked my ass? Would they just have assumed it was me who wrote on the wall?

I saw myself down on my knees before them, forced to suck each one off and swallow their young loads. They would have watched while I knelt in front of The Captain, in front of Tim, and deep throat his butt-rammer. After swallowing his load, they would have pulled me up off the floor, ripped my clothes off and push me up against a stall partition. One of the goons would have gotten on his knees, spread my buns apart and spit in my hole. He would have gotten up, run his hand through his greasy hair, and used it to lube his cock. And then he would have put the head up against my tight fuckhole and pushed. He would have split me open and fucked me until he shot a load up my ass. Then the others would have taken their turn; each time my hole getting looser and sloppier.

Just as I was about to get to the part in my fantasy where Tim was going to fuck me, I shot my load, oozing slowly out of my piss slit.

I pulled myself out of the past that never was and back to the present that might be, wiping myself off with toilet paper. Pulling my pants up, I left the bathroom, leaving the freshly written graffiti to fester on the wall.

I checked the stall nearly every day for a week. I had incited a riot, where nothing but clean, blank space existed before! A proliferation of smut and an equal amount of political garbage had blossomed. But it was the smut that interested me.

One guy wanted to drip melting wax on my nipples while he whipped my cock and balls with a leather strap. Another wanted me to piss all over his body, and yet another said he liked to dress up in women's clothes while a real butch man rode him like a horse.

But there was only one response that truly caught my attention.

I've got twelve inches of hard, hot bullmeat. I'm hung thick and I bet you can't deep throat this fucker. If you think you can, I'm your man. If you can take it up your ass, that's even better! Would love to shoot a hot load of creamy manseed up your hole!

I was so turned on that I stroked my cock to an erection and jerked off right then and there. I shot a load that sprayed all over the messy wall. The janitor was going to have fun cleaning that one up! Then I replied, cleaned myself up and left. To my surprise, the guy left a date and time for us to meet the following week.

I was a nervous wreck in the days that followed, but the time to meet finally arrived. I was extremely nervous, and reminded of that afternoon in high school. Since then, I had met a few guys in the same fashion and they had all turned out to be utter disasters. Although terrified that this one would turn out the same, I was still aroused. My curiosity would not allow me to chicken out!

When the time came, I went into the bathroom and sat down in the stall where I had written the message. After a few minutes, the door burst open and a man shuffled to the stall beside mine. My heart pounded and I would have sworn it could be heard throughout the entire floor; if not the entire building.

I held my breath and turned my head to look at the man's feet. He had dropped his pants and boxer shorts. From what little I could see of his thin legs, the skin looked yellow, the hair on them sparse. Then an orchestra of farts broke the silence in the bathroom. After a few minutes, he got up and left. I felt relieved.

During the next five minutes, the door opened and closed three different times. One guy stood in front of the urinal. I could see a floppy black cock with uncut skin, through the slit in the stall, but nothing else. Another man went into the stall one over from mine, and the third into the stall next to me.

The black man at the urinal finished and left. After a few more minutes, the guy in the far stall audibly finished his business and stormed out without washing his hands.

It was down to me and the man in the stall next to me.

I looked down at the man's sneakered feet. As I looked down, he spread his legs apart a little and brought his left foot closer. Then he cleared his throat.

This was him! I was sure of it! I had looked forward to meeting him and finding out who he was, but now I didn't know what to do. I was paralyzed. It was so quiet in the bathroom I could hear my wristwatch ticking. I looked at it: 2:10. I was already late for class! What the hell was I doing?!

He cleared his throat again and, without thinking, I cleared mine in response. The roll of toilet paper in his stall rattled on its spindle and a sheet of white paper fluttered to the floor on my side of the stall. Thinking maybe there was something written on it, I picked it up; it was blank.

The roll of toilet paper rattled again and I heard him rip off another square. This time, I heard the click of a pen and waited. The second piece of toilet paper fell to the floor and I picked it up.

You want my hard cock up your ass or in your mouth?

My heart tripped in my chest, the blood pumping loudly in my head. I pulled out a pen and responded. Both! But I'm a little nervous.

I let the piece of toilet paper flutter back to the floor. A large hand with thick, long fingers picked it up.

Don't be. Why don't we get outta here? Too many people.

Okay, but let's make a deal. If neither one of us likes what he sees, we'll just shake hands and that's the end. Deal?

Deal, but I don't really care. I just wanna fuck! But I should warn you. I know you're gonna love it. They call me Dongo.

I thought I was going to die. I swallowed hard, wondering. Could it be? No, it couldn't! It just couldn't! What would the chances be??

Every nerve in my body twitched from excitement and fear. I stood, pulled my pants up, and heard him do the same. He slid the bolt on his door and stepped out of the stall. I remained in mine a moment, took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. Reaching for the bolt, I slid it back and opened the door.

My jaw nearly dropped to the floor.

Standing in front of the sink, washing his hands, was Timothy Kelly. He looked every bit as good as he did that afternoon when I ran.

For a moment, I thought I was dreaming; but it was real. And the hunk standing before me was Timothy Kelly in the flesh, sans goons.

He looked up at me and stared me in the eye. I thought I saw a twinkle of recognition as a crooked smile broke across his face. Instantly, my dick stiffened.

Timothy Kelly stood a little under six feet, his body hard muscle. His wide shoulders captivated me, and I thought, My ankles would look great perched there. His large biceps stretched the short sleeves of the white, knit pull-over he wore, emblazoned with the school name across the front. The material molded to his expansive chest and well-developed pecs, while stiff nipples thrust out against the cloth like bicycle tire valves. I bit my lower lip, imagining myself licking, biting, and chewing on them while he pounded my ass.

The material of his faded blue jeans clung invitingly to his thick thighs and beefy, bubble butt. I saw myself spreading his buns apart and burying my tongue in the sweaty crack as he sat on my face. Then he turned to face me and my eyes went down to the bulging basket. I nearly swooned.

'So what do you think? You interested?' His voice husky and low. I looked up into his eyes and could only nod. 'Good. Me too. You got a place we can go? I gotta drop a load soon or I'm gonna rape you right here.' Timothy Kelly clutched at his bulge and squeezed it. I licked my lips, wondering briefly if I wasn't getting in over my head.

'Wanna go to my dorm room?' I asked. A part of me wished he would make good on his threat.

'Lead the way.' I could feel Tim's eyes taking me in from head to toe.

'By the way, I'm Johnny.' I thrust my hand out at him. He took it in his and squeezed hard. The energy coursing through his hand nearly burned me.

'I know,' he replied with a smirk. 'We went to the same high school. I remember you.'

'You do?' I was surprised. I didn't think high school jocks ever paid attention to book nerds.

'Yeah. I'm Tim.' The grin on his face grew wider. 'But you probably already know that.'

'Yeah. Yeah, I do. I . . . I remember you from the football team.' He didn't respond. 'You still wanna . . . ?'

'Fuck? Yeah. C'mon, let's go!' He nudged me towards the door. He stepped aside as I walked past him. One of his hands reached out and cupped my ass hard. I nearly dropped to my knees with desire.

We were both silent during the short walk to my dorm room. Once inside, Tim closed and locked the door behind him. I sat down at the foot of the bed and he stood before me. I looked at his bulging crotch, growing ever bigger, then looked up at him, feeling lost all of a sudden.

'Whassamatter?' I shook my head. 'Think you got yourself in over your head?' I nodded. 'Well, maybe I can help.' He reached out and grabbed the back of my head, forcing my face into his groin. I loved the rough feel of denim and his throbbing mound against my face.


Johnny Miles

[email protected]


Rate Story Choose rating between 1 (worst) and 10 (best).

Bookmark and Share

blog comments powered by Disqus