Chapter Two - 2. The Hunger
CHAPTER TWO
The Hunger
The rest of the day, frankly, was shit. No matter where I was, or what I did, Taylor’s words echoed in my head over and over.
I had breakfast in my room, the door closed, forcing myself to eat toast which tasted like cardboard. Are you asking me if I have a crush on you?
I changed my sheets, which smelled like sex and sweat. You really were a virgin.
I went to my lectures and tried to listen to what the professors were saying. Do you think that just because someone fucks you, they’re secretly in love with you?
Afterwards, I went to the gym, pushing through my reps until my muscles screamed. Did you think it was romantic…
Then I ran on the treadmill until my legs felt like they’d fall off, wobbling like jelly. How naive can you get?
All day it felt like my intestines had been tied into a tight knot. Nothing I did could shake the nauseating feeling.
At least I managed to avoid Taylor for the whole day.
He was close by, though. After I crawled into bed that night, I heard him moving around in the kitchen, and gritted my teeth, because I couldn’t tell whether he was making a racket on purpose or not.
My bed still sort of smelled like him, which didn’t make sense, because I’d changed all the sheets. Maybe it was all in my head.
At least the rest of the week came with endless distractions.
I threw myself into studying, even though there wasn’t much to study for, being the beginning of the semester.
I joined clubs and societies — probably more than I should’ve, but it would be good for my CV, and many clubs were eager to recruit a treasurer to be on their committee.
I joined the Commerce Student Society, various finance related clubs, a volunteering club, and a club dedicated that was ostensibly about sport science but really consisted of a group of guys discussing how to maximise their gym gains, and finally, social soccer.
I genuinely liked soccer and I enjoyed it more when there was no pressure of ladders and winning in the mix. Another reason I joined was because I knew there was no chance Taylor would, because he’d rather drop dead than play a sport for fun, rather than to win.
I changed in my dorm prior to the first practice, because I still had bruises around my nipples — fucking Taylor and his fucking mouth — and couldn’t let any of my new teammates spot that in the change rooms. I showed up to the field early and decided to kill time by stretching my hamstrings when someone called out.
“Archie!”
Behind me was a familiar, freckled face, and big brown eyes. The guy was short, only coming up to my chest. Like me, he wore cleats and high socks with shin pads underneath.
“Matty.” He pointed to himself. “We got wasted together.”
Right. Taylor had invited a bunch of friends over and we’d played Never Have I Ever.
I quickly looked over Matty’s shoulder. “Are you here with Taylor?”
He laughed. “Nah, he said he’s gonna play for the uni team. I’d rather chill, you know?”
My shoulders relaxed. “Same. I didn’t know you played.”
“That’s how I met Taylor.” He tilted his head. “You guys are friends from high school, right?”
“I wouldn’t say ‘friends,’” I muttered.
Matty, for some reason, found this funny, and joined me to warm up. We did lunges while we talked about soccer, how we were finding our lectures, and the various parties being held that upcoming weekend.
For a moment, I was worried that Matty, being a friend of Taylor’s, meant that he’d be a wanker, but he was alright. Better than alright, actually. He was laid back and easy to talk to and fast on the field, despite being one of the shortest guys in the group.
We played a practice game at the end of the session (Matty and I were on the same team, which we celebrated with a high-five). It had been so long since I played, and I walked back to my dorm with a smile. Which slid right off after I stepped inside.
Taylor was at the stove, stirring something with a spoon. He looked at me, eyes dragging over my gym shorts and long socks. “Where’ve you been?”
It was the first thing he’d said since our conversation in my bedroom, four days ago now.
“That’s your business, how?” I asked, walking straight past him.
More days passed and the more I ignored Taylor, the more annoyed he got. The few times we were in the living room together, I could feel his eyes tracking me, the permanent frown he wore as he watched me cook a meal before heading to my bedroom to eat with the door closed.
Whenever we ran into each other on campus, I pretended I didn’t see him, despite sensing him in my periphery, staring with his arms folded.
On Friday evening, I thought the dorm was empty.
I stood in the bathroom, the door open, as I wetted my hands and pushed them through my hair.
A finance club was hosting a party at a bar, but it was a button-up shirt and free-flowing wine sort of party, so I wanted to have fun, but I also wanted to look good.
Taylor’s bedroom door opened suddenly, making me jump. In the mirror’s reflection, I saw him pause, then lean against the doorway. “Why do you look like an accountant going through a midlife crisis?”
I continued to push my fingers through my hair. The slicked back look was actually turning out well. “Thanks.”
“Where are you going?”
I dried my hands with a towel.
“Archie.” There was a slight growl in his voice.
My gaze met his in the mirror. “Why do you care?”
His jaw tightened. “You look hideous.”
I was grateful my face didn’t show any reaction. “Thank you,” I said tiredly, keeping my eyes lowered as I patted my slacks to make sure I had my phone, wallet and keys.
“What time will you be back?” he asked as I walked to the door.
I left without answering.
There was possibly a chance I drank too much, too quickly, in an attempt to distract myself from my interaction with Fuckface.
The main thing, though, was that I was having fun.
A lot of fun. If I thought a bunch of commerce students crammed in a bar with mood lighting and wooden floors would’ve been a stuffy, awkward affair, I was mistaken.
Wine was powerful. And it tasted good, after the first two or three glasses. And it was free.
Everyone was dancing, music was pounding, and my body writhed up against total strangers, but they didn’t feel like strangers, they felt like my new best friends.
No one cared. Sure, we were dressed up in corporate clothes, but it was like being a high schooler again, with no adults around.
A couple was making out to my left, another couple was grinding to my right, everyone was making eyes at each other, hands brushed hands, hips swayed, and in the midst of the shadows and deafening music and sweaty bodies, I thought about that night.
Not Taylor — my mind automatically blocked out his face. But the feeling. The touches. The way my body tensed, then released.
I’d been too miserable this past week to feel anything resembling horniness. But now that I was surrounded by a crowd of young, fit people, it was like my sex drive had suddenly returned in full-force. The hunger, the need for it, to have sex again, almost made me fall over.
I didn’t do anything about it. Not that I could. Hell, it was a miracle I even made it back to my dorm. I woke up the next morning on the couch, my shoes and belt off, and a bucket and bottle of water next to me. It was kind of impressive I’d managed doing all that last night.
I unscrewed the water bottle — where had I got this anyway? I must’ve bought it somewhere — and gulped down the whole thing.
Taylor’s bedroom door opened. “You’re alive.” He was dressed, and looked like he had been awake for a while.
I grunted something, and found my throat hurt. Vague memories washed up of yelling in people’s ears over the music. Heaving up to my feet, I dragged myself to the bathroom, showered, wrapped myself in a towel and collapsed onto my bed before promptly falling asleep again.
I was panting and painfully hard, my cock throbbing with need. Release. I needed release. I tried to sneak a hand down, but my wrist was caught and pressed flat against the mattress.
“No touching yourself,” he growled from behind me.
“But I — I have to. It hurts,” I whined.
A roll of hips, deep pressure inside, and my thighs widened automatically.
“Fuck.” I was slurring. “Please, I need to —”
I snapped awake, baking under the midday sun, and shoved my curtains closed. I was drenched in sweat, wearing nothing but a towel which had unloosened from around my hips.
I shoved it aside, ensured my bedroom door was closed, and wrapped a hand around myself.
A soft sigh escaped me as soon as my hand touched the hot skin.
I was as hard as I’d been in the dream, my balls drawn up and tight.
I hadn’t touched myself in more than a week.
That whole conversation with Taylor had really done a number on me.
I shifted on the bed, spreading my legs wide, and stroked myself, enjoying the sensation of foreskin moving over the sensitive head. Not long now. I’d come, and then I could get on with the rest of my day.
Five minutes later, I was still jerking it, which was…not bad, exactly, but I usually finished faster. Not because I was a quick shot or anything, but I’d been wanking for years now, pretty much daily. I knew my body well, and I knew how to get off.
It must’ve just been the hangover. I let go of myself, and used my clean hand to grab my phone, open a private tab and pull up an erotica site. Reading filthy stories was what helped me win that dirty talk competition with Taylor —
Nope. I was not letting myself think about that.
I scrolled through the list of titles and chose one at random. The plot wasn’t original, featuring a bored house wife and a pool boy, but the story featured all the right swear words. I resumed stroking myself. It wouldn’t be long now.