Hot Tub Trio Ch. 05

His hands continued to pull at my hair and for a few seconds he kept his dick deep in my throat, thrusting with his hips. When he let go he gave me a little push. I had to put my hand down to keep from falling back on my ass. I took a minute to spit out what was left in my mouth and to get my feet under me.

I knew by now he had no intention of blowing me and if had I wouldn't have let him.

"You like that, you goddamn fucking faggot queer?"

I looked up, which was dumb. I should have stood up first but I was as dumb as most kids. I looked up forming a retort in my head but before I could speak he fucking slapped me, not with his hand but with his dick.

"Like that homo? You fucking cock sucking queer boy, maybe I should kick your faggoty ass for you. Huh? How about that?"

Then he spit on me. That was a big mistake. In the end it was almost a bigger mistake for me. I don't know what his experience was. You know I'm not a big guy and back then I was probably fifteen pounds lighter. Maybe he believed all faggots were wimps. I don't know. But spitting on me was a giant fucking mistake. I was a very mediocre football player but I was pissed. Coach would have given me shit because my ass was too low to the ground but even so I was in a pretty good three-point stance.

Coach would have been proud of my speed though. I fucking explode off the floor. He was too close to the wall to get much momentum going but my shoulder rammed into his gut and I could hear all the air go out of him, a giant humph of air. Even louder than the air whistling out of his chest was the flat hollow crack the back of his head made when it hit the wall.

Whether it was having the wind knocked out of him or the whack to his head he just stood as a punched him, fast, two or three times, in the face. At that moment I wanted to kill him. I'm lucky he was close enough to the wall that whacking his head like that didn't do it. I think about that, about how the way he caused me to flip out could have ended up being a bigger mistake for me than it was for him, what if I had killed him? Even now, every time I read a story about a couple of guys who have too much to drink, get in a shoving match, throw a punch, a bad fall, a head hits the ground and suddenly you're a murderer.

I only hit him a couple times before I realized he wasn't even trying to fight back. I stopped hitting him but I was still full of rage.

"Spit on me? You stupid piece of shit. I ought to wipe the floor with your stupid ass. How's it feel to get the shit kicked out of you by a homo cock sucking fag boy dipshit?"

His eyes focused. He smiled. It was a genuine smile, not a fuck you smile, a real smile, a thanks for a glass of water on a hot day smile.

"I got AIDS fag boy."

I was still so full of rage I didn't even care if what he said was true, not at that moment anyway.

"I fucking hope you do. I fucking hope you fucking rot from the inside out."

I reached around him and jerked his wallet out. I fished his driver's license out. Read it, dropped it to the floor and then recited his name and address back to him, making sure he knew I had it memorized. I still do. I still thinking about driving by sometime, parking on the street, see if he's still there. It would be easier to Google him, or have an investigator do it but in my head I am the one who does it.

"Topeka huh? What are you doing in Lawrence? You knew about this place didn't you? Thought you come back and grace us with your big dick? Fucking repressed douche bag motherfucker."

I fished the money out. The only thing I've ever stolen in my life. I didn't count it until later. It was $487. Excluding rent, books and school stuff I spent less than that in a semester.

"I'll take this. Consider it for services rendered or payment for an HIV test either way." I didn't have a pocket, so I balled the money up in one hand. "If you're telling the truth and I test positive you'd better move. Topeka is not far away and I'll have nothing to lose at that point. You'll wake up some morning, but only long enough for me to be sure you know I'm the one cutting your fucking dick off. Then I'll slit your throat and stuff your own dick up your ass while you die. Count on it."

I dropped his wallet in the pool of spit, stomach acid and cum and retrieved my pants. I put them on, stuffed the cash in my pocket and pulled my tee shirt back over my head. He was still standing there, half smiling. Crazy fucker. I should have been much more afraid of him than I was.

His dick was still hanging out. I have to say even un-aroused it was an impressive piece of meat. Why God gave such a cock to a total asshole is a mystery.

I have no excuse for what I did next. I can't claim I was still blind with rage. I simply wanted to hurt him.

I leaned my shoulder into his chest and grabbed the top of his pants with one hand. My other hand found the zipper.

"Shouldn't you put this away now?" I whispered in his face and then I yanked the zipper up as hard as I could.

His face went white and he gave a couple of airless gasps. When I step back he grab at his crotch and slide down the fall. I was beginning to fear I had killed him after all when he took a deep breath and began to cough, spittle spraying from his mouth.

I could see blood starting to ooze from between his clutched fingers and decided it was time to leave. I shouldn't have done that. Maybe I shouldn't have done anything after I was sure he couldn't hurt me. That doesn't bother me as much as the fact my dick got hard doing it. When I was choking and gagging it went flat in no time but with the first punch I started to get hard again. By the time I trapped him in his zipper I had a full on boner.

"Adios Mr. Phelps. I fucking hope you get gangrene and they have to chop off your dick asshole."

My heart wasn't in the last taunt. I was starting to feel more than a little shitty about over my reacting. I never knew I contained such depths of rage. I was trying not to wonder if I was some sort of sadist freak.

The adrenaline lasted until I got outside. I didn't even make it down the stairs at the front of the building. It was an old building with those broad concrete flanks along the entrance stairs. I had to crawl over it to dry heave into the bushes.

Then AIDS panic hit. I was never worried he'd call the cops. What would he tell them? He was counter-gay bashed? I tried to get a hold of myself, tried to think. I had never messed around with another guy before but I thought about it enough that I had spent more time than was probably typical for an undergrad, even one about to start medical school, reading about HIV/AIDS risks and treatment. This was before PEP, sorry post-exposure prophylaxis was offered. I knew stomach acid and enzymes killed the virus but I hadn't swallow, maybe the retching was a good thing, maybe the acid I could taste in my mouth had killed any virus. Plus, part of me was convinced he was lying anyway, that what he'd said was simply another way of fucking with me.

I wiped my mouth and hurried away from the building. There was a Walgreen's not far from campus. I stopped, bought milk I didn't need, toothpaste I didn't need, a bottle of mouthwash and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. I knew alcohol and peroxide also killed the virus. As I was paying the clerk pointed at my chest.

"You're bleeding."

I looked down and the left side of my shirt was smeared with blood. Fuck.

"Bad fall playing Frisbee, major road rash." I held up the bag. "Peroxide will take care of it."

The clerk gave me a skeptical look. "Gonna burn like a mother."

I nodded, took my change and walked as fast as I could without looking like I was running. The fucker had bit me. That scared me more than sucking his dick. He had broken the skin, the son of a bitch. And HIV was in saliva. Fucker.

I waited until I was back on campus, found a quiet spot and open the peroxide. I lifted up my shirt and pour half the bottle on my chest. It did burn and foam and the more it foamed the more I told myself it was cleaning out whatever filth his teeth had left behind.

I told you this before, but in case you are starting to wonder, I'm negative. If he did have AIDS, which I doubt, AIDS patients back then looked sick as shit and he looked perfectly fine. I'm clean. I can show you in the morning.

After I pour the peroxide over the bite, I took a swig and swished in around inside my mouth, spit it out and did it again. Then I hightailed it back to my apartment. If my landlady was watching for me, the sight of me running up the drive wearing a wet and bloody tee shirt stopped her from coming out.

Once inside I ignored the ringing phone. I heard Ann's voice come over the message machine and groaned. I knew at the very second I heard her voice that whatever she wanted; I wanted us to be a couple. As much as I wanted it I was sure I had already fucked it up beyond repair.

I ripped my clothes off and headed into the bathroom. I grabbed my toothbrush but put it back, maybe I shouldn't disturb my gums yet. I fumbled, my mouth spewing curses, to open the mouthwash, took a giant swig. I tried to garble but I had too big a mouthful. I choke, coughed and spewed blue Scope all over my face, chest, mirror, sink and floor. I thought the peroxide had burned. I was wrong. I don't know how much alcohol is in Scope but that shit set my nipple on fire.

I fumbled for the faucet and splashed water over my chest and face, adding to the chaos on the floor. I settled down enough to look at my chest. I got a good look at a bruise Ann had left earlier. It was higher on my left chest. Dickhead had left just a small abrasion above my nipple. My nipple and the area around it was a little swollen and it looked like it would bruise but the scrape was tiny. I don't know why it had bleed so much.

I stood staring in the mirror for a long time, hating, really hating myself. I called myself all the names dickhead had called me and then added a few more. Worse, I was a cheater. I wasn't even sure whether I was dating Ann or not, and less than six hours after sleeping with her I was on my knees sucking some strangers cock in a bathroom. I was worse than a homo cock sucking fag boy.

I turned the shower on, left it so hot it nearly scalded me and stood under it until it ran cold before I bother to actual wash my body and shampoo my hair.

The whole time I was trying to figure out how to tell Ann I couldn't see her anymore without hurting her feelings and laughing at myself for imaging she would even care. Standing once more at the sink I rinsed my mouth one more time with the peroxide then brushed my teeth. I figured one more rinse and gargle with the mouthwash couldn't hurt either so I did that.

I try to imagine waiting three months for an HIV test and where the fuck could I go to get it. I had volunteered at the local health department. The utter contempt they showed people who came in needing to be treated for the clap or wanting a free HIV test was stunning to me. I still had this idea that people in healthcare were all Albert Schwietzer types. They're not.

I spit and before my hair got too dry tried to coax it into some semblance of order. It didn't take long to determine I either would have to give up and go for a ponytail or get a haircut. Unbidden the memory of the suit man's fingers grabbing my hair sprang into my mind. I decided I get a haircut, in fact a buzz cut. Now that would make my old man proud, if he wasn't dead it would.

I took in a slow breath and closed my eyes, trying to imagine a quiet place. As much as I hated farming the first thing that popped into my mind was the susurrus of wheat as a soft breeze blew across the field creating waves of changing gold and yellow as the wheat swayed and the way that same breeze felt on your sweat plastered hair when you pulled your cap off to wipe your face. All those sensations from a little bit of wind.

I was starting to feel some of the tension ease out of my body when someone started pounding on the door.

My first thought was the motherfucker had called the cops after all but that was dumb. He didn't know who the fuck I was. I decided it was probably my fucking landlady and stormed out of the bathroom. I didn't bother with a towel.

I yanked the door open, drawing in a breath, readying myself to tell the old bitch to back the fuck up.

It was Ann. The look on her face made me wish it was the landlady, hell maybe even the cops.

I didn't even have time to think, "oh shit" before she started ripping me a new one.