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The Peach-Pounding Peters of Peterson Hall
Chapter 1: Eggplant Meets Peach
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From the freshman orientation to the start of classes. From home life to dorm life. With my backpack on me, I walked along the small campus of Port Pelle College where everything was within a short walking distance. It was awesome that this university had a large residence hall reserved for out-of-area students, along with apartments, townhouses, and historical houses scattered around. Coming from the Detroit suburbs in the southeast to northwest Michigan was a culture shock because it was quieter and more remote up here. While I'd always been quiet and reserved myself, I still wasn't used to living life in a small town. But I was finally eighteen, and I needed my own space.
Away from everything.
What a sunny day in Port Pelle, beautiful enough for me to wear a T-shirt and jogging shorts. I inhaled the scent of freshly-mowed lawn, smiling. This charming little town along Lake Michigan looked more like a French-style village with heavy American influence, all part of the university. Too bad the warm weather wouldn't last much longer now that it was early September, and it was bound to cool down a lot sooner for being up north with the lake effect.
I entered Peterson Hall and thought about my small dorm room I was headed to. There were two twin-XL beds whose sides were against the left and right walls and whose backs were against the windowed far wall. There was a small, built-in closet on either side by each foot of the bed. In between the beds, there was a minifridge with a microwave on top. There was a small desk against the front wall on either side of the centered entry door. Drab, white walls and a rough, taupe carpet completed the design. All dorm rooms in this residence hall looked like that. Each floor had a communal bathroom and laundry room, and the kitchen was a large cafeteria on the main floor.
My thoughts? Good enough for me.
I walked through the spacious lobby where a few residents surrounded the large TV area. It seemed pretty cozy around here, well-designed and well-kept. I could find myself hanging out here whenever there weren't too many people around.
I entered the mailroom and searched for my room number. When I opened the mailbox door with my key, my eyebrows furrowed at two tiny envelopes that were exactly alike. One was for me and the other for my roommate, but they were clearly from the same sender. I opened mine, pulled out the card, and read it.
|||Dear Pete Sanzo. We've been watching you since day one. Join us on the fourth floor to find out why. Bring just yourself and tell no one about this. Sincerely, the Peters.|||
The note listed the floor number and printed emojis of an eggplant and peach, but nothing else. Hmm, strangely vague. I stuffed the note in my pocket, closed the mailbox door, and left the mailroom. I continued down the hallway and then up to the second of four floors. The second and fourth floors were reserved for male students, while the first and third floors were reserved for female students. All residents were paired with similar matches like age and class rank, which made sense why my roommate was an eighteen-year-old freshman like me.
I used my keycard and got inside the room. As I shut the door, my eyes widened. Um...wow. I'd expected many challenges now that I'd just started college. What I hadn't expected was this unusual challenge right in front of me.
My horny roommate was on the right-side bed, a freckly redhead named Lincoln Trump. He was humping with his T-shirt on, shorts down to his ankles, and his pasty ass in full view because of his jockstrap. His smooth, unfreckled cheeks were round and jiggly for not being very big—he was a leaner jock than I was—and they were probably not taut enough to bounce a quarter on them. Why wasn't he stopping, though? He obviously knew I was in here. He'd heard the door. He'd heard me walking inside. Yet there he was, just humping away.
And getting my dick hard.
As I reached my bed and laid my backpack on the floor, I remained standing, inhaling the scent of pure man that released all the right pheromones. I'd never really been with a guy before—not technically—just a couple of girls. Yet here I was, captivated by Lincoln's scent and struggling to keep my eyes off his tasty-looking man butt that practically said, "Eat me." I'd sniff it too. What was it like to be with a guy? To have just a little whiff and taste.
I'd come really close to being with a guy, though. There'd been a party at a friend's house over the summer, and I'd crashed there with a few other guys, all straight jocks. One of them had been so wasted that he'd passed out on the couch with his big bubble butt in full view because of reasons I'd never know. All I knew was that he'd been questionably flirty with me while drunk. What a risk I'd taken by sniffing his ass for a few minutes, intoxicated by the man scent, and almost giving him a rimjob. He'd been clean despite the subtle funk that soap alone couldn't seem to mask completely. But I couldn't have brought myself to do it because it felt wrong, since he'd been knocked out, so I'd jacked off while staring at his plump cheeks. I'd nut on the floor instead of on his butt, though. What an epic load it'd been, my biggest ever.
The back of Lincoln's shirt rose a bit to reveal a small, lettered tattoo right above his crack: S.L.U.T.
Okay...
He turned his head toward me but didn't stop. He grinned instead. "Hey. Pete Sanzo, right?" His voice was deeper than mine, sending chills down my spine. He was more butch than I was. It was also weird how he was able to greet me and start a conversation while humping in front of me like it was no big deal.
"Yeah, I'm Latino. Most of my family's in the Detroit area, so I'm new to the area."
"Oh. I thought you were Italian since you look more Mediterranean."
"My last name's actually Italian, so that's probably why."
"I see. You speak Spanish? Maybe you can teach me some sex stuff."
I shook my head. "Nah, I don't speak it. Never kept up with it since my parents were also born and raised here."
"Shame. I could've learned how to fuck in Spanish since my hot teacher in high school never taught me."
I gave Lincoln a knowing little smile. "He probably did in your fantasies."
"Definitely in my fantasies. I'm not really into guys old enough to be my dad, but damn, he was an exception. He was from Spain, though, and I couldn't really understand him too well at times. I almost failed and switched to French the following year, but that was even harder."
"Oh, okay." Oddly enough, I'd taken German in high school and had felt the same way about my hot teacher, except he was young and fresh out of college.
"Well, I'm a Euro mutt from the Wisconsin border, like, way northwest. I'm probably more Irish than anything, who the fuck knows. I should take a DNA test and stick the swab in my ass."
We chuckled, and an awkward silence fell between us.
Lincoln's expression was full of lust as he humped with devotion. What had made him even decide to do that while knowing I'd be here? "So...want to touch my ass?" Well, that was forward. He lowered his green-eyed gaze to the big tent in my shorts. "I think you want to by the looks of it."
This wasn't an ideal living situation for me because it would end becoming too distracting. How would I ever get any homework done if I chose to study in the dorm while Lincoln was here? Being a major ass guy was hard enough. I didn't have to have experience to know that a sexy peach was an automatic sexual trigger that required lots of fighting it off. Sniffing was just the first step. And it didn't help that Lincoln was a hot jock.
And that I hadn't shot a load in a few days after having stuff to deal with.
Fuck.
"Dude, look at you," he said. "You're leaking so much that you just wet your shorts."
So I was.
And feeling horny too.
He kept staring at my wet bulge. "Damn, Pete, seems like you have a huge eggplant hiding in there."
I'd recently measured it with a beer bottle. It'd reached just under the lid with the girth of only slightly thinner than a beer can. But given how turned on Lincoln suddenly seemed about that, I didn't want to mention it and risk contributing to his horny mood.
He licked his lips, still staring at it. "I hope this is okay to ask, but...are you uncut?"
I wasn't surprised by the question since I was Latino. "No, but I didn't have a choice, so don't get political on me now." I chuckled to lighten the mood.
"No bigs. I don't care either way since a cock is a cock to me. I was just curious." Of course Lincoln was. He couldn't stop looking at my bulge like a thirsty S.L.U.T. He made eye contact for a moment and grinned. "Seems like you can't stop looking at my ass. You really like it, don't you?"
I let out a little laugh but didn't want to answer. "I see you got a tattoo."
"Yeah, just my initials."
My eyebrows flew up? "Really?"
"Yep." He was so casual about it too. "Samuel Lincoln Ulysses Trump. No relation to the infamous former president, but since I've gotten both harassed and praised about it many times, I don't disclose my last name anymore. So, just keep calling me Lincoln, okay? My dad's named Samuel too, so Lincoln's less confusing."
"Oh, okay." It was interesting that his parents hadn't considered what his initials spelled.
"Plus, I really am a slut, so the tattoo fits in more ways than one."
I didn't know how to respond to that.
"Maybe you should come a little closer," Lincoln said in a horny tone. His eyes were heavy from what was probably an intense arousal.
It sucked so fucking much because Leah trusted me, and I hadn't even thought about her until now.
But could I really be faithful?
Fuck, the anxiety. I swallowed. "I should...probably take care of this in the bathroom."
"Seriously? Am I not your type, or...?" Lincoln didn't seem offended, but it was hard to tell.
"No, no. It's just...well...I kind of have a girlfriend."
"Oh." Why did he sound even more intrigued now? "You're not straight, are you? Questioning, maybe?"
That question. I hated it. It always confused me. For years, I'd thought about it over and over, and I'd struggled while keeping it to myself. It was another reason I'd come up here.
To find myself.
"You know what, it's fine," Lincoln said in a casual tone. "You don't need to answer. That was probably rude anyway."
"You're good."
He continued humping, silence filling the room for a moment. "But you know. I don't think it's considered cheating if you nut all over my butt."
Was he for real? Was it true, though? This was too much for me to handle. My hormones and emotions were fighting each other in a battle: lust, love, lust, love.
But did I even love Leah? We'd made out and had sex many times, but sometimes, I wasn't sure what I really felt about her. She was in love with me, though. Deeply so. She occasionally mentioned going from Leah Lutz to Leah Sanzo, like I didn't know where she was headed with that.
Gah! Why couldn't I have been like most guys and just fucking do it? For being a masculine jock, I'd always been a bit mushy on the inside. No one even knew I read romance novels on top of erotica, not even Leah. Sometimes, it hurt me more than it helped to be like this.
This big bulge of mine ached, though. It was like indirect blue balls, the cum just bubbling up inside like a cauldron. I lightly panted the more his ass wiggled for my attention as he kept humping. Those cheeks made my fingers curl up into a grasp.
Should I do it? Should I nut on his butt?
"I see your hand, Pete. Just do it already. We're both horny. Come on, let's play around."
Oh, Lincoln...
Fuck.
As I was about to touch my hard dick, a knock on the door startled us, and I froze.
Lincoln sighed, rolling his eyes. "What now?" he said under his breath as he got off the bed. "And just when I was about to see your cock too." He pulled his shorts back up and stepped closer to me with a smirk, his face dangerously close to mine. No cologne, just raw man threatening to unleash the sexual beast from within me. "To be continued," he added.
"That's...not a question."
"No, it's not. It's a prediction. Because you'll cave soon enough." Lincoln gave me a wink and sauntered past me toward the door, opening it.
Thankfully, my dick deflated fast. Phew. What a moment, like sexual danger. But I had to be careful. He wasn't being cocky with what he'd just said. He knew exactly how I felt to have made that statement. He knew I couldn't hide the desire. His hot looks, his edible ass, his manly scent...
"Sure, hold on a sec," Lincoln said, not shutting the door all the way. A grin spanned his face. "It's your girlfriend."
What...? Leah was here?!
Fuck!
And the front of my shorts still had a huge wet spot.
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To be continued...
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AUTHOR'S NOTE
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DISCLAIMER: All character names/details in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.