Choking on Testosterone Part 2

Note: This is a third attempt to continue the tale of our horned up college student. May the cyber demons take the night off and let me post this. The Chemistry lecture was my last class of the day, leaving the next four hours unscheduled -- my crash and sl**p time. My three other roommates were working their part time jobs or in class for the rest of the afternoon. The very thought of being alone in the house quickened my walking to a halting jog through the park and down a couple more blocks toward the house. I would have run full out, but I was getting some interesting action in the crotch area of my baggy sweats, my bull dick swinging commando. I could tell by that certain sensation that I was already oozing precum and I hoped I'd get some interesting possibilities from some sharp-eyed hottie zero-ing in on the spreading wet stain in my tent-poled sweats. I was shameless. Not exactly the guy you wanna' take home to meet mom. Hey, I'm twenty years old, okay, and not interested in buying china together. I just wanna' obey my genetic imperative man... a healthy male specimen at twenty is a****l-driven by mother nature to spread around the baby batter and she doesn't give a fuck if this a****l's imperative is to coat the inside of some dudes guts with his sperm. Oh, damn. I shouldn't have thought about that word -- sperm. Just hearing that word spoken while fucking has triggered my loss of control, jizzing most unpredictably. Move faster, Sport, it looks like your going to be charming the cobra on your own, and you've got four hours of tv/dvd time to exorcise this intense horniness from your big brain and your little brain. That fucker, Hairy Ankle, in Chem lecture. Fine breeding material, for sure. I wondered what his DNA imperative was telling his cock to do right now. It was like my whole system went into some altered state of consciousness whenever his image came into my mind. As though his pheromones were so intense on me that I lost track of what the fuck was happening. I was pretty sure that unless a miracle happened, I was going to flunk out of Chemistry because I hadn't heard a single word because I was so utterly distracted by the size of his foot, the bristly haired three inches of skin between his sweat sock top and the hem of his pant leg. I could draw from memory the curve of his calf, the break at the knee, and then spreading full and muscled sat his thigh and square ass on the desk seat. He didn't have that hour glass waist, but a full manly waist that was firm and stout, and flared up and outward to his thick, broad shoulders and neck. He always wore tee shirts that didn't seem to actually fit him too well, always seemed kind of short, never tucked into his jeans waist band. I loved that he when he stood up, his pants were loose fitting, not sprayed on tight. He moved comfortably in his body and his clothes. I was in that fucked up frenzied dream state as I jumped the fence into our yard and ran up the five steps to the porch, my cock now fully extended in my sweatpants and a good nine inches ahead of me. It was determined to win the race against me to get to the lube and blow a load. And it looked as though it might win before we actually got through the door. And after crashing through the old door, which we never locked because none of us could keep track of our keys, I learned it wasn't a cock at all -- my body was attached to a heat-seeking, tight asshole search and destroy device, designed to seek out, penetrate and explode inside prime male booty. How could I have known what it apparently knew already? That just inside the door with his back to us, stood waiting to be plowed, the object of my obsession, Hairy Ankle. Only he didn't know that at the time. But he was soon to find out. (This is where I'm going to break the tale out of fear of not getting it posted before the cyber demon sends it off to unknown universes. So, check back for the conclusion of Choking on Testosterone)