By Sorbus
Was this my life now? To be surrounded by bossy Doms who found me in moments of . . . poorly planned distress or humiliation? And. . . why did it seem like some part of me felt like I was ok with that.
“I blame you,” I muttered, staring down at my crotch.
“What was that?” Jason asked over his shoulder, as he led the way.
I merely grunted something unintelligible and followed behind, unsure why I felt naughty. We passed through the parking lot and into the main entrance of a hideously looking building. But the hallways of the College of Agricultural Sciences were packed with cowboy ranchers-to-be and the most adorable plant-geeky guys studying horticulture; the agronomists landed somewhere in between that wide spectrum of masculinity.
I had discovered during my sophomore year that the horribly outdated bathrooms were constructed of solid cinderblock walls- wonderfully sound-dampening cinderblock. And I’d found myself on my knees while a closet-case cowboy stood above me and let me drain his tap. It had happened a couple of other times, with one of those plant-geeky guys, as well.
I quickly shook those memories away as passed the door to one of those restrooms, then entered the echoing stairway, with the creepy florescent lighting, and headed up to our grad student office.
“Hold up there, boy,” Jason said, went I started to step around him on the first landing. He pushed me up against the wall and smirked. “Drop trou and let me see it. I want to see your cage while you’re standing up. I’m really curious about it now.”
