He woke up the next morning, later than even the day before, face down and snoring on his side of the room. He…didn’t quite remember what had happened the night before, very clearly. He was still dressed in his overalls, but they were…damp. Or at least the crotch was…and one leg all the way down to his socks. He only had one boot on. Next to the bed were two bottles of cheap whisky, one empty, the other nearly, which did a lot to explain his raging headache…but where in the hell had he even gotten the booze to begin with? He’d gone to eat dinner and stuffed himself for a couple hours, but when he’d finished and gone back outside to smoke…he’d felt kind of antsy, almost jittery…and walked a little ways off campus to a convenience store where he’d bought the whiskey…he thought. Yeah…he bought it all the time. Sure, he wasn’t twenty-one, but nobody fucking carded him, not with the beard and his hair and his clothes. He yawned, and felt something hard clink against his front teeth, and he covered his mouth with one grimy hand, before sticking out his tongue and feeling the piercing in the middle of it. Where in the fucking hell had that come from? Had he gone out last night? All he could remember was coming back to his room, getting drunk, yelling at his roommate when the guy came home and complained about the booze and smoke, and then nothing else.
He pushed himself up in bed, and he could smell the piss soaked into the bed. In his mind, he knew it should disgust him…and yet, his cock was getting hard in the cold, wet crotch of his overalls, and he rubbed it, unable to help himself. He stood up and looked at himself in the mirror, at the piercings studded all over his face–eyebrows, septum, lips, ears…nipples…cock–and the tattoos covering his arms and chest, and that was all he needed–he freed his cock through the fly and jacked off quickly into the palm of his hand, tugging on the thick gauge PA lodged in the head, licking the cum up afterward, and then lit a cigar, feeling the hangover easing off–finishing off the last bottle of whiskey helped too…and so did whipping out his cock, leaning back on his bed…and pissing up all over himself, feeling it soak into his shirt and coat his belly, running down into the creases of his fat, stinking body…and…and what the hell was he doing?
Seriously, what was he doing?
His body continued, but his mind felt like it had derailed. This wasn’t him, this wasn’t anyone. No one behaved like this, especially not in college. Was…was he even going to college? He had to be right, or else why was he in a dorm room? Classes started tomorrow, but for the life of him he couldn’t recall one piece of the schedule he’d signed up for during orientation the week before. This was wrong, how had any of this even happened?
Eddie. Fuck, just…just thinking of him now, he couldn’t stop himself from jacking his cock again, disturbed at his own behavior, at the volume of his moans, at the delight he was taking it rolling around in the now twice soaked bed, feeling it creak and groan beneath his massive heft. But everything had started with…with that first time he’d fainted. Maybe…Maybe Eddie knew something. Maybe he could tell him something about that, the first time, something that could help him understand what was happening to him. Yeah, he needed to see Eddie, if he could just…just talk…talk to him, he could…could…
He groaned, shooting a massive load all over the front of his overalls, his fat hands grinding it into the fabric along with his piss and sweat. He didn’t…didn’t have any time to waste, before this just got worse. Who knew when he might faint again, and what might happen to him if he does? He…he certainly didn’t have time to change clothes or anything, certainly not. He sat back up, slipped on his one lost boot, and then waddled his way out of the room without even thinking of changing his clothes, down the stairs and out onto campus, reeking of piss and cum and smoke. But Eddie…Eddie would help him. Eddie would help him sort all of this out, he was sure of it.
Bracken's Corner 