His head hurt like a motherfucker!
He tried opening his eyes just a bit, but the light caused even more pain, so he squeezed them tightly shut.
As consciousness slowly returned, so did awareness. That he desperately needed to take a leak. And maybe throw up. That his mouth tasted like cum. And his ass hurt. Nor was there any let-up from the pain in his head.
Summoning up what resolve he could, he opened his eyes. At first he had no idea where he was. It seemed his head was under a coffee table. He was obviously lying on his stomach.
When he tried to scoot backward so he wouldn't bang his head on the table getting onto his hands and knees, he scraped his cock and balls on the carpet. That's when he realized he was naked.
No time to wonder about that now, he had to find a bathroom.
He managed to stand.
Looking around through slitted eyes, he saw there was a naked guy sleeping on the sofa.
Spying a hallway, he staggered in that direction, assuming that following it might lead him to a bathroom. He managed to get out of the living room having stubbed his toe against the furniture only twice. Steadying himself by putting his hands on the walls of the hall, he moved forward. He passed two rooms with open doors, obviously bedrooms. Then he came to the bathroom. As he found the toilet and began to empty his bladder, a more urgent need arose as he emptied the contents of his stomach into the bowl. Then he was able to stand, even more shakily, if that was possible, while he finished peeing.
He flushed and then turned on the cold water tap. Using his cupped hands, he drank. And that was a mistake, for then he had to sink to his knees again. Obviously he hadn't lost all his stomach contents on the first try. When he was able to stand once more, he rinsed his mouth and spat the water out, not wanting to risk drinking more. Then he put down the cover on the toilet and sat. That was a big mistake, since sitting intensified the pain in his abused ass.
Finally he remembered where he was. The party! Since it was now daylight, he wondered what the fuck had gone on the night before. And why was he naked? He needed to find his clothes and get out of there. He wanted his bed. He wanted to die.
On his way down the hall to the living room he looked into the bedrooms. Two naked guys were sleeping in a king size bed in one of the rooms. Kevin Peavy, also naked, was zonked out in a double bed in the other room. Despite the throbbing in his head, Justin couldn't help noticing Kevin's nice ass.
Back in the living room he found clothing scattered around the room. Some of it was his. He also found a number of empty condom packets and several used rubbers. His head hurt worse every time he bent over, so he wound up sorting through the clothing on his hands and knees, swearing he'd never ever touch a drop of alcohol again. Eventually he found his shirt, boxers, and jeans. There were so many white socks lying around he decided he couldn't tell which were his. When he finally found his second sneaker under a chair, he pulled on his shoes without socks. Checking his pockets to see if his keys and wallet were still there, he stood slowly, waiting for the dizziness to pass. Then he made his way to the front door, let himself out, cursing at the brightness of the sun.
He stopped once on the mile-long trek back to Rhodes Hall while he had the dry heaves.
On that miserable journey his ass hurt as much as his head. It had obviously had rough usage. But he couldn't remember a thing from the night before. Well, nothing that happened after Hal left, anyway.
Fortunately there was no one in the lobby of the dorm. When the elevator doors closed, he leaned against the wall of the car and closed his eyes.
`Please don't let Bailey be there,' he said to himself.
Bailey was there. Sitting in the reading chair.
"Where the fuck have you been, Jus?"
"I'm not yelling. But I've been worried about you, man."
"I told you I was going to a party."
"Yeah, but you didn't say you'd be gone all night."
"Fuck off, Stone!"
Justin stripped off his clothes, wrapped a towel around his waist, stuck his feet onto his flipflops, and headed back for the door.
"You might want to use the sink before you go down to the shower room."
"Because you've got dried cum on your face, in your eyebrows, and in your hair. I mean, you're out and all, but do you want anybody to see you like that?"
Justin went to the mirror in the bathroom they shared with the next room. What Bailey said was true. `What the fuck did I do last night?' he asked himself.
"What the fuck did you do last night?" Bailey asked him as he washed his face and ran his wet hands through his hair.
"Fuck off. You're not my mother! Now, will you be here when I get back or should I take my key?"
"I'll wait until you get back. Then I think I'll go somewhere and give you some space."
Justin grunted and went to the shower room at the end of the hall. Walking hurt because his ass was so sore.
He felt dirty. But of course he was dirty. Bailey had pointed out the cum on his face and in his hair. He needed to feel clean. He ran the water until it was nearly scalding. Then he stood there letting the hot water cascade over his body, soothing the soreness, as he tried to remember the events of the previous evening.
He and Hal had been talking with all the cute guys, had joined in the dancing, had been drinking some kind of lemon/lime flavored pop with vodka in it. And then Hal had left. Why had Hal left?
After he'd soaped himself all over, he pulled his butt cheeks apart and let the warm water run between them. That felt good. He touched his anus, which was sore and puffy. Why couldn't he remember what happened?
A guy he knew casually came in, threw his towel on a hook, and went to a shower stall as far from Justin as he could. In passing, he said, "Looks like you had a rough night, Quinn."
"Party, party!" Justin said, trying to grin. He didn't feel any cleaner as he shut off the water.
When he got back to the room, Bailey was ready with two white caplets, a glass of water, and a mug of coffee.
"These are extra strength. They'll help with the headache."
Taking the pills and washing them down with a swallow of water, Justin hoped they wouldn't come right back up again. "How'd you know I have a headache?"
"I can tell. You want some of this coffee, or would you rather just crash?"
"I think I'll get in bed for a while. So I'll skip the caffeine. And I'm sorry I swore at you. Now, could you just let me die?"
"Man, you are so hung over! Yeah, Jus, sleep it off. I'll be back after a while to check on you." He turned back Justin's bedcovers, whisked the towel off, and gestured with his head for Justin to get in.
Justin stretched out. As Bailey was covering him up, Justin said, "You know, you make a pretty good mommy. Thanks, man."
Bailey grabbed his room key and left, closing the door softly behind him.
When Justin woke several hours later, he was still alone in the room. His headache was better, but when he wiggled his ass was still sore. He lay on his stomach, his arms hugging his pillow, trying to remember what had happened the night before.
He and Hal had been having fun, and they'd met a bunch of cool guys, all of them gay. Kevin Peavy had been there, of course, along with their host, Blake Alexander and their house mate, Jay somebody or other. It got quite late, and there were only about seven or eight people left. Hal had said they should go. Kevin spoke up and said, "Hey, guys, don't go yet. We're gonna play some strip poker."
"I don't know how to play poker," Harry had said.
"Me neither," Justin admitted.
Kevin grinned. "No problem. You don't need to know anything about poker to play this game."
"Uh, I don't think so," Harry said nervously.
"Oh, come, dude. Let's give it a try."
Harry had been adamant, finally saying he was leaving whether Justin did or not.
Justin had coaxed, but Harry left. Then someone handed Justin another drink. He couldn't remember what happened after that.
Obviously, whatever transpired after Hal left, Justin's ass had been well used. Had he been raped? Or, worse maybe, was he a willing bottom boy for the guys who'd stayed on?
`Fuck! I've taken it up the ass. A lot, from the way it feels. And whether it was rape or I wanted it, I don't know how often or who did it.' He realized he'd have to go to the University Health Service on Monday for an STD test. `God, I hope Mom doesn't hear about that. Or Brody.'
A kaleidoscope of thoughts and questions flashed across his brain. Why had Hal insisted on leaving? Did he know something he wasn't telling Justin? How many guys had fucked him? A bunch by the way he felt. And his aching jaw and throat suggested that he'd taken a lot of punishment from that end, too. Which made him wonder all the more. Giving blowjobs wasn't his favorite kind of sex. He didn't mind it when he liked the guy and wanted to give him pleasure, but it still wasn't the turn on that other things were. Why had he been singled out? Fresh meat?
That made it sound as if it had been a conspiracy to use him. Was that what happened? Or did he just have too much to drink and, with any inhibitions he may have had lowered, give in to what Todd claimed were his cuntboy propensities? Rape victim or slut?
His head wasn't so blindingly painful now, he realized. And he was thirsty. He didn't know whether that was good or bad, but he wanted water. Peeling back the covers, he swung his legs around and put his feet on the floor. So far, so good.
He was sitting there trying to will himself to stand up when Bailey came in, his cheeks ruddy. He gave Justin an appraising look.
"Yeah. Don't fuss."
"I'm glad you're awake. I just found out how little there is to do around here on a Sunday afternoon. And it's gotten cold. So, at least I'm not disturbing you."
When Justin didn't say anything, Bailey asked, "How are you feeling?"
"Better. I'm gonna get a drink."
"Just take a little bit at first. If you can keep that down, then you can try some more."
"I said not to fuss. Besides, what makes you an expert on hangovers?"
Bailey grinned. "Oh, I've had one or two."
"The sainted Bailey Stone? No, I don't believe it. Oww, my head hurts."
He didn't notice the hurt look on Bailey's face as he went to the mini-fridge and got a bottle of water.
"I'm gonna take a shower."
"But you had one a few hours ago."
"Well, I'm going to have another one, okay?"
Justin felt a bit better the next morning. His head didn't hurt, and the pain in his jaws and throat was gone. But his ass still hurt, especially when he had his morning bowel movement.
During a break between classes he went to the health service for a blood draw. He was told he'd get the results soon on everything. They said they'd call him. He was relieved that the health service people didn't ask why he was having these tests. They seemed to think of it as an everyday occurrence. Which, at a large university, he realized, it probably was.
Leaving the health service, he scurried to his English class. When he put down his backpack and flopped into the seat next to Harry, he said, "Sup?"
Harry looked at him, shook his head, and then looked toward the front of the room. He pointedly ignored Justin throughout the class, seeming to focus on Bruce Evans, their instructor, for the whole period.
"Don't forget to leave your essays on the desk on your way out," Evans said, smiling at them. Justin was glad he'd done the essay before the weekend. He'd have been in no shape to do it Sunday.
Harry got out of his seat quickly, put his assignment on the instructor's desk, and walked rapidly out of the room. When Justin got into the hallway, his friend was just turning to go down the stairs to the main floor.
"Hal, wait up!"
If Harry heard, he didn't respond.
`What's wrong with him?' Justin wondered. `What the fuck have I done?'
When it was time to go for supper, Justin and Bailey stopped on the second floor to see if Harry wanted to go with them. Cliff, Harry's roommate told them that Harry had already left to get something to eat.
"Was he with somebody?" Justin asked.
"What am I, his keeper? If you can't keep track of your boyfriend, it's not my job!" Cliff said, practically snarling.
Bailey didn't say anything, merely scowling at Thornton. After they'd gotten their food at the Commons and had found a place to sit, however, he looked at Justin with a puzzled expression.
"What's up with your buddy?"
"Beats the hell out of me."
"Does it have anything to do with the party Saturday night?"
"I don't want to talk about the party, okay?" Justin said, an edge in his voice.
Bailey made a placating gesture with his hands. "Okay, okay. It's not like you to go out and get puking drunk, Jus. In fact, it's not like you to drink anything more than an occasional beer. And from the way you've been preoccupied since you got home yesterday morning, I can't help thinking something weird must have happened at that party."
Justin glared at his roommate. "I said I don't want to talk about it!"
"Sorry, roomie. It's just that I care about you. And something's wrong."
"I'll deal with it. Sorry I'm such a bitch. But there's nothing you can do. I'll get over it, I promise. Meanwhile, just cut me some slack."
"Sure, Jus. Whatever you need."
* * *
Justin got to English class the next day before Harry, who came in at the last minute, just before Evans arrived. As he sat, Justin leaned toward him and said, "Hal, don't you leave here without me this morning. I want to know what's going on with you." His tone was not exactly menacing, but Harry looked a bit alarmed.
"Justin and Harry, if it's okay with you guys, we'll start now," Evans said, smiling at them.
"Sorry," Justin said. Harry didn't say anything, seemingly busy getting out his text and his notebook.
After class, Justin asked, "Can you meet me in an hour? I want to know what's griping your ass."
"You don't know?"
"Nope. But look, it's too cold to sit outside and talk, so how about getting a shake or something at the snack bar at the Union?"
"Okay." Harry didn't look happy, but at least he'd agreed. Normally they'd have bumped fists or touched in some way, but Justin didn't want that, and Harry didn't seem to want the contact either.
"Now," Justin said once they'd gotten their shakes and had found a table not too close to anyone else, "tell me why you've been avoiding me."
"Were you so hammered at Blake's party that you don't remember anything?"
"I remember you leaving."
"Do you remember why I left?"
"You were being a party pooper, didn't want to stick around for the card game."
"Didn't want to stick around for the orgy."
Justin narrowed his eyes as he looked at Harry. "Orgy?"
Harry sighed. "I tried to tell you that if we stayed around, those others were thinking of us as chickens, fresh meat."
"How do you know that?"
"I overheard some of the guys talking. That's why I tried to get you to leave with me. But, oh, no, you weren't having any of that! I was being a killjoy and you were going to stay around and party."
"Did you tell me about what you'd overheard?"
"Not in so many words. But I did tell you that we wouldn't want to get involved in that card game."
"But you didn't say why?"
"I was going to tell you on the way home, but you didn't trust me when I told you bad things could happen." He seemed to have forgotten his shake. "Would you like to tell me your story about what did happen?"
"My story? My story as in I'd lie to you?"
"No, I didn't mean that, exactly. But I've heard some rumors."
"Such as you were the evening's entertainment. That we were both supposed to get fucked by the upperclassmen there. And since I left, you became Mr. Fuck Me at Both Ends!"
"Tell me that didn't happen, Justin."
"Hal, I can't."
"You're really that much of a slut?"
"No, um, that is, I can't remember what happened."
"Hey, Hal, I'm not lying. I drank too much, okay? Way too much. And I'm not sure somebody didn't slip something into my drink just after you bailed on me."
"You spent the night there, didn't you?"
Harry crumpled his napkin and pushed his half-consumed shake away. "Well, Justin, it seems to me what people are saying must be true. I didn't think you were that kind of guy. I thought you and I had something pretty sweet going. I was coming to care a lot about you. But I can't see myself being touched by a guy who's let half the gay guys on campus fuck him – at both ends."
"You're exaggerating, man. There were only four guys there when I left."
"Jesus, Quinn! So how many left before you did? Besides, the thought of you being a sex pig for four guys is four more than I can stand."
He stood and picked up his backpack. "I'll see you around." Looking as if he was about to cry, Harry turned and left.
"Fuck!" Justin waited until Harry had left the room, then he stood up and turned to leave.
"Hey, Quinn, how's it goin'?" Several tables away Blake Alexander was sitting with a couple of guys Justin didn't know. "Wanna join us? Doesn't look like you finished your shake."
"Um, no, thanks. Gotta get back to the room and get some stuff done."
* * *
The nightmares began to recur. He'd wake up in the middle of the night sweating, having visions of himself being fucked at both ends by an endless procession of faceless guys.
One night he was awakened by Bailey sitting on the edge of his bed.
"Jus, wake up." Bailey had his hand on Justin's shoulder. "You're dreaming. Wake up, please!"
"Huh? What? What is it?" Justin, who had been lying on his side, rolled onto his back. His shoulder practically burned where Bailey had touched it. Suddenly aware of where he was, he looked to see if he was throwing wood. Relieved that he wasn't, he said, "Roomie, I'm sorry I woke you. I'm okay."
Bailey looked concerned. "I'm worried about you. You were curled into the fetal position and were whimpering."
"It was just a bad dream. Let me get up, please. I've gotta piss and I need some water."
Bailey moved back to his own bed, where he sat on the edge, his big bare feet on the floor. "You've been restless in your sleep all week, Jus. Are you sure you're okay?"
Coming back from the bathroom, Justin sat on his bed, facing Bailey.
"Try to get back to sleep, dude. I'll be okay. Like I said, I'm sorry for the commotion."
Justin lay there on his back, fingers laced behind his head, long after Bailey had begun to breathe evenly. He had visions of himself on his knees, head down, butt in the air, being fucked. Or on his back, knees by his shoulders, with a guy's dick up his ass. He was sucking on a dick dangling from a second guy who was straddling his head, the guy's balls resting on his nose. What he couldn't sense in these images was whether he was doing all of this voluntarily or was being forced.
Increasingly these thoughts preyed on his mind during his waking moments as well. He realized he needed to talk with someone. But with whom? He felt closer to Brody than to anyone, but he'd die rather than let him know anything about that night. He couldn't bear to have Brody think of him as being either a rape victim or a happy whore.
His mind wandered in class. He stayed in his room for a couple of evenings instead of going to eat supper. Bailey tried to coax him to come along, pointing out that he had to eat sometime. Justin said he'd have a power bar, that he wanted to get some reading done for his art history course. When Bailey had pointed out that he was in the same course and knew they didn't have any big reading assignments to do at the moment, Justin merely told him to fuck off.
Another strange behavior was his need to shower frequently, often as many as three times a day. Bailey, of course, was quite aware of this.
* * *
Bailey was at his computer when Justin got in late one afternoon. He swiveled to look at his roommate.
Nodding toward Justin's computer chair, he said, "Sit down."
He took off his glasses and put them on the desk. "That's what you're going to tell me."
"Stone, if you're trying to psychoanalyze me again, you can just forget it." Justin dropped his books on his bed and went into the bathroom. When he came back out, Bailey was standing in front of the door.
"Look, Jus, to get out of this room, you're gonna have to come through me. Think you can do that?"
Justin shrugged his shoulders. "I was gonna go take a shower. But you know damn well I can't get by you if you don't want me to. So what's your fuckin' problem?"
Speaking softly, Bailey said, "Please sit down."
When Justin did, Bailey sat opposite him.
"You got a phone call this afternoon."
"Uh huh. It was the University Health Service. They said the results of your tests were back, and if you'd call they'd tell you about them."
"Okay, thanks." Justin turned to his computer and switched it on.
Bailey crab walked his chair over to Justin's and turned Justin to face him. Then, leaning forward, he said, "Jus, what kind of tests? Why won't you tell me what's wrong?"
consider making a contribution to the Nifty Archive.
If you liked this chapter, I'd love to hear from you. Email me at
Please be sure to put the name of the story in the subject line so I'll know
it isn't spam. Thanks. --Tim