****** The Most Disturbing Behavior by loopy ******
===============================================================================

The Most Disturbing Behavior

I had been working toward getting my undergraduate degree in psychology for a
few years, but I had really been taking my time. I chose to attend college part
time so that I could keep working full time and not have to go into too much
debt in order to get my degree. It was a relief for me to be entering my final
semester of college before graduating. I had planned it perfectly - just one
class! Once I was finished this class, I would be done school for a good long
time. And then, at some point, I planned to continue with a graduate degree.
But not before I had taken at least a couple of years off to rest first!

My final class was called "Self-Analysis". The instructor was a very tall,
overweight man who appeared incapable of smiling, and who sounded more like he
was talking out of his nose than his mouth. On the first day of class, without
even introducing himself, he charged straight into explaining his course
outline - my gut reaction was that I was going to hate taking this course, but
I was determined to try to have a good attitude anyway. After all, it was the
last course I had to take!

The instructor explained that there was only one major paper due in his class -
it was worth 50% of the final grade. The other 50% of the final grade would
come from the final exam. He stressed several times over in his nasal voice
that it was of critical importance that the paper be taken seriously, as he was
not in the habit of giving good marks for sloppy work. The paper, he went on to
explain, was to be 20 to 30 pages long. Each student was to think back on the
most disturbing behavior they had ever personally engaged in, and discuss their
feelings about the behavior in the paper. The instructor explained that all
people engage in behavior that they later find disturbing, and the focus of the
paper was to be how the students had worked through these disturbing feelings.
In the same monotone voice he had spoken in for the entire class, he stated
that the more unusual the nature of the problem, the more interesting the
papers would be for him to read. He implied that those students who chose to
write about highly disturbing behavior would be more likely to receive a higher
grade. He also explained that the content of the papers would be kept strictly
confidential and that he would not keep a copy for himself, so students did not
need to fear being totally open and candid in the papers. "I've heard it all,"
he said several times, "so don't worry that you'll shock or offend me, because
you certainly won't."

I turned to Joe, the guy seated next to me and whispered, "I'll bet he whacks
off for hours reading all of the bizarre stuff that gets put in those papers!"

"No way!" Joe snickered. "I doubt he's had an orgasm for at least 10 years!"

I didn't know Joe well, although we'd been in several courses together and
would be graduating together at the end of the semester. I knew that he was 23
- two years younger than me - and that he came from a very rich family. At
times, it was kind of obvious that he had been brought up a spoiled kid - I had
seen him whining to instructors in several different classes when he felt that
the workload was too high. He was a well-built guy who always wore jeans and t-
shirts that showed off his body quite nicely. The girls in college all flocked
around him like he was the pied piper - he had a flashy car and a thick wallet
and knew how to use these talents to get women into bed. I was intensely
curious about what kind of problem he might decide to write about. Perhaps he'd
had wild, passionate sex with a man in the past, and was highly disturbed by
it, since he's such an obvious 'red neck'. I smiled at the thought. I
identified as heterosexual on campus, but I knew in my heart that I was really
bi-sexual. I had been with quite a few different women, but the most intensely
satisfying sexual experiences I had ever had was when I was 21 and had a buddy
that got real drunk with me once, and then asked me to suck his cock. I was
shocked at the request, but the alcohol helped ease my inhibitions, and I
gladly complied. Over the following months, whenever he wanted a blowjob, I was
there to help him out - often in a bathroom between classes. Unfortunately for
me, he ended up meeting a new girlfriend and as soon as they were a couple, my
services were no longer required. Although he was the only guy I had ever been
sexual with, I had known ever since puberty that I found both males and females
sexually attractive. In fact, some of my sexual fantasies about males were
pretty unusual - and as I sat in class thinking about them, I was reminded of
an incident that had occurred a few years back that I found highly disturbing
at the time. I knew that I had come upon the issue that I would write about in
my paper - I was willing to do almost anything for a good mark. The experience
was certainly 'twisted' and the thought of writing about it was rather scary -
but it was sure to get my bizarre instructor's attention, almost assuring me an
'A' on the paper.

When I returned from classes that afternoon, I decided to begin working on my
paper immediately. Being in just one class, it wasn't hard to motivate myself
to get to work quickly. Unlike most of the other students, I wasn't feeling
overwhelmed with a full courseload of homework. And besides, the idea of
writing a paper about my bizarre past experience was intriguing to me in an odd
way.

Ever since my early adolescence, I had been turned on by the thought of other
guys pissing or taking a shit. I used to hang out in public bathrooms, sitting
on the toilet, waiting for other guys to go into the stall next to me so I
could hear them grunting and listen to the sound of their turds splashing into
the toilet bowl. My cock would grow hard with pleasure as the smell of their
waste reached into my stall. I would listen intently to the sound of them
wiping their assholes clean, wishing that I was there to watch or to wipe them
myself. My fantasies expanded as I grew older, and I would dream of being used
as a human toilet - having a man piss in my face and mouth, and then take a
seat on my face, splattering my face with wet farts and feeding me long, solid
turds straight from his hole. I would jerk my cock frantically as I imagined
these scenes, and would always have the most incredible orgasms.

When I was around 22 or 23, I had followed this guy named Chris, one of the
hottest studs on campus, into the bathroom and listened intently from the stall
next to him as he took a huge dump into the toilet bowl. To my surprise and
great joy, he left the toilet stall without flushing. My mind began to race
with intense desire as I imagined myself going into the stall he had been in
and pulling one of the turds from the toilet. Could I do it? What would I do
with his turd? Taste it? I knew that it was a completely disgusting idea and
that I was crazy to even think about it, but my heart was beating wildly at the
opportunity to taste Chris' shit. I went into the stall he had been in, and
quickly locked the door behind me. There was a bit of toilet paper floating on
the top of the bowl, and I took my finger and pushed it to the side. There,
looking completely amazing, were several thick logs of shit. My mind was
telling me that I was insane and I should just leave, but I ignored it and
moved my hand toward the bowl. I felt my hand enter the cold water, and reached
for the biggest of the turds. I grabbed it and pulled my hand from the bowl,
gagging at the smell and the thought of what I was doing, but incredibly
aroused nonetheless. I brought the log closer to my face, but began to feel
sickened at what I was doing. The feeling of revulsion was overtaking the
erotic feelings, but I so badly wanted to follow through with tasting Chris'
turd, knowing that I might not have the opportunity to taste such a perfect
man's shit again. I brought the log up to my face and kissed it - the
disgusting smell mixed with the slimy feel on my lips caused me to gag, and I
threw the log back into the toilet. I heaved several times and was sure I would
throw up, but I managed to keep from getting sick. The stench and feel of the
shit residue on my hand made me feel disgusted with myself, and I quickly
exited the stall to wash my hands. Even with using soap several times, I
couldn't completely rid my hand of the smell of Chris' shit. Throughout the
rest of that day, I felt very odd inside. How could the fantasy of a man's shit
be so pleasing to me, but the reality of it be so disgusting? Why would I be
attracted to the thought of doing something so base and degrading as tasting
another man's shit? Later on that same day, I saw Chris walking down the
hallway, and I stared at the jeans that fit so nicely over his beautiful ass.
"I kissed his shit," I thought to myself, and instantly, I felt my cock grow
stiff in my own jeans and was hit once again with a mixture of sexual pleasure
and revulsion. I felt like I would do anything to have him squat over my face
and dump a big log straight into my mouth, and yet I knew full well from my
experience earlier in the day that in reality, there would be no way I could
force myself to eat his shit, no matter how incredible the fantasy. Still,
every time I saw him over the following years, I would immediately become
aroused at the thought that I had kissed his shit. I hardly saw him anymore
since the campus was large and his current classes were not held anywhere near
mine, but I still fantasized about him on a regular basis.

I sat at home thinking about all of these things and making notes on them for
my paper. I decided to identify Chris by his first name and a general
description only - what if my instructor knew him? I realized that was
unlikely, but felt better not taking the chance. There was no rush to complete
the assignment - it wasn't due for a few weeks - so once I had put some of my
memories into rough notes, I flipped on the TV and decided to give myself a
break. I played with my cock as I flipped through the channels. All the time I
had spent thinking about my fantasies had made me horny. I flipped off the TV
and focused on my cock. I imagined meeting up with Chris in a bathroom on
campus and kneeling in front of him while he sat on the toilet. I'd hear the
plopping sound of his turds hitting the water. Then, he'd raise himself from
the toilet and turn his ass towards my face. "Wipe it," he'd say. I'd reach for
the toilet paper and he'd slap my hand and laugh. "No, stupid - use your face".
Then he'd grab my hair and pull my face towards his dirty shit hole.... The
orgasm was beautiful and I licked the cum from my hand. It was so amazing to
imagine being treated that way.

The next few weeks of class went by quickly. The instructor was the most boring
lecturer I had ever endured in my years at college. His nasal voice grated on
my nerves, and he never seemed to change the expression on his face even
slightly. Joe, the rich guy from my class, agreed with me wholeheartedly about
how horrible the lectures were. "I'll bet his expression wouldn't change if I
farted in his face," he said. A bolt of pleasure hit my cock when he said this
and I thought to myself, "But mine sure would."

I worked hard on my assignment, at times realizing how crazy I was for daring
to even think about handing in such secret information about myself to my
instructor, at other times, feeling sexually excited by the idea. As I re-
worked the paper over and over, I felt confident that I was assured of an 'A'.
I was jealous of my instructor - how much completely twisted information had he
read about his students over the years? It would be so interesting to be
allowed to read such intimate material!

I put the finishing touches on my paper the afternoon before it was due. The
next day in class, with a mixture of fear and excitement, I handed the paper to
my instructor. I watched as he carefully locked the stack of papers into his
briefcase. It was too late to turn back now. The instructor indicated that the
papers would be handed back the following week.

The day before the paper was due to be handed back, I sat watching TV and
eating left-over pizza. There was nothing decent to watch, and the pizza tasted
disgusting - I decided to turn in early.

Sometime in the early morning hours, I woke up with the most incredible stomach
ache. The pain grew so bad that I found myself laying in a fetal position,
grasping onto my gut. My stomach began to churn and I rushed to the bathroom to
puke into the toilet. What the hell was going on? I walked back to my bed, but
before I could even put my head on the pillow, my stomach was heaving again and
I had to race back to the toilet to puke. It was that disgusting pizza! With a
groan, I realized that I had food poisoning.

I desperately wanted to go to my class to get my paper back from my instructor
and find out my mark, but by morning, I was no better - I had been puking a
couple of times an hour for the past few hours. My stomach would heave over and
over again until I thought there could be nothing left in me, but still I would
continue to vomit. I resigned myself to the fact that there was no way I would
make it in to class.

By the following day, I was feeling better - not perfect, but good enough to
attend class. I was far too anxious to get my paper back to allow myself to
miss another day. My thoughts were spinning as I headed to my class - would I
be able to look my instructor in the eye?

I sat down in my desk waiting for the instructor to arrive. He was so anal,
you'd never expect that he'd be late, but in fact, he often was.

Joe came into the class and sat down beside me. "Where were you yesterday?" he
asked.

"I was really sick," I replied. "Food poisoning. I couldn't stop puking."

Joe made a face. "That sucks". He reached into his binder. "Here," he said,
tossing my paper onto my desk, "The instructor asked me to give this to you."

I felt all of the blood drain from my face as horror gripped me. Why the hell
had the instructor given Joe my assignment? Had he read it? Joe didn't seem to
notice my discomfort. He was flipping through his notes, and didn't seem to be
acting in an unusual manner. Could it be that he hadn't read it? I was hard for
me to believe that he might not have - I know I certainly would have had I had
access to his paper.

"How come he gave it to you, Joe?" I asked, trying to keep my voice from
trembling.

Joe's reply was very matter-of-fact. "He's not going to be here today - he's
arranged for a guest lecturer. I guess he figured you might not want to wait
until he returns."

I noted every detail of Joe's physical movements and voice. It really did
appear that nothing was out of the ordinary. I was dying to ask if he'd read my
paper, but couldn't muster up the courage to do so. The guest lecturer arrived
and called the class to attention. I don't remember hearing one word he said.
Throughout the class, my mind was consumed with thoughts that Joe might know
the most intimate and damning information about me. How could this have
happened? The 'A' I had received on my paper offered me no comfort at all. The
knot in my stomach felt worse than the food poisoning had.

I went home and spent the weekend worrying. I realized that it did me no good -
Joe either knew my secret or didn't, and I couldn't change things either way.
But if he knew, what would he do with the information? Anything? Would he tell
his friends and laugh about me behind my back? Or worse yet, to my face?

The following week, I continued to monitor every detail of Joe's behavior. He
joked with me about our instructor like he always had, he made rude comments
about women like he always had, and I detected no difference in his behaviour
toward me. I decided that he must not have read my paper, and I felt a sense of
respect toward him for having respected my privacy. I watched my instructor
closely as well, wondering if he would act oddly toward me. But he was exactly
the same as he had always been - extremely dull.

Friday came along and I felt dead tired. The emotional turmoil had taken its
toll on me, and I was determined to go home, laze around all evening, and go to
bed early. The instructor dismissed the class and I grabbed my books and headed
for the door. Joe came running up behind me. "Hey, wait up!" he called.

"What's up?" I asked.

"A buddy and I are going for a beer and I wondered if you might want to join,"
he said.

I found his request mildly unusual since he'd never expressed a desire to
socialize with me before, but I was too exhausted to give it much thought. "I
really can't," I told him. "I'm just too tired to think about anything but my
warm bed."

"No problem," he said, "Just thought I'd ask. Maybe another time."

"Sure," I said, "another time."

Joe headed down the hallway and I turned to go in the other direction. I looked
back over my shoulder at him and watched his cute butt as he walked away. He
was truly a hot looking man. He was about 200 feet from me when I saw him walk
up to a guy and 'high-five' him - the friend he was going drinking with, no
doubt. His friend looked somewhat familiar, and then like a blow to my stomach,
I realized who it was. It was Chris - the guy I'd written about in my paper.

I stood there in the hallway, completely stunned. Could it be a coincidence? I
wanted desperately to believe that it could be. It seemed completely
impossible. I'd never seen them together before. I felt like I could faint. All
of the fear I'd experienced earlier in the week hit me again with full force.

I watched as Joe and Chris stood down the hall talking - it seemed innocent
enough. They were both smiling and laughed every once in a while, and I saw Joe
playfully punch Chris in the shoulder. They turned as if to walk away, and then
Joe looked over and noticed me staring at them. They both began to walk toward
me, smiling. My heart was in my throat and my mind was desperate to turn and
run, but I knew I had to keep a cool head about me.

"Hey man," Joe said approaching me, "this is my buddy Chris". Chris smiled and
nodded at me. I managed a weak smile and said, "Hello," my voice cracking.

"Are you sure you don't want to come for a beer with us?" Joe's voice was so
friendly. I studied his face, searching for any sign that he was toying with my
mind. Either he was playing the cruelest joke on me, or this was the most
incredible coincidence I would ever live through. My gut was telling me that it
was a coincidence - because both Joe and Chris seemed oblivious to the fear
that was gripping my heart.

"Are you okay?" I heard Joe asking, with concern in his voice. I realized that
I was staring at them like an idiot.

"Uh, um, yeah," I managed. "Just really tired". I tried to smile.

Joe grabbed my elbow. "Come drinking," he said. "It will do you good". It was
hard to resist his smiling face.

"Okay," I said. "Maybe just one beer. I could definitely use it."

"Great!" Joe smiled. "We're going to Chris' place. He lives just a block from
campus."

We chatted as we walked. "How long have you two known each other?" I asked.

"For years," Joe replied. "We met in a class years ago."

"Have I been in a class with you before?" Chris asked me. "You look kind of
familiar to me."

"I don't think we've been in class together," I told him, "But you're familiar
to me too. I think your locker might have been across from mine a few years
back."

"Oh yeah," he said smiling. "I remember now."

By the time we got to Chris' apartment, I was feeling much more relaxed. I was
convinced that the fact that Joe and Chris knew each other was simply a
coincidence, and I was more certain than ever that Joe had not read my paper
before giving it to me. I decided that I was incredibly lucky to have been
asked out drinking with them. I'd fantasized about Chris for years, and now
here I was, right in his apartment! And I'd always found Joe incredibly
attractive, and was pleased that he'd obviously decided that I was worth
spending a bit of time with.

Chris had several cases of beer in his apartment. "It's time to get totally,
fucking plastered!" he announced, handing a couple of beers each to Joe and I.
We drank and talked and laughed for hours - I was having a great time with
them. I was getting so drunk that the room was spinning - it felt good to feel
that relaxed after the difficult week I'd lived through.

I'm not sure how many beers I'd had when Joe turned to me with a smile and
said, "There is something Chris and I are curious about". His voice was
slurred, he was so drunk. Mine was equally slurred as I replied, "What's that?"

His smile instantly disappeared, replaced by an angry sneer. My heart stopped
as I heard him say in an angry voice, "Why the hell would you ever pull a guy's
shit out of a toilet and kiss it, you sick motherfucker? You kissed Chris'
fucking shit! You are the sickest fuck I've ever fucking laid eyes upon". And
then he spit in my face.

The next few moments are a blur. I remember Joe and Chris both getting up and
lunging at me. One of them kicked me in the face and I saw blood spurt out of
my mouth. My mind was spinning, realizing that they'd totally set me up. I
could feel pain throughout my body as they punched and kicked at me. I was so
drunk that my head was spinning and I couldn't ward off their blows. And then,
I saw blackness.

I woke up with the most incredible headache. I tried to turn my head to get my
bearings, but pain stabbed at my neck and back. My mouth felt dry and crusty,
and I reached up to touch my lips. What was that taste in my mouth? I realized
with a sickening feeling that I was tasting shit. I wiped my lips with the back
of my hand and a mixture of dried shit and blood smeared my skin. I glanced
around and recognized where I was - at a park, perhaps a block from Chris'
apartment. I tried to sit up, but felt incredible discomfort, and realized that
my pants were pulled down around my ankles, and there was something shoved up
my ass. I reached down and pulled it out - it was a rolled-up copy of the paper
I had written. There was a hand-written note on it that read: "If you tell
anyone about what happened today, this paper will be posted all over the
university campus". I felt like crying or throwing up or maybe like dying.

I sat up and pulled up my jeans. I looked around, but no one was in sight - I
had been dropped off by a bunch of bushes, sheltered from view. Slowly, in
incredible pain, I made my way towards my apartment. It was a three-block hike
from the park - and each step was excruciating. I passed a couple of kids on my
way home - they looked at me with horrified looks on their faces. I was sure my
face was full of blood, and hoped to God that it wasn't too full of shit as
well. I was mortified beyond belief, and tried my best to hurry home despite
the pain.

When I got home, I looked at myself in the mirror with disgust. There was blood
all over my face, and shit smeared over my lips and through my hair. I sat down
in the shower and let the water splash over my aching body for a long time.

I spent the weekend nursing my wounds. I was thankful I had no broken bones,
but had bruises over my chest and back, a big fat lip, and the ugliest black
eye I had ever seen. I was in a dilemma about whether to return to class on
Monday or not. It was hard enough to imagine returning covered with bruises and
aching as much as I was, but to have to face Joe in class... I wasn't sure I
could do it. And yet, the final exam was coming up in a couple of weeks - I
knew it was important for me to attend the remaining classes.

In the end, I decided to take a couple of extra days to allow myself more
healing time, and I didn't return to class until the following Wednesday. My
heart pounded like a drum as I approached the class. How could I face Joe?

Joe's desk was empty when I arrived. I knew it was too much to hope for that
perhaps he wouldn't attend class that day, but still, in the back of my mind,
my greatest hope was that he would not. Dashing my hopes, he walked through the
door, and smiled widely when he saw me.

"We've missed you the last couple of days," he said, as if the events of the
previous Friday had never occurred, and as if my face wasn't still bruised from
the beating he and Chris had given me. Reaching into his nap sack, he pulled
something out. "Here, I have a gift for you," he said, tossing it toward me. It
was a clear plastic zip-lock bag, and with horror, I realized there was a big
log of shit in it.

I wildly glanced back and forth at others in the class as I stuffed the bag of
shit into my own nap sack quickly, hoping that no one had seen. It appeared
that no one had.

Joe took his seat beside me. "Give me a call tonight," he said, passing me a
piece of paper with his phone number on it.

"No way in hell," I said, through gritted teeth.

"Come on, be a sport," he said smiling, as he pulled a copy of my paper out of
his nap sack, waved it in my face, and then tossed it back into his bag. Then
his face turned serious, and he repeated slowly in a low voice, "Call me
tonight. Call at 7 pm. And make sure you have that bag of shit close at hand
when you do."

I stared at him with every ounce of hatred in my soul. I knew I would call him.
I knew he had me at his mercy and I felt trapped and helpless.

Joe leaned over slightly in his seat and let a fart rip from his ass. He looked
at me smiling. The smell of it reached me just as the instructor entered the
room and called the class to order.

When I got home after class, I pulled the bag of shit from my nap sack. Even
through the bag, I could smell its stench. I held it and stared at it, angry at
the hard-on forming in my pants as I did so. After all that had happened to me,
how the hell could this log of Joe's shit be turning me on? I was disgusted
with myself.

I watched TV until 7 pm, trying vainly not to think of my sense of
helplessness. How long would Joe go on torturing me? And what about Chris?
Could they hold the information they had about me over my head for ever? How
long would I be at their mercy? Was there any way out of my predicament?

I flipped the TV off at 7, and stared at the phone. Feeling like I was in a
trance, I picked up the receiver and began to dial Joe's number. I picked the
bag of shit up with my other hand as I listed to it ring.

"Hello?" It was Joe's voice. I couldn't bring myself to speak. Joe chuckled on
the other end of the line. "I knew you'd call," he said.

"What do you want from me?" I managed to stammer.

"Exactly what I'm getting," he replied, "The most incredible feeling of power."

I didn't know what to say.

"How did Chris' shit taste on Friday?" Joe asked. I didn't reply. "I tried to
shit," he continued, "but I couldn't get anything out. Constipated, I guess.
But Chris had plenty to feed you". I continued to say nothing.

"So anyway," he said, "I felt a big turd lodged in my ass just before class
today, so I shit it into the bag for you. You've never had the pleasure of
tasting my shit, and I thought it was only fair that if you've eaten Chris'
shit, you should eat mine too, don't you think?" I didn't answer.

"Don't you think?!" Joe repeated, slightly raising his voice.

"Yeah, sure," I said, resigned to what was occurring. My sense of pride was
non-existent as I realized that I had no choice about the events that were
about to unfold as I spoke to Joe on the phone.

"Shouldn't you thank me for sharing my shit with you?" Joe asked, his voice
sounding completely evil.

"Thank you," I said, knowing there was no point in resisting.

"Good boy," he said, as if I was a dog. "So open the bag, then."

I opened the bag, the smell hitting me like a brick in the face. I gagged
involuntarily, making Joe laugh. "I think you should be on your knees while you
do this," he said. I knelt on my floor.

"Reach into the bag, and remove my turd," he instructed. I did as he said. "Now
kiss it." I brought it to my lips. The smell was totally revolting, but I
fought from giving him the pleasure of hearing me gag again. I placed my lips
on his hunk of shit and kissed it as instructed. "Very good," Joe said,
obviously relishing his power over me.

"How long has it been since you sucked some other fag's cock?" Joe asked me.

"A few weeks," I replied, thinking back to the guy I had picked up at the bar.
It seemed like a year ago. Had it only been a few weeks since I'd felt free
from the nightmare I was now living?

"A long time," Joe stated. "Too long, don't you think?"

"I guess so," I said. What did he expect me to say?

"Let's play a game then," he said. "Let pretend that my shit is a cock, okay?
What do you want to do with that cock?"

I knew what he wanted to hear. I could have fought it or tried to weasel out of
what was coming, but I didn't see the use. We both knew that before the call
was through, I would obey his expectations of me anyway.

"I want to suck it," I said.

"Shouldn't you ask nicely?" he asked.

"Please let me suck it."

"Good boy. Go ahead, then - suck on my turd."

I placed the end of Joe's turd in my mouth and began to suck as instructed.
Once again, I fought to keep from giving Joe the satisfaction of hearing me
gag, as I slurped on the sickening piece of shit in my hand. The texture on my
lips and tongue was revolting. The mushy turd was falling apart in my hand, and
little pieces were breaking off in my mouth - I could feel them slide down my
throat. The taste and smell were completely disgusting. I couldn't believe what
a base act I was being forced to perform.

I heard Joe breathing heavily on the other end of the line. And then, heard him
moaning, almost like he was cumming. And then, unexpectedly, he hung up.

I spit out the shit and ran to the bathroom, quickly throwing it into the
toilet before grabbing the mouthwash and gulping it down like water. The taste
of mouthwash and shit was too much for me, and I bent over the toilet just in
time to heave and puke. My head was spinning and I kept my face hovering over
the toilet bowl, convinced that my stomach would heave again. The thought of
being used in such a disgusting manner created a sharp pain in the centre of my
head. And a thought kept swirling around in my mind over and over again: Had
Joe really had an orgasm while listening to me suck on his shit?

Over the previous couple of weeks, it had been so hard to sleep at night that I
was becoming incredibly sleep deprived. That night was no exception. Every time
I thought about the disgusting things that had happened to me recently, the
knot of anxiety would twist in my stomach. I laid in bed, staring at the
ceiling, once again wondering how I could possibly make it through the next day
at school. There was only a week and a half of classes left, and then the final
exam would be a week after the last class. If I could make it through until the
end, then I could get the hell out of this town and I'd be free. It was the
only way I could see of escaping from the madness I was being forced to live
through.

The next afternoon, I was once again on campus, once again heading toward the
classroom where I was sure more hell awaited me. I slowly made my way through
the crowded hallway - the last thing I wanted was to show up early. About 100
feet from the classroom, my heart stopped as I saw Chris a few feet in front of
me, walking towards me. His face lit up when he saw me there. "Well, look who's
here," he said, as I wished the floor would swallow me up. "Come here," he
said, motioning me over by the wall. I followed after him, allowing myself the
quickest glance at his cute ass. To my horror, he noticed.

"Ha!" he laughed, "even after eating my shit you still want to look at my ass?
You are one sick faggot."

He leaned back against the wall and looked me directly in the eye as I stood a
foot in front of him. "Get on your knees," he said.

He couldn't be serious! The hallway was so crowded with students that people
were pushing into each other just trying to get by.

Chris smiled at the confusion and anxiety on my face. And just in case I might
not have heard right, he repeated, "Yes. I want you on your knees right here in
front of me."

I glanced back and forth at the crowds in the hall. We were so close to my
classroom - would other students in the class see me? What if one of my friends
happened to walk by? Could I humiliate myself this way?

I looked into Chris' eyes with a pleading expression on my face. His smile made
me realize that the more I pleaded and resisted, the more he was enjoying my
humiliation. I knew at that moment that before we parted ways, I would be
forced to obey him - so resistance was futile. I swallowed hard and began to
bend my knees, falling slowly before him.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see people looking down at me strangely as
they walked around me to get by. Chris' face was beaming triumphantly. His
crotch was a foot from my face, and his jeans were slightly faded around the
bulge. In different circumstances, kneeling before a god-like man in tight
faded blue jeans might feel like a fantasy come true. But my stomach was
turning in knots as I knelt there, Chris silently smiling down on me. What
would he make me do now?

"You wanted to look at my ass," he said slowly. "Well," he said, beginning to
turn his body, "take a look."

He turned himself so that both of his hands were flat up against the wall, with
his ass inches from my face. I could hear someone laugh out loud from behind me
as they walked by. How could Chris be doing this? I would have thought he'd be
embarrassed himself about standing in the hallway with his ass in some guy's
face. But he was such a well-known jock on campus that he probably thought his
reputation couldn't be tarnished no matter what he did.

I knelt there stupidly, staring at his ass. I couldn't bring myself to look
anywhere else, fearing the expression I might see on the faces of the people
walking by.

"Kiss it," Chris said.

I felt like crying, but clenched my teeth, knowing that if I started to
blubber, my humiliation would only increase. I wanted to die right then - how
could he torture me this way?

"Come on, faggot, kiss my ass," Chris said loudly, and again I heard laughter
from behind me. I realized that a crowd was forming around us, as those passing
by were stopping to watch the show. I couldn't bear to look at how many people
were surrounding us. But I knew the crowd was growing and I could hear some guy
ask, "What's he making that guy do?"

Chris was still facing the wall - he hadn't turned to look at the crowd either.
But he was surely aware of their presence as he repeated a third time, in a
loud commanding voice, "I said kiss my ass, faggot!" There was more laughter in
the crowd.

I moved my face closer to his ass as a hush fell over the crowd around us - it
was almost like they were holding their breath, wondering if the dumb fuck on
his knees would really obey the guy ordering him around. My lips were an inch
from Chris' ass when he pushed out a fart so loud that it seemed to echo in the
hallway. I jerked my head back as the crowd behind me roared in laughter.

Chris reached behind himself and grabbed onto my hair. "You didn't kiss my ass
yet, faggot!" he said, pulling my head towards his butt. He released my hair,
and commanded, "Now kiss it."

The smell of his fart was revolting, and I could hear people within the crowd
reacting to its smell - "Eww," "That's sick."

I puckered my lips and moved my face up close to Chris' ass. Another, smaller
fart escaped his hole just as my lips touched the crease in his jeans. The
crowd cheered as my lips touched Chris' butt, and he turned around
triumphantly, raising his arms in the air like he'd just won a wrestling match.
I felt utterly lost in humiliation.

Then Chris held up his hands to silence the crowd. "This faggot," Chris said
pointing to me, "likes the smell of my farts". He looked down at where I was
kneeling before him. "Tell the people you like my farts, faggot."

I hung my head. Once again, I knew that I could drag this out with resistance,
or get it over with quickly by complying. I chose to comply. "I like smelling
his farts," I said, looking at the floor.

"You see?" Chris said, while the crowd laughed. "Who else wants to fart in his
face?"

I knelt there mortified. I felt sub-human. I felt like I was being auctioned
off, like some cheap piece of property.

"I do," I heard a voice say, as the crowd cheered. A slim latino guy, maybe 21
years old, with snug fitting 501s pushed his way through the crowd. "I got real
sick gas today," he said.

"What's your name?" Chris asked him.

"Tony," the guy replied.

"Ok everyone," Chris said to the crowd, "Tony is going to fart in the faggot's
face. Let's cheer him on!"

The crowd began to yell "Tony! Tony!" as Tony stepped in front of me, pushing
his ass into my face. He wasn't the least bit shy, wiggling his ass around in
my face to put on a show for the crowd.

Chris put his hand on the back of my head, holding my face into Tony's ass, as
the crowd grew silent, waiting for the sound. Tony grunted a few times before
letting out a short, loud fart. The smell shot straight up my nose, burning my
nostrils with its foulness. The crowd was once again cheering and laughing. I
could feel Tony's body shake with laughter as well, as Chris continued to hold
my face into his ass. Finally, his hand released my head, and Chris said to the
crowd, "Okay, the show is over. Hope you all enjoyed it!" Some people clapped
as the crowd began to break and head off down the hall.

The hallway was much emptier now, with most people being in class. I continued
kneeling on the ground as Chris whispered something into Tony's ear. Tony
whispered back. They were both snickering.

"Okay, faggot," Chris said to me. "Get up and follow us."

I rose to my feet and followed behind Chris and Tony. My heart sank as they
lead me into a nearby washroom. Chris locked the deadbolt on the door behind
us.

We stood in the middle of the bathroom, staring at each other - Chris and Tony
with big smiles on their faces, me with fear in my eyes. Without a word, Chris
pointed toward me and then down at the floor. I dropped to my knees again.

Tony began to undo the buttons on his jeans, all the while smiling at me. His
pants dropped down to his ankles - he wasn't wearing underwear.

Still without a word, he squatted down still facing me, a couple of feet in
front of me. His face contorted as he started to grunt, taking a dump onto the
bathroom floor. He grunted several times, and then stood up, moving out of the
way to reveal the small pile of three or four turds he'd produced. "Chris told
me you'll eat that," he said smiling, pointing at the pile of shit while Chris
laughed.

I stared at the pile of shit. The smell had engulfed the whole bathroom, and I
knew from several feet away from it that it was going to taste like something
from the pit of hell. My mind was spinning. I knew I had to escape this
madness.

I jumped up from my knees and made a bolt for the door. Chris, much bigger and
stronger than I, quickly tackled me before I could reach for the deadbolt. He
dragged me kicking and screaming back into the center of the bathroom, laughing
along with Tony as he did so. He pushed me down onto my stomach, throwing his
body on top of me. I felt him grab my hair and pull back my head, revealing
Tony's pile of shit only inches from my face.

"No! Please no!" I was screaming, struggling under Chris' weight. Tony was
laughing so hard, he was grabbing at his stomach.

"Please!" I begged, "Please stop! Stop torturing me this way! I can't take it!
I can't fucking take it anymore!"

I started to cry. I knew I was being a pathetic fool, but I felt like I was
cracking up. My tears made no difference whatsoever to my tormenters, who
continued laughing mercilessly.

"Eat Tony's shit!" Chris commanded, scooping a log up into his own hand, and
forcing it into my open mouth as he held me by the hair. I gagged as he stuck
his fingers into my mouth, forcing the mushy filth down my throat. My stomach
was heaving from the horrid tasting waste, and I fought to keep from puking. It
was no use - vomit spewed from my mouth and splattered on the floor. Chris and
Tony laughed hysterically as I continued flailing around like a madman,
struggling and trying to scream through the shit and the puke. I was fighting
like a caged wild animal.

Chris pushed my face forward, mashing it into the pile of shit and puke on the
floor. I could feel it being forced up my nose and smeared all over my face and
Chris ground my face into the floor. Tony came over and stepped on the back of
my head, both of them laughing as they did so. I could feel the fight in me
breaking, realizing I was powerless to end this nightmare.

Chris pushed himself off of my back, and I laid there, feeling dazed, my face
covered with Tony's shit and my own vomit. I rolled over. Tony was wiping his
ass with a long string of toilet paper, which he threw down on my face once
finished. The two of them walked out of the bathroom, laughing, saying "That
was fucking great!" and congratulating each other.

I stayed on the cold floor for a few minutes, feeling like my spirit had been
completely crushed. I knew then that I couldn't go back to school. I couldn't
finish my classes. I couldn't see Joe, or Chris, or Tony again. I had to leave
- it was that simple. I would clean up, go home, pack up my things, and drive
away. I wouldn't graduate. I would leave that fucking town with nothing to show
for the years I had put in there. And my tormenters would have won. But I knew
as I stood by the sink scrubbing shit from my face, that winning didn't matter
to me now. I just needed to survive.

written by loopy
email encouraged: loop_fruit@hotmail.com