Jake put his bag in his locker, grabbed the books he needed, and headed off to his first class. As he walked, he found himself discreetly checking out everyone. Girls cute enough to fuck. Guys hot enough to fuck him. He was a little worried though by his actions. He didn't always find everyone to be hot, right? He had a sense of panic when he intentionally walked slower to discreetly eye a senior wrestler's package. Was he becoming gay?
He shook his head. With the equipment between his legs, does it really count as being gay? What's wrong with finding guys to be hot and sexy? Girls can't handle his thick 13-inch monster anyway. Either he was too big to fit for the straight girls or too manly for the lesbians. But he was the pick of the litter with guys. Gay guys want his dick, and straight guys want his pussy. And the bi, pan, and curious ones got both.
But... he had a girlfriend, Jen, right? If he really only preferred guys, why was he dating her? He shrugged the voice away. She gave good head, he guessed? Something didn't feel right though. Maybe he shouldn't be dating her if his goal was to get railed like that.
He walked into the classroom with plenty of time before the bell. He sat down next to Marcus, his best friend and teammate. He gave his friend's muscular form an appreciative once over. Marcus didn't notice, as usual. His pants felt tight around his hard dick. Did he grab jeans that were too small in his rush out the door this morning? He adjusted his bulge a little, trying not to be too obvious. It sent a shiver of pleasure up his spine. Man, he was really amped up today.
"Dude, you feeling alright?" Marcus asked him. He eyed him curiously. Jake was a little concerned by that. What did Marcus see that Jake didn't? Did he not clean up all the cum that had got on him earlier? He just simply shrugged.
"I... guess so. I feel off, somehow," he replied. "I can't quite place it though."
"Huh," Marcus said, also shrugging. He did wrinkle his nose a little bit like he smelled something. "Well, alright then. Oh, did you hear the rumor about Coach Erinson?"
Thinking of the big, burly, beefy dilf sent a thrill through Jake. He shook his head. He tried to pay attention to what Marcus was saying. He really did. But his mind kept drifting back to Coach Erinson. How he would wear baggy clothing in public, but would strip off to more revealing attire once he was in his office in the locker room. His tight t-shirt would cling to his beefy pecs. His shorts clung to thick, meaty asscheeks as large as watermelons. Jake never tried but often fantasized about being alone in the locker room with the 43-year-old stud.... right? Yeah, how could he not with the fucking thick and tense muscles in those forearms. Even when he was seated, his thighs were massive. Jake pictured himself going into the office, massaging those massive thighs as he peeled off those tight shorts like unwrapping a present, and grabbing that hard, pulsating –
"And that's when I decided to shoot a box of Skittles up my ass," Marcus said in a little firmly.
Startled out of his daydream about fucking his own football coach, Jake simply said, "Uh, wha-?"
"Man, you really are out of it, aren't you?" Marcus said with a shake of his head. He wrinkled his nose once again. "Did you even shower this morning?"
Jake frowned. He thought he had. He remembered pleasuring himself on a dildo in the shower before he got dressed. But that... didn't seem right? He usually jacked off in the shower but using a dildo wasn't typical. He snapped himself out of it once again.
"Y-yeah," Jake answered. "Why?" Maybe Marcus could help him figure out what was wrong. It was starting to unnerve him with how often he was feeling like he was living someone else's life.
Marcus scoffed in disbelief. "If that smell is your soap, you might want to change it." He blinked and shook his head a few times.
"Oh, y-yeah, that might be it," Jake stammered. He couldn't smell what Marcus was smelling. He curiously sniffed himself. He smelled normal. But, maybe he was used to the odor? That could be why he was feeling off.
Jake heard clacking of nails on the tile floor shortly after the bell rang. He turned just in time to see a Golden Retriever enter the classroom, followed by their history teacher, Mr. Howens. Mr. Howens was legally blind and required a seeing-eye service dog, Sparky, to safely move around the two-story high school building. Mr. Howens would occasionally take Sparky's vest off during tests so the students could be more relaxed as the Good Boy meandered about the classroom. But right now, said Good Boy was staring directly at Jake.
To Jake's slight concern, he felt a rush flow from his pussy to his head and back again. He squirmed a little, feeling captivated by the dog. He hardly paid any attention to what Mr. Howens was saying. He barely realized that he spread his legs wide as Mr. Howens sat down. Sparky started to whine suddenly and uncharacteristically, still staring directly at Jake.
"Hmm?" Mr. Howens pondered. "What's wrong, boy?" Sparky continued to whimper and whine. He turned and placed his head in Mr. Howens's lap. "Oh, but I thought you already went. Guess I was wrong." He sighed and spoke up louder for the class. "I'm terribly sorry about this class. It seems that Sparky needs to go take care of business."
Jake couldn't stop himself from suddenly saying, "I can... er... take him out." Marcus looked at him strangely once again but said nothing.
"Oh, Jake, that's..." Mr. Howens stammered. "Okay. That's alright by me. You'll have to go into the remote courtyard in the back of the school though. He... is quite picky. Just promise to clean up when he's done."
"No problem," Jake said. He stood up and grabbed the leash from Mr. Howens. Sparky stared at Jake with big, wide eyes. He sniffed him a little, and his tail wagged. Jake bit his lip. On one hand, it was to avoid blushing and smiling like he was talking to some hot guy or girl. On the other hand, it was to prevent his nether regions from reacting so strongly to Sparky's proximity. He began to walk out of the classroom, Sparky closely following.