An Encounter in their high school locker room changed Jimin's view, it leaves him unsettled. He is infected by troubling thoughts and dreams. Who will provide him peace now?
From this angle, I am almost level with the desk's top drawer. I realize I haven't even opened these drawers. This sublet was fully furnished when I moved in, and the guy who lives here left almost all of his stuff.
I'm not a nosy person, usually, but my drunkenness has disengaged my inhibition and I reach out and slide the top drawer open. I'm being pulled through another dark hallway, back into the bowels of this place, this club filled with men. It is hot and humid and it smells like spilled alcohol and urine, we must be by the bathrooms, the blond guy is leading me by the arm.
I have to pee, but he pulls me past the bathrooms, past more big, beefy male bodies, more eyes on my body, until we are outside, in a narrow alley. It's drizzling, and the rain feels cool and fresh on my face and skin. I turn my head up to the sky and let the mist-like droplets of rain fall on me.
Then the blond is on me again, kissing me urgently, insistently, and his hands are all over me. My body reciprocates even though my mind wishes he would stop. I feel my hands move over his slender frame, and down into his pants, to squeeze his ass.
"Yeah, fucker," he says and he pulls me further down the alley. We walk around a corner, into another, darker alley, where there is a huge expanse of brick wall and only a solitary, dim light bulb hanging over a doorway far away. I feel his hands on my pants, pulling down the elastic of my basketball shorts and my underwear in one motion, and then he's kneeling between my legs.
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I brace my arm against the cool brick and feel his mouth enveloped my cock. There's a bunch of random shit in the drawer. Pens and pencils, rubber bands, paper clips, and some loose change.
I root around further back and pull out a large box of strike-anywhere matches. It's partway open, so I slide the inner container further out from the cover. Inside, I find a pipe and little baggie of what looks like marijuana.
I pull the baggie out, fumble with the zip-lock seam until it pops open, and raise it to my nose. Yep, weed. I know immediately that I am going to smoke it.
I can see the near-future version of myself, standing by the cracked kitchen window with the oven hood fan on, reaching back through time to grab my hand. It is so out of character for me to snoop and then smoke someone else's drugs that I almost gleefully get up to go do it. I drain the rest of my beer and pull my underwear up over my semi-hard cock.
I root around in the closet for my workout clothes -- basketball shorts and a tank top. I figure I should at least be partially clothed if my roommate unexpectedly comes home to find me smoking weed in the kitchen. I catch a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror on the closet door.
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My eyes look drunk. But my body looks... hot? I've been working out a lot this summer. I flex my arms and I'm surprised to see some nice definition.
"Beast," I whisper, winking at myself. Then I grab the weed and pipe from the desktop and head into the kitchen.
