Sharon Phillips was on her knees in the last row of individual toilets in the Men’s Room at St. George’s College. The last stall was dimly lit and that was the reason they chose it or at least the reason Roger Stevens chose it. The rest of the restroom was bathed in artificial light although the sun streamed through the large picture window on the west side. Occasionally cheers or jeers from outside wove its way through the window along with the sun’s penetrating rays. The smell of pine sol and piss was mixed together for an unpleasant overpowering combination. All Sharon saw was blackness as she refused to open her eyes. She shifted her weight from one knee to the next to alleviate the constant throb. Bushy hair tickled her nose. Roger’s fingers tangled in her hair forced her head up and down. “Mmm.. stuch puhlin’! Lech go.” From between Roger’s knees, Sharon tried to reach up, back, and over with one arm, the other arm held up her body in a push up position off Roger’s knee. Dropping her arm, Sharon placed the other arm back on Roger’s other knee.
Come already, Sharon thought. Why don’t you come already? She wanted out, but was trapped by Roger’s large hands intertwined in her long burgundy braids. The bathroom smells were becoming more noticeable as the time dragged on. Her mouth ached from the pressure. The taste and texture was becoming more abhorrent as the seconds became minutes. Her excitement in the forbidden had waned. They played a dangerous game she wished they had never started. She wished she was in the stands outside with her friends watching the boring football game, instead of the inglorious position, between Roger’s white thighs. Who knew that this would take so long? Roger kept saying, “You’re so good,” but she felt foolish, and all she felt was shame. What a position to be in when you realized that your friends were right. Roger was a selfish ass. Where was her enjoyment in this adventure? Her knees, scalp, and lips ached. Roger raised his hips and she gagged. What would he do if she bit him? She tried to once again to move her head back. Biting down was a running theme in her mind for the past ten minutes.
Roger yelled, “I’m coming. Suck harder, suck harder!” Sharon was tired of sucking, she wanted out of this too small stall. Sweat ran rivulets down her almost naked back and between her breasts. Her jeans were no match for the hard tiled floor. Shifting her weight again, she tried to bring one knee up into a lunge, but it made contact with Roger’s shin. She slowly and gingerly lowered it back to the unforgiving floor. Sharon was beginning to hyperventilate. The walls felt as if they were closing in on her. She reached up once more searching for Roger’s hands; she pinched one of his wrists, her nails digging deep. “Shit, girl,” he laughed loosening his grip on her hair. Sharon felt the stinging slap on her butt before she heard its echo. Her muffled scream and bite reflex led to Roger pulling her head back sharply. Her mouth was free. Wiping her sore mouth and flexing her jaw, Sharon glared up at Roger before furiously asking, “What the hell wrong with you?”
“Me? Were you trying to bite it off! Nips are acceptable. Don’t you know anything?”
“Why you slap me?”
“How the fuck can I slap you–?” Roger broke off his tirade. His mouth dropped open as he tried to push Sharon back, stand, and reach for his pants simultaneously. Sharon was afraid to turn and look behind her. Whoever was behind her was definitely not one of the boys. Sharon held onto the sides of the stall for leverage. Wincing, she got slowly off her knees and bumped into Roger forcing him to sit back on the commode. Sharon brought one leg up into a successful lunge; before pushing herself into a standing position. Still facing Roger, she slowly turned her upper body toward the open stall door, looking hesitantly over her shoulder. Fuck me!
OMG… OMG… What did he want? Why was Wimpie just standing there breathing like a bull at a rodeo? Why is Roger just sitting there watching me? Why wasn’t anyone saying anything? I wish someone would say something. I would say something but my mouth is too dry to form words. Shit, shit, shit!