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Have you ever made a first impression so bad with somebody that every time you'd see them afterwards you'd do nothing but try to make up for it?

Yeah, that happened to me once.

It happened in the school hallway during my first semester of my junior year of high school. I was inattentively heading to my third period Weights and Conditioning Class, texting one of my friends.

When I turned the corner to the hallway that led to the gym, I accidently bumped into another student, a beefy Rottweiler, about six feet tall. Never saw him before, figured he must have been new, but damn son, this guy was a hottie. He had some big cute floppy ears, a nice dark coat of black and tan fur and a pair of stunning amber eyes. Best of all he was wearing a white tank-top shirt that showed off his well-defined arms and pecs. I could have stayed in place and stared at him for hours straight, but that would have been rude, so instead I just said, "Sorry 'bout that buddy," while giving him a friendly pat on the shoulder.

Now, I don't know if it was something I said or maybe if the Rottie just didn't like physical contact, but holy shit, after I patted him he started glaring at me as if I had just spat in his face. Now, I've never really scared easily: no, I'm a six foot two panther, on the school's varsity football team, and I've got a good amount of muscle on me if I do say so myself. But you never would have guessed it with the way I froze up. It also didn't help the Rottie's arms were freaking huge; he probably could have lifted me up and strangled me with one arm. Thankfully he do that, and after glowering at me for a good five seconds he silently continued on his way.

The whole situation had me taken aback, and it took me a few seconds to process what just happened before I continued on to third period.

Normally I wouldn't let a little mishap like that get to me, but while I was lifting and doing cardio during class, all I could think about was the dour Rottie and our less than perfect introduction to each other.

What was his problem anyway? Could he really hate getting touched that much, or did I do something wrong? I don't think I was staring or acting like a faggy candy-ass or anything. Does...Does my breath stink maybe?

I breathed on my paw and sniffed it.

_ Nah, smells normal to me... I couldn't have popped a boner or anything when I was talking to him could I? Speaking of boners, I wonder how big that Rottie's dick is... Wait no, bad Rob's mind! Stay on topic!_

Of course my unrelenting thoughts out the Rottie just made class seem to drag on, and it wasn't until after the post-class shower, when I was changing, that I was broken out of my reverie from receiving a nice, firm slap to my ass. I gave off a stifled yelp in surprised, and turned around to identify the culprit, the familiar, sexy culprit whose snow-white fur was still most wet and was wearing nothing but an equally white towel around his waist.

"Yo Robby, something on your mind today? You've been quieter than usually today," he said in that deep but cheerful voice of his.

The culprit was Scott Fenton, the center for the varsity football and my best friend, an energetic and carefree polar bear and the only guy I let call me 'Robby'. He was five foot eleven with a pair of excitable blue eyes, and a large but cute (and constantly twitching) nose. Of course the thing I found most attractive about him was his six-pack abs. Holy shit, Scott's abs. It was like I had a freaking underwear model for a best friend. I mean, I've got a decent six-pack myself, but you could grate cheese on Scott's.

But he was also the biggest fucking tease I had ever known; despite him being straight (as far as I could tell) he seemed to love physical contact with guys, and as demonstrated, wasn't afraid to get all touchy-feely with me when I was wearing next to nothing. But it was totally not gay when he did stuff like that. Apparently there's this unspoken rule in high school that if you're a popular enough jock you can do as much gay shit as you want and still be considered straight as long as you're not a "fag" about it.

Yeah, I know it makes no fucking sense, but we all know it's true.

Scott's sexual harassment was pretty much an everyday thing for me, so I didn't even bother to make a comment on his friendly ass-slap. "Well... sorta. I bumped into this big-ass Rottweiler in the hallway while I was heading to class. He looked like a student, though I hadn't seen him before now. Any idea who he is?"

Scott took off his towel, balled it up in his paws and threw it across the room into the towel bin, imitating the technique of a basketball player. "Big-ass Rottie, huh? That sounds like Daren. Was he quiet and a total grump when you met him?"

I nodded my head.

"Yeah, I'm guessing that's Daren then. I think he's in the same grade as us, but I think this is his first year here. Why 'ya curious Robby, something happen between you and him?" Scott was facing me with his hands on his hips as he talked, still completely nude. See what I mean by him being a tease? And it really doesn't help that he's got a really big one down there...

I slipped my towel off and quickly put my boxers on before facing Scott and his full-frontal nudity. "Apparently, though I don't know exactly what happened. I just sort of bumped into him in the hallway and he seemed to get pretty pissed off from it."

"Huh. Well did you say anything weird or off-putting to him?" the smiling polar bear said as he grabbed a can of deodorant from his locker and began spraying himself all over, still completely naked, mind you.

I finished putting on the rest of my clothes. "Not really, I just said 'sorry buddy', gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder and suddenly he was staring at me like he was contemplating all the ways to murder me."

Scott's eyes widened, although he was still smiling. "Dude, you can't call a dog 'buddy', that's totally racist!"

I was taken aback by Scott's comment. "Seriously!? I said, shocked, "how's that racist?"

"'Cause that's a name you'd give to a pet feral dog! It's like, just as bad as if I were to call you 'pussy cat' or you were to call me 'Cola breath' or something."

Oh yeah, the whole polar bears and Coca-Cola thing. Scott has made it very clear that he hates it when people assume he likes Coca-Cola just because the company's mascot just happens to be a polar bear. He does, in fact, like Coca-Cola, but that's beside the point.

Scott started chuckling in amusement. "Shit, man. You're lucky he didn't tear you a new asshole for saying that! I heard he was a total punk at his last school and got into fights like every other day. So yeah, you might want to apologize to him just to be safe," he said as he tossed his can of deodorant spray into his locker and started casually stretching his arms and back.

I felt kind of embarrassed at the realization. "Fuck... yeah I guess you're right, dude. I'm sure he'll understand once I explain that it was just a misunderstanding," I said while scratching the back of my head. It was then that I heard the loud, sequential beeps of the school bell signaling the end of third period.

Scott's face lit up. "Aww yeah, lunch period! I hear they're serving Chinese today!" the gleeful polar bear commented as he quickly shut his locker and began making his way down the locker aisle toward the exit.

There was something obviously wrong with this scene. "Uh, Scott... you forgot to put your clothes back on," I said with a slight grin.

Scott stopped and looked down at his bare body. He gave a hearty laugh. "Woah, thanks dude, I almost forgot!" he said as he ran back to his locker and quickly dressed himself. I chuckled a bit and began making my way to the cafeteria once Scott made himself presentable.

You could say it was turning into an interesting day.