The Unexamined Ass Is Not Worth Having
#3 of Other
Hey all! This fun little short-story was requested by the very talented and wonderful Zaggy Norse, and it features the studly EquoAurelius alongside an unnamed narrator (who was left purposefully vague so that you could put yourself in his shoes). It is - as requested - exactly 2000 words long, and it was a good deal of fun to write. Hope that you enjoy it :]
It was supposed to be a nice, quiet shower. Alone in the privacy of the abandoned athletics building, with the wide, tiled spaces all for myself... well, that idea kicked the proverbial bucket the moment I heard the locker-room door swing open on its hinges.
The last practice session for the college's football team had already ended for the day, and I knew through long experience that no one else was supposed to be in the locker rooms at that late hour of the evening, myself included. Every now and then a janitor might've made their way through the halls outside, but that was only on those rare occasions where it was faster to cut through the athletic department on their way to somewhere else. The actual cleanings didn't occur until late in the night, at which point I was always long gone. So naturally, hearing the loud "bang" of the door as it closed set off all sorts of alarms in my head.
Who the hell could it be?
The showers of the men's locker room had been my private after-class sanctuary for a few weeks by that point: it was a place where I could clean off all the grime and stress of the day before making my way back to the dorms for study and rest. I always made sure to wait until all of the practices were over, for the coaches and their assistants to leave, and for those old, cheap lights to flicker off as movement within the building finally stilled. That time hadn't been any different, so who on Earth was in the locker room with me?
Panic gripped me as I hurriedly turned off the steaming water, hoping to God that whoever had just entered the locker room wouldn't have heard the squeak of the faucet. Snatching my towel and soap off the nearby rack, I quickly hopped over the low ledge of the adjacent handicap stall-divider, ducking down behind its cover while I waited for the unexpected visitor to depart.
It's just a janitor, I tried to tell myself. The idea still didn't put me at ease; my heartbeat thundered painfully as it hammered away at my ribs. Or it could just be the coach's assistant, coming back for some paperwork he must have forgot...
I tried not to think of the trouble I'd get into if I were caught in there. I wasn't in any sort of athletics - hell, I could hardly even tell you how football works, let alone play the damn game - and there was no way I'd be able to explain what I was doing in there after hours, buck-ass naked and enjoying the showers like I owned the place. As thoughts of all the possible consequences floated through my head, I heard a second sound, equally as alarming as the first squeaks of the door's hinges.
Footsteps.
No, that's not quite right. The sound was sharper, harsher and... was that clopping? Hooves? At any rate, the sound only grew closer, and eventually an echo followed suit; whoever it was had just entered the showers. Cold dread began to fill me. Had I somehow left a clue to my presence there? Did I not turn off the water fast enough? I didn't have long to consider these possibilities however, since another sound quickly knocked my train of thought right off its tracks.
The shrill squeak of a faucet handle, and the soft hiss of warm water as it came splashing down upon a body.
I'm sure that the confused look which swept across my muzzle in that moment would have been nothing short of comical if anyone had seen it. Who the hell would be coming here so late to take a shower? Well, I did, of course, but that was beside the point. Utilities in the dorms costs a fortune. Don't judge me.
I just had to see who it was. Maybe it was one of the janitors, stealing utilities like me, or even better... perhaps it was one of the players? A studly bull linebacker or a lean, canine quarterback? Daring to risk all manner of punishments, I peeked out from the corner of the handicap booth, looking in the direction of the sound. It's a good thing that my jaw was attached pretty solidly to my head; I'm pretty sure it would have dropped to the floor otherwise as I saw who it was, and shower room tiles aren't exactly the cleanest of surfaces.
Professor fucking Aurelius. The infamously-stringent freshman and sophomore philosophy instructor. The palomino was unmistakable, even without his usual professional attire: just a bit over six feet of prime, stud horse, with that rich, honey-gold coat just beginning to shine as the water splashed onto his hide. I'm not gonna sugar-coat it for you... the sight was damn beautiful, even if the horse was one of my least favorite people on the campus. This semester was my third time attempting his 'Intro to Philosophy' class, and it was only harder for me now that he knew me.
Damn.
I'd always known that the guy was built, but hell, I'd never seen him like this. His golden hide rippled gently as the warm water washed over his chest and back, and I watched in speechless awe as it slid down between the grooves of his muscles and slipped down into unseen places. I don't know how long I sat there, crouched behind the short, tiled divider of the stall, watching all the little motions of his muscles as he moved his hands across his sculpted body. It wasn't until he flicked his wet mane over his shoulder - those gorgeous, creamy locks smacking against his right shoulder with a wet sound - that his head turned. Our eyes met.
Fuck. I'm so fucked.
But to my total surprise, the professor just smiled at me. It the same smug smile that he'd always wear when he handed me back my failed essays. He turned away.
"Generally," he said, his low, bass voice echoing out casually across the tiled surfaces. "I only see that vacant expression of yours when we're discussing Anaximander's Principles and Rationalities. I'm amused to see that you can employ it in other places as well."
It took me a moment to gather myself. Not only was he clearly not alarmed at my presence there, he didn't even seem upset. Hell, if anything he just seemed amused. Recovering, I asked the only sensible question that I could think of, my eyes still glued to that firm, honey-gold rump of his.
"Uh... w-what are you doing here, Professor?"
The Palomino nickered softly.
"It doesn't take a doctorate to answer that question," he said mildly, flicking his head slightly towards the direction of the shower nozzle.
Duh. Should have expected that.
"Well, yeah. I can see that. But why here? I mean, the locker room is-"
"Closed?" he said, cutting me off. "Obviously. That clearly didn't stop either of us from coming here."
"Uh... yeah, I guess. Umm..."
Hell, I didn't know what to do. In retrospect, I suppose that I could've just grabbed my stuff and headed out the door, forswearing myself of ever making eye contact with the professor again, and resigning myself to the most awkward semester of my life. But I didn't. Instead, I just stood there like an idiot, watching the older guy rinse himself off as I continued to stare at that absolutely gorgeous equine ass of his. It bounced just slightly as he shifted from hoof to hoof, and I can't deny that I was more than a bit spellbound as I watched a trickle of water flow down the smooth muscles of his back, around the start of his tail, and down into the dark, musky crevice of his-
"You know, if you stared at my ass with half the attention you gave to my lectures, you might actually pass my class this semester," the professor said suddenly, jarring me out of my ass-gazing.
"Oh! I... uh, damn I'm sorry. I wasn't staring, just... gonna get my stuff, uh... yeah."
I quickly grabbed my towel and soap from off the floor behind the stall, and with my eyes kept low, I made my way out of the showers. I hardly made it halfway across the lockers before that low voice called back out to me.
"I don't recall dismissing you..."
Freezing in my tracks, I slowly turned back around. The damned horse was smiling again, those sharp green eyes watching me from behind a wet lock of pale hair. Gulping nervously, I made my way back in, holding my towel between my legs to preserve what modicum of decency I had left. The professor gestured with a finger for me to come closer. Tile by tile I made my way over, until at last I was right next to him. Even having rinsed off, I could still smell the rich, masculine scent of his hide: he smelled like sweat in the sunshine, like a warm day spent lying in the grass.
"Forgot my shampoo," he said casually, reaching over to take the bottle from my shaking hands. What the hell could I say? No? One word from him about this whole thing and I could've gotten expelled. Instead I stood there, watching, as he used my soap to clean out his mane. Of course, being so close to him, I couldn't help but see the 'whole picture' now. Without any sort of approval from the more logical parts of my brain, my eyes wandered south, down the smooth mounds of his defined pectorals, across each wet, glistening abdominal and that taut stomach... and then even further south to places I hadn't dared glimpse at until then.
Fuck. Of course he's hung too. Asshole.
The professor wasn't quite hard - not yet, at least - but the dark, heavy folds of his sheath had just started to part, revealing the first few fat inches of his cock, crowned by that wide head envied by all who weren't equines. I gulped, watching as warm rivulets of water ran across the wrinkles of bunched flesh there, and then below, where they graced the smooth skin of two fat testicles, loosely hanging in a massive sack. Droplets hung at the loose folds of skin at the base, collecting briefly before falling down to the drain below. You know, I didn't think I'd ever feel jealous of water droplets before.
"I suppose," the professor said, eyes closed as he lathered shampoo into his mane. "You can touch it, if you'd like... I'm assuming you're more talented in this regard than in your studies, based on the way you've been staring at me."
What was I gonna do, say no? I reached forward without a second thought. My hand grazed across his hip before sliding onto his sheath... fuck, it was just so damn warm. I gripped the hardening flesh tenderly. The movement caused his thickening cock to bob and swing gently, and I watched with my mouth slightly parted as I coaxed more and more inches from his holster. I dropped my towel so that my other hand could be free, but it didn't stay that way for long; soon enough, it was filled with the heavy, dense weight of those fat testicles. A low sound escaped my throat, way sluttier than I would have liked, but who gave a fuck at that point? I was all in.
"Is this, like... extra credit or something?" I asked hopefully, rolling those heavy nuts in my hand as I slowly jacked at his stiff length. My fingers grasped needily at his medial ring, and the slightest tension arose in the professor's muscles. He opened one singular, emerald eye to look at me.
"What do you think this is, a porn story? No. If anything, consider this payment for having to put up with your ignorant ass for the last three semesters."