Just another High School Story (1)
Just another High School story. Scene 1 By Roofles
It was just after a three hour practice, the coach keeping them late for their "sloppy" performance, that the tired dalmatian made his way into the locker room. Nearly every fiber of his body ached. Even the tip of his tail hurt after the strenuous workout they had been given from the drill sergeant coach from hell. He just collapsed onto the bench his head between his knees breathing heavily. He could smell his stench of the long day getting to him. Straining just to pull his cleats off and one agonzing leg at a time pulling those sweaty, white long socks from his paws revealing the black natural 'sock' pattern on his legs; he wiggiled bits of sock fuzz sticking to them still. The black sock pattern matched the ones for his hands as well. Rolling his ankle, amazed that they weren't bloody and raw like some of the other players were sure to be, he sat there recollecting his thoughts as his body slowly began to truly feel the after effects of the practice they had run.
Bodies swarmed the locker room like busy bees in their hive. Justling and pushing up against each other as they farted, belched and stripped their clothes off one by one shoving them forcefully into their lockers as they chatted amongst each other. A chorus of voices roared around him making the tired dalmatian cover his ears as the pounding noise began to give him one killer of a migraine. And all at once it hit him. He thought the locker room smelled bad before but this was unnatural acrid this evening. Like several of the other canines he forced his way out of the sweaty mass of fur and flesh and into the saftey of the showers. A place that stunk of bleach and mold and shower grime. A welcome change from before.
And as usual his head was bowed completely, counting the tiles as he took the nearest open stall as he padded his way into the white tile, black lined floor subsection of the locker room. He was just glad the water washed out all the foul stench from the previous room and off his sore body as it sprayed and sputtered above him. Each "stall" had two neat little walls that came up to an average furs thigh. He hadn't a clue why they had them; its not like they "hid your junk or anything" just outlined where each furson was suppose to stand. He blushed at the thought of it only coming to his thigh; and thus his neighbors. Shaking his head clear of thoughts, droplets flying in every direction, he focused on the spot between his paws. The drain. A focus for his attention to be consumed by as he blindly soaped himself up and washed. Only one thing was running through his mind as his black pad paws shifted on the floor. Not here. Not now. And defiantly not in front of everyone.
His worst nightmare was poking its head out of his sheath; a pink, black splotched tip that would betray everything he had worked so hard to avoid. He found himself thankful that the warm, refreshing water was the cause of it. This time. The water washed through his thin white, black spotted fur. Taking with it all the grim, sweat, blood and tears of the last several hours that had carried them all late into the night. He just soaked in the cool warm spray of the torrent above him closing his eyes as he found the balls to lift his head away from the drain and truly begin to enjoy the feel of the water spraying over him. Only now, after several minutes, was it actually beginning to get warm; hence his manhood poking from his sheath. Letting that warm spray caress every angle, every curve of his toned lean runners build of a body. And to be wash away the pain and soreness that had accumlated in his joints and limbs; to let it all wash away down the drain between his paws and deep into the bowels of the school plumbing below.
Taking a glob of the schools shampoo, that was killer on the fur, he began sudding himself up again. Taking far more care and concern as he did it this time. Kneading it into his fur as he massaged his sore muscles. Just forgetting the world around him as he hunched a leg up onto the tiny separatore to get the hard to reach places without bending over tail up as if he had dropped the soap. Rubbing his muscular thighs and calves in soothing circular motions. There was a shift in front of him, pulling his eyes away from the task at hand. And with it his jaw slackened and the fear he had during this whole day was stiffening between his legs quickly.
Douglas J. Johnson was the biggest, burliest, strongest quaterback this side of the states had ever seen. The akita stood a head over all the others. Big broad shoulders, with hefty arms hungs off a sturdy, built frame that you could take a sledge hammer to and not put a dent in it. Stiff, unyielding legs and powerful paws made the supple, sleek frame of the dalmation pale in comparison. And in front of his snout was none other than said Akita's rump, tail curled proudly for the world around it to see his tight pink tail hole that his nose was nearly touching. Hiding no secret from the boys in the room, his large balls hung just below that firm ass, under those thick cheeks and fully exposed tail hole. And right in front of the dalmation, inches away from that pink puckered tailhole, was his muzzle. And like the dalmation the akita had taken it upon himself to use the stall wall to angle himself enough to do his inseams. Thighs, calfs, feet and package. All of which was tauntingly close to the dalmatians nose that was now itching horribly.
Brooke Alan Bakersman, or just Alan, snapped back as rigid as a pole and facing the wall hiding his sheath, the knot clearly defined in it now. Keeping his back erect, upright, linear, standing in salute, up and facing the wall he stared at the tiles thinking of everything but what was in front of his face second before. Thinking of every vile, disgusting thing he had ever seen or heard or experience. His cobalt eyes staring intently at the filth between each tile and letting his mind go from there. Toejam, woman, slugs, woman, vomit, woman, hairy moles and of course woman.
He must've looked like a dork as the collie on his right pushed him roughly.
"You alright man? The coach wasn't that scary," he laughed heartidly still full of energy. He truly hated Richard Moris. And why? Because he was, at all times, the most happiest person on the face of the earth. It must of had to do with him being a collie, he thought spitefully as his shoulders bulked under the strain and he sagged in his stall feeling even more exhausted standing next to him. The breed was just friendly, overly cheerful and glass was always half full. Even when it was empty. It sickened him.
His eyes betrayed him as he looked to his left and was both thankful and truly disappointed to see the stall empty, as the hulking dog made his way out the showers and back into the locker room. The akita shoved one of the others with a laugh as his friend got back on his feet and the two began talking locker talk.
"Was just thinking about the test we have tomorrow." Alan grumbled as he washed the sudds out of his fur, lieing through his teeth as every ounce of brain power was carving that image into his mind to use later that night.
The collie laughed with a large smile plastered across his face. "Crap, I forgot to study. I'm going to bomb that test tomorrow."
The dalmatian just looked over at him eyes full of malice, hate and utter loathing as the collie continued washing his shoulders with that stupid grin on his face. Was going to bomb a mid term and not even seemingly worried about it. But at the same time he was jealous. Envied by the fact that no matter what happened he was truly just a happy, go lucky kind of guy. And in this cold, dark, lonely world that was truly something he saw as a miracle. The roof could have parted and a golden ray of light could've showered down on top of the collie and Alan wouldn't be surprised as the collie began whistling show tunes.
"If you want, you can borrow my notes." He muttered looking out of the showers. Hopeful to see but another glimpse of that superb gods gift to dog kind. But the locker room was already slowly draining out, as the tidal wave of fur and flesh slowly seeped out into the outside world.
He huffed and rolled his shoulders. Feeling a sting in each joint as he turned the knobs off and grabbed the towel he'd hung on the rack.
"Thanks man!" Richard called as Alan made his way down the street. He just casually waved over his shoulder. Even though he'd have to wait another hour for the bus to come, the collie just stood there wagging his tail as he hummed into the freezing night air.
Alan wouldn't need them, the notes. He never did. Even if he was on the football team, didn't mean he was some dumb jock like half the other guys. He just had to put up with them. The young dalmatian was brilliant and had little to no trouble with homework. All his teachers loved him. He was on the honor roll, student council and helped with the schools newspaper. Got along great with the techies, gamers, goths, punks, other sport teams and was everyones best friend. But it was all a lie. A sham. After all anyone would be if they wore the masks he did.
No one even got that though. They all saw him like he saw Richard. A happy go lucky person with no doubts, no fears. And most importantly. No secrets. Not a secret that would get him thrown off the team. Or beat up. A secret that could and would tear his biggot, Christian rebublican family apart. A secret that every time he thought of it brought tears to the corner of his eyes and deepened the self loathing he felt for himself.
But he wanted to please everyone. Be all chummy and friendly. Do as he was told, when he was told to do it and how to do it. No thoughts of his own. No personality. Just the picture perfect guy everyone saw him as and wanted him to be. And he was. Or so he wanted to think, because like so many before him the ignorant masses seemed to be happy. He just couldn't grasp that notion no matter how hard he tried, how many sacrofices he made. After all the only thing he really wanted in this life was some akita ass. That tail hole looked tight enough to keep him up all night long.
He stuffed a gloved paw into his coat pocket as he walked up the sidewalk leading to his house and pulled out the old rusty key he had been given when he was five. Shutting the door behind him he was able to finaly shed his layers of clothing. His maroon red jacket, the dark purple undershirt, ragg wool gloves, and scarf. Tossing the whole pile onto the nearby chair and looking up. Half expecting to see someone there. Someone waiting for him. But he knew better. Either at the office, on a business trip or sleeping. They didn't do much else. . Every light in the house was off and the only illumination came from the stained glass windows on either side of the door. The dim, lacklustered light spilling across the marbled floors and up the wooden steps. Living him standing in the dark. Between two pillars of light. Just like his life. How he wanted to be in the light, but he tugged the side backpack up and made his way up those steps. One step at a time. Looking down into the dull, lifeless room below. At the pile of name brand clothes and at his spare football gear next to it. And the meaninglessness it all meant to him.