What's My Type? Part 3

By DylanTyler - dylanerictyler@gmail.com
published May 28, 2019
Summary

The Fall Musical is in need of another singer and Dylan thinks a Classical Voice major might be able to help

What’s My Type Part 3

“And then I want you to pant,”

“Pant?”

“Like a dog.”

“Uh…”

“LIKE A DOG!”

“Okay okay…huh-a-huh-a-huh-a-huh-a-huh-a-huh…”

“Perfect! Keep going! Now, do you feel how that is engaging your diaphragm?”

“To be honest I just feel kinda sick.” I give Dr. Broward a slightly apologetic smirk.

“All right. We’re done for today. Practice that breathing and go over your semester pieces for next class. Remember, our fall showcase is coming up, so you have some work you need to put in.”

“Right. Thank you.” Honestly, this is all kind of exhausting. When I came to school for classical voice, I thought it would be more of me blowing these other kids out of the water all the time. But all these teachers wanna do is tell me about ‘proper technique’. Bitch, you don’t get into All-State Choir four years in a row and the youth choir at the Met by not understanding technique.

I close the door behind me and walk down the hallway toward my next class, which is piano. Another waste of my time. I mean, when am I ever gonna have to play for myself? Seriously.

I turn the corner to the hallway with my classroom, and stop in my tracks. There’s a herculean model of perfection holding open Professor Clarkson’s door with his gigantic arm. He’s in a cropped sweatshirt, in mid-October, which is just so wrong that it’s sexy as fuck. And his hair looks like it was just laid upon his face by some perfect fucking fairy goddess with nothing she’d rather do than make him look impossibly beautiful.

Look casual look casual look casual. I lean up against the wall, and check my apple watch.

Not casual.

Hmm the weather today certainly does look–

“Hey dude!” He’s looking at me right in the eyes and he flashes that gorgeously sculpted smile. My parents must’ve gotten me a shit orthodontist because my teeth look nothing like–

“Chris, right?” Oh my God he fucking remembers my name. Sort of.

“It’s Christian,” I reply, “but you can call me Chris if you want to. I will probably also respond to that.”

“Nice, dude.” Okay, well if you ignore his five word vocabulary this is my dream sequence right here. He pauses for a second, looks back at the door. There’s a cog turning somewhere. “Hey man, you have that solo in choir right?”

“Yes!” I say, confidently.

“It sounds really fricken good dude. You’re like a really good singer.”

I must be blushing.

“Thank you,” I manage.

“I was just thinking, there’s this role open in the show for a singer if you wanted to try for it.”

“You haven’t already cast everything?”

“Uh, dude, I have no fucking idea” he leans in. I’m sweating. “Honestly, I just kinda do whatever Clarkson tells me. Better off that way, am I right?”

I nervously laugh back to him. The whole school knows they’re fucking, but what the fuck is that relationship like?

“Yeah…” I tell him.

“Well, tell me you’ll think about it, at least! We’d all love having you there, bro.”

There’s no way I can say no to that smile.

“Of course.”

“Cool! I’ll catch you later man. I’m headed to the gym.” That makes sense. A body like that doesn’t just happen.

Of course I don’t mention to him that the classical department has a strict non-competition policy. Their students aren’t supposed to do the musicals, which makes no fucking sense because as a freshman, of course I didn’t get cast in the fall opera. So it seems like I’m just wasting my time, and maybe I should join the musical just to spite them. And to be a liiiiiiittle bit closer to Dylan every day.

I mean he’s not like boyfriend material or anything, but I don’t need ‘em smart to take ‘em home. Though I don’t really know if he fucks anything without abs. And I’m, well, I’m fucking amazing, but I’m definitely without abs. But hey, more to love.

I’ve got these gorgeous green eyes, beautiful golden curls that fall effortlessly on my head, and my high school private voice teacher said my eyebrows could slay the dead, so I’m not pressed about anything.

And besides, they should be so lucky to have me in their production. I’ve heard some of those MT majors sing and it’s like a bunch of cats in a whole lot of pain. Some of them are really good, but I think they could benefit from having someone classically trained among their ranks for a semester.

I give a gentle rap on Professor Clarkson’s door.

“Come in!” he lilts back to me.

I open the door and there’s immediately this strange feeling of uneasiness in me. I can’t really explain it, but–

“Christian! Sit down, sit down.” I do. “What can I help you with today?”

“Well,” I explain. “I was just talking to Dylan in the hallway, and he said you might be in need of an extra singer in your cast, so I was wondering if I could audition!”

“Oh!” His eyes are trained on me. “Oh, well this certainly is a unique circumstance, isn’t it?”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, I’m sure you’re aware of the opera department’s rule about students being in our shows.”

“I know, but I–”

“Yes, well, there have been a few…extenuating circumstances in which we’ve been able to make an exception.” His grin. He’s so handsome, but there’s almost something… sinister there. I don’t know what it is. “We would be very lucky to have you be a part of our production.”

“Well, if you can get them to let me do it, I’d be more than happy to be a part of it!”

“Wonderful!” He takes out a piece of paper and a red pen and begins writing something.

“That’s it? No audition?”

“Oh, Christian, I know what you can do. Your talent precedes you.”

Well, I mean, I’m not gonna tell him he’s wrong or anything. He’s putting the paper in an envelope now. “What’s that?” I ask.

“This? It’s just a little something to help change some minds. Give this to your voice teacher when she’s back in her office hours tomorrow.” And then he looks me squarely in the eyes and I feel myself shudder. “And Christian, don’t open it.”

I take the envelope from him and as my fingers touch it, I feel this weight enter my body. This pressure. I try to brush it off as I stand.

“Thank you for everything today, Professor. I’m really excited to get to work with your students. You guys put on some awesome productions.”

“Thank you, Christian. We are really looking forward to a new face in our show.”

Okay this is a little weird. “Cool, well I’ll see you later!”

“Bye now! Rehearsal begins at six thirty!”

I close the door behind me and waltz down the hallway because I’m talented enough to be a rising star in two different programs within the music department. And I’m heading out of the building, walking down the stairs like Dolly fucking Levi and then I spot–

“Christian… well someone’s in a good mood!” It’s Davey. There’s a queen that’s going somewhere. Just not at my expense. Maybe it’s a shame we can’t all just be a little more supportive of each other in this atmosphere, but I’m not trying to get knocked down a rung on the ladder either. Bitch better know her place.

“Yes, darling, well, as you know I was planning on taking a short sabbatical from performing this semester.”

“Because you didn’t get cast in the opera.”

“…Yes, well, be that as it may, I’ve had a change of heart.”

“Is that so?”

“Well, Professor Clarkson and I just got finished speaking, and would you believe it, he asked me to join the musical with all of you!” I can see it in his eyes, I’ve got him.

“Well, isn’t that awesome.”

“It sure is.”

“I bet it is.”

A moment passes.

“Well, I’ve got to be off, I have my studio pupils to get to.” I announce.

“Giving your cousin skype lessons doesn’t count as a studio.”

“Well, a studio is where the cash is!”

“Uh-huh.”

I continue walking down the stairs, feeling confident, but then I almost stumble because of this sharp pain in my head. I look up. “I’m sorry God, I’ll be kinder to those less fortunate.”

I continue down and exit the building, taking in this glorious day and letting it take me in too. So much to be thankful for. This life, this talent, this–kind of overwhelming headache. Maybe I need to step into my room for a second. I text my cousin. “No lesson today feeling gross xoxoxo. P.S. You mom still owes me from last week.” Being a music major is not easy. It’s a calling.

I open the door to my dorm and throw my bag on the floor. I love living in a single. I just had to get my therapist to tell the school I couldn’t live around other people or I’d go crazy. Which is mostly true anyway. I swing open the door to my bathroom and think that maybe I just need to wash my face a bit. I have too much to accomplish today, I can’t be getting sick.

But before I can even turn the water on, something is off. I look up and there are some hairs laying across my face. I pick them off but a few more fall. “What the–” I grab my hair and it comes off in a handful. Panic spreads across my face. “No no no no no no no this cannot be happening.” I’m feverishly trying to put the golden curls back in place, but every motion makes more of them fall out, and soon a good fifty percent of my head is bald. “God what the fuck is this nightmare?! Wake up wake up wake up.”

It’s all to no avail. The last strands fall before me on the sink countertop. I’m a crying mess when a powerful pain sets in in my head. It’s like this combination of the fogginess of a high mixed with this insane outward pressure. I force my eyes up and glimpse these straight, black strands slowly pushing their way out of my skull. It’s like a fucking play-doh hair creator happening on top of my head. “Holy shit.”

There’s a short fuzz on the sides now as the top keeps lengthening down, settling just as it crosses my eyes. I push it to the side, but it falls right back down to my eye level. And my eyes. They’re bright blue. Like Game of Thrones undead blue.

And if I thought I felt pain before, I had no idea. My body starts convulsing and it’s too much to keep myself up on the counter. I crumple into a ball on the floor as I feel my body start retreating in on itself. It’s like pins and needles everywhere in my body all at the same time. It’s unbearable and I can’t even make any noise besides grunting because my mouth refuses to open. But as I’m holding myself down there and the pain is getting more and more intense, I can’t really explain it, but I feel myself shrink. The only way I can tell what’s happening is because my body is able to curl up into a tighter and tighter ball.

And though it felt neverending, the pain does in fact slow. I’m able to get some leverage and push myself off the floor. I’m breathing so heavily. As I climb over the sink, I don’t know how to react because I don’t recognize this stranger standing in front of me. My pants slide down to my ankles for lack of a hold on my body. Part of me wants to hide under my blanket and go to sleep until I wake up and realize it’s a dream.

But part of me is instantly turned on.

I rip off my now gargantuan shirt and there’s a man standing in front of me who is, by all definitions, hot as hell. Sweating, glistening, and rapidly trying to catch his breath and his abs–his fucking abs–are pulsing. He doesn’t look like a gym rat, but he is defined as hell. He’s got some nice arms and a chest that would make girls and guys weak in the knees. No body hair, really, but he doesn’t fucking need it. And then the dissociation ends and I fully realize that that is me.

I lift my arm and the reflection does too, and I fully take in this picture in front of me. My eyes are so striking, and my hair is short on the sides, but not buzzed, and the top is kind of greasy looking and messy in that sexy way where I never have to worry about styling it. It hangs in front of my face a little. My cheekbones are on point and my face almost looks a little hard, maybe a little angular at points but in all the right ways. And I feel slight, sequential pains but don’t look away as I gather a piercing in my nose, on the lower left side of my lip, and one on my left cheekbone that hurts a little bit extra. In the best way.

And I stay there, lost in this daze as I see these marks start appearing around my neck. I look closely and it looks like…a pair of wings? I can’t focus much more because it feels like it’s strangling me and the feeling is spreading across my body, down my torso and right arm, and then on my calves and even on the ankle of my right foot. My eyes are closed, clutching my throat trying to get some air in when the feeling subsides. I open my eyes, not even phased anymore, just accepting changes, to see my body covered in these sick fucking tats.

My neck and a large portion of chest and abs are covered in these gorgeous, sprawling designs. I have a full sleeve on my right arm, and I look down to check out the new pictures on my calves and on the side of my foot. As I’m looking at them, all of these memories comes flooding into me of where they came from and what they mean to me. The flowers, the birds, the random shapes all have a memory attached to them. And they feel somehow mine and not mine.

I push my hair back and it falls down again. This should feel wrong, impossible. But there is this calm and rightness that I can’t explain away and I’m just basking in it.

And then I feel a stirring. I look down to this unflattering pair of underwear that is barely hanging onto my trim waist, and I pull them the fuck off because I want to see what’s happening.

My five inch cock is surrounded by a now trim bush, and my lips curl up at the edges as I watch it begin to swell. It’s pulsing larger and larger, and I’m already hard so it feels a bit like it’s going to burst. It pushes straight out and goes past what must be nine inches before it stops. Sitting there in front of me. Practically begging to be touched.

So I comply.

My hand grips my cock and it’s like they were meant for eachother. I glance up to look myself in the eyes right now. I’m so fucking sexy. I check out this tatted body in front of me and everything just screams sex. From the hair to the abs to this powerful cock in my hands, I am a sex god.

I jerk myself off like that, for a while, fully taking myself in this way, thinking about all the ass and pussy I’m gonna be able to get with this tool. And I double back on that thought. Sick. I’ve never been into chicks but suddenly I can see myself plowing some hot girl with this piece.

But my mind settles back on ass, because I’m thinking about that sexy little twink in the musical theater department, and I’m imagining my cock slowly pushing in and out, showing him what he’s been missing. And I can feel myself getting closer and closer, focusing on that ass and then–

Fucking rivers of cum, and the good times don’t stop. My brain is on overdrive, I’m letting out a moan for me and my ears only. Taking in this pleasure and thanking my sexy ass body for it. And as I cum, I’m forgetting all about whatever piece of shit might’ve come before me. A new set of experiences and a darker, but sexier personality flows into me. There’s this different, brooding confidence settling over my eyelids.

And I open them to catch that naked, hot body covered in cum, but my eyes adjust and it’s a different picture. I look down and my cock is all packed away in a pair of tight, black jeans, cut off at the bottom by a pair of converse. I look back up and I’ve got on this dark jacket with a grey hoodie underneath, open to show my chest tats. I roll up the jacket and hoodie too, to show off my sleeve and then give myself a quick “I’d fuck you” look before I head out the door of the bathroom. My room’s a fucking mess, but I grab my bag and my weed pen before I head out the door.

I take a couple hits on the way out of the building. All the RA’s buy from me so if they have a problem they’re gonna have to shove it up their asses.

I was supposed to go to that rehearsal for the fucking bullshit show Clarkson talked me into doing, but I can be a little late. I pull out my cell and text a quick, “At yours in five.”

He responds–

“K. ;)”

I’ve been fucking this kid since school started. Annoying as fuck, but if I keep his mouth full he can’t talk.

Plus, I’ve gotta admit that his ass is kind of unreal.

I walk up the steps of his building, all the way up to his room and I knock on the door.

David opens up.

“Well,” he starts, “don’t you look–”

“Shut the fuck up.” I don’t even have to be a dick to get him to shut up, I just know by now that it turns him on.

He does, and I slam the door behind me. Almost ceremoniously, he comes over and starts unzipping my pants. My cock flops out, all nine inches, and he almost creams himself right there, I can tell.

“Suck it, bitch.” And he does what he does best. His tongue works wonders, and I can’t ever let him know how good he is, because he’ll stop trying to do better. My eyes are rolling back into my head, but he keeps looking up at me to make sure he’s making me feel good. I’m not here for your fucking validation. I’m here for that ass.

He swallows all nine inches easily, and something tells me he can take even more. I briefly wonder about the possibility of double teaming him with Dylan. That stud might even be packing more than me. I guess I’ll have to find out. While he’s sucking me, I ask him.

“Hey, has Dylan tapped that ass yet?”

He takes his mouth off my cock. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

I bend over and grab his face in my hands. Rough enough. I know where our boundaries are.

“I asked you a fucking question, bitch.”

He looks me dead in the eyes, all sex, and says, “All ten inches, sir.”

I hold him there a second. “How’d you like to get both of our cocks at the same time?”

He just nods, fervently.

I think I can arrange that. Should be easy enough. Dude thinks with his cock anyway.

I let David go. “You can continue now.”

And he does. And it feels amazing. Again, it pains me to admit it, but he’s hands down the best cocksucker and the best ass I’ve ever had. Know where your strengths are, I guess. He does this thing with his hand and his tongue at the same time and–

And I want his ass now.

“Bed.” I say. And he goes, rips off all his clothes and leans over the side, ass facing me. And I take it in my hands, because it’s mine. I lube it up with my spit, though honestly this kid has some magical ass that doesn’t need any lube. It’s just for show. Me spitting on his ass gets him going.

And I like this sort of weird relationship we have. Rough around the edges, but we both know what we want and are so eager to give it to each other. And I can’t stand him as a person, but I don’t have to.

Anyway, enough sentimental shit. I impale this hot twink with my cock and watch him writhe on the bed below me. Dylan can try all he fucking wants, but I know nobody makes him squeal like me.

He likes it slow at first, this gentle pulsating rhythm. It’s so fucking sexy to watch my cock pull in and out of this perfectly round ass. And I tease him by pulling all the way out, leaving him empty and begging for it, hovering right by the edge, and then fucking give it all back to him. How he takes all of it, I’ll never know, but I’m glad he does.

I grab his hair, hard enough, and start to push his face sideways into one of the pillows as my speed increases. Make him feel like the little bitch he is. He’s moaning, which lets me know I’m right where I need to be. I start going faster, and faster, sequentially, letting him really feel where all nine inches are hitting him. Making him know whose cock is breeding his ass.

And he’s pushing back onto me like he loves it. Because he does. His knuckles are white, hands threatening to rip the comforter to shreds.

I let go of his hair to tear off my jacket and hoodie. He has this mirror on the wall behind his bed and I’m actually super into watching my sexy body take his ass. I put both hands on his ass and watch my tatted body fucking pound him. I am so fucking sexy.

“Hey,” a small voice from under me interrupts. He’s panting. “Not to rush you or anything, but we are already late to rehearsal and we’re blocking one of my scenes today so–”

“Fuck it.” I say, shortly. I give him a hard thrust of my cock that makes him whimper. I lean over and speak directly into his ear. “I’m gonna give you this cum now, okay?”

“Yes sir.”

I go back to checking us out in the mirror so I can watch it all unfold. My decent biceps flexed, holding his ass and my hair falling back down in front of my face. And then my eyes are trained on his ass. My huge cock going in and out and that ass, taking it all in. And a wave is building up inside me, torrential and ready to be set free. I give him three final pounds, punctuated with my grunts, “Ungh, ungh, ungh!”

And he screams out and I lose it, my cock like a dam breaking open and filling up his ass with my sweet fucking cum. It feels like it never stops and I have to wonder where it all goes. This incredible ass is just milking me for all I’m worth and as it slows down, and my own moaning stops, I can hear his fading out too, underneath me.

I slowly pull out and flip him over. There’s a giant wet spot from the edge of the bed, dripping down the blankets and onto the floor.

“Hot,” I tell him. It is.

And I feel this strange desire to…kiss him?

Fuck that. I don’t do that.

I wipe the thought away and toss him a towel. I get myself together and pull my clothes back on. Bag in hand, I slap his ass once more for good measure and head out. “Catch you later.”

We never walk in together. I don’t need that in my life.

And I end up being a bit later to rehearsal than I thought because when I go to grab my weed pen out again, I find this envelope that I don’t remember putting in there. Curious, I stop by one of the benches outside on the sidewalk. I open it up and unfold the piece of paper inside. In bright red ink, in the center, there’s a single phrase.

“Punk-Rocker Top”

Then, underneath in parentheses.

“With a big dick.”

I’m a little too stoned to think too critically about it so I just sort of chuckle to myself.

Well, it’s not wrong, I think, grabbing my junk.

Alright, let’s go sing some shit.

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