A Unique and Torn Romance

I’m walking down the hallway and again; Bob Bryar is in my fucking way! What’s up with him? Is he retarded or something?
Oh well, I know what to do.

Soon I’m right in front of him and as he steps forward to budge his shoulder against mine, I turn and walk past him sideways.
The only difference is that this time, he turns too. He quickly has me pressed up against the lockers and his knee doesn’t seem to hesitate for one second before it’s pressed against my crotch.

His breath hits my neck. His knee moves.

I moan.

“Mikey!” There’s a knock on my door and I wake up with a jump.
“Wake up and get downstairs. Your breakfast is getting cold.” Oh yes, my wonderful breakfast: a piece of fucking toast. You’d think that when you have a stay-at-home mom that she’d make a more extravagant breakfast – or at least a more delicious one – but no: not my mom.

I move around a bit and almost moan when my dick rubs against my duvet – both of them being between my legs. Somehow I’ve gotten my legs wrapped around my-

Oh crap! Oh fuck! No fucking way! NEVER!
I did not just dream that! Not in a million years! Nu-uh! Nope! Not happening!

I unwrap my legs and look down at my boxers. My cock is slowly deflating – luckily.
I did not have that dream. Or at least it didn’t mean what my cock thought it meant. Never. It was just my subconscious playing tricks with me. It had gotten the wrong impression. I enjoyed watching Bob suffer.

No, wait! Not like that! I’m not a fucking sadist!
Urgh. I hate my cock.