All characters in this story are over the age of 18.
Chris looked at the door to room 119, wondering if his roommate was already in there. No message board on the door yet, nothing but the retro-looking construction-paper nametags taped up by the RA. Should he knock? No, it was his room too, and he was a sophomore, not a nervous freshman. Ok, he was a little nervous. The profile on Facebook had looked intimidating but exciting: a jock type, shaved head according to the more recent pics, in a fraternity, relationship status single. Chris opened the door carefully.
"Hey man, welcome home," said a solid-looking guy standing on tiptoes, hanging a poster. He turned around and smiled, his expression easy-going, open, and very masculine. "I'm Justin."
"Hey, Justin." Chris walked over and shook hands. Firm grip, he thought, of course. Friendly brown eyes. Handsome roundish jock face, a few days' stubble on his face and scalp, cute nose, really white teeth. Justin was wearing a yellow muscle T with "Hanson's CrossFit" on it. His arms were impressive: very muscular, but with a small layer of baby fat that made the muscles rounded and juicy-looking rather than chiseled. He must be about 5'11", Chris thought, a couple inches taller than me. "I'm Chris."
"Good to meet you, bro. I put some stuff on the walls already, I hope you don't mind." Chris looked around at the posters. Mostly MMA-type stuff, with a few of chicks with enormous tits fawning over the fighters. One was of a blonde bending over in cut-offs, head between her legs, pretending to sip from a beer bottle and winking. Is that how she prevents hiccups, Chris wondered. The first floor of Kroetzger Hall was high-ceilinged, and Justin had covered all but a quarter of the ample wall space. "I left you that part by the closets," he grinned.
"Which bunk do you want? I didn't pick yet."
"I don't mind, man, you got a preference?"
"Well, if it's cool with you, I'll take lower. I'll have some real crazy late nights, it'll be a little easier not to wake you if I'm not climbing up when I'm drunk." Justin flashed Chris his friendly grin again.
"Sure, man, that's fine. That mean I get the desk by the window?"
"Yeah, it's all yours." Justin looked pleased at his own generosity, and started arranging weights in his closet.
"Cool, cool, I'll start getting my stuff."
Straight as straight can be, Chris thought as he went out to his car. On Facebook, he hadn't been able to tell; there was always room for optimism. After only a few minutes with Justin, he had concluded that there was no gay nut to crack, and started trying to wall off his attraction to his new roommate, sustained over the internet for the two months since the university had assigned them to Kroetzger and each other. Just as well, he thought, it would have been messy if he had been persuadable. His dick started to get hard thinking of Justin's muscle T, his manly arms and chest, and the sexy sides of his torso Chris had seen through the long slits in the shirt. Shit. Better get over this fast. He started unloading suitcases and boxes.
Chris had come out to himself during spring quarter of his freshman year. A six-month relationship with a smart, cute, but mousy girl had been going nowhere; he suspected she might be gay too. She hadn't minded when he broke it off, and they were still friends. He had known he was attracted to men since forever, including guys old enough to be his dad, but thought for a while he could soldier on as straight, or at least bi. But after almost a year of college, grappling with the daily battle of keeping his hungry looks at guys' crotches and asses, chests and arms, legs, hands, even sexy feet unnoticed, he was worn out. No more pretending, not to himself.
He had come out to one other person: Pat. She was the thirty-something co-owner of the rifle range where Chris' dad took him most weekends for target practice. Chris' dad was an ex-marine, and a moody, taciturn, but not unkind man. Chris' lack of interest in sports and hunting had been a disappointment, but Chris did show an aptitude for target shooting, and enjoyed it, although not as much as his father. Chris got to know Pat when he would take breaks from the range while his dad was still going at it. She had been unfazed when he told her he was gay: it had been perfect. No "Oh my God! I'm so glad you figured that out"; no "I would never have guessed in a million years"; just "hm. Sure, I can see that. Don't worry about me, I don't give a damn, and neither will anyone else one you're ready to tell them. Might want to wait a while on your dad. You're gonna tell me if you start dating anyone, right?"
"Yeah," Chris had blushed, pleased that she was both nonplussed and supportive. She was an independent exurban mom of two, and thoughtful. Chris always valued her advice; she was worldly enough to be a good guide, but not so much that he felt like she was a bad influence.
Chris was a good 19-year-old kid -- a smart young man, very strong academically, and a confident person in many respects. In high school, he had been well-liked enough, certainly not picked on with any regularity, and was just now starting to outgrow his adolescent awkwardness into something other people found attractive. He had light blue eyes which shone when he smiled, something he did frequently. His short hair was dark blond, a little bleached from two weeks at the beach; he had grown a beard over the summer, and his facial hair had quite a bit of red in it. He was secretly proud of how full the beard and mustache were, and of how much hair he had on his chest, legs and pubes. Not enough to repel a guy, he hoped, but enough to prove the existence of a nice dose of testosterone that his small dick seemed to contradict. A virgin, he had never had another person confirm that he had a lot less between his legs than average, but he wasn't dumb -- he had seen guys in locker rooms, as well as porn online, and he knew that at four and a half thin inches, he was definitely small. That thought made his erection subside.
Oh well, he thought for the thousandth time, maybe I'll try one of those penis enlarger kits some day. He blushed at the thought of Justin discovering that particular secret. Maybe he wasn't done growing yet; he could buy one at the end of the school year, if he still hadn't improved. Chris had been very careful not to check out Justin's package during their three-minute encounter, but suspected from the size and meatiness of his roommate's hands that he didn't have anything to be embarrassed about.
Chris heaved three boxes into his arms easily in the late-afternoon September sun, and carried them in the dorm. He was a pretty strong guy for being unathletic; one of his P.E. teachers had quickly figured out that Chris was never going to flourish on the football field or the basketball court, and so he opened the weight room for Chris during the units he taught, allowing Chris to explore on his own. Chris was not nearly as muscled as Justin, but at 5'8" and 145 pounds, was fit and well-proportioned.
Justin was chatting on his cell phone when Chris walked in again.
"Yup, just settling in, bro, you? . . . Nada, nada . . . yeah, I'm going over to the house to shoot some pool after dinner, see ya over there."
Chris wondered which frat; the Facebook profile, strangely, hadn't said. Another level of the "privacy" they were always touting, no doubt. He scanned Justin's closet. No visible letters. It was the kind of thing he didn't want to ask, that Justin would probably assume he already knew. He put the boxes down and eyed Justin's desk. In the upper left corner of the corkboard above it, there was a small card; it looked like an invitation. Probably to last year's pledge night. Sigma Alpha Epsilon. Oh, shit. They were hardcore on this campus. Chris' glance slid over to Justin, who was finishing his call. Justin smiled again.
"One of the brothers. Most of the time I eat at the house, but I got a date tonight." He winked. "You got a girlfriend?"
Damn, that was fast. We've known each other five minutes at most.
"No, man. Got an ex." Justin gave him a commiserating look, and Chris bent down to unpack the first box. On his way, he took in Justin's package, just to see what would be off-limits for the long year ahead. Mesh workout shorts revealed a pretty significant bulge, at least to Chris' quick glance. He quickly focused on Justin's feet. Fuck, they looked like size 12's or even 13.
"Sorry, bro. Bet you fix that in no time. See ya later."
Justin collected his keys and sauntered out. While the front of the shorts had left at least something to the imagination, the back did not -- Justin's ass was magnificent. Big and firm, the fabric stretched tight around each cheek as he took a step forward. Chris was sorry there were only six gluteal flexes to watch before Justin reached the door.
Chris sat down on the lower bunk -- Justin's bunk, he quickly realized -- as soon as the door closed.
Shit. This is going to be fuckin' rough, he thought. This guy is totally hot, a jock, which I love, probably has an even more awesome body than I can tell right now, and he's even friendly. Or seems like it, anyway, SAE doesn't usually take nice guys . . . they seem to be a pretty aggressive, douchey bunch. Hm. Chris' dick was getting hard again as he thought of Justin's meaty ass. He tugged his little member through his cargo shorts. Definitely no bulge in these, he thought wistfully. He closed his eyes, picturing Justin's big arms, his biceps, the strong forearms . . . he rubbed his cock through the shorts.
Fortunately, Justin was audible in the hall before he reentered the room, on his cell again. Chris had time to get up and get his hands back to unpacking, although not time to smooth out his butt print on the uncovered mattress.
"Yeah, no problem, you caught me right as I was leaving anyways. I was runnin' outta here so fast I forgot to put on real clothes," Justin was laughing into the phone. "You woulda sent me back." Chris surreptitiously watched another grin cover Justin's handsome face. Damn, he was one cute, likeable, dude. "Sure, we're planning our rush stuff too . . . yeah, call me later. Bye."
"That was fast."
"Yeah, man," Justin laughed, "this girl and I are both running around like crazy with rush crap. I even forgot to change my clothes, look at me."
Yup, I'm sure gonna do that, Chris thought, and gave him what he hoped was a "bro-like" appraisal of his workout gear.
"Heh, I bet she'd like it." Too much? Yeah, too much. FUCK! What did I say that for???
"Naw man, she's all girly, she doesn't like going out unless I have a shirt with a collar on it. She hates being more dressed up than I am."
Chris was relieved that Justin hadn't read anything into his comment; his good nature seemed to be more and more genuine.
"Well, sorry about that. I'm gonna finish unpacking and shit."
"Yeah, good deal. I'm gonna chill here for a while, too."
Justin sat at his desk and flipped open his laptop. Chris went back to his car for more boxes, figuring he get it all loaded in first, and then unpack it. He didn't have that much stuff. After his final trip, Justin pulled a glass and a bottle of Knob Creek from his closet shelf. He poured himself what looked like a double; Chris didn't drink the hard stuff much, only beer and sometimes wine. Bourbon seemed unexpectedly sophisticated for a frat jock, he thought. Interesting.
"Sorry man, shoulda asked. You want one?"
"Uh . . . well, maybe. What is it, 5:30?"
Justin looked at his phone. "Yeah, just about. I like a nice one before dinner. A lot of the brothers do. You drink bourbon, right?"
"I guess I have once," Chris smiled.
Justin raised his eyebrows.
"Well then, we're gonna have to get you schooled, young man." Justin fetched another glass and poured a hefty dose into it. "I'm gonna put an ice cube in mine, it's hot out. You want one?"
Chris sipped the Knob Creek. Shit, he thought, this is strong. He wasn't sure if he liked it. "Yeah, I'll take an ice cube or two, please."
Justin laughed good-naturedly. "Here ya go. Don't mind me, I'm just playing C.O.D." He put headphones on and concentrated on the game and his drink. Chris sipped carefully at his, grateful he wasn't being watched, and his timid consumption commented on. He unpacked quickly -- clothes, books, laptop, other electronics, chargers, bedding, a few personal mementoes. He put the picture of his family on his desk at the right angle so that they wouldn't be able to see him on the top bunk when he jacked off. He had already mentally noted Justin's regular dinner absence as a major bonus. As he was making his bed, and when he was sure Justin couldn't possibly see, he tucked a small plastic jar of Vaseline under his pillow. Old-fashioned, he knew, but he liked long sessions, and that shit lasted. Also, it felt great when he slid a finger slicked up with it in his hole as he stroked.
Even though Chris was drinking slowly, by the time he had the basics done, he was pretty lit. Justin, on the other hand, seemed barely affected.
"Cool man, gonna have another. You want one?"
"I'm not done with this one yet," Chris answered sheepishly.
Justin chuckled. "You'll learn."
Unsure what to do next, and too buzzed to sort his desk and shelves out more thoroughly, Chris took his laptop up on his bunk, and balanced his glass on one of the bedposts. He idly looked through his email, drinking in Justin's muscled back and shoulders. No hair anywhere, Chris thought. I haven't seen his chest yet, though. I bet he shaves it. His legs are pretty hairy, though. The bourbon hit him harder, and he dozed off.
Chris woke with a start to an empty room. Fuck, that drink was strong, he thought. What time is it? He pulled his phone out of his front shorts pocket. It read 8:18. Jesus, I must have passed out. What was IN that fuckin' glass? Damn.
He sat up, groggy. The bourbon was still active in his system -- he wasn't a practiced drinker, and its effects were long-lasting. He slipped off the bunk and landed, stumbling. What the fuck am I doing? First night with a new roommate, I pass out after half a glass of bourbon. Yeah, I'm gonna have a hard time living that one down. He smiled ruefully. Well, at least we've established from the beginning that we inhabit different worlds. Careful management will mean we don't have to intersect too much, and that way what I'm sure will be my constant boners over him shouldn't be too hard to hide.
Chris adjusted his shorts; he was springing another one just thinking of his roommate, even thinking of avoiding his roommate. He groaned, steadied himself against the bed, and realized he was starving. The food service was already closed, and although it was a Friday night, and a bunch of nearby restaurants would be open, he didn't feel like eating out if he was alone. There were a few people he could call, but he wasn't very close to them, and they had probably already eaten. He silently cursed himself for resisting making any close friends his freshman year, for fear he might reveal too much to them. He had a couple circles he hung out with, but no confidants; they had all formed those bonds with others, perceiving that he was unreachable once you got past a certain level of social intercourse. As in high school, he was liked well enough, but had no best friend, or anyone approaching it. Usually, he thought himself happier this way. Tonight, it was a bummer. He flipped open the take-out catalog that had been in the room, left by the RA no doubt. He ordered a pizza, and surfed the web while he waited.
Lulled by the security of Justin's after-dinner pool game at the SAE house, which was half a mile away, Chris opened one of his favorite porn sites. He unzipped his pants, and tugged his bikini briefs below his small nuts. His hardon jumped out eagerly. He clicked on a video of a cute white boy sucking an older white guy's huge cock. The boy was on his knees, expertly deep-throating what must have been eight inches. The man was grunting in obvious pleasure, his handsome face contorted, mouth open, eyes closed. The younger man looked up at him admiringly, and bobbed up and down faster . . . and faster . . . The older guy had a chest full of dark curly hair, and looked Greek; the younger guy was smooth and blond, and was REALLY getting into sucking this big dick. Chris started tugging his little dick. No lube yet, pizza would be here before he wanted to shoot. Just enjoy it . . .
As the man got closer, he put his hands gently on the cocksucker's head, pumping, now thrusting into the younger dude's mouth. The sucker obediently held still while the older dude started to thrust more quickly, shallowly, and then . . .
The top came all over the boy's face. The boy smiled up adoringly as the older man rubbed his head in thanks, a big smile on his face. The video ended. None too soon . . . there was a knock on the door.
"Coming!" Chris zipped up and tabbed to the New York Times website.
He opened the door, and an older Hispanic man asked, "Are you Donaldson?"
"Yeah, come on in." Chris pulled out his wallet and paid, took the pizza, and thanked the deliveryman. Too bad he wasn't young and hot, Chris thought. Or at least hot. Older and hot is nice, too, duh! You're dizzy, drunk and confused, just get something in your stomach.
Chris laughed at himself and started in on the pizza. He tabbed back to the porn site and clicked on another video, still of oral sex, this one featuring two young bearded studs. As always, he imagined himself the sucker. He longed to feel the pressure of a cock on his lips for the first time, to feel his mouth slowly and gently penetrated . . . the top would be patient and considerate, asking him if he was ok, telling him what a good job he was doing, slowly upping the tempo while massaging and stroking Chris' head as he sucked. . . no pressure, only joy. Explosions of creamy goodness. Fuuucccccck.
Chris clicked on video after video, and ate half the pizza. He turned away to put the rest in Justin's fridge. If he doesn't mind sharing his liquor, he thought, he won't mind sharing some fridge space. There were only eight bottles of beer inside . . . good, plenty of room. Chris turned back to the laptop, and hit pause. He considered his options. Just about 9:00. He had no idea what Justin's schedule would be; he guessed that his roommate would be out until at least 11, but you never knew. Better safe than sorry. Chris closed the browser on the laptop, picked up a hand towel from the closet, and got into the top bunk fully clothed, pulling the sheet and comforter up after him. Warm, yes, but better safe than sorry. Should he lock the door? No. Too obvious, and potentially even more embarrassing.
He slipped his shorts and underwear down to mid-thigh, and reached up under his head for the Vaseline. He took a little bit out with the index finger of his left hand, put the lid on, and slipped it back into its hiding place. His thin penis was stiff and throbbing. He lubed it up gently and slowly. Ahhhhhhh, that's nice. He stroked it, thinking of Justin's face. No. Think of the dudes you were watching online. There you go.
Chris settled into a hot first-blowjob fantasy with the hairy Greek porn model he had seen first. Slowing pulling down the Daddy-god's underwear. Sniffing and licking over the whole crotch, nuts and shaft. Smiling shyly up at the swarthy man, who nodded his approval. Then carefully, gently, for the very first time, putting the head of a real man's penis in his actual mouth. Chris rubbed harder. Oh fuuccckk. This is going to be so awesome when I finally do it. Chris fapped harder, still under the covers, and raised his knees up, as if he instinctively knew that someday that would be how he would please a lover. Faster and faster he stroked, picturing . . .