In Love with my Roommate Ch. 01

My last summer at home before leaving for university was an absolute thrill ride. I worked hard as a landscaper and partied even harder now that I was eighteen and it was legal to drink. I was living in Québec City, a reasonably sized city on the St. Lawrence River, and living near that city's nightlife was absolutely a drain on my pocketbook. However, I was making excellent money working twelve-hour days as a landscaper and was dreaming of moving away to university at the end of summer.

My name is Pierre, and I'm a pretty regular looking guy. I'm about five foot ten, and I'm not particularly athletic, although I'm in the best shape of my life working outside all day. I've got sandy blonde hair and a set of blue eyes that usually dazzle the ladies when I'm out at the bars. However, I was about to turn nineteen in August, and I wanted to move away to study theatre and fine arts.

I know, fine arts are a cliché, but tuition is cheap here and I had a decent scholarship. My academic credentials were solid, and I was determined to find a decent job at a theatre or ballet, and this seemed like a decent place to start. So, with that in mind I spent my summer working hard to build up some cash to spend in the city and hung out with my friends as often as I could. We had all done two years of Cégep, a sort of preparatory college, and my friend group were almost all women. We shared the same interests, notably dance, theatre and fashion.

I was a pretty normal guy - in that I was straight. I loved hanging out with women, and I dated here and there, but my concentration was always on getting into school and learning from the best on how to dance and act. I did community theatre in Québec City, but it was nothing compared to what I wanted to learn. It brought me closer to my friend group, and I hooked up with a few of them here and there, but there was never anything serious to it. We all knew that it was part of the gig.

It also made for one Hell of a summer. I was genuinely sad when my summer ended. My birthday was the last day of August, and on the day that I turned nineteen, I was in the backseat of a Toyota Prius on my way to Ottawa. I had been accepted to a fine arts program at the university in the capital city, and I was thrilled. However, I was also crammed into the car with boxes around me. My mom and dad were ready to move me into a campus dormitory in the downtown.

My parents were incredibly supportive. They were always in the front row whenever I was in a show at a theatre, or in a terrible dance performance. They loved that I wanted to get into the arts, and even though they were both government functionaries they maintained a deep appreciation for the arts and instilled that in me from a young age. They were always taking me to museums and galleries in Montréal or around the region and were one of the reasons that I was determined to make a career in the arts: I had the support of a loving family.

I had an older sister as well. She was my rock, and one of my closest friends. She was studying to be a doctor in Montréal. While I naturally drifted towards the arts and fashion, she was a science geek. She always had top grades, and never gave two thoughts about her looks or her hair, which always drove me nuts. But she was the best, and she was one of the reasons that I chose Ottawa for school: It's barely a two-hour train ride to Montréal's downtown. She wasn't far away at all!

Visiting my sister was also one of the objectives of my parents. While the four of us all had a loving relationship, my parents were only going to move me into my dormitory before heading to Montréal to visit with Stéphanie. Evidently, she had a new girlfriend, and they were serious enough to warrant a "meet and greet" with the parents. I would have loved to have seen her as well, but it was move-in day at university, and I was treating it like a major event.

We arrived in what could only be described as pandemonium at the university. There were cars lined up around the block, with diligent student volunteers directing parents and incoming residents around the residence complex that would house the students. The line was long enough that it was blocking a lane of traffic downtown. My parents, who had been through this with my sister all throughout her undergraduate degree, were no strangers to this type of chaos. My dad kept the car in electric mode on a cool idle while my mom got out to ask one of the volunteers where my room was located.

I saw the young volunteer point to a residential tower of about 20 stories at the far end of the complex, and that seemed to be that. My mom thanked her and came back to the car.

"Well Pierre, the good news is that you're going to have a great view of the Rideau Canal!" she said.

"Awesome mom! Thanks for asking her," I responded.

"The bad news is that the elevator is broken. So, thankfully you only packed six or seven boxes - because your dad and I aren't going up fifteen flights of stairs with all that," she added.

In the end, my dad did carry up one of the boxes, and my mom took up my laptop bag and the sac carrying my stationery and notebooks. However, by the time that I had lugged seven boxes of clothing, books, bedsheets, and other assorted junk that a nineteen-year-old thinks they need for their first time away from home, I was utterly exhausted.

After getting myself settled into the room, my parents and I took stock of my new dormitory. It was a split pod, with a shared "traditional" bedroom that had a small kitchenette and a shared bathroom with a shower and a toilet. Honestly, it was not dissimilar to a hotel room of a comparative size. We spent a few minutes throwing some sheets onto my new bed and putting my laptop into the locked cubby on the desk before my dad suggested that we head out for dinner. I knew that this was code for them leaving, and my mom and dad not wanting to get emotional here on campus in front of everyone - especially if my new roommate was going to show up soon. I made a mental note to thank Stéphanie who probably went through that before me.

My mom chose a classy restaurant downtown only a stone's throw from the main campus. Ottawa was truly a gorgeous city. The main theatre was located right across the canal from campus, and there was a smaller community theatre nearby that we passed on our way to a local restaurant. I was in heaven and couldn't wait to ingratiate myself with the arts community in town.

We split a pizza and a pitcher of beer. My parents toasted to my new life in a new city, and then spent twenty minutes regaling me with the story of how mom lost it crying in front of Stéphanie's roommate when she first moved to Montréal for school. They both had me nearly in tears laughing at the story, only to tell me at the end that her roommate's parents did the same thing when they left too! It warmed my heart, and I told my parents that it was okay if they cried. I loved them all the same, even if they didn't carry all of my boxes.

When we were done eating, my parents toasted again to my success and, with a wide grin, told me to not lose my scholarship. We all laughed before heading back to my dormitory to say our goodbyes. Walking back to the university took us through the market and the Parliamentary precinct which was lit up in gorgeous blue and green lights. It was an awe-inspiring sight, and I was happy to share this with my parents before heading back to where I'd be living for the next year.

My parents embraced me one more time outside my building before we said our goodbyes, and I headed back up the stairs to my dorm. It was my first night of freedom, and while I wanted to explore the campus to see what was happening, the night was still young, and I had yet to call my sister. Her and I were still close as two peas in a pod, and I wanted to let her know that I was now at school and that she was welcome to come see me whenever she wanted. I also wanted to ask her for advice. My first night of Cégep was very different - I was still living at home!

I started walking around campus. Whipping out my cellphone, I clicked her icon and rang her up. She picked up after only seven rings, a record for her. She had a habit of leaving her cellphone in her car, or her locker at work, or in her coat pocket.

"What's up little brother, are you all moved in?"

"Sure am! Just wanted to let you know."

"Aw! Your first night of freedom and you're thinking about your sister! How cute!"

"Hey, one of us has to think about the family. But uh, I wanted to chat and ask what you did on your first night of Uni? How do you, you know, meet people?"

"Honestly bro, just wander around. Figure it out. I lived with my roommate for three years after my first year. Get to know him. I even dated mine for a bit!"

"Sis, you're a lesbian. I can't date my roommate. But thanks for the advice."

"Listen Pierre, I have to go, Monique is coming over soon and I want to freshen up before my date. I was in the hospital most of today for work. I smell like sweat and hand sanitizer."

"Alright, go wash off the gross, we'll chat again soon. Love you."

"You too, bro."

And with that, she disconnected. As always, my sister was right about how to meet people. I figured that the least I could do was head back to my dormitory for the evening. At best, I could meet some people on my floor before the rest of the building moved in tomorrow. At worst, I could meet my new roommate and spend some time shooting the shit. God, I hope I didn't hate them. I wasn't going to go to Stéphanie's length and date my roommate - I was perfectly straight - but I would certainly welcome a new friend.

I swiped my card to gain access to the building and started the trek up the stairs back to my floor, fourteen stories up. There were two guys working on the broken elevator. I really hoped they fixed the elevator before the rest of the building moved in tomorrow, otherwise there were going to be a LOT of agitated students (and parents).

When I finally got to the fourteenth floor, I was officially thankful that I had worked in landscaping all summer. I'd need to be this fit if I was going to land a part in a school production, and I'd need to be this fit just to get back to my fucking room at night if they didn't fix the elevator soon.

However, when I rounded the corner from the drab concrete stairwell towards my room, I saw a gruff looking man in a flannel shirt and jeans talking to a woman that looked like she belonged in a Betty Crocker commercial from the 1980's. Both of them were carrying boxes and suitcases for what I assumed was my new roommate. I didn't want to interfere with their unpacking, but I also wanted to make a good first impression.

"Hello there, everyone! My name is Pierre. I guess I am the roommate," I announced to the group in French.

We were attending a bilingual university, where French and English were expected to mingle and where students could submit their work in either language.

"Alice, the fuck did he say?" said the man in the flannel shirt.

"He said he's Alex's roommate," replied Betty Crocker.

"You speak English?" said the dad.

"Yeah, I do," I replied, suddenly on the defensive. "My name is Pierre. I'll be your son's roommate this year." I was wearing jeans and a purple polo shirt with the name of a local theatre on it. I thought I looked pretty good.

"I'm Alan and that's Alice," said the dad, pointing to his wife. "My SON over there is ALEX," he said, putting extra emphasis on the words son and Alex. Whatever, the dude might have issues, I'm not going to judge. I was not going to interfere. I walked into our room looking for Alex and was greeted by a short guy with a mop of red hair in a pixie cut that was about a month overdue for a trim.

He was probably barely five feet tall and was skinny. He was wearing a pair of skinny jeans and a lime green hoodie with a band logo on the front. He had long reddish/blond hair that was rather unkept and hung loosely down his back. He had a pair of box frame glasses on as well. I assumed he was Alex.

"Hey Alex, I'm Pierre," I said while extending my hand. He looked at me kind of quizzically before taking my hand. I had never thought of myself as intimidating as a drama nerd who is only five foot ten, but he looked at me like I was about to take his lunch money.

"Do you need a hand with any more boxes?" I asked.

"Yeah, there are a few more in the truck downstairs," Alex replied with a timid nonchalance.

"Alright, why don't we let your parents rest for a bit, and I'll help you move in?" That single sentence looked like it had lifted a weight off of his shoulders. When we made it out into the hallway he stood back up and shook my hand properly, like he was hiding something from his parents.

"I'm Alex, it's nice to meet you," he said, with a slight smile.

I smiled back. This was progress!

We walked down the stairs together, and he explained that he was from Saint-Boniface, in Manitoba. His mom was French-Canadian, and he went to French school and came to Ottawa to study political science in the capital. He spoke French with an accent, and I told him that I needed to improve my English and was studying theatre and dance here. All in all, he seemed like a cool guy.

When we finally reached the ground floor, he led me out to the unloading area. His dad had double-parked a massive pick-up truck over the curb at one of the loading stations. In the back of the truck about five boxes remained, along with some shelving units. Alex grabbed a plastic shelving unit and one of the smaller boxes and set off towards the doors to the building. I grabbed two of the larger boxes, putting the muscles I had developed in landscaping to work, and walked behind him.

Alex was walking up the stairs in front of me and looked like he was having a tough time. Both of his arms were occupied trying to hold his possessions, and his skinny jeans were not staying put. Now, I consider myself 100% straight, but seeing my new roommate's pants start to sag was exposing his underwear, and I was nineteen. Which means that I was horny before I was straight. Sitting high on his hips was a pair of what looked to my testosterone addled brain like a pair of powder blue panties. They looked like they were plain cotton, but still. I caught a good glimpse, and then decided that I'd warn him.

"Hey Alex, um, it's okay if we take a break. We can probably swing the rest in just one trip. Also, I need to fix up my pants. By the looks of things, you do too."

I had absolutely no need to fix my pants up. I was wearing pretty fashionable jeans that I had bought in Montréal last summer with my sister that fit me really well, and my purple polo was tight and long enough that it covered my belt. Nonetheless, Alex got my message. He stopped and put his box and shelves on the ground and leaned back against the cool concrete, hiking his pants up at the same time.

"Thanks Pierre. And uh, thanks for being cool about what I'm wearing." Alex looked at me like he was worried that I was about to not be cool with what he was wearing.

I'd been a theatre kid since secondary school. Being in community theatre and drama courses you meet all kinds. Crossdressing, and the entire cornucopia of the LGBTQ spectrum was something that you just grew up with when you were in the arts, especially in a liberal place like Québec. Likewise, my sister was a lesbian. My mom and dad had put together a super supportive household, and I'd like to think that they raised me right.

"No worries, man. If you want it to be a secret, it'll stay that way. We're sharing a bedroom though, so it would have come out later anyway. If you ever want to talk about it, just let me know. But if you want to feel better, I played Ophelia in my Cégep's version of Hamlet. I even wore panties under the dress on a dare on opening night. It's all good with me."

Suddenly, Alex broke out in a smile. It was like another weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

"Okay, we'll talk when my parents have left," he said.

That was fine with me. We both picked up our respective boxes and continued with the trek up the stairs to our shared dorm. When we arrived on the fourteenth floor, we deposited our boxes at the foot of Alex's bed, and then made the trip back down while under the intense gaze of flannel shirt and Francophone Betty Crocker.

As we descended in relative silence, it started to make sense in my head. I took it from the glances that his parents were giving him that they didn't approve of his choices. Well, university was about defying expectations and breaking the mold. Given the looks they gave me I assume they didn't approve of me either. Whatever.

We chatted amicably as we brought the rest of Alex's boxes up to our dorm. He was a genuine guy. He liked indie rock but didn't mind my preference for electronic. He loved theatre and music, and thought it was cool that I was in the arts. I told him that I thought political science was important and was glad that he was going to be learning about making changes to government policy. He was friendly enough, and after only a few moments together we were laughing like the best of friends.

Once all the boxes were deposited in our room, I gave him and his parents a bit of space by exploring our floor's common space and making some small talk with a group of women that had just moved in at the end of the hall. I learned that two of them, Michelle and Heather, were from Toronto and were studying nursing. They seemed like cool women, and we all plopped onto one of the couches to watch a teen drama on the communal television.

It was getting late, and the floor was still pretty quiet. The majority of the building would be moving in tomorrow. After thirty minutes of myself and the two nursing students critiquing the fashion choices of America's teenagers, Alex joined us. He was still in his skinny jeans and lime green hoodie, and his hair looked even more like a rat's nest. It was evident that the goodbye with his parents didn't go near as well as my own. I made a mental note to tell my parents that I loved them more often.

I invited him over to sit with us, and I introduced him to Heather and Michelle, both of whom were thrilled to meet someone else on the floor. Honestly, for our first night of freedom, the four of us were pretty lame. It was only eight o'clock and we were all pretty much toasted. That was fine with me. I had carried all my own stuff, and most of Alex's stuff up fourteen flights of stairs. I was ready to relax a bit.

Alex broke the reverie of the four of us staring at the television when he announced that he heard a dinging noise that sounded like the elevator. The four of us rushed out to the foyer and pressed the button. Upon seeing it turn blue Heather let out a whoop of delight. We had elevator service! We could leave and go as we pleased!

Smiling, I turned to my new roommate and asked him a question.

"Do you want to hit up a bar? Maybe grab a pint before we come back here? It's not like we have anything to do tomorrow except watch everyone else move in?"

Alex smiled at me and responded in the affirmative.

We went back to our dorm to choose some clothes for our first night out. I took off my jeans and put on a pair of nice dress slacks that paired well with brown loafers. I kept the purple polo shirt. I looked over to Alex and saw that he was bent over pulling his skinny jeans down his legs. His ass was covered in the powder blue panties, and his legs were entirely smooth.

"Do you want me to give you a moment to change in private?" I asked.

"No, it's okay. You live here too," he responded.

I sat down on my bed and watched as he opened one of his boxes and began pulling out various items of clothing. He was still in just his underwear. He stopped suddenly and looked at me with concern growing in his eyes.