Straight Arab Roommate

After class was finished, it was already afternoon, and I had to head back to my dorm for a snack and to study in time for my evening class. I dreaded the prospect of seeing Abdul and getting turned on again, but I tried to push these thoughts away as I got to the door, only to have my worst fears realized.

Abdul had seemingly just come back from work, and he was in a state of undress as I entered the room. A heavy manly musk from working construction had fully replaced the clean smell of lavender from when I had left it. His filthy overalls were strewn on the floor, and I had to suppress an urge to pick them up. The shirt and underwear he still wore were so soaked in sweat that they clang on his skin and privates, hiding nothing.

I tried to make myself small and go by unnoticed. I could feel myself blushing and nearly having a panic attack. I was pathetic.

He smiled when he heard me enter, immediately thanking me for tidying up his things (which wasn't the point) before asking me how my class was. He wasn't embarrassed facing me, the thin fabric of his underwear (I guess his work rags) doing nothing to hide his meaty shaft from his audience. That, in combination with the friendly husky tone of his voice and gratitude for my "cleaning services" made me feel some kind of way.

He removed his shirt, stretching out his body and giving me a brief moment to glance at his package without being noticed. A sheen of sweat clung all over his exposed skin, highlighting his dark body hair and pumped muscles. His live odor was ten times stronger than the one I subjected myself to in the laundry, and, this time, my reaction was without a hint of disgust, but, instead, a Pavlovian response to his sexy musk had me horny and salivating immediately.

"Yes, hello." I greeted him in a small voice before answering his non-question with my gaze defensively at the floor as I made my way to the safety of my corner, "It was a good introduction to calculus but I'm already familiar with the subject so it wasn't very intere--", Abdul bent over and removed his socks as I was passing through (my eyes still glued to the floor were drawn by this motion and I became transfixed by the sight of his sweaty bare feet as I picked up an odor that quickly spread around the room). "Um, di-did you just come back from work? How was your day?" I asked him, mainly to avoid the awkwardness I was experiencing, my voice sounding higher and more nervous than I was meaning to.

I found myself getting drawn in the details as he talked. His cousin had shown him the ropes and Abdul quickly proved himself, already having made himself useful, moving weight around effortlessly that would incapacitate others and showing an eagerness to do whatever was asked. He was a man and proud of it.

He also mentioned how he made new friends, which from the names and context I could gather were two white guys and a Mexican, all similar ages and dumb jock types that failed at school.

Abdul, clearly lacking modesty, continued talking to me as he hooked his fingers under the waistband of his sweaty underwear and casually lowered them down, not interrupting his narration, as he exposed his fat hairy Arab cock and balls to me.

I looked away, immediately, appearing almost to have been offended by the sight, but the image of his thick flaccid member and heavy low hanging balls flopping out as they were released from constraint was etched permanently on my brain. His skin in that region had a darker tone that commanded attention. Even as I was looking away, I couldn't not get a strong whiff of ball sweat that signaled a hardworking man. Abdul, of course, wasn't going to apologize for smelling like one.

From the periphery of my vision, I saw (and heard) him "slap" around his stuff and rearrange them to air them out more effectively.

I couldn't stand it. Of course, I loved it, but I felt humiliated. I had to understand what was causing this reaction within me. It wasn't normal. Was it pheromones? If so, it felt like I was exposed to a near lethal dose of them.

I tried to act normal at the presence of the nude Arab warrior in front of me but the sight was distracting.

Abdul said something, smiling, butt-naked, while picking up his dirty clothes off the floor and exposing his hairy crack to my virgin eyes just when I thought it was safe to look back. "Oh," I said, trying to compose myself, "that's good.", not knowing what I was even responding to at this point but it seemed to fit what he said and he headed to the bathroom nodding.

I was feeling weak on my knees, my heart was pounding hard, and my dick was throbbing with need. There was no denying it. I was in heat. The hard reality was that I wanted nothing more than to throw myself at Abdul's feet, to worship and please him no matter the consequences. I wanted to kill myself. I prayed to God, Allah, or whoever, that Abdul didn't notice what was going on with me.

When he got out of the shower, he was still in the nude, again using my small towel to dry his large body, unashamed about it, not covering his heavy appendage which was flopping around obscenely with the erratic movements of getting himself dry.

He seemed so innocent about it all, not realizing the effect had on me, and I wasn't going to tell him how to be comfortable in his living space. That he didn't stress over nudity I attributed that to the fact that Abdul was a jock by nature, but, of course, that wasn't an invitation for me to stare.

He told me some more stuff that happened today and that his friends would take him out tonight (I took note that he didn't even consider asking me to join, even though I would have said no), all while bare-ass naked. I found myself wanting to keep asking him questions so my senses would continue to be assaulted by his bare presence, but I I didn't want to expose myself. I got my phone and got the camera up, my face was getting red and betraying me. He was distracted, describing his day, more so I think to relive it himself than to inform me about it. My fingers moved to snap a photo, his naked frame on my screen was giving me a panic attack, what if he found out? Sadly, the point of the photo, to capture his dick, was a failure as his swinging mass was a total blur due to its motion.

I quickly got back to the camera and switched to video mode. I clicked record but before I had the chance to, Abdul had already dried himself and was putting on a pair of short shorts (no underwear underneath, I noted). I was relieved and frustrated.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in silence, Abdul chilled on his bed texting on his phone before drifting to sleep and snoring softly in the afternoon heat. From the way he was stretched out, wearing no underwear, his privates risked becoming public.

I sat on my bed with my face in my hands, trying to comprehend my feelings, and occasionally ogling my sleeping roommate. I hated myself for being an animal. For the first time in my life, I understood why men are animals, why they cannot control themselves in the presence of something they desire. It was terrifying.

My mind kept circling back to fantasies of submission and with Abdul's big mass next to me it was impossible to concentrate on anything else. While he slept, his body looked open and relaxed in a way that was welcoming attention and I found myself returning to some not so innocent thoughts. Thankfully, before I was tempted to explore these ideas further, Abdul's phone rang, and he woke up.

He spoke lively with someone in Farsi (his cousin, I guess) and I found it really hot listening to him speak in his native tongue. I think I was falling in love with him at this point.

[To be continued]