"The Incident" with My Roommate

My chest and stomach are mostly hairless, but I do have treasure trail of hair that runs from my navel down into my pool of pubic hair. The mouth and tongue were strolling down that happy trail. Having been taken to the edge minutes earlier by those guilty hands, my cock was pulsing in anticipation and screaming for release. The mouth was getting ever closer to its target and I couldn't wait. I knew it was wrong, but I wanted it. I was silently begging for that mouth to take me in. Finally, having reached the end of the road, that warm, wet mouth opened wide and swallowed my whole length. This was my first oral experience and it felt even more amazing than I could have imagined. I know I'm not exactly huge down there but that mouth had no trouble at all enveloping all of me. It slid up and down, slipped on and off, sucked hard and soft. Then, one of the hands joined in by stroking my balls.

The combination of sensations proved to be too much and my explosion was now imminent. I still couldn't move my body or vocalize anything so I had no way to warn my assailant of my pending detonation. In my mind I curled my toes, arched my back and screamed in ecstasy as I pumped three hot loads into that mouth. The mouth drank it all down and continued to suck me until I was milked dry and falling limp. The mouth slid off of me one final time and the hands slid down my legs, up my feet and out from under the blanket where everything had started.

My heart was pounding and my face was flushed as I laid there recovering from the experience of a lifetime. As I calmed, I realized how drained and tired I was. I fell asleep once again, but this time it was a deep, heavy sleep. The sleep of the dead. I didn't wake again until late morning.

When I awoke, I tried to move and I found that I could. I moved my arms and legs and I felt normal. I looked over at Chuck's bed, it was empty. I lifted my head, looked around and realized I was alone in the room. I remembered every detail of "the incident". I still couldn't tell, however, if it had been real or a dream. I reached a working arm to my pelvic region and discovered that my boxers were still pulled down around my knees. Further inspection revealed that my penis was caked in dried cum. Had I pushed my boxers down during an erotic dream? Did the erotic dream end in a wet dream? Or did these things actually happen? I would probably never know the truth.

I sat up and noticed the washcloth on the side of my pillow. It was still damp and I used it to clean my hardened seed off of my tool. I stood up, stepped out of my boxers and pulled on my robe. Like a newborn deer, I attempted tentative steps on unsteady legs. I found that I was mostly back to normal. My head was a little groggy but otherwise I was physically okay. I grabbed my toiletries and headed to the showers.

When I returned from a long, hot shower, Chuck was back in the room. He was clean and dressed and probably just back from breakfast. When I opened the door he was standing with his back to me and he appeared to be holding something up to his face. He turned around, surprised, and I saw that he was holding my dirty socks and boxers that had still been on the floor. He turned a shade of crimson and said, "I wasn't sure how you were feeling so I thought I'd help you out by cleaning up your dirty clothes." He picked up my shirt and jeans and brought the whole collection to the closet and dropped it all in my laundry basket.

Chuck asked, "So how are you feeling? You were in pretty bad shape last night."

I replied, "I'm okay now."

Chuck suggested, "It must have been something you ate."

I pointed out, "You ate the same food as I did, from the same place at the same time. Did you get sick?"

Chuck said, "No, I was fine. Weird, huh?"

I asked Chuck, "Did you get up in the middle of the night for anything?"

He said, "No, I slept straight through. Why?"

"I thought I heard someone moving around, like someone was in our room. Did you hear or notice anything strange?"

"No I didn't," Chuck replied. "When I got up in the morning the door was still locked. I think you were pretty out of it last night. You were making noises for hours like you were dreaming. Or having nightmares."

I didn't know what to say. Should I ask him about what I suspected? Accuse him, my supposedly straight roommate, of molesting me? Of taking advantage of me? Of drugging me? Should I report him? If I were to report him, then who would I report to? The RA? Student Services? These are serious accusations that would affect both of us for the at least the next four years. Who would believe me? Do I even believe me? Do I know this wasn't a dream?

The more I thought about it, the more I realized what an evil genius Chuck was. He had planned this and thought it all through. He had played the long game. He positioned himself as someone that many might find to be eccentric but harmless. Some might think he was just a gregarious, physically affectionate person by nature who had a genuine interest in other people. When he persistently asked questions that I found to be too personal, intrusive and inappropriate, I made my feelings clear he immediately stopped. When he offered me a rub down after my workout and I declined, he let it go. When he wanted to massage me for relaxation the night before a test and I turned him down, he didn't force me, he dropped it. When I was sick, he helped me out. Maybe he shouldn't have stripped me down, but I had told him that that was the only way I could sleep. He pushed the boundaries but always stopped short of crossing the hard line. He was misunderstood and harmless. How would anyone believe he could be capable of drugging and violating his roommate?

The one thing he might have the hardest time justifying would be the day of the socks and his assault on my feet. On the surface that whole incident was inappropriate and impossible to explain away. But he could spin it. He could insist that he was overly (and innocently) curious about those socks. He genuinely wanted to know how they performed, so he validated the results for himself. He didn't realize that his actions had made me uncomfortable. That certainly hadn't been his intent. Now that he knew how I felt, it wouldn't happen again. He'd be sorry. And when I offered him the pair of socks, he truly I thought that I meant that pair of socks. It was all totally innocent. Weird, but innocent. And the morning after the night I was sick when I thought he was smelling my dirty clothes? No, I misunderstood. He was helping me out by cleaning up. He could sell it for sure.

The best thing for me to do would be to request a new roommate. It wouldn't be too hard to get one of my friends to switch. I needed to talk to my RA and find out how to go about initiating the change. Chuck and I had different majors and were on different academic courses. It was unlikely we would cross each other's paths if we didn't room together anymore.

I just didn't understand him. Was he gay and embarrassed to say? Why would he be embarrassed? I told him I was gay on the first day we met. Was he some kind of bi-curious person? If he was, does that explain the over the top, aggressive behavior? No. Who goes around drugging people? Let's suppose Chuck had come to me and said that he was in fact gay. That he was attracted (or whatever) to me. That he wanted to be with me. I would have let him down gently. Told him that mixing a relationship up with being roommates was a bad idea. We could have talked through it. But instead he chose the path he chose and I don't know why. I won't confront him and I won't report him. I am still a little afraid of him.

The semester ended and I went home for the long holiday break. When I returned in January, I settled in with my new roommate, a friend from band. I saw no evidence of Chuck anywhere. I asked the RA and he told me that Chuck never came back after the first semester. He didn't know why. It could have been financial reasons, family reasons...nobody knew. I wouldn't have been surprised if he had gotten arrested for some type of indecent behavior. I was completely free of him.

A lot of time has passed and I still wonder about "the incident". A part of me knows that it is possible that I had a bad reaction to something I ate. Food borne illness. Maybe the whole 'I can't move' and 'I can't talk' thing was just a part of an elaborate dream. It wasn't impossible. But I was mostly sure that Chuck was just a horrible creep who was a mastermind and guilty of everything I suspected. Who knows what things he might have done that I never even knew about. After all, I caught him sniffing my dirty socks and underwear when he thought he was alone. He was the worst kind of creep, but at the same time, I'll never forget the things I felt that night. I'll just never know if they were real or imagined.