My Straight Hot Roommate ( Gay Series )

Mirror

My phone blared at me and I groggily felt for the thin rectangle on my nightstand to shut it off. I turned and stared at the blank ceiling, trying to figure out if the memories I had of the night before were either the result of a very vivid wet dream or if they actually happened.

Russ came home visibly drunk and told me to suck his cock, which I did because no self-respecting gay guy is going to refuse the offer when it comes from a walking testosterone factory like Russ. Not only that, but he was the one who came on to me, and not the other way around; so much for the stereotype of the predatory faggot preying on unsuspecting straight men trying to save their virtue for the right woman. And then the shower, which I thought would lead into a second round, but instead it was more of a "bro" thing. Y'know, dudes being dudes and whatever. He didn't touch me, and I certainly didn't try to get that delicious cock in my mouth again, as much as I wanted to, but there was something strangely intimate about sharing a shower with him. Russ gave me easy grins like they were free coupons in the mail, and made small talk that contrasted wildly with the alpha straight guy persona I had just seen in the living room mere moments earlier.

What the shower gave me an opportunity to do was take in every inch of Russ' naked form from head to toe. I watched the water run down his rippling back and corded arms, winding down in rivulets to his firm ass and then coursing over his thighs and calves. When he turned around, I studied the firm pecs and his tight abs, the hirsute torso calling me to run my hands through the coarse hair like a siren's song, how I envied the droplets trapped in that forest just above the skin. I wanted to graze his nipples with my teeth, biting lightly and maybe eliciting a gasp of arousal from his throat, that Adam's apple bobbing. His biceps popped in an effortless flex as he washed the shampoo out of his hair, showing off his furred pits. My eyes drew naturally to his heavy member, still half-hard, dripping water off its tip. How I wanted to get on my knees again and offer myself however he needed to use me.

Instead, all that happened was he asked if I was done, and I said yes. We dried off, said good night, and went to our rooms.

Anticlimactic.

Even though reliving the memories made me want to take care of my morning wood, I still felt unsure about what my life would be like just beyond my bedroom door. Russ didn't seem mad or regretful about what happened, even offering a friendly wave before he shut his door. It was confusing, but perhaps I was overthinking it. If all Russ needed me to be was a willing recipient of his spunk, even if just for one alcohol-fueled blowjob, then that was fine by me; no other guys were busting down my door asking to take his place. I should be forward-thinking and modern. I should just be like one of those "cool girls"—no, "cool gay." Sure, bro, you can use my throat any time you want, just don't throw me out on my ass. Sure, bro, let me be your cumslut after that pussy doesn't put out.

It didn't really feel right.

I put on a shirt and shorts and peeked outside my door. Russ sat at the kitchen table, flicking up and down his phone, eating a bowl of cereal. He heard my door creek open and he waved and smiled like seeing me was the highlight of his goddamn day.

"Morning, Joe! Coffee's ready!"

"Lemme use the bathroom first," I muttered, not even getting the whole sentence out as I dashed from the relative safety of my bedroom to the bathroom.

I stared at myself in the mirror. Russ looked ready to tackle the day and I was still dealing with bedhead and tired-looking eyes. I pursed my lips; they weren't dick-sucking lips by any means, and I felt pretty sure that Paige had thicker lips than mine, so surely it couldn't have been that he wanted more cushioning around his dick as he pumped into my face. Nothing about me screamed sissyboy, or whatever those straight dudes go for when they want other dudes to dress up in women's clothing. I wasn't seeing whatever compelled Russ to make a move. Again, possibly overthinking: it could have just been beer goggles, and I was willing. Why should I be worried about looking like a total schlump next to a paragon of human excellence? It only happened the one time, and that was probably the only time it would happen. As long as I was clean and I paid the rent, that should be all I cared about.