Stuck in an Elevator 02 (Patreon)

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Chapter 2: Couch Life

The couch was as good as one could expect from street furniture.

We'd been living with it for two weeks, eating on it, watching stuff on it, having people over who sat on it. Greg had been right that it added to the dorm. It anchored the room. It made the whole place feel less like a "shitty" dorm room and more like a cool college hangout spot, if only for the differentiating factor that other people didn’t have places to sit besides their beds and desks.

We didn't talk about the elevator. Yet. Not directly. But there was a sort of adjustment in how we moved around each other. Greg still talked constantly, still confidently filled the silence every time there was a lull, and still said things that made me want to throw something at him. But occasionally he'd catch my eye and look away quickly, and I knew he was thinking about it.

I learned things about Greg in those two weeks that I never expected to know, not because he told me directly, but because we were in the same room for sixteen hours a day and eventually the information just accumulated.

He was from suburban New Jersey, a small town, and the high school football team was a genuine community event. He had two brothers, and they all competed for “size”, which given Greg's current dimensions was genuinely difficult to picture. He was the middle child, which explained some things. The confidence wasn't exactly natural, it was a product of being overlooked and having to yell for attention. He'd spent his whole life around guys who were more sure of themselves, and at some point he'd just started making an intentional impression anytime he entered a room until it was instinct.

His brothers were the reason he was comfortable with everything. That was the word he used, “everything”, in a way that I understood to mean a specific thing.

We were on the couch one night, something forgettable playing on our TV, when we were briefly talking about personal space in a dorm room. He mentioned offhand that at home, sharing a room with two brothers and having the same bathroom meant that privacy was basically a foreign concept.

"Like, every kind of privacy," he said while making the jerk off motion with his hand.

"Are you serious," I said, “You couldn’t just do it in the shower?”

“I’d have to shower three times a day,” he said with a chuckle.

“That’s insane, though.”

He shrugged. "My oldest brother used to just,  we'd all be in the room, and he'd just handle his business. Like it wasn't a thing. And then eventually it wasn't a thing."

I just stared at the laptop screen.

"It's really not though. When you grow up with brothers it's just…" he waved his hand. "Boys will be boys."

"Bodies are bodies," I said, adding my own shrug.

"Yeah."

I thought about it, staring at the TV. Three guys in one room, three big dicks like his, I assumed. I shut the thought down immediately and looked back at the schoolwork on my laptop.

"That's a very different household than mine," I said.

"Only child?"

"Yep."

He nodded confidently, like that explained something about me. Maybe it did.

The thought came back anyway, uninvited. I pushed it away. It kept coming back with a specific and annoying persistence.

—[]—

On a Tuesday afternoon, I had gotten out of my last class early, walked back across campus with my earbuds in, and let myself into the room.

Greg didn't hear me come in.

He was on his bed, phone in his hand, shorts down to his knees. I had school on my mind, and it took me a few seconds to register what was happening, and by that point I had already stopped moving.

He was beating his big meat, facing away from the door with his headphones on, totally unaware that I had walked in.

I should have backed out immediately, but the thought didn't even register in my mind. I was transfixed, like I was seeing a dick for the first time. The door was still half open behind me, my hand still on the handle. It would have taken nothing, and I could've just left, but the shock of seeing a dude beating it, and the "it" being the size of a monster can, had me frozen in place.

My mind shot back to when I felt him pulse against me in the elevator, in the confined space. I thought about all the locker rooms I had been in, and all the dick I had seen in my life, never once finding it attractive. I wasn't into dicks, or guys, or anything like that, at least I thought. But the tension in my body told me that something was new. Some mix of jealousy and desperation was keeping me paralyzed. He stroked himself slowly from base to tip, pausing frequently to adjust the video he was watching on his phone, some big titty milf pleasuring two dudes on a bed.

He skipped toward the end of the video, and started stroking himself with more intention, more ferocity while the girl’s tits and ass got cummed on simultaneously. His grip alternated between long, fast strokes up the whole shaft, and a few tight tugs right on the head. The dude was ready to cum, right in front of me, for the second time. My heart raced, and it occurred to me that I shouldn't be seeing what I'm seeing. He thinks he's alone. This is an invasion of privacy. But another part of my brain was pushing harder. I was a voyeur in this moment, and I wanted to see what it looked like when he came. I wanted to see jizz squirt out of the big dick, like it would confirm that it was real somehow.

I adjusted my confusing boner up into my waistband, as he inhaled strongly through his nose and then held his breath. I watched the shaft pulse and throb in his hand as he tilted the heavy pole upward toward his navel. A wad of cum shot up to his chest and subsequent strings coated his abs, pooling in his belly button and dripping down the sides of his abdomen. He calmly dropped the phone and reached for a washcloth that was under his ass, starting to wipe himself up.

It was like I came out of a trance, and I realized I had gone too far by staying this long. I was finally turning to leave when he turned over.

We looked at each other.

"Oh my God," he said.

"I just got back," I said, uselessly.

"How long have you been standing there."

"I just walked in."

He sat up, yanking his waistband up. His face was doing something complicated. "Dude."

"It's fine," I said.

"It's not fine, you were just—"

"I literally just walked in."

"You were standing there."

"For like two seconds. I didn't see anything."

"You saw me beating my meat. So what?" he said, shrugging. "But how long were you there?"

"Just two seconds dude."

He narrowed his eyes at me. "Yeah right."

He stared at me. I stared back. The door was still open behind me and I reached back and closed it, which was either the right move or the wrong one depending on how you looked at it.

He exhaled. Ran a hand through his hair, then across his abs, wiping off the last remnants of his jizz. He looked at the wall, looked at me.

I sat on the couch. He sat on his bed. We were quiet for a second.

"She texted me," he said finally, plopping onto his back, his head on a pillow.

"Who."

"Girl from psych class."

"No way."

"Yeah."

"What did you say."

He paused. "Hey."

I put my face in my hands.

"It's better than yep," he said defensively.

"It's not better than yep."

"It's one letter longer."

I laughed despite myself. Some of the tension went out of the room as the topic had successfully changed, at least for now. Greg relaxed slightly. He leaned back on his hands and looked at the ceiling and said nothing for a moment.

"Can I ask you something weird," he said.

"No."

"I'm going to ask it anyway."

"I know."

He asked it. "Do you think the elevator felt good in a weird way?"

"Dude, what the fuck…" I said.

"No, like, it was… cool."

"No," I said.

"I think you're lying."

"I'm not gay."

"Neither am I."

"This is so fucked up."

I looked over at him. His shorts were on, and his abs were still a little shiny from the cum residue drying on his skin, but his dick hadn't gone down all the way. The size of his bulge wasn't fair.

"Bodies are bodies," he said, with a shrug.

"It was weird. It wasn't all bad though."

"THANK you," he said with a sigh. He was staring at the ceiling.

"It was… kind of fun. But weird. Like going to the gym when you’re drunk."

He chuckled. "You've done that?"

"No," I said, "But I can imagine."

It was quiet for a minute, and I busted out my schoolwork. Greg played on his phone for a minute before putting something on streaming. He sat down next to me so our legs were touching. It was calm, and warm. I had to put my computer onto my lap, to cover myself, before we had another problem to talk about.