Entry Level (Patreon)

Everyone is 18+ and fully consenting.

As a straight guy, or at least I think I'm straight, I never thought I'd look at another guy in a sexual way, let alone have him fuck me on a daily basis. But I guess part of growing up is trying new things. I've tried to pinpoint exactly when I crossed the line, and I think it might've been that first accidental handjob, right near the beginning of last summer, barely a week in. One second we were watching porn on the couch like two normal guys, and the next I was standing in my bathroom at midnight washing my own load off my chest and asking myself why I did that.

That's where it started, anyway. That's the part I keep coming back to.

My name is Nick. I'm nineteen. I’m about to finish my sophomore year at a big school in the Northeast, and about a year ago I got an email from a finance firm in midtown telling me I'd been selected for their summer intern program, even though I was only a freshman. I had to read it three times before I believed it. My mom cried. I called my dad at work. It was a whole thing.

The program paired interns from different schools and put us up together for the summer, one apartment, two bedrooms, covered rent, move-in date in June. My roommate assignment came in the same email. His name was Decker, a year above me at a different college. I'd met him once, at a multi-school mixer in the fall, one of those name-tag events where everyone stands around talking about their majors and pretending to be interested in each other’s backgrounds. “Finance networking” was already so boring, but I knew I needed it to work in this field. But after the summer I ended up having, it’s safe to say I learned how to “get to know” other finance dudes. 

I was already vaguely aware of Decker. He was tall and confident, and definitely hit the gym. He gravitated toward the girls in the room and had a girl laughing next to him most of the night. I'd talked to three people and gone home as soon as it seemed “ok”, when other people started petering out.

I didn't think much about it. A random roommate for the summer. It would be fine. The thing I actually thought about, on the train into Penn Station with my two bags and my laptop and my brand new dress shoes that were already giving me a blister, was that I was nineteen years old and I was going to work at a real finance firm in New York City. Everything else was just a bit of background noise. I didn’t have the bandwidth to worry or even care about anything else. I figured the worst case was that I'd end up living with a slob for twelve weeks. I had no idea what was actually going to happen.

—[]—

He got there before me.

I opened the apartment door expecting to be first, and Decker strolled out of one of the bedrooms to greet me confidently. He had already stocked the kitchen with a couple appliances, and through his open door I saw a bunch of stuff unpacked, giving me the surreal impression that he'd been living there already, even though he had just arrived. He'd been there for just a couple hours, and had already claimed the bigger bedroom, had his bags mostly unpacked, and he seemed comfortable in the space he'd just arrived at. 

He held out his hand as I walked in. “Hey, good to meet you, man.”

It was a good, firm handshake like the old guys tell us to have at school, and he gave me a quick tour of the apartment.

"That one's yours," he said, nodding at the second bedroom. "Hope that's okay."

It was fine. The rooms were almost identical. I said it was fine.

He followed me out, and helped me carry the rest of my bags up from the lobby without being asked. We did two trips. By the time everything was in my room I was already aware that some dynamic had been established. He was comfortable and “cool”, and I was arriving into his orbit, sort of taking his lead. That was just the situation.

I started unpacking while he finished his own room, and at some point, since it was June and the AC wasn’t keeping pace with the weather, he got warm and pulled his shirt off and tossed it on his bed, showing an athletic body, basically “shredded” with big arms, like a model. I saw it happen from the hallway.

I didn't exactly stare, but I remember registering his shirtless form in my head. It had caught my eye. I didn’t even realize why, but I was thinking about the shape of his torso and arms and abdomen for the next few minutes while I finished unpacking.

He had a body that came from years of real sports, including lacrosse as I'd find out later, though he'd dropped it freshman year. He wasn’t obsessively built like an instagram influencer. It just seemed like everything was proportioned correctly on him and then just slightly more meat than you'd expect once his shirt came off. He was humble, in a way, since he didn’t wear clothes that showed off his muscles all day. Once he was all skin, his biceps had a shape to them that I'd seen in pictures but never up close. His pecs were the other thing, they stuck out farther than I would have thought possible, rounded and full, and I remember actually wondering, in a completely neutral and academic way, how a person got their chest to look like that. I didn't even think about actually asking him, because I didn’t know enough about the gym to even have a frame of reference. I'd been meaning to start going since junior high, but it hadn't happened yet. I had clocked the girth of his thighs too. They were thick.

I thought, quickly and basically without emotion: I look like a shrimp compared to him.

I'm five-ten. One-sixty. I'm not small. But standing in a hallway watching someone fill out a doorframe differently than you do has a way of making “fine” feel like a very inadequate state of being.

The next time I jounreyed into the hallway for another of my bags, he was changing his shorts. He just dropped them along with his underwear, and stood there in the nude for a few seconds while he looked through his drawers for what he wanted to put on.. His back was to me, and I could see his ass as his glutes separated. Just as he turned to his side, I saw a flash of his dick before I leaped to the side to go back into my room.

Besides some experimentation with other straight guys back in the day, just some low-stakes virgin shit and curious encounters that happened when I was in high school and everything related to a penis made me and my friends giggle, I hadn't had a lot of experience with male nudity up close. The only dicks I had seen were usually in the dark, for quick “I’ll do you if you do me” stuff. My freshman roommate had been modest, almost aggressively so, always changing in the bathroom and wearing a towel to and from the showers. I'd been the same way by default, following his lead, so my frame of reference was limited, and what I'd glimpsed of Decker in those few seconds, the shape of him, was more than I had ever seen in person.

I put my books on the shelf and went to see if there was anything in the fridge.

There wasn't.

—[]—

The first week of the internship was a bit overwhelming, but once I got the hang of it, I spent most of my time with the rest of the interns just staying busy. Onboarding paperwork, a firm tour, a lunch with the full-time team, compliance training that we all clicked through as fast as the system allowed. There were four interns: me, Decker, Sophie, who was visibly the most competent person among us, and Tony.

Tony was from Long Island, went to college near me, but not the same one, and had the energy of someone who'd been told his whole life that he was going to be successful and had no reason yet to doubt it. He called everyone "bro" frequently. He and Decker found each other's vibes quickly. They were on the same wavelength, even if Decker was easy to talk to. They were both “cool” guys, slightly intimidating even if they didn’t mean to be, that I had always observed but couldn't fully access, if that makes sense.

That first week of the summer, the first day I moved in really, I started getting random boners around the apartment. Not constantly, just more than usual. I chalked it up to the stress of being nineteen at a real job in a city I didn't know. They came along with the low hum of anxiety that came every time I thought about the pressure to perform. It was just the internship giving me stress boners, and that made sense. That was definitely what it was.

It had nothing to do with noticing Decker’s physique every morning and night when he walked around in his underwear, or when his towel would slip after a shower, but the boners did happen close to those times when I saw him. Maybe seeing him reminded me about work, or maybe it reminded me how much better my body could look with some effort.

—[]—

By Thursday of the first week, the four of us interns had found a rhythm. The office bathroom was a three-urinal setup, which meant that when I walked in behind Decker that afternoon, I ended up between him and Tony, all three of us in a row.

Decker had been talking before he even pushed the door open and continued without pausing as he unzipped and started splashing piss on the porcelain. I had never spoken a word to someone else while I had my dick out in a bathroom before, so I fought internally against some weird nerves.

"I'm just saying," Decker said, his stream sounding loud and strong, "Joanne is genuinely hot. Like, objectively.” 

“Yeah,” Tony added, “She's our boss, and like, I'm not supposed to say this, but I'd like to put my big one in her. She'd love it."

I stared ahead at the wall.

"Facts," Decker said from the far end. “She could use a big one too, I bet.”

"Right?" Tony said. "That's not weird to say? You guys get it."

Nobody answered. Tony raised his palm in the air in front of me, facing Decker.

A pause of about one second. Then Decker reached back.

Their hands met in a high five, directly above my head, the clap echoing in my ears, the act reminding me that I was a couple inches shorter than them. I felt the nerves run down my body while I just continued taking a leak.

I washed my hands before either of them even finished, and went back to my desk.

—[]—

Friday came and Tony announced to the rest of us at our “intern desk clump” that we were going out with some of the first-year analysts and even a couple of their bosses. He didn’t present it like a suggestion. The real analysts were mid-twenties, loud and broey, more like Decker and Tony. They had a bar in mind, and by 7pm we were all heading out together.

I didn't exactly hate the idea, but I didn’t really want to go. I could sense some ambivalence about the idea in Decker as well. I had paid enough attention to his mannerisms to realize that there was a quality to his silence. He was being agreeable but not enthusiastic, and I was already learning to read it. But we went. That's how the first summer of your career works, maybe.

Sophie declined without coming up with a real reason, which I equated more to a “I don’t really feel like it”, which I respected. I envied her a bit for just doing what she wanted, but I went along with the crowd, trying to convince myself that networking was important and maybe it would be fun after all. 

—[]—

So it was me and Decker in the orbit of six guys drinking at a heavier pace than I had ever seen before. I’m pretty sure they were doing coke in the bathroom too, but I wasn’t sure if I was stereotyping or not. 

Tony integrated into their atmosphere immediately upon arrival. I nursed a Coke with lime, but made sure it looked the same as the glasses of rum and coke, which Decker was nursing.

Around 1am he made eye contact with me from across the circle of bros and tilted his head almost imperceptibly toward the door.

We left without a formal goodbye, and on the way out, I saw Tony running into the bathroom, his loose tie almost falling off, holding his mouth like he was about to throw up.

The walk back was about fifteen minutes. It was a warm night.

"Do you think people could tell I wasn’t drinking?” I said to Decker.

“I thought you were doing rum and cokes?”

“Nah, just coke, but glad my deception was successful.”

“I did the same,” he said, turning his head to smile at me.

I smiled back. “Sly bastard.”

It hit me on that walk home, the way he looked at me with a half smile, that something had settled between us, beyond the initial pleasantries of being nice and polite. Not a friendship exactly, not yet, but the beginning of knowing someone personally. We walked the rest of the way without talking, and it was nice.

—[]—

Back at the apartment, Decker dropped his work clothes in his room and came back out just in a pair of boxer briefs. He fell onto the couch, grabbed the remote, turned the TV on. I changed into sweatpants and dropped into the other end.

He scrolled for a while on the Apple TV setup and settled on a random show I didn’t really care about. We were too tired for a real conversation but not tired enough to sleep. I sat there in a comfortable blankness, and tried not to notice that his arms and pecs looked the way they did, even just sitting there doing nothing, that the way his body was leaned back against the cushion made his bulge and his thighs press outward against his underwear in a way that I was definitely not thinking about.

I got a boner, and secretly tucked it into my waistband, the stress of the week just trying to escape my body, probably.

"You get any pussy over the year?" he said, not looking at me.

"Some," I said. "Not recently."

"Yeah." He shifted on the cushion. "It's been a while for me too."

He picked up his phone and did something with it and the TV screen switched. I realized what it was about three seconds in, two guys, one girl on her knees between them, slowly pulling down their underwear. My stomach sank into my ass.

“You ever done that?” he said, watching the screen as the girl started vigorously fellating one of the guys and jerking off the other.

“No,” I said when my breath returned. “Not with another guy there.”

“You didn’t join a frat?” he said, implying that it was a normal thing there.

“No,” I said, “Too… busy with other stuff.”

“It’s fun,” he said under his breath, like he was starting to forget I was there.

We watched in silence for a minute. I was aware of my own body, the throbbing going on against my waistband, trying to watch the screen and not the dude next to me. Decker shifted, grabbing himself like he was scratching his balls, and pulled his underwear looser, giving himself more room up front. He rested his hand over himself as he tented up, not doing anything, just resting there.

"Man," he said. "Look at the way she's working that."

"Yeah."

“She’s a busy girl.”

"She's not even flinching,” I managed to say, “She's actually into it."

"Seems like it."

"Those are the best ones," he said. He adjusted again, slower. "The girls that genuinely want it."

The sounds of a throat gluck-glucking in the background, Decker’s hardness was getting more and more visible through the fabric, the shape of him shifting, like he was trying less and less to hide it. 

"God,” he said with a sigh, “I'd love a mouth on me right now."

"Same," I said, before I'd thought about it.

"No kidding," he said. "I'm not even picky at this point. A warm mouth is a warm mouth." 

He laughed at himself. His hand was moving now, slow pressure through the cotton. "No offense to anyone."

I moved my hand from my thigh to rest on top of myself, taking his lead. I was hard and pulsing.

"She knows what she's doing," I said, nodding at the screen, trying to sound like I was on his level and this wasn’t new and strange to me.

"She's using her hand on the balls. See? Good hands. Little hands that make your junk look bigger.” He was rubbing himself openly over his underwear at this point.

“Hand technique matters more than people think," he went on. 

Then, almost like an afterthought, maybe a little jab at me, he glanced at me for a second, and added, "You've got smaller hands."

I didn't say anything to that.

His boxers had tented fully, a clear outline through the cotton, and he was rubbing it up and down slowly, squeezing it intermittently. I still didn’t believe where this was going. I was enjoying it, only because there was porn with a girl on the screen, but I wanted to see his dick, maybe even compare sizes. He didn't seem to register that I could see it, or else he didn’t care at all. He was just watching the screen.

Then he stood up, suddenly, and my stomach dropped.

"Hold on," he said, and walked to the bathroom.

I sat there. The video kept going. I listened for the shower, the lock, any sign of what I assumed he was going to do in there. I pictured him spanking it quickly into the sink, and I noticed, with a clarity I immediately didn't like, that I felt disappointed that he had left to do it in there.

I'm not gay, I thought. Right?

The toilet flushed. The faucet ran. The door opened, and less than thirty seconds after he had left, he came back out with the same tent in his boxers, intact, and dropped back onto the couch, closer to me than before. His shoulder was within a foot of mine, and I could smell him now. It was the end of a long day, and we were warm and settled, but he had a scent that I registered as more masculine than me, like he was more developed or something.

He man-spread a bit, and our knees touched. He didn't move his.

I felt a tingle that started at the contact point and went up.

"How big are you?" I heard myself say, then allowed myself to glance down at his crotch for a second, trying not to seem weird.

He looked over, unbothered. "Seven inches I think. Maybe a little less. I don’t remember."

"Oh," I said.

"Why?"

"Just curious. Comparing. I’m closer to six."

He looked at the screen. Then he hooked his thumbs in his waistband, lifted his ass, and in one motion pulled his boxers down to mid-thigh, and sat there with his meat pointing straight up. He angled it upward loosely with his thumb and gave it a small wiggle. It moved like the rest of him, with a certain confidence.

"About that," he said.

My throat went completely dry. "Nice," I said, which I meant as a normal thing to say.

He looked at me. "What about you?"

"I think I’m less than that."

"Show me."

I looked at him. He looked back. He was serious.

"Okay," I said.

I sat up a bit, and pushed my sweatpants down slowly. There I was, out in the open for him to see. And he had asked to see it, basically, my hard dick, curving slightly left. He glanced down. 

Then he stood up, his dick jutting straight out toward me, and said "stand up" like it was a simple request.

I stood. He stepped toward me, close and confident, and let himself make contact. 

Tips first. 

I felt the warmth before I finished processing it.

"Basically the same, actually" he said, looking down.

"I don't think so."

"Yeah you are."

He reached down and took me in his hand and I flinched so hard my whole body moved. But I didn't step back. I braced my hands at my sides and stood there, feeling my pulse in places I don't usually feel it, while he pulled me closer, holding us together, comparing our meats.

Mine curved left, but he straightened me out as he held our dicks together, and the sensation felt strangely good. He looked down and concentrated. He was thicker. I'd been right about that.

"See?" he said. "Same length."

"You've got girth," I said. My voice came out shallow.

He laughed, genuine and unguarded, like it was actually kind of funny. Even in the midst of the strange sensations in my crotch, I felt a bit of pride surface, from making him chuckle.

"We can compare that too," he said. 

He rearranged his grip, putting my shaft on top of his and pressed down hard, squeezing them together like he was trying to flatten them out against each other. 

The sensation came from an angle I hadn't prepared for, the pressure from his thumb going hard against the sensitive underside of the head of my dick. His palm was smooth against my shaft, and the warmth and smell of him so close to me was confusing my brain. 

And I felt it start before I could stop it.

I pulled my body back fast, but he had his free hand on my hip, holding me against him before I even finished the motion.

"Hold on," he said, focused, looking down. "Just…"

I shot.

"Oh shit," Decker said as a streak of my white goo hit him, up to his stomach, his navel, running down his abs into his trimmed pubes. 

He let go in surprise and I grabbed myself tightly, like I was trying to turn off the faucet after already releasing the beast. The rest went up, onto my own chest, my shirt, even more oozing out onto my fist. I stood there with my hand clamped down and my eyes closed and a bizarre mix of pleasure and humiliation until the river of jizz finally stopped. Even if it was his doing, maybe even worse because of that, I couldn’t believe I had lost control of my body.

I stepped out of my sweatpants and walked bare-assed to the bathroom, closing the door behind me.

What the fuck, I thought. Then again a hundred more times while I washed off my body and hands in the sink with water that was too cold because I hadn't waited for it to warm up. For some reason, I couldn’t look at my face in the mirror.

I dried off, took a breath, and opened the door.

Decker was on the couch with a sort of amused expression, not exactly smiling. His boxers were back up. The TV back to a streaming show.

"You okay?" he said with a slight chuckle.

"Yeah," I said as I reached for my sweatpants and quickly pulled them up to my waist. I sat at the far end of the couch. "Sorry about that."

"Friendly fire. It's fine."

"Oh my god."

He started laughing.

"Seriously," he said, waving it off. "I have brothers. This isn't close to the worst thing I've seen."

That helped somehow. I exhaled for the first time in about three minutes.

He looked at the screen. Then back at me.

"Handjobs aren't free, you know," he said.

I looked at him. He looked back. He didn't blink, didn't smile. Just sat there watching me with that careful expression, and I could not tell if he was doing a bit, and I was very aware how weird I might be for being unable to tell.

"Do you..." I started. I gestured at his lap. The question formed in the air before I finished it.

He looked down at himself. Then back up at me. A beat of silence.

"I'm too sober for that," he said. 

He stood up, confidently stretching and flexing a bit, his glutes squeezing into two tight melons right near my face, his tented underwear pointing in front of him.

"I'll take care of it myself," he said as he walked to his room. 

He stopped at the door, turning his head back to me. "Night, dude."

"Night."

His door closed.

I sat there for a while without moving. Turned the TV off. Sat in the quiet. Ran through the last forty minutes from the beginning, trying to figure out what happened, or make it into a narrative that made sense to me.

He didn't say no.

He said he was too sober for that.

Eventually I went to my room and lay on top of the covers and stared at the ceiling. The thing I kept coming back to, the question that followed me down into the thin, restless sleep I finally got at some point, was simple.

What the fuck was going to happen this summer.