My Hung, Straight Roommate Freshman Year 04: Will's Ledger (Patreon)

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My Hung, Straight Roommate Freshman Year

Chapter 4: Will's Ledger

I woke up Saturday to two hundred pounds of jock roommate landing on my back.

He didn't say anything at first. He just got his weight onto me, chest against my shoulder blades, and started grinding his hips into my ass through the blanket. My face was smashed sideways into the pillow, mirroring my hard dick grinding into the bed underneath me.

"Get up," he said, thrusting again. "It's almost noon."

"You weigh a thousand pounds."

He pulled the blanket off me and I was in boxer briefs, and he hooked two fingers in the waistband and yanked them down to the middle of my thighs before I could get an arm back there.

"Bro."

"You have such a cute little bubble butt," he said, and slapped it. Then he grabbed a handful and jiggled it, and made a noise of appreciation with his tongue on his teeth. "Why don't you have any hair?"

"Some guys don't have ass hair."

He put a hand on each cheek and pulled them apart, and I stayed exactly where I was, face down, my heart racing.

"Not even up at the hole?"

"I guess not."

"Huh," he said, and let go, and smacked me once more on his way to the sink. I pulled my underwear back up while he brushed his teeth.

For the next two days he was pure buddy, with his typical dining hall public hijinks, telling me the "sausage" looked good today and asking if I wanted his, in a fratty, sexual way. Walking me to my Tuesday lecture and smacking his hand hard across my ass right at the door of the building where a bunch of people could see it. Sitting at his desk in his boxers, openly scratching his balls in an exaggerated way while doing his econ problem set, daring me to say something about it.

I started flinching when he would get close to me, like I was waiting for another pounce or another slap on the ass. Every time he stood up from his bed, or came around behind my chair, my shoulders jumped up around my ears before I could stop them. He noticed at some point, and after that he did it on purpose, walking past me and lifting a hand slightly, not even touching me, just to watch me react.

"You're so jumpy," he said one day, delighted, chewing a spoonful of cereal at his desk.

"Because you scare me."

"Oh really?"

I just looked at him.

He pointed his spoon at me and didn't say anything else. He was enjoying it too much to actually collect on all the energy he had invested into me. He had told me that something was coming, and then he did nothing about it, over and over, and every day he didn't collect on it, I got wound up a little bit tighter.

Tuesday at lunch, Will and I ended up behind Nick and Derek in the hot line, and they had four other guys from the floor with them, all of them loud, one of them describing in detail how he had thrown up in a bush on Saturday night. Derek had his tray in one hand and his other arm slung around Nick's neck, hanging off him with his whole weight while he leaned in to look at what was in the pans.

"Get the pasta," Derek said. "Don't get the sweet potatoes. You know what happens."

"Nothing happens."

"You're like... allergic or something."

"Shut up."

"I know your body, dude."

Nick shoved him off with an elbow, laughing, and got the sweet potato thing anyway, and Derek looked at me like I was supposed to witness this. Whatever their in-joke was, it wasn't for me. I still couldn't figure out what Nick and Derek were, exactly, or whether they had a word for it. To me, they just seemed like a regular gay couple. Maybe they were actually one of those types who just fuck around with dudes sometimes. 

"Maybe there's a lot of guys like that," I muttered under my breath.

"Like what?" Will said, impressing me with his super hearing.

"Like... them," I whispered, nodding toward Derek and Nick as they shoved each other playfully. 

Will watched Derek hang off Nick's neck. He didn't say anything about it. He just looked, and then he looked at me, and then he got two desserts and sat down.

····[]····

Wednesday afternoon there was a bottle of clear liquid standing on Will's desk, standing right at the front edge next to his keys, label out. I thought it was hand sanitizer at first, but with a sort of trendy label. I picked it up and read it while I ate a granola bar. "Silicone-based lubricant", and something about "long-lasting", 14 oz.

I laughed at it and put it back exactly where it was. The guy had a girl over twice a week and now he'd apparently decided to upgrade his masturbation game too. Good for him, I thought with total sincerity, standing three feet from the bottle, chewing, picturing him using it on his big dick, wondering what that would sound like. 

I reached for the bottle again, and opened the cap. It was already used. I smelled it, just a plastic sort of scent, but weird enough that I would remember it. I closed it and put it back, adjusted my boner, and focused on other things.

The rest of the day was sort of empty. I had nothing to do. I hauled a bag of laundry down to the basement, but lost the machine to a girl who got there first, and I waited around for forty minutes reading the same page of an econ chapter about supply shocks. 

I came back up, folded stuff on my bed and dropped it into my organized drawers. Will got back from his afternoon class around three, kicked his shoes off in two directions, and lay down on his bed with a bag of pretzels on his bulky chest, watching something on his laptop with one earbud in.

I noticed that I had sort of stopped the flinching thing. My mind was finally starting to let me relax again. I lay down on top of my blanket in a t-shirt and gym shorts with my arm over my eyes, and it was quiet except for the radiator ticking and the sound of Will eating hard pretzels, and I fell asleep for a little nap.

I woke up when his body landed on me with force.

It was exactly like move-in night, his knees on either side of my hips, both of us laughing immediately, me getting an arm free and shoving at his chest and remembering that his chest has more inertia than any force I could apply to it. I got a leg up under him, and almost rolled him with my leverage, and he gave me that for a second, and then took it back forcefully. 

It was playful wrestling until he got both my wrists in one hand and pinned them over my head against the mattress, and then he stopped moving.

He wasn't smirking, and his face was just a couple inches over mine.

"I win," he said. "Just take it."

I stopped fighting against his hand. 

"Take what?" I said as I gulped.

My breathing was already messed up from the wrestling and now it wouldn't come back down.

He let go of my wrists slowly, watching to see if I'd move them. I didn't. He sat back on his heels between my legs and pulled my shorts and underwear down together in one motion, off my ankles, onto the floor.

"Take this off," he said, tugging the hem of my t-shirt.

I sat up enough to pull it over my head, and I was naked, lying on my bed, with the window blinds half open, and my dick was hard against my stomach, and he looked at it and didn't say anything about it.

He got up and crossed to his desk and came back with the bottle.

"Told you I'd warn you," he said.

It took me a second. Then I looked at the bottle in his hand and I looked at the corner of the desk where it had been standing for two days with the label turned out toward the room, and it clicked into place, cold, right down the middle of me.

"That's what that was?"

"I put it right where you'd see it." He was already twisting the cap. "You read it and put it back down. I watched you do it."

"I thought you were…"

"I know what you thought."

He flipped me over onto my stomach with a hand on my hip and I went, and my face was in the pillow again, same as Saturday morning, except this time he pulled my hips up and back so my knees were under me. His hand was flat on my lower back, holding me in that shape.

"I'm gonna use my fingers first," he said. "Two, probably. Because I'm not gonna fit otherwise, and I actually don't want to hurt you, so tell me if it's too much."

"Okay."

I heard the cap click and then the wet sound of him working it around in his hand. He put his slick thumb on me first, just resting there, moving in a slow circle, and my whole back tensed and my shoulders bunched up.

"Relax."

"I'm relaxed."

"You're not." He kept circling. "Breathe out."

I breathed out and his thumb pressed in a little and my mouth opened against the pillow. He worked it around and then took it away and I felt the tip of a finger instead, one, going in with more pressure than I expected, and a sound came out of me into the pillow, high-pitched and boyish and embarrassing.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," I said, strained, almost coughing, "Go for it."

He pushed it all the way in and held it there, and it was hot and strange, and I could feel every knuckle like it was the size of a soda can. Then he curled it, and my dick jumped and hit my stomach, leaving a wet spot, and I heard him chuckle under his breath.

"Oh, that's the spot?"

"I... I don't know."

He did it again. My arms gave out and my chest dropped down onto the mattress and my ass stayed up in the air for him. He kept one hand on my hip, and he made a low noise of approval.

"Second one's coming," he said. "Say okay."

"Okay."

That one burned on the way in, but he went slowly with it, in and out an inch at a time, more lube, and the stretch was intense enough that I gripped the sheet in both fists, but he kept talking the whole time, telling me what he was doing while he did it, and it made it all easier. Every time he narrated the next thing and I said okay, my thighs shook harder. I wasn't shaking because it hurt. I was shaking out of the surreal nature of being an anal experiment for my male, jock roommate.

"You're gonna feel me now," he said. "It's my cock. Just the tip first. Don't move."

I heard the bottle again, a lot of it this time, and his fist sloshing the fluid onto himself, and then his hand gripped my hip and he pressed against me. I had felt that thing in my hand and in my mouth and it had always been a lot. Against my hole it was a different scale entirely. It felt like it was the size of a fist.

"Fuck," I said into the pillow, before he even started pushing.

"Yeah." He wasn't rushing. He held it there for a minute before slowly and steadily moving forward, and I felt myself open around the head with a burn that went up my spine. And then it just popped past the ring of my hole, and he stopped completely, but I squirmed. "There. They say that's the hardest part. Stay still."

"Who's they?"

"I've done anal with girls," he said, "Lots of times."

"Okay."

So I stayed where I was, trusting him. My legs were vibrating. He rubbed his thumb back and forth over my lower back and waited, and I breathed against the pillow until the burn started to fade into a dense, firm numbness inside me.

"More," I said.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," I said hesitantly, "Go for it."

He fed it into me in inches, stopping each time, and I heard his breath catch above me somewhere around the halfway point. Then he was all the way in, his hips flush against my ass, his balls resting on the backs of my thighs, and he groaned like he'd been holding it in for a while.

"Oh my God," he said. "Dude."

He started moving. Slowly at first, most of the way out and back in, and every stroke dragged over that good spot inside me until I stopped being able to make words. My stomach felt like it was getting punched. I was happy I hadn't eaten much that day. 

My hands scrabbled at the sheets. He picked up the pace and the bed frame knocked against the wall in a rhythm that everybody on the floor could probably identify by now, and I didn't care at all.

"I can feel you clenching," he said, breathing hard. "Do that again."

I did it again and he swore and grabbed my hips harder and his hips stuttered out of rhythm.

He got a hand into my hair and pushed the side of my face down into the mattress, and pounded me for maybe thirty strokes with real weight behind them, his thighs slapping into the back of mine, and I reached under myself and grabbed my own dick and got exactly four strokes into it before I was cumming. I squirted onto the sheet under my chest in long pulses, my whole body clamping down on him while it happened, and my elbow buckled.

"Ah, fuck, you're squeezing me…" and then his voice strangled off and he shoved in as deep as he could get and held it, and I felt him pulse inside me, four or five hard throbs, his hand still fisted in my hair. He kept his hips there and rocked into me a few more times while he emptied out, making a sound through his teeth the whole time.

Then he let go of my hair and put his forehead between my shoulder blades and breathed on me.

He pulled out carefully. I lay flat down into my own mess without any dignity at all and I could feel my hole still moving, opening and closing on nothing. He sat on the edge of my bed for a second with his hand on my calf.

Then he got up and grabbed his towel off the desk chair.

"I'm gonna shower," he said. "You want the dining hall after? They have the chicken thing."

"Yeah."

"Cool. Ten minutes, babe."

The door clicked shut. I lay there face down, wrecked, staring at the wall. He had used that word on purpose and he had used it flatly, the same as he used it on the girls, and I suddenly felt like whatever ledger that had been opened that first night between us was never getting closed.