My Cool College Roommate Sucked My Dick (Don't Worry He's Straight Too) (Patreon)

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Chapter 1: Male Blowjobs

I met my roommate for the first time while I was carrying a stack of boxes I couldn't see over and I walked my nuts straight into a railing post, at full speed. I stopped dead and the whole stack tilted, a deep sting rolling from my nut sack straight up into my stomach, and a hand came down flat on my top box and held everything where it was.

"Hey, I think you're my roommate," a guy said, and while he said it his other hand reached down and gently took hold of my nuts through my shorts.

My eyes widened as his head popped around from behind the stack of boxes. He was an athlete too, no question, and in the athletic dorm that's most of the residents anyway. His shoulders were broad, and he was taller than average, still way under me, but everybody's way under me. He had a better tan than me, since my workouts that summer had been mostly indoors, so I was more pale. He had on gym shorts and a t-shirt, same as me, basically the uniform for every guy hauling boxes in that building. I stood there wondering why he had grabbed me like that. Outside of a game of gay chicken, no dude had ever gotten that close to my nuts in my life.

"Your balls okay?" he said, looking me right in the eye. He rolled them around in his hand, slowly, and he even touched my dick a bit, squeezing it through my shorts, checking everything.

"Yeah, thanks, it feels better," I said.

His hands dropped and I carried on up with my boxes, and he followed behind me with a load of his own stuff. And that was how I first met Jaxon.

On my next trip down to the truck I texted my best friend from home.

Me: My roommate is such a cool dude. I racked my nuts on the stairs and he literally went so far as to touch my junk, just to make sure I was all good

Me: I got lucky with this one. He's an athlete too. Can't wait to hit up some parties together, we are gonna smash hella pussy

The futon was the last thing out of the truck, and the only piece I actually needed help with, because the frame was one solid folded slab of wood and metal and the stairwell in the athletic dorm turned twice on every floor. We were on three. No elevator, which somebody had told me about in an email I had never actually read all the way through.

"What sport," Jaxon said from behind me.

"Basketball." I had the frame up on my shoulder with both hands hooked under the rail, walking backward, facing the flight above me. "I start. I'm a freshman but I start, they told me in July, so that's why I'm here early for two-a-days."

"Yeah?"

"They've got us on this lifting block the strength coach wrote, it's like four days, and there's box squats in it, which I've never done, so my lower back and my whole butt have been locked up since the first day. Like it hurts to even sit down. Which nobody warns you about."

He laughed at that. He had his hands up under the bottom of the frame, palms flat, which put them at about the height of my ass the entire climb, and every few steps he'd say got it, keep going, I got it, even though I was pretty sure I had all of it and he had the part that weighed nothing.

"How tall are you?" he asked me.

"Six-seven."

He stopped talking. Three stairs went by.

"How tall?" he said again, and it came out lower and slower, like he'd swallowed something.

"Six-seven," I said. People make me say it twice all the time. I've gotten fast about it.

"Okay."

The mattress in my room was going to be a problem and I told him so on the second landing, that a dorm mattress is eighty inches and I am seventy-nine and change, so my heels were going to hang off in the air for the whole year, if you account for a pillow, and he said they have extensions in storage, he'd ask, and then he put his hand flat on my lower back to steady me on the turn. He did that on every turn. He was basically my spotter already, which was pretty cool of him, honestly.

He also took the outside of every landing so that he stayed below me the whole climb.

"You can have the shoulder end if you want," I said. "That's the end that digs into your collarbone."

"Nah, this is fine."

I offered again on the next flight anyway.

"I'm good down here," he said.

My gym shorts were soaked through at the waistband from carrying stuff in August, and wet elastic does not hold. They kept sliding. I had both hands on the futon, so there was nothing I could do about it except hitch my hips every few steps, and somewhere around the second floor Jaxon said hang on, and reached around from behind and hauled them up at the front for me.

He touched my dick on accident, like three times, hauling at the waistband. I figured he just had bad luck with his hands and didn't say anything.

At the third floor landing he set down his end and said give me a second, and picked up the lamp that was sitting there from the last trip and held it in front of himself with both hands while he caught his breath.

····[]····

We got everything in and neither of us had sheets out yet, so we sat on our own bare mattresses with the door propped open with a shoe and drank warm water out of the gallon jugs my mom made me bring.

"So what's your sport?" I asked him.

"Swim," Jaxon said. "Free and fly. Distance stuff in season."

He was a full head shorter than me and lean everywhere except his shoulders, which came out of his neck at an angle, and his forearms were shaved smooth, which I noticed but didn't ask about, because swimmers shave, everybody knows that. 

He asked me a lot of questions. 

“What’s your wingspan?” he asked.

“Seven-one.”

“Shoe size?”

“Sixteen. Which means I order everything online and it costs a fortune.”

“So what’s the box squat block actually doing to you?”

“It’s the tempo,” I said, and gave him probably too much detail, the three-count down and the pause in the hole and how my glutes had been basically tightened in a fist since the first week. He kept asking. He’d wait for the whole answer too, and then ask another one.

Every single question he asked was about my body. I figured that was a swimmer thing. Guys who train are interested in training, but he was the first person I’d met all summer who wanted the long version of every answer. 

Then somewhere in there he said, "You've got a great ass, by the way."

"What does that even mean," I said. "Only a girl can have a great ass."

"No, guys can have a good ass."

"Name one guy."

"Look," he said, and stood up off his mattress and turned around and bent over with his hands on his knees, facing away from me.

I was sitting maybe three feet away, on my own mattress with my back against the wall, jug of water between my feet. And I looked, because he had told me to look, so it wasn't weird, even though I'd never pondered a dude's ass before. But what I was looking at was honestly rounder than most of the girls' butts at my high school.

His gym shorts were pulled tight over two bubbly mounds of ass, round and meaty, sitting up high off the backs of his thighs, and the thin fabric sank in at the middle just enough to show the valley where the cheeks met. His waistband sagged away from the small of his back, and everything below that dip curved straight out.  Swimmers kick for hours a day, every day, and glutes are the engine for that. I knew all of that, and it still took me a second to say anything.

"Okay, I guess that does look like a girl's ass," I said. "I mean, except it's probably all hairy."

"Nope," he said, and pulled his shorts and his underwear down immediately, which made me laugh.

He wasn't kidding. Totally smooth down there, even down the middle, just a small pink circle sitting there in the light from the window with nothing around it at all. 

"Damn," I said. "Swimmers, man. Since I can't see your balls, it literally looks the same as a girl when you're doing her doggy style."

I saw his head tilt slightly when I said that. I wondered if I said something wrong. He stayed bent over. The joke was over and he stayed down there a good while with his hands on his knees, breathing loud through his mouth, which I guess made sense after three flights with a bunch of heavy stuff.

And I got a little hard, which happens to me whenever I'm nervous. It's happened at the free throw line. It's not a thing I control and I had stopped being weird about that in like tenth grade.

Jaxon looked right at my dick when he pulled his pants back up, so I think he noticed, but since he's such a cool guy he didn't even say anything.

So, I've been the tallest guy in every room since I was fourteen, and people have always talked about my body in front of me like I wasn't even there. One time, this freshman guy in my high school hallway that I didn't even know that well came up to me and put his hand up to touch the top of my head, all the way up on his toes, and then turned around and showed a group of his friends, and he never even said a word to me during it. At least Jaxon asked me questions out loud, and apparently wasn't afraid to compare notes on his own body too.

So I was sitting on a bare mattress with my shorts wet with sweat and my dick halfway up and a guy I met less than an hour ago had just looked right at it, and I wasn't embarrassed at all. That had never once happened to me in my life.

"How big is it," he said.

"Eight and a half inches. Maybe nine by now. A little bigger when it's a warm day, actually."

"No way."

"What?"

"I don't believe you." He sat back down on his own mattress with the jug in his lap. "Prove it."

I laughed. "Like, actually?"

"Yeah."

So I stood up off my mattress, because nobody had ever actually asked me to do that before. Even though the door was propped open, he'd said it like a bet, which kind of meant I had to do it. Boy rules. 

I pulled the front of the wet shorts and boxers down together to show the whole thing, and I let it hang out.

From up where I was looking down at it, half hard, it lay heavy across the top of my thigh with the waistband caught under it, which is kind of just the normal way it sits when I do that.

Jaxon didn't say anything for a second. He swallowed. The jug tipped over sideways in his lap and he didn't reach for it, just let it sit there against his leg, and his eyes stayed exactly where they were the whole time he talked.

"So... um," he said, like he was lost for words. "Can I... I mean should you..."

He swallowed.

"What about hard?" he said in a quiet voice.

"Fair," I said, and stood there in the middle of the floor in front of him and stroked myself up with one hand, and it took almost nothing because I'd already been halfway there since I got nervous when he bent over.

He got up off his own mattress and came and sat on the edge of mine, two feet from where I was standing, so he could see it better. Which made sense. He wanted a fair look at the evidence.

I got shy standing there, which I was not expecting. But I weirdly liked it. Nobody had ever sat down in front of me on purpose to look.

"That's as big as it gets," I said, holding it by the base when it finally got rock hard.

"Okay," Jaxon said, staring directly at my dick, quiet enough that I barely caught it.

I pulled the waistband back up over it, which did not really work, and sat down on my own bare mattress against the wall with my legs out.

"We might as well not waste that," Jaxon said.

"What?"

"I mean, we could spank one out, watch some girls get titty-fucked, or whatever you people watch."

I thought about it for maybe a second, and most of that was that I was already hard and it was move-in day and there was nothing else to do until the dining hall opened.

"Ah, so you're a tits guy?" I said, grabbing my dick and pulling off my shirt in preparation already.

"Something like that," he said, glancing quickly at my chest as he got his laptop off the desk and opened something up, a girl going down on a guy on a couch, and set it on the desk facing both of us.

We both shoved our shorts and boxers down and kicked them off toward the closet and sat back on our own mattresses, facing each other across maybe four feet of carpet, legs out in front of us, both working ourselves. He's smaller than me, but still big.

"What's your size, then?" I asked, looking at the porn. 

"Seven, and not as thick as yours."

"They say all you need is four, and girls say six is best."

I did glance for a second at his dick. It was shaped differently, narrower at the base and curved slightly to one side.

I've done this exactly twice before, both times with a guy from my team in his basement with the TV on. And both those times we kept to ourselves, obviously, but Jaxon seemed much more carefree, definitely a college animal. After a minute I realized that his eyes weren't on the screen. He was looking at my cock. I guess he was sizing himself up against me. So I tried to have a little conversation to keep it light.

"I wonder why a girl's mouth feels so good," I said, watching the girl suck a fat dick on the screen. "Like, it's crazy how it has to be a girl."

"A guy's mouth feels even better."

I looked at him like he was crazy. "That's impossible."

"No, it does."

"Have you even gotten a blowjob?"

"Yes."

"Then you know. It's like magic. A girl's mouth is like magic, I don't know what it is."

"No, really," he said. "A guy is better."

"That just doesn't make any sense. How would that even work, only girls can give blowjobs."

He looked at me funny and said, "Wanna bet?" 

Before I answered he was already off his mattress and down on his knees on the carpet between my feet. He put my dick in his mouth while my hand was still holding the base of it.

"I guess swimmers are competitive about everything," I muttered, almost chuckling if it weren't for the strong, pleasurable sensation suctioning the top half of my dick.

I had my back off the wall and my legs open and my hands were not on him at all, they were fisted down in the bare mattress on either side of my hips, and my heels kept skidding out on the floor and I kept dragging them back. He still had his t-shirt on. He never took it off the whole time.

When I looked down, all I could see was his messy, dark brown hair bobbing up and down on my dick, and his bubble butt sticking out from the bottom of his shirt, coming in and out of view as his head moved back and forth.

He suctioned hard on the way up and swirled his tongue all the way around the head every single time he came off, and his fist stayed clamped at the base around the part his mouth couldn't get to, jerking it in time with his mouth so nothing was left out. He gagged on it early, right at the start, this wet choking sound with his eyes watering, and he stayed on it. Didn't come off, didn't slow down, just breathed hard out of his nose and went back down until he gagged again.

His own hand was nowhere near himself. Both hands were on me, one on the base and one flat on my thigh.

"Dude, nobody's ever stayed on it this long," I said out loud. "Girls tap out. Like after just a minute, minute and a half, then it's hands, if even that."

He hummed around it and I felt him twitch his tongue up against the underside, and my whole stomach jumped.

It came up on me way faster than it should have.

"I'm gonna cum," I said. "Right now, I'm gonna cum right now."

I got a hand on his forehead and shoved him off me and the first shot squirted up across his cheek and his chin and the bridge of his nose in one line, and before I got another word out he had his mouth straight back down over it and took the rest in there, swallowing around me with his throat working while my heels skidded out sideways on the floor.

"Shit, I'm sorry," I said. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I tried to move you."

He kept his mouth on me as I kept releasing more and more.

"Damn," I breathed out, "You really want to win that bet."

He finally sat back on his heels when I finished, with one clearish streak dripping down his face, on his cheek and across his nose, and I reached for a shirt off the floor to hand him and he took it out of my hand.

"I'm sorry," I said again.

"It's all good," he said, fast, while wiping his face. "It's good for your skin actually. Better than anything you can buy at a store, actually."

"Huh," I said. That's the kind of thing I'd never heard.

Shaved forearms, jizz for the skin, whatever. Swimmer stuff.

He dragged the shirt down once more over his face, slowly, one side and then the other.

He sat back on his own mattress and finished himself off right there, staring down and off into space while he did it, downward, almost like he was accidentally looking right at my dick. I was still fully hanging out, against my thigh. I guess he just needed to get it out at that point and it didn't matter what he was looking at, being totally zoned out. Having my dick sit there in his line of sight didn't seem to bother him at all, or maybe he never even noticed it. 

It took him almost no time to finish.

"You want the bottom drawers or the top ones," he said, pulling his shorts back on.

"Top," I said, "Bending over's the whole problem right now."

"Maybe I'll give you a massage later," he said, "I've got a good technique. And you can pay me back with an ass rub."