Finally Fucking My Roommate (Patreon)

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Chapter 1: Hazing

During hazing week on my college wrestling team, I learned in our first homoerotic event that my dick was larger than average. The seniors had us all strip down for some naked relay they had invented, and when my boxers hit the floor, guys stopped talking mid-sentence. Somebody whistled. I had always had a suspicion, mostly from locker rooms where I caught other dudes doing a double take, but it was different when a room full of wrestlers started hooting and hollering about my hog. 

One of the seniors, a tall heavyweight blonde dude with the cockiest bravado on the team, walked over and studied it up close. 

"Gentlemen," he announced loudly, "we have a situation."

So my downstairs appendage drew attention from the seniors, and they made it part of the hazing ritual. They said it was the biggest on the team, no contest needed, and that same blonde senior decided that any freshman who wanted a way out of the usual freshman tasks, the runs and the errands and the gear-carrying, could literally kiss my dick as an alternative. He laid it out with total ceremony, informally reading a new bylaw into the team constitution, and the whole room immediately agreed it was the greatest rule anybody had ever come up with.

Nobody had to do it. That was the whole joke, that it was an “option”, and the seniors cried laughing every time some poor kid stood there weighing a week of carrying heavy gear against one kiss on a dick, and pretty much every time, they picked the kiss. I would stand there, hands clasped behind my back, trying to keep a straight face while a fellow freshman crouched down to eye level with my junk. But also, every time, they would give it a quick peck, lips barely grazing the head, and the room would jeer, demanding a “real kiss, with tongue!” and it would get wilder after that, until the red-faced kid would start cracking up, holding my dick in their fist and finally being told “You’re good, buddy.”

Patty was my roommate and one of my teammates on the wrestling team. He was probably the most handsome dude among the freshmen, and I spotted him as competition for the girls, before I realized what a dork he was when it came to actually talking to them. He and I got along great, and he laughed the hardest every single time my dick got kissed. 

From day one we racked up a long history of homoerotic moments like that, and neither of us ever thought twice about it. That comes with wrestling, ever since high school. You spend two hours a day sweating on another dude with your face mashed into his body or his crotch, and on top of that you get naked afterward and shower together. 

After that, nothing is weird.

The second week of the semester I brought a girl back to our room for the first time. We'd been circling each other at a party down the hall, and when she asked where my dorm was, I pointed at my own door. Dorm life wasn't built for getting a girl naked, since there was a roommate sleeping an arm's length away. I figured that would kill it, but I texted Patty anyway.

Me: Bringing a girl back. Can you clear out

Patty: Too tired bro. I'll just pretend to be asleep

So we walked in, and Patty was in his bed, rolled toward the wall with the blanket pulled up over his shoulder. He didn't twitch when the door clicked shut. The girl stopped and whispered, "Your roommate's here?"

"He sleeps like a rock," I whispered back.

She watched the back of his head for a second and decided she was okay with it. She confirmed her decision by taking her shirt off before I even got the lamp turned down. I owed Patty one and I knew it.

It wasn't exactly my first time getting laid, but this was my first experience with someone who wasn't an older, experienced woman, if that makes sense. So I was still learning about being hung, and how less experienced girls' bodies worked. At a full eight inches, I didn't know yet that most girls weren't used to taking that much meat inside them at once. I slid in and her pussy made these squishy little air-pocket sounds around my dick, pockets of air getting squeezed out with every stroke. She got embarrassed about it, turning her face into my neck like she could hide from her own body, and I made sure she knew that there was nothing weird about it, which was true as far as I knew. 

"That just means I'm filling you up," I told her, or something like it, and that seemed to fix it.

I was just getting worked up when I caught movement over her shoulder. Patty was wanking under his blanket, his fist pumping steadily at his waist, the fabric bouncing with every stroke. From my angle on top of her I could see it clearly, and she couldn't see him. I started laughing mid-stroke, this wheezing laugh that shook the bed, and I could not stop. She stiffened under me. I think she thought I was laughing at her, somehow.

She shoved me off, grabbed her shirt, and left.

I stayed naked from the waist down, sitting on the edge of my bed with my dick deflating against my thigh, feeling pitiful. Patty sat up the second she was gone, his curly hair smashed flat on one side from the pillow.

"Bro. The sounds," he said. "Her pussy sounded like a boot coming out of mud."

"Shut up."

"I'm serious, I thought you were making soup over there." He scooted back against the wall and his blanket slid off his lap, and his dick was just out, still half hard against his stomach. He didn't cover it. "Also I jerked off watching you guys. Full disclosure."

"I know. I saw the blanket bouncing, you idiot. That's why I was laughing. You cost me the whole night."

"My bad," he said, not sounding sorry at all.

"Honestly I would've done the same," I said, and it was true.

We kept talking about sex after that, what she looked like under me, which girls on our floor were hotter, and somewhere in the middle of it I was stroking myself again and his fist was already pumping, right out in the open, no blanket this time.

"Face me," he said. "I want to actually see the monster."

"You freak," I said. It was weird, but I did it anyway, swinging around so my knees pointed at his, and we wanked facing each other across the gap between our beds, matching pace. 

His fist sped up and his breath suddenly stopped, and he shot onto his stomach, a thick stripe up near his ribs, and he kept pumping through it with his mouth hanging open. Watching another dude finish from across the room should not have done anything for me, but it pushed me over the edge. I squirted hard onto the floor between our beds, long pulses that made my legs straighten. We sat there panting at each other like we had just come off the wrestling mat. I kicked a dirty shirt over the puddle, dropped backward into bed, and slept like a dead man.

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After that night, wanking together just became part of living in that room. We never planned it. We would be up late talking about girls or practice, and eventually Patty would grab his laptop, prop it on a chair between our beds, and announce, "Gooner time," already kicking his shorts off. Within a couple weeks we were doing it most nights.

We got bolder every session. First we kept our shirts on, then we didn't. After a while we quit facing the laptop and started half watching each other instead, calling out when one of us got close. Patty liked narrating my dick in a low broadcaster voice, "and the big man is working the shaft," and I would laugh and leak pre-cum at the same time.

Patty had this shampoo bottle, a tall skinny cylinder of some salon brand his mom bought him, and we had already made fun of it for looking exactly like a dildo. One night, both of us hard and stupid, I dared him.

"Bet you won't put that up your ass."

"Bet how much?"

"I'll do your laundry."

He stared at me for a second, grabbed the bottle off his shelf, pumped lotion into his palm and greased it up. He crouched on his own bed facing away from me, knees spread wide on the blanket, and reached back between his legs, pointing his ass straight at me, and I realized I had never actually looked at it before, not directly. I'd seen it plenty in the showers, but from this angle it was a whole different thing, two round, athletic mounds of wrestler muscle, paler than the rest of him, both cheeks flexing while he hunted for the spot. It was ridiculous and I was cracking up at him, and I was also rock hard watching him do it, both at the same time, at full strength. There was a lot of grunting, one sharp yelp that made me laugh even harder, and his whole body sank down an inch and he held completely still.

"It's in," he said, sounding amazed at himself.

He rolled onto his back with his knees up, heels dug into the bed, the bottle still buried in him, and started jerking off like that. I lost it. I was laughing so hard my stomach cramped, calling him a sick freak, telling him his mom would want her shampoo back, and my fist never stopped pumping my own dick while I said it. I was wanking to my straight roommate fucking himself on a shampoo bottle, and it was the craziest, most "naughty" thing I had ever been part of, and I had never been harder in my life.

Patty quit caring that I existed. His eyes squeezed shut, his thighs shook, and every few strokes his hips lifted off the bed and he ground himself down on the bottle with a grunt. When he came, he blew harder than I had ever seen him finish, his whole upper body curling up off the bed, a rope of cum reaching all the way to his collarbone, a second one slapping across his chest, and he kept pumping through it with this strangled laugh leaking out of him.

He flopped flat and lay there panting, cum cooling on his chest, the bottle still in.

"Dude," he said. "You have to try this."

"Absolutely not," I said.

He turned his head on the pillow and looked down at my dick in my hand, just watching while I kept jerking myself. His chest still heaved, cum cooling in stripes across it, and he didn't wipe any of it off. He just stared at my fist pumping, mouth half open, the shampoo bottle still parked in his ass. We didn't speak. I finished onto myself, squirting thick ropes up my stomach, watching him watch me the whole time. He stared until the last pulse.

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The next night we were set up the same as always, laptop on the chair, shorts off, and Patty had the shampoo bottle out again. He crouched on his bed and worked at it for a while, grunting, shifting his knees around, and finally dropped it on the blanket.

“It doesn’t feel as good when I do it, I think,” he said. “My own arm’s in the way. I need somebody else to shove it in.”

“I might as well just fuck you then.”

I said it as a joke. At least I think I was only joking.

“Go for it.”

My fist stopped on my dick. What the fuck. Really?

“You’d actually let me do that?”

“Yeah,” he said, plainly, like it wasn't a big deal. But his face wasn’t plain. His jaw was set and his eyes kept dropping to my lap, and I knew that look from weigh-ins, a guy who was scared and committed at the same time.

I stood up off my bed and crossed the gap between our beds without a word. I wiggled my hips at him so it swung heavily from side to side, slapping my thighs audibly, the full eight inches an entire wrestling team had written new rules about. 

“You really want this in your ass?”

He paused for a second.

“Just go slow.”

He rolled onto his stomach facing the laptop and dragged a pillow under his hips. I pumped lotion into my palm and greased myself until I was shining, and knelt on his bed behind him, between his spread thighs. Some girl was moaning on the screen, but neither of us looked at her.

I spread his cheeks with my thumbs, set the head against his hole, and pushed. His whole body tensed, shoulder blades pinching, fists balling in the blanket.

“Is that alright?”

“No, but keep going.”

I sank in slowly, half an inch at a time, watching my dick disappear into my roommate. He was unbelievably tight, and his hole kept clenching hard around me, holding, and releasing, like his body was trying to push me back out. Every clench ran straight up my shaft. His whole back flexed with each one, lats spreading under his skin, traps bunching up at his neck, and I just stared at it, a wrestler's body pinned under me and straining. I had my thumbs pressed into the muscle of his cheeks and I could feel them fighting me too, flexing and giving up, flexing and giving up.

And I felt incredible. This was nothing like sliding into a girl. This felt like winning a match, like I had taken another dude down and held him there while the ref counted. A different kind of sex entirely, half fucking and half pinning, and my brain could not get enough of either half.

"Your dick is so big, dude," he groaned, half pain, half actually enjoying it.

"You're taking it weirdly well," I said between breaths.

And he was taking it with surprisingly little issue. Better than I would have expected, better than most girls I had been with, honestly, and girls at least were built for it, or so I thought. 

He grunted into the pillow, breathed through the deep parts, and never once told me to stop. When I bottomed out, my balls resting against him, he exhaled long and loud and pushed his hips back at me, basically asking for more. 

I kept it slow, long strokes, pulling back until just the head held him open and sliding all the way back down. Every time I bottomed out he groaned into the pillow, and it was not a hurt sound anymore. I could hear him enjoying it, actually enjoying it, a dude getting off on my dick.

"Bro, you're moaning," I said.

He just grunted.

"You've done this before," I said, picking up speed. "Be honest. How many years have you been playing with your own ass?"

He didn't answer for a couple strokes, and his hips kept pushing back to meet me anyway.

"I've put stuff up there," he finally said. "Since always. Random stuff."

"Like what, freak?"

"Markers. A hairbrush handle. Vegetables. Whatever fit." He groaned again when I went deep, loud enough that I grinned at his back. "But nothing like this."

I picked up the pace, and he took it. Within a few minutes the slow part was over and I was banging Patty harder than I had ever banged a girl, gripping his hips, pulling him back onto me.

“What does that feel like?” I finally asked.

“It hurts, but kind of in a good way,” Patty said into the pillow.

He wasn’t even jerking off. His hands stayed up by his head, fists loose next to his curls, and he just took it while the porn played on the chair in front of us, mostly ignored. His hole pulsed on my dick in waves, squeezing from base to head like it was trying to milk me, and every wave pulled a grunt out of him. He groaned into the pillow on my deep strokes, low and steady, and I felt each one vibrate up through his body into my hips. I got loud too. My hips smacked wetly off his cheeks, the bed frame knocked the wall with every thrust, and I did not care who heard it. The whole floor could listen for all I cared. Sweat shined down the middle of his back, the pillow under his hips had his ass tilted up at the perfect angle, and my balls pulled up tight against me. 

I buried myself as deep as he could take me and unloaded in him without saying anything, pulse after pulse, my fingers digging into his waist, holding him down on it while his hole clenched around every shot.

I pulled out and sat back on my heels, and Patty rolled over. There was a wet smear across his pillow and a mess of cum strung between his stomach and the blanket.

“Dude, you came?” I rasped as I was catching my breath.

“Apparently... I did.”