On the Single Life

or Roommates and the Bate

During my single years, I had roommates along the way. It was a pain in the ass at times; dirty towels or clothes lying on the floor, dishes in the sink, maybe arguments over what television program to watch or whose turn it was to (finally!) clean the bathroom. Then there was always the “I’m bringing someone home tonight, so you either have to stay in your bedroom or get lost until I can move things into bed.” And, occasionally one of us getting home to find the other fucking some girls brains out in the middle of the living room floor because we hooked up at the last minute and forgot to leave the signal (a belt looped over the outside doorknob) which said “I got lucky, don’t come in.”

Then there were the times my horny FWB came over and, before we knew it, he’d be on his knees with his face in my crotch, sucking my cock while he furiously stroked his own boner. Or we’d have our hands wrapped around each other’s dicks. And in would walk the roommate.

Pissed off, the agrieved party would begin a tantrum – “What the fuck, dude? You couldn’t go into your room?” At least we moved through the apartment quickly, afforded each other the time to finish up whatever roll-in-the-hay had begun and say goodnight to the guest; we weren’t complete assholes.

But having a roommate wasn’t always bad. There were the good things too: Having someone to vent to after a horrific day at work, someone to help with chores, having an intelligent conversation after watching a film. The other nice thing - with a couple of them anyway - was the casual nudity. Being able to walk around naked in front of each other without self-conscious feelings, seeing them walk to the bathroom in the morning with a huge hard-on. Not having to hide my morning woody.

Not having to worry about them knowing I was jacking off in the next room; them not caring if I heard them getting off.

The best roomie experience was the one where we finally became open enough to sit on the couch, watching porn together. Both of us admitted we jacked off all the time and talked about it openly, but we’d never done it in front of each other.

That first time, sitting there we noticed each other’s bulging crotch, cocks straining against fabric and the occasional push on it to adjust. How could you not? I finally asked if it was okay if I opened my pants because my hard-on straining to get out had become painful. He sighed in relief, said “Thank God. I was afraid to ask.” Our pants came off. We sat there, raging hard-on’s drooling, like a couple of idiots each afraid to touch ourselves except for a timid swipe at the pre-cum. He eventually got up, grabbed two hand towels to put under us to keep the couch clean.

I loved watching him walk to and from the linen closet with his pecker reaching for the sky and his huge nuts swaying as he moved. When he walked back into the room I was vigorously jacking my bone and massaging my aching balls. He tossed me a towel without a word, sat down, and started stroking. We came within minutes of each other. He mumbled, I think without realizing he’d actually said it out loud, “Fuck, I’m gonna cum.” and blasted his load all over his chest. The sight brought me closer to the edge and, as I blatantly gawked at his dripping cock while he continued to jack in slow strokes, he turned to watch me. Well, that finally made me blow my wad. After our dicks wilted completely we both laughed and cleaned up the cum - off ourselves and the back of the couch.

The next step should have been mutual whack-off, but it never happened. Plenty of time spent spanking our monkeys together, but we never made the leap of lending one another a hand.