Where it happened: Univ. of Georgia
Langauge: English
Sex: Male
Rating: 9
Category: Straight
My roommate when I was a freshman in college was one of my best friends from high school, although he was a year older than I. I was quite excited to be rooming with him, because it meant I’d be with someone I knew.
By January, though, he was moody and irritable and would not respond to my questions about why he was acting so strangely. Then one day, I got back to the dorm room and there was a letter for me. In it, he outlined, in nearly Victorian terms, how he felt about boys in general and me in particular. He was in love with me.
I was shocked, and I was excited. I knew even then, although I would not have told anyone, that I was voraciously sexual. I would have done it with anyone who appealed to me, male or female—as I went on to do.
This was many years ago, and there was no way to admit that to him. I was a chickenshit. I assured him when he finally returned to the room that it made no difference to me, but I was not interested in him that way.
But I was. I waited till we were both drunk one night, and then under the classic pretense of “proving him wrong,” I stripped and climbed into bed with him. Our lovemaking was clumsy and amateurish, entirely mutually masturbation. I remember that once he maneuvered his body up mine until his cock was rubbing against my face, but I was so stupid that I never even thought about sucking it. I once positioned myself for him to fuck me, but we didn’t know the mechanics—or the lubrication—required.
He was well built, intelligent, and funny. Why he should have loved a skinny, androgynous geek like me is beyond me. I am happily married for many years now, but I often wonder how my life would have been different if I had just said to him, “I love you too. Fuck me.”
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