My Son's Roommate


Something happened to me not long ago that altered my life. I am not a gay
man. I have never liked gay men. I could never imagine how a man could be
sexually attracted to another man. It's unnatural. I always believed that
it surely must be against God's will.

When my son, Mike, moved into his dorm room at college during his Freshman
year, his mother and I visited him to make sure he was comfortable and that
all arrangements were satisfactory. We met his roommate, Tom. He seemed
very nice, and I was glad that Mike had him for a roommate. We visited
Mike several times later and I always had this strange feeling that I hoped
Tom would always be there in the room when we walked in. My wife greeted
Tom with a hug and, although it's not like me normally, I also was somehow
drawn to give Tom a hug. Tom never tried to break away from my hugs. I
was always afraid that, as we pressed our bodies together, he would feel my
boner throbbing in my pants. On several of those occasions, I thought I
felt a hardness in Tom's pants. But I was sure that couldn't be. As I lay
in bed each night, I found it difficult to go to sl**p. There was
something about Tom. The feel of him in my arms stayed with me. When I
hugged him, my cheek always brushed against his own young smooth cheek. I
often lay there pounding my pillow, hating the thoughts I had. I was sure
that only queers would have this kind of feeling. But I wanted more than
anything to touch his cheek again and feel his body in my arms. But I
hated myself for these evil thoughts---these unGodly, dirty thoughts.

We had Mike and Tom at our home several times on weekends. I did my best
always to be friendly, but I tried to avoid looking at him. Whenever I did
look at him, I could see him looking at me. Sometimes I imagined that the
looks he had on his face were looks of desire. But I was sure that those
looks were looks of disdain. He knew. I was sure he knew of the dirty
thoughts I had in my mind. Oh, how humiliated I felt. Mike's own father
having queer dirty thoughts about his roommate. One night when I went to
bed, I was so distraught that I blurted out aloud, "I'm not a fucking
fagot!" My wife asked me what was the matter and I just said I must have
been dreaming. I thought over and over how disgusted Mike would be if he
knew the thoughts that his own dad had for his roommate. I would solve the
problem. I simply would not be home when Tom was around. I would have an
excuse that I had to work or I had an appointment somewhere. That would
solve it . . . but it didn't.

I couldn't escape. One weekend when Mike brought Tom home, Tom was in
shorts and a short-sleeved shirt unbuttoned all the way down. I felt the
bl**d rush to my head when I saw his smooth firm chest. I would have given
anything at that moment to be able to grab him and run my tongue over that
smooth chest. For some reason, I suddenly pulled my collar together to
cover the mat of hair poking up from my own chest. I don't know why I did
that. For some reason, I thought he might not like a hairy chest. But why
should I have cared? But I did. It was just one more thing that
distressed me. I could see him looking at my chest hair before I covered
it up, and I knew he must have hated to see a man with a hairy chest.

I had always been very close to my mom and dad. When they both died on the
same day, I was so distraught for so long, I sought the advice and counsel
of Brian, an old friend who was a psychological ther****t. When Brian and
I were c***dren, we would play around and jack-off together after school.
We talked about sex a lot, but we told each other how much we hated queers.
He was an enormous help to me later as a ther****t in getting me to accept
my parents' death. We had been so close and had shared so many
confidences, I was sure he could help me in this current problem I was
facing.

I was very nervous, but after some initial small talk, I came right out
with it and told him of these terribly disturbing thoughts I had been
having for my son's roommate. To my surprise, Brian was very calm and
understanding. He told me he understood exactly how I felt and advised me
to come to terms with it.

Brian asked me if I remembered when we jacked off together as k**s. "We
enjoyed it, didn't we?"

"Of course," I said.

Then he said, "And would it surprise you to know that it turned me on,
doing it with you?

"It did?" I said, as I gulped.

"It sure did, Jef," said Brian. And I'm not ashamed to tell you that I
would like to do that again with you?"

I could feel my face becoming hot and flushed as I said, "You would?"

"Come on, Jef. Would you be adverse to doing it again with me?"

"Well . . . no." I said. "But we're adults now . . . and I'm married and
have two sons."

"What does that have to do with how you feel, Jef," Brian said as he got up
walked toward the sofa in his office. "Come on over and sit with me.
Let's do it right now . . . for old time's sake."

Before we sat down on the sofa, Brian pulled down his pants to his knees.
When I looked at his hard penis, I became hard immediately. I couldn't
believe this was happening to me. He was just another man. It wasn't as
though I was staring at a hot, wet pussy. It was Brian's throbbing hard
penis. And it excited me.

"Come on, pull 'em down," Brian said. "That's it. Now we can just act
like we're having the same fun we used to have."

Brian reached over and took hold of my penis and began stroking it. His
strong hand felt so wonderful as he stroked it. "Okay, Jef, go ahead and
jack me off, too, while I'm doing it to you."

I found myself feeling perfectly comfortable sitting there with him, and it
excited me to be holding his penis.

I went back to his office several times, and I began to enjoy our
masturbation sessions immensely. I even came to love the feel of his cum
as it spurted onto my hand. And several times, at Brian's urging, I tasted
it. And I liked it. Eventually, one day, he leaned over and took my penis
into his mouth and gave me one of the most powerful orgasms I'd ever had.
And it was not long before he coaxed me to do the same to him.

On one of my visits, I said, "I'm not a gay man, Brian. I just don't know
what's wrong with me."

"You enjoyed what we've been doing, didn't you?"

"Of course," I said. "I loved it and looked forward to coming here every
day. But it scares me. I lie in bed at night and masturbate, thinking
that it's Tom's hand on my penis, or even his mouth. Then sometimes, I
imagine that I'm jacking off Tom's penis instead of mine. I hug my pillow
tightly, imagining that it's his body."

"Jef, you came to me for advice," Brian said, "and you've now got to face
up to your feelings. From what you tell me, Tom's not going away. He's
going to be around a lot for a long time. You can't hold it all in.
Somehow, you've got to give him at least a hint of how you feel. We don't
know how Tom will feel about it, but it's time you found out. You can't go
on like this forever."

I still could not believe that I could have any sexual attraction to
another man. It was such a dirty thought to me. But as much as I denied
it to myself, the feelings were there for Tom, and on top of that, I was
terribly sexually aroused by the things that Brian and I had been doing.

"Brian," I said with my voice shaking, "What if I find that I really am
gay?"

"You don't have to put a label on how you feel, Jef," said Brian, "You
don't put a label on all the other things you feel in your life. There's
no point in getting yourself all in a knot over this feeling you have for
Tom. You're still the same person you ever were . . . a loving husband and
father. What you and I have been doing on your visits here, and the
feelings you have for Tom doesn't change any of that. It's just another of
life's pleasures that you've discovered. Don't tear yourself up over it.
Continue to enjoy looking at Tom and keeping him in your jack-off
fantasies. If somehow you find he feels the same way about you, so be it.
Enjoy what comes into your life, Jef. Don't fight it and don't label
yourself as something that you imagine to be abhorrent.

During Spring Vacation, Mike invited Tom to spend the week at our house. I
toyed with the idea of arranging a business trip out of town. But I
remembered what Brian had told me. Don't run away from it. Anyway, I
couldn't stand the thought of Tom staying and sl**ping in my house without
my being there. I was so confused and I tried not to hate myself for the
longings I had for Tom. But how could I possibly let him know how I felt
about him. And what if Mike found out how I felt? Oh, God, I didn't know
how I was going to live through this. I wanted to be alone in the house
with Tom, but at the same time I was scared of what would happen if I
suddenly found myself alone with him. I could easily make a fucking fool
of myself. And then Tom would be disgusted with me and tell everyone. Oh,
God! What was I to do. Brian had told me to somehow give Tom a hint of
how I felt, and let the chips fall where they may.

The time did come, though, on the third day of their visit when Mike and
his mother were going to be away from the house for several hours. Mike
left the house about 9:00 in the morning. I walked by Tom's door. He was
just getting up, and I said good morning. He very cheerfully, and in such
a friendly manner, returned the greeting. He told me that he was going to
take a shower. And I said I would be working at the computer and that he
should let me know if there was anything he needed.

I sat at my computer, trying to work, but doing nothing. The picture of
Tom standing naked in the shower filled my mind. I wondered if he was
getting his body all lathered up and masturbating in the shower. It was
always one of my favorite places to jack-off. We were alone in the house,
and I still had no idea how I was going to give Tom that hint that Brian
told me I had to give. It was not long when I heard Tom at the door behind
me, saying, "What's going on?" I turned in my chair and saw him standing
there, wearing only a towel. I instinctively ran my eyes over his whole
body . . . his smooth hairless chest, the ridges of muscle in his stomach,
and just a hint of pubic hair showing above the top edge of the towel. The
towel came to just above his knees, and the graceful shape of his legs,
covered with just a light dusting of soft hair, put a lump in my throat.
There was a slight bulge in the towel, and I knew his penis must have been
at least semi-hard. I could see that he was making a vain effort to hide
it by holding his hands down in front of him.

I asked him to sit down, and as he did so, the towel rode up and I tried
not to be obvious as I tried to see under it. I still didn't know what to
say, but I knew this would be my only chance. I put my hand on his forearm
. . . that smooth young skin of his . . . and rubbed it slightly. I wanted
to say something, but the words just wouldn't come to me. All that came
out of my mouth was "Tom, you'd better go and get dressed. No telling when
somebody might come home." The second it came out, I regretted it. "Oh
shit," I thought. "Why did I say such a stupid fucking thing!" I squeezed
his arm again, hoping he wouldn't go. Tom said nothing. The smile
disappeared from his face and he got up and started for the door. That's
when I took hold of his upper arm again and squeezed it and smiled at him.
I hoped it would make him stay, but he didn't.

As I watched Tom leave the room, I sat down. I never felt so terrible in
my life. I let the only opportunity I had to let my feelings known slip
away by saying something stupid. But I hoped that perhaps my touching Tom
may have given him that hint that Brian had advised me to give him. But I
got no sign from Tom that he understood. He just left without a word.
Maybe he did understand and hated me for it.

For the rest of that week, Tom and I were very friendly with each other,
and it seemed clear that he had not felt badly of me for touching him. We
still hugged each other, and we became just plain good friends. He even
called me Jef, as though we were contemporaries. On many occasions after
that, we spent a good deal of time alone together, playing racket ball and
going out to drink beer. On one of those occasions, I told Tom that I
liked him very much and that I liked being with him. He told me that he
liked me very much, also, and that he considered us the best of friends.
As we would sit across the table drinking beer, I no longer felt any
inhibitions about my touching his hand or his arm as we talked. And he did
the same.

After our racket ball sessions at the gym, we always shower together. I
enjoy looking at Tom's naked body, and I don't hide that fact from him. He
can't help but see me looking. And I've noticed that he makes no attempt
to hide his interest in my body. One time, he even told me that he wished
he had as much hair on his body as I do.

We are indeed very close friends. I no longer fret over labels, as Brian
advised. I never think about being gay or not being gay. All I know is
that I love Tom very much, even beyond my mere sexual attraction to him,
and only hope that he loves me as much. I often think that he does. But
it doesn't matter. We're friends. And what might happen or not happen
beyond that as time goes on . . . well, we'll just take what comes as part
of the rich friendship we share. No matter what the future holds, we will
always be the best of friends.


Comments? Please write me.

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Posted by john1195
9 months ago    Views: 573
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6 months ago
wanna see part 2 ... ???