First of all, a piece of advice. Do not, under any circumstances, fall in love with a jock. Especially one who is your college roommate and the captain of the college wrestling squad. More especially, don’t fall in love with a jock who is your college roommate and captain of the college wrestling squad when you don’t even have the guts to come out. Above all, do not do any of the above and then tell said jock roommate how you feel. It just fucks with their brains, which are evidently pretty befuddled to begin with -- probably from the fumes from all the Ben-Gay they use. Man! You almost have to have a menthol and camphor fetish to live around one of them.
Now, having said all that, let me explain how I came to make all of these mistakes -- and a lot more.
It really wasn’t my fault. I transferred from a community college to the state university after my sophomore year. What I didn’t figure on was being hospitalized for pneumonia for three weeks right when classes were supposed to start. By the time I got there, the room I had been assigned to was taken and Campus Housing put me where there was a spot. That spot was in the jock dorm. Evidently one of the muscle boys pulled some important piece of anatomy and ended up not being able to participate in sports for about the rest of his life and therefore lost his scholarship and his room. Campus Housing made sure to impress upon me just exactly how lucky I was that they had any space for me at all. I guess they figured that they needed to assuage their consciences for what they were about to do.
I am about as far from being a jock as you can get and still be considered male. First of all, I’m short, only five-foot-six, and at nineteen years old, I realized that my chances of me making it to six feet -- or even five-foot-ten -- were two: none and none. Add to this I am very slender, about a hundred and twenty pounds dripping wet with my clothes on. I do have three very nice features -- one of which I didn’t learn about until later. I have really nice hair, dark chestnut with red and gold highlights (natural, not dyed), which I wear long; and, from what I’ve been told, very beautiful green eyes. About the color of emeralds, was how they were described. I later found out that I have a great ass. Round and bubbled, unusual for someone as slender as I am. Oh, there is another one, but we’ll talk about that later.
I was told about my hair and my eyes by my best friend, Cindy, in high school. She never said a word about my butt, but then again, we weren’t on that kind of terms with each other. We were just friends, which is all I could ever be with a girl because I am completely, totally gay. However, I am also completely, totally in the closet about it. If you went to the high school and community college that I went to, you’d understand why. I mean, I’m all for “cultural diversity”; I just wish my high school or community college had any. No, my high school was all of one culture -- redneck bigot. What do you want? This was the Midwest. The place where corn and pigs outnumber people.
The school was filled with all of these gorgeous farmboys, all of whom were total Neanderthals. Pick-up trucks with loud country music blaring out of them, straw cowboy hats and shit-kicking boots. Get the picture? And the girls? Oh, my God! So much eye makeup that they looked like raccoons, way too big hair, and outfits that would have given the fashion editor of Vogue
I was a “townie.” My father was president of the local bank and we lived in a very nice house with no pick-up trucks in the driveway and no large animals roaming our backyard -- well, unless you want to count my dog, Baron, who is a Great Dane. Leaving Baron behind when I left for the state capital and the university was about the hardest thing I ever had to do. However, I was willing to do anything short of a sex-change to get the fuck out of that small, narrow-minded town.
Oh, and yes, I am a smart-ass. I have carefully developed this personality trait over my entire life to deal with the bigoted assholes who have surrounded me in small-town America. So you’re just going to have to deal with it if you want to know what happened.
I’ll never forget the first time I met my roommate, Gregg. I had just arrived on campus with all of my stuff. Since I was an incoming junior, I was allowed a car on campus. I had just managed to find the right dorm and had finally found the room. It was mid-morning, so the place was all but deserted with everybody in class. I wasn’t really expecting anyone there when I took the key that Campus Housing had given me and opened the door. The first thing I saw was the most glorious male ass I had ever seen in my life. It was attached to what was evidently the body of a god. Tall -- six-foot-four -- and muscular. VERY muscular! Wide shoulders, broad back, narrow hips, thick thighs … but that BUTT! Oh, my God! It was the most perfect bubble butt I’d ever seen in my life.
One thing that could be said for those farmboys back home: they all have really nice butts. Must come from farming or something. I don’t think you’d get it riding in a pick-up truck, unless there’s something about which the Ford Motor Company has failed to inform the American public. But why would they do something stupid like that? They could sell at least a million more units a year. Can’t you see the ads now? A picture of one of those delicious farmboys in super-tight, almost painted-on jeans, bent over slightly, showing off his round, gorgeous glutes, with the caption reading: “The Ford F-150, best built truck in America and it gives you an incredible-looking ass just by riding in it.”
No, I don’t think so. Anyway, all those farmboys had incredible asses, but nothing, absolutely nothing
, to compare with the ass that was almost literally staring me in the face.
Oh, it comes to mind that you might be wondering just how I knew how incredible all those farmboy asses were at home? You’d also then wonder how I knew how well so many of those farmboys were hung if I mention that later. You see, I may have been in the closet, but I wasn’t stupid. Ever heard of the movie Hide in Plain Sight?
Well, not that this was in the movie or anything, but I figured that the best way to become invisible was to do exactly that. Hide in plain sight. So I became the manager for both the football and the wrestling teams in high school. For those of you who do not know what a team manager does, let me inform you. You are the jocks’ flunky, pure and simple. Anything that those sweating Neanderthals needed, it was my job to get it for them. I also did their laundry. Towels, uniforms and … ahh … jockstraps. (More on the jockstraps and me later.) The manager is totally necessary for the team and totally ignored by everybody. It’s like you don’t exist. Your life is only to serve their sweaty existence. Of course, you also get to inhale all those heavenly, sweaty, musky masculine smells of the locker room while watching them strip and either get into uniform or out of uniform or back into clothes, etc. I probably got to see more of those boys’ dicks, balls, and asses than their girlfriends did. This was also the reason that it was important for me to (a) stay in the closet and (b) be as invisible as possible.
So back to this muscle-god’s butt …
There he stood, arms raised, drying his hair with a towel and not one other piece of cloth covering anything on his body. And there I stood just drinking in the sight of one of the most beautiful butts that I have ever seen, attached to one of the most beautiful male bodies I have ever seen. He finally turned around and, rather than covering up, simply let the towel stay in one of his hands as it dropped to his side. Since my gaze had been basically glued to his butt, when he turned around the first thing that came into view was -- you guessed it -- his cock. Well, I supposed it was his cock. With something that long and thick, it could well have been an extra arm. I mean, I know this is a farm state and all, but this boy looked like he belonged in a barn, not a dorm, with that thing. I had seen a lot of cock in my life -- trust me, I’d worked hard to make sure I got to see every one that I could -- but never had I seen a piece of meat like this one. It was uncut and the head covered by a beautiful foreskin that hung down about half an inch below the head. This was a farm state and I’d seen a lot of guys with uncut cocks, I’d just had never seen one this big before.
My eyes began to travel up his body. First to the puff of golden curls on his pubic mound, then up to his very cut six-pack abs, then to his really incredibly muscular pecs -- noting his huge biceps and deltoids, as well -- until my gaze finally reached his face. FUCK! This was so unfair. Nobody with a body like a god should be allowed to have the face of one, too. Deep-blue eyes, lightning-bright smile -- Fuck! He even had dimples.
“Hey, dude.” He grinned at me.