I’ve been living with Michael for about three months and so far it’s worked out pretty good. We met in our first year of college, Intro Psychology. We studied together, hung out together, became good friends. The only thing Michael and I haven’t done is date each other. No sexual relationship for us. I’ve watched Michael date any number of coeds - and believe me, there have been many. I’ve dated my fair share of men. At the start of our junior year, neither of us wanted to live on campus but neither could afford to live alone. Taking the bull by the horns, we decided to be roomies.
Things worked out great from the start. The apartment we found was big enough for the both of us. Two large bedrooms, a large bathroom and a pretty good size kitchen. Not much more you could ask for. The only thing that caused a few problems was getting used to each other being under foot. I always knew Michael was attractive. At 6’2”, he’s tall, well built and has amazing jet black hair. His eyes were the first thing I noticed about him. Very blue. Even knowing he was built like a rock, I wasn’t prepared for the first time I caught him wandering out of the bathroom with only a towel wrapped snug around his waist. All I could think was lucky towel. Michael stared at me, smiled and went on his way to his bedroom. I slumped against the hallway wall and took a deep breath. My roommate was a hunk.
After that, I tried to focus on Michael as he’d always been for me. A friend. A very non-sexual friend who happened to be drop-dead gorgeous and was busy laying every female within a fifty-mile radius except me. Just a little bitter and a little wound, I think. Anyway, I tried to keep my mind off of Michael by dating, bringing home a few lucky candidates, trying to keep my relationship with Michael in focus. It all started to fall apart one Saturday night.
I’d been out with a new man, Clint. He was fun and tried hard but there just didn’t seem to be the connection we both wanted. We spent time on my couch kissing and fondling each other but it just wasn’t something we were both into. After about an hour, we both decided to call it a night. I walked Clint out, gave him a big kiss on the cheek and told him to call me again if he needed a friend. He seemed to accept that and went on his way. Taking myself back into my room, I changed out of my skin tight mini and sweater and into an oversized Brett Favre jersey. Pulling my hair up into a ponytail, I went to the kitchen for some water and then returned to my room. After about thirty minutes, I heard the front door open, smothered giggles and Michael’s door close. After another ten minutes, I heard moaning and thumping.
I sat in my room and listened to Michael and his latest fling grunt, moan, groan and have wild sex for about two hours. I heard her yell Michael’s name over and over again but strangely never heard Michael utter more than a few grunts. As I sat in my room, listening, my imagination started to wander. I thought about Michael, naked and sweaty, stroking his cock in and out of some faceless woman. My pussy started to get wet. My imagination turned to seeing his hands molding and pinching a pair of breasts. Mine actually. I could almost feel his fingers wrapping themselves tight around my flesh. My panties were soaking as I listened to another orgasm from the mystery fuck down the hall. I hadn’t had sex in two weeks and this was killing me. I tried breathing slowly, focusing on something else. All I could imagine was Michael and his raging cock surging between my legs. Before I knew it, my fingers were skimming over my panties, lightly stroking my wet lips through the thin cotton. Closing my eyes, I pushed the cotton aside and slid a finger slowly into my waiting slit. I tried to imagine my finger as Michael’s finger, caressing me, stroking me. I was aroused like never before but I knew my fingers weren’t going to be enough to get me off tonight.
As I laid there, my fingers slipping slowly in and out of my pussy, I heard Michael’s door open and then the front door. Michael headed towards the bathroom and then I heard the shower running. My overactive imagination pictured Michael in the shower, water beating down on his shoulders and running down his naked body. I wanted to be in that shower with him, spreading my hands on him. When I heard the shower turn off, I knew I had to do something.
I waited until I heard the bathroom door open. Stepping out of my room, I caught Michael as he was exiting the bathroom. He stopped and looked at me, his eyes moving over my jersey. Michael is a huge Packers fan and is actually the one who bought me my jersey.
