I share an bachelor apartment with a really nice guy who is about my age - 35 or so - and we have a harmonious household. Stephen takes care of the bills, and does handy work when things break. I, on the other hand, take naturally to housekeeping. I like seeing things clean and in order. I'm a good cook, too. Stephen is often content with a burrito for dinner, eating it out of its foil wrapper. But I surprise him now and then and spend time in the kitchen making something special.
Now, there's been a new and important development in the household dynamics. Stephen has a girlfriend! They met at a party in the neighborhood, and gradually began to see more of each other. Finally, of course, Jill stayed over. Our two bedrooms are right next to each other. That night, I lay quietly and listened to the distant sound of traffic, and to the hushed voices from the next room. There was laughter, too, and I was feeling glad for my roommate.
I awoke that night to a soft, rhythmic thudding sound coming from Stephen's room. 'Of course', I thought. 'They are humping'. What a wonderful sound! In the midst of it, I heard muffled, breathless voices - protestations of lust, i imagined. I held my face into the pillow, and thought of how their bodies might be arranged. Doggie-style? It seemed a position Stephen might favor. He's very much a top man, and I know he likes checking out women from behind. Sometimes, when we're out doing something together, he may comment on women.
"Wouldn't mind getting to know her better.", he would say as a good-looking woman walked by. I always felt a twinge of jealousy in those instances.
Stephen knows I'm bi, and he seems cool with it. Still, maybe deep down, he thinks of me as just another fag; someone he need't concern himself with in the realm of competition for women.
Once, sitting in the living room, Stephen noticed me looking at his crotch. My eyes flew from his as he observed this. Could you blame me, though? One could easily see that Stephen had a nice package between his legs. I noticed it early on. I'm sure my eyes opened wide at the first sight of his bulge. Since then, I keep a discreet lookout for a chance to admire his groin or his ass. Skinny as he is (he laments his lack of upper-body development), he is built quite well where it counts. When he caught me looking where I shouldn't have been, he, compassionately, I thought, reminded me of his unvarying heterosexuality. I remember that I apologized, and went straight to my room. The next day, he was very kind. He told me that he loved me, that I was a great friend. He reached out and hugged me, and I felt the happiness, however brief, of being in his arms.
Let me tell you more about Stephen. (Did you happen to notice that I am obsessed with him?!) Well, he's tall, about 6'3", and lean. He's more intellectual than athletic. He reads widely. He never hesitates to make his opinion known, and he judges people harshly who are cowardly or vain. Stephen has curly black hair and a full beard. The rest of his body is fairly hair-free. He's of Irish descent, so his skin is very white.
Once, along with a woman friend, we three took a hot tub together. The tub was outside on a patio, and the moon was nearly full. As I sat with the fabulous hot water up to my neck, Stephen emerged from the house buck-naked, and headed to the tub where we two were.
"Check out the stud", said Ellen, and I couldn't have agreed more! Of course, she may have been ribbing him about his skimpy musculature. I, however, saw a god approaching. The tall figure, the skin shining eerily in the moonlight, the genitals swinging gently from side-to-side as he came closer. Later, when he climbed out, his gorgeous, manly butt made its indelible imprint on my psyche.
So, I allowed, over time, that I was in love with my roommate. As you may have surmised from what I've already said, I fell comfortably into the role of housewife, and I secretly savored it, sometimes imagining, alone in my room, being his woman. Otherwise, I took it as far as seemed practical: buying him gifts for birthday and Christmas, picking up after him, etc. I was content. I knew he was straight all the way.
Once Jill came on the scene, I at first kept a low profile. It pained me to see them having intimate talks or exchanging kisses. Jill sensed what was up with me and tried to steer me towards dating services.
"You could have a hunky guy in no time flat, Jim". She would say. "I'd be looking your way if you were straight."
A lot of good that did me! The only way I wanted to see her body was with Stephen's fine cock pounding it. And don't think I hadn't imagined it.
Stephen hung some old tapestry on the wall of his room adjacent to mine in the hope of gaining more privacy. It helped, but I could still hear. In fact, I would often press my ear to the wall when they were fucking. I could hear quite well! When they were really in high gear, Jill tended to talk to him, calling him all kinds of things: 'cock-daddy', 'Mr Stud', etc.
She had a way of exciting him with words, saying, perhaps: 'You're driving my pussy crazy, baby. Did you know that?' or, "Don't stop fucking me,Stephen.'
Stephen, in such moments, was simply focused on slamming her good, from the sounds of it. He was like a pit-bull who doesn't growl when it's fighting, saving his energy for what mattered. It shames me to confess that on nights when Jill stayed over, we all three came together - they, with unbridled moans that they could in no way stifle, and me silently spilling onto my belly and whispering Stephen's name over and over.
They had been in an intimate relationship for many months when Jill went to New Hampshire to help with family matters. She was unsure of how long she'd be gone. Her parents were selling their large house at the ocean, and neither of them had time to prepare it for sale, or for dealing with the realtor. Both were professors with very full schedules.
Stephen got the news a week before, and questioned why it had to be her taking care of it.
"Look, hon, they need me. Carla is in Prague, for pete's sake. She can't do it."
"Some excuse." Stephen sulked. "How long will it be?"
"I told you. I don't know. Maybe a few weeks, maybe more. Please don't make me feel guilty." she said, looking crestfallen. "How about a little support, eh?"
'I'm sorry. It's just... well, it's not easy!"
"It's not forever, you horny little devil." Jill said, giving him a quick kiss. "It's nice to know I'll be missed, though!"
"It's not just the sex, although that's significant. I've never been so happy with a woman."
"Hey, we'll talk every day, won't we?"
"Yeah. Yeah, sure." Stephen said, hanging his head. "I guess I was kind of thinking of myself."
"Like you're the only one. Come on, let's go to Dana's for lunch. It's not that crowded on Tuesdays."
Jill left four days ago. I feel as though I am in limbo. Let me explain.
I decided to take a great chance,an especially big one for a normally timid guy like me. Seeing Stephen's sorrowful countenance in the hours following Jill's departure, and watching him sit slumped on the sofa staring, I decided that I would come forward - and come clean, in a way. I wrote the following letter to Stephen. The day after they parted, I slipped it under his door in the early morning, and quietly went out.
Dear Stephen,
I know that Jill left yesterday morning. Given your ardor for Gillian, a separation from her, even a brief one, must be anguishing for you! A physical union as passionate as yours can only make the days unbearably long when you're apart.
I've seen the look of loneliness and thwarted desire on your face, and it pains me.
So, I was thinking: why not let me help? I know you have no sexual feelings toward me, but, still, I could serve a practical need for you. I think you know that I have feelings for you. That's true. And it is so generous of you to have accepted that reality all this time we've known each other. A lot of straight guys wouldn't have.
I'm blushing as I prepare to write what follows:
You are invited to knock on my door (or on the wall between our rooms) any time you like, and I would be happy and proud to help you feel a bit more relaxed and less tortured by Jill's absence. It could be as simple as this: You knock. You decide whether to direct me into your room or come into mine. You tell me how you would like to be pleased. You would give directions, and I would obey. It would be absolutely secret, and I would never consider that you were in my debt in any way. (If you only knew to what extent the opposite would be true!) For my part, you will hear no more on the matter should you decide against it. It will be as if this letter were never written, and I hope I can count on your discretion, as well.
Against whatever the odds, I will prepare my room for your visit. I'll have some really good weed for you, and a couple of bottles of champagne. We needn't talk. We will just focus on your happiness and pleasure. At least, if that's what you wish. I hope you will think of me not as an opportunist, but as a friend who is pained in witnessing your unhappiness. Whatever you decide, I remain your steadfast friend and supporter.
Affectionately,
Jim
Several days passed, and I began to feel regret, wondering if I'd been rash. Somehow, mostly by staying away for long periods, I didn't see Stephen in that time. Then, a week after Jill had gone, I was walking down the hall to my room when Stephen's door opened. We exchanged nervous hellos, and I began to rush into my room.
"Is that ice in that bowl, Jim?" I heard him say as I began to close the door.
"It is." I said, feeling like a prize horse's ass. I felt myself begin to perspire.
"Oh." Stephen said with a quizzical look on his face.
