Money was tight. I was halfway through my senior year in college and money was as tight as it had ever been. A part-time job at a bookstore and financial aid doesn’t go all that far. However, it wasn’t until my roommate took off that things got desperate. There was no way in the world I’d be able to cover all that rent. It was a bad situation.
The apartment was not a great one. It was a one bedroom spot. My roommate and I had done okay with sharing a bedroom since we tended to have such different hours. He also spent a few nights at his girlfriend’s place. That made it a lot easier. I was sure it wouldn’t be easy to find a similar set up.
Initially, I had two candidates for the spot: the first was a friend of my ex-girlfriend. She had always had a thing for me and I guess that she saw this as an opportunity to do something about it. I explained to her that I would feel awkward having her as a roommate considering that she was friends with my ex. I also told her that my folks would be unhappy if I was to share an apartment with a woman.
The second possibility was a guy I had known since I was a freshman. But he was just about the last person I’d be happy with as a roommate. He was the partying type and I suspected that I’d never get my work done. I stalled before giving him an answer. Even if I didn’t want him, I might not have any option.
After two days of wrangling with the problem, I decided to make him the one. I’d just have to set down some ground rules. The decision was made easy by the size of my paycheck that week. I picked it up as I clocked in for my shift and took a quick peek to see if it was as bad as I thought it might be (I had called in sick one day in the previous pay period). It was worse. Yikes. Well, I’d have to let the partier be the guy.
Just as I was about to finish my shift and head home, I was stopped by one of the assistant managers, Mike. He said that he had heard I was looking for a roommate.
His condo had just sold (after only two days on the market). Unfortunately, Mike’s new house was still being built. It was a nice place that he’d bought, something he’d been saving up for for years.
Mike was a nice guy. Somewhere in his late thirties, I imagined. I didn’t know too much about him – we rarely worked at the same time. The one thing that I did know about him was that he was gay. Now, that didn’t bother me…and it did. Does that make sense?
I’d grown accustomed to sharing a room. All of the dorms I’d lived in were two to a room – just as this apartment was. I mentioned to Mike that it might not be such a great place for him because of that feature alone.
“Don’t worry about me,” he said, “I can sleep anywhere. Besides, it’s only for a twelve weeks, eh?”
To my surprise, he wasn’t the one that had difficulty sleeping. It was me.
The trouble didn’t come at first. It was maybe a week into his stay that I noticed one evening a very faint sound. Initially, I thought it might have been the wind blowing against something outside. But almost immediately I realized that the rhythm to the sound that I was hearing was too consistent.
Finally I realized. Although it was soft – almost too soft to hear – it was obvious to me that Mike was jerking off in bed. It was the sound of his hand against the sheet – at least I thought it was. He didn’t moan, breathe heavy or any of the other typical signs of a jerk off. It was clear to me that he was doing his best to keep me from hearing.
That first night I just waited for it to stop. And it did, after about twenty minutes. I hoped at that point that it was a one time thing. It wasn’t. Every night for the next week I heard the same sound. Even on the nights that I didn’t hear it, I figured that he was either being extra quiet or that he had held off until I’d drifted off to sleep.
There was one evening that I heard him start up around midnight or so. It was a quick one. An hour or so later, I awoke to hear him whispering.
“Scott? Are you awake?”
I didn’t respond. I was actually frozen in bed. Why was he asking? I got my answer in short order. The sound began again. It was his second of the night.
The rest of the time, things went fairly normally. We got along pretty well and there were never any disputes about money, space, messes or the typical things that trouble roommates. It was just the nights.
There was one evening in particular that I didn’t much feel like hearing the masturbation serenade as I drifted off to sleep. I told Mike that I was going to stay up a little later and get some extra reading done. Truth was, I just curled up on the small couch in the living room and tried to fall asleep. I did okay for about an hour, but the couch was not made for sleeping. I finally decided that bed – even with a guy jerking off several feet away – was a better alternative.
As I approached the bedroom, however, I tried to make a little noise (throat clearing, etc.) to warn Mike that I was coming in. I opened the door and heard him shuffle a little in his bed. It took me a couple of seconds to get my bearing in the dark, but it was obvious that he was laying naked, face down on top of the covers of his bed. It seemed like he was awake, but pretending he was asleep. Quickly, I got into bed, turned the other way and buried my head in the pillow.
By the time that Mike had been there for two weeks, I decided that there was very little I could do. It’s not in my nature to simply tell somebody that their masturbation is making me uncomfortable. I had the idea that I might embarrass somebody, or hurt their feelings (not to mention the embarrassment for myself). I resolved, therefore, to simply live with the problem for ten more weeks. I’d probably laugh about it years down the road (although who with, I had no idea).
But sleep was not as restful for me at that point. I’d also stopped jerking off myself (which ordinarily might happen two or three times a week) because it reminded me of the situation. School was getting tougher as the semester wore on and I must have looked somewhat ragged to Mike. Finally, one night, he mentioned it:
“Hey, Scott, I don’t want to get too personal, but is everything okay with you?”
“Sure, I s’pose so. Why?” I was a little paranoid that my irritation might be showing.
“You just seem uptight…you know, tense.”
“Busy semester. I mean, after May, I’ll be out of school…which is good, but bad. And I’ve got lots of work between now and then. I suppose it’s making me a little tense.”
“Well, everybody graduating from school goes through that.”
“I s’pose so.”
Now, if that had been the end of it, fine. In fact, I thought that was. But then…
“You know, Scott, I used to do massage therapy. If you need a little tension breaker, I’ll be happy to do what I can.”
If he’d done this with a wink and a smile, I would have had an easy time saying no. Mike, however, was completely sincere in the offer (at least it seemed that way). I felt as though saying no might be taken as an insult. Still, I tried to finesse my way out of it.
“That’s nice, but it sounds like a lot of work…you don’t have to –“
“It’s not a big deal, really. I just thought it might help you relax.” He paused and thought for a moment. “If it would make you uncomfortable…then it’s okay. I understand.”
I’ll never know if he knew how that would make me feel guilty or if he was being sincere. I choose to believe the latter.
“No,” I said, “Nothing like that. I just didn’t want to be a…you know, problem.”
“Not one bit. Why don’t you go in and lay down on your bed. Much easier than the couch.”
I got up and walked into the bedroom, all the way wondering if this was his giant come on ploy. I waited for him to tell me to strip and wondered how I would get around that.
“Okay,” he said, walking into the room, “lay face down.”
I was amazed. No suggestion of shedding clothes. I laid on the bed and he sat beside me, starting to work my shoulders and back. It was fantastic. This was draining all the tension from my body in a way that I’d never felt. Ten minutes later, I was feeling great.
“How was that?” He asked as he stood, stretching his hands.
“That was the best. God, my back, my shoulders feel fantastic.”
“Great.”
With that, he returned to the other room. I didn’t mind his jerk off action that night, he’d earned it as far as I was concerned.
The massages continued that week – twice more. Both times were equally great. It wasn’t until the following week that Mike said as he prepared to begin another rub down:
“You know, if you ever want a really great full body thing, I can do that, too.”
“Oh?” I asked, nervously.
“Yeah. As good as what I’ve been doing for you is, the full body variety is much, much better. You game?”
