Stress Fucking my Roommate Ch. 06

Porn doesn't have cuddles after the money shot. At least, the porn I watched didn't. Well lit jackhammer fucks aren't followed by spooning in the afterglow, ignoring the wet spot, whispering pillowtalk and falling asleep in each other's arms. Gangbangs don't have a post credits aftercare scene where Soroity Slut #2 asks Mechanic #3 if he had fun at his cousin's quincinera. The short haired lesbian doesn't stroke the long haired lesbian's lube matted locks and ask if she needs lotion for her destroyed anus after their horsecock strapon scene.

I was kissless, dateless, and, until just a couple days ago, such a total fucking virgin. All I knew was porn, and I watched it on mute so I didn't even know how to talk dirty. Masturbation was sweatily cranking one out without making a noise then cleaning up and going back to your day like you'd been spanking the monkey like it owed you money. So that's what sex should be, right?

Yes, I can see how much of a fuckup I was back then. I wouldn't want me to be such a piece of shit either. Fuck knows how roomie powered through my mountains of horseshit to keep screwing me. But hey, I guess he was just a desperate, horny teenager, too. And I wasn't just a hole to drain his nuts into. I was an *extremely convenient* hole to drain his nuts into with *initiative* and goddamn *anal hygiene*.

No, I was there, too. I get it. He might have been a musical theater major and "something, something, that one time at drama camp", but I was one thousand percent the one doing all this. I was the one who went over to suck his cock in the middle of the night. I was the one who started getting reciprocation head and immediately went face down ass up. Hell if I'm not the one who finishes nightly showers by straddling the motherfucker.

So, yeah, sure, screw for all of three minutes and you've already both jizzed yourselves crosseyed. No, it's not romantic. It was the worst version of dipshit dudes getting off in the most unimaginative way possible. But, fuck it, you're young, that's, like, just the first one of, what? We would, and did get better, believe me.

At that age? Fucking *living in the same goddamn room*? Yeah, okay, first one's is just getting our rocks off so we can focus. Fuck number one is like drag-assing a couple warmup laps around the gym so you don't pull something stretching. That's just numero uno of, what, five to twelve cum guzzling, jizz spattering, sheet-staining goes at each other just that night?

So yeah, I rode that pony without so much as a "hi-ho silver" then put him away wet. I didn't know better than to go back to my corner until a refractory period of jizzrag mopping could be concluded and he made the trek around the desk/bookshelf room divider to visit my single, institutional mattress. Welcome aboard luxury, fucker, this one has matching sheets.

"Yes, please, do what you want to me. Use me like I used you and throw me away when you've cum." - *something I hoped I was conveying with my eyes when he came over to do me*

Because, remember, porn on mute, jerk off quietly, that part? Communication is key to any relationship, boys and girls. Don't fall for the trap that they can fucking sonder upon your unspoken truth even when they're doing all the things right that you've never told them.

My bed was crammed against the window in the spartan dorm room. Horizontal pinstripes of campus streetlights, leds with pretensions of sodium vapor, cast analog interference lines across his bare chest, illuminating remnants of my own cum. Pale from so many nights getting a Fresnel tan in rehearsals, he looked the underdog hero, even in the stippled dark. Noir brought to life in erotic cliche, his dark, expressive eyes flashed in hunger, desire, and more in a moment revealed in the sieved ray of outside light before he mounted me.

Not kidding about those eyes. Fucker's eyes got any bigger, they'd have to make a disney movie about them. Like, "Say that again? I was lost in your eyes" or what I assume every novel means when they say "meaningful look" or "flashing glance". Dude could have an entire conversation with just his fucking eyebrows, is what I'm saying.

God, I wanted to fuck the sad right out of those eyes.

He got on top and took both our cocks in both his hands. Which, I mean, I was expecting him to stick his cock in my cum dripping asshole to rail me again, but I like frotting, too. Yes, I'm a butt-slut, keep up. I get if you've got a huge, shaggy, dirty blond, shitkicker dude, and an actor height and build twink in the theater program, you'd make some assumptions. Nah, other way around. Plus, rub our dicks together like that and, what, you think *that* is gonna fit in this little guy?

I'm just saying, roomie's working with plenty and I'm... respectably proportionate. I'm not a measuring tape, length times diameter plus weight over girth divided by the square of the curve, but, fucking c'mon. Respectably proportionate to *all this* is like saying a clydesdale wouldn't split a donkey in half.

I'm just saying, he gets on top, rubs our cocks together and I'm reminded that he is an *-ito* and I am an *-ande*. So I like it. A lot.

Then he kissed me.

I did mention I've never been kissed before, right? Somewhere in the stupid, horny-brain rambles I laid out how I was a total fucking virgin for, y'know, reasons? You remember. Somewhere between the deepthroats and the buttfucks.

Now I've just had my first kiss stolen. And *ooooh* this blushing teen is having more trouble with some no-tongue smooching than getting bareback creampied. Because, um... fuck me, I just powered through *so* much awkwardness with not a hurdle I couldn't jerk, suck, or fuck my way through. All the rest, I just had to let nature and pure, desperate horniness fornicate it's way to orgasm. But kissing?

Anytime either of us had pulled away it had been to get a better angle, more lotion, and try again. His peach fuzz scraped my stubble and I didn't know what to do. Porn had trained me how a good slut gags on cocks and takes the whole dick right away. How had I never paid attention to the makeouts? Had I really gone all this time, fantasizing endlessly about perky tits, round asses, shaved pussies, and Peter North sized cocks and never imagined a kiss?

Christ I was hopeless. To his credit, roomie tried a couple times to lock lips like I was a real, functioning human being before pulling back and frowning a tragedy in three acts but no intermissions at this incomplete sack of shit between his legs.

I tried to get out of it by sticking his cock back in my ass. I'm not proud of that. Like, holy fuck was I embarrassed. Not embarrassed about swallowing puke deepthroating his shaft, no. Looking back on rushing to the bathroom to fart out his cum like a fun, slapstick memory of some randy fuckup kids. Embarrassed because he kissed me and I didn't have the foggiest goddamn clue how I was supposed to kiss the poor son of a bitch back.

"No, fuckin... stick out your tongue..." His penis *was* inside me, but he was *not* really thrusting, and he was *still* kinda frustrated.

I'm sorry, I'm fucking as good as I can. Please don't stop.

So I stuck out my tongue a bit, and he, like, licked it? How in the fuck I could be such a virgin that kissing was an alien concept to me, I'll never know. Even now, it's a goddamn mystery.

Okay, so you, like, lick each other's tongues? But, like, what about the spit, though? He tasted good, like, well, like fucking spit, it was my first time, I wasn't a goddamn sommelier. But I liked it and wanted more. And do the lips go sideways and where does the nose go?

Fuck I was bad at kissing. I'd get better. These things unfuck themselves with fucking. And there was a lot of that, so I figured it out. First kiss turns out is with a guy while his cock is up you. Go figure.

Y'know that part where you fall into a kiss? It took me a bit to get there that first time, but I did. Like, emotionally fall into it like when you take that deep breath of then through your nose and go to jelly, when you're already locked together but somehow you pass this line and get even closer? Like all those electric thrills and snaps and jolts you've been mistaking for The Spark turn into the closed conduit current of two people, together?

Yeah, that. I got there. Not proud of how long it took, but it happened.

"Dude," I panted, breathless when we finally broke. "What's your fucking name?"

"... Taylor... what's your's?"