2F 1M

Author’s Note:

This story is more of a slow burn than my usual work. It does contain sex, because, well, that’s just how my mind works. Still, it might take a while to get to the sex you really want to see.

Don’t say you haven’t been warned 😉


Ugh, I think, the first time I lay eyes on him.


I know immediately that I was right, and my parents were wrong. They were very wrong. I shouldn’t have agreed to live in a dorm. I knew it. I should have fought harder. I should have insisted on moving into the apartment with Tyler and Sarah.

One look at this guy, is all I need to know that this is going to be an absolute nightmare. My worst nightmare. I can tell on sight that he’s a jock. The complete and utter definition of the word. A football player, if his broad shoulders and musculature is anything to go on — the worst of the worst. A good-looking jock, at that.

That’s going to make it worse. No doubt whatsoever, he’s going to be right up his own ass. No doubt, he’s going to be up to his eyeballs in pussy. I can tell just by looking at him that he’s going to be over-confident naked. He’ll almost certainly be the type, who gets a kick out of air drying and sitting around shirtless, all day.

Before he even opens his mouth, I’m willing to bet, he’s here on a sports scholarship. He’s probably thick as pig shit, and I’m going to be stuck in a small room with him for the next year. Hot fury boils up inside me. I knew this wasn’t for me. I should have ignored my parent’s insistence that, “You make friends for life, living in dorms.”

He’s carrying a large box under his arm and is dragging a massive duffle bag behind him, holding the door open with his foot. He staggers in, dropping the box on the empty bed, opposite mine.

“Hi,” he says, turning to me, smiling broadly “I’m West Baxter. I guess we’re going to be roommates.”

Ugh, I think again, trying not to roll my eyes, West? Is he for real? What the fuck kind of name is West?

I stand to greet him, putting my hand out. “Andy Montgomery.” I say, shaking his hand. His handshake is firm. Self-assured. He flashes me a killer smile.


He’s good-looking alright. Very good-looking. Symmetrical face, perfectly spaced eyes, nose and mouth. There’s a neatness about the way his features have been arranged, that only occurs as a result of impeccable bone structure. His hair is brown, short and spiky, as prescribed in the jock handbook, but he has very dark eyebrows and eyelashes. Almost black. Unusual colouring, given his eyes are such a light green. Almost translucent. Olive green, titanium and a hint of oxide of chromium, I think.

Before you get any ideas, it’s not like that. I’m an art major, specialising in portraiture. I analyse every face I see. It doesn’t mean anything. I just happen to like faces. And this face? Well, this is a good face. It’s pretty close to perfect, actually. The only thing that stops it from being a complete work of art, is a deep, faded scar on his left cheek, it’s forms an upsidedown v-shape, right near the corner of his eye.

He gets to work unpacking his things. He makes small talk the entire time, hurling a rapid fire of questions at me, almost faster than I can answer them.

“Where are you from?”

“What are you studying?”

“What do you like doing for fun?”

I can’t tell if he’s talking so much because he’s nervous, or whether he just likes the sound of his own voice, but I’m pretty sure there’s no way he’s going to remember all of my answers. Still, it seems rude not to ask anything about him, so I do.

I find out that he’s from New Haven, and yes, he likes pizza and grilled cheese. Unsurprisingly, I was correct, he is here on a scholarship.

I knew it, I think smugly.

“Football, huh?” I ask.

He shoots me a look, casting his eyes down briefly, before looking at me almost apologetically, saying, “Nah, academic scholarship.”

Despite myself, I sit up a little straighter. It’s almost impossible to get into this place, even if you’re a legacy placement. Sports scholarships are one thing, but academic scholarships are almost unheard of.

“What are you studying?” I ask, the first inkling that I may have misjudged him, raising its head slowly.

“Pure maths.” He says, again, looking ever so slightly apologetic about it.

“What?” I say, genuinely surprised and unable to hide it, “Are you some kind of genius, or something?”

He laughs a little, and I can’t help noticing a quick dent forming in his cheek, as a single dimple dips in his cheek. I also can’t help noticing, that he didn’t answer my question.

He tells me that he deferred for a couple of years, and I tell him I did the same.

“I guess that’s why they placed us together.” He says. “We’re a couple of years older than the kids who just graduated high school.”

“Where did you go for your gap year?” I ask.

“Uh, no, I stayed home. Just worked, you Ankara rus escort know, saved some money. Even with the scholarship, I knew I’d need to have some savings to get by.”

Guilt instantly stabs in my side. I’m here on a free ride, too, but mine’s courtesy of Linda and Stanley Montgomery, my parents. I spent my first gap year teaching English in Korea, and then spent the next year travelling through Eastern Europe. When I ran out of money, my parents were quick to make a transfer. They didn’t even have any questions. They were happy to do it.

“You got a girlfriend?” He asks.


“Want to come prowling for pussy tonight?”

“Ah, no thanks.” I say.

I usually don’t enjoy telling people I’m gay. Something about it just feels a little awkward. It’s not that I’m ashamed, it’s just a little personal, you know. Right now, though, I’m actually looking forward to telling him. Maybe, he’ll be a homophobe. I’m pretty sure that if he is, I’ll be able to request a new roommate. I might even be able to swing getting my own room. “I’m gay.”

I study his face intently as I say it. I’m well enough versed in spotting prejudice, that I can recognise even the smallest hint of it.

It turns out, he doesn’t skip a beat. Not one. Not even a second.

“Oh,” he says simply, “in that case, d’you want to come cruising for cock?” I must do a double take, because he adds, as if to clarify, “Or, trawling for ass?” I’m absolutely positive I do a double take at that. I can feel my jaw drop open slightly.

He just smiles and shrugs, “Whatever you prefer.”

Okay, I think, fine. So, he’s not homophobic. So what? He’s still a complete nightmare, that’s for sure.

Against my better judgement, I do go out with him that night. He heard about a party nearby and thinks we should check it out. I text Tyler and Sarah to let them know where I’ll be.

Tyler’s eyes stand out on stalks when he sees West, “Holy shit,” he whispers, “that’s your roommate?”

“I know,” I say, smiling thinly, “lucky me, huh?”

“I’ll say.”

“I mean,” I clarify, “he’s a complete jock. My worst fucking nightmare.”

Tyler raises his eyebrows at me sarcastically, “If I rightly recall, and I think that I do, it wasn’t too long ago, when you would have been classified as a total jock, too.”

“Yeah,” I admit begrudgingly, “but I changed.”

“Yes, you changed. You changed for the better, and I take full credit for that.” He looks terribly pleased with himself.

He’s not wrong. Tyler and I went to school together. We ran in completely different circles for most of high school. He’s right, there was a time when I could have passed for a jock. I played football, if you can believe that. I hated it. I always did, but I played for my father. Running out onto the field, was one of a very small handful of times, I ever felt sure my dad was proud of me.

I almost kept it up too, but I just couldn’t. In Senior year, it all came bubbling to the surface. I spotted Tyler in library one day and cornered him. He’s five foot eight in his shoes and has incredibly well coiffed, flaming red hair, Raw sienna, Indian red and streaks cadmium orange.

Tyler’s the type of guy who never had to come out. For him and for everyone around him, that fact that he’s gay, was just assumed and accepted.

“That’s the beauty of being a screaming queen, darling.” He likes to say.

It was different for me. Nobody knew. I spent years hiding my secret. Trying to date girls, but unable to stay away from the right type of guy. It got me into trouble, when it finally caught up with me. A guy I’d been hooking up with, turned on me and started threatening to out me. That’s why I sought Tyler out. I didn’t know him from a bar of soap, but I had no idea who else to talk to about this.

“Can I talk to you about something?” I asked, noticing the slow look of surprise on his face.

“Sure.” He said cautiously.

I told him my story quickly, “I’m gay and some guy’s trying to out me. I don’t know what to do.”

He took a long breath in. “I’m sorry this is happening to you.” From the way that he said it, I could tell he really, really meant it. “This should be something you do on your own terms.”

“You have two options,” he continued, “you could deny it. Most people would believe you. There aren’t any rumours about you or anything like that. Only the most advanced gaydar would flicker for you.” He pointed to himself. Tyler loves to say that he has the most finely tuned gaydar in the whole country. “Or you can get in front of it and come out before he does it for you.”

My shoulders dropped and I closed my eyes, sighing deeply, “I can’t deny it forever.”

So that was it. My hand was forced. It was hard. It wasn’t ideal, but in retrospect, I’m glad that it happened. For all I know, I’d still be in the closet, if it hadn’t.

I quit the football team, causing a big raucous with the coach and ankara ucuz escort my father. I’d always loved drawing and painting, but for the last few months of my high school career, I pretty much just stayed in my room and worked on my portfolio. The only people I hung out with were Tyler, and his best friend, Sarah.

I think my parents were relieved when I decided to take some time off to travel. I’ll bet our house was a lighter, happier place without my dark mood weighing the atmosphere down.

“He doesn’t seem too bad to me,” says Tyler, indicating to West, “give him a chance, he might surprise you.”

I confess, he does surprise me a little, that first night. I watch him, as he works the room, coming back to me periodically, to introduce me to people. He seems to know everyone. He moves through the room with easy grace, causing a little ripple as he moves through it. Guys seem delighted to see him, like he’s an old friend, and girls are dripping off him like sweat.

“How do you know all these people?” I ask him as we top up our drinks.

“I don’t,” he says, “I just met them. Hey, are you almost ready to head home?”

“Sure.” I say.

“Okay, let’s have one more drink and then go.”

I let my hair loose a little then. I might even have danced a little with Sarah, and if you know me at all, you’d know that doesn’t happen very often.

West comes to find me after a while and we take off, walking down the dimly lit street together.

“Looks like you got round to having some fun, at the end there.” He says.

“Yeah,” I admit, “I always seem to have the best time, once I know that I’m going to be leaving soon.”

He looks at me in something resembling incredulity, “Really? That’s weird. I feel like that too. Knowing I have a way out, makes me feel relaxed.” He smiles at me curiously, “You’re the first person I’ve met who feels the same way.”

“What happened with that girl?” I ask, “The blonde one? She was all over you.”

“She was cute,” he says, “but I realised I haven’t spoken to you about how you feel about me bringing girls home.”

I confess, I’m startled by that. That’s not what I’d expect from some straight guy, who looked like he had a sure thing on his hands. This is considerate. Very considerate. I can’t be completely sure, that if I was in his position, I’d have done the same thing.

“Uh, yeah, no, I’m fine with it. It’s no problem. I’m a really deep sleeper.” I lie.

“Okay, cool.” He smiles.

That night might have been the first time he surprised me, but it wasn’t the last. Far from it. In fact, the more I get to know him, the more he surprises me.

As a roommate, he turns out to be pretty great. It’s not one big thing that he does, but it’s lots of little things. For example, when he cleans his desk, he does my side too, without asking, he just lifts my coffee mug and wipes the surface down while I sit there with my hands in the air, clearing space for him. He doesn’t talk about it. It’s no big deal to him. It’s as if, he just assumes that everyone would do this type of thing.

When I mention that I like the chocolate brownies in the canteen, he tells me he doesn’t like them, but from then on, whenever we’ve been served brownies, I find his brownie wrapped in clingfilm, in the bar fridge we share. He brings it for me. He never forgets.

The other day, I was running late for class, so I when I got my clothes out of the dryer, I just left them crumpled in my hamper, and dashed off. When I got back later, I found my clothes folded neatly.

“Uh, thanks.” I say, when I see it.

“No prob,” he shrugs, “they were going to be creased as shit.”

I feel a little funny about the thought of him touching my underwear, but I quickly stamp out that thought.

Don’t be silly, I tell myself.

One thing I was right about though, is his comfort level with nudity. He’s more than happy to stand around, dabbing himself dry with a towel, while he talks to me. I make damned sure, I keep my eyes down, but it’s hard to avoid altogether. I admit, I’m not always able to resist a peak, when he has his back turned.

His body is amazing. I don’t say that lightly. I say that as someone currently enrolled in a course called ‘Human Anatomy’. You can tell at a glance, that he’s very athletic. Naturally so. Sure, he works out quite a bit, but his body would be good, even if he didn’t. His arms are insanely defined. Denting and bulging in all the right places. His pecs are unreal too. Larger than average, even for his size. His belly is taught. Tight.

I try not to look at his ass. I really, really do. I mean it. I don’t want to be disrespectful. I try not to look at his dick either. I do my best, but I’m not always successful. It’s just that it’s so hard to miss. Even when he’s in his boxers, the outline is massive. The bulge is so large, you’d have to be blind not to see it.

I’ve taken to ankara yabancı escort turning my whole body, when he gets dressed or undressed. It’s not that I don’t trust myself. It’s just that I don’t want to make him uncomfortable.

Mind you, if I really thought it through, I’d realise that it would take a hell of a lot to make West feel uncomfortable nude. He seems so comfortable in his own skin; I almost envy him. He seems very comfortable with his sexuality too. I definitely envy him that.

He’s so comfortable, in fact, that I’ve walked in on him wanking several times. Each time, he just looks up with a big, goofy grin, shoving his dick slowly back in his pants.

“Sorry.” He says lightly.

He says it as if it’s no big deal at all. He says it as if, it’s completely natural. I guess that it is, but you know what I mean.

I was also right about the fact that he was going to be a chick magnate. He really, really is. He’s drowning in it. He has girls coming out of his ears. Literally. The way that he is with them, is not what I expected though. He’s not what my female friends have led me to understand is normal for a straight guy. He brings a lot of girls back to our place.

“Shhh,” he always whispers, “my roommate’s asleep. I don’t want to wake him.”

I really wish I hadn’t told him I was a deep sleeper. I’m not. I’m the lightest sleeper you could ever wish to meet. Thanks to that, I find myself awake night after night, listening to him fucking girls in a way that, by the sounds of it, is nothing short of transcendent.

He’s a giver, alright. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how I know that. He’s also a talker. I know that because I can’t help over-hearing every single, solitary word he says to the girls he brings home.

He seems to know just what they want to hear. He always starts by asking for consent. The thing is, there’s something about the way that he does it. There’s something about the way that he says it, that seems to cause a little pit to form in my belly.

“Can I kiss you?” He says, his voice low and hoarse. Even in the pitch dark, I can hear his desire. It’s thick in his voice. I can hear the way the girls respond too. They love it. They eat it up. Some of them actually squeal a little, when they say, “Yes.”

He knows his way around a woman’s body. He takes his time. He talks the whole time, asking them what they like, what feels good, what they want. Believe me, it doesn’t take long before they start telling him. Even the shy ones do. They tell him and tell him, and he gives it to them. He gives it to them, alright. No doubt about that.

My nights are tortured by the sound of girls getting what they want. High-pitched, desperate, cries ring in my ears, night after night, for what feels like hours each time.

I don’t begrudge him. We’re becoming friends now, and I want him to have fun. Of course, I do. I just hate hearing it. I hate it. It’s probably just because I’ve never been the biggest fan of straight sex.

That’s all it is.

I’m pretty sure, that’s all it is.


“He hardly works at all.” I tell Tyler. “I’m telling you. He hardly works at all and yet he’s top of his class. Can you believe that?”

Tyler nods his head, looking a little bored. I wonder dimly, if I’ve already told him about this.

“He says that for him, it’s not hard. He says that to him, numbers just makes sense.”

“What are we talking about?” Asks Sarah, walking into the room and flopping down on the sofa beside me.

“Oh,” says Tyler, “nothing much. Andy here, was just telling me about the massive crush he has on his straight roommate.”

“W-what?” I splutter. Sarah and Tyler give each other a quick, knowing look.

“I do not.” I try again, but even as I say it, I get that slow, sick feeling, one tends to get, when one realises something, a little too late.

Sarah presses her lips together sympathetically, patting my shoulder supportively.

“It’s alright, darling,” says Tyler, “there’s no gay guy alive who hasn’t been there. Just keep a lid on it and don’t let it get out of hand. No good can come of it, I promise you that.”


Despite this little set back, West and I quickly become friends. Real friends. Soon, we’re inseparable. We have the same sense of humour. We both have an over-developed sense of the ridiculous. We often find ourselves laughing to the point of tears, at things that other people don’t even find funny at all. He doesn’t take himself seriously in any way, whereas I have a tendency to take myself way too seriously. He finds it hard to say no, when people ask him to do things for them. The first word I ever said, was, “No.”

I guess, we balance each other out.

Despite his nocturnal adventures, which always leave me feeling a bit queasy, I find it really easy to be around him. That’s saying something for me. I’ve always preferred my own company, to the company of anyone else, but West is different. He seems to know when I need time on my own. He seems to understand when I need to sit quietly, and think, with no talking. He always seems happy to give me what I need.


“Okay,” he says, lying back on his bed, “I’ve got one.” These little games are something we do when we’re bored. It’s pretty dumb, but we enjoy it, “Start a fight in ten words or less.”

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