Just turned 19, home schooled, real conservative parents, the whole religious thing…. I was scrawny and had zero social skills that didn’t involve praising god out of rote instinct to stern authority figures. Only child. Small remote town where we knew and went to church with the same people from as long as I could remember. No TV or popular music. Strictly monitored computer use to the point of insanity. To this day I wonder who in our flock has the skills to set that up.
But I had skills. I could write well, and my grandmother — the less religious one (though she was still pretty extreme by normal standards) had insisted that I go to college. It was a whole deal, but in the end I got tested and evaluated and got into a state school, and suddenly realized, thanks to a cousin’s whispered promises, that I would get to experience a whole new world. My late grandfather had stipulated it in his will, and nobody dared refuse that dead old man, much less the family matriarch. There was also money to cover expenses, if I got a scholarship — and a very modest trust fund if I graduated with a degree.
They’d prayed and filled my head with warnings for months, and effectively sent me to a religious boot camp for the summer, all the better to steel my resolve against worldly temptation. Basically, I spent the summer after I got my high school certificate stuck in a stuffy room at the local church with my pastor, doing chores and endless hours of Bible study, and listening to lectures about the horrors that awaited.
But as I’d boarded the bus, I realized I was already legally an adult, and while I was encouraged to check in nightly, or at least weekly, it dawned on me that thanks to my grandmother’s gift, and my scholarship, I was effectively an adult. I’d need a job, but I could survive without my parents, and finally get out from their overwhelming care.
The first few weeks were really rough and I had trouble adjusting to the real world. Two pieces of luck helped. First, the internet. And second, my roommate Steve. He’d helped get me set up, and showed me some basics of how to interact with other humans. He was also from a similar background, but had managed a bit more freedom, and knew all the ways around those parental controls. And he helped navigate the extreme culture clash I was reeling from.
But Steve only lasted the first two months before he had to leave school, something about a family emergency. I never found out why, but he gave me a big hug when he tearfully left, and I spent the next two nights crying to myself about having lost the only friend I’d ever had.
By then, of course, I was already hopelessly corrupted from my family’s perspective, though they didn’t yet know that. I quickly figured out just how warped my world view had been, how much nonsense and lies I’d been fed, how our church was effectively a cult, and so on. I had no social experience to speak of, but I was slowly learning how to interact with others. But I kept to myself out of habit, like I’d only learned how to deal with one person. I didn’t actively pull away from opportunities but I must have given off a vibe that kept me from being included. Though I did attend things like dorm meetings and other required participation.
I learned a lot about myself that first semester, between classes and unfettered access to information and ideas. Exposure to people outside my cult meant so much. I may haven been painfully awkward and shy, but I watched and observed and paid attention. And one thing I learned is that boys were not modest, and once the shock of their language and topics of discussion wore off, there was the shock and awe of sharing space with a few dozen healthy, horny, ordinary guys.
In short, I had discovered masturbation, and even had a frank discussion with Steve about that, but I didn’t dare act on it until he was gone. I’d spent my teen years forbidden to jerk off, and shielded from actual sex education. And now, two months in, I’d realized how badly that had screwed me over.
But most importantly, I’d realized I really liked guys more than girls, physically. Half the guys in my dorm were shirtless whenever they could be, even the skinny guys like me, and my poor repressed sexual drive fired off whenever I spotted a well crafted shirtless guy. I was, therefore, constantly springing wood.
With a wardrobe largely made of store brand jeans and polos or button downs, built primarily for modesty, and the saddest tightly whitey undies imaginable, I began feeling more and more out of place. But my mind had been pried open and now I craved experience.
Enter Jason Callahan. His room was across from mine, and he was outgoing and popular. Perfect blond hair, easygoing smile, effortlessly athletic, tall and sculpted without being a gym rat. He ran for fun, every morning, and then lingered shirtless until he had to shower. He was my kryptonite, by far the sexiest guy on a floor full of hotties.
The communal showers are slowly going away, but that evolution hadn’t made it to my dorm yet. And so not only had I had to navigate the minefield of shared shower practices, I had to do so knowing that half the guys on the floor were sexy and nearly naked half the time — while I was terrified of my boner giving away the game. Namely, that I thought guys were hot and my dick really wanted to test that theory, even though my mind was just getting used to the idea that I was a sexual being and that being gay was a thing.
And so every morning I’d get up earlier than everyone, shower, and avoid all eye contact. Then I would just lock my door and fill up a few tissues before I went down to eat. If my timing was off, he’d be in the cafeteria or lingering in the group study area; at least in the cafe he’d have a shirt on. But every day, I was getting a dose of Jason’s healthy teen hotness that I couldn’t avoid. And that added up to a deep but unspoken and devastating crush. I couldn’t help but see him, and if I saw him I couldn’t help but look, and if he was shirtless it was even worse.
And if I missed him there, later in the day he’d be lounging shirtless with his dorm door open, and I’d have to shut mine or I’d just stare at him all day if I could. He filled my wet dreams and was the primary occupant of my spank bank.
I was so grateful when the weather began to change.
And then the fateful day came. Just after the building heat turned on, in fact, and it was a mess outside, windy and rainy.
Jason tended to listen to music and rarely bothered with EarPods, so whenever his door was open, you’d hear his tunes. He wasn’t particularly loud or uncourteous about it, but secretly I liked hearing it because it was gradually exposing me to anything other than worship music. So sometimes I would crack the door open to hear it better.
On this particular day I heard his speaker start playing a song I liked, and since my desk was by the door, I leaned over and opened the door a bit. As usual, his door was open wide.
And then I realized he was pulling off his wet jacket and then his hoodie. As soon as I noticed that, I was hooked. He’d gotten thoroughly soaked, right down to his shirt, which clung to his lean torso in a very enticing way. I gasped before I could help myself, but he didn’t seem to notice.
He did, however, maddeningly scoot his chair over into full view of the doorway, and take off his shoes and socks, in slow and deliberate moves. And then he began to undo his trousers.
My boner was already reporting for duty, and that was a problem because what I haven’t mentioned (and didn’t really know until I was able to investigate it) is that I was rather fortunate down below. My penis was a girthy nine inch beast when aroused, though only about 3.5 flaccid.
But as Jason leaned over to slowly roll off his soaked jeans, revealing a perky butt with pale blue briefs, I reached entirely new levels of bonerdom. My mouth felt dry and I felt a little dizzy, probably because my penis was trying to set new records. I’d had the end of my pen in my mouth but my shock made me drop it. And the clattering of it hitting the ground made Jason spin around.
Our eyes met. Mine, terrified and wide, unable to process the swell of his butt, his tantalizing bulge, and his tight torso turned at a perfect instagram angle all at the same time. And his, slightly surprised but instantly up to speed on exactly what was going on.
He smiled, unbothered.
"Dude, if you want to see me strip down, all you had to do was ask."
My face went as red as Santa’s hat, and I nearly fell out of my chair.
“I wasn’t…. I didn’t—-“ I stammered, utterly unconvincingly.
He smiled. “Shit, you’re adorable. Come on over and talk, Mike.”
What the hell could I do? I was in no way prepared for what I’d seen, or how I’d responded, much less for being caught doing so.
“Mike, I’m serious,” he said, in a very normal voice. “Just come here a moment. It’s fine.”
Almost like I was in a spell, I stood up, winced, adjusted my ramrod straight penis, literally looked both ways into the empty hallway, and then looked at him again to find he was still only in a wet t-shirt and a pair of undies. He grinned. “Well, come on! You’re so damned shy. We are both dudes,” he laughed.
Well, that was the problem in a nutshell, wasn’t it? But I found myself approaching his door anyway, and then entering a room I’d only seen through a door (and imagined thoroughly most nights).
“Shut the door, okay?” He said, in a low voice.
“Um.” I said, but did as he asked.
“So Mike,” he said. “I heard you were home schooled, huh?”
I nodded.
“Thought so. My best friend in high school was home schooled through tenth grade. He was a lot like you. I imagine things have been pretty freaky from your perspective.” He chuckled. “Unless you have a bunch of brothers, I’m guessing this is your first time in shared digs?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“Thought so. And I’m guessing you have, like, no experience with, well, I could say the opposite sex,” he said, his voice a low purr, “but I think we both know that’s not why you were staring.”
He grinned, suddenly. “So first, I’m cool with it. More than cool, actually. So sit. And I’ll finish the strip show.”
As I sat abruptly on his bed — oh god, it smelled like him, just a fresh slightly soapy light musk, a little spicy but nice — he began to pull his shirt off, slowly and deliberately.
“You like?” He said, flexing his modest pecs and arms as he tossed the shirt onto a pile by the closet.
I nodded. I was honestly afraid that if I spoke I’d explode.
“I do too. I mean, I like the way you look, too. See, my high school buddy was the same way, and he and I had a lot of fun together. Figured some things out,” he said. “Important things. But he was too scared, too fucked I’m by his family, to stick with me. Broke my heart. Made me question stuff I thought I had figured out.”
And then he leaned forward and smiled, with a hopeful light in his eyes.
“You want to see if we can manage to figure stuff out together?”
