Long-time LPSG member here. I’ve been lurking for ages, but recently I’ve gotten super into writing erotic stories. I especially love slow burns that build toward that moment where everything changes.
As a kid, I loved choose-your-own-adventure books, so I thought… why not try that here? Each part of the story will end with a choice, and you guys decide what happens next. I’ll follow the most popular direction.
Hope you enjoy it and please be kind.
The New Roommate's Surprise - Part 1
When Nate moved in, I wasn’t expecting anything interesting. It was one of those last-minute roommate setups, my previous guy bailed halfway through the lease, and Nate came recommended through a friend-of-a-friend who swore he was “low-key, respectful, and good with rent.”
That’s all I needed.
First impressions? Pretty normal. Nate was maybe 26, tallish, wiry build, pale skin, kind of shaggy brown hair that always looked like he’d just gotten out of bed. He wasn’t the loud type. Didn’t overshare. Always polite. Wore baggy hoodies, joggers, and those beat-up Adidas slides with socks. Quiet. Respectful. Low maintenance.
But there was something else. Something I couldn’t quite pin down at first.
I noticed it when he was doing dishes one night. He had on these loose-fitting pajama pants, thin, almost worn through, and when he leaned forward to rinse a pan, the fabric draped just right. I saw it. A shape. Thick, long, curving slightly down his thigh.
I looked away. Told myself I was imagining things. But I wasn’t.
Once I noticed it, I couldn’t un-notice.
Over the next few days, it kept happening. Little moments. Casual stretches. Quick adjustments. One morning I passed him in the hallway, shirtless, towel slung around his hips, and the bulge beneath it looked comically oversized. Like the kind of thing you’d see in one of those “is this real?” LPSG posts where the replies are 50% “bullshit” and 50% “I’d suck it anyway.”
But he never said a word. Never showed off. Never made it weird.
That somehow made it hotter.
I started paying attention. Watching how he sat. Where the fabric clung. How often he adjusted himself when he thought I wasn’t looking.
By week two, it had become a low-key obsession.
That Friday night, everything shifted.
We both ended up home early. He brought back Thai food, I grabbed a six-pack, and we ended up on the couch watching some trashy horror movie. Lights off. Blankets out. I was in a pair of gym shorts and an old tank. He came out of his room in nothing but a black tank top and red boxers, no hoodie, no sweats, just casual and comfortable.
And yeah, I noticed right away.
The boxers didn’t hide much. They were loose around the thighs, pulled a little tight across the crotch. There was weight to whatever was inside, not just size, but heft. It shifted when he moved, like something alive.
We sat down, settled in. He threw his legs over the ottoman, arms spread across the back of the couch, totally relaxed. I tried to focus on the screen.
I couldn’t.
The room was quiet except for the movie. I could hear him breathing, slowly. He smelled like soap and dryer sheets. His thigh was just a few inches from mine. And then… he stretched.
Long, slow, overhead stretch. His tank lifted just enough to show his stomach, lean, defined, that thin happy trail that disappears beneath the waistband.
But it was what happened below that made my heart stop.
His dick, or at least what I think was his dick, shifted inside his boxers and fell with a soft thud down the inside of his leg. Not dramatically. Just… heavily. Like it had real mass.
I looked. Just a glance. A fraction of a second.
And then I looked again.
There was a clear outline against the fabric. Long, thick, almost halfway down his thigh. And the way it twitched, not hard, but definitely not small.
I froze.
My own cock was already pressing against my shorts, betraying me completely. I tried to adjust discreetly, but he noticed.
His eyes flicked down. Then up.
We locked eyes.
He didn’t speak. Just gave the smallest smirk, not smug, not cocky. Just enough to say: yeah, I saw you looking.
I swallowed. Looked away. Tried to focus on the movie. But I couldn’t tell you a single scene after that.
The air in the room had changed.
I shifted my leg, needing space. He didn’t move. I grabbed my beer. Took a sip I didn’t need. He leaned back even further, and his boxers rode up just slightly, showing more thigh.
I could feel my heart pounding.
And then, after what felt like an eternity of silence, he said it. Casual. Low voice. No inflection.
“You alright over there?”
Here is where you take over.
What happens next?
A. I panic and say something dumb
B. I laugh it off, but he asked if I’d ever seen one that big before
C. I tried to play it cool, but he stood up and everything shifted
D. I didn’t answer, so he leaned over and whispered something into my ear
As a kid, I loved choose-your-own-adventure books, so I thought… why not try that here? Each part of the story will end with a choice, and you guys decide what happens next. I’ll follow the most popular direction.
Hope you enjoy it and please be kind.
The New Roommate's Surprise - Part 1
When Nate moved in, I wasn’t expecting anything interesting. It was one of those last-minute roommate setups, my previous guy bailed halfway through the lease, and Nate came recommended through a friend-of-a-friend who swore he was “low-key, respectful, and good with rent.”
That’s all I needed.
First impressions? Pretty normal. Nate was maybe 26, tallish, wiry build, pale skin, kind of shaggy brown hair that always looked like he’d just gotten out of bed. He wasn’t the loud type. Didn’t overshare. Always polite. Wore baggy hoodies, joggers, and those beat-up Adidas slides with socks. Quiet. Respectful. Low maintenance.
But there was something else. Something I couldn’t quite pin down at first.
I noticed it when he was doing dishes one night. He had on these loose-fitting pajama pants, thin, almost worn through, and when he leaned forward to rinse a pan, the fabric draped just right. I saw it. A shape. Thick, long, curving slightly down his thigh.
I looked away. Told myself I was imagining things. But I wasn’t.
Once I noticed it, I couldn’t un-notice.
Over the next few days, it kept happening. Little moments. Casual stretches. Quick adjustments. One morning I passed him in the hallway, shirtless, towel slung around his hips, and the bulge beneath it looked comically oversized. Like the kind of thing you’d see in one of those “is this real?” LPSG posts where the replies are 50% “bullshit” and 50% “I’d suck it anyway.”
But he never said a word. Never showed off. Never made it weird.
That somehow made it hotter.
I started paying attention. Watching how he sat. Where the fabric clung. How often he adjusted himself when he thought I wasn’t looking.
By week two, it had become a low-key obsession.
That Friday night, everything shifted.
We both ended up home early. He brought back Thai food, I grabbed a six-pack, and we ended up on the couch watching some trashy horror movie. Lights off. Blankets out. I was in a pair of gym shorts and an old tank. He came out of his room in nothing but a black tank top and red boxers, no hoodie, no sweats, just casual and comfortable.
And yeah, I noticed right away.
The boxers didn’t hide much. They were loose around the thighs, pulled a little tight across the crotch. There was weight to whatever was inside, not just size, but heft. It shifted when he moved, like something alive.
We sat down, settled in. He threw his legs over the ottoman, arms spread across the back of the couch, totally relaxed. I tried to focus on the screen.
I couldn’t.
The room was quiet except for the movie. I could hear him breathing, slowly. He smelled like soap and dryer sheets. His thigh was just a few inches from mine. And then… he stretched.
Long, slow, overhead stretch. His tank lifted just enough to show his stomach, lean, defined, that thin happy trail that disappears beneath the waistband.
But it was what happened below that made my heart stop.
His dick, or at least what I think was his dick, shifted inside his boxers and fell with a soft thud down the inside of his leg. Not dramatically. Just… heavily. Like it had real mass.
I looked. Just a glance. A fraction of a second.
And then I looked again.
There was a clear outline against the fabric. Long, thick, almost halfway down his thigh. And the way it twitched, not hard, but definitely not small.
I froze.
My own cock was already pressing against my shorts, betraying me completely. I tried to adjust discreetly, but he noticed.
His eyes flicked down. Then up.
We locked eyes.
He didn’t speak. Just gave the smallest smirk, not smug, not cocky. Just enough to say: yeah, I saw you looking.
I swallowed. Looked away. Tried to focus on the movie. But I couldn’t tell you a single scene after that.
The air in the room had changed.
I shifted my leg, needing space. He didn’t move. I grabbed my beer. Took a sip I didn’t need. He leaned back even further, and his boxers rode up just slightly, showing more thigh.
I could feel my heart pounding.
And then, after what felt like an eternity of silence, he said it. Casual. Low voice. No inflection.
“You alright over there?”
Here is where you take over.
What happens next?
A. I panic and say something dumb
B. I laugh it off, but he asked if I’d ever seen one that big before
C. I tried to play it cool, but he stood up and everything shifted
D. I didn’t answer, so he leaned over and whispered something into my ear
