I couldn’t believe it when I got my acceptance letter from Edinburgh University. I’d dreamt about going there for years—the city’s gothic charm, the cobbled streets, the sense of history clashing with modern student life. And now it was real. Even better, I’d be staying in student accommodation, which meant freedom—real freedom—for the first time in my life.
My parents drove me up early on a Saturday morning. We parked near the accommodation centre, and together we dragged my overstuffed suitcases through the winding streets just off the Royal Mile. The building was older than I expected, but it had character—like everything in Edinburgh.
I had mixed feelings about the room setup. Since I was in first year, I’d be sharing a room, which I wasn’t thrilled about. But we had an en suite bathroom, so it wasn’t all bad.
When we finally got to the room, the door was already open.
Inside, a tall guy with dark hair was halfway through unpacking. He looked up as we entered, then gave me a quick smile.
“Hey! You must be my roommate. I’m Mark,” he said, holding out a hand.
He had a London accent—smooth, fast, confident. I shook his hand and introduced myself, suddenly aware of how sweaty my palms were.
He was good-looking in a way that made it hard not to notice. I tried not to stare.
“Nice to meet you,” I said, probably a little too quickly.
Mark nodded toward the bed by the window. “I figured you’d probably want the one with the view, since I got here first.”
That caught me off guard. “Oh, cheers. That’s… yeah, thanks.”
My mum gave me a subtle elbow to the ribs and raised her eyebrows as if to say ‘he seems nice.’ I tried not to blush.
After a short round of goodbyes and last-minute advice from my parents (“eat vegetables,” “don’t forget laundry,” “call home”), they were gone. And just like that, I was alone. With Mark.
I stood awkwardly by my bags until he glanced over and grinned.
“You settling in alright?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Just trying to figure out where to start.”
He sat down on his bed and leaned back on his hands. “Freshers’ week is a bit mental, apparently. I’ve got no idea what I’m doing.”
I laughed. “Same.”
There was a pause, not uncomfortable, just quiet. I looked over at him and he was already watching me.
“So, what are you studying?” he asked, casually.
“English Lit. You?”
“Politics,” he said. “Figured I’d try and save the world or something.”
I smiled. “Big ambitions.”
“Reckon someone’s got to have them.”
He leaned over, grabbed a can of Coke from his mini fridge, and tossed me one. I caught it clumsily.
We stayed up late that night, talking about school, music, the cities we grew up in, and what we hoped uni would be like. I learned he liked indie bands, hated olives, and once got detention for spray-painting a Banksy quote on his school fence. I told him about my boring summer job, my obsession with old books, and how nervous I was about making friends here.
By the time I climbed into bed, the room was dimly lit by the streetlights outside, casting long shadows across the walls. Mark was already lying down, staring at the ceiling.
“Hey,” he said into the quiet. “It’s cool, you know. Sharing with you. You seem chill.”
My heart did a weird little flip.
“Yeah,” I said. “You too.”
There was a silence, longer this time. Then he turned over, and I heard him say softly, almost like he wasn’t sure if he wanted me to hear it:
“Night, mate.”
“Night.”
I woke suddenly, throat dry, bladder aching.
For a second, I had no idea where I was. Then the faint outline of the dorm room walls came into focus — the hum of city traffic outside, the muted shapes of our beds, and the soft amber glow of the bedside lamp I’d left on, half-covered by a shirt draped across it.
The six cans of Coke I’d polished off were now making themselves painfully known.
I sat up carefully, the mattress creaking slightly beneath me. I swung my legs over the side and rubbed the sleep from my eyes, trying to remember exactly where the en suite was. The room still didn’t feel like mine yet — too many unfamiliar shadows.
As I stood and tiptoed across the wooden floor, I glanced instinctively toward Mark’s bed. And stopped.
His duvet had fallen to the floor, leaving him completely uncovered. He was on his back, one arm thrown lazily over his head, the other resting by his side. The soft light caught the angles of his body — smooth skin, the slow rise and fall of his chest.
He was naked.
And not just naked — visibly hard.
I froze, caught between instinct and curiosity. My breath hitched quietly in my throat.
I should’ve looked away. I meant to look away.
But there was something almost surreal about it — this guy I’d just met, already so at ease, so unapologetically comfortable in his own skin. I stared at his cock for a brief moment, I’d never seen anything like it, I was sure it was so much bigger than mine.
I suddenly felt very aware of the air against my own skin, of the quiet intimacy of the room. A quiet heat crept up my neck.
I forced myself to move — careful, silent steps toward the en suite. Once inside, I shut the door and leaned against it for a second, letting out a breath I hadn’t realised I’d been holding.
I did what I came in there to do, splashed some cold water on my face, and stared at myself in the mirror. My eyes were wide, pupils dilated. I looked like I’d seen a ghost. Or maybe something more confusing than that.
I hadn’t been expecting to see Mark like that. And I hadn’t expected my reaction. I’d struggled to stuff my cock back into my pants as it had begun to grow hard.
Back in our room I kept his gaze fixed ahead, clearly trying to give Mark some privacy. I was nearly past his bed when I heard a soft cough behind me. I turned instinctively, catching Mark’s eyes just as they flicked downward. One hand grasping his cock as he stroked up and down, the other cupping his shaved balls.
“Mind if I… you know,” he said, voice low.
I blinked, caught off guard. “Uh—no, man. It’s cool,” I stammered, trying to sound casual.
“Knock yourself out,” I added with a nervous laugh. He chuckled too, and the tension eased.
Back in my bed, I called over, “Want me to turn the light off?”
“Nah,” he replied with a grin. “Why don’t you leave it on. Or better yet… watch.”
My parents drove me up early on a Saturday morning. We parked near the accommodation centre, and together we dragged my overstuffed suitcases through the winding streets just off the Royal Mile. The building was older than I expected, but it had character—like everything in Edinburgh.
I had mixed feelings about the room setup. Since I was in first year, I’d be sharing a room, which I wasn’t thrilled about. But we had an en suite bathroom, so it wasn’t all bad.
When we finally got to the room, the door was already open.
Inside, a tall guy with dark hair was halfway through unpacking. He looked up as we entered, then gave me a quick smile.
“Hey! You must be my roommate. I’m Mark,” he said, holding out a hand.
He had a London accent—smooth, fast, confident. I shook his hand and introduced myself, suddenly aware of how sweaty my palms were.
He was good-looking in a way that made it hard not to notice. I tried not to stare.
“Nice to meet you,” I said, probably a little too quickly.
Mark nodded toward the bed by the window. “I figured you’d probably want the one with the view, since I got here first.”
That caught me off guard. “Oh, cheers. That’s… yeah, thanks.”
My mum gave me a subtle elbow to the ribs and raised her eyebrows as if to say ‘he seems nice.’ I tried not to blush.
After a short round of goodbyes and last-minute advice from my parents (“eat vegetables,” “don’t forget laundry,” “call home”), they were gone. And just like that, I was alone. With Mark.
I stood awkwardly by my bags until he glanced over and grinned.
“You settling in alright?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Just trying to figure out where to start.”
He sat down on his bed and leaned back on his hands. “Freshers’ week is a bit mental, apparently. I’ve got no idea what I’m doing.”
I laughed. “Same.”
There was a pause, not uncomfortable, just quiet. I looked over at him and he was already watching me.
“So, what are you studying?” he asked, casually.
“English Lit. You?”
“Politics,” he said. “Figured I’d try and save the world or something.”
I smiled. “Big ambitions.”
“Reckon someone’s got to have them.”
He leaned over, grabbed a can of Coke from his mini fridge, and tossed me one. I caught it clumsily.
We stayed up late that night, talking about school, music, the cities we grew up in, and what we hoped uni would be like. I learned he liked indie bands, hated olives, and once got detention for spray-painting a Banksy quote on his school fence. I told him about my boring summer job, my obsession with old books, and how nervous I was about making friends here.
By the time I climbed into bed, the room was dimly lit by the streetlights outside, casting long shadows across the walls. Mark was already lying down, staring at the ceiling.
“Hey,” he said into the quiet. “It’s cool, you know. Sharing with you. You seem chill.”
My heart did a weird little flip.
“Yeah,” I said. “You too.”
There was a silence, longer this time. Then he turned over, and I heard him say softly, almost like he wasn’t sure if he wanted me to hear it:
“Night, mate.”
“Night.”
I woke suddenly, throat dry, bladder aching.
For a second, I had no idea where I was. Then the faint outline of the dorm room walls came into focus — the hum of city traffic outside, the muted shapes of our beds, and the soft amber glow of the bedside lamp I’d left on, half-covered by a shirt draped across it.
The six cans of Coke I’d polished off were now making themselves painfully known.
I sat up carefully, the mattress creaking slightly beneath me. I swung my legs over the side and rubbed the sleep from my eyes, trying to remember exactly where the en suite was. The room still didn’t feel like mine yet — too many unfamiliar shadows.
As I stood and tiptoed across the wooden floor, I glanced instinctively toward Mark’s bed. And stopped.
His duvet had fallen to the floor, leaving him completely uncovered. He was on his back, one arm thrown lazily over his head, the other resting by his side. The soft light caught the angles of his body — smooth skin, the slow rise and fall of his chest.
He was naked.
And not just naked — visibly hard.
I froze, caught between instinct and curiosity. My breath hitched quietly in my throat.
I should’ve looked away. I meant to look away.
But there was something almost surreal about it — this guy I’d just met, already so at ease, so unapologetically comfortable in his own skin. I stared at his cock for a brief moment, I’d never seen anything like it, I was sure it was so much bigger than mine.
I suddenly felt very aware of the air against my own skin, of the quiet intimacy of the room. A quiet heat crept up my neck.
I forced myself to move — careful, silent steps toward the en suite. Once inside, I shut the door and leaned against it for a second, letting out a breath I hadn’t realised I’d been holding.
I did what I came in there to do, splashed some cold water on my face, and stared at myself in the mirror. My eyes were wide, pupils dilated. I looked like I’d seen a ghost. Or maybe something more confusing than that.
I hadn’t been expecting to see Mark like that. And I hadn’t expected my reaction. I’d struggled to stuff my cock back into my pants as it had begun to grow hard.
Back in our room I kept his gaze fixed ahead, clearly trying to give Mark some privacy. I was nearly past his bed when I heard a soft cough behind me. I turned instinctively, catching Mark’s eyes just as they flicked downward. One hand grasping his cock as he stroked up and down, the other cupping his shaved balls.
“Mind if I… you know,” he said, voice low.
I blinked, caught off guard. “Uh—no, man. It’s cool,” I stammered, trying to sound casual.
“Knock yourself out,” I added with a nervous laugh. He chuckled too, and the tension eased.
Back in my bed, I called over, “Want me to turn the light off?”
“Nah,” he replied with a grin. “Why don’t you leave it on. Or better yet… watch.”
