the roommate and the dream (1)

Postby donatello » Sat Jul 25, 2009 11:28 am

Last Summer I was living with my roommate in a two-bedroom apartment not far from the college I go to. I had just finished my freshman year and had decided to take summer semester classes. They were easy, so I was busy in the morning but didn’t have much to do in the afternoon.
My roommate at the time was Michael; he is fairly tall - nearly six feet – and skinny, but well muscled. He’s half Brazilian, with dark eyes and black hair. His face is finely featured, nothing jutting or awkward about it. His skin is just dark enough that it looks like he has a killer tan year-round, and it’s smooth and almost completely hairless. I don’t want to give the impression that I am gay, but he is one good-looking guy. I’d trade bodies with him in a heartbeat.
We lived on the top floor of a six-story apartment building, which meant that it got pretty hot during the Summer, but our apartment had a patio on the roof. You literally walk out of a sliding glass door and you’re on the roof. So one hot afternoon I sat in a chair on the patio, reading a book. It was super hot and I was alone (Michael worked until 4 or 5 most evenings) so I took off my shirt. While I’m very self-conscious about my body, there’s almost nothing I love more than the feel of sun on my skin. I just sat there for a while, soaking up the sun and reading my book, for about a half-hour, until I was sweating and it was too hot to continue. I got up and walked to the railing that bounded our patio and was in the middle of enjoying the view of the surrounding area when I heard the patio door slide open behind me.
As I said, I’m very self-conscious about my body, and so was surprised and embarrassed to turn and see Michael stepping onto the patio behind me. My shirt was over on the chair several feet away, and I didn’t want him to know how shy I was, so I pretended not to care that he was there and I was shirtless. I was 19 at the time; Michael was 22. He was wearing jeans and a black tank-top that fit tightly and silhouetted his muscles perfectly. I’m a skinny kid, too, and not in the worst shape of my life, but my body was nothing compared to his. It made me even more embarrassed to be standing there, showing off my unimpressive torso while, even with a shirt on, he was far sexier than me.
He smiled as he walked towards me.
“Hey. What’re you up to?”
Initially I was looking over my shoulder, but as he approached I felt obliged to turn around, leaning my back against the railing.
“Oh, nothing.” I responded. “I was just reading a little. It’s sure hot today.” I had hoped that saying that would help explain why my shirt was off and defuse the situation. It only made it worse. Michael laughed and while doing so his eyes dropped to my chest; I could see – and feel – them flit across my pecs, down to my waist and back up to my face again. He did this methodically, making no effort to conceal that he was examining my body. An amused, almost sarcastic smile played at his lips when we made eye contact again. I could feel my face go red. When I blush, I do so intensely and unmistakably.
He didn’t say anything, but his eyes dropped back down to my body for a second perusal. I couldn’t think of anything to say to break the awkward silence, but to be honest I wasn’t sure he found it awkward at all. By now he was standing beside me against the railing, so I turned back around and pretended to be enjoying the view. I soon sensed motion in my peripheral vision, however, and turned back to see Michael stripping off his tank top. I have to admit, the sight of all that smooth, dark skin was eye-catching. Again, I don’t consider myself homosexual – girls turn me on, while naked guys definitely do not. But for a good five seconds there I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. I felt like one of the girls he sleeps with, staring in awe at his slender but perfectly muscled torso. Looking back at it like this I definitely sound gay, but believe me: if you had been in my place you’d have been gazing from his nipples to his bellybutton and back, too.
As he turned to put his shirt on a chair his eyes darted very briefly up to my face to see if I was staring; I was. That sarcastic, almost mocking smile returned for a moment to his lips. I blushed again and looked out at the view for the third time in less than sixty seconds.
“What are you up to this weekend?”
“Nothing at the moment,” I said. “What about yourself?”
“Ditto,” he replied.
This surprised me. I had never known him to spend a weekend at the apartment. He was always out with someone, doing something or other. I’m your classic introvert, and spend many of my weekends by myself, reading or playing videogames. Actually, I have to confess that I have a fairly kinky way of entertaining myself. Ever since I can remember, I have been in love with the idea of being tied up. I admit, it sounds juvenile and immature, and to be honest I had never been tied up by anyone. Other than myself, that is. As much as I wanted to experience it, I had never been able to muster the courage to ask anyone tie me up. So I had taken to doing it myself – when no one else is around, of course. My greatest fear is being caught in the middle of a self-bondage session, and I keep my fetish – because honestly that’s what it is – a secret from everyone.
Except, I’m pretty sure Michael knew. He never said anything about it, but one weekend last semester while he was away visiting his family (they lived a couple of hours away by car) I had tied myself up in our living room when I heard a key start to rattle in the lock. Panicking, I quickly wriggled out of the ropes tying my wrists (I never made them so tight that I couldn’t slip out of them if I tried hard enough) and made a made hopping dash (my feet were still tied together) to the bathroom. I cleared the field of view from the doorway just as the door opened, and entered the bathroom just as he walked within sight of the hall.
Aside from the fact that he heard my frantic hopping, which must have been bizarre enough, in my haste I had left the ropes tying my wrists on the living room floor. Perhaps even more incriminating were my clothes lying on a chair. I had stripped down to my underwear before tying myself up, and what with Michael’s departure I hadn’t felt the need to provide for an escape plan. So there I was, standing in the bathroom with my ankles still bound, wearing nothing but my underwear (in case you’re wondering, I find boxers highly uncomfortable and wear briefs instead; low-rise briefs, to be exact). I decided to take a shower and cover my lack of clothes that way, but the damage was done. Like I said, Michael never said anything; when I entered the living room Michael was in the kitchen, so I was able to remove the ropes still lying on the floor as well as my clothes from the chair. But there’s no way he didn’t see them, and I bet he didn’t have too much trouble deducing what they were all about.
Anyway, going back to our conversation that Friday afternoon, I was highly surprised to hear he wasn’t going to leave for the weekend – and a little disappointed as well. I had been hoping to spend some time tied up that weekend, and Michael’s presence was definitely going to put a cramp in my style. It never occurred to me to ask Michael to tie me up; I was way too scared of his reaction to risk it, as much as I dreamed about being legitimately tied up by someone else. I was thinking what I might spend my weekend doing instead, when Michael abruptly spoke.
“Hey, can I ask you a question?”
“Sure. Shoot.”
“Don’t get me wrong, but have you ever been tied up before?”
For some reason, ever since he surprised me on the patio a few minutes previously I had been thinking about the time he nearly surprised me tied up on our apartment floor in my underwear. So in all honesty I wasn’t totally caught off-guard by the question. But my heart started to pound hard and I didn’t know how to respond. The suave, cover-up the truth part of me wanted me to act shocked and brush it off as ridiculous; another part of me, however, was screaming, ‘this is your chance! If you can’t take this opportunity you’ll never get another chance to find out what it feels like. He’s virtually begging you to let him tie you up!’ I was leaning towards confessing, but fear kept my mouth shut.
My silence didn’t seem to confuse him, though. In fact, it probably only confirmed to him what he had already suspected: that I was secretly in love with bondage but was too ashamed to admit it to anyone.
“Have you ever wanted to be tied up?”
I hesitated again before answering, and my eyes fell quite involuntarily to his sexy body. He noticed, of course; his eyes were watching me carefully. When I pulled mine back up to his face I felt that I absolutely had to say something, however lame it might be.
“Yeah, maybe once or twice.” Yeah, talk about lame. I’ve always been a terrible liar.
“Do you want me to tie you up?” He waited a second or two, then added, “I like being tied up myself so I’d be more than happy to oblige.” Then he fired that kinky grin at me, the one that captivated all of the girls he used it on – his secret weapon. The part of me screaming that it was too good to be true finally drowned out all other voices.”
“Sure. Why not?” I heard myself say.
“Great. Let’s get started.” He pushed himself away from the railing and walked back into the house, leaving me standing on the roof of our building, staring into the apartment after Michael, excited and confused.
It didn’t take him long to come back out, this time carrying a duffle bag. As soon as he stepped outside he began looking around, scrutinizing every detail of his surroundings: the chairs, the bench, the railings, the roof, etc. He was still shirtless, as was I. After a moment or two he seemed to find what he was looking for, because he turned to face me and put the bag down on the bench. He looked me over again, his eyes taking in my entire body this time. I felt far more exposed than before, if that’s even possible, as if every inch of my body was being examined. He made eye contact with me briefly, and his look seemed to say, ‘well, what are you waiting for?’ When I didn’t move, he became more explicit: he stared pointedly at the waist of my jeans.
“Start taking that off.”
“What?”
“Well at least take your jeans off; we’ll discuss your underwear when you get there.”
This whole time I had hardly said a word. I was too shocked and thrilled/terrified to know how to react or what to say. The ‘what?’ was merely a knee-jerk reaction to a sudden command to strip, that’s all. I was, as strange as this sounds, no longer in a position to disobey. So I unbuttoned my jeans, unzipped them, and slid them off my hips.
I can’t honestly remember the last time someone saw me in my low-rise briefs, and I’m quite certain I had never taken my clothes off at someone else’s request (I think ‘command’ here is more accurate) before. Yet there I was, standing on the roof of a six-story apartment building with nothing but a few square inches of tightly-fitting cotton cloth covering the choicest parts of my body. And there was my roommate, smiling as if he knew all along that I would be this easy. And I was. The rest is all history. But for the sake of the story, I’ll fill in all the details.

End Part One

Re: the roommate and the dream (1)

Postby Scottstud94 » Sat Jul 25, 2009 8:30 pm

Good story but As this is your first post, iam confused it sounds like this is a true story the way you are telling it. If so you are in the wrong section, if not write something to tell people it's not true as this could confuse people.

Re: the roommate and the dream (1)

Postby The Piano Man » Sun Jul 26, 2009 3:22 am

The fact that its written like a true story adds to the realistic fantasy!!
I am loving this story, can't wait for the next installment
Life is like playing the piano.
First you have to learn the rules.
Then you have to forget the rules and play from ur heart

Re: the roommate and the dream (1)

Postby gagged-cowboy » Sun Jul 26, 2009 12:44 pm

Great story, I am loonking forward to the rest