Sophomore Year

By moc.liamg@45yobelssar

Published on Dec 2, 2023

Gay

Sophomore Year 3

This is the third of a multipart story about my year boarding with a single dad and his two sons. It was a time of highly charged eroticism more than explicit sex and led me to discover a lot about myself. This is my first submission to Nifty. Send your thoughts and reactions in an email, I attempt to respond to all.

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I followed Buck up the half flight of stairs—we were now in the split-level part of his house. My thoughts of escape faded as I tried to picture Buck slipping on fresh sperm in the shower. What was his reaction? Whose spooge was it? This was turning into the most surprising roommate interview I had ever heard of.

He stopped in front of the first doorway on the left. I looked in at a modest bathroom lit by the soft glow of the late afternoon seeping through a skylight. A clear plastic shower curtain surrounded a large tub. On the facing wall were a sink and toilet. It looked clean and pleasant, nothing out of the ordinary. Buck flipped on the bathroom light, and I gasped as I noticed the bathroom door had been removed.

Buck saw my reaction and laughed, "Oh, the door, yeah. This summer we finally laid carpet up here," he reached to flip on the hall light to illuminate his point, "and damned if the doors wouldn't close over it! Fella had to take the doors off and store em in the garage. Supposed to come back soon to saw off a couple inches from the bottom so we can use em again. In the meantime, ¡adi"s privacy!" he guffawed.

I looked around the hallway and saw that indeed there was fresh carpeting everywhere and all the doors were gone. It felt oddly both cozy and naked.

"See? `Nother reason not to let girls in here! My Jacker says we got the whole house now just like one big locker room!" he laughed and gave my back a slap. "So, this bathroom would be mainly yours and Jake's--he's my youngest--when he's staying here. He's 13 now and getting to be an expert stroker, even better than his brother, so we watch out for the cum puddles when he's here" Buck said laughing.

"Hmmmm," I thought to myself, "mystery solved as to the source of that slippery sperm in the shower."

"The plumber was supposed to come over yesterday to fix the shower," he said, leaning in and turning a knob. A small blast of water spit out the side of the shower head, hitting Buck. He cussed and shut it off and grabbed a hand towel off a rack. Water dripped from his face to his chest, the shirt over his right nipple turning see-through.

As he blotted his face with the towel, I stole a few glances. I was struck again not just by the mass of his pec but by the size of his nipple, noting how the gauzy fabric clung tight around it. I didn't think I'd ever seen one so big. I also took a peek at his crotch. It was hard not to. As I'd said, the fabric was so thin and flimsy you could see the outline of his jockstrap underneath and even make out the ridged texture of the pouch in front. The bulge seemed divided in two, falling on either side of the central seam up the front. "Might be next week before I get the plumber back in here. Meanwhile, you can shower in my room or downstairs."

"No problem," I answered cooly, but inwardly relieved at the mention of other bathrooms downstairs. I wasn't comfortable with the idea of taking a shower or even a shit in full view of anyone who happened to walk by and didn't think I could stay in place where I'd have to. But the option of what sounded like a more private bathroom or two that still had doors--hopefully with locks—brought it back into the realm of possibility.

I added, "Where I just left, the lady's such a prude she wouldn't even let me set foot in the upstairs hall bathroom. I had to go to the basement just to brush my teeth."

"Well, `prude' is probably the one thing nobody in this house has ever been accused. We're pretty easygoing about who shits where." He laughed as I blushed again at his crudeness.

"I should also warn you some of the guys on poker nights will use this crapper, especially if the ones downstairs are busy. Most the guys don't make too big a mess, but they sure can stink up the place. Oh, and this is the only tub in the house, so I will sometimes take a soak in here. That is, if Sailor Hank here doesn't mind."

"Oh, no, sir! I mean, it's your house and all."

"Now, that's the attitude we like around here, Sailor," he smiled as he flipped off the bathroom light and led me back into the hallway where he paused under the hall light and glanced in the mirror. He then casually reached down the front of his shorts to adjust the equipment, the imprint of his hand clearly visible through the shorts and jock. Of course, I'd seen guys do this countless times without paying much attention, but this time I couldn't help but notice how the maneuver enhanced his bulge; its contour was now smoother and lifted forward more prominently, catching more of the light. I surprised myself by making a mental note to try it when I had the chance sometime.

We next stopped in front of a wide closet where Buck pointed to a side-by-side washer and dryer. Flipping on a very bright light overhead, he explained, "So here you got everything you need to wash clothes" gesturing to a shelf with laundry supplies. "And this," pointing to the small laundry baskets flanking the machines, "is the genius system the Jackster came up with. You might say it was his specialty." he teased, repeating again my awkward phrase.

"On your way to the shower, you just strip off your dirty underwear and socks and toss `em in here." He nodded toward a basket I now saw was half-filled with a jumble of white briefs, T shirts and socks. Someone had drawn a thick line on the inside near the top with the word "Full" above it. I also noticed a hand written sign on the wall above it reading "Skid marks = " followed by a drawing of a wooden paddle. Not a surprising in a houseful of males from my experience.

"Whover fills it first, dumps it in the washer. Next guy moves it to the dryer and from there to this basket, where it's waiting for you when you come out of the shower. And, presto! No more dirty underwear on the bedroom floors! Pretty smart, huh?"

I nodded, marveling at the efficiency until it dawned on me this would require stripping naked out in the hallway and stepping back into the hallway naked to get clean underwear. Or bumping into Buck or Jack or Zack while they're standing naked in the hallway. Even at night, with this intense lighting there'd be nowhere to hide.

My face blazed red. As I said, I grew up without a dad or older brothers around—just an uncle who wasn't around nearly long enough-- and I'd always been super shy about undressing in front of other guys. I knew it was stupid at my age. Other guys on my sports teams had no problem hanging around naked in a crowded locker room. But I just couldn't bring myself to join in. I had resolved many times to get over it, but I just never had. Even running track, I never showered with the team. The few times I started to feel more comfortable and confident with the idea, something happened that chased me back into my acute modesty complex.

Maybe, I thought to myself, this would be the place to finally do it. I sure didn't make any progress living with the old biddy!

Misunderstanding my reaction, Buck patted my shoulder and said soothingly, "Aw, don't worry, it's not that complicated. You'll get the hang of it."

"Oh, yeah, sure," trying to cover my embarrassment, I started repeating what I'd understood about the system. "After a shower, I just grab a pair of underwear from here..."

Abruptly his tone changed as he gripped the back of my neck. "Do NOT filch my underwear, Sailor! I swear, I find somebody wearing my Fruit of the Looms without permission, and they load this washer with their TEETH!" and saying this, he marched me by the neck over to the basket of dirty underwear and pushed my face down until my nose almost touched. I could feel the heat of his still slightly sweaty body pressed behind me. At first, I was frightened by the sudden force, but then relaxed and felt safe in succumbing. Somehow, I knew I wasn't really in any danger and that this was a form of play common to men like him.

A powerful scent rose from the hamper, and I felt warm inside. I would have been happy staying there, locked in his grasp, but knew the game called for me to react and respond in turn. I don't know where I found to courage, but laughingly shouted, "Ok, Ok, I promise not to steal your pretty panties, sir!"

He immediately released his grip and turned me to him, looking surprised at my sudden bravado. A smile bloomed across his face, and he snorted, "Pretty panties, huh?" and gave my butt a quick, stinging slap. "We'll just see who's got the prettiest panties. Ouch, by the way," he playfully grimaced, shaking the hand he'd slapped me with as though in pain, "what're you packin' in there, Sailor? Steel plates?"

Before I could think of a response, his tone again sobered, "Now, this here's Jacker's room that you'd take" and, turning off the laundry light, he guided me across the hall into a bedroom. As he flipped on the bedroom light I saw a double bed under the window with a nightstand on either side, an old desk, and a large dresser. On the far side of the room was a closet with a ¾ door.

Several posters lined the walls. The first to catch my eye was of a muscular wrestler, looking victorious, his arm raised high by an older man—probably his coach—who gazed at him beaming with pride. The coach looked familiar, but I couldn't place him. The wrestler's sweaty grey singlet bore the initials of our local college and, pulled up by the raised arm, stretched tight across a notable bulge at his crotch. I tried not to stare but immediately started to compare it to Buck's. Was it more like his before or after he adjusted himself? Jeez, I thought, what am I doing? I'd been around athletes and their bulges plenty and never really paid much attention. And now here I was studying them. What a nerd! To clear my thoughts, I turned to face Buck, but he was fondly gazing up at same the poster as though lost in a memory.

"Oh, yeah, both my boys are crazy about wrestling. Had these walls covered with wrestlers. And some rowers. And some swimmers," he added, nudging me with an elbow, perhaps to make me feel included. "Told him to take his shit down so I could rent out this room and anything he left behind I'd be selling," he laughed. "Take a look around and see what you think, Sailor."

I stepped further into the room, giving it a cursory inspection. For some reason it felt more like home than any place I'd stayed since coming to college. I noticed that one of the dresser drawers was partially open. I glanced in and saw a pair of old frayed gym shorts, like Buck's except white instead of grey. I pulled them out and tentatively offered them over.

"Tell ya what," he responded, "you end up taking the room, anything you find that fits, it's yours. Deal?"

Cutting the light as he walked back out to the hallway he added, "Only for God's sake, wear a damn jockstrap! If I had a nickel for every time that Jockless Jack flashed me the family jewels in those shorts..." He then hollered, "They are not made for freeballin!"

His careful use of lights reminded me of my own mom, something about that Great Depression generation made them so frugal. His comments about freeballing though reminded me of a roommate I'd had the year before, Ethan, who hung around the apartment in a pair of loose boxers that exposed his dick every single time he sat down. Since I'm the kind that people rarely notice, I could look at it and he'd be totally oblivious. Like a spy or detective, I learned to detect what he was reading by the swell and gleam of the head. I imagined he'd be furious if he ever found out and was sure the show was over when one day our other roommate shouted, "Dude, major dickslip in those boxers and it's sure looking chubbed about something!" But Ethan just flipped him off and went back to his magazine. He never stopped wearing them around us. It occurred to me it might be fun to experiment wearing Jack's shorts commando, just to see what these guys felt.

Back in the hall, Buck walked to the next door. "This is my baby Zack's room, though he hates it when I call him that," he laughed. He turned on the light to reveal a smaller, corner room, with a set of bunk beds, furniture otherwise like Jack's, and more posters of athletes. A large cork bulletin board held randomly tacked groups of photos, including a larger print of the one I'd seen on the fridge. In another, Buck stood with his arms around both boys at a pool, all wearing identical light blue Speedo-style swimsuits and goggles. A furry Buck stood in contract to his relatively hairless sons.

Given my swim team experience, the photo caught my attention. They stood dripping wet, suits plastered to their anatomies. The decorative white stripe at the hips had become completely transparent. The photo was such high resolution I could easily make out several details of their genitals including the hairs on Buck's testicles and there looked to be a lot. I could also tell they were all circumcised by the visible crown of their dick heads. Maybe most guys wouldn't pick up on that but given that my Mexican mother did not have me "trimmed," I grew up usually being the only `uncut' kid around a bunch of Anglos, making me even more self-conscious of my body.

I could also tell right away the suits weren't Speedo or Arena or other common competition brands. For example, a seam down the front created more of a rounded pouch than the flat-front Speedo.

"Was this a father-son swim team or something?" I gestured to the photo.

"No," he sighed. "Our little Zacky persuaded poor Mr. B. next door to buy those for us and then made us wear `em all last summer. I'm not a big fan of those suits—they don't provide the degree of support I like, and they don't pair well with a jockstrap."

"But the boys love `em and begged me to wear it. I said OK, I'll wear it to Billie's pool, but not to the beach. That's where I draw the line." He sighed again, "the things I do for those boys..." I suspected he didn't really mind wearing that suit with his boys as much as he pretended.

"Well, I think they're kinda cool. You still have them?" I asked, gazing back at the photo. I could have looked at it all day.

"Oh, Zackie never lets em outa his sight!" Buck laughed. "He stashed em in his pillow for a while and slept on `em. What can I say? Kids are weird. Look out or he'll get one made for you next! Hey, hit the light, will ya?" He shook his head walking back out to the hallway.

"And where is Zack now?" I asked following him.

"He lives with his mother and spends summers and every other weekend with me. S'matter of fact, he'll be here this Friday. It'd be nice to have somebody else around for him to terrorize," he laughed.

I wondered if Zack would bring the swimsuits with him this time and suddenly pictured myself swimming with Buck and Zack in Mr. B's pool, all wearing the matching swimsuits. A slight dizzy spell hit me.

Pointing to a third doorway, Buck said, "And this is my room." He reached in a quickly flipped a light on and off. I was able to make out the foot of a king size bed and dresser against the far wall. "At least, when they boys aren't here," he added, "When they're here, it totally turns into their room," he laughed as he led me back downstairs.

Next: Chapter 4


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