The Stud Across the Hall

It's my first year of grad school and I've signed up to be a Residence Advisor, an "RA." Basically, I get to stay in residence for free in return for resolving disputes, offering advice, and coordinating events. I can see how taking care of a bunch of freshmen would get hectic, but my floor's just for graduate students and it's mainly a bunch of single-person suites with people in their mid-twenties like me. Not too many disputes to resolve. Anyways, one of my duties at the start of the semester is to check in with all the new residents, make sure they're settling in okay, invite them to chat if anything's on their mind. It all goes well until I make a real idiot out of myself talking to Mark, the guy in the room across the hall.

He's one of those guys that practically seems to reach into your chest and squeeze your heart when they grin, with a powerful jawline, short black hair that won't lie flat, dark smiling eyes, and light brown skin. But it's impossible to keep my eyes from following the sloping lines of his broad neck down to his massively pumped up body—great slabs of pecs, biceps riddled with veins bulging out below the stretched arms of his T-shirt, which also clings tight enough to his abs to let me see every—

"My eyes are up here, you know."

"Huh?" Oh fuck, he totally caught that. My face instantly starts burning up. "Right, sorry. Sorry. I was staring, I admit it. That was totally rude of me. I've never seen—I mean, your body's—"

He chuckles, and I'm relieved to see he's not at all offended. "I'll take it as a compliment," he says. "When you spend as much time as I do in the gym, you expect some stares." And thankfully that's an opening to get back to the comfort of my spiel with the whole "Let me tell you about the hours for the exercise room" thing, feeling the blood thud through my ears and my heart pound. I manage to get out everything I need to say, stumbling when I reach the usual line about always being available if he needs to talk. That makes me feel like a real moron; as if he'd come to the guy who was ogling him for advice.

Over the next few weeks I can't help bumping into him occasionally, being across the hall. Having embarrassed myself so much, though, I quickly rush past with just a quick greeting. Maybe I'm coming across as cold, but I think it's necessary to overcorrect. I crossed a line the first time I talked with him, so I'd better step well back. If he'd gotten the impression I was trying to flirt with him and reported it, I would've lost my position. I'm just a student like him, but there are rules nonetheless.

About a month into the semester I'm returning pretty late in the evening. I've got my key in the lock when I hear Mark's door open behind me and the friendly rumble of his voice: "Hey, you're back!" He actually sounds HAPPY about it. I know he's just being friendly like usual, but it makes my heart start throbbing uncomfortably at once. To hear that man sound happy to see ME. And it only gets worse when he continues, "You said we could chat sometime, right? I was just sitting here and I thought..."

"O-Of course! I mean, uh, that's what I'm here for!" I manage to blurt out, before accidentally re-locking my door, unlocking it again, trying to pull it open even though I've been living here for HOW long, and then finally pushing my way inside. Soon I'm in a chair across from Mark where he's practically crushing my couch. I can't help noticing his dark blue T-shirt shows off the massive bulges of his muscular body to perfection, and his sweatpants stretch across his broad thighs.

"I just wanted to make sure everything was okay," he starts off, and my stomach gives a sickening drop. "I've noticed you kind of rush away when I see you—but maybe you're just busy? I wanted to make sure it wasn't me, anyways."

"No! No, you did nothing wrong!" I rush to tell him, utterly mortified that I've let my own issues make him feel bad.

"Great, that's a relief," he says, rubbing one hand self-consciously up the bristly hair on the back of his head. The underside of his herculean arm flares widely. "It's just, sometimes people are pretty intimidated by me, but they shouldn't be. If they just got a chance to talk with me, find out why I look the way I do..."

He seems kind of embarrassed, so I rush to assure him, "I'd love to talk with you about whatever you want. Anything that's bothering you. It's what I'm here for, but even beyond that, I'd be happy to get to know you. I mean," quickly rushing to cover up the fact that I almost said too much, "why don't you tell me? What you were talking about. Uh, why you look the way you do."

"You mean that?" He grins, making my stomach ache. But I can be professional and remember my role and the fact that it's impossible for anything to happen between us anyways. He continues, "So it started in high school. There were all these rumours, snide comments about me, saying I was gay. I mean, when I was too young to even know who I was into. It's just fucked up, you know? People making comments about you 'cause they think you're gay, when you don't even know if you are. I had this dumb thought, if I start working out, nobody'll think that. Nobody'd think a guy with muscle's queer. I was young at the time, okay. That's just how I saw it. And the thing is, it worked for the most part. The way people think is pretty shitty sometimes, hey? But anyways, it was addicting. I liked working out, I liked feeling strong and confident and not feeling intimidated anymore.

"I escaped the rumours and insults, but the really screwed up thing was that I was still just kind of running away. From the things they'd been saying about me, I mean. And to be honest, I was starting to wonder too. You probably won't believe this, but I didn't have the hots for anyone till I got into college. I mean, there were signs, but I saw my friends get obsessed over girls and I never felt that way about anyone—male or female. There were girls that approached me, but I always found some excuse, so they eventually stopped bothering. The old rumours were probably still there, but nobody had the guts to talk about it to my face."

"But since then, you've—I mean, you understand yourself better now, right? What you want."

"Oh, I know what I want now. At least, I dated a couple of girls after starting college and I thought I knew what I wanted. Until there was this... But you don't want to hear about that. It's pretty graphic. I shouldn't tell you that."

I'm no psychiatrist, but I think the operative word there is "shouldn't." Implying that he wouldn't mind talking about it, but he's afraid it's inappropriate. "Seriously, you can tell me anything."

He grins nervously, glancing away. "Look, I'm talking real fucking triple-X stuff here, okay? I can't just talk about it with anyone. ...I mean, I'd kind of like to 'cause it's been bothering me, but it's not appropriate. It'd probably gross you out."

I'm really curious now, but my main concern is that I can see the nervousness and the desire to talk in him. I rush to reassure him. "You aren't going to talk about anything I haven't heard before. You definitely won't gross me out. So come on, if it's really bothering you that much, you'd better just get it over with and tell me."

"Hmm, well..." he makes eye contact with me and he sees that I'm being serious, so he relents. "Alright. But feel free to stop me anytime. It's like this. I was at this club one day, and there was this guy..." My heart leaps into my throat and I almost choke, but luckily I think I manage to prevent him from noticing. "I don't know who he was, but there was this instant tug between us. I hadn't felt that with a guy before. I mean, I'd jerked off with a buddy but that was about it. It was a sort of take-it-or-leave-it thing. But this... fuck, I was shocked by how strong it was. I mean, I got hard just making eye contact with him. And he was clearly into me too. After less than a minute I've got him feeling my chest, my arms—I can tell he's one of those guys that're totally into my body. And I'm feeling him up too and—fuck, we both can't stand it anymore—"

He's starting to get into the story, almost like he isn't even aware of me. "So I take him into the bathroom, lock us in a stall and he unbuttons my shirt, gets down on his knees, undoes my zipper, takes out my cock. You know the drill. I'm hard and leaking all over the place and he's on his knees with his lips wrapped around my dick, sucking so his cheeks are goin' hollow, lookin' up at me to see how I react, feeling my abs and reaching around to grab my ass while I face-fuck him. It feels fucking amazing and—"

He pauses. "Sorry, this is going too far, right? I shouldn't be talking about this with you. I knew it'd gross you out."

I clear my throat awkwardly, barely able to breathe in the midst of a dilemma. It's true that it's inappropriate for him to talk about this sort of thing with me, but guys talk about this stuff all the time anyways with their friends, right? So I say, "It's nothing I haven't heard before. P-please, continue. Speak however you want. I'm totally comfortable with it." To be honest, though, I'm starting to sweat and I can't help picturing this gorgeous muscleman with his shirt open, cock out, thrusting his hips as he gets sucked off by another hot stud. This is getting bad. I can feel my dick getting warm in my boxers, thickening and rising between my legs. It's about to start bulging obscenely right in front of him if I can't get things under control.

"Okay, cool. So I'm well on the way to bustin' my nut when he reaches down and takes out the biggest fucking cock I've ever seen. Just yanks this fucking python out of his pants and starts jerking it off. And I don't know what came over me. I hadn't felt like this before, but I had this intense need to taste him in my mouth. And just thinking about it, the fact that I was so horny that I even wanted to suck this guy's cock, almost drove me over the edge. There was no way I wanted to cum yet, though, because I knew that feeling would go away. I wouldn't want to do it anymore. I'd miss my chance—and who knows when I'd see a cock like that again."

I'm getting a raging hard-on here so I have no choice but to cross my legs. My cock rises to the left, poking up above my thigh, pressed against the thin material of my nice new slacks. But at least my crossed leg's in front of it, blocking his view of my rising bulge. The move must've been a little too conspicuous, though, because his eyes drop straight down to my crotch. Then: "I'm making you hard, aren't I?"

"W-What?" Shit! "No. N-no, I—"

"'Cause it's totally cool. I mean, I'm getting hard too just thinking about it." And he openly adjusts himself right in front of me, casually shifting his cock in his sweatpants so it's pointing up to the left against his hip. I can see the line of his shaft swelling against the fabric, and it's clear he isn't wearing anything under those pants. There's definitely no way I can get rid of my hard-on with that sight in front of me. "We still good? Want me to keep going?

"So anyways," he continues with a grin after my stunned nod, his rumbling voice completely nonchalant, "I pull out and tell him to stand up. You should've seen the look on his face. And now suddenly I'm on my knees with a faceful of cock, nose full of his smell, watching him leak, and I wrap my hands around him and he's so hot and hard and massive and I just want to pump my fist up and down that cock, rub his tip over my lips—and that's exactly what I do. I suck that cock into my mouth and taste him on my tongue, that meaty hard hot feeling, and he's sliding forward to the back of my mouth, sliding back and forth and groaning, and I'm bobbing my head, licking and sucking and wanting more and—

"Then he started groaning and told me to get ready 'cause he was gonna cum and I didn't think much of it but then fuck, he started literally PISSING cum down my throat, filled my fucking mouth. I was choking on it until he pulled out and started spraying all over my face and it was dripping onto my chest and I just totally lost control and bust my nut right then and there, more than I ever had before, making a fucking puddle on the floor with his cock still jerking and spitting in my face."

My own cock's like a red-hot iron pressed against my thigh now. I try to press it down flatter with my crossed leg, but that just squeezes my cockhead and forces out a hot wet drop of precum that makes a dark patch on my slacks.

"Seriously, dude. I can see you're in trouble there. Just do what you've gotta do. You can even let it out. No harm in it, right?"

The thought makes my head spin. "I-it's against the rules."

"There's a rule that says two guys can't show their dicks to each other?"

"No sexual activity—"

"Who said anything about activity?" Then he adds this grin—a grin that feels like the word "yet" tacked on the end of that sentence, but I can't let myself think that.

"Whatever. That's up to you. And anyways, I'm getting to the important part. 'Cause the thing I don't get is how fucking good his cum tasted. That salty bitter taste... I swallowed it all. And I mean, I'd tried tasting my own cum once and I didn't like it. But this—I'd never tasted anything like that before. I can't get it out of my head. Right after I went home I put my legs up on the bed, pointed my dick at my mouth and started pounding away at my cock, thinking about that massive leaking snake of his, the cum dripping down my throat and over my pecs, jerking harder and harder until my cock shot right into my mouth, onto my chin, but it just wasn't the same."

Fuck! Don't put that image in my head! This isn't helping here! The dark stain of precum's spreading wider over my rock-hard cockhead. The fabric of my pants is so tight it's making me tingle, making me twitch.

"And I've tried to recreate it. No guy can compare. I get them hot and ready and I'm waiting for it, give it to me, give it to me, waiting for that cum—and then there's barely just a few shots. I can't stop thinking about it. I've tried to think of ways to find him of course, but I can't think of anything. Fuck! If I saw him on the street I'd probably just drop to my knees and suck him off right then and there."

He glances down at the bulge in my pants, then we make eye contact like an electric beam that wrenches my internal organs. Suddenly, this sly note creeps into his voice. "So I've been asking around, and I had a chat with Alex Cheng, up on the fifth floor..." Fuck. I think I know where this is going. Alex and I got to know each other pretty intimately, to say the least, when we were freshmen. "And he said I might want to tell my RA about my little problem. He might be able to help. And from where I'm sitting, it looks like you might be."

"M-Mark, I..." barely believing it. He fucking planned this. He knew what he was doing. "There are rules. I'm not allowed to—"

"I know, I know. You can't fuck the residents. I get it. But so long as you're comfortable with it, I bet there's nothing about just—you know, not objecting to it? No rule against letting me do what I want—to you—right? You can't lay a finger on me, but nothing says I can't do what I want to you so long as you're okay with it, right?"

I suddenly realize my mouth is hanging open but words are failing to come out. "I feel like this is one of those hostage situations. Blink once for yes, twice for no," he laughs. "But seriously, I'm being honest here. This is what I want. Is this what you want?"

I manage to gasp out, "More than anything."

"Well alright then."

I barely manage to stand, my knees quivering like I've just climbed twenty flights of stairs, my heart pounding, and he steps in real close so I feel his body heat, his breath on my mouth; and then his strong hands are undoing my belt, my zipper. I strip off my shirt with fumbling fingers (there's certainly no rule against that) while his hands slide my pants down over my ass, lets me step out of them and yank off my socks so I'm there in just my boxers with my giant erection leaking through the material. At least until he strips them off too and then he takes in the sight of my swollen, curved-up sweaty veiny giant cock begging for a hand, for a mouth. I can feel his gaze blazing on my quivering, straining organ, on the glistening bead of precum building up in my cumslit.

"Now that is a fucking fantastic cock," he says. "But first things first, I'm feelin' overdressed here." And he grabs the bottom of his shirt, pulls upwards. I'm watching that fabric slide up, revealing veins scored across his rock-hard lower abs, between V-lines sharp enough that you could fuck them—then the skin vacuum-packed tight to the wide blocks of his perfectly-sculpted abdominals, row after row of them beneath broad pecs that ripple as his arms go higher over his head, his lats flaring out; and then his shirt's off and he balls it up, the massive peaks of his veiny biceps thrusting against his skin before he tosses it to the floor. "You like what you see?" he grins, flexing his pecs, making them bounce and bunch massively.

"You're amazing. You're fucking amazing!" I gasp out. The sensation of being in the presence of so much hard manly muscleflesh is practically tactile on my tongue. "I've never seen muscles like that."

"Yeah? Thanks. Maybe you want to see this too." And he turns around, lets me see dozens of muscles bunching across his back as he brings his hands to the waistband of his sweatpants. The firm curves of his ass push against the stretchy grey material for just a second before he tugs down, exposing the most perfect bulbous butt I've ever seen, the muscles flexing and wobbling as he steps out of his pants, his light brown skin adding extra definition to the perky swells of his asscheeks. An ass that begs for a cock, threatens to squeeze every last drop of cum out of you. And it's already squeezing a fat strand of precum out of my tip, a long sticky strand that's dripping off my cock.

He turns to face me so I finally get a full view of his rock-hard member. He's got a thick battering ram, a real bull of a cock. At least seven and a half inches and THICK, with balls like eggs from the extra-large section. He packs his fist around the powerful base of his fuckmuscle, squeezes it and slides down so his brawny shaft gets red and veined, so his cockhead swells, his cumslit stretches. Watching him, my own cock's on fire, standing up higher than I've ever seen it, pointing up at that musclestud's face, so tight it's almost like it's being squeezed in a giant hand—but it's that maddening unfulfilling ache which is really just the sense of impending pleasure. The built-up pressure that demands stimulation so it can transform into stomach-clenching shockwaves that drain your balls and rip the spunk out of your cumslit.

He's studying my cock, still squeezing idly along the length of his own shaft. "That must've been fucking painful, keeping that thing in your pants," he says, a grin of delight on his handsome face. "You look like you're just about to explode. I'd better do something about that."

And in moments I'm filled with the heart-pounding tension of having a man on his knees in front of my cock, feeling the nearness of his mouth like heat. Nothing can describe the fluttering tension of being in that position, my knees quivering and my cock buzzing with pounding blood, my balls clamped up tight against my body like they expect me to cum any second. And that fucking musclehunk is kneeling there, wryly smirking at my desperate cumcannon, massive forearms crossed in front of his chest, making those pecs push out and form a deep rippled cleft that I'd give anything to plunge my cock down, his own erect dick practically between my legs.

"Where to begin?" He studies my throbbing organ. That wobbling translucent string of precum is practically down to my knees. "Well, I guess I can't have you getting that on the carpet," he says, and he bends low, opens his mouth and starts rising up so the strand of precum lands right in the middle of his tongue, coming up toward my cock, tasting my precum—Fuck, that sight makes a fresh glob squeeze out of my stretched-tight cumslit and land in his mouth. He comes closer, closer—Fuck, please!—closer and then—no, fuck, just fucking shove it in your mouth!—he stops just short, closes his lips so they barely graze my cumslit, driving a bolt of maddening pleasure right down my cock, making it pulse as he winks at me, draws away, watches my unbearable need swell out my dick, curved up harder than it's ever been.