You know how I always watched you, as you walked into my room, still slightly wet on your return from the shower down the hall. My senior year in college, fourth year in the dorm, and I had never seen a boy as beautiful as you, one whose firm pecs taunted me as your cock strained against the work-out shorts you lounged around in, the tip pressing against the fabric, right in front of my face on the days I would look up from reading a book on my bed.
But I never thought you were the type, you the all-American freshman with a girlfriend back home and an ROTC uniform in the closet. You always talked to me about your weightlifting class as I admired your tight abs, hard calves, wanting nothing more than to kneel before you, feel stream after stream of your cum pounding against the back of my throat.
I have never been with a guy before, so I'm nervous now, watching you sitting in my chair, chest bare, your short brown hair wet, muscles tense, and cock hard, pressing upward, begging for my lips, as you ask for help with your Spanish homework.
I walk over and reach past your textbook, taking your hard cock in my firm hand. You start to pull away, but I don't let go, beginning a slow, steady handjob through the cotton of your shorts, as I lock my blue eyes onto your brown ones. I continue massaging your cock as you let out a slight moan.
"You look a little tense," I say with a sly smile. "Why don't you let me relax you?"
