by Simon Jacobs
(11/09/11)

For the first half of the semester, I suffered a minor tinge of resentment whenever my roommate Robin mentioned his girlfriend, although I'd known about her ahead of time. By the time I arrived on campus in August as a junior -- age twenty, my major declared, an upperclassman on the prowl for new sexual conquests -- I had already developed a significant crush on Robin from afar, if not one that I was willing to openly acknowledge. Meaning: I'd fantasized about fucking him, but no one knew it. As of late, more boys had come sneaking into my sexual fantasies, but to the rest of the world, I was still unequivocally straight. At this stage in my development, I wasn't particularly concerned with the psychology of being "bisexual"--what I wanted, above all, was something thick, warm and responsive to suck on.

Over the summer, after we received our roommate assignments, Robin and I had sent a series of emails back and forth, exchanging tastes in music, movies and books, trying to become familiar with one another before we were thrust into close proximity. After the first email, we became Facebook friends, and I immediately dived into as much personal detail as was publicly available on the Internet. Robin's Facebook profile said he was "in a relationship" with someone named Ashley; I stalked her as best as I could, but her profile picture only showed half a figure darting out of the frame in a blur. She had 212 Facebook friends. So, she was subtle about her Internet presence. I was intrigued.

I spent several weeks exhaustively exploring Robin's photo albums on Facebook. He was lean of frame, fairly short, with a head of curly black hair -- he looked like he could have been an especially noisy sub in a gay porn video. He had a knack for poses in his photos that positively cried out for sexualization -- most tantalizingly, a photo taken at the mall food court by one of his friends, which featured Robin attempting to engulf an entire hot dog in his mouth at once, bun and all, while looking wide-eyed up at the camera. I downloaded the photo onto my desktop for future reference.

In moments of moral superiority, I would shake my head disappointedly at this picture, at the brazenness of today's youth/social media/culture/etc. In other, less shining moments, moments of sexual dubiety, perhaps after I'd finished texting my girlfriend for the night (for some reason these occasions always struck late at night), I would blow the photo up to full screen and mentally replace the hot dog with my cock.

Since then, since my digital introduction to Robin, I'd broken up with my girlfriend in an earnest attempt to try and "find myself," which I believed could best be accomplished as a lone wolf. The long-distance thing hadn't really been working for us either. Phone sex could only get us so far, and there was little benefit in smearing ourselves over the built-in cameras on our laptops in some shitty display of intimacy (Skype stripping/masturbation was quite possibility the oddest and least-gratifying product of my tech-savvy generation). I needed live flesh.

Robin and I liked each other straight off, but it felt as if our relationship was fated to remain friends-only, based solely on the way that he talked, which, at least in terms of sex, seemed to revolve completely around T & A. He would say to me, moving back from his laptop screen, "Check out this girl, Alex. Look at those tits. It's just -- I don't know. They're so fuckin' perky." I knew what he meant -- we had about the same standards for female attractiveness -- but I was a little turned off by his apparent unwillingness to bend even a little.

To test him, I brought up a picture of Nick Thirteen, the frontman for a band we both liked: "Look at this guy. I think he's one of the most handsome men I've ever seen."

Robin ran his hand through his springy hair. "I guess, yeah, I don't know. I like his hair." He was so clearly anxious at my even raising the subject of another man's attractiveness that I decided to back off for good. I would have to focus my attention on trying to sleep with someone else, to officiate this bisexual thing.

And I did lay off, to the best of my ability, for the next month or so. I took my mind off wanting to fuck Robin. I prowled around campus for females, succeeded once in wrangling one back to my room, then kindly asked Robin to leave, as if in some quest to prove my straightness. At least once every two weeks I asked him about his girlfriend Ashley, who lived elsewhere and about whom Robin was not very forthcoming. All I learned was that she was one/several years older than he, was/had once been in some sort of a punk band, and had one/multiple tattoos. As much as I wanted to know, Robin didn't tell me, and I didn't want to appear overly interested.

Late nights were hard, however, and more often than not after Robin went to sleep I would end up cruising the internet for gay and bisexual porn to try and take the edge off.

Until one night, I was watching an internet compilation of something like "the year's best male-male facials," gradually getting hard, when I began to sense that I was not the only person awake in our dark room. There was someone else watching. I removed my earbuds, spoke into the darkness. "Robin?"

His voice came from his bed, behind me on the other side of the room, after a few seconds. "...Yeah?"

Without taking my eyes off the screen, I asked, "Would you like to come join me?"

Another pause. "Okay."

His bed creaked, and I heard his bare feet coming up beside me. I scooted over, and he pulled up a chair to sit next to me. All he had on were his boxers. His lithe body glowed in the light from the screen. The context was perfect. I was aroused. I can't possibly describe how much I wanted to slide my hand under his boxers and feel what was beneath. I unplugged my headphones from the computer, and the sounds from the crappy laptop speakers filled the room, disguising the sound of my own heavy breathing, and probably Robin's as well. Replaced by sighs, moans, lapping.

Onscreen, a twink whose facial features approximated those of Justin Bieber used one hand to masturbate a large pierced cock while he enthusiastically worked his tongue over every centimeter of it.

"Can you imagine having your dick pierced?" Robin asked, in wonderment.

"No way."

"How do you suppose that would translate when you were fucking someone? You know, what would the difference in sensation be?"

"Dunno."

The cock in the video ejaculated, in waves that the Bieber lookalike seemed to luxuriate beneath, scooping up the trails of come with his tongue, his face covered. My own arousal was not far behind, but I didn't particularly want to jerk off with Robin sitting right next to me, unless we were doing it to each other.

I stole a glance at him. He stared at the screen raptly, his hands clamped on either side of his chair. His plaid boxers were visibly tented from a growing erection. I didn't know how much longer I could contain myself.

Then, self-defeat: I paused the video, cleared my throat, and said, "Well, I think that'll about do it for now."

Robin took a second before he registered my words. "Oh. Yeah," he said, and hopped up from his chair, giving me a close and what I fervently wished was intentional view of his hard-on as he scampered back across the room and crawled into bed. I closed my laptop, and did the same.

I heard telltale rustling from his side of the room as he brought himself off in bed, thinking of who or what I could only imagine. He pulled a handful of tissues from the box on his bedside table as my own come began to pool in my hand, beneath my covers.

"Ashley's coming this weekend," Robin told me the next day.

I sat straight up. "Really? Your girlfriend, the elusive Ashley is coming here? To this room?"

"Yep. Tomorrow. To this very room," Robin said, with a quick glance at his bed, where the sheets were bunched oddly from his orgasm last night. "I guess I'll have to clean up before she gets here."

We tidied up the room in preparation for Ashley's arrival. We were out to impress. I was probably more excited than Robin.

But nothing could have adequately prepared me for the absolute gut-punch that was Ashley when she finally walked through the door on Friday evening.

It was November, so her figure was concealed in a tight leather jacket, and she wore a bright yellow, anime-styled knit cap, with two squinting eyes and a little smiling mouth on the brim. She pulled it off, and her head of shortish, Bowie-like, rooster red-dyed hair burst forth. "Well, hello," Ashley said, taking off her jacket. "Alex. I've heard of you."

Her hair stuck out at jagged, impossible angles, and she was tattooed -- from what I could see, she had colorful designs on both of her upper arms, a phoenix and something abstract. She had a labret stud beneath her lip; I wondered idly if it had any effect during oral sex.

After Robin made the introductions, struck dumb, all I could think to say to her was, "Surely you think Nick Thirteen is handsome. You must."

"Sure. He's great, very sexy. I love his eyes."

Eager that we had something in common, I nodded too eagerly: "Me too."

"Well, now that you both know each other," Robin said, "Ashley and I are gonna go out for a little bit."

They came back late, simmering in a post-coital glow, Ashley laughing, clutching Robin's shoulder. I was right where they'd left me.

On Saturday, I tried to go about my business as normally as possible, but it was strange having three people in the room, two of whom I wanted more than anything to have sex with. That afternoon, Robin went off to conduct school business elsewhere, leaving me alone with Ashley.

We compared music tastes. Mostly the same. We compared movies, books. This was a big thing for me, compatibility in pop culture. Then the conversation died down, and we fell silent. Both of us felt the tension.

"Listen, Alex," Ashley said, the nicest voice in the world. "Robin told me about what happened a few nights ago."

I started. "About--"

"About how you both got off to gay porn."

"No -- no, Ashley, I'm not gay." For some stupid reason, I felt the need to emphasize this, to make sure that Ashley knew what I was trying to communicate: NO, NO -- I STILL THINK WE SHOULD FUCK EACH OTHER STRAIGHTAWAY.

But she laughed, and shook her head. "No, Alex. I'm not implying anything. I've been encouraging Robin to open up about his sexuality for months now." She shook her head again; some of her red hair fell over one side of her face. "He's been so reserved about it. But I take what happened Thursday night to be a positive sign."

I was shaking my head, in dumb agreement. Talking to her -- combined with a glorious sense of the possibility of having both her and her boyfriend -- tied my insides in knots.

"I've done girls before. Robin knows that."

Nodding now without really knowing why, trusting that my instincts would not lead me too far astray.

Ashley suddenly leaned in, gently pulled my head forward, and kissed me. I responded as any reasonable person in my position would have: I gave in. After a long while, she pulled back. "So," she said, "Robin and I were thinking..."

The bed in our dorm room made a creaky fuss with just me sleeping on it, and it was not built to accommodate a threesome, so just Robin and I started out on my bed. He lay back, with his shirt off. I leaned over him and our lips connected. I held his face and pressed him close. Physiologically, it wasn't much different from kissing Ashley a few hours earlier. But it felt so good. Our bare chests touched. We could feel each other breathing. More acutely, from where my leg was placed I could feel his cock getting harder in his jeans. I laid one hand on it, determined the shape. The pace of Robin's breathing quickened. Miraculously, the situation seemed to have resolved itself perfectly in my favor.

Our lips separated, and I moved downwards. I undid Robin's fly, looked up, saw him looking down. The boxers came away and his cock sprang up, rigid on a bed of pubic hair, eager to be swallowed by my body.

I looked over at Ashley watching from Robin's bed, wearing a little half-smile like she'd known all along that this was what would happen, like my face buried between Robin's thighs was the image she'd foreseen since the second she saw me.

I didn't hesitate to prove her right. I opened wide, and took Robin's not insubstantial cock into my mouth, as deep as I could without choking. I was new at this. It felt as great as I'd imagined it during all of those desperate nights; the warmth, the silky skin, the life of it, the fact that it twitched, that the rest of Robin's body reacted with every motion of my tongue and my lips. My technique, undoubtedly, was sloppy at best, but I overcame this with the wholeheartedness of my delivery.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ashley unbutton her jeans and unzip them. She eased her fingers in beneath her panties.

Robin noticed, but it took a few seconds for him to catch his breath and get out a full sentence. "Are you doing what I think you're doing?" he gasped.

Ashley smiled. "Why not?" she shrugged as her hand disappeared beneath her jeans. "It beats watching internet porn."

I laughed, as well as I could with Robin's penis in my mouth. I kept sucking, amateurish, while Ashley fingered herself on Robin's bed.

I felt Robin's body tremble beneath me, and he began to thrust just a little with his hips -- I guessed it was natural when getting one's dick sucked, a technique to increase the pleasure. The bed creaked. I tried to duplicate with my tongue the same manipulations of the penis that usually led to a successful solo orgasm. I cradled the head of Robin's cock with my tongue and pressed it against the roof of my mouth, rubbed back and forth. Robin grabbed the sheets on either side of him, thrust his head back. My eyes rolled over towards Ashley, but all I saw on Robin's bed was a selection of discarded clothing. Where was she?

Then I sensed her behind me, felt her press her bare breasts to my back and wrap her arms around my shoulders. Her hands ran down my sides, to my shorts, beneath which I was nursing quite an erection of my own. Ashley worked to get my shorts and boxers off at the same time.

With a satisfying, wet, smacking sort of sound I slid Robin's penis from my mouth. It bounded straight up, harder than ever.

"Oh, come on!" He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration at having his imminent orgasm delayed.

"Not bad for my first time, eh?" I said.

Robin, now flat on the bed, groaned in response. I turned around to face Ashley. She was completely naked at this point, and in a few more seconds I was too. Her left nipple was pierced. I licked it, tracing the metal ball with the tip of my tongue. She wrapped her hand around my cock. I noticed a small collection of different-colored stars on her right hip. I considered this tattoo to be slightly cliché; she must have been younger when she got it. Ashley as I saw her now did not seem capable of doing cliché anything.

"Come on"--Robin, from behind us--"you're not just going to leave me like this, are you?"

As quick as humanly possible, Ashley and I were off the floor and dragging Robin's bed across the room and placing it beside my own. Robin raised his legs to facilitate this transition. Then all three of us were on the beds. We came to some sort of unspoken mutual conclusion and fell into place. Ashley was on her hands and knees in the center. I positioned myself behind her, my hands on her ass. My erect cock nosed around her buttocks, mostly without direction, which elicited a few suspicious, narrow-eyed looks back at me while Robin, against the wall, made the necessary adjustments.

When Ashley started blowing Robin -- in an effort to get the absolute most that he could from his hard-on, he had started thrusting into her mouth -- I gathered the confidence necessary, possibly in the spirit of competition, to slide my dick into his girlfriend's ass. It was warm and welcoming inside. I pushed as deep as I was comfortable going before I picked up a rhythm. Each time our bodies struck, the faintest ripple ran through her buttocks. I had my fingers splayed around the constellation on her hip.

I must admit that every once in a while, when I closed my eyes, I couldn't help imagining -- for a split second -- that I was fucking Robin rather than Ashley. I don't know if this spurred me on, made me slam my body into hers with more vigor, if I was trying to shoot my energy through Ashley all the way to Robin on the other side. Or if I usually just liked it that hard.

Since Robin had already been so close to coming when I sucked him off, he hardly lasted a minute before he ejaculated, which Ashley directed mostly onto my sheets. Then he collapsed off to the side of my bed, panting and swearing, his cock glistening, while I continued to fuck Ashley from behind, harder now.

"Whoa," he said, watching me, his head propped up on one arm. I smiled at him; I have no idea what that meant. Was it a smirk?

"Come on!" Ashley cried. I quickened my pace, harder. Our bodies audibly making contact; I felt very potent indeed.

I thought then, as I was about to come, completely unaccountably, of Robin: You see this? I'm stealing your soul right now.

Then I pulled out, and let myself come copiously onto Ashley's back. We made appropriate moans of approval, of satisfaction, our hearts racing, adrenaline high. Sweaty, I sat back on my knees. Ashley stretched, sighing, laughing maybe a little, in an airy kind of way.

Then she swiveled on her knees to face me. I thought it was all over. She took hold of my cock. "Do you mind if I clean this up for you?" she asked.

"By all means," I said.

And so she put it into her mouth. As she did so, I felt the back stud of the labret piercing beneath her lip poke right beneath the head of my penis. My whole body tensed, an instinctive, high-pitched moan escaped me, and I came again, spurting straight up into her mouth. She fell back onto the bed, laughing, wiping come from the front of her teeth. It was a great ending.

We must have stayed in that bed for the next four hours, lying naked in different configurations, completely at ease with one another. John and Yoko and someone else. I examined each of Ashley's tattoos in detail -- there were six of them in all -- found the brunette roots of her bright red hair; I discovered the birthmark on Robin's right inner thigh, noticed that he wore contacts, as did Ashley. I learned that Ashley had once had her septum pierced, but had taken the ring out after a few months because she hated the way it stuck out against the rest of her face. I learned that Robin had the beginnings of a tattoo on his shoulder, but that he'd had a bad reaction to the needle and they'd had to stop after about an inch, leaving just a tiny, squiggly black line. He refused to tell me what the original design was. Every once in a while, one of us might drift off, only to be nudged gently back awake, usually accompanied by a fit of giggling. The world we'd created -- the little world in room 103 of Barrett Hall, not fundamentally changed but definitely now of a different hue -- the three of us found it tremendously funny.

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