The Incident With My Creepy Roommate

My first college roommate was a creep. At first I thought he was weird, but harmless. After “the incident” last night, now I’m not so sure. I can’t even tell anyone about what happened because, of course, I don’t have any proof. It’s such a crazy story. Who would even believe me? Also I’m not even completely sure it wasn’t all a dream. Did it even actually happen?

It all started at the very beginning of the year. I had just turned 18 and went away to college. It was my first time being out on my own. I was nervous and excited at the same time. I was an only child so I never had to share a bedroom with anyone. It would be my first time ever having a roommate. I would have to learn how to share personal space with another person. Life was about to change…fast. Even if we didn’t become best friends, I hoped we would at least get along.

I met Chuck the day we moved in. When I got to our room, he was already inside unpacking. Chuck was a freshman too and, initially, he seemed like a good guy. He had average looks; brown hair, brown eyes set a little too close together, overall sharp facial features and he was fairly well-built. He was a little over 6 feet tall and I guessed he weighed close to 200 pounds. The weight he carried was not fat, though. He looked strong. Not with ridiculous bodybuilder muscles, but powerful nonetheless. I was just under 6 feet tall and weighed in at about 160 pounds. I sported lightly toned arms on my lean frame. I did spend time in the gym but I focused more on cardio and less on the weights.

With plenty of time to think over the summer, I had decided that I would tell my roommate right away that I was gay. In this day and age, I didn’t think that many college-aged people would have a problem with another person’s sexual identity. A roommate is someone that I would be spending a lot of time with. I wanted to avoid an uncomfortable revelation down the road if I wasn’t open from the beginning. As I had expected, Chuck was not affected by this. He told me that he himself was straight but my being gay certainly wouldn’t be an issue.

I would not call Chuck a friend. It’s not that I didn’t want to be his friend, but Chuck and I didn’t really click. We were very different people. We liked different sports. I liked baseball and basketball while he preferred football and hockey. We also had different tastes in music and movies. I made friends pretty easily with other kids that I had met in my classes. There was just something a little off about Chuck. I had a cousin named Chuck and that cousin was an asshole. I tried to disassociate cousin-Chuck from roommate-Chuck and give my roommate the benefit of the doubt, but he had a way of making me feel uncomfortable.

From day one he was a bit of a voyeur. He had a way of staring or leering at me that made me feel naked when I was fully clothed. His eyes would often travel down and up the full length of my body. He would wait until I decided to head to the showers then decide he would go too. I would notice him glancing at me, seemingly trying to get a peek at me while I toweled off or while undressing and dressing.

One part of it was my own fault. I have this thing where I can’t sleep if I’m clothed. I can’t wear pajamas or even a t-shirt to bed. I literally will not be able to fall asleep. I sleep in just a pair of boxers. There was no hiding this idiosyncrasy of mine so I told Chuck why I was getting close to naked in front of him so he wouldn’t think I was an exhibitionist, enjoying putting myself on display. Chuck quickly found ways to be watching as I undressed and got in to bed and as I got up out of bed in the morning in just my boxers. It wasn’t just that he was in the room at the time. No. He had a bizarre talent of always seeming to have just finished doing one thing and about to start another just as I was getting up so it was completely natural for him to look right at me, in my mostly naked state, as I arose from bed. If I could, I would cover myself from head to toe in footie jammies to avoid his stare.

He also began to be more free with his own body in front of me. He would pick odd times to parade around our room in front of me shirtless. He had a good body, but my attraction to someone begins with personality. I would never be attracted Chuck, physically or otherwise. If he was trying to get a response out of me, he wouldn’t succeed. What did he think would happen? His pecks and abs would be too much for me? I’d have to either jump his bones or beg him to let me have just one touch? It wasn’t going to happen.

From the very beginning he took an unusual interest in my sexuality. It was like I was a case study to him. He would ask me deeply personal questions that I found to be inappropriate, especially for two people who had just met. Literally every day he would ask me questions about what it was like being gay.  Some of them were: “When did you know you were gay?” “What was the first gay thought you ever had?” “How old were you first realized you liked dick?” “Did any specific event turn you gay?” “Were you ever attracted to a girl?” “What is your ‘type’?” “Do I turn you on?” “Do you like big dicks?” “Do you have any fetishes?” “How do you meet other gay guys?” “Do you pitch or catch?” Those are just some of examples of the dozens of questions he berated me with.

I didn’t answer his questions. I would either try to change the subject or I would just ignore them all together. This went on every day for weeks. It was like I was a specimen he studying for a class. He seemed to have a morbid curiosity about me. I wondered to myself if he was secretly gay or at least bi-curious. When he asked me to tell him about my first gay physical experience, my usual deflection tactics weren’t working. He persisted and demanded an answer. To get him to drop it, I decided to tell him the truth. The truth would close the door on the subject better than anything I could make up. I was a virgin. I had no boyfriends in high school and I had never “hooked up” with anyone. I hadn’t yet had a first experience.

Chuck either ran out of questions or simply eventually realized that I had no stories to offer him. He stopped the questions but moved onto something new and even more disturbing. He started to find ways to touch and handle me. It was subtle and seemingly innocent at first, like a touch on my shoulder or a tousle of my hair when I was at my desk and he’d walk passed me. Then it became more and more bold as the days and weeks passed.

When I would go to work out at the fitness center, Chuck would happen to show up just after me and play it off as a surprise coincidence. Right. Like, where did he think I was going with my gym bag and wearing workout clothes? I spent most of my workouts on the treadmill and elliptical, but on the occasions that I would use the free weights, Chuck would appear immediately and “spot” me. His hands would be on my hips or on my sides and as I finished, he’d give me a little squeeze. When my workout was done he grabbed me by the shoulders, massing them and offered to rub me down back in our room. I pulled away and declined.

One day, I was in the room alone sitting upright on my bed using my laptop with my legs stretched out. I was wearing shorts, Nike high-top sneakers and black Nike crew socks with the white swoosh near the top. Chuck came into the room, looked at me on the bed and made a big deal about my socks. They were really common, you could see them all over this campus, but he acted like they were newest and coolest thing. He walked right up to me and sat on my bed. He said the socks looked good but he wanted to know how they performed. He began to untie my shoes.

I was surprised and alarmed. I said, “What are you doing?”

He said he needed to find out if they were comfortable. Were they for every day or just working out? Did they control sweating and odors? He flipped my shoes off and they landed on the floor.

The socks had come in a three pack when I bought them. I considered that if I offered him a pair, maybe he’d leave me alone. Instead, I followed my usual strategy of saying as little as possible and hoped for a quick ending to this unexpected invasion.

He took hold of my left foot and grabbed, squeezed and felt all up and down my foot and toes. I had been wearing my shoes all day and my freshly exposed feet were sensitive. His aggressive touch caused me to flinch and jerk involuntarily.

He asked me, “What size do you wear?”

I didn’t answer.

He leaned over, picked up a discarded shoe, bent back the tongue and observed, “You’re a 10 and a half.” He held the well-worn sneaker closer to his face and nose than necessary to read the size, then, dropped it back to the floor again.

I thought he might tickle me some more so I spoke up. “You know, I have three pairs, I’d be happy give you a pair.”

He dropped my foot for a moment and turned to me. “You would do that for me?” Then he said, “Too bad I wear a 12.” He thought a second and then laughed. “Wait, that’s shoe size. Socks are pretty much one size fits all. I accept your offer.”

To my further surprise, he hooked a finger in each sock and began to peel them both right off my feet. They came off inside out. He held the toe end of one to his nose and inhaled. He said, “They’re only slightly damp and there’s hardly no odor at all. Let me make sure.” He picked up my bare left foot and pressed his face into it and breathed in deeply. “I think they do a pretty good job.”

His unshaved, two-day beard tickled my arch. He looked at my right foot, “Is this one the same?” He picked it up and pressed his nose under my toes. “Yep. You’re good.” He stroked the soles of both of my feet up and down and announced, “The socks might be a little damp but they kept your perfectly feet dry and smooth.”

It was all I could do to not scream out from the tickling as his rough fingers swiped at my soft arches. He was much bigger and stronger than me so I felt that all I could do was wait him out.

He mercifully stopped tickling me, stood up and said, “Thanks for letting me check them out. There’s nothing like seeing performance results with your own eyes. And thanks for the gift. I appreciate it.” He took my used dirty socks with him and left me there barefoot on my bed.

When I made him the offer, I had meant a clean pair. I watched as he put his newly acquired socks in his drawer with his other clean laundry and not in his dirty laundry basket in the closet. His weirdness was really starting to creep me out.

One night I was at my desk studying before a big test and he stood behind me massaging my neck and shoulders. He said that being relaxed is just as important for test performance as studying is. He said he was good at this and would be happy to give me a full-body massage. I again thanked him for the offer but declined. What was wrong with this guy? It occurred to me that Chuck had the size and physical ability to pick me up and carry me over to the bed, pin me down and force his massage on me if he really wanted to. From that moment on, I spent as little time as possible in our room. I studied in the library and hung out in my friends’ rooms more and more. Time marched on and we neared the end of the semester.

Fast forward to last night, the night of “the incident”:

I usually ate dinner in the dining hall with my friends. On this day, however, I had an extra lab that ran unusually late. By the time I made it to dinner, all of my friends were done and gone. The dining hall was mostly empty so I took my tray and sat alone at a table. After a couple of minutes I felt a presence. I looked up and Chuck was standing at my table holding a tray of his own. He and I never dined together, but the big, almost empty room and my still nearly full plate of food left me with no excuses. Chuck sat down and joined me.

He observed, “Hey, I sure haven’t seen much of you lately. You’ve been leaving earlier and coming back later every day.”

I replied, “Yeah, I know. Sorry about that but I’ve taken to studying in the library where all of the resources I need are right there.”

He said, “Oh, is that what it is? I was starting to think it was me,” he forced a laugh.

“No, it’s not you,” I lied and smiled uncomfortably.

Chuck said, “Hey check it out. I’m wearing the socks you gave me.”

Suddenly his socked right foot was out of his Croc and on my chair, between my legs right in my crotch. I instinctively slid my chair my chair back. I jumped up and said, “I need more napkins.”

When I returned, his foot was off of my chair and safely back in its Croc. We finished dinner quietly and without further incident. It was not too late and I had intended to go spend some time with my friends. I stood up, ready to part ways with Chuck and I became suddenly dizzy and nauseous. Chuck saw me sway, jumped up and grabbed ahold of my arm to steady me.

He asked, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

I said, “I don’t know. I don’t feel so good.”

He said, “Maybe it was something you ate. Let me help you back to our room.”

I protested, “No, it’s okay. I’ll be fine.” I bent down to pick up my backpack and that was big mistake. The room tilted and if Chuck hadn’t still been holding my arm, I would have found myself splayed out on the floor.

Chuck said, “I can’t leave you here. You need help. Let me get you back to the room and we’ll figure out what to do.”

I nodded in agreement. What choice did I have? Chuck lifted my backpack in his right hand and held my arm firmly in his left.

Walking was proving to be nearly impossible and Chuck ended up slinging my backpack over his shoulder and carrying me the last portion of the journey. All I could do is wrap my arms around his neck and hold on while trying to keep my eyes closed as much as possible. It was around 9:00pm and the halls were not crowded. One small group looked at us questioningly and Chuck told them that I had “overdone it” tonight. They seemed to accept that answer and moved on.

We finally made it to our room and Chuck carried me across the threshold like I was his bride on our wedding night. He gently laid me down on my back on my bed and went back to door. He closed it and flipped the lock.

He walked back over to me and asked, “Do think you’re gonna puke?”

I thought about it and said, “No, I’m just really tired all of the sudden.” The world was spinning and I needed to keep my eyes closed.

I heard him move the garbage can next to my bed as he said, “Just in case…”

I couldn’t see, but I felt Chuck begin to untie my shoes. “Let me help you out there buddy. I know you can’t sleep in clothes.”

Suddenly I felt like I couldn’t move or even talk. I attempted to speak and nothing happened. I tried to move and the room spun. What was going on? Was I really sick or did he put something in my food when I had gotten up from the table?

I felt my socks slide off next. I had a flash of memory of that day when he had feigned interest in my socks, stripped my feet bare and embarrassed me by smelling and tickling them. Laying here now with him standing over my naked feet at the foot of the bed, what was he going to do to me now? I was powerless to protest. He was going to do what he was going to do. Surprisingly, he left my feet alone.

I felt the bed sink from his weight as he sat down next to me. He began to unbutton my shirt. He took his time doing this and after releasing the final button, he spread it open. For a long minute I felt nothing but the cool air of the room and the stare of his eyes on my bare skin. Finally, he eased my arms out of my sleeves and dropped my shirt to the floor. He stood up, stepped away and I heard the water running. The water stopped and I soon felt a cool wet washcloth being placed on my forehead. Like I was his sick child, he rubbed my temples and told me I’d feel better in the morning. He unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans, moved to the foot of the bed and pulled my pants off.

I laid there in nothing but my boxers, vulnerable, still hardly able to move or even open my eyes. I was fearful of what Chuck was planning to next, as he stood over my mostly naked body, but nothing happened. I felt him spread my blanket over me and then the light in room turned off. I heard him readying himself for bed. His bedsprings protested slightly against his weight. He was just going to sleep. He had ample opportunity but he did nothing harmful or even inappropriate. Was he really just being helpful? Like a real friend? No sounds came from Chuck’s side of the room and I finally un-tensed my body. It was only a few minutes until I fell into a troubled, shallow sleep.

I found myself drifting in and out of restless sleep that was filled with bizarre dreams. The nausea had mostly passed, but I was still a little dizzy and I still couldn’t seem to open my eyes. At some point in the middle of night, something woke me up. I thought I felt motion at the foot of my bed. The blanket had lifted up momentarily and I felt the air of the room on my skin. Suddenly there two hands on my feet. Two rough, strong hands and they were massaging my feet. I tried to move my legs, but it was like they were frozen in place. Those hands worked their way up and down the soles of my feet, not tickling me, but kneading and rubbing. Fingers wiggled on the balls of my feet and then each toe was individually worked.

Eventually the intruding hands began to work their way up my ankles, my shins and my calves. They continued to move northbound, passed my knees and up my thighs. I tried to say something but nothing happened. I tried to scream out but the sound was empty. Everything that was happening was like a dream but the touch seemed so real. The hands continued to work their way up my thighs and ultimately, inside of the legs of my boxers. As those hands got higher, there was more weight on my bed. I was not alone under this blanket.

The fingers hit brain and I felt a tightening in response. The hands slipped out of my boxers and pulled them down to my knees. The hands made new contact with my body by my hips and they began to explore my abdomen. It was like a blind person using their hands to see. They felt all of my contours and inspected my concave navel before traveling further north and giving my nipples some gentle tweaks. Those guilty hands found my armpits and strummed their way down my ribs, then across my lower belly. Goosebumps popped up all over my body and I assumed my assailant would be pleased at having elicited a response.

Goosebumps weren’t the only response. I was beginning to get hard. Those culprit hands hadn’t discovered my penis yet, but my emerging erection was an involuntary situation. I couldn’t move my body but apparently my cock had a mind of its own. Suddenly the violating hands found my growing rod. The best I could manage was a slight flinch from the shock of the touch. They stroked me up and down and within about all of ten seconds, I was throbbing at full mast. Those amazing hands worked gentle strokes initially that became faster and harder with each pass. It wasn’t long before they were working my cock like a piece of farm equipment. Just when I thought I was about to blow my load, the hands disappeared and I was left on the edge.

I had been having bad, weird dreams all night. Was this just another dream? An erotic dream, but a dream nonetheless? Though I had almost no control over my body, my mind felt lucid. What was going on? Was this the work of Chuck? He was a weird and creepy guy but was he capable of this? Had someone else broken into our room and began an assault on me? Was Chuck innocently sleeping across the room in his own bed?  Or was all of this not real, just in my head? I did not know.

The hands were off of me but now I was suddenly being kissed. A strong tongue parted my lips and entered my mouth. I was unable to either fight it off or kiss back. The mouth slid off my lips and down my chin. When it found my neck, a new crop of gooseflesh sprouted on my arms and legs. Dream or not, I was experiencing sensations that my virgin body had never experienced before. The mouth and tongue glided to a nipple and sucked it rock hard before gliding to its twin. That mouth and tongue began to work their way slowly down my sternum, like a snail leaving its slime in its wake. It made its way lower and lower and that tongue plunged into my belly button.

My chest and stomach are mostly hairless, but I do have treasure trail of hair that runs from my navel down into my pool of pubic hair. The mouth and tongue were strolling down that happy trail. Having been taken to the edge minutes earlier by those guilty hands, my cock was pulsing in anticipation and screaming for release. The mouth was getting ever closer to its target and I couldn’t wait. I knew it was wrong, but I wanted it. I was silently begging for that mouth to take me in. Finally, having reached the end of the road, that warm, wet mouth opened wide and swallowed my whole length. This was my first oral experience and it felt even more amazing than I could have imagined. I know I’m not exactly huge down there but that mouth had no trouble at all enveloping all of me. It slid up and down, slipped on and off, sucked hard and soft. Then, one of the hands joined in by stroking my balls.

The combination of sensations proved to be too much and my explosion was now imminent. I still couldn’t move my body or vocalize anything so I had no way to warn my assailant of my pending detonation. In my mind I curled my toes, arched my back and screamed in ecstasy as I pumped three hot loads into that mouth. The mouth drank it all down and continued to suck me until I was milked dry and falling limp. The mouth slid off of me one final time and the hands slid down my legs, up my feet and out from under the blanket where everything had started.

My heart was pounding and my face was flushed as I laid there recovering from the experience of a lifetime. As I calmed, I realized how drained and tired I was. I fell asleep once again, but this time it was a deep, heavy sleep. The sleep of the dead. I didn’t wake again until late morning.

When I awoke, I tried to move and I found that I could. I moved my arms and legs and I felt normal. I looked over at Chuck’s bed, it was empty. I lifted my head, looked around and realized I was alone in the room. I remembered every detail of “the incident”. I still couldn’t tell, however, if it had been real or a dream. I reached a working arm to my pelvic region and discovered that my boxers were still pulled down around my knees. Further inspection revealed that my penis was caked in dried cum. Had I pushed my boxers down during an erotic dream? Did the erotic dream end in a wet dream? Or did these things actually happen? I would probably never know the truth.

I sat up and noticed the washcloth on the side of my pillow. It was still damp and I used it to clean my hardened seed off of my tool. I stood up, stepped out of my boxers and pulled on my robe. Like a newborn deer, I attempted tentative steps on unsteady legs. I found that I was mostly back to normal. My head was a little groggy but otherwise I was physically okay. I grabbed my toiletries and headed to the showers.

When I returned from a long, hot shower, Chuck was back in the room. He was clean and dressed and probably just back from breakfast. When I opened the door he was standing with his back to me and he appeared to be holding something up to his face. He turned around, surprised, and I saw that he was holding my dirty socks and boxers that had still been on the floor. He turned a shade of crimson and said, “I wasn’t sure how you were feeling so I thought I’d help you out by cleaning up your dirty clothes.” He picked up my shirt and jeans and brought the whole collection to the closet and dropped it all in my laundry basket.

Chuck asked, “So how are you feeling? You were in pretty bad shape last night.”

I replied, “I’m okay now.”

Chuck suggested, “It must have been something you ate.”

I pointed out, “You ate the same food as I did, from the same place at the same time. Did you get sick?”

Chuck said, “No, I was fine. Weird, huh?”

I asked Chuck, “Did you get up in the middle of the night for anything?”

He said, “No, I slept straight through. Why?”

“I thought I heard someone moving around, like someone was in our room. Did you hear or notice anything strange?”

“No I didn’t,” Chuck replied. “When I got up in the morning the door was still locked. I think you were pretty out of it last night. You were making noises for hours like you were dreaming. Or having nightmares.”

I didn’t know what to say. Should I ask him about what I suspected? Accuse him, my supposedly straight roommate, of molesting me? Of taking advantage of me? Of drugging me? Should I report him? If I were to report him, then who would I report to? The RA? Student Services? These are serious accusations that would affect both of us for the at least the next four years. Who would believe me? Do I even believe me? Do I know this wasn’t a dream?

The more I thought about it, the more I realized what an evil genius Chuck was. He had planned this and thought it all through. He had played the long game. He positioned himself as someone that many might find to be eccentric but harmless. Some might think he was just a gregarious, physically affectionate person by nature who had a genuine interest in other people. When he persistently asked questions that I found to be too personal, intrusive and inappropriate, I made my feelings clear he immediately stopped. When he offered me a rub down after my workout and I declined, he let it go. When he wanted to massage me for relaxation the night before a test and I turned him down, he didn’t force me, he dropped it. When I was sick, he helped me out. Maybe he shouldn’t have stripped me down, but I had told him that that was the only way I could sleep. He pushed the boundaries but always stopped short of crossing the hard line. He was misunderstood and harmless. How would anyone believe he could be capable of drugging and violating his roommate?

The one thing he might have the hardest time justifying would be the day of the socks and his assault on my feet. On the surface that whole incident was inappropriate and impossible to explain away. But he could spin it. He could insist that he was overly (and innocently) curious about those socks. He genuinely wanted to know how they performed, so he validated the results for himself. He didn’t realize that his actions had made me uncomfortable. That certainly hadn’t been his intent. Now that he knew how I felt, it wouldn’t happen again. He’d be sorry. And when I offered him the pair of socks, he truly I thought that I meant that pair of socks. It was all totally innocent. Weird, but innocent. And the morning after the night I was sick when I thought he was smelling my dirty clothes? No, I misunderstood. He was helping me out by cleaning up. He could sell it for sure.

The best thing for me to do would be to request a new roommate. It wouldn’t be too hard to get one of my friends to switch. I needed to talk to my RA and find out how to go about initiating the change. Chuck and I had different majors and were on different academic courses. It was unlikely we would cross each other’s paths if we didn’t room together anymore.

I just didn’t understand him. Was he gay and embarrassed to say? Why would he be embarrassed? I told him I was gay on the first day we met. Was he some kind of bi-curious person? If he was, does that explain the over the top, aggressive behavior? No. Who goes around drugging people? Let’s suppose Chuck had come to me and said that he was in fact gay. That he was attracted (or whatever) to me. That he wanted to be with me. I would have let him down gently. Told him that mixing a relationship up with being roommates was a bad idea. We could have talked through it. But instead he chose the path he chose and I don’t know why. I won’t confront him and I won’t report him. I am still a little afraid of him.

The semester ended and I went home for the long holiday break. When I returned in January, I settled in with my new roommate, a friend from band. I saw no evidence of Chuck anywhere. I asked the RA and he told me that Chuck never came back after the first semester. He didn’t know why. It could have been financial reasons, family reasons…nobody knew. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had gotten arrested for some type of indecent behavior. I was completely free of him.

A lot of time has passed and I still wonder about “the incident”. A part of me knows that it is possible that I had a bad reaction to something I ate. Food borne illness. Maybe the whole I can’t move and I can’t talk thing was just a part of an elaborate dream. It wasn’t impossible. But I was mostly sure that Chuck was just a horrible creep who was a mastermind and guilty of everything I suspected. Who knows what things he might have done that I never even knew about. After all, I caught him sniffing my dirty socks and underwear when he thought he was alone. He was the worst kind of creep, but at the same time, I’ll never forget the things I felt that night. I’ll just never know if they were real or imagined.