Date: Fri, 16 Nov 2018 14:55:38 -0500
From: R. Wolfsham <rwolfsham@gmail.com>
Subject: The Bed From Craigslist

This story is an excerpt from my just-released eBook 'Wild Male.' If you
enjoy the tale, I hope you'll want to read more here: http://a.co/d/6qSflDh

---------------------------------------------

The Bed From Craigslist

by Rob Wolfsham

A guy from Craigslist fucked me.

I didn't meet him through the personals. I told myself I'd never hook up
with a guy from there despite sometimes reading the personals and jacking
off in anticipation of doing it. It just seemed like a seedy risky thing,
but this was a special case. I had just moved into a house--my first house
after living in the dorms for two years at Texas Tech. I had packed my
entire life into the back of my Chevy Blazer and said peace to my dorky
randomly assigned roommates. Leaving transient dorm life, I had no
furniture to my name.

"You have to go to Craigslist," Kolby said as we stared at my new empty
room. "People sell cheap shit on there all the time."

Two garbage bags were stuffed into a corner with four boxes of books and a
laptop case, with a Canadian flag draped on top (the only other country I'd
been to). It was my entire life. Kolby's one of two new roommates. We've
been friends since freshman year. He's straight but he knows about me. This
was his first house too so we had a shared giddiness about it all.

"I can't get something on Craigslist," I said.

"Why not?"

"It's weird. I don't trust it."

"Dude, you see this I'm wearing?"

I glanced at Kolby's teal T-shirt, tight against his fat. The band name
Boards of Canada was spelled across the chest in yellow with lollipop trees
and a geometric building.

"Craigslist," he punctuated. "A roadie was selling all his shit. I got it
for like three bucks."

"Do you even know who that band is?"

He looked down, pulling on the shirt, blond hair falling into his face and
bushy red beard. "Yeah! Well. No, not really."

"They're from Scotland. They do experimental electronic music."

"You are such a hipster, but I still love ya."

I surveyed my room. "I need to figure something out, before I have to
sleep."

"Dude, just sleep on the couch," Kolby said. "At least until you get some
sort of bed."

"I'm getting something tomorrow." We had moved furniture into the living
room and I was beat, tired and achy. I needed a shower.

My room had its own connecting bathroom. Kolby and Derrick shared the one
in the hallway. It was sort of this unspoken thing that I get the room with
the bathroom--my own bathroom. I mean, I guess it's because I'm gay and
they kind of treated bathroom territory as if I'm a girl. Don't get me
wrong, I'm one of the guys to them. Just little things reminded me that I
wasn't entirely the same. Or who knows, maybe it was because of physical
difference. Kolby and Derrick are both big guys. I'm dainty compared to
them. Derrick is a six-foot-four, two-hundred-pound man-wall: black hair
buzzed, electric blue eyes, Roman nose, former Army ROTC guy. But luckily
he quit just before his twenty-first birthday.

I wasn't going to turn twenty-one for another couple of months, but alcohol
wasn't a problem. Derrick and Kolby always made sure our house was stocked.

I knew we were going to make an odd household. Kolby is a libertarian
neckbeard. I'm a tree-hugging homo. Derrick is a red-state, gun-loving
conservative. But there are nuances about him. He's not a homophobe. And he
wanted the war to end too.

Kolby left my room to continue unpacking. I showered. That night we ordered
pizza, drank beer and watched Arrested Development on a TV sitting on the
living room's hardwood floor. None of us had a TV stand or entertainment
center. Mountains of plastic bags surrounded the couch. We stored
everything in Wal-Mart sacks.

Aside from moving, it had been a lazy July with no class in sight for
weeks.

After we finished a third episode around 1 a.m., Kolby went to his
room. His bed was already set up. Derrick had some IKEA bed, but it was
still in pieces and he was too tired to put it together, so he slept with
me on the couch.

He's secure with himself. We slept feet to face. Since he's much taller
than me, I rested my face against his fuzzy calves with my ass against the
crotch of his boxer-briefs. He absent-mindedly put his arm around my
shins. I handled temptation somehow.

In the morning, Derrick went to work at Papa Georgie Pizza. Kolby smoked a
bowl, which I helped with, then he fried a stupid amount of bacon. Kolby
didn't have a job except making the house smell like schwag and meats.

"Are you going to Wal-Mart for furniture?" Kolby asked. His greasy blond
locks stuck to his face.

"Yeah, I'll let you know."

He turned on the old Nintendo, blowing and coughing into game cartridges to
get them to work. I went to my room and sat on the carpet with my laptop.

I searched the Wal-Mart website--everything was shit. I typed in
craigslist.com--just to look.

The minimalist link-riddled page loaded. The little category "men seeking
men" stuck out, but I ignored it.

I clicked "furniture" and waded through bullshit: lots of entries for
sectional couches, kids' furniture, desks and chairs. Even a church pew. I
was reminded how much I hate Lubbock, Texas. I didn't see any beds under
"Tues July 06" so I moved down to "Mon July 05." Nothing there either. I
scrolled to the bottom.  There were some beds, but all kings and canopies:
hundreds of dollars I don't have.

I gave up and looked at random filthy amateur XTube videos for twenty
minutes. I found one video of a guy sticking an entire horse dildo up his
ass. When I went back to Craigslist and checked the furniture section,
voila, I found at the top: "Queen Sized Mattress and Bed Frame!!!!! $90."

The entry said it included a mattress protector too, which the picture
proved.

I looked around at my empty room again. I was antsy, like a bird building a
nest. I wanted the comfort of a furnished room. I called the number.

A woman answered, with a thick west Texan drawl. "Hello who is this?"

"Yeah hi, I uh--" I cringed and moved to sit cross-legged on the
floor. "I'm calling about your Craigslist posting."

A male in the background yelled, "Who is that?" with even more drawl.

"I don't know," she said. "It's a girl named Craig."

"No," I tried to say. "Craigslist. And I'm a guy."

"Craigliss," she echoed.

"Give me that," the male voice approached angrily. "Who is this?"

"I'm Rob. I'm calling about the bed you put on Craigslist," I said as quick
and clear as possible.

"Well all right, I just put that up there," he said pleased and surprised.

"Yeah, I saw. I moved into a house over by Indiana Ave and have no
furniture, so I'm a little desperate." I grabbed my hair in irritation. Why
did I tell him that?

"Good deal, good deal man," he said, calm and smooth.

"Yeah--"

"Yeah," he said.

Awkward.

"I've never done this," I said. "Do I come to your house or something?"

The guy was silent for a moment. "Yeah," he said. "Come on by. Take a look
at the bed. If you like what you see, we can do business."

He gave me his address, which I Google-mapped. He lived about three miles
away on the outskirts of town: "Turn left at the Ford dealership," his
twang echoed in my head. He told me to come within the hour if I could. I
showered and put on cargo shorts and a red and white-striped polo that was
tight on my skinny frame.

I was antsy on the drive. I had that same pounding heart I get when I know
I'm about to have a cock in my ass. My prostate has ESP.

The one-story house sat in front of a vast cotton field with a garage and a
covered driveway. The white paint on the wood paneling was peeling like
cracked desert earth. A medusa of vines sprawled over the similarly cracked
white picket fence lining the front yard. The house had no neighbors on
either side, just dusty lots where cotton rows from a surrounding farm
tapered off.

As I parked my Blazer, a Ford Taurus was backing out of the driveway, a
frazzled woman driving. I got out of my car and she saw me. I waved. She
didn't. The day was overcast and unseasonably cool for July in west Texas.

A black Ford F-150 sat in the covered driveway with big jacked up
wheels. Yellow light glowed from the open garage door. A lanky guy in a
grease-smeared wife-beater and jeans lay sprawled on his back under the
truck. I could only see his torso, spread legs, and bare dirty feet.

A grease monkey.

I could see the queen-sized mattress sitting upright in the cluttered
garage.

I strolled up to the truck, pulling at my fingers. "Excuse me," I said
politely.

His power wrench whirred every few seconds. His shirt inched up his taut
pale stomach, revealing a black happy trail.

"Hey, hello," I said louder. No response.

I got down on my knees at the end of the truck, peering with my head
sideways.

We made eye contact. He jolted upward, almost hitting the axle above
him. He pulled earbud headphones out of his ears. His iPod, or whatever it
was, blasted tinny rock music that I could hear from several feet away. He
rolled himself out from under the truck.

"Hey are you--?" He stood up: six feet tall, lanky with black greasy
hair. He had a parted mustache, muttonchop sideburns, and stubble. He had
ghostly light green eyes. He looked young, maybe in his mid-twenties. He
pulled down his dirty wife-beater, erasing the view of his trail and lack
of a belt on his jeans. He was hot of course, and filthy. Rugged. My heart
pounded.

"Yeah, I'm the guy," I said. "from Craigslist." I looked elsewhere, like I
just said something dirty.

He tossed a dirty rag into his left hand and extended his right with a
grin, "I'm Joe."

I looked at the sooty hand.

He looked at his hand and quickly started wiping it. "Oh sorry there, I
guess we don't have to shake."

"It's okay," I said. "I'm Rob." I made a dumb wave. Cringe. I waved to
someone standing two feet in front of me.

"Yeah, I put that bed over there on the Internet and wasn't expecting
much," he said as if we were already talking about it. "But you called
lightning quick."

Texan accents are funny with the letter "I." Get a Texan to say "Friday
night lights." You'll know what I mean.

"Can I see it?" I asked.

"See what?"

"The bed."

"Oh yeah, right this way, sir." He gestured to the open garage. Dust
floated around in the yellow light. The garage was cluttered with
furniture, shelves, cabinets, birdhouses, and tools. The brilliant white
mattress stood out in all the mess.

I was having second thoughts. I was going to be sleeping on this thing and
wanted to be sure it was in good condition. But it was zipped into a
plastic mattress protector.

Joe waded over to the mattress and started pulling it out of the garage,
almost frantically. I realized he was nervous. He had strong wiry
musculature with tight arm muscles. He managed to yank the mattress up and
over some boxes. The boxspring and bed frame slid down and clattered
against shelves. He unzipped the protector. "Come get a look and see what
you think," he said quickly, huffing.

I climbed over boxes to get next to him. The mattress looked spotless.

"Only six months old," he said. "It belongs to my brother, who moved up to
Michigan for law school. He was using my garage for storage and now that
he's gone I wanna get rid of all his shit so I can have my garage back."

"Cool."

"So you like it? Wanna make a deal?"

"90 dollars, right?" I asked.

"Yeah, unless you had another price in mind."

I didn't want to bargain. I didn't know how. It didn't matter, a
queen-sized bed ran for at least two hundred in most stores, so this was a
deal. "That sounds good." I scratched the back of my neck.

Two moths fought over the yellow light bulb above, darting into each other.

"I can't take it now," I said. "I have to get my friend with a truck to
come get it. I drive that Chevy Blazer."

"Oh that?" Joe stepped around to the open garage door to get a look at my
shitty brown SUV parked in front of the mailbox. "What is that, a 2000?"

"2001."

"Had any problems with the heater block?"

"It was just replaced."

"Yup." He nodded knowingly. "Next is going to be the balls."

"The what?"

"The ball joints. They connect the suspension."

"Right, yeah. One actually collapsed like two months ago."

"That's what's happening with those, around this time. Like clockwork."

He knew his shit.

"That's kind of like wine isn't it?" I laughed a little.

He stared blankly.

"You know. Wine. It ages and can change..." My voice drifted away. I wiped
my face. "Yeah luckily I was only going maybe 20 when the ball joint failed
and the thing just like collapsed and screeched to a halt. The tow truck
driver said if I was on the freeway, I would have flipped."

Joe patted my shoulder. "Well, bless the Lord you're all right."

The mention of "the Lord" irked me. His greasy hand left a stain on my polo
shirt. I knew because he looked at the spot he rubbed for a second but said
nothing.

"I'm all done with my truck right here," he said. "I can take the bed over
to your place."

"No. That's nice of you, but I don't want to put you through the trouble."

"You're paying me," he said. "You seem like a nice guy, a normal guy. I was
all iffy about the internet, but you're all right." He said "the internet"
like it was some dangerous foreign place. I mean, accurate I guess. He
nodded with his chin up, smiling thinly like he was pleased with himself.

I said nothing and glanced at the clutter around me.

"So you just moved into a new house?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said. "Yesterday."

"You a Red Raider?" he asked, referring to Texas Tech University's mascot.

"Yeah, I'm going to be a junior."

"I went to Tech," he said, looking past me. "Didn't last long. What are you
studying?"

"Creative writing."

His eyebrows went up. "Neat. That's different. Really neat--writing."

I looked elsewhere. Yeah, I'll be super successful in life I'm sure.

"My wife graduated in journalism," he said.

His wife. I noticed the wedding band on his ring finger.

"Cool. Do you want to just follow my car?" I asked. "To my house?"

"Yeah, yeah. So we got a deal." He slapped his palms together. Soot puffed
away. "Here, help me get this in my truck." He tugged on the mattress.

I helped. Not really. I'm a weakling, but I helped tie it down, pulling
ropes taut against the mattress like a Shibari victim.

"This is my baby," he said, patting the gate of the truck bed, the ass of
the car. "Hey, did you need any other furniture since you just moved in?"
He dashed into his garage. "Cabinet? TV stand?" He pointed at each item in
his flea market.

"I really just have money for the bed."

"No, I mean just have it. I want to get rid of my brother's shit pronto. I
want my garage back, you know what I mean?"

"For free?"

"Need a wine rack?" He picked one up. "You said you like wine, right?"

I smiled tightly, forcing it into a frown. "I'll take the TV stand maybe."

"It's yours." He pulled out the short pine wood stand with a shelf for a
DVD player and cubbies on each side for whatever else. His bony arms held
it up over his head. "I'll just throw it in the back of the truck."

He tossed in the wine rack anyway along with a laundry hamper and a small
bookshelf. "Because I'm sure you got tons of books to go with that wine,"
he said.

"Thanks." I looked away, fighting my tendency to blush. I did have books,
so many I used to use a microwave for storage or they were just piled up
like teetering Jenga towers.

With everything set, I got in my car and headed home. Joe's big black
pickup truck followed.

Joe was a stranger, I realized, and I was taking him to my house. I checked
my rear-view mirror every five seconds. He talked on a phone the whole
way. We drove by campus and into my neighborhood. I lived in the heart of
town a few blocks from the university.

In the driveway we unloaded the TV stand, hamper, bookshelf, and wine rack.

The large living room window facing the front lawn had "Obama" neatly
painted on the glass in big blue letters with "McCain" underneath in big
red letters.

"What the hell?" Joe asked in a sharp drawl, hell twisting into hill.

"The people who lived here before," I explained quickly. "Two girls. One
liked Obama. One liked McCain, so they had both. We're thinking of keeping
it since I'm voting Obama, but my roommate Derrick is in the can for
McCain."

Joe scratched his armpit. "You think he's got a chance?"

"Who Obama? Absolutely."

"I don't know." He paused, delicately finding his words. "I just think
him--a black guy--if he gets it, I give it two months before some
redneck..." He lifted his arms and squinted one eye, miming a sniper rifle,
shaking his arms like he was shooting the imaginary gun.

I grew angry. "If Bush hasn't been assassinated, I think Obama will be
fine."

Joe laughed. "Maybe."

So Joe was racist I guess. Big surprise. Or maybe his tone was more
embarrassed about "rednecks" or the state of our country, which could be
patronizingly racist anyway.

I noticed Kolby's car was gone as we carried the TV stand into the
house. He was probably off buying bud.

"Nice house," Joe said inside. "Nice hardwood floors." The living room was
still a mess with all the Wal-Mart bags, but under the clutter it was
spacious. The walls were painted deep red. Joe tried to look into the den
that had a fireplace. He set the TV on the stand and brought in the hamper
and wine rack, adding them to the disorder. He took the bookshelf to my
room.

"You do need furniture," he said. "Where do you want the bed?"

I stood in the far corner of my room. "Long-ways here."

He brought in the frame and started latching pieces together.

"Really, you don't have to do this," I said. "I can set it up. Or my
roommates can help."

"My treat," he said, not looking at me.

His dirty hands and greasy wife-beater stuck out in my clean bare room. I
could smell his worked body, the gripping salty musk of his underarms. The
frame was set and I helped him carry the box springs and mattress in. I
think I pulled a muscle in my arm, but I ignored the pain as we slid the
box springs in place on the frame. Panting together, we toppled the
mattress onto the box springs. Wood clattered on metal and the springs
hissed.

Everything was adjusted until perfect, my bed, nuzzled in the dark corner
of the room. We stared at the pristine white mattress covered in a plastic
protector. "You got any sheets yet?" he asked, huffing, but he hadn't
cracked a sweat.

I wiped my sweaty forehead with my forearm. I was reminded how I wanted to
start hitting the gym so I wasn't such a weakling anymore. "Not yet," I
said. "Do you want a beer? We keep our house pretty stocked."

"Yeah, I'll take a beer." He sighed, sitting on my new bed, plastic
crinkling. "What you got?"

"Tecate, Dos Equis, Shiner Bock, Coors Light..."

"Give me a Coors."

I went to the kitchen, opened the fridge and grabbed myself a Tecate with
his Coors. I stared into the cold humming air and silently screamed what
the fuck am I doing?

I returned to my room, which was now slightly more furnished and inviting.

Joe sat on the bed, rubbing his shoulder, scratching it with dirty
fingernails. I handed him the beer and sat close on his right, plastic
crinkling. He gulped from the can. With our closeness I could feel his
heat, magnetism between our bodies.

"So you fix cars for a living?" I asked.

"Yeah," he exhaled. "I work in a shop out on highway 84. My wife works at
the paper, so she helps pay the bills too, but who knows how long that'll
last."

"No one reads anymore." I sipped my beer.

"What do you do?" he asked. "Just a student?"

"Yeah. I like to think I'm sort of a writer."

"Why sort of? You either are or aren't."

"I haven't published much, just some poems."

"You're a poet," he said.

"Actually, I want to do fiction, novel writing. The poetry happened because
I took a class and it's short I guess."

"Got a poem you can read?" he asked like it was a rabbit I could pull out
of a hat.

My shoulders seized up.

"C'mon, read a poem," he said.

I looked at him. He grinned mischievously, flashing crooked bottom
teeth. He didn't give a shit about poetry. He was patronizing me. Then
again, I didn't give a shit about poetry either. His ghostly green eyes had
a spark of curiosity. Maybe he hadn't heard a poem read out loud to him
before.

I gave in and slid off the bed down to the floor where my laptop slept. On
my knees, I pulled it open. My desktop background flickered on.

Shit.

My desktop background, a shirtless built redhead stared out from the
screen, standing on a beach framed in icons. I almost slammed the laptop
shut, but figured it was too late.

"Nice picture," Joe said flatly, his voice looming from the bed behind
me. "Is that your boyfriend?"

I laughed awkwardly. "Yeah, my laptop is sort of private."

"It's cool man. I kinda got a sense you were fruity."

I stared at the wall ahead and should have felt insulted, but in his
beer-soothed voice, it came out odd and neutral. Blood rushed to my
cheeks. I didn't turn to look at him. He swallowed two more gulps of beer.

I said into my shirt, "Do you still want to hear a poem?"

"Yeah," he said in that slow drawl, yearning.

I took a moment to choose one. I picked a sexier one that made people in my
poetry class uncomfortable.

"Highway Flirt, by Rob Wolfsham," I started in that cliché focused
poem-reading voice. "You're the turn and wink, the freeway eye-contact, two
lanes over, cars like zoetropes. You recline in the rapid blinking eye of
traffic and toll booth jingling, wrist flicks of light caught into your
fingers threading into sun swallowed tunnels. Look at me from your titanium
blue steed. Wind rushes hotly away like sine wave ghosts. Every trip comes
to an end. We can pull over. Resist the event horizon where passion cannot
escape--"

Joe's hands grabbed my shoulder blades, clenching fistfuls of my polo
shirt, pulling it tight on my body. I pushed against his hands and clawed
at his denim knees on both sides of me.

His hands slid to clench my chest. I grinded back into his wiry body. His
nervous breath exhaled against my neck. He gulped and kissed my neck,
dragging his wet lips to my ear. I inhaled his musk. His hand grabbed my
thigh and scooped up my cargo shorts to my crotch, getting a fistful of my
boxer-loose balls and dick. He squeezed my hardening dick through my
shorts. He pushed against my ass and his arm trembled.

He kneaded my pecs, slow and repetitive, unsure where his hands should
go. I put my palms on his knuckles to calm them. One of his hands snuck
under the brim of my shorts, snatching around my dick. I pushed him back
against the bed. He pulled me back onto the mattress in one long clumsy
drag.

My back fell on his chest while his hand groped under my boxers, tugging
and stroking my dick. My shoulder dug into his neck. I fumbled at the belt
at his hips, trying to slip my hands under, but his jeans were tight. He
pulled my hands off him, then yanked my cargo shorts down to my knees,
along with my boxers. My dick was exposed to the air. He stroked it slow,
exploring how I was uncut, fingering at the foreskin before pulling it all
the way back.

"Faster," I moaned.

He didn't change his stroking speed, as if he couldn't hear me through the
fog of passion. His other hand tugged at my balls--a little too rough. I
writhed against him and moaned again. My shoulder choked his neck and he
slid out from under me and turned me on my side. He spooned me and jacked
me off and pressed his forehead to the back of my neck. I felt a massive
hard cock in his jeans pushing into my exposed ass in a slow grind, like an
oil pumpjack.

It drove me nuts. "Take them off," I said tugging back at his jeans.

He sat up and pulled his shirt off, clumsy and shaking. He stripped on his
knees until he was naked. The hot stench of his body made my cock stiffen
and drip precum on the plastic mattress protector. His seven-inch cut dick
stood perfectly straight, pale with a bright pink head.

I lay on my back, and he crawled over me and stared down at me with a look
of fear and uncertainty. I grasped his throbbing cock, rubbing the head and
underside with my thumb.

He looked down at my dick and stroked it again, smearing my foreskin and
precum, lubing his palm.

"I want..." he started, raspy. "I want to fuck you." He found his beer and
downed the rest with his elbow in the air, head tilted back, Adam's apple
on his scraggly neck sliding up and down with each gulp.

I told him where to find a condom and lube.

He fumbled with the condom and slid it on. With a dollop of lube in my palm
I stroked his dick. Instinct kicked in and he crawled over me. I lifted my
legs in the air and rested them on his back, presenting my hairless pink
hole to his dick. He kept looking up at my eyes as he pushed his dick
against my hole, harder and harder, hesitating as if he wasn't sure he was
doing it right. I'm more used to a guy eating my ass to loosen me up and
prepping me for this part, but Joe was eager and maybe ass eating was a
bridge too far for him. With some pain my hole gave way, his cock slipping
in. I pulled on his strong wiry thighs and he slid his cock in past a
pulsing tight barrier.

"Boy, shit." He stretched his jaw out, head arching back, looking at the
ceiling. "So fucking tight," he rasped.

He buried his cock in me almost to his balls. His cock was so thick and
full in me, I felt like I'd piss. I grabbed his bony forearms and dragged
my fingers up his wiry biceps. I tightened my legs around him.

He grabbed my hip and clutched my shoulder, his wedding ring cool and
painful. His hips curved back, dick sliding out just to the edge of its
head. I moaned with the hot slide. He pressed his lips together, face
furrowing, and shoved in deeper, drunk on the discovery of tight warm ass
around his dick. I stroked myself, hard and aching. He fucked slowly,
savoring each lube-greased inch, each undulation seconds long, labored and
transfixed. I flexed my insides around his invading maleness, making my own
my cock bounce. "God damn," he muttered.

"Fuck me harder," I groaned. "Don't hold back." I rubbed my cock against
the faint but hard abs on his stomach.

He picked up the pace and swished his hips, his happy trail slapping my
balls. He grabbed my hips. With my legs still wrapped around him, his
forearms clenched around my thighs, pressing them tight against his
ribs. He looked at me, panting with his mouth open in a ghostly zombie
stare. I thought he would drool on me as he fucked.

"You feel so good," he moaned in his twang, and slammed his hips into me
until he was a full on jackrabbit fucking me. My moans shook with each
slam. His torso spanked my thighs loudly.

He stared up at the ceiling, lips pinched with an underbite like he was
furious. "Fuck I'm close," he strained. I clutched his muscular ass with
one hand, pinching his tight hairy cheek, pulling it into me as I jacked
myself. His dick sailed past my prostate, each piston pump shooting
pleasure from my insides to my head. His sweaty palms grabbed the sides of
my face, fingers pushing into my hair as he pounded and groaned. I held my
ankles back stretching my legs straight in the air and tightened my ass for
him. He growled to the ceiling and lunged into me and twisted deep inside
me. He throbbed against my prostate, each pulse feeding into mine. I cried
out and spurts of cum lapped from my dick onto my stomach and hand. My
insides choked his dick. He growled with our skin slapping, roaring at the
ceiling in ecstasy.

The door of the room burst open. Derrick was running in, head forward like
a battering ram. He stumbled to a stop halfway to the bed and seized up at
the sight of my feet in the air and Joe's hairy ass cheeks pounding into
me.

Joe was still cumming. He looked back at Derrick and barked, "Shit! Shit!"

"Get out!" I screamed at my roommate.

"Fuck. Shit," Derrick said, stepping back. "Sorry. Sorry." He realized he
was staring and grabbed his face and stumbled out of the room, nearly
tripping over a garbage bag. He slammed the door shut.

Joe yanked his dick from my ass so fast it popped out. My body flinched. He
stood by the bed and peeled the condom from his dick.

"Wait it's okay," I tried to soothe. "It was just my roommate."

"Where do I put this, man?" Joe asked, holding up the condom half-filled
with cum. "Where do I put this?"

I paused, momentarily impressed by the volume of his solid white spunk. But
I didn't have a trashcan yet.

"Put it on the floor," I said, exhausted by his sudden fear and discomfort
with being here with me.

He dropped it on the floor and wiped his hand on the plastic bed, then
scooped up his jeans and wife-beater. He slid the jeans on without
underwear and yanked the wife-beater on, muttering, "I gotta go." He put on
his belt and rushed to the door, kicking a beer can by accident.

I slipped my boxers on and ran after him. Derrick stood in the hallway and
Joe dashed past him. Derrick looked at me like a vulture in the headlights,
watching his skinny half-naked gay roommate running after a guy. This was a
new visual for him. My gayness had been discussed before but not witnessed.

"Joe," was all I could say as the grease monkey ran barefoot across the
dead lawn, to the driveway. He leapt into his truck and put on a trucker
cap. His truck roared out of the driveway, skidding down the street.

"Dude," Derrick said behind me, startling me. "I didn't mean to barge in. I
thought--."

I pinched the bridge of my nose. The engine of Joe's truck roared into the
distance over the summer-hail battered roofs of our neighborhood. "It's
fine," I said.

"I ruined it didn't I?" Derrick asked in the most gentle tone I'd heard yet
from his tall beefy body.

I looked up at him and sighed. "Actually no, you were too late. We came."

"Oh yeah... dude?" His falcon nose was aimed at my crotch, blue eyes
blinking a few times.

"What?" I asked.

"We're roommates and all now and close friends--but you have cum on you."

I looked down. A splatter of cum was dripping down my happy trail to my
boxers. I covered it with my fumbling hand, which was also drenched in cum.

Derrick started laughing, "Dude, I... I can't stand here and look at this."

I flushed red with embarrassment and ran to my room. I hopped in the
shower, washing myself for a good 20 minutes while pondering the hot
dicking I just got.

Once out of the shower, I stared at the new bed in my room. The plastic
mattress protector was crinkled up in wild patterns from the movement of me
and Joe's bodies. I realized I never paid Joe for the bed.

I thought to call him right away, but had a feeling he wouldn't
answer. After lying down for a while touching myself, I sent him an email:
"Joe, I still owe you ninety bucks." I spent ten minutes typing variations
of sorry if that was a weird experience, but decided to play it cool and
not mention the encounter. Several hours passed with no response. I figured
he was a goner and I should forget about it and just enjoy the free bed
that came with a limited time offer of sex.

But at 3 a.m., a response did come: "Bring the money to my house tomorrow
around 4. We'll be alone."

---

Hope you enjoyed. Sometimes I miss Texas... Read more stories in my eBook
'Wild Male' on Amazon: http://a.co/d/9VasDWl

Follow me on Twitter @rwolfsham or email me at rwolfsham@gmail.com. I get
lonely.

I've been reading and jacking it to Nifty forever. Support them and donate!
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