Roommate Discovered My Writing

Everyone is 18.

Chapter 1: Gift On His Door

I write steamy short stories online—part fantasy, part semi-autobiographical, and sometimes inspired by things friends have told me. I don’t know if it’s self-love or just plain confidence, but I honestly think some of the stuff I write is hot—and the best part is, I made it myself. My roommate Jacob is straight, chill about me being gay, and sometimes gets a little flirty when he’s had a drink or two. I never take it seriously. It’s just the kind of playful energy that’s developed over years of friendship.

We met in college and moved to the city together after graduation. Physically, I'm on the lean side but have a solid relationship with the gym—twinks call me a muscle jock, but the true workout junkies would probably just call me average. Jacob, on the other hand, is tall, blonde, and naturally muscled. "I've had abs since I was five years old" was how he explained it once. And while I’m not trying to perv on my roommate, I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t noticed—he’s working with a downstairs situation that’s... generous. Even completely flaccid, there's a gravity-defying amount of bulge that makes casual appearances around the house. It's aesthetically plump and pushes forward. I’ve only seen it 'in action' through video clips he’s shown during drunken brags, but it leaves little to the imagination. He’s in tech, moonlights as an aspiring personal trainer, and hands out shirtless “business cards” to anyone with a pulse. I work in publishing, hoping it’ll one day support my own writing career. Recently, I self-published a collection of my stories under the pen name Cody Croquet and had a few printed copies sent to our apartment.

While I was at the office, I got a text: “Who's Cody Croquet?” My stomach sank. The books had arrived. But wait… how did he know that name? Why would he open my mail?

I replied, “I’ll tell you later,” and spent the rest of the day in mild panic mode. When I got home, I was bracing for an awkward confrontation—but there he was in his room, playing video games in front-bulging sweatpants like it was any other Tuesday. I explained the whole thing: the stories, the Kindle release, the name. My cheeks were burning, but he acted casual. He barely blinked. Then I finally asked, “So why did you open my mail?”

He looked confused. “I didn’t open anything. The box said Cody Croquet, and I figured you’d tell me eventually.”

Mortified, I walked into my room and, sure enough, the package was still unopened on my bed. I’d panicked for no reason and overshared big time. I was too distracted by seeing the copies in print to even go back and clear things up with Jacob.

I’d been waiting for this delivery for weeks—my first printed copies of Cody Croquet’s "Gay Teen Stories". I tore into the packaging, the smell of fresh ink and paper hitting me instantly. Running my fingers over the glossy cover, I felt a mix of pride and nerves. These weren’t just stories; they were pieces of me, many of them simple vignettes of my own life put down on paper, raw and unfiltered. And now they were out there, for anyone to read.

I was so caught up in the moment that I didn’t hear Jacob come in. His voice startled me. “Cody Croquet, huh? Sounds fancy.”

–[]–

I spun around, clutching the book to my chest like it was a secret diary. Jacob stood in the doorway, shirtless and grinning, his gym bag slung over one shoulder. His abs were glistening with sweat, and his blonde hair was a mess, sticking up in all directions. He looked like a damn ad for sports drinks, and it was infuriatingly distracting.

“Yeah, it’s the pen name I use,” I said quickly, trying to sound casual. “Just something I use for my writing.” He's not an intellectual guy, so I felt like I had to explain a little more than average.

He leaned against the doorframe, his eyes flicking to the book in my hands. “What kind of writing is it again? Like, novels? Poetry?”

Apparently he wasn't even listening when I blurted everything out a few minutes prior. I was relieved, but also, he was asking now. He was taking a break from gaming and his attention was on me.

I hesitated. “Um, more like… short stories. Erotica, actually.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Ohhh. Right. Cool.”

I felt my face heat up. “Yeah. It’s kind of a side thing. Just for fun.”

He stepped closer, and I caught a whiff of his cologne mixed with sweat. “Can I see?”

I clutched the book tighter. “It’s really not your thing. Like, at all.”

He laughed, a warm, easy sound that made me relax a little. “Come on, man. We've known each other for years. I wanna see what you’ve been up to.”

Reluctantly, I handed him a copy. He flipped through the pages, his expression shifting from curiosity to amusement. He paused on one story, his eyes narrowing slightly. I realized exactly which one it would be.

“This is… intense,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter than usual.

I swallowed hard. “Yeah. It’s kind of the point.”

Then he got quiet. I glanced over—he looked genuinely focused. I had a hunch which story had grabbed him, but I didn’t say anything. His expression was unreadable. I pretended to keep working, giving him space with the book.

Jacob quietly placed the book down and walked off without a word. No smirk, no joke—just a closed door behind him.

I stared after him, then reached for the copy he had just left behind. The book still held a slight warmth where it had rested under his arm. I flipped to the page where the pages were bent, holding the memory of the book's last opening.

Yep. There it was.

The story I shouldn’t have included. The one about the secret relationship I’d had with my college roommate. A real story, only lightly dressed up in new names and vague locations. But it didn’t take much decoding—Jacob would’ve recognized it instantly.

I sat back in my chair, letting the weight of it sink in. He knew. Not just about the writing, or the publishing, or the fact that I’d been living a whole double life online. He now knew about the guy I’d spent a year sneaking around with—late nights, long talks, and moments we never spoke about again once we graduated.

There was no putting that back in the box.

–[]–

Later that night, I was in the kitchen making a snack when Jacob wandered in. He was still shirtless, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips. I tried not to stare, but it was hard not to notice the way his muscles moved under his skin, and the way his hair fell into his eyes. He poured himself a glass of water and leaned against the counter, watching me. I was used to him, and didn't feel like a creep exactly, but he was certainly distracting.

“So,” he said finally, his tone casual but with an edge I couldn’t ignore. “That story. The one about the college roommate.”

I froze, my spoon halfway to my mouth. “Yeah?”

“Was that… real?”

I hesitated, then nodded. "The stories are mostly all based on something that actually happened, with details filled in where needed."

He just looked at me, unsatisfied with my answer until I finally continued. “Yeah. It was real.”

He took a sip of water, his eyes never leaving mine. “And that roommate… was it my brother?”

The air in the room felt thick, charged with something. I set the spoon down and turned to face him. “Yeah.”

He didn’t look surprised, just thoughtful. “I kind of figured. He never said anything, but… I could tell something was up.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I stayed quiet. After a moment, he set his glass down and crossed his arms over his chest. “So what’s it like? Being with a guy.”

–[]–

The question caught me off guard. I blinked at him, trying to read his expression. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—curiosity, maybe, or something deeper. “I mean, is it different? Like, is it just sex, or…?”

I took a deep breath, choosing my words carefully. “It can be both. Sometimes it’s just physical, but other times… it’s more than that. It’s about connection, you know? Trust.”

He nodded slowly, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Sure, but what's the difference from when you fuck girls? You were bi back in college right?”

I nodded, rolling my eyes internally at his wording.

He continued. "I feel like hooking up with guys would be like hanging out with friends. 'Cause you already connect on the same-gender level, like guys do. It would be less complicated than when you get with a girl...?"

I studied him, trying to figure out what was going on in his head. “Why do you ask?”

He looked up at me, his blue eyes steady. “I don’t know. Just curious, I guess.”

Interesting choice of words.

There was a beat of silence, and then he pushed off the counter and walked out of the room, leaving me standing there. It was then that I noticed my heart racing.

–[]–

The next morning, I was in the kitchen, sipping my coffee and scrolling through my phone, when Jacob came in. He looked like he hadn’t slept much, his hair a mess and uncharacteristic dark circles under his eyes. He poured himself a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter next to me.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about it,” he said finally, his voice low.

I looked up at him, confused. “About what?”

“That story. About my brother. What you did to him.”

"TO him??" I replied, somewhat defensively.

"I mean," he started, trying to explain, "how you seduced him, got him to open up without even trying. You have a certain magnetism. I don't know if you realize."

I was a bit taken aback. He was the one with the hefty package and Abercrombie body. "I mean... I make friends pretty easily. But I'm not–"

"It's a quiet strength," he interrupted.

I felt a shiver run down my spine. “Oh.”

He took a sip of coffee, his eyes on the floor. “I’ve never done anything like that. With a guy, I mean.”

I set my phone down, trying to keep my expression neutral. “Yeah. I gathered.”

He left it at that.

–[]–

The next night, we were back on the couch, eating leftovers in front of a show neither of us was actually watching. The air felt less tense than the night before, but there was still something hanging there—like a song paused mid-note.

Jacob muted the TV again, glanced over at me.

“So… that story. About my brother.”

I turned toward him, quiet.

“I kind of already figured something like that might’ve happened,” he said. “I mean, growing up sharing a room with him… you notice things.”

He paused, chewing on his words before saying them.

Jacob’s voice grew lower, more candid, as he continued. “I think the first time I really noticed was when we were in a certain phase. Our beds were in plain view of each other, so I guess he didn’t care that I could see him. He’d prop up his laptop and just… go for it.”

I raised an eyebrow, the tension in the room shifting. I wasn't sure if he should be telling me this, but his brother had actually given me all these details in the past anyway, so I didn't say anything. He just kept going.

“We occasionally went at it simultaneously, just out of convenience. At first, I thought he was just watching regular porn, you know? But then I started paying attention. He’d always pick the videos where the guy was… focused on, like, close-ups of his dick or how he was fucking. Girls were there, sure, but it wasn’t about them. It was all about the guy.”

Jacob paused, his expression thoughtful but not awkward. “And the way he’d jerk off… it was different. Faster, almost like he was chasing something. He’d get this look on his face—like he was really into it, really into it. Especially when it was like, right on a male ass.” He chuckled, his tone carrying a hint of admiration, or maybe curiosity.

I sat there, unsure if I should laugh or stay quiet. “Did he ever… say anything about it?”

Jacob shook his head. “Nah. We never talked about it directly. But I could tell. He’d get so into it—like, more than any of the straight guys I knew. And when he’d finish, he’d just… sit there for a second, like he was thinking about something. I don’t know. It was kind of weird, but I didn't want to ask about it.”

My cheeks burned, but I couldn’t help but smile. “You’re saying you watched your brother jerk off and thought it was hot?”

He smirked, shrugging. “I’m just saying, I get it. And reading your story… I kind of get why he was into you. You’ve got this… thing. Like, you make people feel seen.”

“That’s… not where I thought this was going,” I admitted, laughing nervously.

“Hey, I’m just being honest,” he said, leaning back on the couch. “But yeah, that’s how I knew. He wasn’t just into girls. He was also into… well, that.”

The conversation lingered, heavy but not uncomfortable. For the first time, it felt like Jacob wasn’t just talking about Corey's past—he was talking about something deeper, something he’d been thinking about for a long time.

“I never said anything. It wasn’t my place. But yeah, when I read that story, it didn’t exactly shock me. Maybe just confirmed what I already kind of knew.”

I nodded, unsure whether to speak or stay silent. He continued anyway.

“I think what surprised me more was that it was you. But then again… it makes sense now. You two were close. Like, really close. And you wrote it like it mattered.”

“It did,” I said, barely above a whisper.

He looked over at me—no judgment, no tension—just a kind of quiet understanding that hadn’t been there before.

Then he unmuted the TV. The noise filled the space, but for once, the silence between us didn’t feel unfinished.

–[]–

A couple of days passed. Things returned to something like normal—banter, shared meals, separate routines. But I noticed one small thing: a copy of my book was missing. I'd left the extras stacked neatly on my desk, and now one was gone.
I hadn’t loaned it to anyone. I hadn’t taken it to work.
It had to be in his room.

That night, we were both in the kitchen, cleaning up after a lazy dinner. The conversation drifted to nowhere in particular until I decided to take a careful step into deeper waters.

“So… living with your brother back then,” I said casually, rinsing a plate. “Was it ever... strange? Or just normal?”

Jacob leaned against the counter, drying his hands. “I mean, we were close. Obviously didn’t have a ton of boundaries. It wasn’t weird, exactly—just kind of… open, I guess. You figure stuff out as you go.”

He studied me for a moment. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“What’s it really like? Being with a guy. You never answered me before.”

I blinked, surprised—but nodded. “What do you mean exactly?”

He shrugged, a bit sheepish. “Like… is it just like being buddies and getting off together sometimes? Or is it… different?”

“It can be both,” I said. “Sometimes it starts like that. But there’s a different energy. Guys know what feels good, because they feel it too. So it can get intense, fast.”

He nodded slowly, then asked, “Is it different than being with girls?”

“Definitely. There’s less guesswork, more mirroring. Less choreography, more instinct. But the emotional stuff—connection, vulnerability—that’s just as real, no matter the gender.”

“You’re bi, right?” he said.

“Yeah, I guess, but mostly just get with guys since college.”

“So... compare and contrast?”

I smiled at the phrasing. “With women, it can feel more layered, more delicate, emotionally. With men, it’s often rawer, more direct—but sometimes surprisingly tender. It really depends on the person, not just the gender.”

Jacob nodded, thoughtful. Then he exhaled, a little deeper than usual. “Was he the pitcher or the catcher?”

I laughed. “Wow, you really care about that?”

“Just curious, man.”

“He preferred to pitch,” I said, still smiling. “But he was the catcher more than once.”

Jacob looked at me, eyebrows raised slightly. “And what do you like?”

I paused for a moment, not out of hesitation but because I wanted to answer honestly. “I like watching a guy in his most pleasured moment. And often, with gay guys, that means he wants to catch. But some guys—the ones who love to give, the true ‘tops’—they're in their element when they’re in control. And that’s just as good. As long as I get to see their face... I like both.”

There was a beat of silence between us after I answered, the kind that stretches just long enough to feel loaded. Jacob didn’t speak—just nodded slowly, eyes still lowered like he was mulling something over a little too carefully.

I turned back to the sink, rinsing the last dish. Tried to focus on the water, the sponge, the rhythm of scrubbing—but I couldn’t ignore the subtle thrum in my chest. The warmth that had been building during the conversation was now making itself known further south.

A flicker of arousal. I wasn’t exactly proud of it, but it was there. The intimacy of the questions, his curiosity, his open mind—it had a way of pulling something up from deep inside me.

And then I caught it—just out of the corner of my eye.
He shifted. Adjusted his waistband. Twice. The kind of casual movement that only calls attention to itself when you’re already tuned in. His posture stiffened slightly, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned back against the counter, eyes briefly flicking toward the floor.

We didn’t say anything.
But we both knew.
Not everything, not fully—but just enough to feel the line between us bend a little.
And neither of us seemed in a rush to pull it taut again.

–[]–

The next morning, I was leaning against the kitchen counter, sipping my coffee and scrolling idly through my phone when Jacob wandered in. He looked like he’d been up thinking late—t-shirt wrinkled, hair a little out of place, eyes carrying something just under the surface.

He poured a glass of water, leaned next to me at the counter, and didn’t say anything for a minute. Then, half-casual but with a strange sincerity, he said:

“I mean… I wouldn’t mind a BJ.”

I looked at him over the rim of my mug, smirking. “I’m good at them,” I said, meeting his gaze with a raised eyebrow. It wasn’t a flirt or a dare—just the truth, dropped into the space between us.

We exchanged a look. One of those weird, electric ones where nothing moves, but everything is said. Then he looked away, chuckled awkwardly, and changed the subject.

That night, he brought a girl home. I heard them through the wall—nothing dramatic, just the usual late-night whispers and bed frame creaks.

The next morning, while we were both making breakfast, he said it offhandedly, almost like he was talking to himself.

“Glad I got that out of my system. Otherwise I’m not sure what would have happened in this house.”

He didn’t need to explain. I knew exactly what he meant.

–[]–

After that, the pattern started. Every five to ten days, the same quiet cycle. He’d drift toward me with curiosity, casually ask about a scene in one of my stories, want to know how something really worked. I'd answer, and I could see the tension start to build in him—slowly, imperceptibly at first. Until it wasn’t.

Then he'd match with someone, bring her home, and the coil would release. Reset.

But each time, it took just a little longer.

And then something new started. I began to hear porn blaring from his room at night—loud, unambiguous, like he didn’t care if I heard it. Or maybe he wanted me to hear it. It wasn’t every night, but often enough that it started to feel deliberate. I’d be brushing my teeth or climbing into bed when it would start, clear voices and sounds spilling into the hallway, unfiltered. I never said anything. And neither did he.

The sounds ranged—sometimes the moaning of eager women, other times the sharp, rhythmic noises of men wrecking those same voices into something breathless. But one night, I did a double take as I passed his door. The grunts were lower. There was no feminine pitch at all. It was unmistakably two men. Maybe more. I froze, just outside his door, unsure if I should even be standing there. And then I heard it, clear as anything: "Good boy."

That was the moment I knew. Curious Jacob wasn’t so different from his brother after all.

Honestly, for the first time in this whole strange unfolding, I felt a spark of real excitement. I’ve never been one of those people who romanticize hooking up with straight guys—what’s the point? Why chase someone who prefers women, just to get some half-hearted action from a guy pretending you’re someone else?

But curiosity? That’s different. A guy drifting over the line, exploring something he doesn’t quite understand yet—that’s electric. A guy who wants to get weird, who wants to push a boundary just to see what happens... that’s where the heat lives.

I stood outside his door for a moment, forehead resting gently against the wood, listening. It wasn’t subtle anymore. The sounds were unmistakable—wet, rhythmic, focused. And not for show. He was deep in it, letting go of whatever guard he kept up in daylight. He had to know I could hear. He wanted me to.

I stayed there for another few seconds, not moving, not breathing, just smiling to myself at the wildness of it all.

And pulled out my cock.

Then, in a moment of mischief I hadn’t planned, I huffed and held my breath as I left him a little token. A trace of my seed running down his door. Something subtle but undeniable, right there where he would see it—proof that I’d been listening. That I’d understood.

Then I went back to my room, feeling strangely satisfied.

Jacob was turning out to be a very interesting roommate indeed.