My roommate is a d*ck

Sophomore year of college. Living in the apts behind my frat house.
Roommate plays beer pong downstairs in the common area with vodka instead of beer. Gets super, super, super wasted. I'm on the couch, having covered a game that night and not in the mood to go out. He stumbles up the stairs and into our apt., and I awake from my daze briefly to see him walk back to his bedroom.
I fall asleep again.
I wake up to see him go to take a shower, drunk offf his ass. In my mind, I'm thinking "Why the fuck is he showering at 3 am?"
So I head to my bedroom to crash, and it smells weird. I open the door, and what looks like vomit is all over my chair.
Only it's not vomit.
So I pound and pound on the bathroom door until my roommate finally comes out and I go ballistic.
"YOU SHIT IN MY CHAIR?! WHAT WERE YOU THINKING? HOW IS THAT EVEN POSSIBLE? YOU SHIT IN MY CHAIR!!!"
He genuinely cannot comprehend what I'm saying. Stumbles back into his room and blacks out.
The next morning he scrubs my chair and my floor, I make him buy me a new rug, and hI make him pay me $50 for shitting in my chair.

The end.

 

My freshman year roomie was a little Napoleon-complexed douche from Westchester County. Typical preppie snob. He fucked his horselike girlfriend a few times while I was trying to sleep and I retaliated by pinching out of his bag of weed on occasion. Ah, college memories.

Reminds me of a very bizarre story from that same freshman year. It was a late afternoon on a Saturday and I was exhausted...wanting a nap. Roomie's playing music and drinkin' with his buddies in the room, so I go down to another floor and see if anyone's willing to let me nap in their room. The young lady I was casually dating at the time said sure...in fact, her roommate was napping at the time, so she was planning on spending the afternoon out of the room, anyway.

I climb onto the top bunk, where my friend sleeps. Her roommate is sleeping peacefully on the bottom bunk. She (my friend's roommate) was smoking hot, I might add. Perky brunette, kind of a New England farm girl type. So I'm drifting off to sleep...it's so nice and quiet and dark...drifting...

I'm on the threshold of nod when I hear a little rustling below. I don't think anything of it, but then amid the rustling, I hear an unmistakable, squishy kind of sound. Oh dear God.

My heart starts to pound at twice its normal rate. Could it be true? Yup. The hot roommate begins to masturbate...languidly at first, then vigorously. Meanwhile, I'm frozen on the top bunk. Absolutely still, in a strange state of excitement and terror. I have a boner that feels like it's about to sprout eagle's wings and fly off my groin, but I dare not reveal my presence. It's a serious effort to control my breathing. I'm in exalted condition of simultaneous pleasure and torture. Meanwhile, down below, she's working off a good one. We're not talking about a little idle button-rubbing. We're talking two hands, sopping wet, bucking on the bed, vocalizations, the works.

Finally, she reaches what is obviously a climax. Fortunately I was 17 years old and in good health, otherwise I would have surely had a cerebral aneurysm as I fought to remain silent and still as a mere few feet away, she's twitching in the aftershocks of what sounded like a first-rate session. A short eternity of minutes pass. I remain frozen. Finally, when I'm sure she's fallen back asleep, I creep off the bunk like a cat-burglar and slip out the door.

I can't remember a whole lot about my classes from that semester, but that Saturday has been etched into my brain. Damn.

 

You are my hero, irish.

 

Outing alert: SuperflySnuka was Najeh Davenport's roomie.

 

P.S. Irish: Maybe the performance was intentional?

 

You should have asked her if she needed any assistance.

 

*bowing in your honor*

 

Trust me, I seriously considered assisting her. And the thought crossed my mind that the performance might have been intentional. I've wondered if choosing not to uh, insert myself into the situation was the right choice. I'll probably still be wondering that when I'm 85 years old and dribbling oatmeal onto my pajamas.

I think I made the right call, though. She was kind of preppy and uptight and I was a weird, skinny punk rocker kid from Texas with spiky hair. She was always polite but cool to me, so I don't think any advances on my part would have been well-received.

 

The spikes might have been well-received.

 

Not saying you're off-base, but uptight and moaning like the second coming when she's sure neighbors are gonna hear her don't necessarily reconcile.

 

Not everyone is that self-aware, especially while in the throes.

 

She was vocalizing, but not that loudly. There was plenty of ambient noise around the dorm, so I don't think anyone outside that room heard anything.

Maybe it was a missed opportunity, but I'm pretty sure she thought she was alone and I tend to think that the shock of having some random dude on the bunk above say "need any help there little lady?" might not have been a pleasant thing for her.

Then again...(sigh), well hell, I guess it doesn't matter at this point.