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 My most recent roommate was, of all things, a bisexual hub woman named
Fosta. Although I very seldom frequent gay clubs (I prefer straight bars!)
I met her at a local gay joint one night and we immediately hit it off. She
was involved with (and living with) another woman at the time, but was in
the process of trying to break up with her. Over a period of weeks, she
and I became "buddies," and began spending quite a bit of time running
around together. When she reached the point in her break-up that she
was ready to move out of her girlfriend's place, I offered her my spare
bedroom. Suddenly, I had a female roommate. Scary, I know. Smile.

Although Fosta had officially broken up with 'Beth,' the two continued to
see each other off and on for a while. Beth would often spend the night
with her, and I tried desperately not to think about the big lesbian action
that I knew was taking place in the next bedroom. Eeeesh!

Now, the primary reason behind their break-up was Fosta's desire to
occasionally include a man in their sexual romps. Beth was 100% pure
lesbian, and wanted NOTHING to do with men. She certainly didn't want
to share Fosta with one! In trying to win Fosta back, Beth eventually (yet
very reluctantly) agreed to having threesomes once in a while.

In the middle of all this, Fosta had begun seeing a man. His name was
Scott. He was married, VERY straight, extremely good looking and (from
Fosta's early reports) hung like a horse. He knew about her bisexuality,
and (like most straight dudes) thought it was hot as hell. He also knew
that she had a gay roommate. That, he didn't think was so hot. When he
first began coming over to the house, after he'd leave I'd have to scrape
ice off myself from the frosty looks he'd given me. Those early days
weren't very pleasant.

Fosta reminded me a lot of my old roomie, Brian. She was a complete
wild child. She was loud, outspoken and not at all self-conscious about
about her body. She didn't care if I saw her nude and, just to see my face
turn red, she'd often stand in the doorway when I was leaving in my car
and flash her tits at me. That amused her to no end. Definitely a wild
child.

She also had no qualms about sharing the intimate details of her sexual
experiences and, after Scott would leave, she'd usually tell me all about
what they'd done. Apparently, Scott was big enough to cause her some
minor pain when he got caught up in the throes of ecstasy and began
hammering his cock into her. It also didn't bother her to tell me that she
wasn't able to take his full length up the ass. Needless to say, I started
having a few fantasies about Scott. Smile.

Sorry for all that back story, but I needed to bring you up to speed about
the situation before delving into the details of my 'getting to know' Scott.

Smile.

Okay... since Beth began spending a good deal of time at the house, I
switched to regularly sitting in the recliner so her and Fosta could sit
together on the couch. (Yes, the same recliner Jim used to sit in!)

The good thing about that recliner is that by sitting in it I had a direct,
unobstructed view of Fosta's bedroom door (Jim's old room.) A few feet to
the right of that door was the door to the bathroom.

One night, Scott came by for a quick romp with Fosta before going home
to his wife. At that point we'd moved beyond the frosty looks, and Scott
would actually say "hi" to me when he came over. A big step. That night I
sat in the recliner and listened to Fosta's rather loud groans and whimpers
as she got repeatedly impaled by Scott's tool. Hearing her certainly didn't
turn me on, but thinking about what was making her groan sure did! I got
a boner from hell! Smile.

I was watching TV during their romp, giving my cock an occasional
squeeze, then got my first glimpse of what Fosta had become addicted to.
During a break in their 'session,' the bedroom door opened and Scott
appeared briefly as he made a trip to the bathroom. Wow!

He was 25 years old, about 5'10", short brown hair, rock solid build
(complete with a flat, washboard stomach,) vivid blue eyes and a swirling
pattern of hair on his chest. When he walked out of the bedroom that
night, he was wearing nothing but a pair of blue jeans that were
unsnapped, and only partially zipped. He hadn't bothered to put his
underwear back on, and I saw the narrow trail of hair that led from his flat
stomach down to the thick mound of pubic hair peeking out from his
half-zipped jeans. In that brief glimpse, I also saw the thick outline of dick
hanging (aparently half-hard) in his right pants leg. Then he was gone.

I listened as he pissed, then watched him disappear back into the
bedroom for round two. Ten minutes later, Fosta was getting more of that
big dick and (yes, I'll admit it!) I jacked off right there in the recliner!

Some time later, the two emerged from the room as Scott prepared to
leave. Fosta looked flushed, and Scott looked well satisfied. I forced
myself NOT to look down at his crotch as he walked past me, and was
surprised when he said...

" Take it easy, dude. "

After he left, Fosta gave me her usual play-by-play of their encounter.
She also told me that he'd mentioned that I had 'checked him out' when
he'd gone to the bathroom. Smile.

I didn't know it, but I'd passed the first test on my way to getting the prize.

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