The Night My Roommate Made Sure I Didn’t Get Laid
An SPH Experience by laprats.
I figured he’d ignore it, maybe make an awkward joke later. But instead, he started getting bolder. The next morning, he walked out of his room completely naked, coffee mug in hand, and stood in the kitchen making breakfast like it was nothing. I was sitting on the couch in my boxers, and I couldn’t help but stare. He’s a tall guy, athletic, with a thick bush and a soft cock that hangs at least four inches—flaccid. Compared to my two inches soft, it was a massive difference.
He caught me looking and smirked. “Morning,” he said, his voice casual, like being naked in front of me was the most natural thing in the world.
I mumbled something back and tried to focus on my phone, but my eyes kept drifting to the way his balls swung when he moved, the way his dick swayed. I felt a familiar heat in my groin. I was getting hard. And he noticed.
From then on, it became a game. He’d leave his door open while he jerked off, the sound of his hand wet and rhythmic carrying down the hall. I’d walk past and see him sprawled on his bed, his cock standing straight up—at least seven inches, thick, with a big red head. He’d lock eyes with me and speed up, never saying a word. I’d retreat to my room, my own tiny dick throbbing in my shorts, furious and embarrassed and turned on all at once.
Then there were the mornings. He’d stroll out with a raging hard-on, not even bothering to point it down. He’d make coffee, read the news on his phone, that monster dick bobbing in front of him. One time I walked out naked too, thinking maybe I could match his confidence. I was half-hard. He saw me, looked down at my three-inch erection, and burst out laughing. “Dude, you can’t be serious,” he said. “That’s your hard-on? I’m bigger soft.”
He wasn’t wrong. His soft cock that morning was at least four inches, thicker than my entire shaft. I stood there, humiliated, my little dick pointing up at him like a joke. He just shook his head and went back to his coffee. I slunk back to my room, heart pounding, and jerked off thinking about it.
Last week, I finally worked up the nerve to bring a girl home. Her name was Jenna, cute, with a bubbly laugh. We’d been flirting for a while, and I invited her over to watch a movie. I made sure Mark knew she was coming. I told him, “Hey, I’ve got a date tonight. Keep it cool, okay? Maybe put some clothes on.”
He shrugged. “Sure, man. No problem.”
But I should have known better.
Jenna and I walked into the apartment around eight. We were laughing, her hand on my arm. The living room was empty, the TV off. I led her toward my bedroom, my heart racing with anticipation. I thought we were in the clear.
Then the bathroom door opened.
Steam rolled out, and Mark stepped into the hallway completely naked, water dripping from his chest and legs. His dick hung there, soft but still enormous—at least five inches limp, swinging heavily between his thighs. Jenna stopped dead. Her eyes went wide. She stared at him, mouth open.
Mark saw her, saw me, and didn’t flinch. “Oh, hey,” he said, like he’d just run into us at the grocery store. “Didn’t know you had company.”
He didn’t cover himself. He didn’t even try. He just stood there, letting her take it all in. Jenna’s gaze was locked on his cock. I could see her cheeks flush. She licked her lips without realizing it.
“I—uh—I was just getting a towel,” Mark said, still not moving. He was enjoying it. I could tell.
“No problem,” Jenna finally managed, her voice breathy.
Mark smiled—that same smug grin he always gave me—and walked past us toward his room, his dick swinging with each step. He didn’t close his door all the way. I heard him drop the towel, heard his bed creak.
Jenna turned to me, her expression complicated. Excitement, embarrassment, curiosity. “Whoa,” she said. “Your roommate is… built.”
I forced a laugh. “Yeah, he’s, uh, pretty comfortable in his skin.”
We went into my room, and I closed the door. I tried to kiss her, to get things back on track. She responded, but her mind was clearly elsewhere. When I pulled off her shirt and started undoing her jeans, she asked, “Is he always like that?”
“Like what?”
“You know… naked. All the time.”
“Sometimes,” I admitted.
We got into bed. She was wet. I slid my boxers off, my cock already hard—three and a half inches if I was lucky, thin and pale. She reached down to touch me, and I saw her face change. Her fingers wrapped around my shaft, and there was nothing left to grip. Her thumb and forefinger overlapped.
She pulled her hand back. “You’re… smaller than I expected.”
My stomach dropped. “I know,” I said quietly.
“I mean, after seeing your roommate, I thought…”
She didn’t finish the sentence, but she didn’t have to. The comparison was already seared into my brain. His huge soft cock, her wide eyes, the way she’d stared. And now my pathetic little erection in her hand, barely enough to fill her palm.
She tried to make it work. She gave me a handjob for a minute, but I could feel her enthusiasm fading. I tried to go down on her, and she moaned, but when I tried to enter her, my dick slipped out twice. She finally sighed and said, “Maybe we should just watch a movie.”
We didn’t have sex that night. She got dressed quickly, made an excuse about an early shift, and left. I heard Mark’s door creak open as she walked past. I heard him say, “See you around, Jenna.” She laughed nervously and was gone.
I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, my soft little dick resting against my thigh. I could hear Mark in his room, unmistakable wet sounds followed by a low groan. He was jerking off, probably thinking about how he’d ruined my night.
And the worst part? I was hard again, listening to him.
The next morning, he was in the kitchen, naked as always, his morning wood pointing at the ceiling. He saw me walk in and grinned.
“So,” he said, “how was your date?”
I grabbed a glass of water, trying to ignore his cock. “It was fine.”
“She seemed nice.”
“She was.”
He took a sip of his coffee, his eyes never leaving me. “Too bad she left early.”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Because we both knew exactly why she left. And we both knew that he’d made sure of it.
He set down his mug and stretched, his dick bobbing. “Maybe next time, don’t set the bar so high.”
He laughed, walked back to his room, and left me standing there, my own pathetic dick soft and hidden beneath my shorts, feeling smaller than ever.
I’m still living with him. And I’m honestly not sure if I want him to stop.
The End.
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