Date: Mon, 19 Aug 2002 02:06:48 EDT
From: (Anonymous)
Subject: How To Use Your Queer College Roommate

How To Use Your Queer College Roommate
by Anonymous
Part 5

    So jocks whaddya think so far, pretty kewl huh? You get a servant and
free gifts and you can play sports all day and fuck puss all night. Plus you
can still haze frosh and pledges all you like! Before we continue our little
story let's do a short quiz to review what we have learned dudes.

Jocks are:
A. dumb
B. really smart cause they can get a C average without even going to classes
C. God's gift to women
D. B) and C) only

Queers wants to:
A. smell a jock's balls
B. smell a jock's headcheese
C. smell a jock's dirty sneaks
D. all of the above

How many times does a queer get to see a jock's cock?:
A. never
B. never
C. never
D. never

What is a queer always required to wear so jocks dont have to get grossed out
by some fag getting boned while he worships our jockmeat?
A. armor
B. a trashbag
C. saran wrap
D. zipped-up jeans

    If you guessed D to all four questions you were right dude!

    Wow, that was pretty tuff. Good thing using a queer college roommate
(QCR) is so much easier!

    All you have to remember is that the QCR gets all horned up over your bod
and athletic abilities. Plus he's a homo and you are str8 so you are
naturally superior. Your QCR needs to learn to show respect for your
superiority and you have to lay down some rules. That may take a few days.
Didja notice how patient Wes had to be sometimes trying to explain stuff?

    It's a good idea to keep your QCR in his place-- which is right under
your thumb dude! (Doncha wish it was this easy with chicks haha)  There are
lots of ways but you dont have to do anything special. You can chat with
buddies online while your QCR kneels under your desk, like Wes did.
(Remember, he is queer for your dick.) Other times you may have to stuff a
cumrag in his mouth. QCRs get all hot and bothered when they get to sniff
your jock and stuff so get yours addicted to all your body smells. If you
dont have the time to humiliate the QCR get a teammate or buddy to help you
out. The QCR can pay them. And that is where our story resumes dudes....




CHAPTER FIVE - wherein a mysterious visitor returns and gives the queer a
lesson in the natural superiority of str8 jocks and the queer pays him for it

    Wes was allowing me to show respect by kneeling in front of him. He let
me look at his hard body and I got all horned up admiring him and looking at
his chest and arms and his muscular legs. Then he started feeling himself in
his boxers in front of the mirror, watching himself get hard. I was
transfixed in awe by his muscles and his athletic prowess. He put both hands
around his thick hard cock and he was just about to take his dick out and let
me suck it when the alarm went off.

    It was 5:30 AM and I had a raging hardon from dreaming about Wes letting
me blow him.

    Wes's bed was unslept in. The covers were as I had left them when I made
his bed yesterday. (In addition to fetching his drinks, picking up his
clothes, doing his laundry, polishing his shoes, and writing his assignments,
Wes told me I was to make his bed every morning.) He must have scored with
the girl he went out with last night. That was no surprise. What girl could
resist such a good-looking endowed star athlete with a perfect body?

  I wanted to pull my jeans down and jack off. (I still slept in my pants in
case Wes came in the room unexpectedly.) But I had to get to the laundry room
early.  Wes had left a voicemail message on my cell phone. "Hey." To Wes, I
had no name, not even "hey."  "Hey" was just the beginning of a command.
"Laundry at 6 AM sharp. Dont wash any of your crap with my clothes. And dont
just throw my stuff in a bag and take it upstairs..... Fold   my   clothes
in   the  laundry  room." He separated the last words and I could hear his
impatience in having to speak slowly and emphatically enough to make me
understand how important it was that his clothes be treated respectfully.
Leaving a message was taking up his valuable time.

    I was planning on doing his laundry early anyway. There was minimal
chance that anyone else would be there at 6 am on a Saturday morning,
wondering what a skinny freshman was doing with two loads of athletic wear in
size large. My laundry would have to wait.

    Even though Wes would not to let me see his jock cock I knew he was a big
uncut stud. When I knelt in front of him I could see the outline of his long
thick dick pushing against his boxers. I was queer for Wes's dick.

    Getting his laundry together only made me hornier. My stiff cock ached in
my jeans while I touched and smelled his dirty clothes. His large size
jockstraps were stretched out even more where his big dick and balls bulged
in the pouch. I could smell his cock in them and the foreskin, and sometimes
the rank smell of cheese under the foreskin. I took a damp musty strap from
the bottom of the bag and got on the floor, licking Wes's piss stains on the
inside of the pouch. I pulled his sweatiest tee shirt under my face with the
armpit under my nose and sniffed his B.O. while I licked his jock.

    I squirmed on the floor, humping the floor in my jeans. My balls were
ready to explode. I got on my knees and dumped all the laundry out of the
laundry bag and out of Wes's black athletic bag and took his shorts from the
pile--two pairs of boxers, running shorts, and a pair of briefs I had found
under his covers when I made his bed. I  laid out the boxers first, picturing
the outline of the jock's hard smooth butt against the soft smooth material.
I got on the floor and rubbed my face where his ass had been. I sniffed the
sweat line of his running shorts, inhaling the smell of the jock's asscrack.
I saved the briefs for last. When I found them in his bed they were still
warm and wet from his cum. He must have jacked off in them in bed or used
them to wipe his load off his chest after he came. I sniffed his sweet
smelling cum.

    I couldnt hold back any longer. I got on my knees, unzipped and started
jacking in Wes's briefs, my pre making the cum he had left get slippery
again. I leaned over and put my face deep in a pile of his stinking socks and
smelled his feet while I came in the briefs that had touched his dick and
balls.

    By 7:15  I had settled back in the laundry room while Wes's clothes
tumbled in the dryers. I started reading a geography book for the paper I had
to write for him.

    Of course Wes had not left any change for the machines. I knew he wouldnt
so I was prepared. I got detergent and fabric softener from the vending
machines and put in quarters to get two washing machines filling up while I
sorted his laundry. I could still smell his butt and his feet on my face from
jacking off in his dirty laundry and I was getting hard again touching his
clothes. He had two loads of laundry after only 3 days. A week's worth of
Wes's laundry along with mine was going to run to about 20 bucks every
Saturday. But it was worth it to get to touch the jocks dirty clothes and
smell him on them.

    By 8 AM all the clothes were dry. I had already folded his chinos in a
neat stack on the table, and sorted his underwear, jockstraps and socks. The
tee shirts and other shirts were next on the table. The athletic gear had
taken longer to dry. I hadnt taken it out to fold yet. Guys were getting up
and walking around upstairs.  I needed to hurry  before someone came in and
saw me folding clothes that obviously belonged to a jock and were several
sizes too large for me. Too late -- someone was coming down the hall straight
toward the laundry room. I hastily threw the laundry bag over Wes's underwear
and pants.

    He stood in the doorway clutching a football.  It seemed like all the
jocks in the building carried around a football instead of books and played
pass in the hallways and rec room instead of studying. He was in blue jeans
and a faded blue tee shirt with "Department of Erections" in faded peeling
white letters across the chest. His clothes showed off his muscles. I had
seen him a few times around school. I noticed him cause he was a jock, tall
and good looking , with a perfect body.  He was obviously an upperclassman
and an athlete like Wes. Maybe they even knew each other.

    "Heads up freshman." His arm shot out and the football whizzed thru the
air. Before I had time to react the hard pointed end of the ball hit my
chest. I winced. He laughed as the ball ricocheted off me and bounced on the
floor.

        He walked over to the table and looked at  Wes's tee shirts. "Wear a
lot of baggy clothes?"  he asked with a sneering smile. "Uh, well, those
arent all mine." I was getting red with embarrassment.

    He  pulled a LaCrosse jersey from the dryer that I hadnt unloaded yet and
held it up to examine it.

    "Number 22, that's Wes's number." He looked at me quizzically. "Where's
Wes?" he asked with mock puzzlement.

    "Umm,,, oh,,, I must have got that mixed up with my laundry by mistake.
Wes is my roommate."

    He pulled out Wes's LaCrosse shorts. "Looks like you got a lot of Wes's
stuff mixed up with yours." It amused him to expose my little sham. "I'm on
my way to LaCrosse practice. I'll tell Wes about the 'mixup'" he said
sarcastically. He threw a laundry bag on the table. It looked nearly empty.
"And while youre at it wash my shorts, freshman." As he walked out he turned
and said, "Oh yeah, by the way, there is a message for you at the end of the
hall. Down there." He pointed in the direction that he had come from.

    I waited till I heard him going  upstairs, then hurried down the hallway
in the direction he had pointed. Had Wes left a message for me? Had anyone
else seen it? But no, it couldnt have been Wes. There was nothing in this
part of the basement--just the janitor's room and storage rooms. Saturday was
the janitor's day off and the hall was dark and deserted. I opened the
unmarked door at the end of the hall. It was a single bathroom, just a toilet
and sink.  Two turds and some toilet paper floated in the yellow water in the
toilet bowl and there was a message on the wall: "FRESHMAN -- FLUSH THIS --
THEN CLEAN THE WALL". It was the same handwriting as in the stall yesterday.
So--I had just met the jock who took a shit in the stall while I was
polishing Wes's shoes. I quickly locked the door in the unlikely case that
someone would come down the hall.

    I flushed the jock's piss and shit and scrubbed the letters off the wall
with some cleanser I found under the sink, all the time smelling the jockcrap
smell that still hung in the air.

Things started to add up now. Wes had set everything up and his teammate was
in on it from the beginning. Wes knew I would have to shine his shoes in the
mens room between classes to make the 4 pm deadline he had set. Then it was
just a matter of telling his buddy what was up and having him tail me and
take a shit where I was sure to be. And Wes purposely told me to fold his
things in the laundry room so I would be "discovered" by his teammate. He
probably even chose Saturday as laundry day because the janitor would be away
and his buddy could take a dump in the back and make me smell his crap again.

    I wondered how much Wes had told his buddy. They must be laughing about
it at practice right now. Had he told his other buddies anything? How much
did Adrian know? I reddened with shame at how these jocks were humiliating
me. But at the same time I was real horned up for these athletes. They were
superior and had a right to make me show respect. I got boned up thinking
about the jock's body and how he was proving his dominance and natural
superiority over me.

    Back in the laundry room I quickly put Wes's things in the bags. He was
at practice and wouldnt know that I folded them upstairs instead of here--if
I was fast enough. I opened the laundry bag the jock had left. There was a
note pinned to the inside of the bag: "Freshman you owe me $10 for privledge
of smelling my shit. Leave money under door room 33. Keep my laundry in your
room. P.S. keep this note inside your shorts all day."

    I unzipped and stuffed the note inside my briefs under my balls, not
understanding why but obeying the jock. I would have to make a trip to the
ATM for more cash to pay the jock. I got pre on my hand as it brushed against
my leaking dick. I zipped back up over my hard dick. If I touched myself once
more I would cum in my jeans.  I emptied out the jock's bag. Six pairs of the
jock's white briefs tumbled out. Nothing else. I looked around. It was risky
doing it in the laundry room but a jock's dirty underwear is irresistable to
a queer. I put a pair against my face and inhaled. It was only a faint trace
but it reminded me of the smell of his shit from the toilets he left for me
to flush. There was a light streak inside, like the shorts had got up in his
moist asscrack. I put my face up close and inhaled deep. I was beginning to
like the smell of his shit. He deserved to get paid for letting me smell it.
I put the briefs in the washer one at a time so I could smell the jock's ass
and sweaty cock and balls up close on each one.

    I couldnt hold out any longer. My cock rubbed against the tight jeans and
I felt my cum soaking into my shorts. A big wet spot soaked through on my
jeans.




CHAPTER SIX -- letting other guys use your property, or, what every jock shou
ld know about home entertainment for himself and his buds