In my first year at college, I was assigned to the oldest dorm on campus. It was a 60s-style block with no air conditioning, no elevator, separate entrances for males and females, and spotty WiFi that could barely penetrate the concrete walls.

Worst of all (or so I thought at first) the suites were shared. They were honestly kind of like prison cells: one small room with an uncomfortable double bed on each side, separated by a few feet of worn carpet.

Luckily, my roommate was a decent guy. Cody was a lot like me. He was 18, white, on the short side, and a little shy. After we overcame our initial awkwardness, we got along fine. We weren't best friends or anything, but we developed a mutual respect and learned to live with each other.

Obviously, the biggest issue was privacy. We had none. Our class times mostly overlapped, so neither of us had the room to himself for long. The bathrooms and showers were shared.

Even though Cody and I were both straight and reasonably good-looking, there was seldom a sock on our door handle if you know what I mean. The issue was finding time and space for a good jerk session.

Sometimes I managed to bust a quick nut while Cody was in class. Sometimes I resorted to stroking in a little-used bathroom in the building across the quad. Both options felt desperate and uncomfortable. I never got to stretch out, take my time, or really enjoy myself.

On nights when I was especially horny I would lie awake in my bed, waiting to hear Cody snore so I could rub one out. Once or twice I got the impression he was doing the same thing.

One night just before Christmas break I was drifting into sleep when I sensed movement on the other side of the room. The rustle of sheets was enough to bring me back to consciousness.

I heard Cody's bed creak as he rolled over. He sighed. Then there was a soft, rhythmic pounding, and the back-and-forth swish of skin against fabric. He was jerking off under his blanket.

I knew I should have let him have his private time. If he needed a little fun before bed, who could blame him? But I was curious. Blood was rushing to my own cock as I listened to him pumping his.

I very delicately turned my head to face him, but I couldn't see much. Only a faint ricochet of streetlight filtered in through the window. I could just make out Cody's face, pointed up at the ceiling, eyes closed. His hand bobbing up and down beneath his comforter.

The rhythm grew faster and faster until he let out a low gasp. The pounding stopped, replaced by muffled, satisfied panting. I felt a dirty little thrill knowing I had just watched my roommate cum a few feet away.

Now spent, Cody was snoring within minutes.

As soon as I knew he was out, I pulled down my boxers and freed my rock hard cock. I took out all my pent up frustration on myself, beating off with reckless speed under my blanket.

I couldn't stop thinking about Cody as I began to feel my orgasm building. His closed eyes, his hand bobbing up and down. The quickening pace of his strokes and that little exhalation as he shot his load.

I'd never thought about a dude while masturbating before, but watching Cody experience pleasure was strangely hot. It was like I had vicariously experienced it myself.

I kept thinking about him cumming and quickly made myself cum into my boxers. It was a very intense climax and I struggled to keep quiet.

As soon as I'd finished, I felt guilty and a little scared of being caught. I rolled over and pulled my blanket over me and joined my roommate in sleep.

The next day Cody went home for Christmas. I had the room to myself for a few days before my exams were over. It was nice to be able to masturbate openly, but I found myself thinking about that night and wishing Cody was still there.

The more I thought about it, the crazier it seemed that we had to sneak around just to perform a basic biological function. We were both doing the same thing, both chasing the same pleasure. Why the secrecy?

I promised myself that when we came back in the new year, things were going to change.

Part 2