He even started working out with me in the mornings, and—as I expected—he really was pretty strong for his size.

"Six... seven... eight," I called out in time with Phil's lifts. He had decent form. The way his muscles bunched and exploded in size with each rep surprised me. They were very visible under his tee.

His face was red, and the veins in his neck were still standing out as he looked over at me. There was something hungry in his eyes that he didn't let show in his actions. I wondered if I was imagining it.

"That wasn't really 120 pounds, was it?" His blue gaze speared me.

"No," I admitted. "It was 130 this time. You're finally benching your bodyweight."

He nodded, not really looking at me. The expression on his face was unfathomable.

I went on. "You've made a lot of progress, Phil. You should be proud. Most beginners do gain a bit of weight at first, but you've made 10 pounds in under a month."

Phil still looked distracted. "You helped. And besides, I can't lift anywhere near as much as you can." He frowned.

"These things come with time," I cautioned him. "Besides, you can probably do almost as well as I can on legs. My hamstring's only just healing up."

I observed him in silence. The new weight was virtually all muscle. Phil seemed less undersized as the days passed. I asked him about his height after a routine physical, and he told me he had measured in at 5'6, an inch taller than the last time he had been measured.

"Let's go back to the room," he said. "I'm exhausted." Phil slid off of the bench press and I followed him out of the gym.

Phil was still a lot smaller than I was, but I found myself agreeing with him a lot more. He wasn’t necessarily more intimidating, I just didn’t feel like ticking him off with little things like complaining about his antics or filthiness. We ended up watching a ton of anime, even when my shows were on. I felt that I owed it to him, after being such a jerk. Most other guys might have rationalized that he had earned the treatment. I just didn’t feel that way.

We were still having a few small problems with Phil’s sexual overdrive. The number of times I walked into the room to catch him readjusting himself or looking flushed and out of breath with porn or a hastily-closed computer window was just ludicrous. Maybe, I thought, it was working out that had so enhanced his libido. Testosterone did that. Anyone who has had a sexually overactive roommate can probably understand my feelings: we all do it, but it’s somehow less cool when we catch another person doing the same. College guys do disgusting stuff.

One night, after Phil had gone to bed, I found that I couldn’t sleep. I'd toyed with the idea of calling Lisa up, but she definitely wouldn't help me get to sleep. There had also been the option of doing something productive: one of the new professors, a Dr. McTague, had decided to host a study group in the library for the upcoming Biology midterms.

Instead, I was wasting hours playing BattleSkill—a roleplaying game and occasional stress reliever for me—and eating pizza in the monitor-lit darkness of the room. I reached for another slice of pizza and, like a typical klutz, shoved my hand right into molten cheese. It burnt, and worse, it was clingy. In the midst of my pain, my character died. Cursing quietly, I reached for the dull outline of a tissue sitting on Phil’s nearby desk. It was warm and very soggy.

I nearly vomited. I got a terrible chill down my spine right then and almost flung the soaked sponge away, but fearing it would land some place where I’d have to pick it up anyway, I stumbled over my chair and dashed to the trashcan. To my horror, I could see and feel some gunk still clinging to my finger.

My stomach turned as I hurried out into the hallway and toward the bathroom. We didn't live far from the men's communal showers and bathrooms in our wing of the dorms, a fact for which I was thankful. A pair of coeds dodged out of my way. In the bathroom, I flipped on the light and hurried to a sink, but before I shoved my hand into the water I noticed that my finger was completely clean. That didn’t stop me from scrubbing my hands thoroughly with a large amount of soap. All the while, I cursed Phil internally, thinking about all of the ways I was going to make him pay for leaving a wank-rag sitting around our dorm. That was just damned disgusting.

I didn’t do anything about it, though. It was really late. My body decided to notice the hour right then. The world swayed around me. I couldn't believe how weak I felt, but maybe it was because of my dash.

The same two girls were still out in the hallway as I made my way back to my room. Shirtless and built as I was, I couldn't help but feel their eyes boring into my skin. I wasn't in the mood to indulge them, so I just nodded as they greeted me. One knew my name, so I smiled. I heard them giggling as I made my way down the hall.

When I finally got back into my room, my hands felt raw from all that scrubbing, and I was more tired than I’d let myself realize before. I glanced at the remnants of my pizza, but I wasn’t hungry any more either. Not many people would have been after a contact with their roommate's cum. I didn’t know how tired I was until I sat down on my bed, overcome with a sudden bit of late night dizziness. Within moments, I was asleep. •