Sunday, 27 December 2009

Freshman Dorm by Fratbear

Note from Justin. Though I can find a number of the stories in this collection on the internet, I have been unable to find the entire collection in one place. This part is posted here because it is relevant to the topic of the Blog.

"Sloan Cosgrove, Confessions of a Teenage Bear" is a 45-
chapter novel in which a certain bearish college football player/
frat boy recalls his many sexual adventures and encounters.

"Sloan Cosgrove, Confessions of a Teenage Bear"
by fratbear

Freshman Dorm

"What are you, a football player?" Those were the first words I heard from Justin Spakowski, my freshman roommate.

It was the end of August, and I'd driven down to Southern Texas University, my pick-up loaded with just about everything in my bedroom. My dad had wanted to make the trip down with me, but I'd mumbled something about needing my independence or something, and he left me to make the trip alone.

Freshman orientation began a week before the upperclassmen returned to school, letting us newcomers adjust to dorm life through a series of lectures and seminars with titles like "Alcohol and You: You Ain't Legal Yet" and "Free To Be You And Me: Racial, Sexual, and Social Diversity In Dorm Life." I marveled at how such long titles could convey so little information.

Making my way through a myriad of lines and offices, I was finally directed to my dorm, a butt-ugly beige bunker constructed from what looked like concrete blocks. My room was a two-bedder located just about midway down the second floor hallway.

I was unceremoniously dumping my clothes out of my suitcase onto my bed. I chose the bed on the left because I figured the sunlight wouldn't hit it directly in the morning, when the surly voice sounded off from the doorway.

"What are you, a football player?"

I turned to find a stout, mop-headed bulldog of a young man squinting at me, as if he were trying to figure something out about me. He looked like he could be a wrestler, with taut, thick muscles on his hairy arms and shoulders, but a developing paunch around his midsection told me that he probably hadn't been to the gym in a while.

With his squint and stubble, he looked really mean, and his question could've been interpreted as hostile, but for some reason I sensed that he didn't intend it to sound that way.

"Yeah, actually I am. Name's Sloan Cosgrove." I offered my hand, and he shook it.

"Justin Spakowski," he said, finally cracking a smile. "Guess I won't see much of you during the season, then."

"Looks like I'll be at practice most days," I replied.


And that was it. That amounted to our introduction. He learned that I was a football player. I learned that he was thrilled at the prospect of having the dorm room to himself so often.

When you're a freshman on a college football team, especially a team like the Southern Texas University Bears (how's THAT for irony), you really don't have much to do except train and develop yourself for the day when the coach- in my case a colossal prick by the name of Coach Stan Johnson- decides to put you on the starting roster. Entering college, I was already six-foot-three and over 300 pounds, but during our first afternoon practice Coach Johnson took one look at me and declared in front of the everyone on the field that I needed to hit the gym big-time.

As a result, I didn't spend a lot of time in my dorm room, and I got to thinking about what Justin did when he was left alone. The one thing I was certain of was that he was straight as an arrow, having passionately screwed some blonde he'd met at a party one Friday night while I was lying half passed-out on my bed nearby.

Still, that hadn't stopped me from casting sideways glances at him as he returned from his showers, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist, his muscular, furry torso still damp. He was a good-looking kid, and his tough demeanor only excited me more. I hadn't told Justin that I was gay. I could never seem to find the right time or place to tell him, and it didn't seem like he cared to know, so I decided that it would be better to leave it alone. If he asked, I'd reveal the truth. Otherwise, we'd keep this type of information to ourselves.

This strategy worked for about three weeks. Because that's when I found out what Justin was doing whenever I was at football practice. It happened pretty out of the blue, actually. I was just getting back to my dorm room a little earlier than usual, and I opened the door just in time to see Justin lying in bed shirtless, scrambling to pull up his shorts as I walked in.

"Hey, you're early," he exclaimed a little too cheerfully, trying to act casual by picking up a magazine lying nearby.

"It's cool," I replied. "It was only a matter of time before one of us caught the other whacking off."

He chuckled. "Why, how often do you do it?"

I smiled. "Back home, I was a machine. At least once a day. Sometimes twice. Here, though, not as often."

As I glanced down at him, I noticed a splotch of white cum on his neck, and I realized that I hadn't interrupted him in the middle of a jerk-off session, but rather at the end of one. "You
missed a spot." I pointed to my own neck to show him where.

Justin nodded and wiped his neck with a wad of tissue he had hidden in his fist. He stood up and tossed the soaked tissue into the trashcan on his way out to the bathroom.

I contemplated the trashcan for a moment, then walked over and looked in. My dick was already stiff and pounding as I reached in and picked up the dripping tissue. Even holding it at arm's length, I could smell that pungent scent of sperm.

I dropped the tissue back in as I heard Justin returning from the bathroom. He walked in and sat down at his desk as if nothing had happened.


The next night, Justin and I ventured out together to some dorm party on the other side of campus. The party sucked, but they had booze, and by the end of the night, I was buzzed and Justin was plastered. I ended up having to half-carry him back to our room, dumping him on his bed, where he clumsily stripped down to his boxers and dozed off. Nothing unusual, except
for the position he was in. He'd fallen asleep with his hand tucked into the waistband of his boxers.

I stared at Justin's body for a long while, looking over his furry body, packed with muscles into a compact frame. I knew what I really wanted to do, but I didn't know if I had the guts. The buzz from the alcohol was just beginning to wear off, and I still wasn't thinking quite straight.

I knelt on the floor next to his bed and stared at the alcohol-induced, docile expression on his face. I nudged his arm, but he didn't respond.

"Justin?" I called his name pretty loudly. Again, no reaction. He was out cold.

I took a breath and made up my mind. I was gonna go ahead and do it. Hands trembling, I reached out and slowly slid his boxers down around his knees, exposing his soft penis resting in a nest of coarse dark hair. I gently caressed it with my fingers, and within a few seconds it began to harden and swell in my hand.

Justin let out a little moan, and his hand shifted down, coming to rest on my hand. Holding my breath, I stopped rubbing his dick for a moment, and he settled down, still sound asleep.

Relieved, I carefully pushed his hand off mine and resumed massaging his now-stiffened six-inch shaft. The skin on his dick was like velvet, and his body shuddered as I stroked it. I wrapped my fingers around the shaft and started pumping on it, watching Justin's red cockhead poking out of my hand over and over again.

"Uhhhh," Justin let out a long sigh as a glistening drop of clear precum seeped out of his dick.

I stood up and shed every piece of my clothing, then knelt back down over Justin's body, taking his hot slab of meat into my mouth. As I bobbed my head up and down, sinking his delicious cock into the warm depths of my mouth, I started jerking on my own dick with my hand.

I strained my eyes to look up at Justin's body, which was now writhing in pleasure on his bed. Soft whimpering sounds came out of his mouth as I sucked eagerly on his dick. I closed my eyes and let my mouth engulf him in a soothing, continual rhythmic motion.

"What the fuck're you doing, Sloan?" The sound of Justin's voice jolted me from this living fantasy.

I looked up suddenly, his throbbing cock slipping from my mouth. Justin looked back at me, tough-looking as ever, but with a confused daze in his eyes.

"Aw, shit," I fumbled with my words. "I'm sorry." I was busted. This was not gonna be good for my reputation on campus. I started to stand up.

"Wait, don't stop." Justin put a hand on my bare shoulder. "It felt really good."

Oh, man, I thought. This was too good to be true. I just nodded and got back down on my knees, taking his dick into my mouth again. I looked up at him and saw that he was staring down at me intently, eyes fixed on the sight of his slick penis slipping past my lips.

Justin started moaning again, this time slipping in a few words of encouragement. "Yeah, suck me, Sloan. Suck that dick."

I climbed up off the floor onto Justin's bed, which sagged beneath our weight. I pulled his boxers completely off and spread his legs so I could suckle on his cock, massage his balls with one hand, and jerk myself off with the other hand all at the same time.

I felt Justin clench my hair in his fingers as he started thrusting his hips, fucking my mouth as he grunted. His breath became more labored as I felt his dick growing stiffer and stiffer in my mouth.

With a sharp gasp, his body convulsed, and steaming bursts of cum squirted from his cock into my mouth. I swallowed every drop of it happily, savoring this inaugural load of Justin's spunk being deposited down my throat.

"Oooohh, man," Justin growled as he continued trembling, and I continued sucking out any juices still flowing from his penis.

As soon as his climax ended, I pushed myself up and climbed up onto his weakened body, straddling his stomach before he could even register what I was doing. With my eight-and-a-half inch dick fully erect before his content face, I started pounding on my shaft with my fist, furiously masturbating over his sweaty body.

Justin reached up and pushed my hand away, wrapping his own hand around my hard cock and jerking me off with more frenzied energy than I would've thought possible.

"Come on, Sloan, your turn now," he moaned as stared at my large body looming over him.

"Aw, fuck, Justin," I groaned back. "I'm gonna shoot..." It didn't take long at all before I could no longer hold it back.

My body heaved as long white strands of cum streaked across Justin's hairy chest and splattered his neck. He kept pumping on my shaft even as his hand became sticky with my cum. His eyes just remained focused on my body, as if he were studying how my bearish body behaved during an orgasm.

"Awww, fuck," I moaned as the waves of ecstasy subsided, and I could only hear our heavy breaths and the sound of cum squishing on Justin's hand as he kept massaging my dick.

"Thanks, buddy, that was awesome," Justin mumbled, his speech somewhat slurred. He was still drunk, a fact that was made more obvious when he closed his eyes and drifted back to sleep, his sticky hand falling away from my softening dick.

I wondered if he'd even remember this in the morning. I went back to my bed, and the last thing I saw before falling asleep was Justin's naked body lying in his bed, splattered with my cum as a reminder.


When I woke up the next morning, the sun was pouring through the blinds, and Justin was nowhere to be found. For a moment, I thought I might've scared him away. He was probably reporting me to the R.A. or something. Telling the administration about the pervert that he'd been stuck with as a roommate.

But then I found the note lying on my desk. "Hey, Sloan. Last night was really cool. Maybe we can do it again sometime. J."

And then, at the very bottom: "Please tear up this note. It's our little secret, right, buddy?"

- fratbear

1 comment:

Ed said...

All of the Sloan Cosgrove stories can be found here: