Arab Roommate with a Gay Past
The college where I studied Medicine had a rundown free dorm, a place where students from various fields lived together in pairs in a single room. When my long-time, well-behaved yet reserved roommate graduated with an IT degree, I was assigned a new one. This was disheartening since I lacked social skills and had no desire to adjust yet again to living with a complete stranger. Fortunately, my past roommate was respectful, and we got along well studying and rarely interacting beyond casual hellos.
My stomach twisted when a man tapped on my door and introduced himself as my new roommate, sporting a thick Arabic accent.
Meet Abdul, who embodied every stereotype of hyper-masculine, hairy Middle Eastern men. Standing head and shoulders above me, I found myself uncomfortably extending my neck to maintain eye contact or simply give up. This colossal presence was surely a third-world jock, someone I didn't want to share living space with. My choice was simple though - a third-roommate or a student loan.
Abdul proffered his callused hand for a handshake, and we exchanged pleasantries. His English was thick and he greeted me as "my friend" repeatedly while draping his large arm over my shoulders, making me feel uneasy and overwhelmed by his body odor.
I broke free as quickly as possible and beat a hasty retreat to create some breathing room for myself to endure Abdul's invasion.
In a few short minutes, my organized and clean living space had morphed into an unrecognizable mess. Abdul had unloaded his belongings onto my bed, discarded his shoes without finesse in the middle of the room, and shed his shirt, adding to the disarray on the floor. I disliked people being shirtless in public settings, but I held my tongue.
With his exhausting energy, he zoomed around the room, throwing items into drawers without bothering to organize them. He exhibited no patience for the tedium of acclimating to a new environment.
The dorm room we shared was intended for one person, but miraculously, they crammed two beds and a minuscule bathroom inside. While Abdul established his territory, I sat at my desk, pretending to study, to avoid the awkward silence of having nothing to say and lamenting the loss of my privacy.
Eventually, when Abdul completed unpacking, he was drenched in sweat, and an Arabian stench floated toward me. Catching me eyeing him, he inquired if I had any significant work to do. I found it inconsiderate to interrupt someone concentrating on academic matters, but I attributed this to jocks caring about nothing but sports and sex.
I sarcastically replied, "Not a lick," and Abdul reacted with a literary hug. Feeling his sweat-soaked hair brushing against me, he aimed to get acquainted with me. He inquired if I had a girlfriend, to which I shook my head. I've never had a girlfriend (or boyfriend) in my life. He seemed unsurprised.
We attempted conversing, but the more we talked, the less interested Abdul appeared in my life story.
Out courtesy, I inquired about his plans and ambitions, only to find that he was not there for educational pursuits. Instead, he explained that several young men from his country employed university exchange programs to work manual labor jobs in Europe or America to accumulate a sizable amount of money relatively quickly. Abdul planned to perform construction work, which would allow him to purchase farmland for his future bride.
I listened patiently, and when I began discussing my own aspirations, Abdul interrupted me by yawning dramatically. "Sorry, buddy, I'm dead tired," he said indifferently.
Despite wanting to make a good impression and survive this situation, I couldn't help but be startled by Abdul's abrupt interruption. Ignoring his rudeness, I assured him I would stay quiet and avoid using lights so he could rest from his long journey.
During our conversation, I couldn't help but look away from him, fixated instead on the peeling wallpaper or the floor where his large, hairy feet were visible.
He just nodded and got up, taking off his dirty socks and adding to the growing pile on the floor, then pulled down his shorts to reveal his old white briefs (not something you'd typically see from a young Western guy) before arranging his things and heading back to bed.
He stretched out on the relatively small bed frame with a satisfied sigh, one large foot dangling off the edge due to his height. Without any sense of modesty or cleanliness, the bulge of his sweaty underwear, the dark pubes protruding from its sides, his dark hairy chest and legs, his masculine physique – it all seemed obscene to me, and I had to look away.
Abdul was noticeably larger than me, both in height and overall size. He had a flat stomach, clear abs forming thick mounds over his darkened abdomen. He had a stocky, farmer-like build with hairy forearms and a thin layer of fat. The contrast between our appearances couldn't have been more striking. I was a thin, pale nerd,while Abdul was a tall, muscular guy with a robust figure.
I attempted to sleep, but my anxiety and discomfort made it impossible. My eyes kept drifting towards Abdul's bed, studying him as he slept. As a scientist, I prided myself on being able to control and understand my emotions through reason.
Finally, I managed to drift off into a dream-filled sleep, but early in the morning I was awakened by a ruckus. A rough voice blared through a cheap speaker, playing over an eastern melody that did nothing to soothe my nerves.
While the noise was overwhelming, I became aware of Abdul's movements nearby. There, in only his briefs, was Abdul, doing push-ups in the cramped space between our beds.
I was infuriated. What type of person exercises before dawn? Yet, I couldn't tear my eyes away from Abdul's repetitive motion, his back muscles turning into defined shapes as his damp briefs clung tightly to his clenched backside.
I was fascinated by the movement, just like someone might be by an expertly oiled engine or a live brain scan of a musician.
Breathing heavily and rhythmically, he moved effortlessly and smoothly, fully extending himself on each rep before clenching his buttocks against the cold floor and pushing back up.
As he continued to exercise, he worked up a considerable sweat, which began to assault my senses.
But, after a few minutes, Abdul paused, knelt down, and began to pray. The radio voice's tone now made more sense to me.
I feigned sleep, partly because I expected him to be done soon and let me get back to rest, and partly because I felt like I was intruding on a private moment.
I couldn't understand how he thought it was appropriate to make so much noise before sunrise and so close to his sleeping roommate. But Abdul was so absorbed in his prayers that he probably didn't notice or care that I was awake and watching him.
Positioned strangely, facing precisely east, his back was exposed to me.
I sighed. I had an early class and would be operating at reduced capacity due to this unwanted disruption. If it were up to me, religion would be outlawed within a 10-mile radius of every university campus.
Still, as he prostrated himself, I couldn't resist stealing glances at his body. With his forehead touching the floor in prayer, his sweaty backside faced up, stretching the damp fabric of his white briefs radically, providing me with a clear view of his hairy ass.
Every now and then, Abdul murmured words in Arabic, seemingly responding to the radio voice. His deep, baritone voice was more pleasant to my ears compared to the unpleasant shouting on the radio.
The room was filled with a heavy atmosphere, not only from the scent of Abdul's sweat (which was undeniably present) but also from an unnameable tension.
It felt awkward to observe a prayerful man in such a manner, and to pay attention to the intricacies of his actions. The act of praying itself showcased a sense of submission, making it intriguing to witness Abdul performing it. There was an understanding that this was something Abdul would only perform for his God, giving it meaning.
Once he finished, he stood up and stretched, wearing a contented expression on his face. He noticed me staring at him and I became flustered. The anger I felt earlier from having my sleep interrupted had dampened and I didn't know what to tell him.
He greeted me cheerfully, "Morning, buddy!" with a booming voice and a pleasant smile, while I struggled to respond. I guess he was a morning person and I wasn't, and we also had other differences.
I stayed in bed as Abdul prepared for his first day of construction work. He was aware of the classes he needed to attend and had planned his schedule so he could maintain the minimum academic requirements to stay enrolled in the program while working most hours.
I dozed off to sleep again and woke up a while later due to my alarm clock.
I couldn't make my way to the bathroom without tripping over Abdul's shoes and random possessions. His bed was in disarray, and the carpet and bedframe were slightly off-center. Abdul's self-discipline apparently didn't extend to maintaining a clean environment.
The bathroom was confined and cramped, and the space had been left messy by Abdul without considering my needs. While brushing my teeth, I noticed a missing towel from its usual spot. It was on the floor, covered in a single, unmistakable pubic hair.
I went to retrieve my laundry basket to empty it in a public washing machine before it got busy because I was irritated by the situation and was taken aback when I discovered some foreign items in my clothes.
I picked those items up carefully by the tips of my fingers, not wanting to touch them and desperately trying not to gag as I examined them more closely. They were Abdul's dirty clothes, among them being a pair of dirty socks and the sweaty underwear he'd been wearing that morning. At that point, I'd had enough.
As I fumed in anger, holding the offending objects, the smell of his clothing suddenly assaulted my nostrils. It was a very strong odor.
Despite my inquisitive nature, I carefully brought the items closer to my face, maintaining a safe distance to avoid coming into contact with any potential biohazards, and took another whiff. I still couldn't identify every component of the smell. There was the distinct stench of an Arab man in there, but it seemed like there was more to it. My heart pounded in my chest, and a warmth spread across my cheeks unrelated to anger. I was becoming aroused. Great.
As a person of scientific curiosity with a strong desire to acquire knowledge, I had to solve the mystery of why Abdul's filthy clothing—the polar opposite of what appealed to me—triggered such a reaction in me. First, I would describe myself as asexual. In my life, I've been equally disinterested in men and women. I saw Abdul as a macho jock, and the last thing I'd fancy. This situation perplexed me and presented an opportunity to expand my understanding. The biological mechanisms triggering my response would make perfect sense if I delved further.
However, these items being only the receptacles embodying the scent and the scent being merely a representation of something else, this wasn't an ideal scientific setting. Ideally, I would have conducted an experimental trial with direct access to Abdul's unwashed body, allowing me to explore his body while recording my reactions. This might have involved another volunteer too. But that was implausible; in Abdul's culture, such thoughts alone could result in execution. So, I had to contend with smelling his dirty underwear and socks, both of which were in direct contact with him recently.
I began by picking up what appeared to be the least disgusting item (the sock) and brought it close enough to my nose to smell. I was perplexed by the results. Instead of the disappointment or distaste I anticipated, my heart raced, and my penis stiffened.
The scent of dirty feet was undeniable, yet my body reacted in a way that defied logic. I then shoved my nose into the fabric, inhaling all the pungent scents sustained by Abdul's socks, fostering an unusual craving within me.
As I glanced over at Abdul's peaceful snoozing form, my gazed lingered below his messy hair, over his chiseled torso, and past his bulge, towards his powerful calves. I allowed my thoughts to wander, envisioning myself sitting close by him, breathing in the pungent scent of his armpit as his bare foot hung off the bed. I fantasized about slowly licking his toes before being too scared to wake him, all while picturing his massive toes amidst my lips. Disgusted with my sudden craving, I tossed the socks aside.
Surprisingly, what followed left me even more disturbed. I approached his underwear, convinced it would be more repulsive due to the sweat stains and proximity to his crotch. Much to my astonishment, my reaction was stronger. The sweat from his long journey the previous day and early morning workout had created a unique, attractive aroma emanating from his briefs. I felt my heart race, fighting an uncontrollable urge to sniff his crotch like a dog.
I continued to envision scenes of the night before when I accidentally caught a glimpse of Abdul's bulging middle eastern package. I imagined creeping up the stairs and carefully climbing on top of him, pressing my face to his crotch, my lips teasing his pants while his nuts nearly touched my ears. I remembered Abdul's push-ups that morning where I could feel his genitals rub against the floor with each rep, wishing I was underneath him, my face a soft cushion from his hard erection and his sweaty, plump balls, slapping me vigorously. Conceiving a horrifying conclusion, I thought about the possibility of his manhood expanding without warning and puncturing my face with its head, while his balls spattered my cheeks and left dripping sweat marks.
With a heavy set of balls and intense workout rituals, Abdul would be so consumed with his routine and Muslim devotion, he'd be completely oblivious to my suffering. Realizing that I'd have to accommodate his manhood to avoid unnecessary pain, I pictured myself allowing it to thrust itself down my throat with every uneven exercise movement. However, with my strong jaw and tight neck, I'd somehow manage to accommodate his massive member without scarring.
Captivated by such intense lust, I was disgusted with myself and opted to take a cold shower. I was being lured into a depraved fantasy by Abdul's smell alone. This "test" only served to deepen the mystery of my sexual arousal.
Upon returning to the living area, I was again hit by the mess in the room. Clothes covered the floor like litter, and Abdul's sneakers, the source of that terrible smell, greeted me shamelessly.
Rather than fuming, I took charge and arranged his room, folding his shirt neatly and leaving it in its drawer. I placed his smelly shoes by the door, shifted them outside the room. I smoothed out his bed and neatened up his desk.
When I admired my work, I knew Abdul's disgust at this pending mess would motivate him to keep his space more presentable from now on. Then I noticed the time, hastily packing my belongings, and I prepared for my early morning lecture.
Throughout the lecture, I found my mind lost in the astonishing revelation about myself. A theory formed in my head, involving hermaphrodites who adapt to switch genders in the presence of stronger, larger males, ensuring their survival through sexual submission rather than competition. The thought aggravated me, realizing I'd reverted back to such a primitive instinct when faced with a dominant Arab male and his pungent scent. However, I couldn't ignore the facts — the unparalleled arousal I experienced was unmatched to anything before.
Following the end of my class, it was already close to the afternoon when I had to return to my dorm, grabbing a snack before attending my late class. I was a bit hesitant to see Abdul and experience the kind of arousal he provoked, as I made my way to the door. Nevertheless, my fears were quickly confirmed.
Abdul had just come back from his job, and he was in various states of undress as I walked in. The masculine scent of his hard, physical labor had replaced the soothing aroma of lavender I'd smelled when I'd last been there. His filthy overalls were lying around, and I resisted the urge to pick them up. The t-shirt and underwear he still wore were soaked in perspiration, revealing every inch of his body and bought nothing in terms of privacy.
I desperately wanted to remain inconspicuous, but I was blushing fiercely and almost running into a panic attack.
When he heard me enter, he greeted me with appreciation for organizing his possessions (which wasn't the issue at hand). After asking how my class had been, he thanked me while simultaneously displaying his large erection. Despite his thoroughly unashamed demeanor, his deep, husky tone of voice and gratitude for my "help" was undeniably captivating.
When he took off his shirt, unveiling his rippling muscles and solidly muscled body, I couldn't avert my gaze. His skin glistened from the sweat that dotted his body, providing a contrast to the dark patch of body hair that characterized his chest and groin. The strong, earthy scent from his workout exuded from every pore, immediately turning me on.
"Good afternoon," I whispered, averting my gaze as I neared the edge of my bed, not wanting to be caught perusing him. "It was a decent introduction to calculus, although I'm not terrible at the subject. It wasn't very "interesting", was it?" I attempted to make conversation in an attempt to ease the tension.
As he spoke, he unlaced his soggy boots and let them fall off, bringing back the distinct, mix of musk and sweat that I found so alluring.
My voice trembled as I spoke, higher and more anxious than I'd intended. "Oh, so, uh, you work construction now? Who were your coworkers? Tell me more!" I questioned, mainly to avoid the turmoil within me.
As he continued his account, mentioning that he'd connected with some of the other men, I pictured his group as three white, jock-type individuals who generally fared poorly in school. Nearly every conversation I'd had with him was permeated by his nudity.
Abdul's large frame moved with ease when he lifted one leg, undoing the waistband of his underwear. The contrast between his glistening skin and the dark hair that cupped his manhood left me awestruck as he shared his experiences with me.
I avoided looking into his eyes and stared at his feet, which had mud on them from his work. Meanwhile, I was assaulted by a waft of sweaty masculinity and had to fight to keep my composure.
As he continued to chat, revealing more about his day, he slipped one of his shoes off. Abdul then stood up and, without missing a beat, removed his underwear, completely exposing his massive, haired Arab cock and heavy balls to me.
I hurriedly averted my gaze, fearing he'd noticed my extreme reaction. However, I saw him reach down and fondle himself, letting out an unrefined "slap", exposing me to a sneak peek of his bare ass.
I could feel my heart racing, and my dick throbbed in response. There was no mistaking what the situation was: I was turned on. The fact that I wanted to worship and pleasure him, regardless of the resulting guilt, set the aftermath. I begged a higher power for his blindness to my condition.
After stepping out of the shower, he remained naked, using my tiny towel to dry his impressive body with complete indifference, unfazed about displaying his massive member that swished around recklessly in the drying process.
He seemed so naive to the impact of his actions and without any intention, I chalked it up to his sporty nature. However, his nonchalance towards nudity didn't beckon me to ogle.
He filled me in on some of his daily events and divulged that his friends would take him out that night (not that he had casually suggested I join, as I would have rejected anyway). With his bare skin on display, he carried on a conversation, blissfully ignorant of my discomfort. I pondered asking him more questions to prolong the visual experience, but I didn't want to disclose my leering. I gingerly reached for my phone and snapped a photo of his nude form, which sent my heart racing. Unfortunately, my attempt to capture his genitals in motion failed as the blurry image rendered them unclear and indistinguishable.
I swiftly directed my phone to capture video. I clicked record, but before my fingers could touch the button, Abdul wrapped up his drying process and slipped on a pair of shorts (no underwear underneath, I observed). I was relieved and perplexed.
The rest of the afternoon passed silently. Abdul relaxed on his bed, texting on his phone before dozing off and snoring gently in the afternoon warmth. Due to the position of his body, his uncovered genitalia could easily be exposed.
I stayed on my bed, pressing my face into my hands, attempting to fathom my emotions. I abhorred my animalistic behavior. For the first time ever, I realized why men are said to be animals and couldn't contain themselves around what they crave. This was a frightening realization.
My thoughts drifted to fantasies of submission, aided by Abdul's big member lying beside me, which made it impossible to focus on anything else. Each time my gaze lingered on his sleeping roommate, my thoughts grew not so innocent. However, I then steered clear of these proclivities when his phone rang, awakening him.
He conversed energetically with someone in Farsi (possibly his cousin), which sparked arousal. I believe it was at this point that I started falling for him.
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