Derf, Part II Well, as the end of my junior year rolled around, I was in danger of being without a place to live next fall. My roomies were all graduating, and I couldn't afford the rent on the house myself. So when Fred (whom everybody called Derf) mentioned that he needed a roommate for his efficiency apartment, I jumped at the chance. (By that time I had all but forgotten my little drunken encounter with Derf at Lisa and Sharon's apartment. He had never spoken of it, and neither had I. After a little soul-searching, I had written it off to beer and freshman hormones, and it became just one more in a long, long list of "stupid things I've done when I was drunk".) Derf was a tall, genial, limber fellow majoring in business. I knew he had played basketball in high school, but he hadn't made the cut at college. I was a big basketball fan, and my major ("Music Marketing", if you can believe it) required a lot of business courses, so we had a lot in common. We spent a lot of time together socially, and had a lot of the same friends already. We moved in that fall and we got along great. Our one regret about the efficiency was that there was no way we could have a party there. It was crowded with just the two of us in there. We had room for two twin beds, a dining-room-table / desk / bookcase / catchall, a couple of kitchen chairs, and one hell of a tiny stove. The fridge -- one of those little jobbies -- had to go under the table. There was only about a two-foot gap between the beds, and the table butted up against the foot of my bed. The closet door had to be propped open, or Derf's bed would have blocked it shut. If he was in bed when I was getting dressed in the mornings, I had to climb over him to get to my clothes. The bathroom was so tiny that you couldn't sit down straight on the toilet without either bumping the corner of the sink or brushing the shower curtain. It got so claustrophobic in there, and Derf & I were casual enough around each other, that we just never shut the door. To make matters worse, we had no control over the heat. The landlord, a mousy little French professor, had the only thermostat in the building. Some days the apartment was so cold that we wore sweats and wool scarves to bed to keep from shivering, and some days it was so hot that we stripped to just our underwear. The one window in the apartment was painted shut. Well, that semester my parents decided to go to Hawaii for Thanksgiving, so I had no reason to go home over break. Derf's family lived in Canada, so U.S. Thanksgiving was no big deal for them. He and I decided to just kick around campus during break. Well, the landlord had gone away for the weekend, and the apartment was sweltering hot. To make matters worse, that was the year that we had a real late Indian summer. On Thanksgiving Day the temperature got up to 72 degrees. Derf and I had fixed ourselves one of those turkey rolls and instant mashed potatoes, and we got a big bottle of wine for the occasion. Cooking dinner only added to the heat in the apartment. By the time dinner was over, between the heat and the alcohol, we were sweltering. Derf had spent the day in just his bikini briefs, and me in my boxers. During dinner he had stood up suddenly and taken off even his briefs, complaining about the heat. We'd seen each other naked all semester, so I thought nothing of it. I shucked my boxers too. We finished dinner and then left the dishes and food on the table. Then I sprawled on my bed, and Derf sat down in one of the chairs. "It's too fucking hot in here," he said. I saw a bead of sweat roll down his belly toward his crotch. "Let's go see a movie or something." "Derf, There's only one theater in town, and we already saw all the movies," I said. "Besides, I'm broke." "Hell," he said. Neither of us said anything for a long time. He leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms over his head, and closed his eyes. His lean, limber body shone faintly with sweat that beaded and trickled here and there, and pooled in the hair on his chest, at his belly, in his crotch. I suddenly remembered the two of us, drunk and silent, humping against each other in the dark that night our freshman year, and I felt a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach. Derf opened his eyes. My cock twitched. Derf saw it. I felt my face go red. He picked up a carrot stick and threw it at me. "Fuckin' faggot," he said cheerfully. My cock was swiftly growing hard. I rolled over to hide it. Why the hell was I getting a hardon now? Neither of us spoke for a long while again. I thought he was dozing, and I hoped he would fall asleep altogether, so I could go take a shower and jerk off. I snuck a peek at him, and realized that he was watching me with a funny look on his face. He had also sat up and leaned forward, with his arms resting on his knees. I could no longer see his crotch clearly from where I lay. "Doug," he said softly, "you awake?" "Mm-hmm," I mumbled. Shit, I thought, he wants to chat. And me with a world-class boner that won't go down. "Doug, I want to talk to you. I want to ask you about..." His voice trailed off. "... about what?" "Nothing." He stood up and threw himself on the bed, face down. I propped myself up on one elbow, keeping one leg crooked to hide my hardon. "What's the matter, buddy?" "Nothing." His voice sounded strange. "Forget it. I'm going to sleep." I waited, to see if he would say anything more. Then I rolled back onto my stomach. Despite my hardon, I fell fast asleep. I dreamed about Derf's naked, athletic body, and woke up on my back in the dusk, shooting my load all over my chest and my belly. Derf lay snoring in the next bed, still naked, his back turned to me. The apartment wasn't nearly as warm; either it had cooled off considerably outside, or the heat had been turned down somehow. I hadn't had a wet dream involving another guy since I was about twelve. It shook me up considerably. I didn't dare move; I didn't want Derf to wake up and see the cum all over me. I just lay awake, trying to make some sense of why I was reacting like this. True, it had been a long time since I had had sex of any kind. My girlfriend and I had broken up in September. And in that efficiency, and with all the time Derf & I spent together, I hadn't even had enough privacy for jerking off for almost three weeks. That's it, I told myself. You're just horny. But the memory of humping Derf's leg that drunken night wouldn't go away, and neither would my boner. I could feel my cum trickling down my sides, into my armpit. I remembered how somebody (Don? Chet? -- I never had found out) had jerked off in the dark, shooting his load all over me and Derf that night, and how I had used the mystery person's semen to jerk off myself after he stole away. As silently as I could, I scooped up the trickles of my own sperm and started rubbing it into my cock. I figured if I could come again, I could get back to sleep and everything would be back to normal. I kept one eye on Derf's back, to make sure he didn't wake up and catch me beating my meat. My eyes strayed to his ass, and I remembered fondling that ass in the dark, and feeling him shooting hot semen through his briefs against my leg, on that long-ago, drunken night. He shifted position suddenly, only slightly, and I feared for a second that the wet slapping sound of my masturbation had awakened him. I held my hand still for a long, long time, terrified that he would roll over and see me that way. But he didn't move again, and I slowly resumed my stroking. The come was beginning to get sticky, but the view of Derf's lean, naked body just a couple of feet away kept me pumping away. Before long I shot a second load, this time even more forcefully than the wet dream. One spurt hit my cheek, and one hit my lips. One fell on my chest, and the last one ran down my clutching hand. Still clutching my softening cock, I licked my lips, tasting my own semen, and within a few seconds I had fallen asleep again.
