Moving in to your university

You unpacked all your gear after a long journey to the next chapter of your life: a degree in literature. You were about to collapse on the couch when your new roommate enters. "Hey, are you my new roommate?" he asks plainly, perhaps with a hint that he too has had a long journey, he drops his luggage near the entrance.

"I presume so, if your key card lets you in here." You say, trying to act casual. Something about his handsome face and lean physique just gets to you, you try to supress that thought, recalling his mother's stern lectures.

"Right, I'm Mark, you?" He offered a hand

"John" you reply, returning his handshake, hoping not to come across as weak.

"Well, Imma recover from my journey then only unpack what I feel like at any given time. I don't know" he chuckled at his self aware joke. It seems your new roomie is quite laid back. Hopefully he isn't too lazy.

---

Things settled reasonably well, until one day, quite unexpectedly, Mark's towel fell off him, as he was heading to his room. This lead you to get quite an eyeful of his form, including a rather impressive dick. You swallowed hard, then hoped he didn't notice your flustered reaction. He got the towel back on, but asked "See anything you like?" His tone was jovial, but to you, it didn't matter; you were found out and that alone was a source of deep shame. You panicked and it showed. He then furrowed his brow, apparently concerned "You ok dude?"

"Yeah" you respond, trying to play it off, yet being unconvincing.

"Dude, you can tell me, something's clearly on your mind. I don't mind if you find me attractive, you can say"

"I'm not a fag, ok?" You snap, still unconvincing.

He takes a step back, not expecting your words "Fair fair, that's valid, but please don't use slurs, ok?"

You realise that you could get into a lot of trouble saying that, you then respond "Sure, I'm not gay, is that better? What do you want gayboy?" you ask, but cringe as you realise that even that could get you in trouble, especially with how you said it.

"I didn't say I was gay, I just thought if you liked men, it'd be better to be comfortable with it, than to hate yourself. Perhaps it'd be best if we dropped the conversation."

You glare at him, but accept the truce. On the surface, you fear he'll turn you into a man who likes men. Deep down there's a part of you screaming that you already do, and need to learn to be free. That part of you begs him to see through your transparent denial and let you do all kinds of sinful things with him. You bury that part deep down, but for how long?