Dorm Dudes by Kenn Dahll

  • ISBN: 978-1-5045-0421-8
  • Written by: Kenn Dahll


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Being queer on a college campus in 1975 was definitely not stress free. For Bob, a Midwesterner in a prestigious Northeastern university, his sexual orientation proved to be a mixed blessing, both demoralizing and liberating. Lacking self-confidence−he considered his body too scrawny and generally unattractive−the third-year student had given up any hope of finding love, or at least a semblance of romance.

Stuck with four obnoxious suitemates who as exhibitionists, lounged around the common living room in underwear, jock straps, or less, bragging about imagined exploits with coeds−not rattled if they threw wood, usually flaunting it as a badge of their virility, Bob’s only respite was his fifth suitemate, Andy, a French-Canadian student Bob shared a room with, who maintained the same level of decorum as Bob. However, their platonic relationship held little hope for romance.

Emotional and sexual frustration, glory holes, orgies, and a basement dungeon−Bob encounters all in his search for love.



The year 1975 found me, a twenty-one year old young man from a small Midwestern town, a Junior at one of the most prestigious universities in the Northeast. Shy, scrawny, and probably queer, I say “probably” because at that stage of my life, I lacked sexual experience with either gender to resolve any doubts. Still, just in case, my closet door was double-bolted with me inside. The university had a reputation for being liberal, almost Communist, and the student body was extremely diverse in terms of race, ethnicity, and most certainly−though not publically flaunted−sexual orientation; but since no gay student alliance existed on its campus, it was difficult to meet another guy interested in exploring his sexuality with me. Not that I would have gone to any events they held, fearing I would be declaring myself queer if seen going to a meeting. As a result, I spent a great deal of time doggedly searching out the fabled rest rooms used for clandestine sexual encounters. Although I located many stalls with what I came to know as “glory holes” whereby two males could engage in oral sex with anonymity, I never found one with an occupant waiting for someone like me−as I saw myself−unattractively skinny, preternaturally pale, and sporting patchy facial hair. If I had stumbled upon a willing partner, I’m sure I would have panicked and run for the hills.

One rainy Thursday afternoon I was bored, mid-semester exams were over and I had time on my hands, so I talked myself into heading to one of the more promising glory hole equipped lavatories. Nothing was happening; the place was empty except for me. I figured, What the hell, I might as well sit in a stall and wait to see if the rain drives anyone inside for some action. After removing my sweatshirt leaving me only a T-shirt, then pulling down my jeans and tighty whities, I sat on the toilet and unhurriedly fondled my dick until I coaxed it to full erection slippery with drooling precum. Increasingly frustrated, I screwed up enough courage to remain and maintain a slow stroking to keep my prick primed for any interested student who might happen by.

Aha! Half an hour later, as I was about to give up, jerk off, and leave, a stunningly gorgeous student entered. I watched as the student, with dark long hair, a day’s growth of stubble on his chin, and a rain-matted T-shirt swathing a muscular hairy chest, strode up to a urinal. He was what I classified an “exhibitionist pisser.” After completely unfastening his pants, he allowed them to droop and expose two meaty orbs encased in Fruit of the Loom briefs which also hung below his waist. The layout of the space, combined with a conveniently wide gap between the door to my stall and a supporting strut, allowed me a clear view of the hunk’s beefy and hairy backside. He pissed for a long time, full throttle based on the loud sound, then stood in front of the urinal, his right arm occupied with something in his crotch. I figured out what he’d been doing before he turned to show me his hard prick; I realized he knew I was there and could see him. Open-mouthed I watched as he two-handedly flogged his thick pole for several minutes, all the while smiling−more accurately, smirking−in my direction.

By that point, hoping to entice him to the adjacent stall with a hole in the partition between it and my stall, I stood and leaned against the side wall, giving the attractive fellow student a profile view of my body with my rigid shaft pointing out and being man-handled. My hope was he’d take the hint and move to the glory hole. I even poked my hard dick through the hole so he could see it through the other stall’s open door. Damn if he didn’t beat his meat more rapidly until he turned a little toward the urinal and a stream of thick white cream blasted from his shaft, landing in the porcelain fixture to mix with the piss he’d already deposited. Still smirking, he pulled up his underwear and pants before leaving the lavatory. “Fucking asshole!” I furiously yelled at the closing door. Frustrated and angry, I pounded my peter more vigorously until I dumped a load of student spunk in the toilet bowl.


This book was added to our catalog on Friday 23 February, 2018.

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