Roommates: Jason
Copyright© 2025 by LCT
Chapter 1
Romance Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Scientist Rebecca, 28 years old, ambitious, hard-working, and indifferent to sex, moves into an townhouse with two younger men. She discovers there is something more to life than her laboratory.
Caution: This Romance Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Reluctant Fiction First Oral Sex Safe Sex Voyeurism Big Breasts
Everybody has to find his or her own way of satisfying their sexual needs. I did. It took me a while — and what I found may not be permanent, but for the moment I’m happy with my sex life. My mother would be horrified.
I’m 32 years old now but I was 28 when this story begins. I had just earned — and I do mean earned — a PhD in physics at a very good university. That demonstrates that I’m somewhat of an oddball. I was the only woman to receive a PhD in physics that year at my university. I got a good job near the university in the large city that I loved. I was finally ready to enjoy the fruits of my many years of hard work and poverty.
Sex, I told myself, had never been important to me. There were atoms to study and math problems to solve. I had always been more interested in the mysteries of the universe than the ecstasies of the sack. I wasn’t a virgin. I had had sex with six men. Three were relationships and three were one-night stands.
I took stock of myself in front of the mirror in the bathroom as I prepared to dump my boyfriend and move out of the apartment. Not bad, I reckoned. My tits were D-size and my hips were too wide. Due to lack of exercise, some squishy flesh gathered around my middle, but that problem could be remedied. On a few occasions I had worn a bikini and I hadn’t been embarrassed about my body. My best features were my eyes — large, dark, mysterious and inviting, or so I thought — and my hair — long, thick and jet black. I usually fixed my hair in a practical bun, but occasionally I let it fall over my shoulders or tied it into a ponytail. I was alert enough to notice that the response I got from men was favorable — as it was on the rare occasions when I got out of my dowdy, practical work clothes and put on a scoop-necked party dress that revealed a lot of cleavage. That was my only party dress.
I found the perfect place to live within walking distance of the laboratory where I worked. It was an old three-level townhouse, long and narrow, with large bay windows facing out on a quiet, tree-shaded street. The first level had a large living room, a dining room, and a small kitchen. Out the kitchen door at the back was a small deck with a hot tub and a terrace with several potted plants. A high fence enclosed the deck and terrace.
Two boys lived in the townhouse — I call them boys, they were 25 years old, but they seemed much younger than me. They had bedrooms and a bathroom on the second level. The third level was a large open loft-like space with windows front and back, a skylight, and a bathroom. It was exquisite — and it would be mine if the boys, Doug and Jason, accepted me as a flat mate. We had a beer together at the sidewalk restaurant down the street and sized each other up. I liked them. Both were casual and easy going, pleasant-looking rather than handsome, and smallish, about my height of 5 feet 8 inches. Neither of them showed any domineering, male pretensions — a good thing in my opinion. One of them worked at a book store, the other at a social service agency. They couldn’t afford the townhouse without a third person to share the rent.
They apparently liked me because after another beer they made me an offer. I would pay 40 percent of the rent and utilities because I had a larger space than either of them. I like to cook so I volunteered to be responsible for keeping the kitchen and dining room in order. They would take care of the living room, the front porch, and the terrace and deck. We shook on it. And drank another beer. I was gloriously happy. I moved out of my old apartment the next day. When I told my boyfriend I was moving out all he said was, “How am I going to pay the rent?” It was a union of convenience – and the sex had been only adequate.
My new flat-mates and I got along fine, although our social contact was limited. I worked long hours. I left the townhouse every morning at 7 a.m. to walk to work, stopping enroute for a cappuccino and biscotti. I ate lunch at my desk and didn’t leave work until at least six, usually seven, and sometimes later in the evening. I also went into the lab for a few hours most Saturday and Sunday mornings.
The boys and I had an occasional beer at the sidewalk café, plus now and then I cooked a meal for the three of us. I had three killer recipes: beef bourguinon, goulash, and spaghetti and meatballs. Both Doug and Jason had girlfriends who often spent the night. Climbing the stairs to my loft bedroom one night, I noticed that Jason’s girlfriend was noisy in bed. I paused to listen.
Four months passed in which I never had a date nor met a man I wanted to date. My sex life consisted of masturbating while sipping wine and watching sappy, romantic movies on my luxury indulgence, a large-screen, high-definition television.
One Friday night I came in late from work. As I rummaged in the kitchen for something to eat I heard the boys in the hot tub out on the deck. “Hey, Becky,” Jason called. “Come out and join us in the hot tub.”
“I’m hungry.” I continued looking through the icebox.
“We’re got crackers and cheese out here. And wine.”
“I don’t have a bathing suit handy.”
“You don’t need a bathing suit. Clothes are not allowed in the hot tub,” Doug shouted at me. “Come out and get a glass of wine.”
I went out on the deck, poured myself a glass of wine, and sat in a chair beside the hot tub where the boys were soaking.
“Come on in. Don’t be shy.”
After a couple of more inducements, I said okay. I turned the light off in the kitchen so I could undress in the dark, took my clothes off, and draped them over the railing on the deck. Then I climbed in. The boys each greeted me with a kiss on the cheek and pressed their bodies briefly against my naked breasts. The tub wasn’t quite deep enough for me to sit up straight without exposing my nipples. I sighed deeply as the hot water soothed my muscles.
“Hard day?” asked Doug.
“Very,”
“I’ll give you a foot massage.” He put one of my feet in his lap and began to massage my toes. I could feel his penis rubbing against my foot. It got harder.
While Doug massaged my feet, Jason rubbed my shoulders and I leaned back into his arms. I got a tingly feeling in my vagina and the thought came into my mind, “Should I fuck one of these guys tonight.” Which one? “No! It’s a bad idea to get involved with a roommate,” I told myself.
Doug solved one-half of that dilemma. “I have to go,” he said, taking my foot out of his lap. “I have a date.” He kissed me on the cheek and climbed out of the tub and dried off with a towel. “Have fun you two,” he said. He turned the light on in the kitchen as he entered the house which made me more visible than I wanted to be.
“My girl friend is out of town,” explained Jason. I was glad to hear that — because his fingers probing my shoulders, neck, and upper back were having an impact. He spread his legs and pulled me against him, my back to his chest, and continued his slow, careful massage, one hand reaching down to the cleft between my breasts. He touched my nipple with his finger.
“Oops.”
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” I said, pushing his hand away. “You have a girl friend.”
“Yes,” he admitted.
“We should get out.” I pushed him away and climbed out of the hot tub. He followed me. “I’ll dry you off,” he said, picking up a towel and drying my back.
Doug appeared at the window, dressed to go out, and looked at us. “I’m leaving,” he said. I was facing him, still naked, while Jason dried my back. He looked me up and down. “Hmmm. Maybe I’m going out with the wrong girl.”
“Go away, please,” I laughed. He waved goodbye and left. Now, not being on display, I relaxed a bit. The wine, the hot water, the end of a grueling week, and Jason’s hands on my back, all was feeling good.
“Loosen up,” said Jason, his hands running over my ass and down my legs. “You’re tense.” He moved around on his knees to my front, toweled my legs, and, suddenly, planted a kiss in the hair covering my pussy. I was shocked. My first thought was, “He shouldn’t have done that.” I was still thinking that when his his tongue sought my clitoris and I twitched and he spread my pussy cheeks with his hands to facilitate his access.
“I can’t believe, I’m doing this,” I said. That sounded stupid. I’m not very poised. He moved upward and his hands and mouth found my nipples. I complained. “This is not a good idea. We are roommates. We shouldn’t be lovers. It will get complicated.” His lips found mine and we kissed for a few seconds, our bodies pressed together, his penis hard against my groin.
“No,” I said, finally making a decision. “I can’t.” I pushed him away from me. “This is a bad idea. I like you. And I like Doug too. I don’t want to mess up our relationship. And also,” I added, “I’m starving.”
“Let’s get some food.”
“Let’s. But first I need to get my clothes on.” I gathered up my clothes from the railing, held them to my chest, and stepped into the kitchen, into the light. I walked through the kitchen, through the dining room and living room and started up the stairs. He followed me, still naked. I said, “I’ll get into something more comfortable and be down in a minute.”
“I’ll fix a salami and cheese plate for us,” he said. “Hummus? And I’ll bring it up.”
I paused on the steps looking down at him, his half-hard penis dangling between his legs. “Yes, hummus would be good. If you bring the food up to my room, we could watch a movie.” I had a much better television than the boys did. I also have to admit that I didn’t want the evening to end so early. The dress I was holding to my front slipped down to expose my breasts again. I really, really didn’t want the evening to end. But I didn’t want to fuck him either. It would cause problems. A movie, wine, food, and laughs — and let’s forget about his tongue on my clitoris and on my nipple and deep inside my mouth. “But, damn, it had been four months...”
“Put on some clothes, please, before you come up to my room,” I pleaded, but with a laugh. “And don’t forget the wine.” I climbed the stairs.