It did annoy me that the new guy had managed to secure a position above me based on his balls alone. I won't deny that. He strolled around cocky about it, his giant ring of keys jangling about chiming "I'm better than you, I can open more doors". Other than that I didn't have any problem with him. He was friendly enough and our duties as management favorites often had us teamed up on projects together or passing one another throughout the store performing our job tasks.
The ladies around the store buzzed about him more than his physique seemed to call for, he was on the short side and sort of short limbed if you asked me. Still he had a way of captivating an audience and that day in the stock room wasn't any exception. He was talking with me and a cashier friend of mine about how tired he was. Of course we asked him why and he was all too happy to explain how he had been chased from his apartment by a gang who's ring-leader hated him for sticking up for the guy's girlfriend in some kind of domestic dispute. Now he was living out of his van until he could amass a few paychecks to get in another place.
Did I mention I was nineteen and stupid? Oh well, you'll figure that out in a minute.
I invited him over for dinner. It seemed the only decent thing to do. Of course, I told him I would need to check with my roommate first to see if she had plans already but told him he could call me later when I got off work. The roomie gave the go-ahead and before I knew it he was sitting in our apartment telling her the story of his homelessness.
The thing about inviting homeless people over for dinner is that at some point dinner is over… and you have the awkward moment where you're basically sending them out into the world with no where to go. Who can do that??? Even worse he was getting a terrible cough. The only thing to do was say he could stay over. And let him drink most of a bottle of Nyquil from our medicine cabinet when he knocked at my door asking if I had any in the middle of the night.
He was in bad shape. Of course… looking back I'm not sure he WAS sick. But I believed him then and I felt bad for him. Bad enough that I sat up with him on the floor where we had set up his bed in our living room waiting for the medicine to kick in. We ended up crashing out there on the floor. Or I thought he had until he put my hand on his dick.
No I didn't do that!! I know, given the story so far you'd think so, huh?
I just left his own hand on his dick, kissed him on the cheek and went to bed. What a terrible move! Just put my hand on your dick out of no where?!? Right? I mean who the fuck goes for that shit?
Well, I'll tell you who. My roommate. The next night.
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