The Time I Realized My Roommate’s Girl Did Porn

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Nice Move


This is a story I never imagined I’d tell, but luckily I got the consent of my former roommate, Max. It was our junior year of undergrad, and, as was tradition with Max, he was banging this marginally attractive local with a penchant for sloppy nights and questionable hygiene. To my absolute shock, the icy black hole filled with dollar signs and venereal diseases that was, and continues to be, Max’s chest cavity, had seemingly thawed: he sort of liked this girl. He claims, at least.

We met her at a local watering hole, with Max in the midst of a classic third wheel evening while my then girlfriend bitched incessantly about everything. The line was too long, the drinks too strong, the temperature too cold… it was endless. But more on her another time. I’m buzzed enough to overlook her satanic personality due to her fake tits and tight body, standing half chubbed at the bar ready for an Uber home to remind myself why I spend time with her, when Max eyes a hard 6 across the room.

He bolts, giving me a prime opportunity to probe Ms. Curmudgeon at home as he bedded another notch in his unenviable bedpost. The kid was committed to quantity over quality, once famously stating, “I mean, would I rather rub my dick thinking about Jessica Alba. or have my dick sucked thinking about Jessica Alba?” In a lot of ways, the kid was a genius.

I’m about 14 pumps deep and about to explode when I hear the front door open, and the clumsy giggles of two drunken morons filling my kitchen. I finish up quickly, falling asleep to m’lady’s continued complaints — though this time warranted, as we had hardly made it through the first shuffled playlist selection before the climax. You get fake tits, that’s the risk you run, honey.

I wake up the next morning and head to the couch in the main room when Max’s door opens.

“I’ll text you tonight.”

He kisses her and they oddly start making out in front of me. The definite morning breath has me ill as the unremarkable woman leaves our home. Max sits down with the sort of shit-eating grin on his face that justifies irrational anger towards him.


He looks at me.

“How fucking hot was she?”

This is a routine we go through essentially every time he fucks that girl at the bar you didn’t notice existed.

“She was fine, Max.”

“Fine?! She was a hard 9. At least!”

The adjusted Max scale, I’ve often said, is out of 20.

“Best sex I’ve ever had in my life. Seriously. She was fucking wild. Positions, mouth, ass, ass to fucking mouth… it was wild.”

He’s now piqued my interest.


“I’m telling you man, I’ve been with a lot of whores”


“None have been like this. Girl fucked me like a pro.”

Just then, my already angry girlfriend enters. Max motions to her.

“Katie, how fucking hot was that girl last night?”

She pauses.

“Max, you’re disgusting. She looked like a white Precious.” The positive aspect of her general cuntiness shining through.

Over the next several weeks. this bizarre situation continued, with Max’s new lady, let’s call her Maggie, returning over and over, as if she were Max’s new herpes (in more ways than one, for all I know). Max seemed to actually care about her. Mesmerized by the wild sex and borderline acceptable looks, fucking a girl he didn’t have to photoshop in his own mind had him in a state of full-blown puppy love. He was, if only for an instant, almost human.

Until the fateful day I needed to de-stress with a good jerk.

I got home early from class and had plans to go on an incredibly shady “drinks” date with a girl from a sorority whom my then girlfriend could not stand. Naturally, I couldn’t go in fully loaded, so I pulled up the hub and beat myself worse than my bookie after Week 1 of the NFL season. I’m trapped in the vortex, following links, comment section suggestions, and the always helpful “recommended for you” section. I’m POV on the Bang Bus, wishing my babysitters took care of me like this, and delving into teen lives gone awry when I see a familiar face.

Oh my God. No. It couldn’t be. There, on the “casting couch” of a bootleg “adult film audition” clip, sat “sweet Sarah,” a dead ringer for Max’s Maggie. Thinking this was just some sort of lookalike, and giving in to my self-admitted depravity, of course I clicked. In a boner killing moment of sincere shock, I realized shortly after watching that it was, in fact, my frequent houseguest. Still, mesmerized by the irony and eventual consequences, I could not look away as she sucked, fucked, and rubbed herself into a cum covered shame immortality.

I wrestled with whether to burst Max’s bubble, but after showing my girlfriend, and of course being screamed at for “watching the exploitation of young women for my amusement,” I had to man up and tell him. He got home from class and I waited nervously as the text I sent him, “Man, I am so sorry” accompanied by the link, still had not been read.

The words “WHAT THE FUCK?!!” singed my ears and shook the walls of our apartment.

“I’m going to guess he opened it.”

Max stormed through the door.

“This is fucking Maggie! Are you fucking kidding me?!”

He’s pacing about the family room, understandably perplexed.

“You’ve gotta look at the bright side, man.”

“The fucking bright side?!”

“Sure. A) This is a great fucking story. B) You took down a porn star. Well, sort of. She’s more of just a whore, but…”


“And honestly, C) I didn’t believe you about the ass to mouth…”

I turn the computer and show him another video, with Maggie receiving a paid colonoscopy.

“… But I definitely do now, so there’s that.”

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