The Dormitory
My name is Quốc Hưng. I’m 18 this year, a small-town kid from the Mekong Delta who just moved to Saigon for university. I came out back in 11th grade, and at the time, my parents weren’t exactly throwing a pride parade. They made me break up with my boyfriend and even threatened to pull me out of school if I didn’t “fix” myself.
But luckily, I was a good student—skinny and scrawny, the kind who could hit the books but couldn’t swing a hoe in the rice fields to save his life. I guess my parents figured that out, because they never actually followed through on making me quit school.
Still, they worried like crazy. They were terrified that once I started uni, living far from home with no one to keep an eye on me, I’d turn into some wild, “corrupted” gay guy. So they listened to Uncle Tám—a wealthy, educated relative on my dad’s side—and decided to shove me into the university dormitory. You know, so the strict rules and supervision might “straighten me out.” Who knows, maybe I’d magically go straight.
At first, I was pretty pissed at them for thinking that way. After all, I didn’t choose to be gay! But then a whole series of events unfolded in that dorm, and looking back, I secretly thanked my parents for their paranoid decision.
My university had been around for over 40 years by the time I enrolled. It started as part of the national university system but later split off to become financially independent. Because of that, students no longer stayed in the old A or B dorms out in Thủ Đức. Instead, the school had two dedicated dorm complexes right in the city center. (Any current student would probably guess the school by now.)
One was the high-end dorm, and the other was the budget option. I ended up in the budget one—way cheaper. Back then, it was only 185,000 VND a month. Compare that to renting a room outside, which would’ve cost at least 2 million per person if sharing with one other guy. The trade-off? Old-school facilities: no elevator, so I had to climb stairs all the way to the 7th floor, and rooms packed like sardines—designed for up to 12 people.
For that price, you couldn’t complain too much. We were all wide-eyed provincials fresh off the bus, so we were just grateful to have a roof. My room had six bunk beds but only 11 guys living there, so the empty top bunk became our unofficial storage dump for random crap.
My bed was the upper bunk right next to the built-in wardrobe. If I knelt on the mattress, I could peek straight into the bathroom. See, each room had its own private bathroom with a massive overhead water tank propped up on sturdy iron beams. The tank was so huge it wouldn’t fit through the door, so they built the bathroom with an open gap at the top—just enough space to hoist the tank in during construction.
That design was a bit weird, to say the least. The bathroom wasn’t fully enclosed; there was always that open strip up top. But come on—in a room with over a dozen horny young guys, did anyone really pretend not to notice if someone climbed up for a sneaky peek?
Plus, the person inside could easily glance up and catch you red-handed. So no matter how tempted you were, you had to play it smart and wait for the perfect moment.
But that massive tank looming overhead? Even though the iron beams were rock-solid, every time we showered, we couldn’t help feeling a little paranoid. You’d either squat right under it or squeeze into the narrow space beside it, praying the whole thing wouldn’t come crashing down. Showers were quick affairs—no luxurious lingering under the water.
Of course, if some guy hogged the bathroom way longer than usual... well, you knew exactly what he was up to.
Guys this age? We’re horny pretty much 24/7, straight or gay—it doesn’t discriminate. Living crammed together like that, we tried to keep things chill and respectful, but when the urge hit, the only options were a quick jerk-off session in the bathroom or waiting until lights out, then hiding under the blanket to stroke your hard cock in secret. With so many bodies in one room, every little movement had to be discreet.
That was just the awkward early days, though. After a few months of eating, sleeping, and sweating together, the whole room got tight-knit. I’m gay, but hanging out with a bunch of straight dudes all day started rubbing off on me—in a good way. I toughened up my mannerisms, acted a bit more “manly,” and because of that, the guys warmed up to me fast. No homophobic jabs or side-eye.
Little did they know that while I played it cool on the outside, my eyes were constantly sneaking glances at their crotches. Once guys get comfortable around each other, boundaries blur real quick. Out of our 11 roommates, only five bothered with full clothes in the room. The other six? As soon as they got back, they’d strip down to just soccer shorts—no underwear—or tight briefs that left absolutely nothing to the imagination, their packages swinging freely as they walked around.
I joined in too, lounging in nothing but my briefs. The straight guys saw me being just as bold and casual as them, so they never suspected a thing or put up any guard. And that’s exactly how I got front-row seats to sights that most people could only dream of.
