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Loading the Dishwasher (MF, cheat)

Jaime Austin · 679

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Offline Jaime Austin

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on: May 10, 2022, 12:52:06 AM
This is a work of fiction.  You must be 18 or over to read this story.

We weren’t in the car more than a few minutes before Angela was sniffing and said, “Do you smell that?”

I didn’t reply. I noticed it the moment the doors closed.

She pressed the buttons to roll the windows down. It was a warm spring morning and the air was cool, but not too cool.

“Can you imagine rolling up to the drive-thru and the poor kid getting hit with that smell?”

“Maybe it would be some young kid who wouldn’t recognize it.”

The smell in question was that of sex. Pussy, semen, and sweat. We reeked of it. Angela was wearing a t-shirt and sweat shorts she’d pulled from the hamper in her bathroom. I was wearing clothes I had donned the previous morning.

We had made this Sunday morning run dozens of times. Her husband Mark lay in bed while we headed out to hit the local Jack in the Box for breakfast sandwiches and the nearby Starbucks for coffee. Ange would get in line at the drive-thru for Jack’s while I would walk into the Starbucks to get three coffees. It was a Sunday morning routine, but not routine today.

“Listen,” I said. “Maybe you should just drop me off on campus.” I was one of the few third-year students who still lived in the dorms.

“No fucking way, Timmy.” I hated it when she called me Timmy. “He’ll be up by the time we get back. We’ll set the stuff on the table and I’ll go right to the bathroom and take a shower.”

“And leave me alone with him?”

“Just start telling him about the redhead. He’ll be impressed and by the time I’m out of the shower he’ll have no idea I changed clothes.”

Mark and Angela threw the best parties. At least as far as the philosophy department was concerned. My metric for judging this was turnout. When other people hosted a party, far fewer people showed than when it was Mark and Angela’s turn. Why was this? Maybe because Mark was guaranteed to be there and he was the top dog, the shining star of the department. Grad assistants deferred to him. Full professors accorded him an unusual amount of respect. At least that was my take. Being a lit major myself, I only observed such things from the outside.

The same could be said for Angela. She was a journalism major and had no greater insight than I did. She thought it was because they were better hosts. Which could be true, but I still credited Mark. With his full beard and perfect grin, he just looked like a future philosophy professor. Add his cute wife and they were a magnet that automatically drew people to them.

Me, I was Angela and Mark’s third wheel. Everywhere they went, I went too. If it struck anyone as odd, they never let on. Ange and I were friends from the seventh grade on and Mark? Well, he and I were friends, fairly good friends, but there was never any mistake who I was really friends with. He showed up our freshman year of college and Angela was hooked from the word go. Their parents were relieved when they decided to get married. Me, not so much.

There was one party. I forget who hosted it. Nice apartment in an older building near campus. Typical turnout for a philosophy department get-together. Mark, of course, provided a great deal of entertainment, getting into elaborate debates with one and all. Angela and I commandeered the stereo, played all our favorite songs, and shared a large rocking chair. We also shared more than one bottle of wine.

I don’t think we even realized that we were necking until the room got quiet. I guess the last song on the playlist had finished and when someone turned to see what we’d play next, we were in that chair with our tongues entwined. Mark approached us and held out his hand to Angela. As soon as she was off me, I started more music and she and Mark danced and everyone, myself included, acted as though everything that had transpired was perfectly normal.

The three of us never talked about it, but Angela and I made an effort to be more circumspect at parties from that point on. But that was hardly the first or last time Mark saw us kissing. It was a habit we started back in High School. We never just said goodbye to each other. There was always an embrace and a full mouth-on-mouth kiss. She and I never dated. We were never boyfriend/girlfriend. We were just very good friends. Special friends. And the girls I dated and the boys she saw just had to deal with that.

Even after she married Mark, she would tell me I was her best friend. And at times, when she was drunk she would kiss me and say, “If it wasn’t for Mark, it would be me and you.” How do you deal with something like that? I just told myself that Angela and I were too much alike. That if we tried to be more than friends we’d destroy each other. There were occasions when I actually believed that.

It was not unusual for me to spend the night on Mark and Angela’s couch. I lived in the dorms on campus and if the hour grew late and especially if I was drinking, the couch was the place for me. There was even an oversized blanket that lived folded over the back of the couch that was there primarily for my use.

This Sunday morning followed a particularly successful party. I woke up on the couch naked and had to search for my boxers. The apartment was a bit of a disaster, so I quietly started putting things right, including loading glassware into the dishwasher. I hadn’t been at this long before Angela came out of the bedroom. She was dressed in a t-shirt that barely covered her ass. I recognized it as one she had stolen from me years ago. It once said Ocean Beach across the front, but now all you could read was “cean each.” Whatever paint they used for the O and the B faded in the wash long ago.

She went past me to the bathroom. I put coffee on and then a few minutes later, when she came out I handed her a cup.

“Sorry about last night,” she said, bending over to pick up a glass off the floor. It was clear she had nothing on under that shirt.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I heard that redhead shoot you down.”

I laughed.

“Why is that funny?”

“You never saw her leave, did you?”

That got her eyebrows raised. In the search for my boxers, I had also found a pair of leopard print panties. I walked over to the couch and waved them at her.

“Get the fuck out!”

“Evidently she’s into pseudo-intellectuals.”

“Timmy got laid! I’ve got to tell Mark. He’ll be impressed.” She shook her head for a moment. “I had no idea you were into souvenirs.”

“Found them in the blanket. She left in a hurry at first light and left them behind.”

“Ha! She’s probably at home crying, 'I fucked a pseudo-intellectual and lost my panties!'”

“Well, she’s going to have to be nice to me to get them back.”

“Maybe she won’t want them.”

“She has a matching bra — not that I ever saw it.”

Angela sat on a bar stool, inadvertently giving me a clear view of her light brown bush. Angela did not believe in shaving. Her legs were covered in a delightful soft down, her armpits as well, and her bush was luxurious. Not that I saw it often. “So how does a girl go from insulting you to discussing her underwear?”

“I’m not really sure myself. Maybe she felt bad about it? All I know is she was the last to leave. She was in the bathroom when you and Mark went to bed. When she came out, I was the only one here. She was quite drunk and I offered to call her an Uber, but she said no, she’d wait a bit until she sobered up enough to walk home.”

All the while I’m talking, I’m moving around the apartment, picking up glasses, plates, and anything else for the dishwasher. I loved talking with Angela, but I wanted to avoid looking at what she had on display.

“She told me I was sweet and gave me a kiss. Next thing you know we were on the couch necking and well, one thing led to another.”

“How did you end up discussing her underwear?”

“I told her I loved her panties as she was taking them off and she said she had a matching bra.”

“That she wasn’t wearing?”

“No bra on that girl last night.”

“I hadn’t noticed.”


“I think that’s a boy thing, Tim.” She was up now, placing a glass in the machine. The loose-fitting shirt fell away from her neck affording me a view of her petite breasts. I quickly moved away.

Now Angela will tell you that she is flat-chested. I’ve told her on more than one occasion that that just isn’t true. We’ve gone skinny dipping enough that I know her body well, and she has breasts. Lovely, pert, and yes small. Even in the skimpiest of bikinis, she shows no cleavage. And I doubt there’s a pushup bra that could help. But there’s a curve to them, subtle, but there. And then there’s her nipples, kind of like the erasure on top of a number 2 pencil. Crying out to be sucked.

Angela wanted details. Was I still wearing my boxers when she took off her panties? Did we fuck on the couch or on the floor? I replied, “Just don’t turn over the sofa cushions.”

“Fuck, Timothy. That belonged to Mark’s grandmother!” I shook my head, knowing full well it came from Goodwill.

Back in the kitchen, we’re both loading the dishwasher and no matter how hard I tried, I was either looking down her top or getting a good look at her naked ass, all the while telling her about fucking a redhead on her couch.

“Did you go down on her?”

I moved close to her. “Smell my face.”

“Damn, bro, you need a shower as much as I do.”

I looked down at her and while she was fully covered, her nipples were poking against her shirt. I started to turn away.

“Timothy,” she said to me. Angela was the only person who did not routinely call me that. She got my attention. When I looked at her face, it was obvious that she was staring at my crotch, or more precisely my erection, which was pushing out the fabric in an obvious way.

“Is that for me or is it from talking about that girl?”

I paused for a moment. “Angela,” I said, “that shirt barely covers you.”

She looked down and seemed to realize for the first time just how short that shirt was. Then she noticed there was even a hole in it, just above the hem, and a few hairs were peeking out. She picked up the hem and gave me a full view of her abundant bush. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

My dick throbbed and she saw it. “Oh baby,” she said, taking a step toward me. I should have backed away, but I stuck a finger through that hole and pulled her closer. Her hands reached for my dick and we kissed. We probably both tasted like coffee mixed with morning breath, but neither of us cared.

My hands were under her shirt, caressing her back, her ass, and I pressed my erection hard against her. I looked toward the bedroom door.

“We fucked just before I came out. He won’t be up for an hour.”

With that, I tore her shirt open. Two hands working on that small hole until she was exposed from her neck to the hem of the shirt. My cock was sticking out the vent in my boxers and Angela had a firm grip on it. She rubbed the head against her slit until it was shiny with moisture. Then she rubbed some more until I sensed a brief tremor.

Maybe she thought that was going to be it. Maybe she didn’t get off when she and Mark had just fucked and needed a release. I don’t know about any of that. I took a step back, discarded my boxers, and then tore at her shirt until there was nothing left but rags covering her shoulders. For a moment I thought I saw fear in her eyes. Maybe this was a side of me she hadn’t seen before. But with her ass pressed against the kitchen sink, I entered her. To say she was ready was an understatement. Her hands bit hard into my ass pulling me deep inside her. I leaned back so we could both watch as we slowly fucked, my dick nearly exiting her body, then sliding back in as far as it would go.

She ground into me as if to hurry things along. But I wasn’t about to have any part of that. I was where I always longed to be and I was going to take my time. She pushed me away and rubbed her back where the countertop had cut into it. I turned her around and entered from behind. With her hands on the edge of the sink, she drove her ass back into me, again at a pace I didn’t want to match. I put my hands on her hips to hold us still. Then slid one hand up to tweak a nipple while the other dipped low, through her hair until I felt my cock.

Then I began to move again, one finger riding her slit while my cock moved in and out. I could feel her spasms with both my dick and my hand and yet I was still not done. Oh, I could have been. I could have driven hard and climaxed almost as soon as I entered her. But this was something to be savored and not rushed.

I pulled out and she seemed to think we were done, that she was going to keep loading that fucking dishwasher. But I pulled her to a nearby chair, where I sat down and guided her onto me. I pulled what was left of her shirt off, and we faced each other fully naked, my cock firmly embedded in her cunt. She rocked back and forth slowly, and we could see the gap between us where a few inches of my erection were on display before she rocked forward, ending the separation.

There was a look in her eyes that suggested tension, like she was aware of her husband just beyond the bedroom door, but also aware of how good it felt, how right it felt, to be fucking me that Sunday morning. I pulled her close for a lingering kiss. We kept our eyes open as if to ensure we both knew who we were kissing, who we were fucking.

She started rocking harder and this time I was in synch with her movements. I could feel it building in us both. The whole time I held her gaze, never turned my eyes away. Ever look into a woman’s eyes when you are close enough to kiss? You can see yourself reflected in them and you know that she can see herself as well. And you know how hard it is to cum with your eyes open? But we did it. We felt the tension mount, our breathing reach a crescendo, our bodies driving ever faster. But we never looked away. Not once. And as we came, another kiss with eyes wide open.

It was only minutes later that we were in her car, headed out to get breakfast like we’d done so many times before.

Standing in line at the Starbucks, I’m thinking just how much do I reek of sex? How long does that pussy smell linger on your face? And Christ, what must my dick smell like, the slimy bastard tucked inside my boxers and my cargo shorts? I just ordered Ange’s cappuccino, my latte, and Mark’s caramel macchiato.

Back in the car, all you could smell was food and coffee. Maybe we could pull this off after all.

Mark was sitting at the kitchen table reading something on his iPad. He’d helped himself to a cup of regular coffee. We set the bag of food and the coffee carrier on the table and Angela went straight to the bathroom.

Mark was staring at me, making serious eye contact. I was sure we were busted, but then he produced the leopard print panties. “Want to tell me about these?”

I just smiled sheepishly.

“Not the redhead?”

I tilted my head in affirmation, a silly grin forming on my face.

“Never saw that coming,” Mark said.

“Me either.”

“You have to understand,” Timothy, “in the philosophy department calling someone a pseudo-intellectual is a mortal insult.”
I sat down and we began to eat.

“To be fair,” I said, “she didn’t actually call me that. When I was trying to justify my spending the summer in Europe, which she said was extravagant, I said I thought that you really couldn’t appreciate your own country until you had spent some time outside it.”

“Which she said was a very pseudo-intellectual thing to say. A minor distinction, my friend.”

Angela came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel that afforded us both a view of her legs and a hint of bush. She tried to get past us, but Mark pulled her onto his lap, putting her even more on display.

“Your boy tell you he got lucky?”

“I made him give me all the details. Evidently, she has a bra that matches those panties, so she’s certain to want them back.”

“Her name is Connie Ferguson and she’s in my 11:00 class tomorrow. Maybe you want to meet me after class and accidentally run into her?”

I smiled my appreciation for the suggestion. Then rose to leave. Angela followed me to the door.

“You don’t want to step outside in the towel sweetheart. Timothy and I are one thing, but the general public isn’t quite ready for you.”

We both laughed.

“Good luck with Ms. Ferguson,” Angela said, her hand on my shoulder.

From the kitchen, we could hear Mark say, “Who loads the dishwasher and doesn’t bother to run it?”

Angela and I exchanged a look and then I was on my way.
« Last Edit: May 10, 2022, 12:57:44 AM by Jaime Austin »

Offline Pornhubby

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Reply #1 on: May 10, 2022, 04:08:28 AM
Great tale.  Thoroughly enjoyed. Woo. 

Offline Jaime Austin

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Reply #2 on: June 03, 2022, 12:13:06 AM
The following appeared as a separate post under the subject "Caught in the Act." Since it is really a further chapter in the story "Loading the Dishwasher," P'm adding it here as a reply. A third chapter will be added momentarily.

Caught in the Act

My only classes on Mondays were at 10 and 1. My plan was to meet my friend Mark when his 11 o’clock class let out and “accidentally” run into the girl from Saturday night.

I spotted Mark right away. Hard to miss a guy with an entourage of coeds hanging on his every word. Connie wasn’t one of them. He headed my way, ignoring the girls, as any happily married man should, and punched me in the shoulder.

“Feeling lucky?”

“Not in the least,” I replied.

“She should be coming this way, so let’s give her a minute.”

We started talking about football which had the effect of lighting up massive cigars whose smoke would drive away mosquitoes, women, children, and small animals. Mark’s entourage disappeared.

I glanced at the building Mark had come from and saw Connie heading our way. Trying to be nonchalant, I did not turn in her direction but kept chatting with Mark. The next thing I knew she was blowing past us with a quick, “Hey guys!” She never broke her stride.

“You are sure it was her Saturday night?”

I gave him a look that said, “Dumb question.”

“Well look at it this way,” said Mark, the eternal optimist, “she blew you off Saturday night only to leave her underwear with you on the couch.”


“So maybe she just blew you off again only to follow up later in a decidedly carnal manner. You did notice how her ass was swinging?”

“Hard to miss.”

This was not how I had excepted my day to go. I had envisioned a brief chat with the three of us and then me inviting her to lunch.

After my 1 o’clock class, I was back in my dorm room reading. My roommate, Dave, was sitting at his desk tapping away at his notebook. The door swung open without a knock and I looked up hoping to see my red-headed friend, but instead, there was Angela, Mark’s wife, my best friend on the planet, and as of the day before, my secret lover.

I never thought of Dave as being particularly astute, but he quickly packed up his notebook and was out the door. Angela and I just stared at each other. Dave must have read the look between us because it said one thing and one thing only. “I want you.”

I barely had a chance to put my book down before she was on me. There was nothing tentative in our kiss. It was a full speed ahead battle of the tongues. My hands were caressing her naked back under a loose-fitting t-shirt. She was wearing sweat shorts, her go-to this time of year, and I quickly had my hands around her ass, pulling her closer.

The thing I remember the most was how hot she felt. Almost like a fever. There are few things in life as arousing as having a beautiful woman desire you. She ground her sex against mine and for a moment I thought I would cum in my boxers.
We separated long enough to stare into each other’s eyes. Like the day before, it was as though we wanted to confirm who we were with, and what we were doing. She pulled her shirt over her head while I jerked her shorts and panties down. I didn’t think for a moment about my clothes. I just wanted to bury my face between her legs.

Her hands were in my hair, her thighs pressed against my face while my lips and tongue explored her every recess. She came so fast that it caught me off guard. My tongue was just finding its rhythm. But she was pulling at me, bringing my face to meet hers and she lapped up every hint of where my tongue had been.

Then it was my turn to strip. My shirt was over my head as she unfastened my cargo shorts. As my dick was set free, she latched onto it with her mouth. I felt her tongue, her teeth as she engulfed me. But that wasn’t what she really wanted. No, she wanted me inside her and I was quick to oblige.

“I’m not going to last long,” I whispered. She just pressed herself all the harder onto me, grinding and turning and devouring me with her sex. Far too soon it was over. I had released myself physically and emotionally into her very core and we both lay together panting.

It took a moment to realize that we weren’t alone. Evidently, Dave failed to lock the door on his way out and we had an observer. I’m sure we were both surprised to see Connie Ferguson leaning against the closed door.

I had no idea how long she had been there, but she had a misty-eyed look to her and a strange Mona Lisa smile on her face.

“You know these things lock,” she said, turning the latch and locking us in.

Angela and I were speechless.

“I think everyone in the philosophy department thinks you two are fucking except me. And now I know better. Silly me. After Saturday night, I thought for sure I was right. I mean, how could you fuck me on Angela’s couch if the two of you are having an affair?”

Angela found her t-shirt and put it on. I used mine to cover my lap. I guess we were presentable.

“It isn’t what you think,” Angela said.

“Really? I’ve never watched anyone fuck before, not in real life, but you two seemed really vested in it. If you try to tell me this is some casual thing that just happened, I’m not buying it.”

“The truth is,” I said, glancing at Angela, “We really don’t know what this is.”

Angela was shaking her head as if to affirm that she was clueless herself.

“You don’t mind if I sit down, do you?” She pulled the chair from my desk and dropped into it. “Watching you has left me a little weak in the knees.”

“How long have you been here?” I asked.

“When I came in you had your face buried between her legs.”

That was pretty much the beginning. Angela and I looked at each other, amazed that we could have missed her.

“You two were pretty into it. I doubt you knew what planet you were on, let alone who might have slipped into the room.”

“I was hoping I would see you again,” I said.

“I doubt that very much.”

“No,” Angela said. “He wants to return your panties.”

“And send me on my way.”

“I’m certain that was not his plan.” Angela laughed. Somehow this situation was starting to feel normal. “He was going to negotiate with you.”

“For what?”

“To see you in the matching bra.”

Connie smiled. She made eye contact with Angela and then me and then she pulled her t-shirt over her head revealing a leopard print bra.

“I hate you,” Angela said without emotion.

“What on earth for?”

“Those breasts. I would kill to have your cleavage.”

Connie was pretty impressive, I had to admit. I know nothing about bust sizes and bra cups, but Ms. Ferguson had ample curves and I couldn’t help but imagine sliding my dick between her lightly freckled breasts.

“Big boobs are far more trouble than they are worth.”


“No, seriously. Guys stare at them. They can’t see beyond them. Flash a little cleavage and it turns them into infants. Their lips start to purse like they’re ready to suck their next meal out of you.”

Angela looked at me. “Timothy isn’t doing that.”

“He’s different. A large part of why I like him. The other thing with big boobs is they always get in the way. You bump into things and people with them. It’s embarrassing. And you have to wear a bra constantly. Otherwise, they droop and pull at your shoulders.” She tugged at the center of her bra. “I don’t wear this for fun.”

“Timothy said you weren’t wearing one Saturday night.”

Connie smiled. “But I did. I just had a blouse and a blazer on over it.”

I started to speak, but Connie cut me off. “While I was waiting to see if Mark and Angela would grant us some privacy, I went into the bathroom and took it off.”

“Wow,” was all I could say.

Angela was smiling. “You wanted to seal the deal.”

“It thought of it as leverage.”

“Well it worked then and I suspect it’s working now.” Angela pulled my shirt from my lap to reveal the beginnings of an erection. I gave her a hard stare and pulled a pillow onto my lap.

“So may I have my panties back now?”

“Maybe,” Angela said.


I looked at Angela and then at Connie. I had no clue what she was up to.

“I think we’d like to see them both on you.”

“You want me to change my panties right here in front of you?”

Angela just smiled.

Connie began to unfasten her cutoffs. They were denim with strategically placed rips. Underneath she sported a pair of white bikini panties.

I climbed from my bed, carrying the pillow in front of my crotch to get her panties from my backpack. When I handed them to Connie, she said, “Lose the pillow, Timothy. We both know what you’ve got under there.”

My head was spinning. Talk about being overwhelmed. I mean this is the stuff wet dreams are made of and it’s happening right now in my dorm room. I set the pillow down and sat on my bed near Angela. She glanced at my semi-erect dick then looked me in the eyes. She wasn’t smiling.

“This is getting weird, Ange,” I said.

Still no smile.

Connie’s panties came down to reveal a thin covering of red hair.

“Nice to see you’re a natural redhead,” Angela offered.

“Yeah. I’ve been tempted to sprinkle a bit of ginger powder down there before going on a promising date.”
That earned a smile. “I asked Timothy if you were a natural redhead and he wasn’t sure.”


“It was dark,” I said.

“Not that dark.”

“It kinda was.” Now I was at full mast, looking at Connie’s snatch and recalling how I buried my face between her legs Saturday night.

Now the leopard print panties were on and Connie stood and turned around to complete our inspection.

“Guess it’s time for me to get dressed and leave you two lovebirds alone.”

Angela stood up, her shirt only half-covering her bush. “I’m the one who doesn’t belong here,” she said, looking for her panties.

“I don’t think Timothy agrees.”

Disappointment was etched across my face.

“Timothy has been my best friend since middle school and I love him dearly. But he doesn’t deserve this.”

“Doesn’t deserve what?” Connie asked.

“Two half-naked girls fighting over him.”

“I’m not fighting. He’s all yours.”

“But he’s not.”

“Look at that face. He sure wants to be.”

Truth be told, I didn’t want either of them to leave, but Connie had it right. I really wanted to be with Angela. If I was forced to choose, there would be no contest.

Angela walked over to Connie and gave her a hug. I thought it was a sweet thing to do until I realized she had unfastened the girl’s bra. I couldn’t see Angela’s face, but Connie’s smile was impossible to miss. Had I missed something? Was there some quiet signal sent between them? A glance, maybe? A quick furtive look away? If it was there, I missed it.

Angela tossed the bra to me and it landed on my erection, where it hung like someone tossed a hat onto a hat rack. I sat there motionless as Connie pulled the t-shirt up and over my best friend’s head. The late afternoon light was bright enough to illuminate both women. These were California girls, with tan lines year-round. Alison’s ass, where the sun has seldom shown offered two pale globes, each being caressed by the red head’s freckled hands.

I sat there, fully ignored with a leopard print bra hanging from my dick. I was tempted to clear my throat and remind them of my presence, but I was far too keen on seeing where this was going to go to make a sound.

Angela slowly dropped to her knees taking Connie’s panties with her. The redhead placed her hands on Angela’s head for balance as she stepped out of her last remaining garment. Angela turned to me and said, “We need the bed.”

Was I shocked? You could knock me over with the proverbial feather, but I still got out of their way. I stood by the door as Connie lay back on my pillow. Angela followed her closely and began to suckle the large freckled breasts she claimed to envy. Then she kissed her way down to the soft nest of red hair that I had explored with both my mouth and my dick less than two days ago.

Angela’s feet were on the floor and her legs were spread far enough for me to see her sex calling to me. I reached out to caress her gently and meeting no resistance, slowly took my place between her legs. It was hard not to rush things. I sorely wanted release. But rather than drive my dick into her with abandon, I used slow, gentle strokes.

I could hear Connie’s orgasm. She made no attempt to be quiet. And shortly thereafter, Angela pushed me away only to turn to me and kiss me with lips covered in Connie’s dew. Our tongues danced as I pressed my erection against her. I knew that with the least bit of attention I would explode, but once again, Angela pulled away.

She looked at me, at my dick, then turned and looked at Connie and I knew what she wanted. Connie stared at us both, her knees wide apart. And I fell on her, like a starving wolf on innocent prey. I was in her as far as I could go. And the two of us writhed, torturing the bedclothes, heedless of anything else.

I was vaguely aware of Angela’s hands on my ass. More along for the ride than directing me or pushing into our friend. I remember cumming, pouring every ounce of my consciousness into that lovely girl. And then the world went black.

“You need a shower.” That was Dave. He repeated himself twice until my eyes finally opened. I was sprawled naked on my bed and Dave had a look of mild disgust on his face.

“I didn’t want to open the windows with you lying naked like that. You’re on top of all your covers and I wasn’t about to cover you with anything of mine!”

I rummaged for a towel and my shave kit.

“Your friends left some time ago. Guess they literally fucked your brains out. You just became legend on this floor, bro.”
Legend? I was just a confused fool in desperate need of a shower.

Offline Jaime Austin

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Reply #3 on: June 03, 2022, 12:30:06 AM
Seeing Red

Dave was right. Guys on my floor looked at me with new respect. A Monday afternoon threesome was a thing of legend. I went from being the wise-ass lit major to being the resident stud. Or so it seemed. Certainly not in my mind.

No, for me it was a time of great confusion. I knew in my heart that what I wanted most in this world was to separate Angela from Mark. For her to finally see the wisdom, the correctness, of being with me. How that was to come about I had no clue. I was even less sure of where Connie Ferguson fit into things.

Tuesday morning I got a text from Connie: “Got UR # frm Ang. Wanna do lunch?”

We met at one of the campus eateries, got our lunches to go, and then found a spot with a view of the freeway, far below us in the valley.

“You know if we were at UCSD, we could eat with a view of the ocean,” I said.

“That must be why it’s so hard to get accepted there.”

“And why it costs so much.”

“You know I never did apologize for Saturday night.”

“What, calling me a pseudo-intellectual?”

She blushed.

“Mark told me that’s the philosopher’s equivalent of the unkindest cut.”

“And he’s supposed to be my friend. Technically, I didn’t call you that, just the BS you were slinging. Why are you laughing?”

“I’m still stuck on the unkindest cut. Last semester I wrote a paper on Shakespeare and discovered the full story behind that line.”

“Tell me.” I had her full attention and was loving it.

“Whenever I have a paper to write and I’m having trouble finding a theme, I turn it into a research project. Come up with all kinds of details that hopefully lead me to a theme or point of view. With Shakespeare, I went back to the source material, Plutarch’s Lives of Illustrious Men. The unkindest cut of all? Seems Brutus stabbed Caesar in the groin!”


“Yeah. I’d say that  was the unkindest cut.”

“Damn. Shakespeare had a sense of humor. “

“He did indeed.”

Connie set her food down for a moment and started tapping on her phone. “I’m stealing this.”

“What? Shakespeare or Plutarch?”

She kept tapping away.

“The whole thing. Research when in doubt, the Bard — a major philosopher by the way — and the traitorous stab to the balls.”

She finally put away her phone and looked at me directly: “What’s the deal with you and Angela anyway?”

”I’ve been asked that a lot over the years. My own mother even.”


“The official answer is we’re friends.”

“Just friends?”

“I never called it that. No one would believe it.”

Connie agreed, “Tell me about it. “

I had nothing to add.

“So have you been in love with her from the start?”

We were still eating and I almost choked.

“I’ll take that as a yes. So you’ve been hanging on all these years waiting for her to come around?”

“I’ve never thought of it that way.”

“Of course not. You have to believe the friends story.”

“There’s a lot of truth to it.”

“So how did it start?”

“That’s easy,” I said, grateful for a question that wasn’t a challenge. “Seventh grade, we were in a class discussion about the news media and we were the only kids who listened to NPR.”

“KPBS. Love it.”

“Turned out we had other things in common and we quickly became inseparable.”

“But no romance?”

“We both come from broken homes. Mothers bitter from divorce. It can make you pretty cynical.”

“And all through high school, you never went out?”

“Not as a couple. We had friends we hung out with. Went to the same parties, rode to the beach with the same people.”

I paused to finish my sandwich. “You’ll love this: we double-dated once.”


“Yeah. Went to a concert in Chula Vista. Sat next to each other. My date on the far side of me, hers the same. We ignored them both the whole time. Behaved like we were the only ones there.”

“That is so believable.”

Connie pulled out her phone again to check the time. “I’ve gotta go. But listen, my roommate is going home for the weekend. I’ll be all on my lonesome Friday and Saturday night. Care to do something about that?”

My smile said it all.

“We need to find someone over 21 to buy us some wine.”

“I turned 21 back in February.”

“Fuck! You bring the wine.”

I sat on the grass watching her walk away. She was one of those girls who looked almost as good leaving as they do arriving. But then I thought of Angela and wondered what in the fuck I was doing.

It was a busy week. I worked Tuesday and Thursday evenings teaching English as a second language. Connie also worked part-time, so between that, classes, and school work, we saw very little of each other before Friday evening.

Angela, on the other hand, seemed to be avoiding me. We usually met up on campus several times a week. Friday nights I was almost always at her apartment watching a movie with her and Mark. Three or four text messages a day were not at all uncommon. But this week I got a terse “U OK?” Tuesday afternoon and after that radio silence.

The last thing I wanted to do Friday evening was to spend time with her and Mark. And without hearing from her, I didn’t feel the need to explain my absence. On the other hand, I did feel some pangs of guilt when I showed up at Connie’s dorm with a sack containing two very large bottles of wine.

“Wow!” She exclaimed at the size of the bottles. “You know you don’t have to get me drunk to get in my pants.”

“Angela always says more is better.”

“Of course she does.” If it bothered her that I mentioned Angela, it didn’t show.

“Speaking of Angela, I had lunch with her yesterday.”

My face was a living question mark.

“We talked about you and I told her about your coming here.”


“That’s not a problem, is it? She didn’t seem to mind.”

I was starting to feel ill.

“Oh don’t look that way, Timothy. She would be here with us if she could.”

That really didn’t help.

“Look. I’m not trying to come between you and the love of your life. Whatever game you two are playing, and I know game is the wrong word, I just want to be a part of it.”

Connie produced two large wine glasses and I promptly filled them within a hair of the brim. She just laughed and took a careful first sip.

“Let’s play Truth or Dare.”

“You are kidding me?”

“No. It will be fun. The idea is to ask a question the other person doesn’t want to answer and the penalty, the dare, is they have to take off an item of clothing for each refused answer.”

I didn’t agree to this, but she asked the first question anyway. “How old were you when you had sex for the first time?”

“Sixteen. You?”

She took off her t-shirt. No leopard print bra, something better. It was pale pink with lace-edged cups that left a lot of freckle-covered breast exposed.

“Who was your first sex partner?”

I took off my shirt. Nothing underneath.

“Ah yes, a gentleman never tells.”

“When was your first experience with another girl,” I asked.

She pulled down her jeans to reveal bikini panties that matched the bra.

“Have you ever fucked a girl in the ass?”

“No. Have you ever been fucked in the ass?”

“No.” She paused for a moment as if trying to find something I wouldn’t reveal. “When was the first time you had sex with Angela?”

Off went my shorts.

“I’m glad to see your boxers, but I really thought you’d tell me that.”

“Have you sprinkled ginger power on your bush tonight?” I was so proud of this question that my grin went from ear to ear.

She removed her panties and beckoned me to see for myself. Indeed, there was the faint smell of ginger and when I probed
with my tongue I could taste it.

That was the end of the game. She slid back on the bed and I buried my face between her legs. I wasn’t sure about getting ginger in my eyes, so I kept them shut. I didn’t need eyes to explore her most intimate region. I slid my hands under her ass as if to lift her off the bed. She helped me to where I was on my knees, my tongue diving as deep as it could go.

I could hear the sudden intake of air. Delicate little gasps that matched the tremors I could feel with my mouth and my hands. Again with her help, I lowered her to the bed, her pussy rubbing against my body on the way down, coming to rest against my erection.

She looked at me with hooded eyes, but she smile said we were just getting started.

“Those boxers need to go,” she said.

“So does your bra.”

She undid the center clasp of her bra, but it did not fully release her breasts. The cups slid apart and seemed close to falling down. Her chest was moving from her heavy breathing and with every breath, more beautiful flesh was uncovered. But still, her nipples were covered.

I wanted to snatch that bra away, reveal her breasts in all their glory, but I waited for gravity to do its work. Connie looked down at her half-exposed breasts and smiled. “My nipples are so hard they are holding it in place.” My dick twitched like it was trying to escape my boxers. I didn’t know if she saw it, or felt it with her cunt. Either way, she laughed and the bra cups fell away.

It was like I was seeing her naked breasts for the very first time. The round underbelly, the puffy areolas, the sharp points of her nipples. My dick twitched again.

She tossed the bra aside and then kissed me, my face full of ginger-scented pussy juice. She devoured my tongue and my dick throbbed to where I thought I was going to cum in my boxers. Her hands caressed my ass, pulling me even closer as she ground her pussy against me.

God, I wanted to be inside her so badly. I pushed her back on the bed and pulled my boxers down enough to expose my erection. But before I could position it properly, she said, “I want it in my mouth.”

I was so afraid that one touch of her hand would put me over the top that I just froze. Lythe thing that she was, she quickly swiveled to face my throbbing cock, and without even a moment's hesitation, her lips were around the head and I was shooting jets of semen into her mouth.

What a beautiful face. Her red hair a tangled mess. Her pink lips wrapped around my cock. Her cheeks sucked in as she drained me. And those green eyes that never left mine. From the moment her lips touched my dick until the last trickle of jizz graced her tongue, our eyes were locked on each other. I watched as she released me, my rapidly shrinking member falling from her lips. Then she pressed her forehead against mine and said, “Are you one of the boys that won’t kiss a girl after you’ve come in her mouth?”

I answered with a kiss. A deep, full tongue probing kiss. Now we both tasted of semen and ginger and pussy and we held that kiss until we both collapsed on the bed.

I heard a noise from the hall and turned to look at the door.

“She’s not coming,” Connie said with just a hint of annoyance.

“I just thought I heard something, that’s all.”

Connie took a firm grip on my dick like she was staking a claim.

“How many times have you cum in one night?”

“Three,” I replied.

“We’re going to break that record tonight.” Then she laughed.


“You’ve still got your underpants on!”

Barely. They were between my knees and my hips and I quickly stripped them away.


She just smiled.

We sipped some wine and then cuddled together on her bed, our fingers lazily exploring each other.

“So how old were you when you had sex for the first time,” I asked her.

“I’m not telling.”

“We have ways of making you talk,” I said in a pathetic German accent.

I was swirling a finger in the moist cleft between her legs.

“That might get me moaning, but it won’t make me talk.”

“We’ll see.”
I climbed between her legs, my erection coming back to life enough that I could rub it between her lips. She just laid back with her eyes closed and smiled. Just looking at that beautiful body and the tip of my dick nestled between her nether lips brought me fully erect. I slid in halfway. Stopped. And then withdrew until just the tip was buried.

“Tell me,” I insisted.

I slid in halfway again and stopped for a moment. Then I pressed on until I was fully seated and she began to grind against me. I watched as her breathing increased, her face was flushed, and then I withdrew again until just the tip was inside her.

“Tell me.”

She tried to pull me back in, but I held fast, just the tip of my dick inserted.

“You’re being mean,” she said, glaring at me.

“I just want some information. I answered your question.”

“Let me on top and I’ll tell you.”

We switched positions and she was towering above me. What a glorious sight. She bent forward so that I could lick and suck on her nipples as she ground into me. Our bodies quickly found their rhythm. Her back was arched, her eyes closed, and quickly I could hear those sweet gasps as her body shook and her inner spasms sent shock waves through my body.

She was done before me, but not by much. I could feel her breasts pressing against me, her breath roaring in my one ear while my cock spasmed and gave me the precious release. Softly, she whispered, “Twenty.”

After a moment of silence as we both caught our breath, I asked, “How is that possible?”

“Not everybody likes freckles.”

“Impossible. Not on a girl as staggeringly beautiful as you.”

That earned me a smile.

“I make you stagger?”

“And swoon. When they coined the phrase “Drop dead gorgeous,” they were talking about someone who looked just like you.”

“You have a way with words, Timothy. Must be from all those books you read.”

I responded with a shower of little kisses. Her eyebrows, jawline, shoulder, the underside of one breast. I placed my face between both breasts and breathed in her scent. Then I lay facing her feet, my cheek on her stomach, the back of my head nestled against her breasts. Again, I asked, “How is that possible?”

She stroked my hair gently, then spoke softly.

“I was always one of those anything but girls. You could put your finger in there, or better yet your tongue, but no guy was putting his dick in my pussy. I wasn’t getting an STD and I sure as shit wasn’t getting pregnant.”

“And you reciprocated?”

“Sorry to burst your bubble, but that wasn’t my first blowjob.”

I laughed. That thought had never crossed my mind.

“So your first time was less than a year ago?”

“Don’t go there.”

“Had to have been somebody in the philosophy department.”

“No it didn’t and this line of questioning ends here.” The look on her face was enough to make me back off. Almost.

“So how many guys have you been with?”

“You’re being a prick, Timmy.”

Ouch. Angela is the only person who calls me that and only when she wants to put me in my place.

“I’m sorry. It’s none of my business. I know that. You know how it is. You like a girl, you feel the need to tease her.”

“So you like me, do you?”

“To put it mildly.”

That earned me a kiss. A brief, but very pleasant kiss.

“I don’t know about you, but I need to pee,” she said climbing out of bed. She pulled on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. I did the same. “There’s a men’s room on the floor below us. Same position in the hall as the girl’s.”

There was no one about in the hallway. Must have been just passed midnight. When we got to the girl’s room, Connie pulled me in after her. It was empty.

We entered the first stall together. Connie undid my shorts, took my dick in hand, and pointed at the toilet.

“I’ve always wanted to do this,” she said.

“Let’s raise the seat,” I added.

I took a long steady piss. For the first time, I noticed her fingernail polish. Pale silver. Looked nice wrapped around my dick. She reached for toilet paper when I was done, but I said, “Just give it a good shake.” She did and put me back in my pants.

“That’s a neat trick.”

“Just male plumbing.”

She put the seat down and took her turn. Afterwards, she reached for the toilet paper. “Female plumbing. A bit different.”

“Yes, but they fit together so wonderfully.”

That earned me a smile.

Back in the room, she asked if I was tired.

“Are you kicking me out?”

She laughed. “No way.”

“Good, because I promised my roommate that he wouldn’t see me until tomorrow at the earliest.”

“Kind of sure of yourself, are you?”

Connie opened my shorts and let them drop to the floor. “Seems like there’s a little life left in the old fellow. Back in the bathroom, I wasn’t so sure.” We quickly undresses each other and crawled back into bed.

“Are you one of those guys who won’t go down on a girl after you’ve cum in her pussy?”

Actually, I was. But I was determined to rise to the challenge. I pulled her legs apart and started to toy with her lips using my fingers. She whispered words of encouragement as I slowly lowered my face to where my nose was in her lovely red bush.

My fingers were slick and smelled of jizz, pussy, and just a hint of piss. I rubbed my nose in her bush and picked up a hint of ginger and I was ready to press on. But before my tongue reached its target, Connie sat up.

“I know what it’s called,” she said. “But I’m not sure how you do it.” So much for miss everything but.

“Lay on your side,” I told her. “Now lift your knee.” I lay down next to her, my face in her crotch and my slightly erect dick close to her face. From that point forward we both knew what to do.

I have to admit that the smell and the taste was a little off-putting. But there, in front of my face was her neatly trimmed patch of red pubic hair. I could see the innermost parts of her thighs, pale pink flesh covered in a million tiny freckles. And then I felt her lips around my dick and I lost all hesitation.

Maybe I didn’t drive my tongue quite as deep as I could have. Maybe I relied a bit more on my thumb and fingers than necessary. But her clit received the full benefit of my tongue.

Twice, she released my cock to catch her breath as spasms of delight wracked her body. The third time she actually pushed me away. I think she was trying to say “That’s too much,” but my third orgasm of the night caused her to slur her words.

We nestled together, drowsy with exhaustion and the relaxation your body finds in sex.

“You didn’t come nearly as much this last time.”

“That’s because I’m all used up.”

“Don’t say that. I’m going to need  another fuck before morning.”

“Good luck with that.”

She nibbled on my ear and pulled gently on what was left of my dick. “Oh, I think he’ll rise to the occasion.”

And then we slept.

She was right. Barely. That fourth orgasm was pretty weak and pretty close to dawn. We fell back to sleep afterwards.

Later, she made us coffee in the room.

“So who did you make it with three times in one night?”

“Girl I took to the prom senior year. Her parents weren’t home when I went to pick her up, so we did it once in her bedroom. Then after the prom, we all went to this kid’s house to change for the post-prom and we did it in a spare bedroom there. And then after the post-prom, we did it one last time in the back seat of Angela’s car.”

“Angela was part of your three fuck night?”

“She’s been a part of everything.”

Connie did not look amused.


“No. I should have guessed. What was she doing while you were fucking your date?”

“Fucking hers. Both couples got in the back seat. Boys on bottom, girls on top. It was a big car. Ange’s date almost lost it when the girls started French kissing and pulling each other’s tops open.”

“How about you?”

“Oh, I knew all about them. Ange and Julia were lovers for a couple of years by then. Ange’s date had no clue, but she kept no secrets from me.”

Connie checked the time. 6 am. “I bet I can sneak you into the showers.”

The shower room was only a few doors down the hall and we encountered no one on the way, each of us only wearing a towel. While we were under the water another girl came in. Connie stood between us and said, “He’s mine and I’m not sharing.”

The other girl smiled at that and proceeded to take her shower. Any time I tried to get a good look at her, Connie attempted to block my view. Back in her room, she complimented me for not getting hard in the shower.

“Baby, you’ve drained me. My soldier could be down for days.”

“Oh don’t say that!” She quickly squatted in from of me and kissed the tip of my dick.

“It’s quite sore.”

“It does look a bit red around the rim. I’ve got something that might help.”

She rooted in a dresser drawer and came up with a tube of antibiotic cream. “Let’s see what this does for you.” She coated my dick from the tip to my balls with ointment. “How does that feel?”

“It burns a little.”

“They say if it doesn’t hurt it isn’t helping.”

We spent the day together, behaving like a couple. On a blanket out in the common area where there was a bit of shade we did our class work, made notes for papers we were working on, and when we took a break, we would lay together, my head in her lap and then hers in mine.

Mid-afternoon I got a text from Angela. “Party at Dr. Joe’s 2 nite. Coming?”

I showed it to Connie. She pulled out her phone and wrote to Angela, “He’s coming with me.”

Angela replied, “Lovely. Want us to give you a ride?”

It was agreed that Mark and Angela would swing by campus around 7 pm to take us to a party at the home of Dr. Joseph. R. Watkins, dean of the philosophy department. This wasn’t going to be the least bit awkward.

Offline Jaime Austin

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Reply #4 on: June 12, 2022, 12:15:08 AM
An Awkward Evening

 We headed over to Panda Express to pick up supper. From there we walked to my dorm, so I could change clothes. As usual, Dave was there sitting at his computer. Today he had a headset on and was playing an online game. We heard him say he was logging off to get dinner.

“Damn, that food smells awesome,” he said, eyeing up or bag of Chinese take-out.

“There’s probably enough to share,” Connie suggested.

“No, that’s okay,” Dave said. “I had my heart set on a sub for dinner.” I started rummaging for clothes while Dave and Connie struck up a conversation.

“Are you from Temecula?” he asked.

“I am,” she replied with some surprise.

“I’m from Murrieta. Went to a lot of Temecula games. Your cheer squad was
pretty memorable.”

“Wait.. what?” I asked. “You were a cheerleader?”

“Is that so hard to imagine?”

“No. Not at all. It’s just...” I was stumbling for words.

“Just what?” she asked.

“I never thought a cheerleader would major in philosophy.”

“Right, we’re just dumb girls in short skirts.”

“You stepped into it there, bro,” Dave said.

“So you recognized her from high school?” I asked dave, trying to shift gears.

 “Like I said, their squad was pretty memorable. Connie here most of all. Homecoming Queen, Belle of the Ball. Her boyfriend was a three-letter man, football, basketball, and baseball. Such a shame what happened.”

“What happened?” I asked.

Connie wasn’t looking too comfortable with the conversation, and Dave paused.

 “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m being an ass.” Now Dave looked uncomfortable and quickly made his escape.

“Is there a mystery here?” I asked once we were alone.

“No. No mystery.” Her eyes were beginning to tear up and I wished I hadn’t asked.

“I’m surprised he remembered me.” she began.

“I’m not. You in a cheerleading outfit would be hard to forget!”

She gave me a slight smile.

“The boy’s name was Adam, and he was kind of the star of our class. We went together all through high school. Then the summer after graduation, he was killed in a car crash.”

She sat down on my bed before continuing.

“He was with his parents coming home from a Dodgers’ game. Drunk driver was at fault. Adam’s parents survived the accident. They were both wearing seat belts. Adam didn’t believe in them and he died at the scene.”

She paused for a moment and I had nothing to say, nothing to ask.

“I was supposed to be with them that night,” she continued. “That’s not quite true. I had been invited, but Adam and I were quarreling and I decided not to go. I guess I suffer from some sort of survivor's guilt.”

“I’m so sorry that happened to you.”

“Yeah, well everybody has a story, right? We are still getting to know each other. Many stories to share. Much to learn.”

She looked at our bag of food. “Ready to head out?”

“Do you think I have time for a quick shower?” I asked.

“Sure. I’ll head over to my dorm & take a shower myself. Just bring the food
with you.”

“It’s going to get cold.”

 “Twenty seconds in my microwave and it will be fine.”

She gave me a chaste kiss on the lips and then left me wondering about the tragic tale I had just learned.

When I arrived at Connie’s room, I was surprised to find her wearing just a towel.

“Just finishing your shower now?”

“No. I just wanted to be naked when you got here.”

She dropped the towel as soon as the door closed. She took the bag from me and made sure there was no metal to mess with the microwave.

“Take your clothes off and we’ll have a naked picnic.”

Soon we had a blanket spread on the floor, our food in front of us. On a dare, we tried to use chopsticks. I kept losing food that would land in my pubes where Connie would pick it up with her fingers and eat it.

“Good thing I had that shower,” I said.

“I wouldn’t care.”

I felt a slight stirring in my dick.

You know how when you meet a girl and she’s wearing revealing clothing, but you don’t want to get caught staring? You end up making a lot of eye contact. Trust me, it’s even worse when she’s naked. With the turmoil in my brain, the last thing I wanted to do was make eye contact. The question that kept echoing in my brain — what the fuck are you doing? — was one I needed to keep to myself. So where to look? Avoid the breast, certainly. The muff, unless there’s food to retrieve. I settled on her left ankle. Seemed safe enough.

“What are you looking at?”

“The most beautiful ankle on the planet.”

“Timothy, you sling the best bullshit. What’s so beautiful about it?”

 “The shape. The curve. How it’s narrow in the back, broader in the front.”

 “It’s boney.”

“Beautiful bones.”

“And my toes?” she asked wiggling them.

“Lovely, but no match for your ankle.”

 “Then what about my calves?”


“Not too many freckles?”

“Never too many.”

 “My thighs?”


“I don’t like them.”


“Too thick. Too soft. I’ll probably develop cellulite.”

“I love your thighs. They feel wonderful against my face.”

She laughed. “And where my thighs come together?”

“The gateway to heaven.”

By now I was sporting the beginnings of an erection. Connie reached for another clump of rice that had fallen in my lap. In the
process, she grazed my budding erection and said, “He doesn’t look too worse for wear.”

I just smiled. Then she dipped a finger in some sauce and smeared it on a nipple.


I cleaned it thoroughly with my tongue.

“You’re not the only one who’s a bit sore, you know. But maybe if we are very

 We set our food aside and moved close to each other. Connie put her legs over mine, facing me and we moved until our most intimate parts were touching.

“Here’s where it gets a bit tricky,” she said, taking my dick in hand and moving it until the tip was just piercing her opening.

She drew in her breath.

“Okay? I asked.

“Gentle is the order of the day.”

Slowly but surely we eased my erection into her moist cleft. When it was in the whole way we sat still, facing each other.

“Why are you avoiding my eyes?” she asked.

I looked down to where we were connected. Looked at her lovely pink freckled breasts and then her lips, not smiling, but not frowning. Just a straight line drawn tightly across her face. And then those piercing green eyes, eyes that seemed to look right through me. Through any facade I might strive for. Seeing things I was trying to hide.

“Don’t look away,” she said.

I returned to her eyes.

“Are you thinking of me in my cheerleader outfit?”

I wasn’t, of course, but that sure made me smile. “I prefer your current outfit.”

She smiled back.

“You’ve said a lot of interesting things to me these couple of days.”

“I have?”

“Yes, and I’m wondering how much of it was flirty bullshit and how much of it you meant.”

“I stand by everything I’ve said.”

She squirmed against me. “At least a part of you is standing.”

 “I keep telling myself, don’t fall for this guy. His heart belongs elsewhere.”

 “Good advice,” I admitted.

“But when a guy tells you he finds you staggeringly beautiful, what is a girl to

“That you’ve found an honest man.”

“Then why haven’t I heard any of this before?”

“Maybe you’ve been with the wrong people?”


She slid back until my erection nearly came free, but then eased herself forward until I was fully captured.

“But does that make you the right person?”

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly.

“What if I text Angela and tell her we are skipping the party?”

“That would be fine by me.”

“You know, I think it really would be.”

This time I slid back, just a bit. And then pressed myself tight against her.

 “We could just stay here and fuck until we truly couldn’t bear it anymore.”

“We can do that,” I agreed.

The whole time, I held her eyes and meant every single word. It wasn’t only that I wanted to cum. It wasn’t because I truly found her extraordinarily beautiful. But at that moment I did not want to be anywhere else or with anyone else. Realizing this left me even more confused. How is this possible?

Before I realized it, I had looked away.

She pulled my face back and kissed me deeply, all the while grinding into me. It was a long kiss. My hands were in her hair, stroking her back, tweaking her nipples.

 We were rocking now, moving in harmony, building to a climax when her phone chimed. I wasn’t about to stop, but she stretched to reach her phone and said, “They’ve just left their apartment.”

“Tell her we changed our minds.”



“Maybe it’s because it would be too easy on you. Let you keep your emotions focused on the girl in hand.”

She was serious.

I moved in for a kiss, but she dodged me.

“I will not be taken advantage of,” she said with a laugh and slid back until my slimy erection was free and pointing at the ceiling.

“Think pure thoughts, my love.”

“That’s going to be very hard to do.”

She was up, pulling on clothes. Once she had her girls nestled in a lace bra she turned her back to me and asked, ”Hook me up?”

I did as requested, but said “I much prefer unfastening them.”

I was still naked when she was fully dressed.

“I will go without you!” she threatened, still smiling. Then she took the towel that was still moist from her shower and cleaned my erection, which was just now starting to fade.

“That’s really quite red,” she said, holding me by that little tuft of flesh from where my foreskin had been removed some 21 years ago.

“Let me put a little more cream on it.”

On the walk across campus, she asked me about my balls. “They’re fine,” I said tersely.

“Not too blue?”

 “You know for a girl who claims to be quite innocent, you know a lot about the male anatomy.”

“Oh baby, I’ve been giving boys blue balls for years.”

I just shook my head in wonder. The way she looked. The way she walked. The way she must have looked in that tiny cheerleading skirt. I was certain she had given blue balls to a stadium full of men.

Angela was standing by the Prius as we walked up the sidewalk.

“Is she trying to impress us?” I asked.

“Trying to impress you, I’m sure.”

She was wearing a camisole tucked into a short denim skirt. A perfect look for a girl with long thin legs. As soon as she spotted us, she headed in our direction.

She went straight to Connie, giving her a warm embrace and a lingering kiss on the lips. Without releasing the embrace, she looked at me and said, “I’ve missed you.” Those few words were packed with meaning and made me light-headed.

“Don’t you two look collegiate?” Angela said, standing back to check us out. We were wearing matching SDSU sweatshirts over khaki: a skirt for her, cargo shorts for me.

“Aren’t you going to be cold later?” Connie asked.

“I have a half sweater in the car.”

“Half a sweater?” I asked.
“It’s called a cropped bolero cardigan.”


“Twenty bucks on Amazon, so maybe not Woo-worthy.”

Once in the car, Mark said, “So coordinated outfits to announce you are

 Connie laughed. “No way they will miss that fact,” and then pulled me in for an extended kiss. “We are in the heavy PDA phase, so be prepared to be embarrassed by us.”

“Duly warned.”

Angela gave Connie a look that I couldn’t decipher. Not exactly hostile, but far from friendly.

“We almost didn’t come.”

“My roommate is out of town for the weekend.”

That got a laugh out of Mark. “I guess that means you won’t be needing our
couch tonight.”

Connie turned to me, “So did you announce it on the Internet?”

“He told Angela. Pretty much the same thing.”

Doctor Watkins and his wife had a small house in the Hillcrest neighborhood of San Diego. The area had been a magnet for hipsters for decades and not what one would expect for a stuffy professor of philosophy. But then “call me Joe” was not all that stuffy. Nor was his wife, Giselle, who met them at the door and thanked Mark for bringing two bottles of fine wine, “and these lovely people.”

Academic parties were not like your typical college gatherings. No drinking games, no bedroom with a revolving door. They tend to devolve into little clutches of people talking shop, gossiping, or doing both at one time. Angela and I were always the odd ones out, which is why we often got into trouble.

“Try to not embarrass me tonight,” Mark said softly when Angela pulled me close.

“I’ll keep them in check,” Connie offered, although he seemed to take little comfort in that statement.

 As for me, I had a beautiful woman on either side of me. I was doing fine. Except maybe for the few men scattered about who were giving me decidedly unfriendly stares.

“Why is that guy giving me stink-eye?” I asked Connie.

“Because he senses that you’ve been where he has tried and failed to go. You’ll get that look from more than one.”

“I need some air,” Angela announced and pulled me towards the door. The look she gave Connie caused her to stay behind.

“What the fuck, Timmy?”

I had no idea what she meant.

“Four times in one night?”

I had only left them alone together for five minutes and this is what they talked about?

“I can’t believe she told you that.”

“Why not?”

“Because she knows how I feel about you.”

“Yeah, well it feels like she’s staking her claim.”

“She told me she didn’t know what game you and I are playing, but that she wants to play with us.”

“That sounds childish. And a bit sleazy. I kind of like the sleazy part.”

We stepped aside to let a couple walking their dog pass. Then we embraced and kissed for a long time.

“Someone might see,” I said.

“Fuck ‘em.”

We kissed again and then started walking back to the house. “I wish I had the car keys with me. We could fuck in the car.”

“I’m a bit sore,” I offered.

 “I’m not. I haven’t had sex since Monday afternoon.”

We let that thought just sit there the whole way back to the party. Once inside I excused myself and headed to the bathroom. In older homes, there’s no powder room. Maybe you get a master bedroom with an en-suite, and maybe not. But the bath in the hall is always a full bathroom.

Before I could close the door, both Connie and Angela came in behind me. “I just want to pee,” I said.

“Go ahead,” Angela said. “I want to see just how damaged it is.”

“And I just want to watch.”

I unzipped my cargo shorts and fished out my wounded soldier.

“Why is it so shiny?”

“Antiseptic cream,” Connie replied.

How I ever managed to get a flow going is beyond me. I’m not one for shy bladder usually, but then I don’t usually pee for an audience. As soon as I shook the last drops from my dick, Angela grabbed it.

“It looks fine to me.”

“It’s still a bit sore.”

“But serviceable?”
“Jesus Christ, Angela. It’s not a dildo.”

“Maybe let him put it away? We don’t want him walking around the party with an obvious erection.”

I was starting to get hard.

“I guess not,” Angela said, dropping my dick like it was something she picked up by accident.

“We are going to get some strange looks coming out of here.”

 “Just touch your nose like you have the sniffles. Everyone will think we were doing coke or something.” That was Angela. There were a few people in the hall as we came out and we did indeed get some looks.

Later in the evening, Angela, Connie, and I were sitting at a table set up behind the house, enjoying the night air, drinking wine. Angela had donned her half-sweater and I couldn’t take my eyes off her. That short skirt, camisole top with a bolero cardigan. Adorable doesn’t even come close to it.

“That’s kinda creepy,” Connie said.


“Bars on the windows.”

We looked at the house and indeed, there were bars on all the ground floor windows facing the patio where we sat.

“Joys of city life,” Angela offered.

Just then the door to the house opened and our host came out. Just-call-me-Joe was in his late 40s, sported a Van Dyke beard, short curly hair and wire rimmed glasses. He had an impish smile on his face.

“I just heard an intriguing story about you three.”

We had no response.

“The three of you together in my bathroom?”

 “Oh,” I said. “Sorry about that.”

“No worries. I was just wondering if you had any more?”


He put his hand to his nose and made a sniffing sound.

“That’s not what we were doing,” Connie said in a rush.

 “Now that’s even more intriguing.”

The good professor pulled something from the pocket of his cardigan. A small stone pipe and a bag of weed. “Care to join me?”

 We were all smiles.

He started the pipe and then passed it around the table. It was potent shit and I felt an immediate rush. It went around a second time before he asked us what we were really doing in his bathroom.

“I had to pee,” I said and started to giggle.

Connie was shaking with laughter but managed to say, “We watched.”

Angela was silent. She reached for the pipe and took a third hit.

“I once taught a class on the philosophy of sex. My wife said I managed to take the most interesting subject on earth and render it dull and boring.”

“I bet it was fascinating,” Connie said.

“It was well attended, despite Giselle’s opinion.”

At that moment, Mark came out. Sniffed the air and said, “Dr. Watkins, are you corrupting my friends or are they corrupting you?”

Everyone laughed, even me. You see I was facing a dilemma. Connie and I were sitting side by side, but Angela’s chair was facing the opposite direction. She had to twist quite a bit to look at the house or smoke the pipe. What no one had noticed, not even Connie, was that Angela had her hand up the leg of my shorts, and had been caressing my dick and balls for some time. Even Mark standing on the doorstep didn’t deter her.

What to do? In a few moments a tell-tale stain might appear on my shorts. And if not, there would be a pronounced bulge when I stood up.

Angela must have sensed this as she sped up her assault on my dick. Connie had been generous with the ointment earlier and Angela’s thumb rode the little nub on the underside of my glans. I did my best to sit still, my face buried in my hands as I came all over her hand.

She slowly slid her hand from under my shorts, trying to leave as much jiz behind as possible.

 “Are you okay, Timothy?” Mark asked.

I just shook my head and said, “Dr. Joe has some serious weed, bro.” Everyone laughed.

Mrs. just-call-me-Joe was right behind Mark and the two of them joined us on
the patio. She seemed to be a little unsteady on her feet and held onto Mark for support.

“Has he been telling you about his philosophy of sex class?”

“How did you know?” Connie asked.

“He trots that out any time he’s high around a female audience.”

 I looked around to see if I was invisible or not.

“Did he tell you the difference between the clitoris and the penis?”

 “No,” I said, making sure she knew I was there. “He did not.”

“He’s got a quote from some long dead philosopher who said the clitoris exists just for pleasure, but the penis exists for both pleasure and procreation.”

“Does that mean the penis is inherently superior?” Mark asked.

“Not in my book,” said Angela with some force.

“Everyone else has left,” Mark observed. “I guess that’s our cue to hit the

“Are you okay to drive, sweetie?” Giselle asked him. She was holding onto him for dear life.


“I’m glad to know someone is.”

Mark led her over to her husband and she dropped onto his lap. He seemed quite pleased so we made our exit before things got any more awkward.

Offline Jaime Austin

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Reply #5 on: June 18, 2022, 12:46:31 AM
“Are you sure you don’t want to come back to the house? I can’t get this car near your dorm on a Saturday night. They’ve got the streets blocked.”

“We’ll be fine,” I said. “Just drop us where you picked us up.”

With seat belts on, Connie and I were somewhat separated in the back seat, but we managed to hold hands and exchange the occasional kiss. If she knew that Angela had secretly masturbated me just before we left the party, there was no evidence of it.

Mark pulled over to the curb and I climbed out of the car. Connie followed out the same side. To our surprise, the front door opened and Angela got out.
“I’m going with them,” she said in clear cold tones.

The three of us started walking away. I heard a car door open and then Mark called, “Angela. You’re stoned. Those two don’t want you tagging along.”

We never broke stride. Angela lifted her arm and gave Mark the finger while Connie draped an arm around her. The three of us continued, Angela in the center, Connie and I on either side.

I half expected to hear Mark’s footsteps as he ran after us, but instead, I heard a car door slam followed by that strange whiny sound you hear when someone tries to speed away in a Prius.

We walked for a while in silence. Then I suggested I swing by my dorm to take a shower.

“You need one,” Angela said.

“Did I miss something?”

Angela held her hand, still sticky with my jiz under Connie’s nose.


“When Dr. Joe was getting us high.”

“You little bitch!” There was no anger in her voice.

“I told you he was mine.”

“No, you said he wasn’t really yours.”

“I lied.”

“I still need a shower and a change of clothes.”

“We’ll come with you.”

“I can’t do that to Dave. I don’t know what he’s doing, but he doesn’t need the three of us dropping in on him.”

Less than a half-hour later I rapped lightly on Connie’s door. Silence. I pressed against the door and it silently swung open.  The room was brightly lit, but no girls to be found.

I saw Angela’s outfit, half-sweater, camisole, denim skirt, and frilly boyshorts laid out neatly on one bed. For a girl who didn’t believe in shaving or wearing makeup, she sure liked stylish clothes. I sat my backpack next to them.

When I got out of the shower, I found three text messages. One from Mark asking me to call him, which I promptly ignored. One from Connie asking me to bring munchies, hence the backpack. And one from Angela asking me to bring her a spare t-shirt.

While I was loading my backpack from the vending machines near my dorm, I took a call from Mark. One thing to ignore a text, but quite another to blow off an actual call.

“Let me talk to her, Timothy.”

“She’s not here.”

“Don’t give me that,” he said in an angry tone.

“Seriously, she’s not with me. Call Connie if you want to, but neither of them are here with me.”

Thankfully, he hung up.

Connie and I still had most of a bottle of wine left and I poured myself a glass. Might not have been the best idea, but I felt I needed it. Soon the two women came through the door, arm in arm, wearing towels that were threatening to fall off.

I had spread my treasure from the vending machine on Connie’s bed and they made a mad dash for it.
“Kit-Kats!” cried Angela.

“Oh I love those,” said Connie grabbing for one.

“Easy ladies. I brought enough to share. We even have some Bear Claws.”

“And my shirt?”

I handed her a Grand Canyon t-shirt. One that I hadn’t worn all that often. She dropped her towel giving me a brief glance at her naked body. She saw my admiring stare and paused with the shirt around her neck, then slowly lowered it into place. No matter how many times I saw her naked, or played back naked memories of her in my mind, those small breasts, flat stomach and lush bush always made my pulse quicken.

“You could have borrowed a shirt from me,” Connie said.

“No, I always sleep in one of Timothy’s shirts.”

This was news to me, although now that I thought about it, I did see her many a Sunday morning wearing an old shirt of mine.

“How many shirts have you stolen from me?”

“Borrowed. I had four, but you destroyed my favorite Sunday.”

“I need to hear about this,” Connie said as she dropped her towel and pulled on a t-shirt of her own.

“He got a hard-on talking about your underwear and then practically raped me in my kitchen.”


“My t-shirt had a slight hole in it and he stuck his fingers in and just ripped it until I was naked.”

“Let me get this straight,” Connie said. “You were wearing a t-shirt with nothing under it. One of his that covered you about as much as this one does?”

Connie and I both paused to admire the tuft of bush on display.

“Yes. And I loved that shirt. Wore it until it was barely there.”

“What was so special about it?” I asked.

“You don’t remember?”

I didn’t.

“You bought it at Ocean Beach the time we went just before my birthday.”

“He’s smiling,” Connie said. “He remembers. So tell me.”

“It was the first time he ever finger fucked me. In the back seat of his cousin’s car, under a blanket, on the way home from Ocean Beach.”

“Christ, how old were you?”

“Fifteen. He was 16. It was two weeks before my 16th birthday.”

“But you said you guys never dated. Were never boyfriend/girlfriend.”

“We were very good friends,” I told her, putting heavy emphasis on the word very.

“We might have become more if it hadn’t been for my sixteenth birthday.”

“Please don’t tell this story,” I asked.

Angela stopped talking. The three of us were gorging ourselves on the treats I had brought. I sat on a chair while the two girls sat on Connie’s bed, both flashing me the entire time. The girls had dimmed the lights quite a bit and the overall feeling was one of complete intimacy, but I really didn’t want to share one of the most humiliating experiences of my life.

“You have way too many clothes on,” Angela said to me. She started to unfasten my shorts and with Connie urging her on, she relieved me of my shorts and boxers.

Taking my limp dick in her hand, “Angela asked, “What did you do to him?”

“You had a hand in it yourself,” Connie replied.

Angela smiled. “Yes I did, didn’t I?”

She pushed me back on the chair and sat on my lap. Her t-shirt was up around her hips and neither of us bothered to pull it down. I could feel her abundant hair on my much-used dick. So used that it didn’t even stir, even when I reached down and tugged gently on her curls.

She leaned into me and bestowed a gentle kiss on my lips. “Let me tell her, Timothy,” she whispered. “It explains a lot.”

I nuzzled her head. Bit her earlobe and reluctantly consented.

“My mother threw a sweet sixteen party for me. Invited a dozen of my friends to the house. Timothy was there the whole time, helping to set up, helping to clean up after. My mother even agreed to let him spend the night on our living room sofa.

“Tim gave me such an amazing orgasm in the back of his cousin’s car that I was ready for sex. He wasn’t sure, but I kept telling him every day at school, “You’re going to fuck me and it’s going to be wonderful.”

“Of course, Timothy, even at 16, had read a lot and cautioned that first times don’t always go so well. Can you imagine? A sixteen-year-old boy trying to talk his girlfriend out of sex? Well, I teased the hell out of him for a solid week. Every chance I got, I’d stick my tongue in his ear, and rub what little tits I have against him. He was always carrying his books in front of him so no one could see his hard-on. I was merciless.

“After my party, I lay in bed waiting to hear my mother’s snoring. She has a very ladylike snore, but it isn’t quiet. As soon as I heard her I went out to the living room and dragged pour Timmy back to my bed.

“We got naked and crawled under the covers. His dick was limp. Trust me I had had my hands on his erection more than once! But it didn’t take much kissing and cuddling to get both of us going. He got as hard as I had ever felt him and I was burning up, wanting him to make me a woman.

“And that’s when things started to go wrong. First, he had trouble getting it in. I was wet enough, but my hymen was intact and evidently a little less pliable than some. It hurt. He wanted to stop, but I wouldn’t have any part of that. We pressed on.

“The pain quickly passed, but I felt surprisingly wet. I made him stop long enough to check and there was blood everywhere. The sheets were stained. There was blood on his dick and his pubic hair and more just kept coming and I freaked and called for my mother.

“She came into my room and found us naked in bed, blood everywhere and she just started beating Timothy with her fists. She kept yelling, “You stupid pig!” Over and over.

“I was crying. Tim was trying to protect himself. Meanwhile, the blood kept flowing. My mother went to get a washcloth. Tim left to put his clothes on. But nothing was stopping the bleeding.

“My mom calls 911. Tells them her daughter has been sexually assaulted and that we can’t control the bleeding. Timothy didn’t hear any of this, so when the ambulance and the police arrived he had no idea what was going on.

“He can tell you what happened with the cops, but I was rushed to the hospital. By the time we got to the emergency room, the flow of blood had let up, but the pajamas my mother managed to pull on me were covered in blood. I heard someone talk about a rape kit and this was the first time I realized that Timothy could be in trouble.

“Finally, a doctor examines me. He’s down there between my legs, using a speculum to get a good view. He comes up with an almost amused look on his face. “She’s having her period.”

“Evidently all the excitement, the first time pain, and everything triggered my period.

“Someone asked again about a rape kit and the doctor said there was no point. I spoke up for the first time to say that no one had raped me. I didn’t even have to spend the night.

“Tell your part baby.”

The whole time Angela was talking, I had my head buried in her hair. It all came back to me with such force that I couldn’t move. Could barely breathe. I glanced at Connie and she was speechless. This was the first time we had ever told this story and now it was my turn.

“The cops called my mom, which was surprising, given how hostile they were at first. Angela’s mother had knocked me about pretty good and I looked like I had been in a fight.
“By the time my mom arrived, they had calmed down. They could see I was terrified and worried sick about Angela. Whoever was in charge released me to my mother. Told us to remain home in our house until we heard from the police the next day.

“An officer came to our door a bit before lunchtime to explain that Angela’s mother wasn’t pressing charges. That was some relief, but I still didn’t know anything about what was happening to Angela.

“I missed a day of school. Angela two days. When I went back I got a lot of stares. Especially from people who were at the party. They kept asking me questions I couldn’t answer and my emotional upset just fueled the rumor mill.

“The next day Angela shows up like nothing happened. She told a few girlfriends about having really bad cramps and claimed to have no idea why I missed a day of school.

“Later that day she took me aside and explained what happened. I was greatly relieved, but whatever budding romance there was between us died that week.”

Any buzz we picked up at the party was gone now. My glass of wine sat untouched on Connie’s desk. Angela, oddly, was pulling on a little tuft of her pubic hair. Her eyes glassy with tears.

“And you never had sex again until last Sunday?”

“Not with each other,” I replied.

“Angela,” Connie said softly. “I’m going to move your clothes. You and Timothy can have my bed and I’ll sleep over there.”

“If anyone is going to sleep alone, I think it should be Timothy, here. Give his worn-out penis a chance to recover.”

Connie didn’t seem to know what to say. I thought about arguing the point, but instead lamented the fact that we couldn't just slide the two beds together.

“Frames are mounted to the floor,” I explained.

“I think there's enough room to put the mattresses on the floor,” Connie observed. And that's what we did.