College Is A Time To Try it All

My wife and I met freshman year at a small liberal arts college in New England. Niether of us were from back East, and we never totally felt like we fit in with the East Coast kids.

It seemed a lot of the East coast kids who went to boarding school got a lot of the "sex,drugs, rock and roll" out of their system by college. For us, growing up each in small towns, we'd actually never been exposed to that. We'd dated, and had some degrees of sexual experience, but we sincerely considered each other our "first."

This fact was rather romantic. I felt like I'd found that "special one." We really had no doubt that after college we'd get married and spend our lives together.

The only drawback--a nagging feeling that I tried to ignore--was that we had a short 4-year window to be young, wild, and foolish. All the other students had their share of wild parties and sexual expereinces. It seemed all my buddies had been in threesomes or even orgies. I had no idea how that even came about--if it was bragging or just bullshit. Yet, you'd have to be blind and deaf in a dorm not to see the morning "walk of shame" or hear the thumping of headboards echoing down the halls.

Semester after semester, year after year, the other students were ticking off their list of sexual experiences, while my girlfriend and I remained totally monogamous and comparatively inexperienced. The first year we were so into each other it didn't matter, and we did experiment a lot between us. But by senior year, there was the feeling that we'd done every thing we could just between us. Added to that was the sense that the clock was ticking. Day by day we were getting to the end of our college experience. Where else would we ever be surrounded by young 20-somethings who drank and had sex as much as they attended class?

We felt like it was "now or never" to get our last chance at the free pass of "anything goes" college sex. We even started talking about it. We didn't want to break up, we didn't even want to date others. We just wanted to somehow not end college without some memory, some "I can't believe I did that" story that we could secretly take into adulthood and then look back on with a private smile, and a little nostalgia. "Those sure were the days!"

We both agreed we should do "something" wild and even a bit reckless, embarrassing, or genuinely naughty; we just really didn't know what that'd be, or how to go about making it happen. However, as in the case with most things college, the answer was presented by alcohol. It was at a party. 

We didn't know anyone at the party, and awkwardly drifted from kitchen to living room to the back porch and back to the living room. Eventually we got bored and wandered out onto a small second-story balcony. It was spring and the air was still warm, the evening turning slowly to twilight. Jennifer sipped her drink and looked out over the lawn. Neither of us were used to the "houses" in New England. They were more like 19th century English manors.

Jen wore a light sundress. It was sort of a vintage 70s dress, strapless. The top was supposed to be held up like a tube top, by her breasts filling them. But her perky A-cups didn't offer much in that way, and it seemed like if she had to run, her dress would fall right down to her ankles.

"I'm not wearing any underwear," she said, casually, still looking our across the groomed grass. 

I slipped my hand down the small of her back, and grazing over her buttocks, I could feel no underwear. "You're naughty," I said.

"Ummhum," she said softly. 

Her hips were moving slightly, barely noticeable. She was pressing herself against a corner of the stonework. I realized what she was doing. I'd actually caught her once, totally by accident, doing what she was now doing. I walked in on her in the bathroom, as she was pressing her hips up against the corner of the pedestal sink. She was mortified at the time, being caught. But afterwards I assured her it was not only perfectly normal, but actually sexy to see her masturbating. She relaxed and admitted that one of her favorite ways to get herself off was to rub up against something smooth and hard.

Now she was standing on the small balcony, quietly and stealthily pressing her body through the thin fabric of her dress against the smooth marble. "You could take me right here," she said.

"Someone might come out," I said. 

"Then he could watch," she giggled. She was making a joke, I figured. She always got a little silly when drunk. Also bolder. Sober, she probably never in a million years would rub up against the stone balcony railing, but tipsy drunk, alone with me, and half concealed by dusk, she was plenty willing. We could here the murmuring din of partygoers from the first floor.

I let my hand slide lower, and reach up under the hem of her dress. I felt her warm bottom, bare, with goosebumps from the cooling air, or her excitement. I knew what would really get her excited. I slipped my hand slowly, and gently between her legs. I felt the soft pelt of her curls. Once, she had let me take scissors and a razor to her thick brown bush and trim it down to just a stubble, exposing her thin pink lips. (It gave her ingrown hairs and itched like crazy so we never did it again, but at least she'd let me try.) I wiggled my finger, parting the hair, and dipped my finger into her wetness. She was already soaking, warm.  

With her clit pressed against the stone, I couldn't rub her there, but I knew what she really preferred. I slicked my finger with her sticky juices, and then, gently, slid it back up her crease, to the soft, sensitive skin of her anus. She shuttered to my touch, but rocked her hips further back, giving me a better angle.

I circled my finger around her wrinkled skin, lubing it with her own juices. Before penetrating her in the back, I dipped my finger into her front once again, recoated it in her slickness. Then, with a slow, but firm push, I wiggled my fingertip inside her up to my first knuckle.

She gasped.

I waited and let her clenched muscles relax. She continued to slowly hump the stone. Her ass was incredibly tight. In fact, after dating for three years, she'd finally agreed to let me try anal with her. We were able to get just the tip of my penis inside before she begged me to stop. She cried it was so painful. We hadn't had anal sex, but she had at least been open to the idea. And she did, in the process, discover that she actually enjoyed anal stimulation--especially my finger.

She exhaled deeply. I felt her muscles relax and her sphincter open more. "Ok," she said. "More."

I pushed a little further, pressing my finger into her up to the second knuckle. This caused her to moan.

"Yessssssssssss," she said quietly under her breath. 

She continued to roll her hips against the smooth stone to stimulate her clit, while I slowly matched her rhythm, working my finger gently in and out.

"That's nice," she whispered.

"Tell me what's happening," I whisphered. This was one of our newer games. Really a way we'd learned to share fantasies without it being so awkward. At first I'd asked her yes/no questions like, "does that feel good?" She'd say yes or no, and it was good training, mechanically, of how to please her. But I learned that when I'd asked her more open-ended, and abstract questions, she could slowly reveal deeper fantasies. 

I first discovered it when we were in bed and I was very gently grazing just the tip of her clitoris with my finger, trying to be as soft and light as possible. It was obviously making her writhe with pleasure, so I didn't ask if it felt good. Instead, I said: "Tell me what's happening."

To my surprise, Jennifer said, "she's licking me, using just the tip of her tongue."

Jen had never had a bisexual experience, but, she later revealed, she often used it as a fantasy when masturbating.

So as we stood on the dark balcony, Jen pressed up agains the marble rail, me standing behind her, my hand secretly slipped up under her dress, my finger pressed inside her butt, softly sliding in and out, I asked: "what's happening?"

"I'm being taken," she whispered.

"By whom?"I asked. 

"A stranger," she whispered.

This was new territory. We'd mutually fantasied about her with another girl, but never with another guy.

Apparently the mental image of her being taken on a balcony from behind by a stranger charged her, though. She began to shake. Before I could ask another question, her muscles were clinching around my finger, and she was quivering in a quiet, but powerful orgasm.

After her spasms relented, I slipped my finger out of her, and smoothed her dress down. She raised herself off of the marble rail and steadied her shaky knees. Her face was rosy and flushed. The casual observer might think she was just flush from alcohol, but I knew she was glowing from her secret orgasm.

I was of course hard as rock under my pants. I was ready to take her back to the dorm, rip off her dress, and have my way with her. I half wanted to take her then and there. I fantasized about lubing my cock with my own spit and forcing it into her ass, taking her right then and there. It might cause her pain at first, but sometimes I thought if I could just get my cock in past the ring of her tight muscles, It would slide easily the rest of the way. But I knew we'd already pressed our luck with privacy.

In fact, just at that moment, we heard, "Oh hey guys."

We turned and saw our old friend Mark.

Mark had been my Freshman roommate, and he'd known me before I'd met Jennifer. When I met Jennifer, the three of us hung out on the first few dates. (You know, have a buddy there to make it less awkward, more of a group thing, not a date.) There was a lot of flirting at the time, because I was so attracted to Jen, and she to me. Though I always felt like maybe she was flirting with Mark, or that he would have gladly moved in on her had I not already claimed "first dibs." At the time it made me really jealous. I wanted Jen all to myself, and felt stung by the innocent flirting between Jen and Mark.

Maybe I felt a little insecure, too. We were only 18 at the time, and I didn't have as much confidence in myself. And at that point, Mark and I both knew Jennifer equally. She really could have picked either of us. Maybe that's why I sort of stopped being friends with Mark after Freshman year. We didn't have a fight or anything, but after we weren't assigned to live together, I sort of let us drift apart. Sometimes it wasn't even conscious, it'd be as simple as just spending more time with Jen. If we ran into each other, we'd say, "yeah, we should hang out." But it never seemed to happen. 

So, three years had passed. And Mark was standing in front of us, smiling, also a little drunk, hi-fiving me and saying "Dude! how ya been?" 

He turned to Jen and gave her a big bear hug. I braced myself for the electric shock of jealously, but for the first time, it didn't come. I just smiled, relaxed. Maybe more confident in myself, or more mature. Or maybe I was secure in the fact that Jen had been dating me exclusively for three years and we knew we were in love. I didn't even care that their hug seemed a little long, or that he seemed to squeeze her against him. 

It was like old times, and we instantly fell into the comfortable conversations about movies and tv shows and classes and teachers and just other silly things. It felt good to be hanging out and have someone to talk to at the party, and enjoying how easily we laughed together. 

As we chatted and laughed, I noticed Mark kept glancing at Jen's chest. The evening had set, and it was now cold outside, and her nipples were poking against the fabric of her dress.

Jen noticed, too, and teasingly asked: "Whatcha lookin' at, Mark?"

He'd been caught, but instead of being embarrassed, turning red, or apologizing, he asked: "Did you get your nipple pierced?"

Jen laughed. "Yeah," she said. "Last semester."

Mark shook his head in disbelief. "I never would have thought..." he said, trailing off his sentence, now looking directly at the fabric stretched over the small cups of her breasts.

I guess I should probably admit that Jen and I first met through a college church group. She'd grown up in a religious family in Littleton, Colorado, and I'd grown up in a tiny little town in Wyoming. I wasn't especially religious, but church was the one way I had grown up learning to socialize. The picnics, the meetings, the volunteer service created an instant network of friends. I'd felt so lost in the East, that joining the college church group Freshman year seemed like a good way to meet people. And it had worked. I met Jen.

So, when I'd introduced Jen to Mark Freshman year, he'd basically met an 18-year-old church-going virgin. He knew her as the young girl from the Rocky Mountains who had never been back East, who studied a lot, and read, and got straight As. The girl who had a somewhat plain, tomboy body and mousy brown hair and glasses.

He never knew about the time Jen let me take digital photos of her naked. Or the first time we went camping, before we'd even "gone all the way," and she gave me a hand job and let me cum on top of her small pale breasts. Or the time we were driving all the way back to the Rockies for break, and she opened my pants and sucked me right then and there as we sped down the highway at 65 mph. He didn't know that her very favorite kink she'd discovered is that she loves-loves-loves to be tied up.

She also has extremely sensitive nipples. She can almost cum just by having her nipples sucked. So for me, it was no surprise when she announced she wanted to get her nipple pierced. (This might date us, but piercings were really popular and common those years we were in school.)

I really can't explain what happened next. I've thought about it a lot over the years. The only thing that even comes close is 8th grade. The playground. I had a huge crush on a girl named Mandi Clements. She never liked me back, and this made me only tease her all the more. I had no idea how to social with her, or get her to like me. Somehow I thought tormenting her, stealing her backpack, juvenile things would get her to like me. The thing that the guys did back then was to "pants" each other. One guy would be the distraction, and the other slip up behind the victim, and yank down his pants. It was "horseplay"as they called it, and we never got in too much trouble. "Boys will be boys" is how we were raised in Wyoming.

Unfortunately, I aimed my mischief on a girl, Mandi. When I came up behind her, I yanked down her gym shorts. I expected, at best, to get a glimpse of her white cotton underwear. To both of our surprise--shock and horror, really--her panties came down with her shorts, and in plain view to me, to the other students, and to the teacher, was a patch of copper hair. None of us boys had ever seen anything like it.

Before we could study it more, Mandi yanked up her shorts, and ran off crying. At that exact moment, the teacher latched my by the ear, and marched me to the principle's office.

 I could have been expelled from school, but instead, I was suspended for a week, had to apologize in person to both Mandi and her parents, and then had to give an apology to the whole school assembly. 

Given that background, you'd think I'd learned my lesson. Apparently I hadn't. Somehow, drunk on the balcony with Jen and Mark, an impulse from 8th grade shot through me. I yanked down the top of Jen's sundress, exposing her two small breasts, and the nipple with the small silver ring.

To my surprise, she just giggled. And then yelled, somewhat delayed, "Hey!"

"Nice," Mark said. "That's actually really hot."

"Really?" asked Jen. "You don't think they're too small."

Mark of course had been talking about the piercing, but Jen's mind had gone to her breast size, a topic she wasn't always the most confident in.

"No, no, no," said Mark. "They're perfect."

The compliment must have worked. Jen smiled and blushed even more. It didn't really sink in to any of us that at least a minute must have passed and Jen was still standing outside on the balcony with her top down, her pale breasts almost glowing in the moonlight.

"I've never seen a pierced nipple," Mark confessed. "I mean, not in person. In hot photos, yeah, but not up close."

Perhaps it was the phrase "up close" that stood out. But Jen offered, "Well, look as close as you want, I guess."

Mark didn't need to be asked twice. He glanced at me, but I must have been beaming like an idiot. I was sort of proud of how bold Jen was, and how much confidence she was gaining. I'd always loved her little firm breasts. In fact, they seemed like they should be called "titties"or "boobies"to express their  youthful, petiteness. 

Mark leaned in a little closer, eye level with her breasts. The cool evening air pinched her nipples hard. 

"My breasts are so sensitive," Jen said, not really to anyone in particular, just more as a matter of fact.

"Yeah, she loves to have them sucked," I said, proudly. As if her boobs were mine to show off and brag about.

"Can I?" Marked asked. 

I don't think either Jen or I expected this. But Jen glanced at me and looked at me with the "I'd really like that," look of glee I'd seen when she's excited about getting something. And I, a little slow, a little buzzed, and (admittedly horny), just sort of smiled like an idiot.

Mark leaned forward and softly kissed the tip of her nipple, as if politely kissing someone on the cheek in greeting. When she didn't retract, he kissed again. She let out a little "oohh," squeal, encouraging him to lean forward and take a breast into his mouth.

From the way his jaw worked, I could see that her was gently sucking her breast, while flicking her nipple with his tongue. This caused Jen to writhe and moan. She was in pure extasy. When she yelped, I knew that he'd gotten a little bold and nipped her tit with his teeth. I knew she loved a little pain when it came to playing with her breasts. Sometimes when we fucked doggy style, she'd ask me to lean forward and pinch her nipples hard. The harder I pinched, the harder she would climax.

Her head was titled back, eyes closed, mouth slack, as he nibbled, sucked, and slurped her little boob in his mouth.

Just then we heard a group of drunk students. Mark quickly jumped back and Jen snatched up her dress just in time. The other students came out on the balcony and started to smoke. We left, casting sideways smiles at each other like naughty kids who had a secret, and just gotten away with something.

As we crossed the lawn back toward the dorms, the sprinklers suddenly kicked on. Must have been an automatic timer. Maybe it was midnight.

We got soaked as we dashed to my dorm room. We were cold and dripping wet.  It was the time of night when we could admit it was late, we were cold, tired, and it was time to call it. She didn't have a change of clothes, but I could have lent her a hoodie or some sweat pants, and loaned Mark some of my dry clothes. Or, we could take the next step, tip into uncharted sexual territory that we'd started on the balcony.

In only a couple weeks we'd graduate. We'd probably move back West. I'd start helping on the family ranch. We'd probably get married, start our family. We'd probably never see Mark again, or be in the East. I think we both felt this, and knew somehow this was our one shot. this was the magical window of sexual opportunity that had opened for us, and if we let it close, it was going to close, and we'd never  get the chance again. Sure, we knew maybe we could be those swingers in our 50s, after kids, hitting a second sexual peak. But when you're 22, that seems (no offense) really gross. Old and over the hill. We had out youth, our young sexual bodies, ripe and ready to explore, and a wide open sexual frontier.

"I don't know about you, but I'm getting out of these wet clothes," said Jen. Instantly she peeled off her wet dress. Because she hadn't been wearing underwear, she was now totally naked. Her small breasts almost blue from cold. The triangle of dark brown curls between her legs damp. She had goose bumps all over.

Without word, we followed her lead. I kicked off my wet shoes and took off my pants and shirt. We stripped in solidarity. 

We were all still shivering a little, but being drunk helped us think we were warmer than we really were.

"Oh I'm so out numbered," said Jen. "You two could just tie me up and have your way."

I knew her well enough by then, that she was using a private code between us. That she literally did like being tied up, and that was how she felt she could offer her permission to what was about to happen. I understood, and picked up my tie from the floor. 

I gently bound her hands behind her back. The knott was so loose, it could have fallen off, she could have easily slipped out, had she wanted to. 

Instead, she was enjoying now standing between us, her arms back, which made her little breasts stand out on her arched chest.

Since I had moved to bind her hands, I was standing behind her. Mark was facing her, looking up and down at her body. It was as if Jen and I were both offering her up to him.

"Where where we when we were so rudely interrupted?" said Jen.

Mark leaned forward and kissed her cold hard nipple. He resumed sucking on her breasts. I stepped up closer behind her and began running my hands up and down her spine, and over her goose-bumped bottom. The more Mark sucked on her nipples, the more she squirmed. Soon I had my finger pressing up against her backdoor again, and this was also causing her to writhe. She seemed completely taken in pleasure being lavished upon her from both sides.

As her knees got weak, we helped her onto my bed. Then we were moving around her, sometimes in front by her mouth, feeding a hard cock to her warm eager lips, or behind her, pushing in and taking her. We had her in every position we could think of, her hands still tied be hind her. She left us move her, bend her, open her up.

I don't remember falling asleep, but at some point I woke up because I had to pee. It was almost dawn. I woke up in my bed. Jen beside me. Mark was gone. 

I peed and then crawled back in bed. Jen was snoring very quietly, the way she did when totally exhausted and in a deep deep sleep.

I lay awake, unable to sleep, replaying the night in my head over and over. Had she really gotten herself off on the balcony as I finger fucked her butt? Had we really let Mark suck on her tits outside at a party? Had we really invited him home to share our first threesome?

Our clothes were in a heap on the floor. Had they really been wet? Had I just made up the sprinklers? 

I looked at Jen, naked in bed beside me, her body sticky with sweat and cum, her hair tangled. Her eyes blurry with sleep, and her face a bit puffy from hangover. Looking around, I soon spotted our tube of lube on the night stand, left open. I didn't remember that part. When did that come out?

Hours later, we were sitting at breakfast. I knew enough not to ask her any questions until a shower and at least two cups of coffee. I asked what had happened last night. She said that we had been on the balcony, and I had fingered her and made her cum as she rubbed against the stone. Mark had appeared and, yes, in a random drunken act, I had pulled down her top, the equivalent of "pantsing" her in front of Mark. 

But at that point her version of the story differed from my memory. She claimed Mark did look at her breasts, and was indeed fascinated by her nipple ring, but that she'd pulled up her top right away, and that was all that happened. Mark had walked home with us, and the sprinklers did start up, but we hadn't gotten soaked. 

We'd said goodbye to Mark, come back to my place, and then, said Jen, I'd had the idea to tie her with my tie and have sex with her. The whole time, she said, I was asking her to fantasize about if Mark had joined us.

"Don't you remember that?" she asked, joking, but also a little concerned.

Maybe I had been drunker than I realized. Maybe we both had. "Yes, of course I remember," I said.

I had one last question, and then I knew that I should just shut up. "We had anal sex, didn't we?"

Jen smiled. "It was wonderful wasn't it?" she said. "It actually worked this time."

I nodded. I still wasn't sure exactly what had or hadn't happened. Had Mark kissed her nipples or just gotten a free look? Had we invited him home with us, or said our goodbyes at the door?

To be honest, it certainly wasn't the first time my memory after a college party was a little "hazy," but the weird thing was that all the sensations seemed so real. Closing my eyes, I could still picture Jen with her hands tied behind her, one of us in front of her, one of us behind. It really felt like it had happened, so why did our versions of the night differ?

Was she trying to protect me, perhaps from an after-shock of jealousy or regret? Or was she protecting herself? Was she now sober, a little embarrassed or ashamed that she'd allowed herself to be tied up and fucked by her boyfriend and his friend?

I thought about this in silence, sipping my morning coffee.

"Don't worry," she said. "It'll happen again."