A Last College Chance

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. 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 move back West. I'd start helping on the family ranch. We'd 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 our 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 let us move her, bend her, open her up.

I don't remember falling asleep.

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? Or 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, open. I didn't remember that part. When did that come out?

I knew enough not to ask her any questions until a shower and at least two cups of coffee. A couple hours later, when we were sitting at breakfast, 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."