All in the Name of Science Pt. 01

Part 1: Application

I was surprised when I read that the study on my college campus was taking place at Nanigan Hall. I already knew Nanigan Hall as the site of many of the bawdiest parties and sexually-charged activities on campus. I knew several of the girls from Nanigan Hall, the "She-Nanigans" as they called themselves, and they were definitely on the wild and uninhibited side.

But it was a legitimate study being conducted by a team of psychology students working closely with a legitimate producer of quality adult toys. I don't normally respond to every poster I find on the tattered bulletin boards scattered around campus, but this one piqued my interest. I decided that it wouldn't hurt to at least find out more about what it would entail. The fact that it offered to pay study participants $100 each didn't hurt. I was, after all, a college student and that money could cover a lot of pizza, beer and other needs.

I brought out my phone and quickly scanned the QR code displayed on the poster to get to the participant qualification questionnaire. It was a form like most forms I'd filled out throughout school. I saw a bunch of boring standard demographic questions--name, birthdate, height, weight, etc.--before succumbing to the chill in the January air and deciding to return to the warmth of my dorm room to start answer anything. I tucked my phone back into the pocket of my jeans and started striding back across campus to my dorm.

I lived in an all-male dorm on the far side of campus with most of the other male athletes. I guess the school figured a bunch of young guys in good physical condition wouldn't mind hiking back and forth across campus to get from our rooms to classes, meals and practice. In some ways, they were right. The exercise of walking or jogging to or from our dorm felt good, our breath steaming as we made the trek in the cold months or enjoying the sun on exposed skin during the warm months. And since we had to pass by a couple of the women's dorms along the way, including the infamous Nanigan Hall, we made sure to have some skin exposed whenever the weather allowed. Unfortunately, today was too cold to draw female eyes that way so I prepared to move quickly to get back to the dorm without any expectation of a payoff along the way.

As I was passing by Nanigan Hall, a familiar voice called out, "Hey, Chet. What's up?"

It was Tricia, the dark-haired object of my affections for the last two years here on campus. She and I hung out regularly, laughing and encouraging one another through school and sports. She was one of the rising stars of the school's field hockey team and even though I didn't really love the sport, I attended every game just to see Tricia's fierce competitor side come out on the field. Watching her sleek, powerful body move throughout the game also helped to keep my attention focused.

Unfortunately, even though I'd made plain my interest in a more substantive relationship, I seemed to be located squarely in her friend zone. It's too bad, too. She was a knockout, at least to my eye. When she stepped up to give me a friendly hug, she stood about six inches shorter than my 5'11" frame. Her tight, athletic body fit so well against mine and her brown hair always smelled so good. But it was not to be, and I was getting better at adjusting to that unwelcome reality even if I also had to occasionally adjust my junk after close hugs like that one. Today was one of those days. I hoped she didn't notice; I would be mortified.

"Nothing much, beautiful," I answered. "Feels like a better day with you here, though."

"Nice, Stud," she answered. "You always know the right thing to say. Where are you headed? I thought you would still be at lacrosse practice."

"I was, but Coach let us out early. I'm on my way back to my room to warm up and just found this poster about an upcoming study. I'm going to go fill in the questionnaire. Wanna come with me and help?"

"Sure. I could use a little warming up too," Tricia teased, waggling her eyebrows.

Laughing, Tricia grabbed my arm and we continued on to my dorm building, just about 50 yards away. As usual, I held the door for her, and she pretended to be a princess waving as she entered. We took the stairs up to the third floor and stepped into the hotbox that was my room.

As always, it felt like my room was about 100 degrees. The upper floors in these old buildings were always warmer as the heat from the lower floors radiated upwards. My roommate and I had to keep the window cracked all winter just to keep it bearable, but at least the floor was never cold.

Speaking of roommates, mine was noticeably absent. He played on the basketball team and was usually sleeping any time he didn't have class or practice. Today, he was clearly not under the pile of old clothes and books strewn across his bed. On my desk, he had left a note telling me the team had a game a few states away tomorrow, so they had left with the bus today. He would be back in two days. Great, I'd get to see and smell his mess until then. Another good reason to keep the window cracked open.

I quickly moved some books off my desk chair and offered it to Tricia, then grabbed a couple Cokes from the mini fridge and handed one to her. I put mine down for a moment and pulled off my hoodie, coat, slides and sweatpants, opting to be more comfortable in my practice shorts, jersey and bare feet. Tricia hung her jacket on the back of my chair, kicked off her slippers and seemed comfortable enough already, looking at me expectantly.

Did I see a trace of hunger in that look? Was she watching to see what else I might take off? Did she want me to hold her again? My heart started beating just a little faster as I saw the signs that finally she might want to become more than just friends. She opened her lips while looking at me.

"So, your questionnaire?" she asked. Damn. Friend zone.

I grabbed my Coke, sat on the side of my bed and pulled out my phone. It was awkward getting back to the form with my phone in one hand and the Coke in the other so once I found that form, I handed the phone to Tricia. She was able to put her Coke down on my desk to have her hands free for typing and she was much faster at it than me anyway.

"OK," she said. "Let's start at the top. What's your full name, Chet?"

"Chester Andrews," I responded simply.

"CHESTER??" she laughed. "Your name is actually Chester? No wonder you go by Chet!"

"It was my grandfather's name, OK?" I felt a bit hurt by the ridicule, but the look in Tricia's eyes was instantly remorseful. I could tell she hadn't meant to hurt my feelings.

"I'm sorry, Chet. I didn't mean anything by it." She looked sincere. "By the way, do you have any Cheetos?" We both snorted with laughter at that. I couldn't stay mad at this girl if I tried.

"Next question: what's your birthdate?"

"June 16th," I responded.

"What year?" she asked.

"We're both nineteen so we were born the same year. You do the math, smart ass," I teased back.

"Right. Got it." She filled in that question.

I smugly took a swig of my Coke just as she asked the next question. "What's your cell phone number?" Looking up, she realized I was guzzling my drink and said, "Never mind. I've got you in my phone. 'Stud: 555-12..."

"Wait! You've got me in your phone as 'Stud?' I thought you just called me that as a joke."

"Maybe I do. Maybe it's just wishful thinking." She batted her eyes at me mockingly.

"You're killing me," I shot back.

"What's your height?" she asked next.

"Five foot, eleven," I told her. She smirked at me. "What? I don't have to be tall to play lacrosse. Just fast and strong enough to dish out more punishment than I take."

"Maybe I can punish you sometime? We'll see if you can take what I dish out," she teased suggestively.

"Now you're really killing me," I complained, my dick twitching a bit in my shorts.

"Weight?"

"I've been waiting."

"No, dumbass. How much do you weigh?" she asked with mock exasperation.

"Oh. 170 pounds. All muscle," I bragged, flexing my biceps for her.

"Oh, brother. The ego is at least 100 pounds of that," Tricia retorted. But she filled in that blank and moved on. Her eyes got a bit wider as she read the next few questions. I could see her scrolling down the form a bit and then scrolling back up before looking at me with a bit of discomfort. "Um, you might not want me to fill these in for you. They get a little more...personal."

"Please! We've been hanging out for the last two years. You've seen me excited, depressed, sweaty from practice, stressed out over family stuff. I think I can handle a few personal questions with you." Besides, I thought to myself, I was kind of enjoying having Tricia in my room. Spending fun, quiet time together like this might be my ticket to finally have her notice me as more than just a friend.

"OK," she said. "If you say so. Next question: how do you normally groom your pubic hair?"

I spit out a mouthful of Coke all over myself. "My what?"

"Pubic hair. Pubes. Short curlies. You know. Are they natural, trimmed or shaved?" She asked the question as if asking whether I wanted pizza or Chinese food for dinner.

My face turned scarlet as I admitted, "trimmed."

"Interesting," she responded enthusiastically. "Do you just keep 'em short or do you actually trim them into a shape or something?"

"I just trim them short. I'm not trying to create a Bonsai down there, if that's what you mean. It's mostly so they don't get caught in my zipper or anything."

"Sounds good to me," Tricia said with interest. "I usually shave mine. I like the soft, smooth feeling. You should try it some time."

"Try feeling your..." I stammered.

"No, silly. Try shaving yourself. You might like the feeling. Plus, I've heard it makes everything look bigger." She winked as she said it. Talk about mixed signals.

"Next question: how many times on average do you ejaculate each week? Hmm...it doesn't specify whether that's limited to sex or just jerking off so I guess messy showers count."

My mouth hung open in shock. I had asked my crush over the last two years to help with a questionnaire and she was clearly enjoying herself at my expense. "What are the answers?" I asked, trying to buy a moment to compose myself.

"It has zero to three times per week, four to seven, eight to twelve or more than twelve times per week. Can you imagine? I guess they wouldn't be asking if they didn't have reason to believe some guys actually cum that often. What do you want me to put down?"

She stared at me, clearly waiting for my answer. "Eight to twelve," I mumbled, mortified.

Her eyes got wider. "You know that's more than once a day, right?"

"Yep," I said meekly. "I have a hard time concentrating in class or practice if my mind is on, um, other things. So, I have to take care of it a lot."

"Doesn't your girlfriend help with that kind of, uh, stress relief?"

"I don't have a girlfriend so I'm on my own." I informed her.

Tricia looked at me directly. "Interesting," she mused. There's that word again. Was that a brief spark in her eye?

"OK," she continued. "Next question: How often during sex do you experience premature ejaculation? Never, occasionally, frequently or always? What kind of study is this for?"

"I really don't know, but it pays $100 if I'm selected. It's been a while since I've had sex with anyone, but I guess I could say 'occasionally.' It happened a few times in high school but that was probably because I was drunk or inexperienced." Man, my justification sounded pathetic, but the words were already out. And this was for science, so I guess it helped to be honest. To her credit, Tricia didn't seem bothered by it at all.

She looked at the next few questions and hesitated. "It looks like the next few questions are, um, measurements."

"What do you mean?" I asked. "We already put in height and weight at the beginning."

"Yes," she said, turning a little redder. "These are different measurements. It's asking for the length and girth of your dick."

I was floored. I didn't really know my measurements and I let Tricia know that. But even if I did know, would I want to tell her? I mean, I know from the showers after practice that I have nothing to be ashamed of, but would I want this girl whom I had lusted after to know the actual numbers?

It was at this point the lizard part of my brain spoke up and reminded the nice guy part of my brain that of course we wanted her to know the numbers. This is not an embarrassment; this is an amazing opportunity. If there were ever a chance to get her to see me as a sexual partner, this is it. And I can pass it off as just doing my part for science.

"Hard or soft?" I asked as calmly as I could manage. Keep it together, Chet, I coached myself.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Does it want to know my measurements when I'm hard or soft?"

She consulted the questionnaire. "Both, actually," she responded.

"I don't really know my measurements, but you could help me take them, you know, in the name of science." I can't believe I'm saying this. She looked at me silently for a moment. Shit. I blew it, didn't I?

Suddenly, her face lit up with excitement. "I thought you'd never ask," she grinned. "Get over here. And bring a ruler or measuring tape with you."

I stood up from the bed and reached over her to grab the ruler from my desk. I handed it to her and asked, "how do you want to do this?"

She was clearly excited at the prospect of measuring my most intimate member. The question was: how excited? "Well," she began, "if you'll come a little closer, I'll get your shorts out of the way, and we'll start measuring as well as we can."

I stood up in front of her and tried to not let my embarrassment show. I was so nervous, I had no idea if we were going to be able to get beyond the "soft" measurement, but the only way to know for sure was to try. Tricia reached out, tucked her thumbs into both sides of my waistband and looked up at me. "Ready?" she asked.

I nodded, not trusting my voice at that precise moment.

As if unveiling a prize, the subject of most of my wet dreams smoothly pushed my shorts and boxers down over my hips, catching briefly at the root of my dick, down to my knees and then finally dropped them to the floor. I stepped out of them and held my breath, awaiting her reaction with a mix of terror and excitement.

"Wow," she exclaimed in amazement. "All this time we've been hanging out and I had no idea you were packing. If I had known you had this under your shorts, I would have jumped you long ago. Of course, I probably would have jumped you even if I didn't know about this."

Relief washed over me. Followed quickly by amazement. Then incredulity showed up and kicked them both out. What had she said? All this time...? She would have jumped me? I suddenly got the feeling that I had been an incredible ass for the last two years.

"I...I thought you only saw me as a friend. I didn't want to mess that up."

She laughed. "Are you kidding? I thought you only saw me as a friend. I've been waiting for you to see me as more. I've been dropping plenty of hints, Stud. And I'm serious. If I had known you had this to work with, I might have said something sooner. I'm not sure if you're a 'shower' or a 'grower' with a big head start, but let's measure this."

She reached out with the ruler, placing the end of it against my abdomen and then gently lifted my flaccid penis to find where it reached on the ruler. "Five and a half inches," she announced, entering it on the form on my phone.

"Now for girth." She looked puzzled. She tried rotating the ruler around the circumference of my dick but it was a tricky business keeping it in place all the way around. "Do you have a string or measuring tape?"

I thought for a second. "I've got a new set of laces for my sneakers. We can try them." I reached into the top drawer of my dresser and retrieved the package with the new pair of laces. I handed one to her and she promptly wrapped it carefully around my thickness, pinching the lace at the point where it met the start of the measurement. She laid the lace against the ruler.

"Four inches," she announced. She entered the measurement.

"Now we need the measurements with you hard. This gives me an idea. Do you have the other lace?" I nodded and handed it to her.

She took the lace and immediately wrapped it around the base of my cock a couple times, tying it off rather tightly into a bow. The sudden tightness at the base of my cock had the predictable effect and I started to feel blood flow in and get trapped, making me harder. As my cock continued twitching higher, Tricia started stroking to encourage it. The feel of her fingers against my sensitive organ had my heart racing and my mind overwhelmed with the possibilities. It took only a few seconds, but soon my cock was standing proudly between us.

She looked directly at the head of my manhood and said playfully, "I think we can get it a little bit harder." With a suddenness that left me reeling, she leaned forward and swallowed me about halfway down my length. She started working me with her tongue and lips, exhibiting a talent I had previously only known in my dreams. Her tongue was swiping back and forth across my most sensitive places while the warm wetness of her mouth continued to draw more and more of me in. Within a few moments, her nose was touching the neatly trimmed patch of pubic hair she and I had previously discussed. From that point on, my erection continued to grow, forcing her head back up my length. She continued bobbing her head as far down as she could, encouraged by the moans I could no longer hold back. As her tongue continued to massage the sensitive skin of my frenulum, I realized that I was getting close to blasting two years of desire into her mouth.

I tapped Tricia's shoulder. "I think this is as hard as I've ever been. We should get that measurement." Tricia slowly withdrew my dick from her mouth, glistening with her saliva. Returning to the task at hand, she picked up the first shoelace again and laid it along the rigid top surface of my dick from my pubic bone to the tip of the spongy head, now purple with excitement.

"Eight and a quarter inches," she said with amazement.

She wrapped the shoelace around the circumference at the widest point. "Six inches around!" She turned from me and entered those numbers into the form while I stood there with my dick swaying with excitement. "You know," she realized, "we should probably have taken the soft measurement with the shoelace too so everything is done the same way. I'm going to have to get you soft again, so I can redo the measurement. For science, of course."

"I don't know if you've noticed," I pointed out, "but I don't think this thing is going to be soft any time soon. You've got me harder than I've ever been in my life."

She grasped my hard dick like a handle and led me back to the bed. She tipped her head up, placed her other hand behind my neck and kissed me deeply. "I'm sure I can think of something," she breathed into my mouth. Her hands trailed lightly down from my shoulders, over the hard ridges of my triceps and down my arms until they ended at the hem of my jersey. "This has to go," she said and lifted it up over my head and off my body. Her hands again returned to my chest, which was well developed due to years of sports and activity. Her fingers played with the light coating of hair on my pecs leading to the thin trail down my abdomen.

"I like your chest hair, Chest-er," she grinned up at me. It would have been a very cheesy line except that she followed it up with a trail of light kisses that crossed my body. I was in heaven and needed to have more of her now.

With trembling fingers, I reached for the bottom of her sweatshirt and pulled it gently up over her head. She had small breasts that fit perfectly on her smaller body and tight, athletic build. They were currently enclosed in a simple white bra, which I examined discretely, trying to figure out how to release it. She saved me the trouble and reached behind herself to release the hooks. As it slid down her arms, I lowered it away from her body and wondered why she wore it at all. Her breasts stood up proudly on her chest, the nipples already extended and waiting for attention.