Alumni Relations

I met up with friends from undergrad on Saturday morning at our old college bar to watch a basketball game and reenact our glory days. It was my friend Mike who suggested the spot and was bringing his young daughters. Other friends with families might do the same, while some of us would be flying solo. Our smattering of friends wouldn't command a lot of seating, so space wasn't likely to be a problem. And anyway, we figured the campus had cleared out after December finals ended last week, leaving the bar to townies and alums.

The early season game against an overmatched nonconference opponent had turned out to be distressingly close, and our team was forced into overtime before finally dispatching the smaller school to avoid an embarrassing early season loss. Mike breathed a sigh of relief as he said his goodbyes and ushered his kids to the car after the final whistle. The stragglers of our group migrated from our table to the bar, but gradually filtered out, returning to adult responsibilities as outside the winter lunchtime hours melted into afternoon.

My friend Brian was free for the afternoon with his wife out of town at a family baby shower. And all I had on my afternoon agenda was grocery shopping and other unappealing grownup errands. As a result, he and I were last at the bar, sipping Busch Light and pretending we were nineteen again.

"It's his defensive scheme!" Brian was a little unsteady in his bar stool as he repeated a complaint about the coach that he'd already voiced multiple times during the game. "It's like, 'Oh, no! I would never have anticipated that the other team would pass the ball a second time!' No one covers the corners on the perimeter -- uh oh!"

His criticism of the bungled coaching stopped abruptly. I looked up from my own drink and saw Brian's ashen complexion.

"Excuse me, I've really gotta go... take a leak." He almost dropped his beer glass as he set it down. Foamy suds sloshed over the rim and pooled on the wood counter as he rushed away. I suspected his daytime drinking had taken a toll, and his beer was threatening an alternative exit.

"Whoa! Is your boyfriend okay?" One of the cute, younger guys seated at the bar on my other side asked. His friend barely stifled his laughter at Brian's hasty retreat. The pitcher of beer on the counter between them was almost empty.

"Oh, he's not my boyfriend." I reassured the younger man. "I've been friends with him and his wife since we were sophomores. What year are you guys?"

"We're seniors. Just finished finals yesterday." The guy next to him volunteered. "One semester left, bro!" The first boy cheered and they enthusiastically high-fived. I nodded and sipped my beer, calculating our age difference with a hint of unease. They were cute, but probably too young for me.

The bar had mostly emptied out after the game ended. Brian was taking a long time in the restroom. I stretched over the bar to grab a fistful of napkins. A draft of air tickled the skin of my lumbar as the back of my quarter-zip top crept away from my waist. I hurried to return my butt to the stool and yanked my top back into place to hide the possible whale-tail of my green thong. Satisfied my shirt was back where it belonged, I wiped up Brian's rings of spilled beer from the counter.

I craned my neck to check down the hallway to the restroom, but Brian hadn't emerged.

The first boy resumed my conversation. "So, are you guys in town for, like, a reunion?"

"No, we all live and work here in town. We were just catching the game, and we thought students would be home for Winter Break, so it was a good opportunity to come back and hit the bar. You know, get a taste of college days." My eyes involuntarily darted again toward the bathroom. The boys caught my glance, and I couldn't overcome the instinct for a little joke at my friend's expense. "Some of us, however, seem to have lost our college form." I giggled and took another sip; bubbles of flirting - and beer - sparkled in my mind.

"What year did you graduate?" The first guy asked.

His friend smacked him on the shoulder. "Dude! You don't ask a woman her age!"

"Hey! It wasn't that long ago!" I insisted with a friendly laugh. The boys seemed satisfied with that answer. Their eyes certainly didn't seem concerned, clumsily drifting between my face and the protruding mounds of my shirt. With our mild December weather, I had eschewed an undershirt beneath my stretch-knit top, a decision that my new friends seemed to appreciate. Subtlety wasn't a young man's game, but they were cute, and I didn't object to the attention.

The boy farther from me recognized I noticed their ogling and cleared his throat. "So, uh, I'm George. This is Nick. And you are?" I checked over my shoulder again to see if Brian had emerged, but there was still no sign of him as I introduced myself.

"Sarah's a really pretty name." Nick responded as his hand neglected to release my own from our handshake. It was only slightly less obvious than staring at my tits, but being hit on by the younger men was an ego boost. With the rest of my friends already home tending to yard work and kids' swim lessons, I could have a little bit of flirty fun before going back to my empty apartment. Responsibility (and my errands) could wait for Sunday.

My attention was ripped back as Brian returned to the bar, looking sweaty and pale. His glassy gaze fell on the mugs of beer sitting on the counter and he immediately turned away from the bar.

"We need to go... now! I feel like I'm dying..." He groaned. I reflected on my decision to skip the rounds of halftime Jameson shots and wondered if the other participants were in similar agony.

Brian was oblivious to the two younger patrons behind me, his eyes fixated on his phone screen as he ordered a car. I didn't share his urgency to leave. In fact, as I considered the three empty mugs before me and my new friends, I felt like another round was in order. I was having fun, and as an alum, buying a pitcher or two seemed like a considerate thing to do for a couple students.

"Nah, you go ahead." I replied to Brian. He looked up inquisitively, his glazed eyes seemed to spot the two boys on my far side for the first time. "It's so nice out today and I feel like taking a little walk, so I'll catch the train downtown. Besides, I need to pay our tab. Tell Kristen I said hi!" I hugged my friend and ushered him towards the door, hoping Brian wouldn't connect my remaining behind to the two college boys. He didn't give them a second look as he hurried out of the bar to his waiting ride.

"So, what are you drinking?" I asked as I turned back to the boys. "I'm buying!" Nick and George showed almost as much enthusiasm for my picking up the tab as for the shimmering fabric stretched across my rack.

As the gametime crowd filtered out, the young bartender had buried his face in a paperback. Nick waved a hand to indicate our order, but the bartender didn't notice. With a sly wink at the boys, I devised a strategy to seize his attention. My fingers pinched the tab of my top's zipper, pulling the slider from under my chin until the zipper stopped between my bulging mounds. The scalloped green lace of my bra cups peeked from the widening "V", whispering lurid promises of the deluxe pale melons hidden beneath.

I folded my arms on the wooden counter, then leaned forward over the bar. My breasts perched atop my forearms and bloomed upwards into the daylight of the open zipper. The bartender almost dropped his book, regaining his composure long enough to dogear a page before hurrying across the bar.

"Yes, uh, ma'am, what can I get you?" He stammered.

I didn't like that 'ma'am' business, but let it slide. Instead, I held out an inviting hand to my young companions. The boys, however, seemed to have forgotten their thirst (for beer, at least) with the display of my rack. "Ahem..." I softly cleared my throat.

Nick shook his head as if to clear the fog behind his mesmerized eyes. "Oh, uh, two pitchers, please, Corey..." He mumbled to the bartender, apparently on a first name basis.

Corey nodded, pausing for a beat as his eyes lingered in the open neck of my shirt, then snapped off to fill our order. With their purpose fulfilled, I pulled the zipper halfway up my chest, leaving it open enough to keep things interesting but concealing the most overt display of flesh.

George and Nick recovered their enthusiasm for beer as my zipper closed and our pitchers arrived. We toasted to the university, to the basketball team, to the end of their semester, to the departed Brian, to my law school even though it was several hundred miles away, to Corey, to the beer itself. While the pitchers steadily drained, the boys ensured my glass was never empty. Without being asked - or otherwise enticed into action - Corey brought fresh pitchers the instant ours were exhausted. The bar was almost abandoned, but our intimate trio was the life of the party. On campus, the afternoon sun made its daily sweep past the college's clock tower.

Wobbling slightly on my barstool, I instructed Corey to put all their drinks on my card. George pulled my shoulder into his chest as he wrapped me in a tight embrace, likely equal parts grateful for the free booze and eager for flirtatious contact. After leaving a generous tip for Corey, we shuffled out the door and made our way towards campus, as the boys enthusiastically proposed leading me on a tour.

"The new business school was just completed last year. Have you, like, even seen it?" George slurred as we reached the campus gates. I shook 'no' and let myself be guided. His arm was around my waist; Nick settled for holding my hand as the two guided me across the quad toward what had been a parking lot when I was a student.

I feigned excitement for the year-old building that Nick and George clearly held in some esteem. The stone and glass structure did make a well-intended architectural effort to integrate into the historic campus while adding enough modern flourish to attract the finance dorks of tomorrow. But with a foundation of booze and a scaffolding of flirting, my libido was erecting a structure that screamed for occupancy. Nick folded his arm behind my back, above George's resting on my waist. I leaned into Nick's chest but encouraged George to lean on my other side as we admired what the university's endowment had built before moving on to a more familiar end of campus.

"No way! You live in 'The Frank'?!" My enthusiasm at the slang term for the boys' on-campus apartment was artificially boosted by booze and libido. Their confusion at the shorthand made me worry that I'd dated myself beyond their range of interest. Though I was a few years older than them, I certainly wasn't old enough to be a 'cougar'; maybe more of a 'junior bobcat'? Regardless, my passing worries were eased as we walked towards the river, as I felt George's hand unsubtly dip below my waist and rest on the shelf of my ass.

"Francis Village! People called it 'The Frank'." I clarified. If the boys hadn't been especially invested in bedding me, I was sure they would have yawned at my 'back in my day' factoid.

George's hand brushing casually on my ass steered me down a familiar brick walkway. The campus was almost totally abandoned with classes done for the semester. Most students were already home for the winter holidays. With the empty landscape, I didn't object to the PG-13 touching. If no one was there to see it, there was nothing to be embarrassed about.

My gait demonstrated my familiarity with our route. "I had a boyfriend who lived in one of the rooftop apartments senior year." I explained. My thoughts shifted for a moment to Carter, his apartment overlooking the river, and the acts we'd engaged in that had felt so daring a few years ago. I hadn't talked to Carter since we broke up a week after graduation; I heard he got married, good for him.

"Oh yeah? We're in one of those, too!" George gave my tush a squeeze as we reached the stairwell.

"Working in Alumni Relations does have its perks." Nick added. 'Frank Rooftops' were among the most desirable units on campus, so it made sense that they had an 'in' to get one.

"Oh yeah? Is that what you're calling this?" I gestured between the three of us. "Alumni Relations?" They laughed as we reached the top of the stairs, opening onto a wide concrete patio overlooking the river, the bridge with its ornate statues guarding both ends, and downtown beyond. We paused a moment to appreciate the view before George ushered me inside, with Nick close behind.

Nick strode purposefully to the fridge. "So, we got champagne to celebrate the end of finals. Didn't get to it last night with all the shots and sleep deprived delirium, but, uh, shall I open it now?"

He held up a bottle of Andre in each hand, as if offering it for my approval. Part of my brain knew that the green glass and cheap gold foil represented a 10pm headache. But the louder part of me refused to spoil the fun.

"Extra brut!" I exclaimed. George's hand returned to my ass and pushed me forward towards the apartment's kitchen. Nick beamed as he pulled three red plastic cups from a sleeve. 'Breaking out the good crystal.' I thought, but eagerly accepted the brimming cup I was handed.

"To...?" I held my cup aloft, inviting a toast.

"To Sarah!" They cheered in unison, crashing their cups into mine with dangerous velocity. I blushed as I swallowed a mouthful of the cheap champagne. The boys downed their helpings in a single gulp, then refilled my cup before their own.

"Shall we adjourn to the couch?" Nick adopted an accent somewhere between 'French' and 'Old Money New England' as he offered me his arm. I locked in his elbow and let him escort me to the standard, lumpy dorm sofa situated before the sliding glass patio doors. George was close behind us carrying the second bottle. The TV that was, of course, connected to three video game systems sat partly in front of the floor-to-ceiling window. Outside, the afternoon sun showered the cityscape in warm yellow light, flouting the typical gray, rainy winter weather of the city.

At their direction, I sat in the middle of the couch. The boys fell in close beside me, undeniably pressing their hips against mine and leaving clear space between our packed cluster and the arms of the sofa. I sipped from my cup as their eager bodies bookended my sides.

"Beautiful view, isn't it?" I remarked, knowing neither of them were looking out the doors.

"Not as beautiful as my view, right now." George gamed. The unchecked pick-up line stood out even in an afternoon of transparent flirtation. I started to roll my eyes at his schmaltz but then jumped in shock.

"Yipes!" I squeaked as Nick pinched the softness of my side. "Hey! Cut that out!" I spun back to my right.

The offending boy did not look at all remorseful, instead reaching for my side again, trying to nip the ticklish flesh above my waist. George followed his friend's example, one hand teasing my thigh through my jeans, the other lunging into my underarm to torment my pit. I cackled and writhed, exerting expert control to avoid spilling my cup of champagne.

Nick's hand found the hem of my shirt and slithered onto my bare flesh. His fingers pinched exposed creases of my belly, sending me into convulsions of hysterics as I battled against his attacks. "Stop!" I squealed, mostly meaning it. On my other side George had his hand up the back of my top, flirtily snapping the clasped elastic back of my bra as he roamed my spine.

"Stop! Oh my god, stop!" My empty protests were louder. I stretched to set my cup down on the table, to prevent an inevitable spill. George's hand on my thigh traveled north along the inner seam, pressing against the heated mound between my legs.

"Jesus Christ! If you want to take my shirt off, just take my shirt off!" My dubious objections switched to explicit instructions.

The boys seemed taken aback for a second. My mature bluntness conflicted with the feigned reluctance of the college girls they were used to deploying their juvenile tactics on. I looked between the two of them, raising my eyebrows in a 'what now?' challenge.

Nick recovered first, gripping the hem of my shirt and lifting his side of the top into my armpit, exposing my green lace bra cup on his side. Prompted by his friend's action, George followed, pulling my shirt into a ring under my arms above my breasts. I cooperatively raised my arms, letting the boys tug my top over my head in a staticky flurry of red hair.

"Wow..." George murmured as his friend tossed my shirt over the back of the couch. His hand worshipfully clutched a handful of my lace-wrapped orb, kneading the doughy flesh through the bra cup with singular intensity. Nick joined at my other side, his fingertips pulsing rhythmically into the firm meat of my breast.

My hands were also active, massaging down the college boys' thighs onto their growing bulges. As my fingers deftly unfastened their belts and zippers in unison, George's other hand returned to my back. After a moment of raw fumbling, his fingers conquered my bra's clasp and the boys worked together to free my tits from their emerald lace encasement.

Topless on a dorm couch, I now held a college senior's stiff cock in each of my hands. The innocent fun of the afternoon flirtation had passed. Now my reckless libido was behind the wheel and that bitch had been drinking.

As I stroked the pair of young dicks, the boys attacked my naked tits. Each student laid claim to half of my bust, squeezing and massaging the fleshy melon on his side. The round weight of my tits drew delighted wonder from the boys. Despite their heft, the globes stood perkily on my ribs, firm and ripe and succulently irresistible.

George couldn't resist their luscious draw, leaning in to swap his busy hand for his ravenous mouth. His lips closed on my teat, sucking on my flesh while swirling his tongue on my stiff nipple. On my other side, Nick mimicked his friend's appetizing switch and drew as much of my meaty sphere into his mouth as he could fit.

My head lolled back on my neck; the coarse fabric of the cushion wore against the auburn locks behind my head. The two enthusiastic mouths lapped at my bust. The boys suckled hungrily, triggering electric bursts of pleasure that transmitted through my tingling frame and collected humidly in the dripping slot between my legs.

Nick's hand found the button of my jeans. I gasped in true physical pleasure as his fingers released the catch and unzipped my pants. With a giggle, I kicked my legs up onto George's lap, letting him pull off my leather moccasins while his friend continued easing my jeans off my hips. My shoes thudded to the floor somewhere beyond the arm of the couch and my jeans whooshed off my legs and were blindly tossed in the same unseen direction as my top.

Reduced to only my green thong, I rolled off the couch to my knees on the floor. Four wide eyes stared down at me from the sofa, desperately eager and silent as if fearful of breaking the spell and changing my mind. I considered the public attitudes of many girls their age, fearful of being branded with a slutty red letter if they projected too much enthusiasm for such acts. I wasn't burdened with such concerns.

"Do you want to know the difference between me and college girls?" I asked. My hands returned to the two rigid poles, stroking and massaging, feeling the youthful energy trembling in each boy's erection. Neither spoke, but their mutually attentive gazes showed their keen interest in my conclusion. "Unlike me, those girls haven't learned how much they love sucking cock..."

My sentence ended but my mouth didn't close. Instead, I tipped to George's side and wrapped my lips around his glans. A shuddering groan rumbled from deep in his stomach as my mouth's tight embrace made its initial trip down his shaft. Beside him, his friend parroted his tone, spurred by the feel of my hand stroking his dick, but also the anticipation of the skillful pleasure that my mouth promised.