Coed Harem Ch. 01

Author's Note: This first chapter sets the story, so it might take a little bit longer to get off the ground compared to my usual submissions, but everything should settle into its own in short order. Much appreciated. Cheers.

*****

It was a Friday in late November and I was winding down the first semester of my junior year at Heraclian University, an upstate public college on the East Coast, when two friends of mine, Alex and Dan, bumped into me eating at a lunch table on the patio of the student center.

Every year, the back end of November rolls around and the schedule has a way of slapping you in the face: the assignments pile up, projects are due, and finals loom just around the corner. It can quickly overwhelm you a little if you're not careful, whether you're a naive underclassmen or seasoned upperclassman alike. Simply put: if you're serious about getting your degree, you know it'll be a grind down the last stretch.

At the time, I was working a full-time job outside school to make ends meet, as well as active in student orgs and unpaid internships that are technically voluntary and extracurricular. However, everyone knows they're necessary to land a job in your chosen field. I was overworked seven ways to Sunday. I wasn't sleeping well, I had way too many deadlines, and I'd recently broken up with my girlfriend of two years. The workload and deep-seated exhaustion was taking its toll and I was gearing up for even more punishment.

And so, every morning I'd crawl out of bed and stare at my sorry ass reflection in the mirror. I was a wreck, plain and simple.

My friend, Alex — who, along with Dan, has been good companions of mine since our first days in the freshman dorm — didn't seem to agree with me in the slightest.

"Will!" Alex called when she and Dan caught sight of me as they crossed the atrium and sidled up to my table. She smiled and looked me up and down. "Will, you're looking great. I can't quite place it. Have you been eating better? Are you dressing differently, doing something with your hair? What is it?"

I was perplexed to say the least. I looked at Alex, then glanced at Dan, then looked at Alex again. I'm hardly an observant person at the best of times, but I had been noticing that people — women in particular — were acting strange around me the last few days. Friends, acquaintances, co-workers, authority figures, strangers — it didn't matter. Everyone was paying special attention to my presence, standing closer, orienting themselves toward me, or going out of their way to talk and even compliment me.

And I didn't have the faintest idea why.

"Nope, nothing new," I said with a shrug and a tired smile. "Same old, same old."

"Well, whatever it is, it's working."

"I mean, you seem to be handling things pretty well, all things considered," Dan added with a wry expression —notably less enthusiastic then Alex — and a not-so-subtle allusion to me getting my ass dumped faster than a sack of bricks. "It must be those overpriced caesar chicken wraps you keep buying. What are they, about $7.90 in the food court?"

"Everything's jacked up here," Alex pointed out. She was antsy on her feet, rubbing her right thigh against her left and her cheeks were starting to redden a little. "A parfait costs over four bucks."

"What can I say, the magical secret ingredient must be the heart-stopping thrill you feel every time you swipe your debit card," I said, examining my half-eaten chicken wrap. "Do I have enough money? Did I overdraft my account? Let's roll the dice, shall we?"

"Christ," Dan chuckled.

"I've probably funded three full-ride scholarships already."

"I was going to say there are perks to being single," Alex said, crossing her arms over her chest. She indicated my lunch with a nod. "But, then again, it looks like your bank account is still taking a hefty hit. Even a high-maintenance girlfriend has to be cheaper than this love affair with caesar chicken wraps."

I pretended to be indignant and placed a hand over my chest.

"Hey, when you're going through upheaval in your life, it's good to have familiar constants you can depend on," I said, probably parroting some sociology or psychology instructor from an introductory course freshman year. "Caesar chicken wrap doesn't demand anything from you, Alex. Caesar chicken wrap doesn't ask questions. Caesar chicken wrap doesn't pass judgements. Caesar chicken wrap is just old-fashioned chickeny goodness and that's fine by me."

I grimaced. Somehow, jostling about during my little speech on caesar chicken wraps, I'd triggered the little problem I had. Sitting wasn't the treasured past time it used to be. I'd been experiencing a dull ache in my family jewels for close to a week and sudden movements had a way of causing spikes of pain in my crotch.

At first, the pain was so bad I was half-convinced I had a hernia or even testicular torsion, but it gradually lessened over the course of hours, then days, until it was mostly gone now.

"You okay?" Alex asked.

"I'm fine, it just hurts a little down under," I said. "I went biking the trails around town a couple weeks ago and I hit a rut unexpectedly and landed on the seat pretty hard. I didn't think too much of it at the time, but I must have pulled something or got a pretty bad bruise."

That was the theory I currently felt was most plausible.

"Oof," Dan said with a wince of sympathy. "Maybe you should get that checked out."

"Nah, I'm all good," I said, forcing a relaxed smile to put my friends at ease. "It's a lot better than it used to be. I'll just need a couple days to be shipshape again."

That wasn't the only development though. I might have been imagining things, but I was sure my cock and balls were changing, like they were growing, thickening, darkening, and developing a mean veiny look to them.

Then, too, there were other effects. Look, I've never been someone with a strong libido, but there I was, so horny I could barely think straight, jerking off every free moment I had. It was like reliving puberty all over again. Of course, these urges subsided a bit with time too, but it was concerning in its own way.

So, all in all, it wasn't enough for me to panic, but it was enough for me to nearly send a shot of my package to the person who knew my balls best — my ex-girlfriend, Cameron — and try to tackle my awkward, anxiety-ridden request with some hamfisted humor: "I need your help, Cam, do you see anything wrong with deez nutz?"

Then, of course, I came to my senses and realized the best way to ruin a cordial, if tense breakup would be unsolicited dick pics.

In the end, I chalked it all up to some kind of paranoia. Or, at least, that was the rationale I settled on so I wouldn't have to have an awkward discussion with my family, or friends, or have to schedule an appointment at the on-campus clinic.

Then again, I don't think — even if I did decide to have it checked out — that anyone could explain my dreams lately. Every night, I'd have these recurring nightmares. People dressed in nondescript professional attire would invade my dorm room and I'd be frozen in my bed, helpless, like sleep paralysis. These people would shine lights in my eyes. They'd examine every inch of my naked body with a variety of strange instruments, prod me here or stab me with a needle there, and all the while some women — important, all-business, with a clinical air — would jot things down on a tablet and give the others orders.

I always woke up the next morning, alone in my dorm room, and feeling exhausted like I hadn't slept a wink.

And then, just as suddenly as they came, the dreams stopped too. I hadn't had my recurring nightmare in three days.

"I'm fine," I said, more to myself than to Alex and Dan. "I'm fine."

Dan shared a glance with Alex and shrugged. Alex bit her lip absently and readjusted the waist of her jeans.

"Maybe it'd be good to take your mind off things," Dan suggested. "How about you guys swing by my place tonight? I can bring the booze, you can bring the conversation, and we'll get a fire going. It'll be nice and lowkey. I think we could all use a little getaway before we hit projects week."

"I'm down," Alex said.

"I'm going to have to say no on that one," I said, shaking my head. "I've got a meeting with my project group tonight in the library. The professor wants us to research and map out an advertising campaign. Due dates are coming up quick and we've fallen behind a bit, so the plan is to meet up, hunker down, and pound it out."

"Aren't you studying to be a journalist?" Alex asked.

"It's an elective. Advertising is part of the core curriculum of the Communications and Journalism Department, so there's a bit of cross-pollination with other mass media majors depending on your degree track," I explained. "Our final project is to develop a fictional ad campaign that promotes oreos in the northwestern urban market."

"Sounds exciting," Dan said sarcastically with an equally sarcastic thumbs up. "My bonfire could never compete with that."

"Come on," Alex said, patting Dan on the back. "Let's leave the man to his work. We'll find some other time to get together before winterim."

"Well, if you finish your project early enough, we should be sitting around the bonfire until one or two in the morning," Dan offered as he and Alex turned to go. "Don't be a stranger."

"You should," Alex said. "Even if you only have an hour or so to spare, it'd be good to get together and relax a bit."

"I'll see what I can do," I replied as I leaned back and gave them a nod.

----------------

Later that night, I held an empty tube of chapstick before my eye and gave a low whistle. I had never finished a tube of chapstick in my life, yet I now had irrefutable proof my group partner, Natalie, used all of her chapstick, all the way down to the base. Not only that, but apparently she did this on a regular basis.

I mean, who did that?

"Well, I'll be damned," I said, staring at the used-up chapstick. Then I tossed it in the trash. "Teach me your ways, sensei."

Natalie laughed, swiveled in her chair, and picked out another oreo from the package on the table, a complimentary snack I brought along for the group as we slaved away.

"I use mine probably once or twice, then it usually ends up between the couch cushions or lost in the wash," I said. "How do you do it?"

"It's simple," she said as she pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms around her legs, and munched on the creme-filled sandwich cookie. "You have to be strategic. Keep chapstick in the same places, like on your bedside table, or your purse, or in the pocket of your jacket, and remember to put it back there when you're done."

"You had me until the remembering part. I can barely keep track of my phone, keys, and wallet. Chapstick in my pocket? That's a stretch."

Natalie shrugged.

"You could always buy a purse," she suggested. As a matter of habit, she applied her own chapstick, glossing over her ribbon-smooth lips. "That's where I have mine."

"Manpurse," I corrected. "Or, even better, a satchel."

She chuckled and rolled her eyes. Then she rummaged around her purse and pulled out a fresh tube of chapstick.

"Here. Maybe this will be the start of a beautiful journey for you," she said, handing the chapstick over to me. "Try not to lose it this time."

I gave her a knowing look, but inclined my head in thanks all the same.

"No promises."

We'd been chatting through a lull in our work. It was nearly 11 p.m., with Natalie and me in one of those little private rooms in the library you can reserve for quiet study, group projects, interviews, or organizational meetings. We booked it for the whole night to accommodate the four of us, which included me, Natalie, as well as two other members of our group, Travis and Sam. Travis was only able to stay for a couple hours before he had other obligations to keep. The second group member. Sam. didn't show up at all and flaked out.

That was fine by us. We did most of the work anyway. After spending a semester-long class as neighbors in the seating chart and working together as project team members, we'd bonded over mutual interests and shared pet peeves — not the least of which included group projects, which always boiled down to one or two people carrying the team, while everybody received the same grade.

Tonight was a prime example of that.

We texted occasionally — usually to complain or share notes regarding our class — and I bumped into her at a college bar during homecoming weekend, where we had a nice conversation and took a couple shots together. As such, while I wouldn't say we were close, I considered Natalie a friend of mine.

Natalie was a sophomore. As she was an advertising major herself, I felt it was natural to follow her lead with a project that fell squarely into her wheelhouse.

The more I worked with her, the more I couldn't help but admire her body. Natalie was about average height, well proportioned, with a somewhat bottom-heavy figure that narrowed at the waist, then flared into wide hips and thick thighs, to say little of her ass which filled out her leggings and had a nice jiggle with each step.

Her complexion was a wonderful caramel tone, which, coupled with her doll-like features defined by gentle curves and contours, suggested she might be the product of some Mediterranean or Latin ancestry.

Natalie had a habit of tying her long black hair up into a messy bun when she needed to focus and grind out an assignment. That complemented a pair of glasses she typically wore, tasteful and understated black, which lent her a certain bookish and dynamic quality. She had a sweet dimpled smile and when she laughed, the entirety of her body shook with mirth

At the time, we were both standing before a whiteboard filled with diagrams and scrawled writing — the product of more than four hours of brainstorming, market analysis, product research, fine-tuning Excel spreadsheets, filling Google Docs, budget calculations and a whole bunch of other confusing marketing work that was starting to give me the beginnings of a headache.

Natalie was chewing on a pencil thoughtfully as she looked at the board. Then she angrily muttered what we'd both been saying on and off all night.

"Fucking oreos."

"Look, I'm certifiably stupid when it comes to math," I said with a chuckle. "So if you can't figure it out, we're up shit creek without a paddle."

Natalie didn't seem to hear the joke. She placed her hands on her hips and looked at me. Her eyes lingered, gradually tracing the lines of my body. There was a slight gleam of perspiration and her cheeks were flushed — Natalie had been complaining about the heat in the library — though that didn't explain why her nipples were erect, ragingly visible through the fabric of her shirt.

An indescribable heaviness hung in the air.

She stared at me for a few beats more. Then Natalie shook her head, as if she was shrugging off a bout of vertigo, before she headed back to the table and sat before her laptop.

"Let me take another look at it," Natalie said as she leaned forward in her chair and propped her cheek against the heel of her hand.

The same strange behaviors I'd seen in others were popping up again this evening, only growing more noticeable as the night wore on.

I suppose everything started normally enough. The group convened, then we outlined our tasks and delegated responsibilities. We worked hard and then the third member of our group, Travis, had to leave, so Natalie and I continued on without him.

Apparently, we both latched onto the idea of athleisure clothes for different reasons. I was wearing a half-zip sweater and track pants I originally bought for trips to the gym to fend off the freshman-15 that every college student has to contend with. That wasn't to say I was planning to go to the gym now, but I still wore the same clothes because they were comfortable.

Natalie was dressed much the same way, although she actually planned to hit the gym when we were done to finish the week on a strong note. She had arrived in a pair of winter leggings and a lightweight hoodie, which suited her — at least, it suited her at first, before the shenanigans started.

"Do you think it's hot in here?" Natalie had asked me abruptly during our work session. "I think it's hot as hell in here."

I looked at her over the edge of my laptop screen and shrugged.

"I mean, it's a little warm, I guess."

Natalie peeled off her hoodie, beneath which she was wearing a sleeveless t-shirt displaying school colors and, judging by what I could see, a black sports bra underneath.

That apparently wasn't enough, because soon Natalie started to sweat a little and color rushed to her cheeks. She yanked up the bottom of her shirt, revealing a round and smooth tummy, as she aired it out for a bit. At one point, she even abruptly stopped mid-sentence and told me she needed to go to the bathroom.

"I'll be back in a second. I just need to splash some cold water on my face."

"Sure," I said, cocking an eyebrow and nodding. "I'll see if I can put this budget pie chart together while you're gone."

When Natalie returned, she was antsy and couldn't sit still for any length of time. She would type furiously at her laptop for a while, then she'd shoot up out of her chair and walk over to the whiteboard. She'd rock on her heels a bit. She'd cross her legs and rub her thighs together. She'd bend forward a little and readjust the waistband of her leggings. She seemed frustrated, or pent-up, in some way.

That wasn't to say I wasn't affected. At one point, later in the evening, I called her over to my laptop to review a paragraph I'd written that outlined the target demographics of our ad campaign. Natalie hopped up from her chair and rounded the table, coming over to my side and bending over to read the screen's text.

And our bodies touched. I felt Natalie's thigh press against my arm as she leaned in. Even through the leggings, I could feel the electricity of unbridled attraction and the intensity of her body heat. I breathed deep, my vision grew a little hazy, and I could feel more of that ... heaviness enter my lungs.

"That's good," Natalie said at last. She straightened, pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, and rested a hand on my shoulder, giving me an encouraging squeeze. "I think it lays out everything in clear and concise terms. Looks like that journalism degree is already paying off."

I glanced at the delicate hand on my shoulder, then watched as my teammate walked back around the table to her laptop, giving me a fantastic eye-level view of that bountiful ass testing the seams of her leggings.

"You know what," I said as I unzipped my sweater and pulled it off in favor of the generic white t-shirt underneath. "You're right. It's hot like a sauna in here."

We continued to work, but I found it harder and harder to focus. If I wasn't careful, I'd catch myself stealing glances at Natalie from across the table and, to make matters worse, I was catching her doing the same.

I assume she wasn't aware I was watching her a few minutes later. Natalie was examining a chart when she straightened in her chair and reached up with her hand, absently running her fingertips against the hard nub of her nipple, then cupping her breast and kneading it through the cloth, as if she was examining it. Judging by the way her eyes suddenly widened and her lips formed a small silent O, the sensation was far beyond anything she expected.

----------------

"Will, could you come over here for a second?"

I blinked. Natalie's voice ripped me back to the present. I looked and there she was, eyeing me from over the edge of her laptop. She appeared to be stretching her legs and stood, bent over the table, with her nose close to the screen and her fingers brushing the touchpad as she cycled through some documents.