Dogpile

In the end, I managed to extricate myself without too much embarrassment and walked jovially toward I wasn't sure what. I'd guess it took twenty minutes to get back -- probably longer, actually, given my questionable sobriety -- and the thing that I recall most vividly now is the sense of anticipation that built the entire way.

By the time I reached my door I had nearly reached full lucidity, and full hardness. Stupid, I know -- and I knew it at the time, too -- but it's not like I could do anything about it. Short of dropping my pants in the hallway to take care of it, I mean. So I knocked and waited.

And waited.

I didn't want to be an impatient jackass, but it was my apartment, or so I argued within my head. I knocked more urgently. "Hello?"

A neighbor poked her head out the door next to mine suspiciously, then relaxed when she saw it was just the goof from next door. "Lock yourself out?"

"Uh, not exactly," I answered, turning my crotch away from her. "My --"

I was saved by the sound of the door unlocking.

"Nice to see you," I said in a rush as I pushed inside quickly, starling Michelle in the process. She had been holding a towel around her chest, but the sudden movement fixed that for me and I ended up with an eyeful of beautiful dark breasts, still damp from the shower I had apparently interrupted. "Jesus Christ." Then I remembered myself and turned away. "I'm so sorry. I didn't see anything."

Michelle scoffed, then started laughing, softly at first and then louder. "That may be the worst lie I've ever heard," she finally gasped out.

"Yeah, well, I was flustered."

"What happened?" Courtney asked stepping out of the bathroom, dressed the same as her partner.

I made the mistake of looking her way, then turned back to face the wall. "Jesus Christ."

"Praying again?" she teased.

"No comment. I just, uh, need to get ready for bed."

"Sure, we can get dressed out here while you shower or... whatever." Even without looking back I knew she was referring to me taking care of the tent in my pants. "Do you have any extra blankets?"

I nodded, then turned, forgetting the women's near nudity. "Is the quilt not warm enough?"

Courtney offered a look that made me feel like an idiot, then turned to Michelle with a helpless gesture that clearly said, 'What are we going to do with him?' I looked at Michelle myself and didn't get any help there, either. With a roll of her eyes, Courtney pointed at a pair of sleeping bags next to the wall. "A blanket to lie down underneath the bags so the floor isn't so hard."

"Oh," I responded sagely, nodding. Then I shook my head. "Not gonna happen. You're on the bed tonight. I bought an eggshell mattress this week."

"Yeah, that will work," Courtney replied with a saucy grin.

"For me. Besides, it's only a couple feet wide: too narrow for both of you to lay on top of," I responded with my own smirk, folding my arms triumphantly.

"Not if she sleeps on top of me."

"Not if..." I turned to Michelle. "I don't remember her being this stubborn."

"Always," she responded with a long-suffering sigh and accompanying nod.

"Hey!" Courtney exclaimed, placing her hands on her hips. "I am --"

I have no idea what she might have said, because the downward pressure on the towel caused it to unravel.

Whatever I might have thought Courtney looked like underneath the towel fell short. Far short.

I closed my eyes and tried not to think about the afterimage, which I could still clearly see. Off to my side, Michelle started laughing again, joined in soon after by her girlfriend. Without opening my eyes, I started moving slowly toward the bathroom, arms outstretched to find my way. It must have looked ridiculous because the laughter increased in volume, but I didn't care, and after a minute of groping along the walls, I finally made it to safety.

Shutting the door behind me, I leaned heavily on the counter. "Jesus Christ."

"I heard that," Courtney called from the other side of the door -- she must have been standing right outside. "If you're in there a long time, we'll know what you're up to," she added in a sing-song voice.

Instead of answering, I opened the door, looking full into her beautiful face.

Then I turned around and peeled off my shirt. I heard her quick footsteps running away with an accompanying giggle as I pushed down my pants and stepped into the shower, a smirk in place at having at least turned the tables for a moment.

No, I didn't stroke myself under the water, although I wanted to, but I wasn't going to give Courtney the satisfaction. Instead I took a lukewarm shower, because cold showers absolutely suck, and got myself washed up as quickly as possible. I hadn't grabbed anything to wear for bed, so I, too, emerged from the bathroom in only a towel.

And of course Courtney gave me a wolf whistle, and of course Michelle laughed.

And I didn't mind at all, because I was, for once, in on the joke, and it felt good. So I looked at them, snuggled together in their makeshift bed on the floor, and with a grin, turned and dropped the towel.

The surprised squeal from Michelle was special, as was the second wolf whistle from Courtney.

I'm usually a boxers-only guy when it comes to sleeping, but I threw on a tee and a pair of old Adidas shorts as a courtesy, then walked over to the far corner where I retrieved the previously referenced eggshell mattress. Returning, I set up camp on the other side of the bed to give the ladies some privacy, and after getting my pillow and a clean sheet, laid down to sleep.

You might think I'd have trouble drifting off given the circumstances and the flirty play of the previous twenty minutes, but I was already well on my way when Michelle spoke up. "This is stupid."

Courtney shushed her, but her girlfriend wouldn't be denied. "No, you shush. The floor is hard and the bed is soft. In other words, this is stupid." I heard a zipper whiz and fabric ruffle and my bed creak. "Get up here, you stubborn girl."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"It's his bed."

"And he's not using it."

"But he should be using it."

"But he's not."

"Doesn't matter."

"Does matter," I interjected groggily, "because I should be sleeping instead of listening to lovers argue, regardless of how pretty they are. Use the bed."

"No," Courtney responded immediately, and even without knowing her very well I could tell she was being serious. For whatever reason, this was a line she wouldn't cross.

I sat up and rubbed at my eye. One of the girls had turned off the lights, but there's a street lamp just outside my window that makes sure it's never particularly dark in my apartment, and I could see Michelle sitting on the bed, clearly upset. I thought about the logistics of three people on a Queen and shrugged mentally: there are worse ways to suffer, I supposed.

"Courtney, if I sleep as far to one side on the bed as I can, will you please sleep next to Michelle?"

There was a pregnant pause that lasted upward of fifteen seconds before she responded. "No funny business?"

"I don't care what you two do as long as I can go to sleep."

Courtney giggled, then laughed, and I could see Michelle relax. 'Thank you,' she mouthed to me, to which I nodded. Climbing onto the bed, I pulled my pillow and sheet with me while Courtney slid under the quilt on the opposite side. "Thank you, Andy."

"You're welcome, now please go to sleep." I tried to sound cranky, but I don't think I pulled it off very well. Either way, we were all settled within a couple minutes.

With Sleep-gate successfully resolved and me back in familiar territory on my nice soft bed, I should have drifted off immediately, but of course this time I didn't.

I think it was because I was actively trying to make myself as small as possible, pressed up against the wall to avoid breaking any sort of trust barrier that had been established. Or maybe it was just hearing the slow breathing of other people so close. After a while -- an hour maybe -- I got up to use the restroom. As I closed and locked the door, I realized that nobody was awake to give me a hard time, so after relieving myself, I relieved myself. The release was really nice and I walked back to bed with a contented smile, which evaporated when I saw Michelle looking up at me. "Feeling better?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah, thanks," I replied lamely.

"Good," she said as she lifted up the quilt on my side. "I can't turn over with you laying on top of the blanket, and I could tell you were restless, so get under here and stop worrying so much."

My mouth worked for a moment, but I was tired and had the start of a headache, so I just nodded and climbed aboard. It was much warmer under the quilt, and I rather liked the feel of Michelle's shoulder against mine as we both settled. With my balls emptied and my mind much more at ease, sleep took me rapidly.

Waking up, on the other hand, happened in stages.

First was a moment of panic when I didn't know where I was. I had, after all, never woken up next to someone before.

Then came the realization that someone was lying almost entirely on top of me.

I was on my stomach with one hip cocked and an arm tucked under my pillow, facing the wall, and a very female somebody was draped across my back and legs, her breath tickling my ear while her breasts pushed into my back. Michelle, I assumed, but I couldn't tell for sure.

Then I thought about it and realized I didn't care at all.

Then I realized that I had never, ever, felt so comfortable.

I hadn't cried since that time in fifth grade, but like I said at the jump, trauma is a funny thing and its effects manifest in strange ways sometimes.

In my case, that feeling of closeness with another person, even somebody I didn't know that well, was enough to break down a dam that had been holding back emotions for upwards of two decades. Loss and grief and anger and hurt and all the rest came out, first as a trickle, then a leak, and finally the whole structure collapsed and it poured out of me in heavy, wracking sobs, even as I chided myself silently for being such a loser.

Of course, I woke up both women, but neither of them said anything, and whoever was on top of me actually pulled closer, stroking my temple with her hand.

I couldn't say how long it continued, but when I woke up some time later the women had gone.

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

Michelle had left a note pinned under the corner of my laptop. Nothing fancy, but it expressed her and Courtney's heartfelt gratitude for letting them stay.

There was no mention of my emotional breakdown, for which I was grateful in return.

I also felt quite alone, which rarely happened. Did the state of things change for me in a single night?

Fuck it. I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my list of six contacts, settling on Stacy's name. Too soon? Fuck it.

Hi, Stacy, this is Andy from last night. I know it's short notice, but I wondered if you wanted to meet up.

Twenty-two words in that text, and it took me almost an hour to write it and work up the courage to push Send.

An hour.

And only a couple minutes to receive a reply. A positive one at that, with a smiley face and all. It seems Stacy had been thinking about me, too.

My first ever date started at one of the smaller green spaces on campus, not far from the bar where we had met. The weather was cool so I was wearing my nicer pair of Adidas sweats -- no jeans, remember -- and a well-worn hoodie. Stacy showed up looking like she had just stepped out of a fashion magazine, dressed in tight denim pants, some sort of button-up fashion coat, and a matching beanie and scarf. She looked absolutely delicious, and I was shocked to realize she was there to meet me. I told her so and her cheeks blushed wonderfully, matching the color the wind had turned her nose.

We started with a walk around the park, then stepped into a coffee shop to warm our hands (and noses), before once again heading back outside. At some point we got a late lunch -- deli sandwiches, I think. Through it all we talked, and it was easy, and nice, and I almost cried thinking how long I had gone without a friend.

I showed her my apartment and made her spaghetti -- Saturday nights are for pasta, obviously -- and we talked. I didn't want her to leave and I told her so. Her cheeks blushed wonderfully, matching the color of her lips.

Our first kiss -- my first kiss -- was gentle and slow and I got the impression she didn't have much more experience than I did. I certainly didn't care.

Not as I traced my fingers across her cheeks and lips.

Not as I relieved her of her shirt.

Not as I finally defeated her bra.

She was lovely and, more importantly, happy to be with me. I think I almost melted. I'm sure my mind rebooted, because I can't remember a thing between seeing her breasts for the first time and finding myself naked next to her in bed.

She was trembling, too afraid to speak, so I simply held her, like I had been held only that morning. And like me, she drifted off to sleep.

Morning brought confusion again, and a smile to my face. For Stacy it brought embarrassment.

I tried to make her feel less self-conscious by telling her about my own experience, waking next to Michelle and Courtney. You're probably not surprised to hear that the conversation did not go as I had intended. I was not able to confer comfort, or sympathy, or apparently decency, and fiery little Stacy stormed out of my apartment with some very coarse language.

The entire thing should have been mortifying, but seeing Stacy so passionate was a huge turn-on. Weird, right? But you can't argue with nature, so I relieved myself with the help of Mr. Google and several similar looking models, and didn't feel the slightest bit guilty afterward.

Stacy, on the other hand, called me Monday afternoon following class, crying and apologizing. When she showed up at my door she looked miserable, but still very cute. I don't think she could help it: highlighted blonde hair, lovely almond colored eyes, and a set of curves that can best be described as perky. Like her previous visit, I held her while she cried. Then I made her dinner: Monday is rice and beans.

"I don't know what you see in me," she said, disparaging herself for the umpteenth time.

I frowned, thinking about a new approach. "Are we talking figuratively or literally?"

Stacy snorted and wiped her nose.

"Because if we're being literal, I would think it's pretty obvious," I said, stroking the underside of her breast lightly. She didn't respond so I kept going. Down her ribs, over her hip, across her thigh. Up and down, back and forth, over and over and over again, never quite repeating the same pattern.

At some point she opened her legs to me so I explored between them, too. Brushing the hair, caressing her lips, tickling her clit. She did respond so I kept going. Up and down, back and forth, over and over and over again, never quite repeating the same pattern.

I wasn't prepared for her orgasm, nor was she, as she grabbed my wrist and hissed, then shook, then finally gasped in a huge breath before dropping back to the bed. "Jesus Christ."

"You can say that again," she answered, still shivering. I didn't, but I did nod. Then I started stroking myself.

I had never been so turned on.

I was nearing my own climax when Stacy sat back up on the bed, her eyes focused. "I want to do it." It sounded like a good idea to me, so I stopped stroking and she started. I closed my eyes.

And opened them with a start when I felt her tongue. "Jesus Chris," I managed, my breath ragged.

She nodded, and smiled, and took the head in her mouth, and I came in less than thirty seconds, screaming myself hoarse while I tried desperately to keep from grabbing hold of her head. Like Stacy before me, I flopped over on the bed, aftershocks still racing up and down my body.

"Jesus Chris," she said, looking down at the amount of semen covering her perky tits. I managed an apologetic smile, not feeling the slightest bit guilty, then passed out.

I woke with a start the next morning, then immediately relaxed. Stacy was sprawled out on top of me, her nipples tracing a small pattern against my back as she breathed. I hardened rapidly and slowly turned, letting her slide onto her back. Once again stroking myself, I bent to reach a nipple and took it into my mouth, gently at first, and then more firmly as she started to stir, my hand's pace increasing rapidly.

As she came awake more fully, I moved up to her lips and kissed her as fiercely as I could while I spent myself across her tummy and tits, crying out into her mouth with my release.

Stacy was, of course, suitably surprised. "Jesus Chris, Andy. What a way to wake up."

This time I did feel a little guilty. "Too much?"

She looked down at the streaks of white, still blinking the sleep out of her eyes. "A lot, definitely, but not too much." She smiled and laid back, spreading her legs farther than should be possible. "Eat me?" she asked sweetly, hopefully.

"Jesus--" I started, then stopped, swallowed, and nodded. "Definitely."

Like the previous night, I started slow, or at least tried to. The problem was that when I smelled Stacy's pussy I lost control of myself a bit.

I will never, ever, grow tired of that smell. And it never, ever, fails to get me aroused.

I wish I could say that I made Stacy sing my name so that all the neighbors could hear, but I didn't know what I was doing, so the best I could manage was to get her close a couple time, despite how much I enjoyed it. After more than an hour, and with class approaching for both of us, I finally begged off, apologizing sincerely.

Stacy smiled sweetly and motioned me up to kiss me. Then she kissed me again. And again, growling.

"Roll over," she ordered huskily, and after being obeyed, she quickly mounted me, positing that wonderful pussy on top of my aching penis. She started to rock, back and forth, back and forth, the moisture lubricating the underside of my cock. Back and forth, back and forth, starting to groan. Faster now, and harder, pausing at the end of each stroke so the head of my dick punched her clit. Back and forth, back and forth. Then she leaned forward and seized my lips in hers and screamed into my mouth, cumming violently, returning my favor and covering me liberally with her own cum.

I pulled her to me as she shook, even as her pussy continued to pulse against my penis, and even as I started to come with her, my semen adding to the mess.

We came down together, shuddering, shaking, and flushed with shared arousal. "My God, that was wonderful," she managed. The best I could do was nod.

Neither one of us made it to class that morning, but we did manage a shower before Noon. And PB&Js, because sandwiches are what you eat for lunch.

That night we finally got back to talking after a day and a half of losing our minds together.

"Is what's going on with us normal?" she asked.

I frowned. "I'm pretty sure there's nothing about me that's normal, which means that anytime I'm involved, it's probably going to be at least a little strange."

"Is... is that bad?"

"Not for me: I'm used to it." I smiled and took her hand. "I like you Stacy, so anything you are willing to give to me I will gladly accept."

"Anything?"

"Just say it."

"What if I told you I wanted to be your girlfriend?"

"Is that how it works?"

"I think you're supposed to ask me," she responded with a grin, "but you don't seem to care about social norms."

"Yeah, I don't usually give two shits what other people think. Do you want to be my girlfriend?"

She smiled more broadly. "Yes, please."

We looked at each other for several seconds, then laughed. "So, that's that, I guess. Was there anything else that was bothering you?"