Dormant Desires Pt. 01

Before I start into my story, I wanted to add a few disclaimers. This is my very first attempt at writing something on Literotica, so please, please go easy on me :P

I've been a long time reader on here, but until recently I had never seriously considered writing anything myself. But after having by far the most eventful sexual experience of my life last fall, I've decided to document that amazing night. Suffice to say, everything I'm about to write is actually true, at least to the best of my recollection from when it happened a little less than a year ago.

Now, I am someone who understands the importance of anonymity, so I will be purposefully vague about names and places. This story takes place at a college, and specifically in a dorm, and I won't be mentioning the names of either of those. But what I am willing to tell you is that it takes place at a very large public university in the United States. It's the sort of college where tons of people who have no formal affiliation with the school will still live and die by the success of their sports. But there's nothing specific about the school that really matters for this story, as it's mainly about a group of boys I met that night.

All of the characters' names in the story are fake, but the people are real. My husband's name is also made-up, and I don't refer to our son by any name at all. For those of you curious about my Literotica handle, as you could probably guess, my real name isn't actually Becca. But Becca is a name I've loved since I was a kid, and a name I've always fantasized about having in an alternate life, and sometimes I've even pretended to use it as my alter-ego from time to time. It's also the fake name I used during this night in question, so I guess you could say it's the one accurate name in the story, because that's actually what the boys in the dorm were calling me that night.

Like I said, this is supposed to be a true and faithful retelling, but the one limiting factor is definitely my memory, which I'll be the first to admit isn't perfect. But on top of that, at some points in the evening I was a little overwhelmed by all that was going on, so I probably didn't start out with a full recollection of the night either. So full disclosure, I may not remember exactly how every specific detail and conversation occurred, but I'm going to do my best to fill in the blanks with what I think actually went down. I'm sure not all of the dialog is exactly right, but hopefully I'm giving as fair and balanced a portrayal of the night's events as I can.

And finally, as I mentioned at the top, this is probably the only true story I have that's even remotely worthy of sharing here on Literotica. So it's totally possible this will be both my first and last contribution to this great site. I do have plenty of ideas for fictional stories though, so depending on how this submission goes, maybe there's a chance I'll branch out later and try to write something fictional. But for now, I'm more worried about the task at hand, so without further ado... here goes nothing!

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Dormant Desires * Part 1 of 3

Here I am, a 39-year-old woman sitting in a parked car on some random college campus. I'm not that far from where I live, but I don't think I know anyone at this school, and I have no actual reason for being here. Specifically, I'm in front of what's supposedly a freshman male dorm, and one in which I'm praying doesn't accidentally have a resident I know. My hands are wrapped tightly around the steering wheel of my Toyota Corolla, but the engine is off. I have a pretty even mix of nervousness, excitement, and embarrassment coursing through my body. But at least I feel alive, which is something I haven't felt in years, if not longer. So let me explain how I got to this point...

I got married young, at the age of 20 to be exact. Later that year, I gave birth to our one and only child, a son. And boy am I glad we did, because he's a joy. He's turned into such a great all-around young man, that my biggest issue is having to remember to restrain myself in being too effusive of him. I could just sing his praises for hours, even though for both his sake and the people listening to me, it's probably better that I don't.

My marriage on the other hand, has not turned out nearly as well. It would be really easy to pin all the blame on my husband, Greg, but that's probably being unfair. More than anything, I think we're just not a good match for one another, and to be honest we probably never were. We're not in love. There's no romance, and at this point we've stopped having sex altogether. Like it's literally been two whole calendar years since the last time we fucked.

For at least the past decade, our union has been a partnership based solely on raising our son. Which if that was our goal, then I think we've succeeded in doing a great job, but I'm finally realizing that's no way to go through life. It's so terribly lonely to not be loved in a romantic way, to never be touched by another person, and worst of all to feel unwanted.

And just to clarify, while I'm definitely not blameless for the state of our marriage, the complete lack of sex is one thing that is 100% on Greg. Even if our relationship hasn't been great, I've still always tried to find the time to be intimate, and I've always been the one willing to initiate and put myself out there. The biggest difference lately is that while previously Greg would eventually come around with enough persistence, he's reached the point now where he's just done with it. Like completely. He's flat out told me that he doesn't think he'll ever have interest in having sex with me again. Which as you might be able to imagine, is a pretty crushing thing for someone to hear from their spouse.

The ironic thing is, he doesn't even want a divorce, at least that's what he has always claimed. I guess he has just come to accept the fact he'll never have physical intimacy with another person again, and is somehow okay with that? I personally can't even begin to comprehend Greg's mindset, because I'm living that life right now and it's downright miserable.

One thing I'm pretty confident about is that I don't think he's having any sort of an affair. I guess anything is possible, but it just feels so unlikely. Greg hardly ever goes anywhere on his own, I'm talking like even for a few hours. He never travels for work or anything, and anything sexual seems to be completely off his radar, like to the point if we're watching tv and there's a sexual joke, it will almost certainly go right over his head. Years ago I once proposed that we try watching porn together, and he reacted as if I had suggested we go torture animals for fun. He was simply disgusted with the idea. I can't even imagine what he'd think of my Literotica habit, but after seeing his reaction to my suggestion of watching porn, I have no interest in finding out. Suffice to say, it would be utterly mind boggling to discover that he's capable of having an illicit sexual relationship with someone else.

So instead, I've just come to the conclusion that he must be clinically asexual. One of my good friends, who I've confided in about all of this, is adamant that any wife who thinks her husband is asexual, isn't actually married to an asexual person, but rather to someone who's simply gay. Personally, I don't know. She could be right, but at this point does it even matter? Whether Greg's asexual or homosexual, the end result for my marriage is basically the same. It's doomed.

I do need to point out the good things about Greg, too. He may not be a great husband, but there's no doubt he's a great father. He's also a very kind and generous person, and he's the type of guy that is so sincere, it's just really hard to ever stay mad at him. He's always thinking of other people, almost to a fault, and he can be a fun and interesting guy in a platonic sort of way. And while these traits may have led our marriage to last way longer than it otherwise would have, at this point I've realized that his being a super nice guy is simply not enough to hold on to anymore.

Less than a month ago, we dropped our son off at college for the first time (again, a different school than the one I'm currently sitting at in my car). But this basically meant that our job of raising him is now officially done. And so I realize just how cliche it is for our marriage to end right after this milestone, but cliches are cliches for a reason. Because they usually make a lot of fucking sense!

The last couple of weeks as empty nesters have been completely miserable. At least they definitely have been for me, but it sure doesn't seem like Greg is having much fun either. And so after struggling to sleep all last night thinking about us and our marriage, over breakfast I finally told my husband of almost 20 years that I needed some time apart. I didn't come right out and tell him that I wanted a divorce, because I'm honestly not quite at that point yet. But I did tell him that I didn't want to live with him anymore, at least not for the foreseeable future. Somewhat surprisingly, Greg didn't seem the slightest bit upset or surprised at the news, and despite my insistence that I would go sleep at a friend's place, he told me that by the time I got home from work today he'd be out of the house, and I should be the one to stay.

And so all of this happened this morning, and sure enough when I got home from work a little over an hour ago, Greg had taken a few things and was gone. So what am I now doing outside this college dorm? That's a great question, and one I don't even fully know the answer to. I do know it's about 5:45pm on a beautiful fall Friday evening and I'm roughly a 35-minute drive from where we live, or I guess I should say where I live now.

The main reason I'm here though, is because of one extremely minor thing I saw when Greg and I dropped our son off at college three weeks ago. It's so small and stupid, it's embarrassing to admit that it had such a lasting effect on me, but it's clearly the reason I'm now sitting here at a completely different school.

But anyway, at one point while the three of us were standing in the hallway outside our son's dorm room, I couldn't help but notice a handful of doors down there were a couple of guys chatting it up. His dorm is entirely freshman, so it's safe to assume these two lads were also first-year students.

One of them clearly had just come back from showering as his hair was wet and most obviously, he was wearing only a towel wrapped around his lower body. His shirtless upper body was a sight to be seen though as he was gorgeous. He had the look of an athlete, with both a large frame and a toned muscular look, and despite being less than half my age, he triggered a feeling of lust in me that I hadn't felt in forever.

The friend he was chatting with was fully dressed though, and this other boy must've said something quite entertaining as it caused the towel boy to start laughing uncontrollably. Neither Greg nor our son could see the two of them while all of this was going on, but whatever the joke was, it was enough to cause this adorable half-naked man-child to momentarily lose the tight wrap of his towel, and then force him to readjust while holding on using only his left hand. He then proceeded to bring his right hand up to his mouth and stick out his tongue between his two fingers and wag it around in what I'm pretty sure has always been the universal sign of adolescent boys for licking a vagina.

It was crude, immature, and a stark reminder of exactly the demographic a male freshman dorm is expected to have. And I was fascinated by it all. The scene, the boy, the fact that he was struggling to not expose himself while simulating oral sex all while people he didn't know were within view. The immaturity mixed with the hormones and the pervertedness, the combination of it all could not possibly have been more in contrast with the man my husband is. It was the exact opposite of what my life had become, and for the next few days, despite being such a brief moment in time, I couldn't stop thinking about it.

And that all leads me back to where I am right now. A normal woman on her first night of separation would probably look to meet up with her friends at a bar or fancy club and enjoy a night out on the town. But clearly I'm not normal. Case in point, I haven't even shared the news that Greg moved out with any of my friends yet! I had all day to text them, but instead I spent pretty much my entire working day daydreaming about that boy in the towel. Obsessing not just about the way he looked, but about him pretending to lick a vagina. Imagining him licking my vagina. I had spent the last couple of weeks with this random, nameless, teenager in the back of my mind, but with everything coming to fruition this morning with Greg, he was basically the only thing I could think about the entire day.

And believe me, I know how weird that is. Why do you think I didn't text any of my friends the news? It's because I know that if I told them Greg and I had finally separated, it would become a whole thing. Either they'd come over, or we'd meet up, or something would happen where I wasn't alone. And I clearly don't want that. The only thing I wanted to do tonight is to find that kid in the towel, and the last thing I need is my friends around because I'd be mortified if they ever found that out.

Now as insane as I am acting right now, I haven't lost all concept of reality and consequences. I realize that I can't go fuck someone who lives in the same dorm as my son. I just can't. I also know that my fantasy isn't really about that one specific towel boy, as I barely got a glimpse of him and don't even know so much as his name.

No, instead my desire here is much broader, and it's much simpler. I just want someone young, horny, and unabashedly heterosexual to want me. You'll notice I didn't even include the word 'attractive' in there. Sure, it be great if he's gorgeous and fit, but tonight it's much more important that this mystery boy finds me attractive. In fact that's the most important thing of all. I want someone to want me so badly, that fucking me becomes the only thing in the world they care about.

And so we're back to obvious cliches, but what better place to find someone like that than in a college freshman dorm? And with that, I open my driver side door and step out into the beautiful autumn early evening air. I take a moment to check the simple black camisole I'm wearing, and despite having worn it to work, it's perfectly clean and loosely flowing in the modest but warm breeze. I purposefully didn't get all dolled up before coming here, mainly because it wouldn't fit with the backstory I started concocting earlier today while contemplating whether I should go through with all

of this. Anyway, to go along with my spaghetti strap top, I'm wearing my favorite pair of jeans, and then a pair of comfy, black Tkee sandals. So needless to say, it's a very casual outfit.

Now one of the reasons these jeans I'm wearing are my absolute favorite pair, is I think they do a bang up job of showing off the five hours of yoga and other core exercises I meticulously do every week. In other words, they make my butt look great. Ironically, as my sex life became more and more non-existent these past few years, my physical fitness was actually hitting an all-time high. It initially started during the onset of covid, when I signed up for some yoga classes over zoom. But from there I started doing a number of exercises like squats, planks, bridges, and thrusts, and now I'm at the point where I couldn't imagine not having this workout routine.

When I first started exercising, I certainly wasn't consciously thinking about how it would be important to look attractive in case Greg and I ever split up. The decision to start working out was mainly about my health, with a side benefit of helping with the boredom of the lockdown. But in the last twelve months, there's no doubt that I've been thinking more and more about how this separation was only a matter of time, and that's definitely motivated me to maintain my routine so I can keep looking as good as I possibly can. And while I'm generally a pretty modest person, I have to admit it's worked. My stomach has never been flatter, and perhaps most importantly of all, my arms look amazing, which for whatever reason has always been the part of my body I'm most paranoid about.

But anyway, it's time to do this, so I take a deep breath and start walking towards the main entrance of this circa 1970s building. While I honestly don't have much of a plan here, one thing that helps a little bit is the fact that the three of us (Greg, myself, and our son) did take a tour of this school last spring, so I have some idea of the dorm situation. It still doesn't make me any less of a crazy person for doing this, but honestly part of the reason I want to try to fuck a college kid tonight is specifically because it's crazy. It's like the insanity of it all is part of the appeal.

I was a little worried the entrance to the dorm would be locked, but a couple of girls walking out were nice enough to hold the door for me, letting me in without an issue. The dorm has a very basic lobby area, and from here I can see three different hallways to go down as well as a stairwell to the higher floors. Taking a glance down each path, everything seems pretty quiet, but I do hear a few students and can see a number of doors propped open. So I start walking down one of the halls.

Most of the rooms with open doors have people inside, but I do my best not to make it too obvious that I'm trying to look into each one. A number of the rooms have music playing, but it's mostly quiet. To be honest, I don't even know who or what I'm looking for here, but I guess I'll know it when I see it?

I get to the end of a hallway and there's a back stairwell there, so I take it up to the second floor and start retracing my steps on this new floor. As I turn a corner, I can see down the hall there's a fair amount of activity. Multiple doors appear to be open and a few boys are milling around. As I start walking towards them, I see one boy in particular notice me, and we definitely make eye contact. It's more than just a passing glance though, and now I'm a little worried that I know him, or more precisely that he knows me?

As I get closer, I'm wracking my brain trying to see if he looks familiar in any way. Now remember, my son grew up and went to high school a little over half an hour from here, and these boys are his exact age, so it's totally possible it's someone he knows or I know. But as far as I can tell, I've never seen this kid before in my life.

But I'll tell you one thing, he's devilishly handsome. He definitely has kind of a rich, frat boy look to him, but he's also adorable. He's wearing fitted khaki shorts and what I think is a Balmain shirt that must cost more than my entire outfit. As I finally reach the point in the hallway where he's standing, I deliberately slow my pace, turn my head and smile.

Adorable Boy (while smiling back): "Can I help you with something?"

Me: "You know what? Maybe you can."

Adorable Boy: "It would be my pleasure. My name is Chris by the way."

And then he offers his hand out. We shake and both lock eyes while simultaneously grinning at one another. It's clear there's something going on here, but I have no idea what. Could he possibly be flirting with me? Or is it that he actually does recognize me? Or maybe it's neither of those and he's just a super friendly person?

Me (breaking out my fake name): "I'm Becca."

Chris: "How's it going, Becca? Now what can I help you with? I'm gonna go out on a limb and guess you're looking for someone?"

Me: "Yep. But I'm also kind of lost? I'm looking for Room 2620, but I can't seem to find it."