Eight Inches Predicted

A ski trip of six friends becomes sexy towards the end. Joanie falls in love.

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A group of us decided to go skiing, up in Vermont. Vermont has some great ski resorts, and while snow amounts had not been measuring up to the historical standards, this particular year the ski areas had received a lot of snow.

I guess there was pent up demand for a good year to ski, and even though we tried well ahead of the game to get hotel rooms, we could only get two. Mary, Carol and I would share a room, and the three men would share the other. Our all girls room had two double beds, and we drew straws, and Carol won. I was to share a bed with Mary.

This was a little awkward, since Mary was bisexual, and she and I had enjoyed ourselves, shall we say, once or twice before. The problem was that I came to realize, much as I loved Mary, lesbian sex was a slippery slope for me. I was just too damn attracted to it, but knew in my heart I was heterosexual. I figured I was in reality bisexual, but I didn't want to be. Since I liked both sexes, I decided just to choose men, and men only. No judgment here, it was simply what I wanted out of life.

I had discussed all this with Mary, and she had claimed she understood, and respected my decision. But I knew she would try something and I would be unable to resist her. I could never resist her. Luckily, though, she was an obsessively private person (unlike me) and having Carol in the room quashed any lustful intentions she might have had by sharing a bed with me for three nights. The result was that all was good, and we slept together nervously, but without incident, I'm pleased to say.

The day we were to leave, we knew the forecast called for a storm with a predicted eight inches, but we had four-wheel drive with our huge SUV, and Vermont has about one snow plow per person, so even though we had to drive through some rather tortuous mountainous terrain, we were not worried. We checked out of our hotel by noon so as not to incur extra charges, skied together happily as the snow gently fell around us, and at around 5pm we drove into town for some dinner, ready to continue the drive back to college after dinner.

"Good thing we have four-wheel drive," Steve said as we ate our dinner. He gestured to the window and the snow was coming down pretty heavily. Our SUV already had about six inches of snow covering it. (We were parked right in front of the diner.)

The waitress came over. "We're closing early, so that people can get home," she said. "Please finish up quickly."

"Should we be worried?" Carol asked the waitress. "We have four-wheel drive."

"No, you should be able to get back to the hotels," she said, "especially if you leave now before it gets really bad."

"We've checked out of the hotel and are heading back to college in Connecticut," Carol replied.

"You'd better change your plans. The radio says they've closed the roads going south. An hour ago, they were requiring chains on cars, but now it's even closed to that. The predicted eight inches now looks more like two feet, or even more. The road back to the ski resorts is still open, though, and if I were you, I'd hurry back there. Anyway, we're closing in fifteen minutes. A lot of us live in the countryside," the waitress replied.

We had a quick group discussion. The men, led by the alpha male Steve, wanted to continue on to see if the roads really were closed, and the women pointed out, gently and respectfully of course, that the men just plain nuts. We women won, and the six of us returned to the hotel which now had a "No Vacancy" sign up, as people prolonged their stays due to the bad storm.

Panicked now, we saw there was a man at the front desk. Carol unbuttoned her blouse a bit more to show some cleavage. Mary and I were wearing sweaters, but we both removed our bras to add some interest for the man at the desk. Properly prepared, we three women went to the front desk and explained our predicament.

The man at reception was gracious and clearly enjoyed checking out the boobs of the three of us. My nipples poked at my sweater, and so did Mary's. This was not lost on the man at reception. He explained the hotel was fully booked, but if not everyone came, which seemed possible, even likely, because the roads were closed, then he could give us a room.

"We need two or better, three rooms. We're six people: three women and three men," I said.

"We'll do what we can, that's all I can promise. Why don't you wait in the bar, and as soon as we get a cancellation or a no-show, I'll let you know. Nine PM is the deadline for people to show up, or for them to call to let us know they'll be late," the man at reception said.

The six of trooped to the bar, the men at one table, the women at another. What does one do when waiting at a bar, knowing we won't be able to drive home? We all ordered some cocktails. Then we ordered another round. Then came a third round as we all became more and more nervous, as well as more and more drunk.

It was Carol who said, "So much for the predicted eight inches. I hear they're now saying it'll be over 30 inches! That's a bleeping two and half feet!"

Mary said, "Maybe it wasn't eight inches of snow per se that was predicted," and she nodded her head subtly towards the men's table. Everyone had been speaking of the 'predicted eight inches,' not adding the understood word snow. Massive giggling ensued.

Sexual jokes next ran wild at our table. Carol began with, "Yeah, eight inches my ass!"

"Do you mean up your ass? You a back-door girl?" I teased.

"Well I've heard rumors about Dylan. With him, though, my guess is that it's a girl's pussy, all the time, relentlessly. Still, eight inches in my pussy? I could get into that," Mary said.

"I guess you mean he could get it into you, right?" Carol teased. Mary giggled nervously in response.

"Eight inches would be a nice change for me, you know?" I said. "Who do you think could be that big?"

This led to a friendly betting pool. We were betting peanuts. Literally. "Let's change the stakes," Carol said.

"How so?" I asked.

"Let's all bet on who doesn't have eight inches, and if you're wrong, and assuming the guy is interested (giggles interruption here; we all knew all the men were interested!), then you have to accept the eight inches wherever he wants to place it, as your forfeiture. Back door, front door, mouths, whatever," she said. "You girls in?"

Mary said she wasn't that type of girl, but we all knew she was. Everybody knew she was. Mary slept around, to put it politely. She was just more discreet about it than Carol was, for example. Actually, Mary was way more discreet. Her sex life could have received a top-secret clearance at the White House. Not such a big achievement these days, I thought, and giggled silently to myself at my unspoken joke. After a bit of resistance and lots of pressure, Mary caved. She agreed, too.

The real holdout was me. The idea of fucking one of the men just because I had guessed wrong, and not because I liked him nor wanted to fuck him, kind of grossed me out. The pressure to agree from Carol and Mary however was intense. They bought me another cocktail (now my fourth) and by the time I finished it, I had caved and agreed. Now that I was good and drunk, the idea of having eight inches of man meat inside me sounded pretty good. Give me enough alcohol, and I'm like that. I'm not proud of it, but it's the way I am.

"We each have to choose a different guy," Carol said. "Joanie, you can go first, since you were the last to agree. Are you okay with that, Mary?"

Mary nodded. It was now up to me to guess which of the three had the 'predicted eight inches.' I strongly suspected none of them did. Five inches is the average, and eight inches is probably way more than two standard deviations away from the mean. It was just as likely one of the men was at the other tail of the cock size distribution, with a two-inch cock!

I suspect the girls got the wrong idea about cock size from watching too much porn. (I had been a statistics major before I saw the light and switched to comparative literature.) This meant, basically, no matter who I picked, I was likely to be safe from the 'predicted eight inches' and I was not going to have to put out for anyone.

The way I figured it, I had to choose who among the men I would be most comfortable with sharing my body, just in case one of them actually did have the 'predicted eight inches.' And if we ended up not getting our rooms back, then this whole game would never happen, anyway. I was not about to have sex in front of the others in the back of a cold SUV, and I felt sure none of the others would want that, either, although I could never be sure about Carol. That girl was full of surprises.

All three men were my friends, and they were all nice men. Steve was classically handsome, and as I mentioned before, he was the alpha male of the three of them. Dylan had dark and brooding eyes, and he gave off a hopelessly romantic effect, kind of like James Dean of the old-time movies.

Jonas had a faraway look in his eyes that I for one found enchanting. Jonas always seemed as if he was lost in thought at all times, solving the problems of the world in his beautiful mind. He was definitely an egghead, and my go-to friend for help with the STEM subjects. Jonas hated his first name, and we all called him Jackson, which was his family name. He also hated to be called Jack, or even JJ. Jackson it was.

I liked all three of the men, but as friends, not as potential lovers. Nevertheless, all of us girls, myself included, had enjoyed flirting with all three men during the ski trip. We also especially enjoyed having girl time in our hotel room. Carol and I discussed the best places in New York to get our legs waxed, where cost of course was an important factor. Mary shaved, but when we talked about the best place to get a blow dry of our hair, Mary had the best information. Mary had hair that every woman alive would love to have. She could have made shampoo commercials.

It seems obvious I suppose, and perhaps in retrospect it was obvious, but the discussion around 'blow dry jobs' led to a discussion of blowjobs. Mary had never given one to a guy, and Carol had given plenty, but she had never enjoyed doing it. I told them I liked the feeling of power over the man I got when I gave a blowjob, and my favorite was when the man started soft and got hard in my mouth.

Both girls were envious that I enjoyed blowjobs, because neither Mary nor Carol had ever met a man who didn't want one!

"What about the taste of cum?" Carol asked.

"Ooh, that sounds disgusting," Mary chimed in.

"I kind of like it. It's healthy, you know. It's like a salty protein cocktail," I said.

We all agreed to disagree re blowjobs, and we moved on to talk about the men who had laid us. Without going into details, Carol was a bona fide slut. By her own description, she was easy, and quite a few men had sampled her charms. I was - how shall I say this? - sexually active, but when I was drunk, I too was easy to get into bed. Mary was uptight and totally ungenerous with her sexual favors, but that didn't seem to stop her from getting laid. She made herself sound as if she were the opposite of easy. Make of it what you will. I, for one, was fairly sure she was lying.

We also discussed the three men. We discussed them a lot. We'd talk about how they flirted with us during the day. Steve would use the same lines, word for word, on each of us. We all giggled at that. They were good lines, too. He always seemed sincere, to boot.

Dylan would try to find something good about each of us, and he would mention it a lot. With Carol it was the ski outfits she wore. Ski outfits have trouble being sexy, but on Carol most anything looks sexy. With Mary, who needed the most help with her skiing, Dylan would say how nice it was that Mary made him feel like a macho man when he helped her. He helped her a lot; especially he helped her to get up when she fell on her skis. He would pull her up and against him, her boobs crushing against his chest, his arms moving around her waist and they would hug a bit. Once he even kissed her neck when he was hugging her that way.

"How did you react?" Carol asked. Mary giggled.

"You know how we say, 'my eyes are up here?'" she asked rhetorically. "I said, 'My lips are up here,'" Mary replied.

"Whoa! What did Steve say?" Carol asked.

"Nothing. He just kissed me. And before you ask, yes, he kisses well," Mary said.

We all giggled in response.

As for me, Dylan complemented me excessively on the 'tight little curves' I made as I negotiated my way down the slopes when they were filled with moguls. The 'tight little curves' was an obvious double entendre re my body. He would sometimes make things more obvious, just in case I was one of the subtlety impaired. He would do this by adding a cute reference to my 'natural curves' referring to my admittedly near perfect hourglass figure. It was a bit patronizing, perhaps, but it was clear he thought I was cute in the way I skied, and that I had a tight, sexy body. I enjoyed his complements.

In the case of Jackson, he was simply just sweet down the line, always with a smile and a word of good cheer. Sometimes it seemed as if Jackson could cheer up a clinical depressive. We were all kind of charmed with the way the three men clearly were interested in each of us, if you know what I mean, but they were harmless.

I know 20% of college girls suffer at least one date rape during their four collegiate years, but we all felt that would never happen with these three guys. They liked us, but they weren't into demonstrating their power over a woman. I'm sure they would have welcomed some casual ski resort sex, but they seemed happy enough just to flirt. That worked for the three of us.

As the long weekend vacation ground to an end, however, everyone's thoughts turned to the sex we all hadn't had. With three pairs and two rooms, there were no easy opportunities for a little discreet sex, anyway.

On the other hand, now that I thought about it, Carol had disappeared from the slopes for a couple of hours on the second day, and so had Steve. They each had different, innocent, and convincing explanations, but still, Mary and I wondered. Steve and Carol looked at each other a lot, and there was a mischievous twinkle in Steve's eyes when he looked at Carol. Carol, for her part, seemed to giggle and to blush a lot when she was around Steve.

The men bought us a fourth round of drinks (a fifth round for me) and in return we invited them to join us at our table. They pulled up their chairs and joined us in a New York minute. We were all drunk, and judgment is not at its best when one has six hormone fueled college students, trapped by the storm, waiting and hoping for rooms at the resort.

A little after 9PM, when I was close to falling down drunk, the man at reception came over and told us we could have up to three rooms. Each room had only one double bed, however. We discussed it and we felt it would be smart for the drive home to get a good night's sleep, and with three rooms everyone would get a good night's rest.

The problem of course was that one room would have to be for one man and one woman. Carol solved the problem by announcing she and Steve could share a room, causing Mary and me to giggle, Carol to blush, and Steve to be slapped on the back by Dylan and Jackson. That meant Dylan and Jackson would have to share a bed, and so too would Mary and me.

I felt doomed. I knew if I were to share a bed in a room alone with Mary, we'd end up having sex. Mary would come on to me, and I was so drunk that I knew I would reciprocate. I really didn't want to become a lesbian again. The temptation was always there, hanging over my head like the sword of Damocles. I felt if I had sex again with Mary the walls I had built in my mind against lesbian sex would come crashing down. I'd once again become hooked.

Dylan and Jackson were not happy about sharing a bed. Men are much more uptight in that way than we womenfolk. They 'hinted' that maybe we would all three pair up? The 'hint' was fairly obvious. They assured us that they would only sleep, not hit on us, but seriously: Sharing a bed with a man, drunk, in a hotel room on the last day of a vacation, and expecting no sex? It could happen, true. The former statistics major inside me kicked in, however, and when I calculated my prior probabilities, factored in the data from my past experiences, and computed the posterior, it came to the probability of having sex with the guy was over 80%.

I spoke first, saying no, I did not think it would be a good idea. Mary backed me up. It was Carol who sandbagged both of us.

Carol said, and it must have seemed to the men to have come out of the blue, "Do any of you men have cocks that are eight inches long?"

Am embarrassed silence ensued. Carol broke the silence, saying, "I already know that Steve doesn't, but trust me, I don't care," and this broke the tension and the girls all giggled in relief.

Dylan spoke next. He said, "Sorry girls. I'm just a normal guy. No chance to be a porn star over here." Dylan continued to be charming.

All eyes turned to Jackson, whose face was beginning to redden. Silence resumed, as ten eyes focused on Jackson. He looked as if he wanted to run away and hide.

"Jackson?" Carol asked.

The silence continued.

"Holy shit, Jackson, you do?" Carol said. Jackson had been my choice in the betting pool. Carol had chosen Steve of course, and Mary had chosen Dylan.

Jackson finally spoke. It was barely a whisper. "Soft, or hard?"

"Either way, my man," Carol said, batting her eyelashes.

"Do you mean exactly eight?" Jackson asked.

Carol looked confused. I helped out, "She meant at least eight inches," I said. Boy, was Jackson literal! I was now very interested.

"Well then, yes, I guess so," Jackson said, and he blushed bright red, staring at a knob in the fake wood veneer of the tabletop.

The girls told me I had to check, since I had chosen Jackson Trust, but verify. Carol produced a sheet of eight and a half by eleven paper and gave it to me. I took Jackson's hand and led him to one of our three rooms. Once in the room, with the door closed and bolted, I stood the terrified Jackson in a corner, took off his pants and his briefs, and checked out the flaccid monster. I measured it and my guess came to seven inches, well short of the eight required by the weatherman.

Jackson was hopelessly embarrassed. "You fibbed," I said.

"No, I meant when I was hard," Jackson said. "I'm too embarrassed to get hard, Joanie, even if you are hopelessly sexy. Maybe if I saw your boobs?"

"No way," I said.

"I let you undress me. I stand before you embarrassed to the core, and you won't even let me see your boobs?" he said.

I thought about it a little. Thinking was hard in my drunken state. I ended up stripping to my waist.

"Your boobs are gorgeous," Jackson said. He was still flaccid. "Can I touch them?"

The man was so timid and sweet! I couldn't help myself. I nodded. He fondled me beautifully. I was getting wet, but he remained flaccid. I ended up getting naked. He got naked, too. He remained flaccid.

"A blowjob always makes me hard," Jackson said.

"Yeah, I'll bet it does," I said. "A blowjob is sex, Jackson. I'm not that kind of a girl."

"I really like you, Joanie," and he came over to me and he kissed me. I was taken by surprise, but after all we were both naked, in a hotel room, and how could I not kiss him back? So, we kissed, and then we kissed some more, and his hands roamed all over my back and fondled my boobs, tweaked my nipples and sexily squeezed my ass, all during our prolonged kissing and make out session.