Hectic!

Only one bed in San Simeon. It never occurred to Cuniff to query Beryl about this circumstance. After all, her credit card financed this trip's lodging. He assumed the motel had exhausted its supply of rooms with double beds.

The likelihood of Cuniff pulling up some floor for a night didn't bother him in the least. More than one rugby road trip in the past had required his stretching out there. Better to crowd as many players as necessary in as few rooms as possible and use the savings for beer.

That night, Hearst Castle having been partially toured during the day, resulting in his merrily riffing a somewhat confused Beryl and Coral with dialogue from "Citizen Kane," Cuniff believed he couldn't have been more chipper. When Beryl broke out one of her winery purchases, then her stash, an already fine moment further improved.

Coral supplied rolling papers.

Anticipation adding conviviality they chatted amiably while Coral cleaned a small mound of grass. Her nimble fingers eliminated stalks and seeds in no time. She rolled three tight bones whose perfection reflected Cheech & Chong artistry.

Golf, now this own-rolled craftsmanship! Was there any end to the surprises Coral yielded?

Before sparking up, Beryl uncorked the Zinfandel. Cuniff knew beer, not wine. When the girls complimented the vintage, he gladly chipped in his own two uninformed cents.

Beryl refilled their plastic cups. Coral lit the first bone and took a huge toke. Seconds later she expelled one stoner-sized plume. She passed the dutchie to Beryl, whose indulgence was comparatively lady-like. Cuniff's own drag wasn't greedy at all. Coral smoked the remaining half down into a roach.

Only dope etiquette kept Cuniff from remarking on Coral's bogarting the joint. Besides, a certain lassitude started overcoming him.

After expelling another mushroom cloud, Coral pinched the remainder against his lips. Cuniff puckered up and inhaled until she deposited gray crumbs in an ashtray.

He complimented Beryl on her cheeba. She told him of its provenance, carrying on as if it were primo shit. Apparently she, Coral and other members of her dorm had hooked up a dealer whose wares were commensurate with their budgets. The way Beryl spoke, and Coral backed her, affirmed frequency as well as familiarity.

Man! What didn't he know about Beryl!? Between classes, library, labs and him, when did she find time to kick back and mellow out? And her dealer, what did she really know about her dealer? It nagged him. It was all too pat. He smelled entrapment. Not campus cops but TPD or DPS.

Cuniff got a hold of himself. He tamped down his mounting paranoia. Strange. Many guys in his dorm had similar easy connections yet their circumstances never led to the Gestapo.

Maybe because this time it was his girl. If he ever worried about dormmates getting busted, it was news to him. This and Irene. Perhaps Beryl found time to get recreationally stoned because during those same periods he likely fucked Irene. Did one craving permit the other?

Coral sparked up the second joint. She hit it hard then passed around to Cuniff. He declined.

"Sometimes it's a troublesome thing doin' a doob with your girl," Cuniff said.

He saw that Beryl had an intimation but nothing solid on which to base any conjecture. Even under higher consciousness Cuniff recognized her expression. Beryl took the bone Coral offered and toked thoughtfully.

In the end it appeared willful ignorance won out over having him explain. Cuniff was grateful.

Another reason he should've loved Beryl.

His organic intake, meager as it was, the wine, the exhilarating tour of Hearst Castle, all suddenly fell upon him. He needed to crash. They quickly rebuffed his selection of floor space. Both insisted he lay in bed.

Had he been straight, his modesty still would've sounded odd. Cuniff saw that the sleeping arrangement might be "awkward."

"Don't be ridiculous," Coral said.

He required little prompting. Cuniff grabbed pajama bottoms from his suitcase and entered the bathroom. Mechanically he changed clothes. Stepping back into the room, sneakers in one hand, clothes in the other, Coral and Beryl eyed him. Especially the former whose first reaction to seeing him bare-chested and lightly-girded neared incandescence.

Cuniff wondered if she were capable of smoldering. Ever?

Stowing clothes and footwear, Cuniff kissed Beryl good-night. Spoken words sufficed for Coral. Settling onto the mattress, their mild chatter, the aroma of okay though not primo grass, eased him into sleep.

Some restful time later Beryl woke Cuniff. Actually she coaxed him from slumber. He figured his snoring must've irritated them.

A low-set lamp on the dresser lit the room dimly. Beryl perched on the bed's edge. She leaned close to him. Her fingers ruffled his chest hair or circled and flicked his nipples.

Senses restored, Cuniff felt Coral's back pressed against him. She wasn't much of a presence. That was compared to Beryl. Or even Irene.

Cuniff turned his attention on Beryl. She was dressed as if for an excursion. Both the bedside clock and the room window confirmed many hours yet before dawn. He became alarmed, worried an emergency had occurred. Whatever lethargy remained fled him. They conversed in low urgent voices.

"Nothing's wrong," Beryl answered.

"What did you do?" he asked. "Sleep dress?"

Beryl's face conveyed purpose. Cuniff liked when she had an urgent matter to share. Her features became pointed, eyes unwavering. Her voice found a timbre which compelled him to listen.

She was direct. If Beryl were capable of artifice, she seldom expended it upon him. She leaned closer, whispering in his ear away from Coral.

"Sid, this is complicated, maybe even confusing. I need you to do something for us."

He agreed too readily for her liking.

"No. Not just us, 'you and me' us, but 'us' including Coral."

Cuniff hadn't known an "us" which also consisted of Coral.

Beryl spoke succinctly. Her explanation had the clipped swiftness of someone who'd not only rehearsed -- exhaustively -- but had foreseen any sharp rhetorical angles and already rounded them off. Her request was decisive, though not so clear-cut.

Beryl pitched one simple premise: Coral was mad about him -- her ga-ga boundless.

While hearing this further inflated his ego, Cuniff wondered why it was necessary to rouse and tell him at so early an hour. By the way what was Beryl doing dressed? She looked ready to walk the remaining two-thirds of Hearst Castle.

The short pause before her explanation should've been the sole clue he needed. Beryl used it to gather herself, make certain her convictions were solid, then assure herself she possessed sustaining thrust.

"Sid, she adores you. She talks about you all the time. She talks about you like I wish I could. If it weren't for me, she'd be on the way to loving you. I almost can't stand it."

Awake now, Beryl's fast and furious revelations knocked Cuniff off-kilter. For all their chatter, the sidelong glances, the longing stares, the girls had done a great job of keeping him in the dark.

Then Cuniff stepped back. He wondered if this were a set-up, a lure to make him admit Irene. His suspicion fermented.

"What can't you stand?" Cuniff asked.

"I hate to say this," Beryl said, "but how she nearly worships you. My god, it disgusts me! Oh, if she could, Sid, Coral would fawn all over you."

"I could stand the extra adulation."

"You'd be damned insufferable. Two women attending you would make you impossible."

He let the moment stretch before answering. "You might think that."

"I know so!" Beryl said.

One slow nod from Cuniff acknowledged her declaration. "I can only hope you never find out."

How Beryl replied would establish their future. He prepared himself for confrontation. Should she accuse him and provide evidence, Cuniff was ready to confess. Yes, it would be painful. However, he saw denying and lying to Beryl as worse. Like most men's minds, his could hold opposing views. As did other men who shared his catbird seat. To the uncomprehending or altogether obtuse any rationalizing might sound selfish. Indulgent.

Young as Cuniff was facetiousness ruled where cynicism would later bloom.

Pure and simple, Irene was great sex. Beyond that his concerns for or about her were negligible. Cuniff esteemed Beryl. Her character, her quirks, attracted him. She had a clarity which challenged him. At no time during their relations did he ever feel she depended on him. Of course she was drawn to Cuniff, though not cloyingly so. The bargain required his contending with her whole person. Beryl wasn't going to submerge any portion of herself to retain him.

Frankly if she hadn't been such a powerful woman he would've consciously or subconsciously tried swaying her to his whims. Whatever its form, Cuniff respected strength.

He readied himself for her blow. He expected lacerating words. Anger, hers, entirely justified, would shame him. Beryl was far stronger than he imagined.

"I can't stand it!" she said. "She actually aches for you! Sid, that should be me. It should be my heart going through all those contortions. Forgive me."

Cuniff's surprise was honest. "What do you have to be sorry for?"

"Because I'm not like that," Beryl said. "I can't be like that. I won't be like that. I care the world for you. I will go to any lengths for you I'd deny myself. But Sid, I just can't get caught up and lost in you like Coral."

Relieved and accepting himself off any hooks, that his assignations with Irene remained outside Beryl's view, Cuniff turned to subduing her regret. A two-prong problem, he first sought to dispel her contention of insufficient passion. However, Beryl jumped to the second matter before he made cooing sounds about the first.

Coral.

Beryl had doped it all out. For the three of them. A solution so slick it came wrapped in Y-chromosomes. Had Beryl been a guy, Cuniff might've congratulated him on reducing one tricky, twisty question to its basic swerve.

She had something to prove. To herself. Beryl also believed it necessary to fulfill Coral's canyon-wide desire. What she suggested and intended implementing tonight absolutely confirmed to Cuniff how infinitely stronger females were than males.

"You want me to -- " Cuniff started.

" -- Yes. Sleep with Coral," Beryl finished.

Her plea was too pat. In the wild he would've perked up his ears and sniffed the wind. Fortunately, Beryl misread his caginess for reluctance. She lowered Cuniff's guard.

"We've talked about it," Beryl said. "You cannot imagine the understatement behind my saying she's all for it. These last few days I'm surprised she's been able to stay in her skin."

Which of course explained why Coral eyed him like a hungry dog would a plate of pork chops. Should he have been indignant? Cool reckoning erased such foolishness.

Instead, Cuniff had a chutzpah stroke of warped genius.

"Don't you think you should've consulted me? What if I decline? What if I don't feel right about it?"

This feigned concern almost made him laugh.

Beryl teased his phony earnestness. Without shifting her gaze off Cuniff's face, she reached into his pajamas and tugged his member.

"You're right," she said. "I ignored your say-so in this. But let me be selfish and impose on you. This will be one of the most significant things I will ever ask you. Do it, I'll know I can depend on you for anything. Besides, afterwards Coral keeps telling me how good you are, reminding me how great I have it."

Beryl's reasoning was smooth. He couldn't decide who or what she stroked the best.

Not wanting to overplay "Mister Sensitive Male," Cuniff simply agreed. Deal sealed, Beryl gave him a playfully reassuring squeeze, withdrew her hand, and kissed his cheek. She stood, her impetus lifting him off the bed. They huddled at the room door.

Pressed tight together, Beryl's voice took on an urgency.

"Sid, this is just a one-shot. I swear I will never again loan you out to service needy women."

Ruefully, he stated, "I'll be all yours."

"All mine," she emphasized.

Beryl tilted her face towards his. They embraced, their subsequent kisses deep and lingering. Separating, Beryl cast her eyes on the floor. Before he fumbled with the doorknob, she glanced back up at him.

"Oh, yeah, Sid, two important things -- I left rubbers by the phone and no giving her 'this.' Got it?"

In a marvelously vulgar gesture, Beryl demonstrated the forbidden. She spread index and middle fingers, turned the tips up, raised them to her mouth, then flicked her tongue wildly between the gap.

Serious as Beryl was, both sniggered nonetheless. He opened the door. He heard the jingle of car keys. She slid out into the night. The door secure behind him, Cuniff turned to ponder Coral's recumbent form.

Had he ever desired Coral, this opportunity never would've arrived. Since he wanted no part of her, there she was all his. Several days ago back in Vegas she'd inadvertently tweaked his interest.

Coral had just stepped out of the shower. A thin floral-patterned robe covered her. Despite toweling off, condensation adhered the slight material against her skin. Beneficiary of good eyesight, this condition failed taxing his imagination.

Now thoroughly informed and reviewing the scene, Cuniff wondered if it had been a contrivance.

The garment clinging to her as such, Coral somehow performed a great deal of calisthenics around him. She made her activity impossible to avoid. One particular memory from their encounter: when Coral bent over in front of him, garment glued against her flanks and buttocks, petals collecting at her coccyx neatly bisected her narrow behind.

For an idle instant, Cuniff envisioned himself biting that "bouquet." He recognized instinct. Fortunately that was one Wild Kingdom move he let pass. Good thing or else maybe Beryl might've accused him of anticipatory favor-skinning; prematurely acting before being properly bidden.

Reverie ended, Cuniff walked to the bed. He settled himself across from where Coral reclined. Unfortunately there wasn't any protocol for this event. Cuniff spoke normally.

"We tried talking as softly as possible. How much did you hear?"

Coral opened her eyes. They were luminous and lighted her entire face.

"Everything. Until you went to the door."

"Let me be truthful," Cuniff said. "This is awkward."

She rolled on her side and faced him. "Sid, if I really thought about my behavior, I'd probably be embarrassed. The only thing keeping from being ashamed is that you are such a pretty man. If I have to pay with humiliation, I say I'm getting off cheap. It's one thing to lust after boys. I don't know how many times I've done that just walking between classes. Very involved daydreaming, I guess."

"We all have those thoughts," Cuniff said.

"Nobody I know turns around and says, 'I will do what I must to get him,'" Coral said. " 'Or her.' That's psychotic, isn't it?"

He laughed. "Maybe a little excessive. Psychotic, though, no. Unless you have an ax hidden over there somewhere."

His swipe at humor missed. Painful honesty inflamed Coral.

"You know I don't love you," she said. "Not like Beryl does. She must. She must love and trust you. I can't imagine being her and have someone like me come up with something as nuts as this -- then agreeing to it! That's crazy! Unbelievable! Fantastic!"

"I know," Cuniff said.

"I don't love you," Coral said. "I expected to have these overwhelming feelings for the man I will someday love. Sid, excuse my blibbering like some lovelorn high school kid with a crush, but, man, this is a chance for the skinny girl to land the fox! And no way am I ashamed to grab it!"

The giddiness in Coral's voice almost infected him, too. On some above and beyond level what Coral and Beryl agreed upon was brave. A woman less confident than Beryl could've found the idea mortifying. What if she'd said "no!"? After all, throughout history walking the plank had always been one-way trips.

Cuniff reached across the bed. He caressed Coral's cheek. She swooned into his touch.

Softly, he said, "It's good you took the chance. And you're not skinny. You're slender."

They came together in the bed's center. His exploratory pecks yielded to her enervating soul kisses. She had a hard greedy mouth.

Coral ran ropy fingers along his upper torso. Cuniff's musculature fascinated her tactile sense. His arms, shoulders, chest, lats, all taut, firm and packed, received skipping visits from those lively fingers. At certain moments Coral even dared playing with his nipples. That these stippled under her curiosity seemed revelatory.

Coral's fingers were bonier than Beryl's and Irene's. Those of the former were wider and softer, the latter's reminding him of thick articulated vines. Coral's grip was nowhere near that of the other two.

Since it was her fantasy come to life, Coral decided Cuniff should undress first. Accustomed to simultaneous disrobing, her command (unsure as it was) slightly wobbled him.

"But not in bed," Coral said. "Over there."

She pointed to clear-view acreage on her side of the bed. He complied without knowing why.

Three snaps bound his pajama bottoms. He laboriously undid each. Every release increased Coral's obvious anticipation. His teasing and her reaction amused him.

Although disengaged, the third snap's release did not create a cotton cascade. Cuniff's waist remained girded. He held the waistband together.

"I refuse to do your dirty work," Cuniff said. "You'll have to come here and pull them down yourself."

The goofy smile Cuniff had first seen in the Student Union cafeteria revisited her face. Coral launched herself off the bed and clutched his waistband. She tugged but the garment only sunk a jot down his hips.

Cuniff admonished her. "You have to do it slow. Some things are better savored than gulped."

Ravenous as she appeared, Coral heeded his instructions. His hand holding the waistband descended in a measured pace. One he hoped she found excruciating. When she'd uncovered his sex, Cuniff released his pajamas. Coral stepped back. Her appraisal was bald and thorough, well on the road to devour.

He stepped out of the cotton around his ankles. She sighed, then uttered, "Oh my God!"

Hamming it up, he egged her on. Cuniff pumped his chest, flexed his arms them posed with them behind his back, and rolled his hips forward to make his uglies sway significantly. Coral drank in so much of him, Cuniff thought she might drown.

"Coral, until this very moment I never felt as naked before a girl as I do you."

Aghast, she said, "Was I staring!? I'm sorry --"

He pacified her. "Coral-Coral, joking, I was just joking. But here's something serious. Your clothes have got to come off!"

Cuniff stepped towards her. She actually recoiled a bit as he approached. He gestured for the faded T-shirt to rise, then motioned for her worn-out gym shorts to fall. Renewed nerves lent both tasks Houdini-like degrees of difficulty.

When she finally stood in the altogether, Coral's eyes struggled to meet his. Though compared against her unsure hands shielding her breasts, that was easy.

Coral was one of those lanky girls he knew had gone through life being reminded to "stand straight." Even now she fought instincts to cringe and shy away. A-cup breasts poked above an impossibly flat midriff that swiveled on a reed-width waist and boyish hips. Two dainty pink buds crowned her chest. A manicured briar two shades darker than the hair atop her head relieved Coral's paleness. Nudity lengthened her already long legs.

Before pressure became overbearing, Cuniff joined her. Their fingers clasped. She accompanied him to bed. There she settled against him. Aware of their mass discrepancy, Cuniff adjusted all he could in order to reduce his weight upon Coral.