The Fuck Tape

"So the man is all up in Paisley Park. He can't eat. He can't sleep. This shit has consumed him. Like nothing ever has. Doves Cry? Garbage. Purple Rain? Garbage. Diamonds and Pearls? Garbage." Ben was a drug dealer. And, like every drug dealer, he never felt the need to shut up. Customers are the ultimate captive audience.

"That's a bad example. Diamonds and Pearls was already garbage." David was a resident assistant. An RA with a date. And a definite need for some high end social lubrication.

"Shut the fuck up about Diamonds and Pearls. If I wanted your opinion I'd read the Chuck Klosterman article you stole it from. Now, are you going to let me finish my story?" said Ben.

"Yes. Please. I am engrossed." said David.

"You'd better be." He gave David a meaningful look. "As I was saying. The man was obsessed. He worked under the cover of darkness in the coldest winter Minnesota ever saw. The funk was in him, and it had to get out. It took four sleepless days. The man taught himself the sousaphone and pan pipes because the sound had to be just right. He played forty nine instruments and tracked that shit all on his own. Because no one else could feel the vision. Forty nine! You know why he didn't do fifty?"

"Why?"

"Because the song didn't need fifty damn instruments! And when that song was done it was so funky, so sexy, so goddamn smooth that it was a WMD. You see Prince already knew how to make people dance. What he figured out was how to make people fuck. That song was forty seven minutes of sonic sexuality. You can't hear it and not bust a nut. When Prince realized what he'd done he freaked the fuck out. He was a Jehovah's Witness and he'd just written a jam that would make anyone sin. The Fuck Tape. But it was too fucking beautiful to destroy. So he hid it away in the vault."

Silence reigned for a minute, adjusted its crown, then vacated the premises.

"Why the fuck are you telling me this?" asked David.

"Because I have a very special offer for you today. I have your usual eighth, and I am willing to throw in an MP3 of this song for eighty dollars in total"

"So you want me to pay thirty bucks for your mixtape?"

"It is not my mixtape. It is the greatest thing Prince has ever done, and no one has heard it. Do you not trust me? Have I ever steered you wrong?"

"Trust you? You're my drug dealer."

"Bitch! I am an independent pharmaceutical salesman. My MLM is legit. You're going to college with the hope of someday making the money I make now."

David stared at Ben and chewed on the idea. Ben was, as far as he knew, the only pot dealer who delivered. And he was definitely pressed for time, because Mary was going to be here in half an hour. The situation sucked, and pissing off Ben was not going to make it better.

"It's a deal."

"You will not regret this. Just remember, don't listen to this thing with headphones."

"Because I'll nut in my pants?"

"No, because I care about your long term hearing loss. My man Prince did not forget the low end."

And with that Ben left behind a thumb drive, an eighth, and a wave.

------

The life of an RA in the graduate dorm was a boring one. Most everyone drank quietly in their rooms and rarely to excess. Roommate drama was kept to a minimum. People kept to themselves. And nobody gave a shit about what a twenty one year old RA had to say.

David didn't mind. The pay was the same whether he was bored or stressed, so bored was better. His duties mostly consisted of the day and night announcements and the occasional reminder about flushing the community toilets.

In a year filled with boring days this one had the potential to be a bit more. He had met Mary in his Sociology class. She was a Math major with eyes so captivating he barely noticed her chest. Though he had noticed it. They had hit it off as the only upperclassmen in an intro class, and she had asked to come over and study. Given that a lobotomized Chimpanzee could pass Intro to Sociology he was optimistic that there may be a secondary agenda, and had made his purchases accordingly. There was beer and wine in the mini fridge, a couple of freshly rolled joints on his nightstand, and a bluetooth speaker fully charged and ready to go.

In a concession to another possible reality he had typed up his notes and put post-its in the textbook, because if things went poorly he still wanted the A.

Mary arrived wearing a very large coat and a backpack, which tipped the scale towards studying.

"May I take your jacket?" asked David, gracious in defeat.

"Sure," said Mary. She threw her backpack on his bed, then pulled off her jacket. Underneath was a sweatshirt and yoga pants.

"And the game is back on," thought David. He took her coat and hung it on his closet hook.

"So, what do you want to study first?" Mary asked.

"I was thinking the poverty paradox?" said David. "Do you mind if I put on some music?"

"Sure," said Mary. She plopped down on the edge of his bed, and bounced in a way that was very distracting. Too distracting. David caught himself.

"Actually, can you give me a second. I have one thing I have to do." he said.

David picked up his phone and thumbed over to the intercom app. He cleared his throat, then spoke.

"Hello Cloins hall. Just a reminder that the game is tomorrow, so the west and south cafeterias will be closed for breakfast. Polk hall is expected to be closed for the rest of the week as they finish up the decontamination, and, lastly, community toilets are to be flushed after every use, no matter what that use may have been. No one wants to see your pee. Thanks Cloins. Go Antelopes!"

David then flipped over to his music player and queued up the song. Had he not been so fixated on Mary he might have noticed that the intercom app was still on. But he was so fixated. And he didn't notice.

____________________________________

Marla was beginning to suspect Trent didn't know anything about calculus. He was staring at her homework in what she could only assume was genuine confusion. This was not a trait one looked for in a math tutor.

"So, I think if we take the integral of e to the x we should get...Wait, let me see your book again." said Trent.

She passed it over, deflated. She was going to have to spend money on a real tutor, not a clueless guy who saw this as a way into her pants.

"So how long have you studied calc for?" she asked.

"I'm actually a music major. But for two years before I switched."

They both paused at the telltale crackle preceding an announcement, then dutifully listened.

There was a pause, and then a persistent beat.

"Music major?" said Marla "So you know this song?"

"I actually specialize in 16th century organ music. This is more pop."

He looked up from the book.

"Actually more Rhythm and Blues."

He nodded his head to the music.

"No, wait. That last bit was funky."

Then the bass line hit.

Marla stood up from the institutional chair, and began to swing her hips.

"It does have a groove to it. Can you feel it?" said Marla.

Trent put the book down and rose from the table. He wasn't half bad looking, she thought. Maybe a little stringy for her taste. But any guy who spent all day playing the organ wasn't going to get a lot of sunlight.

Trent cautiously put one foot forward, then the other. He felt his hips move in ways he never knew they could, knees lowering him down, only for his glutes to propel him back up. His hands and arms followed the rhythm like he'd rehearsed it a thousand times.

Marla moved into his orbit, sliding next to him, close enough for him to feel the warmth coming off her, but just far enough away that they didn't touch. Her curly black hair rocked around her face as her shoulders, neck, and head moved in one sinuous curve.

He found himself mirroring her movements, with every touch deferred, every approach evaded, only to move in again.

She'd never danced like this before. She wondered if anyone had.

Then the beat dropped.

Her movements lost their smoothness, became fast and angry. His followed suit, chaos incarnate.

Marla started to sweat. Her clothes felt hot. They felt restrictive. The dance needed more that she could give buried under all these layers.

Somehow, seamless with the dance, her sweatshirt came off. It landed in the corner of the room, right on top of Trent's shirt.

'This, this is better.' she thought. Trent's eyes were locked with hers, their movements getting closer. Then his hand brushed her side. It felt like fire. Her hand traced his jaw. She felt him stiffen. He moved closer, then backed away. And somehow he'd taken his bra with her. She felt her body responding. There was a familiar wetness running down her legs. She leaned in, twisting and turning around him, keeping skin in contact with skin. When she finished her loop his pants were puddled around his ankles, staying there only long enough for him to gracefully step out of them, and up to her.

The pace of the music quickened. She felt his hands lift her up to the table, then wrap around the elastic of her pants, and as he dragged them down her panties followed.

A brief thought pierced the musical veil, these were not her sex panties. Then all thoughts fled as he lowered his head between her legs and began to work the outside of her folds with the music. She was as wet as she had ever been, and he had not even opened her yet. She could feel it drip down her ass, to land on the table.

His rhythm was impeccable, following the beat, his hand working harmony on her body, tracing her outline, all the peaks and valleys. He teased her clit, her ass, her pussy. She arched her back, trying to work him in. She needed him. She needed him inside her, fucking her, grinding her, filling her up and making her cum. She wanted nothing more in the world than to feel him slide deep inside of her, stretching her, exploding, filling her with his seed.

And then the key changed.

She reached down and stood him up. She slid down the table through the river she had left behind. Then she knelt in front of him. Somehow, amidst all the dancing and the moving and the licking, she had not gotten a good look at what he was packing. He was, true to his word, an organ major. Or a major organ. On any other day it would have been intimidating. Today it was perfect.

She lifted it up, and traced the vein along the bottom with her tongue, stopping at the tip, where it was crowned with a pearl of precum. She eagerly cleaned it off, then worked her tongue along the ridges, kissing and licking every inch of his considerable shaft. When the music told her to, she was ready. She opened her mouth and let Trent in. All of Trent. Or at least most of him. His hands were wrapped in her hair as his hips followed the rhythm. She moved him in, then let him almost escape, only to pull him back in again. She could feel his pulse, every heartbeat making his dick swell. She wanted to make him cum. She wanted every bit of it in her mouth, down her throat, on her tongue.

And that would have happened, but then the horns kicked in.

Marla stood up. Trent spun her around, and leaned her forward.She put one arm on the table, the other hand grabbed her nipple, stretching and pulling it, getting herself ready for the punishment to come. She knew when he would be inside her. The music was building to it. Everything was building to it. And right on cue he pushed against her. There was no resistance. There was no hint of friction, just incredible pressure. As he moved into her one hand snaked around and found her clit. He started to strum in time with the music, in time with his hips, in time with her impatient fingers worrying away at her poor hard nipples.

It was too much. The music was too fast. He kept pushing, and every time she thought she had taken all of it there was just a little more. She felt herself stretch to receive him, her lips tight against she shaft, every ridge and vein setting her off. His hands had her screaming, meaningless nonsense that just sounded like lust and lead vocals.

The music built, and she could feel him build too. There was only one place this could go. Only one way it could end. He was pushing so far inside her and she just wanted more. The music crested, his hand a blur underneath her, and Marla came. She felt him cum too, a sudden fullness inside her, when she had thought she was already as full as she could be. Her legs buckled under her, suddenly weak and tired. His hands came to her hips, keeping her up. He slid himself back a little, and she leaned forward. She felt his seed spill out of her, all over the old oak table.

The song was over. Trent was, inexplicably, still hard. His gift was pointing up towards the acoustic tile, slick and wet with their combined juices. He looked a little stunned, like someone who just realized they missed their court date.

The music was gone. And yet...

Marla smiled.

"Mind if I clean that up for you?" She asked. Trent nodded. And Marla dropped, once again, to her knees.

_______________________

Emily's mom had warned her about the triple. Three girls would mean ten times the drama. Emily had, as always, assumed her mother was wrong. Her mother, as always, was right. Three women in a room meant that alliances shifted faster than any subatomic particle she had measured in the lab. Currently she had Eunice in her corner, and Helen was on the outs. This was because of Helen's habit of shedding hair in the bathroom and then leaving it on the drain.

"It might not be my hair?" said Helen.

"Right, maybe Riverdance showed up sweaty and needed a wash?" Eunice said.

"What does that even mean?" shouted Helen.

"Riverdance is Irish! It's a bunch of people with red hair! Who the fuck else's hair could it be? Do you think Filipinas secretly have long red pubes?"

"All I know about Filipinas is that they leave their goddamn moustache hair on the sink when they pluck it." As soon as Helen said it she gasped. Eunice was speechless, vibrating with anger.

Emily wondered if she might get default A's if they killed each other.

The click of the intercom went unnoticed. Helen and Eunice had murder in their eyes. The groove hit.

"I will fucking pull every bit of that red hair off your stupid ass head so that I don't have to clean up another shower goblin."

"And I will show you how to wax, bitch."

If a sufficiently high enough speed camera was present it would have been possible to see who had grabbed whose hair first. But, alas, no camera was present, so to the human eye it appeared simultaneous. Emily sat back on her bed and wondered about her econ midterm.

The music filled the background. Between grunts and screams and rage both girls took each other to the floor. Eunice rolled over on top of Helen, hand on her scalp, fingernails curled to draw blood. As she leaned back to take a breath before beginning the pounding the beat hit her. A marimba jaunted across the deep bass line. A zither echoed in the background.

Eunice grabbed a giant handful of Helen's hair, leaned over, and shoved her tongue in Helen's mouth. Helen, consumed by fury, was immediately confused. The triangle hit at the perfect time, sending a shiver up her back. Her hand, wrapped in Eunice's hair, pulled Eunice closer. Helen's mouth opened. Her tongue attacked. The rage redirected, lips pressing, teeth biting, her fingernails tracing the line of Eunice's jaw.

Eunice's fingers pulled at the buttons of Helen's sweater. Some opened, some just ripped. Her front hooked bra provided no real speedbump as Eunice's hands grabbed at the clasp.

Helen fought Eunice's sports bra with the same mad fervor. Lycra stretched and bent until all the Eunice had been hiding was brought to bear.

Their size, just for a minute, broke the spell.

"I thought you were a b-cup?" said Helen.

Eunice shrugged, a maneuver that, given the dimensions at issue, was extremely impressive.

"I keep them hidden. I don't want them to be the first thing people notice about me."

Helen might have had a response, but anything she said was buried in the bosom within which she had buried her face.

Eunice shivered as Helen kissed and licked at her nipples, bringing them from their already extreme state of distension to new levels, swollen to the size of a thumb.

As the pan flutes soared Eunice felt a profound warmth that stretched from her attended breasts to the clit she was eagerly rubbing against Helen's thigh. The orgasm hit her like a slow wave, the warmth spreading from her core to the tips of her toes and the end of every hair in her scalp.

It lingered, slowly surging and receding. Had she been a bit more in control of her facilities and significantly better versed in musical theory she would have realized that her orgasm was being held with the note the flute carried. But even under those conditions she would not have cared. This was the most amazing thing her body had ever done. No amount of analysis could improve upon it.

Emily sat bad on her bed. She was not quite sure what had happened to her roommates. She was even less sure of what happened to her pants. But this was the hottest thing she had ever seen, and she was loathe to break it up to have her own needs attended to. She cast about the room for something, anything that might help. On the nightstand she saw her blue hairbrush, with its hard plastic handle, curved to better fit in hand. "Or," she thought, "possibly somewhere else."

She picked it up by its head. Then she focused on what was in front of her. Eunice had slid down, taking Helen's pants with her. She held one of Helen's petite breasts in her hand, nearly hiding it. Her face was firmly planted between Helen's legs, and while Emily could not see exactly what was going on, she could see how Helen reacted. Her back arching, a finger in her mouth, biting down to keep in her screams.

The handle of the hairbrush slid between Emily's nether lips, hard and cool. She pulled it along her clit, pressing down with each stroke, the plastic slick from her wetness.

Helen's hands slammed down against the carpet, her hips rising to Eunice's mouth.

"Fuck!" she screamed, in a voice that scared away any modesty they might have.

There was a shift as Eunice backed away, and a clear stream pulsed from between Helen's legs.

Helen collapsed to the ground, moaning.

Eunice took advantage of the moment to squat over Helen's face, lowering her pussy down to eager lips. Emily had the hairbrush in as far as it could go and was looking around the room for anything else that might fill her more. The room smelled of pussy and sweat, and none of them could imagine it any other way.

The last thought Emily had before reaching into Eunice's nightstand drawer, home of Eunice's special friend, was that maybe, just maybe, her mom was wrong about this.

_______________________

Throughout the dorm lines were crossed, relationships forged, and testes emptied.

In a common room a young man was learning how incredibly difficult it was to satisfy three women at once. In the same common room an RA had come to check up on the noise, came to that young man's rescue, and then came three more times after that.

In the third floor bathroom volleyball teammates learned the true meaning of friendship, the importance of bringing extra towels, and what, exactly, a setter does when they are done setting.

It ended, as all good times do, with a bag of microwave popcorn. It caught fire in minute 14 of the song. It set off the alarms at minute 18. The tones harmonized perfectly, meaning that no one evacuated until the arrival of the campus police around minute 30.

The campus police, after putting out the fire, found the incredible Afro-Caribbean rhythms that permeated the air irresistible. There may have been a Sitar. Two partners that had been partners in name only soon became partners in a far more biblical sense. The joy of a new relationship was, of course, disrupted by the arrival of five more campus police cars and three fire trucks.