The Locker Room Pt. 03

Within two weeks, Camilla had moved her few belongings—mostly clothes and cosmetics—into DeAndre's apartment. Much as she would like to have spent twenty-four hours a day in bed with him, she knew that they both needed to study, and he had to spend a lot of time in football practice, to say nothing of participating in games either at their home stadium or on the road.

In late November, she ran into one of her friends coming out of the library. This girl, Cynthia, gazed at her with wide eyes and a peculiar sort of smirk.

"Well, look at you!" Cynthia said as they gave each other a token hug.

"What about me?" Camilla said.

"You're DeAndre's girl, aren't you?"

"I suppose I am."

"You're one lucky female! You must know he's, like, the Big Man on Campus."

"Well, I guess he's a big football star."

"Girl, you don't know the half of it! He's really, really good! I mean, this guy could end up in the NFL!"

Camilla was taken aback. "He's that good?"

"So they say. And I have to tell you, he's never had an actual girlfriend before."

"Is that right?" Well, I guess that makes me special. "I guess he's just choosy when it comes to women."

Cynthia now gave her an even more peculiar look. "Oh, I wouldn't say that."

"What do you mean?" Camilla said, suddenly getting hostile.

"Hey, don't chew my head off! Let's just say there are lots and lots of girls around campus who've, um, shall we say, have enjoyed his favors. But he's one of those 'love-'em-and-leave-'em' type of guys. And he seems to have a particular fondness for white flesh!"

Camilla was really angry now. "You're lying. That's just not the way he is. He's sweet and kind and respectful and—"

"Have you asked him about his past? He's a senior, just like us. Since you don't care about sports, you don't know anything about what he's done before he hooked up with you. But hey, don't sweat it! If he's taken you on as 'his girl,' you should just enjoy it while it lasts."

The obvious implication of Cynthia's comment was that it wasn't going to last long.

Camilla walked away feeling confused and even vaguely horrified. No, there was no way a guy like DeAndre—the one who had taken such umbrage at his teammates' pounding of her during that locker-room gangbang—was himself a philanderer. "Love-'em-and-leave-'em," eh? Well, he'd find out that Camilla Stevens was one girl who wouldn't be tossed aside so easily!

She came home to DeAndre's apartment and began cooking dinner. She'd never been much for cooking before, but now she made efforts to improve her culinary skills, even asking her mom for help on specifically Southern dishes that DeAndre might like. (She really wanted to ask his mom's advice, but DeAndre had been curiously reticent in giving any information about his parents.) She was lost in thought as she was whipping up some spaghetti and meat sauce, and hardly noticed DeAndre coming into the place until he popped into the kitchen, greeted her with a tight hug and a long, deep kiss on her mouth, and said, "Hey, babe, what's going on?"

"Nothing much," she said moodily, looking away from him.

He could tell immediately that something was wrong. He'd been around her so intensely these last few weeks that he had already come to know every fluctuation in her temperament. He pulled her away from the kitchen—the pasta was already cooking away in a big pot of water and didn't need much attention—and led her to the dining table, sitting her down at a chair.

"What's wrong, babe?" he said with obvious concern.

Camilla gazed longingly at him. She already felt so attached to this man, and they had already exchanged such passionate vows of love and devotion, that she could hardly believe he was the kind of man her friend had hinted at.

"I was just talking to someone," she said, looking away from him, "and she said—well, she said you . . ."

"I what?" he said, although he seemed to know what she was about to say.

"You've been with a lot of girls," she said, her face crumpling as she came close to tears.

DeAndre just looked at her for a time, saying nothing. Then he sighed.

"I have been," he said at last, "but that was all in the past. I don't do that sort of thing anymore."

"How many did you do?" she asked, almost fearful of the response.

"Oh, Camilla, I don't know," he said wearily.

"You don't know? You have no idea?"

"Well, it's not as if I was keeping count!"

"Can you guess?"

He gazed down at his hands for a long time before saying, "Probably three or four hundred."

Camilla gasped. "That many?"

"Yeah, that many," he said, his voice full of self-disgust. "Look, dear, you don't understand what it is to be a star athlete. I could have gone to some big Division I school like Ohio State or Alabama—all the scouts were after me in high school. But for various reasons I wanted to stay close to home. So when I came here, my reputation as a football star preceded me. And maybe it went to my head. I knew there were a lot more important things than playing football, but I was young and cocky, and I guess it tickled me to have all these girls throwing themselves at me."

"But—but you didn't have relationships with any of them?"

"Not a one."

"Why not?"

"They just didn't interest me that way. Anyway, most of them didn't want relationships with me either. All they wanted to do was to tell their friends, 'Hey, DeAndre Wilkins stuffed his cock into me,' and I suppose that made them feel special."

"Then—why me?" Her unspoken question was obvious: Why haven't you tossed me aside the way you did with all those other girls?

He looked at her almost as if she were a difficult problem in quadratic equations. "There's something about you—something soft and tender and vulnerable—that touches my heart. You think you're tough, but you're not tough. I don't say you're fragile either—you're no one's pushover. But you have deep feelings, and so do I. And that"—he paused significantly—"that's why I love you."

"I love you too, dearest."

She had climbed onto his lap, throwing her arms around his neck. And, since he was only wearing a sweatshirt and sweat pants, she had easily pulled his growing cock out of his pants and slid it into herself, pulling away the crotch of her panties to accommodate him. Neither of them thrust into the other: this connection of their sexual parts symbolized a far more profound connection that they felt in their minds and hearts.

They kissed each other lightly, but otherwise this fully clothed coupling was as tender as a butterfly's wings. It was some minutes later that Camilla sensed the stirrings of her climax, and as she started quivering and shaking, she stimulated DeAndre to pour his seed into her as he held her tight. After they were finished, they continued to remain locked together.

Quite a while later, Camilla regretfully slipped off of him and said, "I guess I'll finish cooking dinner."

*

DeAndre wanted Camilla to come to the family home for Christmas, and she was happy to oblige.

"I'm really looking forward to meeting your parents," she said.

When he said nothing in response, she said, "They'll be there, won't they?"

"My father will," was all he said.

A chill of foreboding came over her. What about your mom? She's not dead or anything, is she? With a tremor in her voice she said, "And your mom?"

DeAndre looked away from her. "She—she left my dad a few years ago."

"Omigod, I'm so sorry! What happened?"

"I don't know. He doesn't either."

"He doesn't know? How can that be? What did she say?"

"Not much. Just something about feeling 'trapped' or 'confined,' or stuff like that."

"Did they have arguments?"

"None that I ever heard."

"Oh, DeAndre, that doesn't make any sense!"

"My dad's been trying to figure it out ever since."

"Well, I hope I can cheer everyone up!"

DeAndre smiled wanly. "What about your family?"

"They won't miss me," Camilla said bitterly. "Naomi and her boyfriend"—she refused even to speak his name—"will be there, and my parents always have lots of aunts and uncles and such over, so no one will give a thought about me."

"Camilla, I'm sure that's not true. Your sister—she must care deeply about you."

"Yeah, well, I haven't spoken to her in a month or so."

"That's not right."

"Look, guy, I'll handle my own affairs, okay?"

The sharpness of her tone startled and depressed DeAndre, but he said nothing. But he couldn't help reflecting, Both our families seem to be coming apart at the seams.

DeAndre's father, Clyde, lived across town. It wouldn't have been impossible for DeAndre to commute to campus from home; but, although he hated leaving his father all by himself in the absence of his mother, he needed to be closer to the athletic complex, and those alumni had bestowed this comfortable apartment on him, so he felt it would be ungrateful to turn it down.

But he was looking forward to being with his dad, and Camilla was on tenterhooks to meet him.

When he finally took her over, a few days before Christmas (the semester was now over), she was both thrilled and dismayed at what she saw.

Clyde Wilkins was a big man, although not quite as big as his son—maybe five foot ten and about two hundred pounds of muscle and bone, especially around the chest and thighs. There was a kindness and benevolence in his face, even though his features seemed habitually marred by a pervasive sadness and a kind of confused bafflement. Camilla didn't have to think long about what was going through his mind: Why did my beloved wife leave me? What did I do? What could I have done differently?

She resolutely tried to cheer him up, as she had pledged to DeAndre. And that didn't take a lot of effort: whenever he could stop thinking of his own misery, he proved to be a genial, funny, and tender-hearted man—just the sort of man that any woman would want for a husband. That stupid wife! Camilla thought to herself. What was she thinking?

Because he now lived alone, Clyde had taken up cooking—and in this way he formed a bond with Camilla, whose own adventures in cooking were still ongoing. As DeAndre watched with bemused delight, his girl and his dad spent hours in the kitchen whipping up meals and desserts and all manner of other things that he wasn't likely to get even at the athletic complex, where abundant food for the players was a given.

Christmas day in particular was festive, and with the house full of the scent of the big Douglas fir that father and son had brought in and decorated, with presents scattered under it, and with abundant food and drink available. Everyone truly felt part of a single family.

It was that evening, as Camilla was in the kitchen cleaning up after dinner, that DeAndre led his dad to the living room, far enough away that his girlfriend wouldn't overhear them.

"So, Dad," he began, "you like her, don't you?" He didn't have to specify whom he was talking about.

"She's real special, son," Clyde responded fervently. "You better hold onto her."

"I plan to, Dad. But I'm wondering—"

"Yes?"

DeAndre reached over and took his father's hand. "Maybe—maybe you'd like her sometime?"

Clyde frowned. "What do you mean by that?"

"I think you know what I mean."

Clyde did, and his frown deepened. "That wouldn't be right, son."

"Dad, I think it would be okay. Of course, I can't speak for her—it would be her decision. But she's taken a real shine to you—she thinks the world of you already. And maybe she can . . . help."

Clyde turned his head away. He didn't like the suggestion his son was making.

"Dad," DeAndre said earnestly, "she has a real big heart. Just let me speak to her about it, okay? It could even be tonight."

"She doesn't want me."

"I think she does."

Clyde sighed. "Well, if you think that's what you—and she—want, okay. But remember: it's her decision, and hers alone. Don't pressure her."

"Of course not—I'd never do that."

A few minutes later, as Camilla was finishing up at the kitchen sink, wiping her hands on an apron in a way that DeAndre remembered his mom doing years before, he tactfully brought up the proposal he'd made to his dad.

Camilla smiled, mostly to herself. "I think that would be wonderful. But do you really think he wants me?"

"I'm pretty sure he does. He won't come out and say so, but you've touched his heart in a way that no one has touched it for a long time." Not since Mom left.

"Okay," she said, feeling immensely humbled at the role she was soon going to play: to seek to repair this man's shattered self-esteem and to coax out of him the love and devotion that was yearning to find expression, if only the right woman came along.

The rest of the evening passed quickly and with little conversation, as everyone sensed the significance of what was to happen. Around 10 p.m., Clyde left the others and headed upstairs to his bedroom. Soon thereafter, after receiving a nod from DeAndre, Camilla went up to his old bedroom, where they had placed their belongings for this month-long stay. She stripped, then slipped on a frilly but not overly revealing nightgown. She certainly didn't want to come off as—well, you know . . .

Shyly, she approached the closed door of Clyde's bedroom. With a tentative knock, she said, "It's me, sir."

"Please come in," Clyde said in his deep baritone voice.

She walked in, seeing a big four-poster bed that looked absurdly large for one person, even one as substantial as Clyde. He was standing next to it, dressed only in his underwear—which was already getting seriously distorted.

She came up to him, and they hugged briefly. She loved the feel of his strong chest against herself, and he thrilled at the feel of her ample breasts against his midsection. Then he pulled her away, holding her at arm's length.

"Let me have a look at you," he said with a twinkle in his eye.

He took hold of her nightgown by the neck and gently pulled it down over her shoulders, letting it fall softly to the floor. A gasp, followed by an "Oh!" escaped from his mouth as he took in the wondrous beauty of this young female. Camilla let him gaze at herself—she even spun slowly on her heels, so he could look at her backside—and then she fell to her knees in front of him.

That bulging member looked awfully uncomfortable encased in his underwear! She slipped it off and saw his cock spring to attention in front of her nose. It was not quite as big as his son's; but at nine full inches, it was something to be proud of! On top of that, it was the organ that had led to DeAndre's existence, so it carried immense significance just because of that. She took it in both hands as if handling a priceless treasure that some museum had unexpectedly left in her keeping, brought it to her mouth, and wrapped her lips around it. She had been careful to put some lipstick on, knowing that many men (including DeAndre) liked the picture of ruby-red lips surrounding their members.

This went on only for a few minutes. Then Clyde lifted her up and led her to the bed.

For the next two hours or more, there was intense but tender lovemaking from both sides, as Camilla made all her orifices available to Clyde's deprived organ. His first climax came quickly, serving almost as an appetizer for several more orgasms in her vagina, bottom, and mouth; but Camilla got as good as she gave, and may have had more paroxysms than her partner, especially during a long session of sixty-nine when she came close to worshipping his phallus as she licked and sucked and nuzzled it while lying on top of him; his ardent licking of her pussy, with a few deft licks around her anus, led her to several shivering climaxes, or perhaps one long climax that left her dazed and weak.

They fell asleep untidily in the bed, not troubling to slip any clothes on. They both realized that bare flesh was the only way to commemorate this intensely meaningful session of coitus.

The next morning, Clyde got up early, leaving Camilla to sleep it off. When he made his way downstairs to the kitchen, he was surprised to see his son there. Generally, DeAndre wasn't an early riser, but he was already sipping some coffee that he had made in the coffeemaker.

"How was it with her, Dad?" he asked.

"She's a real treasure, son," Clyde said.

"That she is."

As they were puttering in the kitchen, Camilla sauntered in, wearing a rumpled nightgown. "Hi, guys," she said.

She came up to Clyde, took his face in both of her hands, and gave him a long, deep kiss. Then she did the same to DeAndre.

"I'll get breakfast ready," she announced. "I'm starving!" I burned off a lot of calories last night.

"I was going to make breakfast," Clyde protested.

"Not on your life!" she shot back. "Maybe you can be in charge of the toast. I'm making bacon and eggs, and that's final!"

It was a wonderful breakfast, and everyone enjoyed it.

Over the next several days, Camilla alternated between DeAndre's bed and Clyde's. There was tremendous satisfaction on all sides, but all three of them somehow sensed that a still more intense episode was about to happen. On Saturday night, both of the young people wandered in naked into Clyde's bedroom, hand in hand. Clyde, gazing fondly at both of them, at once stripped, and the two men surrounded the petite woman, front and back, as they gazed upon her bright pink skin and fondled her all over—shoulders, breasts, back, bottom, thighs, and delta.

She fell to her knees and inspected both cocks with care, finding distinctive virtues in each. She sucked them in turn, then tried to put both in her mouth at the same time. That was a bit difficult, but the guys seemed to like the sensation of the tips of their cocks rubbing against each other within her mouth. Then she stood up and placed herself on the bed, waiting to see what the two men were going to do.

There was double penetration in a multitude of permutations—pussy and mouth, ass and mouth, and pussy and ass. As all three lay on their sides, DeAndre in front and Clyde in back, Camilla absorbed those two cocks within herself with a kind of transcendent ecstasy. The two men she loved most in all the world—even if she had known one of them less than a week—were now in her! She sensed her own climax coming far in advance of the men, and her shivering and quaking were such that she almost caused them to slip out of her. But her spasmodic twitchings only inspired them to their own orgasms, and they poured their seed into her with all the love and devotion they felt for this ravishing female.

In the end, the men had four climaxes each, and Camilla may have had as many as six. There was a time when she felt she was in the midst of an unending orgasm that just wouldn't stop—as if a mild jolt of electricity was constantly running through her. She took each man's seed in her mouth at least once, absorbing their most precious substance with both humility and pride. After a time she felt strange not having a cock in her: that gaping sense of vacancy was almost shattering, and she yearned to be filled over and over again.

But at last all three participants gave way to exhaustion, falling asleep as if drugged, with limbs entangled, their sweat and other fluids intermingling. It had been an incredible session—one that would be repeated several times before the young couple had to return to campus.