The Trending of Greg and Ruth

(Note to readers: This is the final installment in the story series that includes "Ruth's Experiment," "Greg's Project," and "Greg and Ruth Go to 'Plan R'." Ruth and Greg might have more adventures later, with more sex, but they would occur in some other story. The suggestion that they have been posting these stories on this site is not to be taken too seriously. Also, all of the characters, who are fictional, would be of legal age, if they existed, so all of their fictional sex acts are enjoyed by consenting fictional adults.)

*****

Midterms. I was tired, Greg was frazzled. We talked each other into pretty tame stuff. This may be what it really means to be friends with benefits: Helping your friend get off when you're not up for a big production. I lubed both hands good and jerked him off, while he finger-fucked me and nuzzled my tits. So we didn't even go as far as the titfuck/nipple orgasm combo for which we are becoming (gulp) world famous. Still, it felt nice, and we came, and there was a little more fun while we cleaned up in his shower.

We felt better, but we were still aware of what aggravated us. Foremost was having to work harder on classwork, here at the university we have not identified. Sometimes we were frustrated as we tried to grasp what we were being taught. We knew all along that sophomore year would be more demanding than freshman year, but the reality was still grinding us down. And it's not like we're pre-med or something. My major is political science, his is business.

Also, our internet campaign on behalf of safe bosom-centric sex had become more complicated, as it became more successful. From our posting of these 'stories' on this site, and our replies to hundreds of comments, we knew that lots of couples appreciated our suggestions for a woman to cum from breast stimulation at the same time as a man cums from having his penis surrounded by those breasts. In order to increase our knowledge base, however, we had gone from sex experiments with just the two of us, to Greg 'working' with a woman with breasts much smaller than mine, and me 'educating' a man with no experience in pleasing a woman.

This topic brought some unwelcome reality to our conversation, during what should have been some nice-naughty toweling off.

"We've written about other people," said Greg. "We've given them phony names, but should they know that they're in this project?"

"Wasn't it enough that we gave them casual sex that they wouldn't have had otherwise?"

"Should I take that as a no?"

I groaned, exasperated. "You trying to kill our buzz?" The worst part was, I knew he was right.

Neither of us did original academic (let alone scientific) research, but I knew vaguely that there were ethics involved in experiments with human subjects. We'd written about our idylls, so far without the consent of our partners.

"You think that telling them will lead to us being identified?" he asked. (News flash: 'Ruth' and 'Greg' aren't our real names.)

"Yeah," I said, feeling awful about that. The best I could follow with was, "I didn't sign up for the world knowing that I'm the one with those tits." They're E-cups, and they've become enjoyably sensitive and readily orgasmic. Far and away the best features on a doughy body with a blah face. And I wasn't sure I cared all that much about being found out.

He got more gentle with the towel. But he wasn't finished with the downside stuff. "Shelley has visited the site. Do you think she still looks at it?"

I looked at him, with his big ears and tendency towards man-boobs. He was getting better all the time at doing wonderful things to woman-boobs. "After what you did for her," I speculated, "she might be posting to it herself."

"The story about her will go live in two or three days. She might recognize herself."

I nodded. The timing, and what she and Greg did together, might give that away.

His voice was still calm, but the content wasn't. "Will you talk to her, or shall I?"

"I will," I said, "and thus reveal our secret identity." When I had lined up Shelley to enjoy Greg's attentions, I had claimed that he and I had learned about breast sex from the web site. Now I'd have to admit that Greg and I were behind it all.

"What about Carlos?" I asked, bringing up my nerdy, naive 'student,' who was also in the pending story. "Do you think he knows about the site?"

"No clue," he said. "It doesn't seem like the sort of thing he'd do. I can try to find out. Also, I'll ask the site not to post the story for a while."

He was walking me back to my dorm when I asked, "What's the situation with Meg?"

"We'll talk face to face on Thursday," he said neutrally. "My last midterm is Wednesday."

Meg, like Shelley, was one of my dorm floor neighbors. Both of them were very interested in this web site, and the posts about breast sex. Meg seemed to know what Shelley had done with Greg. The gossip leakage was such that I didn't think Shelley could complain too much when I confessed to her.

I grabbed Greg's arm and leaned my head on his shoulder. "You know you don't need my permission for anything, right?"

"I do. I also know that I have a conscience."

I made him stop and look at me. "And you, ever-so-noble one, co-created the internet campaign on breast sex for people who have active glands and fear of commitment. You must uphold the courage of your boob obsession. From what I know of Meg, she's looking for nothing more than fun. If you can make her hooters zoom, you'll probably do her a great favor. Also, have some fun yourself, you need it."

"It all seems to be getting out of control," he said, in the direction of whining.

"Is it?" I said. I ran a hand along his cheek. "You're shaving every day now, aren't you? Paying more attention to how you dress? Making more confident remarks in the discussion group?"

"Uh, maybe. You're sounding off more too."

"And you've probably noticed this." I put his hand at the side of my head and had him stroke the straight brown hair. "Feels nicer, doesn't it? I'm using some better products, and going to the trouble to brush it. I'm also making better choices on my clothes, I'd thank you if you'd noticed."

"Sorry, I—"

"Skip it. My theory is that the sex and the web postings have made us more outer-directed. And that's a good thing. If I can stop being a loser but still be me, that's a huge win. Our bodies and faces are no different, but we're carrying and presenting ourselves better. Maturing? Sure, that too, we're not even twenty yet. Forrest Gump might say that loser is as loser does. What we're doing now isn't losing."

He got a crooked smile. "Wow. Rehearsed?"

"Only a little."

"I'm still impressed."

"So your fuck buddy hereby declares, if Meg wants a pussyfuck too, be a gentleman and a good host."

***

A few texts set up my meeting in Shelley's room the next night. Her roommate wasn't around.

"Is this about...that time with Greg?" she asked.

"It is," I said, I think all cordial and not defensive.

She cowered a little, face withdrawing in the fluffy pile of light brown ringlets that sprouted from her head. (And I should defend what I do with my hair?) "I'm afraid I didn't keep it to myself. Meg pushes so much, you know what she's like. I think she knew what I was doing before I did it."

"That's okay," I said. "Although if there's any way to keep it from going further, Greg and I would both appreciate it."

"I'd like to write about it for the site," she said, wincing a little. "Anonymously, of course."

Putty in my hands. I sighed in relief. "So you don't mind about the world knowing what happened."

"Not at all," she said, eyes wide. (Her glasses contributed to the width.) "Anonymously."

"In that case, I need to fill you in on some things." And out it all came: Greg and I getting friendly, finally hooking up at the end of freshman year, that first time trying for only a nipple orgasm with a titfuck, making that work, messaging over the summer, becoming full-on fuck buddies at the start of this term, starting the online project, expanding it to include other people, writing about Shelley's breast sex with Greg, and putting that on hold until we could talk.

She stared at me, open-mouthed. "It really is you!" she said at last. "I mean, the way you talk, it's like how 'Ruth' writes, so I thought, maybe. But then I thought, what are the odds? Can these people really be those people?"

She smiled widely, and stood. "That's so great! Thank you!" She leaned down and hugged me where I sat. "I love the project, and everything you do for it!"

As for me, I felt like I'd been hit with a shovel. Somehow I said, "I write like I talk?"

She had returned to her chair, and was on a different topic. "Can I see what you've written about me?"

"S-sure," I said. Then I leaned towards her. "Do you think anybody else knows...who we are?"

Way too calmly she said, "It wouldn't surprise me if Meg has figured it out. She's read all your stuff on the site, and she's majoring in criminal justice."

"Excuse me," I said, bounding to my feet. "I'll go send you the post about you. It's on my laptop, I'll be right back." And in my room I did that, but only after I'd sent what I hoped was a secure e-mail to Greg: Anybody here at school who knows us may also know that we're Ruth and Greg. I've just been told that I write like I talk. Probably you do too. We may need to find a damage control mode, or just give up and let people find out.

Shelley was reading from her phone when I returned. She had a tiny smile. I waited, beating myself up: I didn't only write like I talk, I wrote what I talk. I put in what I remember of what Greg and I say. So does he.

Shelley hand-fanned herself, looking at me with a bigger smile, and raising her eyebrows.

I smiled back. My phone buzzed. A glance showed me the source: Greg. A text: SORRY NEVER SHOULD HAVE POSTED ANYTHING ANYWHERE I'M AN IDIOT SORRY.

Shelley looked up, squirming her knees together. "Reliving it, sorry."

"No problem," I said with a weak laugh. I texted back: I WANTED POSTING & WHO KNEW? I SAY WE STAY IN. GOT MORE WAYS FOR US TO T-F. Which is our messaging shorthand for titfuck.

"Yes, I'm totally okay with you posting this," said Shelley. "Let my petite sisters know what their boobies can do! I hope Carlos is okay with it too. You were wonderful with him."

Bizarrely, I relived that: Carlos following my guidance to get me to a nipple orgasm, then myself giving him a titfuck. I'm not sure I really appreciated it at the time, it was a lot of work and full of worry. Now I remembered it as the swoony thrill it was.

My own knees converged.

Greg texted: MAYBE/STUDYING NOW/TALK FRI?

I sent back a yes-nodding emoji.

"Worried about losing your secret?" asked Shelley, no longer smiling.

"Yeah," I said, standing.

"I won't say any more about the site, or what we did," she said, joining me at the door. "But that probably won't help, with Meg."

***

This is Greg. Maybe I should add my real name, address, social security number, and passwords. Does the subterfuge matter any more?

Well, I agree with Ruth. The project is still worth doing. What isn't worth doing is attempting to write unlike I talk. Cheerio, old chappies. Anybody in England buying that?

Before Ruth talked with Shelley, I talked with Carlos. We were in adjoining study carrels in the business school's library. Nobody else was around.

"I need to ask you about when you were in my room," I said.

He grinned. "What?"

"Did you confess to it, like you said you would?" Carlos was a Catholic.

"Yes, but I didn't mention any names."

"Then let me ask you this," I said, trying to remember a word choice I'd worked out in advance. "If your name is never used, do you mind if she and I write about this on an internet site?"

He frowned in thought, then said, "I suppose it's the same as my confession, if you protect my identity."

"We'll do everything we can."

"Okay," he said. Then he giggled. "Maybe it'd be better if you did use my name! No no, just kidding."

And that was the end of it, except for the four times in the next half-hour that he thanked me and Ruth.

Later I got Ruth's e-mail, and I wondered if we really could protect Carlos's identity.

Coffee, exams, papers written and submitted, headaches. But by Thursday I felt as though I'd done pretty well. I met Meg at a pizza place she likes. We had exchanged social media data, so we recognized each other. She sprang up and hugged me, smiling contagiously. Her wavy red hair was lightly, nicely scented as it brushed my face. As scared as I was of what she might know, and what she might do, I couldn't help but smile. Without seeming to make an effort, she was enjoyable to be with.

Based on her hug, she seemed medium busty.

Halfway through her glass of wine, and what I admit is good pizza, she said casually, "I understand that you can help ladies find an unusual way to enjoy themselves."

"I do what I can," was my outer-directed answer. I had decided that there was no point in trying to get out of this, and...I didn't want to.

We played darts and pinball and laughed a lot. I had never had much fun with darts and pinball before. She never threw herself at me, just made friendly, close contact now and then. She has plain features and kind of a heavy jaw, but seemed completely content with herself.

As we went Dutch on the check, she said, "Do you think there might be a way...tonight...that you could share your special skill with me?" She wasn't even being lascivious (real or mock), just pleasant. I still began tenting my corduroys.

"I live alone in my dorm room." She had me. I couldn't believe I was this easy. It wasn't just her sex appeal, I really liked the company of this criminal justice major who might already know my secret. If she didn't know it yet, she'd surely have no trouble getting it out of me in thirty seconds.

"That sounds perfect," she said, and her smile seemed triumphant. Could that really be only because she'd landed me?

She hauled up a purse large enough to hold what she'd need to get her through to a morning after, and set the straps on her shoulder. She gave me a quick peck on the cheek and said, "Show me the way."

In my room I asked, "What do you know about this?"

"I know that you can get your partner to a breast orgasm, while also getting yourself off between her breasts."

"That's it exactly," I said, getting more turned on than I had been with Shelley.

We had been standing apart, taking off our coats, and then suddenly we were face to face, kissing. My arms went around her as hers went around me, and her torso molded to mine. She drew her lips back an inch and said, "And that's all?"

"We really don't know each other."

"Let's see how things go," she said, unfazed. "What do we do first?"

I really wanted to make out after that kiss, but I forced myself to begin as I did with Shelley. I had Meg sit in a chair facing away from the bed, and I sat on the side of the bed behind her. "Would you like the lights turned down?"

She smiled over her shoulder. "No way."

"I'd like you to start with your bra off. Do you want to do that in the bathroom?"

"Definitely not." She pulled off her sweater and quickly removed a black lace bra. Then she said, "Why are you back there?"

Somehow I kept my cool. "A good way to start is with contact only on the breasts. Low lighting can help you focus more on the touch—"

"I'll close my eyes for a couple minutes," she said, chuckling.

Her breasts were maybe C-cup, set wide and rather low on her rib cage. I explored them with firm but gentle finger touches. I asked, "Have you ever had a nipple orgasm?"

"I don't think so. A couple times when I've cum, the boobs got involved, but there was a lot more going on."

In the next couple minutes I felt her up several ways, asking now and then if this or that worked, and what she'd like that I hadn't done. I was also on a scouting mission, to decide our configuration for the titfuck. Each breast was good-sized, but the separation was such that even if she knelt between my legs, she might not get an ideal wraparound. I made this sober judgment while I was almost painfully erect, and nearly panting.

Her head tipped back, red waves cascading past the chair, and her loud breaths shifted to moans. I really wanted to nuzzle through the hair to her neck, but as I'd said, contact the breasts, focus on the touch.

"This is sooo gooood," she said. Her hands found my knees. "Why are you still dressed?" she asked. "You were right, about focusing, the sensation, but I want, to feel, some man skin."

Her nipples had gone huge and hard, and bumps had risen on her aureoles. "Next step," I gasped. I stood, quickly shed my pants and drawers, set a pillow on the floor in front of the chair, and knelt on it. When I tried to fondle her breasts and bring them to my mouth, I couldn't, because she was trying to grab my prick.

"I want that!" she said, annoyed. "You're too far away!"

I remembered how Ruth and I had arranged ourselves in our first time. (I will never forget any of that, but the memory was top-of-mind now.) "Then let's sit on the floor, face to face," I said, starting to wheeze.

That first time, Ruth had kept her underwear on. Meg stripped all the way before she sat cross-legged, and yanked at my shirt as I hunkered down. Fun-loving Meg now sounded impatient. "Hope you can deal, with wet pussy, on your floor."

She arched back to let me get her breasts to my mouth, but she got a firm grip on my tool and pumped it. I was now glorying in her mammaries, squeezing and fondling and gobbling, and close to the point when the floor would have more than female fluids on it. Meg seemed, however, to sense when I got to the brink, and she switched to a finger-and-thumb squeeze of my glans to back me off. This, despite the fact that most of her body was trembling and twitching.

"When?" she wailed.

"On the bed, on top of me," which worked as an answer.

I was so far gone that I had no time to lube my crotch. I flopped on my back and forced my stiff dick up against my belly. I grabbed her tits, squeezing and poking, and she rolled herself along my shaft. I spazzed at once, and she howled, "Oh yeahhhh titties!" Then she grunted several times, clutching my man-boobs. Then another huge, loud howl, as her torso pressed against me and another burst of jizz shot out.

Neither of us moved for a while. She squeezed my nipples. I stroked her hair.

She then looked at me, smiling, eyes half-open. "That was terrific. Never felt anything like it." She rolled a bit to the left side, and grabbed my prick. "It's all very nice, for people who really don't want to fuck." She fingered cock and balls, heedless of the glop. "But I am not leaving here with an untouched pussy." She moved around to get her mouth onto my crotch.

My fairly quick recovery didn't surprise her at all. She wouldn't have known about this from Shelley.

She rolled her eyes when I wiped my groin and put on a condom, but didn't object. She said that she liked missionary. I stayed mostly upright because she also liked to finger her clit. I took time to fondle each boob, adjusting contact for the patches of slime. These orgasms weren't as loud, but when they were done we relaxed.

Meg had indeed equipped herself for overnight, even bringing her own body wash into the shower. Guiltily I realized that I'd never spent a whole night with Ruth. Never mind that Ruth preferred sleeping alone, in her own bed.

"That was a really nice fuck," she murmured as we bedded down. "I could get used to that."