What I Learned That Summer Ch. 01

Chapter 1: The scene

OK, let's start this confession with the fact that I was drunk. As a 19-year-old college student following a party with unlimited beer, how could I have been otherwise?

I was slim, very fit, my blonde hair long enough to hang just over my collar, and considered handsome in a boy-band kind of way. As a distance runner, my legs and bottom were lean but muscular. My only difficulty in picking up girls was that I looked like I was a sophomore in high school instead of college.

I was spending my first summer away from home, living in an apartment complex during the university's summer session. I had discovered that summers in a large college town were a lot of fun, as most of the students were gone and the atmosphere was more relaxed, more conducive to intermingling of kids my age with townies of all ages.

That Friday afternoon I had gone for a long run, showered, and was relaxing by the complex's pool, supposedly reading an economics textbook. I didn't really have any plans for the night, but was maybe going to meet a couple of friends at a bar. Instead, I met Michelle.

Michelle was a big girl, about 5'6" and weighing in at a good 160 lbs. I guessed, my weight but five inches shorter. She was in a black one-piece bathing suit, to cover her ample belly of course, but she was friendly and she laughed easily. She chose a chaise longue next to mine and soon we were chatting and joking together like old friends. Though as runner I strongly preferred lean, athletic women – being drawn much more to asses and legs than to tits of any size – I couldn't help but stare from behind my sunglasses at the deep cleavage between the huge, D-cup tits squeezed into the straining lycra of her swimsuit. My five-and-a-half-inch cock could get lost in there.

She lived in a different building within the complex than mine, and mentioned that her neighbor across the hall, an older man, was throwing a "thank God the divorce is final" party and that she was invited. I immediately accepted her offer to join her. Not for the chance to make a play for her or anything, but because I didn't have anything better to do.

We agreed to meet at her place at about 9. I went back to my apartment and after dinner and a couple of warm-up beers, showed up at her apartment wearing a decent pair of khaki shorts, a short-sleeved shirt that buttoned down the front and leather boat shoes with no socks, the better to show off my runner's legs. Along the way I passed the open door to the party apartment, and saw a jammed, noisy crowd of people clearly having a good time.

Michelle's place was also busy, as she and her two roommates and several guys my age were already there, priming themselves with beer and vodka shots. I declined the shots, but grabbed a beer and we headed over to the main event.

It was definitely a rowdy affair. The host, Roger, was in his 40's, and was tipsy enough to greet me like I was an old friend, shaking my hand warmly while clasping my shoulder with his left hand. He was apparently high on the fact that his troubled marriage was officially over. He had recently retired as an officer in the Navy, and as such was lean and clean, with his light brown hair cut short but not buzzed. He was about 6'1", 190, with a ramrod-straight posture, broad shoulders and blonde chest hair curling up between the open vee of his golf shirt. He too was wearing khaki shorts, although they were longer than mine and almost reached his knees, as well as running shoes with ankle socks. We immediately got to talking about running, and I could tell by his muscular legs, covered by golden hair, that his stories about competing in marathons must be true. Alas, he said with an openly immodest grin, he would never run a really fast marathon because "my upper body is just too muscular and heavy." Jokingly, he flexed his arm like Charles Atlas, and I laughingly went along with him and squeezed his large bicep. It certainly was large, and hard.

By around 1 a.m., the party began to thin out. Michelle and I had been circulating separately, often chatting together and dancing together a couple of times in the crowded living room, but not like we were on a date or anything. She got worried that one of her roommates was too drunk, so she helped her home and never returned. Thinking about her cleavage, I felt a twinge of regret, but in watching her large ass jiggle as she walked away, I got over it.

Over the next hour the party really cleared out. I had just poured another beer from the keg when I realized that Roger was saying good-bye to the last group of partiers, leaving only another older man, Evan, besides myself in his apartment.