Brick House Pt. 02 Ch. 01-02bytedszabopub©
All content copyright 2012 Ted Szabo
This is part 2 (chapters one and two) of a longer work, "Brick House." While this part does not have erotic content, many of the others do. It is included for the convenience of readers interested in the larger story.
During my senior year in college I lived in an on-campus apartment with three other guys. It was an old concrete block building, rendered only marginally less ugly by the presence of a red brick facade. There were no discrete bedrooms, just one fairly large living area with a kitchen in the back. The accommodations were a bit rougher than those available in some of the newer dorms but, unlike most of the students who lived in the large residence halls, we at least we had our own bathroom. The four of us had been roommates for the last couple years, and got along pretty well.
As anyone who has lived starving-student style in a cramped common area knows, working out ways to keep off each other's nerves can be challenging. By and large, though, we had worked out understandings that covered pretty much every aspect of our shared space, and it's fair to say we were mostly happy most of the time. Some of those understandings addressed the issue of female visitors.
Figuring out what to do about roommates when things get hot and heavy with a guest can be tricky for a lot of college students, and a lot of time and energy gets spent trying to work out times for rendezvous when one's roommates are scheduled to be elsewhere. Sex with overnight company can result in one's co-habitants getting embarrassed, annoyed, or outright PO'd. The guys and I adopted a philosophy that avoided most of these difficulties, and for us it worked well.
Essentially, our guiding principle was "Expect no privacy." We had decided that trying to work out ways for each of us to have private time with our dates or significant others was just too big a pain in the ass, and we resolved to simply forget about privacy for the remaining duration of post-secondary experience. This meant that if one of us brought someone back to the apartment there would be absolutely no expectation that the other guys would leave, or that the one with company would ever ask the others to leave. We wouldn't try to do things like hastily cover up after a shower or avert our eyes from someone else's disrobed date to keep them from feeling uncomfortable. In other words, we would treat sex like a routine part of one another's lives that didn't require inconveniencing the other people who lived in the apartment.
It may seem like such an attitude would have resulted in us all ending up hopelessly celibate, but this was hardly the case. Obviously, even in the relatively uninhibited world of college, some women were inevitably going to balk at this sort of arrangement, but once we found ones that were OK with it (who were a lot more numerous than you might think) the lack of restrictions meant that we got to have sex pretty damn often.
A few weeks into the school year I started seeing Kate, a leggy brunette beauty who was dual-majoring in poly sci and lit. We'd had sex a couple times over at her place and it had been great. She was athletic and affectionate and liked trying out a lot of different positions. At the point in time at which this story begins Kate and I hadn't yet become exclusive, but it seemed likely we were headed that way. As she and I spent increasing amounts of time together the issue of whether or not, and how, I would approach explaining the shared understanding at my apartment began to loom. Either I would have to continue to steer her away from my residence or find the way to broach the subject, facing the possibility that she might be not be receptive to such an environment or, for that matter, a romantic companion that would harbor a preference for such an living arrangement.
I liked Kate a great deal, and the decision was not to be an easy one. In addition to her stunning looks, Kate had a wonderful, easy wit and actually appeared to enjoy my oddball sense of humor. At times there was an effortless grace about Kate that imbued her every word and movement with a sort of feral appeal, and I found myself draw to her in a visceral manner I had never before experienced.
Most of happened to me that year—much of what I did—the decisions I made, some of them resoundingly awful, revolved around Kate, who became a potent, blindingly intense presence in my life. This is, more than anything else, is the story of Kate.
Fallen leaves of umber and ochre and gold crackled under our feet as Kate and I jogged along the northern end of the campus golf course. It was a warm autumn day—too warm, perhaps, to be considered ideal running weather, but we were enjoying our exertions nonetheless. Stands of maple and oak lined the path, and there was just enough of a breeze to tease some of the remaining leaves from the branches overhead, a few of them fluttering down around us in the dusky air.
The area was a favorite of ours. The campus proper had no green spaces large enough to make distance running enjoyable, but the area around the golf course was open and rimmed with stands of old growth greenery riddled with enough paths and trails to allow for a good half mile to be traversed free of vehicular traffic and the accompanying noise and exhaust. The golfing areas themselves were only lightly used, and Kate I often cut out across the fragrant, neatly trimmed grass, a practice that was strictly prohibited but commonplace nonetheless. "Golfers Only! All others stay off the grass. This means you!" read a number of aluminum signs posted at intervals around the edge of the course.
After a putting in a couple miles Kate and I slowed to a walk, wandering out onto the open green. There were no golfers in sight, just a handful of students out enjoying the day. A group of co-eds a couple dozen feet away were engaged in a spirited game of hacky-sack.
We came to stop, and Kate's hand found my mine. She was, I thought, breathing a tad harder than our moderate exertions demanded, her face flushed and the pupils of her large, brown emerald-flecked eyes slighted dilated. I gathered Kate to me and she slid into the arc of my arms, her form dovetailing mine with a perfection that made me feel as though her body had somehow been scaled and shaped to intersect with my own in the most pleasurable possible way. Our lips met, hers full and soft, mine—well, typical dude lips, I suppose—and Kate wrapped her arms around my neck.
After spending the next few minutes in an at least slightly restrained embrace our kissing waxed in intensity, mouths opening and tongues meeting. In retrospect, I suppose that bystanders probably found the sounds Kate and I were making at that point to be sloppy—perhaps even gross, but at the time this was a perspective that wouldn't have occurred to me. Even if it had, I don't suppose I would have cared.
I pulled Kate tighter against me, reveling in the close press of her body—good-sized, impossibly full breasts, a flat stomach with beautiful touches of definition that hadn't been spoiled by an overly-developed six-pack, and firm, rounded hips that flared just below her bare midriff. God, I thought, god she felt good.
Kate's lips moved down to the base of my neck, pressing hard against it, and soft, aroused noises issued from her. My hands meandered from the small of Kate's back to her well-developed rear. I grasped it on both sides and pulled Kate's pelvis toward mine, gasping in pain as she nipped me in response. Our mouths met again, more frantically this time, and Kate and I were soon panting hard enough that we had to periodically come up for air.
"Get a room!" yelled one of the hacky-sack players cheerfully. There were general murmurs of assent.
"Oh, well," said Kate, slightly embarrassed. She turned toward the circle of hacky-sackers, favoring them with a grin and a brief wave, and then looked back toward me. "Unhand my tookus, sir," she said with a giggle.
I cleared me my throat loudly, becoming slightly self-conscious, and did as Kate asked. "Oh, ah, s-sorry," I stuttered, "got a little carried away."
Kate's eyes were sparkling, her smile small and wry. On our first date I had told her, honestly enough, that her features put me in mind of a young, Casablanca-era Ingrid Bergman. Kate had thought the flattery hilarious and over-the-top, asking me, without a hint of ire, how many girls' pants that compliment had gotten me into. "None yet," I had quipped, "want to be the first?" She did.
"You know, it's not a bad idea," said Kate.
"Idea...?" I answered, puzzled.
"A room..." Kate answered. "Maybe I want to get carried away too."
"Hmm," I mused, scratching my chin. "You're pretty trim, but it's at least a mile. Not sure I can haul you that far—not with that big, meaty behind of yours weighing things down."
"Bastard!" Kate yelled, giggling. "And to think, you were actually in danger of getting some!" She took off, sprinting back up the trail, calling to me with a sing-song-chant. "You ca-ant catch me. You ca-ant catch me."
I took off after her, and found catching up to be a less than trivial task. Kate had been on the track-and-field team her freshman year, and had been competitive in the pole vault and the eight-hundred meters. I considered myself pretty fit, but Kate was like a damn gazelle—a really hot gazelle, I thought, trying to ignore the unintentional interspecies connotations.
As if reading my mind, Kate leaped over a high berm that partially blocked the path without so much as a stutter in her step. As she cleared the obstacle her torso was hunched forward, one leg straight out in front and the other slightly bent behind—a perfect hurdler's posture. Seconds later, I climbed clumsily over the rise, feeling like a clod.
After thirty or so seconds of running all out I caught up with Kate—grabbing her around the waist, spinning her towards me, and kissing her breathlessly.
"Wow," I said, gasping, "you do not make it easy."
"Oh," Kate answered innocently, "you're implying I make it hard?"
I nodded my head, grinning, unable to summon enough wind to get out a laugh.
"My place is occupied..." Kate told me, "study session. Why don't we go over to yours. Unless, well... unless you're too tired." Her smile was sly and inviting.
Kate and I proceeded at a jog, wending our way north and west, toward the stadium. We passed sprawling residence halls and thoroughfares teeming with students making their way back from class. Traffic on some of the streets we had to cross was heavy, and by the time we passed the Quad--the aged, baroque, architectural mess of a residence hall where on-campus apartment dwellers such as myself took their meals--we had slowed to a walk.
A minute or so later, Kate and I made our way up the bare concrete stairwell of building eleven, my home away from home. It echoed with our footsteps and a variety of top-forty stylings emanting from open apartment doorways on the lower level. As often happened, the first-floor residents had become annoyed with each other's taste in music but, for some reason unbeknownst to the rest of mankind, refused to simply shut their doors. The resulting tit-for-tat escalation in volume had resulted in a sort of no holds barred stereophonic arms race that had been allowed to run amuck absent the damping effect of mutually assured destruction. Several sets of speakers had been pushed right up into the apartments' doorways, with a couple of them breaching the shared space at base of the stairs.
"Wow, loud," said Kate. I nodded in agreement.
As it happened, none of my roommates were in at the time, and Kate and I had the place to ourselves. I found this to be a relief, as I had yet to introduce her to the expect-no-privacy policies adopted by my friends and I. At that point I simply didn't know Kate well enough to have any idea whether or not our attitude toward sex, and privacy in general, was going to be a problem.
After a shower and a couple hours of energetic intercourse Kate and I were spooning in bed, and talk turned to my roommates. She had met the guys in passing, and was curious about them, and what it was like living together. After a while I happened to mention that we were "pretty uninhibited around each other."
Kate peered at me curiously. "Well, that's kind of vague... uninhibited about?"
Figuring that now was as good a time as any, I explained the understanding I had with my friends regarding romantic visitors.
As I laid things out for Kate, her features took on a concerned (but intrigued, I thought) appearance. When I finished speaking she looked away from me, obviously a bit uncomfortable.
"I don't know. I'm pretty open-minded, but I'm not sure I could live like that," Kate said.
I was disappointed, but not completely dismayed, by Kate's reaction. There had been a lot of times when women who were introduced to the way my roommates and I looked at things were hesitant at first, but came around after a while. I was still hopeful.
"None of us would live like this if we really had the choice," I said. "Of course we all wish we could have privacy whenever we felt like it. But the truth is we can't afford our own places at this point in our lives and my friends and I have found that putting aside the privacy taboos means we get to enjoy the pleasures of the fairer sex a lot more often. We're at the most fit, virile points in our lives and if we don't temporarily put aside these artificial restrictions society insists upon, we just can't enjoy that time to the fullest."
"I... I don't know. I'll have to think about it," Kate said hesitantly, still not willing to look me in the eyes. Clearly, she wasn't pleased by what I had told her, but I continued to hold out some hope based on the fact that Kate hadn't yelled at me, stormed out, or called me a crazy pervert, all reactions I had seen in the past.
"If I decide I'm not good with all this," Kate said, "we can always just go to my place when my roommate is out, right? Like we did before?"
"Sure, if you're not comfortable with the way things are around here, we can always hang out somewhere else. Kate, I'm not trying so say I'm insisting on some sort of... conditions for us to see one another. I'm just happy to go out with you wherever you want to go, and to be with you wherever you're comfortable being."
"OK," said Kate, snuggling closer. "That's what I thought. Just making sure. Maybe we could get a hotel room some time—you know, fresh sheets, room service, all that good stuff."
"Whatever you want, hon."
"Well, you know, within reason. And budgetary restrictions. And the extremely limited range of my beater car. All stated terms and restrictions are subject to change without notice. You know how it is."
"Catch me, I'm swooning," said Kate with a snort, "'cause you just say the most romantic things..."