NOTE: If you run over this story elsewhere, it's because I'm posting it on three websites.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
FOREWORD: To those of you who have never read any of my stuff before, this is a plain old dirty story. Hopefully, it's hot. I'd like to think it's kind of fun. It is semi-autobiographical. I did have a friend like this, but his name wasn't Tom. The girls are based on girls I had fun with, too. College was great.
To those of you who have read my other stories, don't bother to complain about no romance and no redeeming social value in this one. I know.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The college I went to was in a small hick town. The only bar in town ignored all the laws regulating alcohol sales. They got away with it, probably because the town's sheriff was the bar owner's brother. If a customer was old enough to be tall enough to see over the bar, they got served without question. Obviously, this made the place a favorite hangout for underage college kids.
One of the courses in my major required a midterm group project that would serve as half of our semester grade. I partnered with my closest friend and best drinking buddy, Tom, who lived across the hall from me. Being typical college kids, we procrastinated on actually doing the damn project. Sure, we did our research and field work more or less on schedule, but we should have been writing up our notes, making our charts and graphs, doing our statistical calculations, and all that other mundane crap all along, but we always had better things to do (like party).
The project was due on the last Friday before midterm. On Monday night we woke up to the fact that we had virtually nothing done, so of course, we did what any smart, conscientious college students would do: we went to the bar to plan our work. At closing time, we stumbled home, vowing to get serious about starting to throw the project together the following morning.
When I dragged my sorry ass out of bed the following afternoon, I went across the hall to Tom's room to wake him up. The threat of a pitcher of ice water in his face finally got him moving. We downed four aspirins each, got our showers, went to the dining hall for the usual scrumptious meal of mystery meat and overcooked canned vegetables, and then went back to my room to get to work.
We spread out all of our materials and notes on my bed, desk, floor, and any other surface we could find. It was then that the enormity of the task at hand finally began to dawn on me.
I took a deep breath and said, "This thing is due by five o'clock Friday afternoon. It's now after six Tuesday evening. That means we have less than seventy-one hours to do our whole research paper. We're in deep shit."
"Dan," Tom said, "your Einstein-like powers of thought never cease to amaze me."
"What the fuck are we going to do?" I asked. "I'm almost ready to give up and go get drunk again."
Tom said, "You're willing to take a zero on this project? That means you'll flunk the course and have to take it over. It also means that I'll have to do the same thing. And I'm not prepared to do that."
"So what do you suggest?"
"I suggest you go to the store and buy the biggest can of coffee you can find. I'll start organizing this shit while you're gone. We can do this," Tom said. "Now move your lazy ass."
By the time we had finished our third pot of coffee, it was almost time for lunch on Wednesday. We showered and ate, and then met back in my room.
"You know, Dan," Tom said, "I think we can pull this off. Let's pull our data together and start doing the calculations on it. Get your Statistics textbook. We're going to fuck with our numbers until we can do some killer statistical analysis shit. You're better at the math than I am. I'm better at creating graphs and making stuff pretty than you are. We can both type. I'll start writing up our hypothesis and research protocols while you crunch numbers."
"What if the numbers don't support our hypothesis?" I asked.
"Do I have to do all the thinking?" Tom asked. "We make a choice. We either change our initial hypothesis so that the numbers support it, or we fuck with the numbers to support our original hypothesis. No one's going to know what we've done. We're going to overwhelm old Doc Smithers with the sheer volume of charts, graphs, statistical calculations, pretty packaging, and bullshit prose. Now make another pot of coffee."
Somewhere around four o'clock Thursday morning, I had a profound revelation, which Tom endorsed wholeheartedly. It wasn't the caffeine in coffee that kept a person awake. It was the fact that we had to go and take a piss every half hour that kept us from falling asleep.
At two minutes before five on Friday afternoon, we placed our very professional-looking eighty-three page report, complete with colorful graphs, numerous charts, six pages of footnotes, and a three-page bibliography, on the desk in our professor's office.
"I was just about to leave and give you boys a zero," Dr. Smithers said. "Hmmm, this looks pretty impressive. Does your research support your hypothesis?"
"We started with a question in our minds and then did enough initial research before we formulated our original hypothesis to feel that we could support it, sir," Tom said. "I feel confident that you will find that we've conclusively proven our hypothesis with our research data, and have supported our findings with numerous references in the literature."
"You boys look a little rough," Dr. Smithers said. "I hope you didn't just throw this together at the last minute."
"Of course not sir," I responded. "We had the entire project done about a week ago, but on re-reading our paper, we felt we could improve it, so we did a complete re-write, which is what we are presenting to you."
"Very well," Dr. Smithers said. "I'll go through this over the weekend. You boys both have a B average so far. This project could make or break your semester grade. I hope I like it."
As Dr. Smithers' door closed behind us, Tom muttered, "You better like it, you pompous old fart. We didn't just go three nights without sleep for nothing."
"What do you want to do now, Tom?" I asked.
"If I didn't have a near-toxic level of caffeine in my system, I'd say I wanted to sleep until Monday, but all I want now is a shower, some food, and maybe a beer or two."
"Sounds good to me," I said.
We made it to the bar by before seven o'clock. The beer or two turned into four pitchers. Around ten o'clock, the alcohol was starting to overpower the caffeine and I was thinking about heading home to crash – for days. Then I noticed two girls sitting at a table near us.
"Tom, check out the pussy at the table over your left shoulder," I said.
"Huh?" Tom said, obviously feeling the effects of both our marathon work session and his half of the considerable amount of beer we had consumed. Then there were his double shots of whiskey. If Tom decided it was time to get stupid-drunk, he always had a double shot before each pitcher we bought. He actually can hold his liquor, to a point. Sometimes he partied right past that point. Those were the times when I really wondered about myself, calling this dipshit my best friend.
"Wake the fuck up and check it out, man! Who are they?" I asked, swiveling on my bar stool.
Tom turned to look. The two girls were smiling at us, their heads close together, apparently whispering to each other about us. They were both pretty, with medium-length, wavy hair. Since they were sitting down, it was hard to tell what their figures were really like, but both appeared to have a decent rack, and neither looked like she was wearing a bra.
Tom turned back to me. "I dunno, but damn, they're hot!"
"No shit, Sherlock. And they were smiling at us when you turned and drooled at them, asshole!"
"Yeah, well, pardon me all to hell," Tom said to me. "You think at this point in the night, or the week, for that matter, that I can be subtle?"
"I guess not," I said. "Do you like the blond or the redhead?"
"I like a chick who might spread her legs," Tom said. "You saw them first, so you get first dibs."
"If the carpet matches the curtains, I'll take the blond," I said.
"Works for me, amigo, but how are you going to find out?" Tom asked.
"If I get to the point where I can tell for myself, I guess I won't care that much. Besides, if she shaves, I'll never have to know," I said.
"True enough. What's your game plan?"
"Let's get a fresh pitcher and go over and see what happens," I said.
We ordered another pitcher and went over to the girls. They were at a table for four, sitting next to each other. Tom and I took the other two seats, so that he was next to the redhead and I was next to the blond.
"Are you boys celebrating something?" the blond asked. "You sure are drinking a lot of beer."
"We just turned in a kick-ass research project that is going to get us an A in our Educational Psychology course," Tom said.
"You hope it will get us an A," I reminded Tom. "If old man Smithers sees through all the bullshit in that thing, we'll flunk."
"You guys are Psych majors?" the redhead asked.
"Yeah, we're Juniors. One more year of this undergrad crap to go." I answered.
"We're freshmen," the redhead said. "My name is Michelle, and this is Janine."
"I'm Dan, and my drunken friend here is Tom."
"How do you guys know each other?" Janine asked.
Tom replied, "I picked him up here in this bar about a year ago."
"You might want to clarify that, dipshit!" I said, smiling at him sweetly.
Tom looked confused for a moment while the girls giggled, but then caught on. "What I mean is, I first ran into Dan here last year. Now we live across the hall from each other."
"You sure did run into me. You spilled a full pitcher of beer all over me when you were stumbling to the bathroom." Turning to the girls, I said, "Tom sometimes has a problem with not knowing his limits at the bar. Like now."
Michelle laughed and patted Tom's hand. "We're still more or less sober, so I guess we won't have to worry about you trying to take advantage of us. But we might try to take advantage of you."
"Oh really?" I said. "Does that mean I should act drunk too? Would you like to take advantage of me?"
"Our glasses are empty. Maybe you boys should buy us a drink or two and we can see who takes advantage of whom," Janine said. I noticed that her knee was pressing against mine.
"What would you like?" I asked.
The girls looked at each other and giggled. Then Michelle put her hand on Tom's again. "I think we'd both like a 'Wet Pussy'."
Somehow, I managed to keep my "cool" face, but Tom damn near choked on his beer. "Did you just say what I thought you said?" he sputtered.
The girls laughed. "It's a drink, silly. An ounce of Chambord raspberry liqueur, two ounces of Irish Cream, and six ounces of milk shaken with ice, then strained and served in a tall glass," Michelle said.
"I'll go get them," I said.
Tom said, "I'll go piss."
Janine said, "Thank you for sharing. Remember, if you shake it more than three times, you're playing with yourself. And that would be a shame." She then leaned into me and said, "After we finish those, maybe we'd like a 'Fuck Me Hard'."
"Equal parts Crown Royal, Southern Comfort, and Amaretto, in pineapple juice with a splash of Grenadine?" I asked.
Janine leaned into me so that her one firm breast was pressing into my arm. She put her hand on my thigh and gently rubbed up from my knee to within an inch of my growing erection. "We're not heavy drinkers. But we do like to have fun."
The girls were talking quietly between themselves again when I returned with their drinks, but they stopped when I sat down.
"So, tell me about yourselves," I said.
"Well," Janine began, "we're roommates. We've been best friends since elementary school. We've always done everything together. Play-dates when we were little, swimming lessons, dance class, softball, cheerleading, double dating, the works. Michelle's my very best friend."
"Yeah," Michelle said, "the other girls on our floor say we're LUGs, but that's really not true."
"Michelle!" Janine scolded.
"What are LUGs?" I asked.
"Lesbians Until Graduation," Janine explained. "It's because we spend so much time together. And we're so compatible. And we sometimes swap clothes."
"Yeah, Janine has the cutest collection of thongs," Michelle said. "I'm always swiping her stuff. Sometimes she gets mad at me when she finds out I haven't done laundry and we're both out of underwear. Like today. And the LUGs thing probably comes from the fact that we both like to sleep nude."
"In separate beds," Janine hastily added.
"Yeah, but remember last fall when the power went out during that big thunderstorm? Janine's terrified of storms. She had just crawled into bed with me when a couple of the other girls on our floor came in to see if we had any candles they could borrow. It was warm that night, so we were lying on top of the sheets, and I was holding her to try to get her to calm down. I guess it didn't look very innocent!" Michelle chuckled.
"So that's how the lezzie rumors got started. And it doesn't help when girls walk in and find us surfing porn together," Janine said.
"Especially when you have my toys spread out all over the place," Michelle added.
I managed not to laugh too loud, and at the same time gave up on trying to control the continued growth of my boner. At that point, Tom returned from the bathroom. He struggled a little getting into his chair. It may not have been obvious to everyone in the bar, but I knew for certain that Tom was officially shit-faced.
"Potty break," Michelle whispered to Janine.
"Yeah, me too," Janine said. She leaned and whispered in my ear, "Don't go away. We need to get better acquainted."
It was a struggle, but I kept cool until the ladies' room door closed behind them. Then I looked at Tom, raised my hand for a high-five, and said, "Holy shit! Holy shit! Do you believe this?"
"Dan, am I hallucinating? Did you see them? When Michelle got up, shit! Those jeans are so tight I could see camel-toe. She saw me looking, and she fuckin' winked at me! This can't be happening!" Tom said. He was sweating.
"Janine said she wanted to get better acquainted. Did you see that ass?" I blurted.
"Every bit as hot as Michelle's. Janine's wearing tights and booty shorts? Fuck! Are they really coming back to this table?"
"Yeah, and then they're coming to our rooms, and IF we're lucky, we're..., we're,...oh God." I said. My jaw was starting to hurt from smiling so hard.
Tom finally raised his hand to mine. He didn't high five me. Instead, he grabbed my hand and squeezed it hard. "The research project did it to us. We've died. This must be heaven. There is no other explanation. Damn!" Tom said. His grin was at least as big as mine.
"I'm not drinking any more," I said. "Is there any coffee left at home?"
"I'm going to want to stay up for awhile tonight. 'UP!' I haven't rubbed one out since Monday, man. I'm going to drown her in cum. OH GOD! YES!" I hissed at Tom.
"I think I need a drink," Tom said as he stood up.
"Wait! I gotta get the girls' drinks," I said. "We need to talk."
The bartender looked at me. "Fuck me hard," I said.
He didn't bat an eye. "I sure hope that's a drink order for a lady, kid. Otherwise, you're flagged, tossed, and barred for ninety days. I'm not kidding. My bouncer is bored. So, what'll it be?" Then he smiled.
"Two times," I replied. "One for the blond, and one for the redhead. I'll take a plain cola."
Tom said, "I got this round. But Dan gets a double shot of whiskey. So do I."
"All right," the bartender said. He leaned over the bar between us. "You damn kids are so lucky! Don't screw this night up. Every guy in here, and some of the girls, just fuckin' died when those two got up to go to the john. If you don't take them home and show them a VERY good time, everyone in here is going to think you're nuts! And believe me, we'll know. Maybe not tomorrow, but it won't take long."
"I really don't want the whiskey. Just the cola," I said to the bartender.
"Always thought you were the brains of the outfit, Dan," the bartender said. "Tom, you sure you want the whiskey? I think a soda or water might be the wise man's choice."
"C'mon, we're regulars, aren't we? Do we give you trouble? Do we tip okay?"
"Don't get your panties in a bunch, Tom!" the bartender said. "When I was your age, my brother and I had a few 'miracle' nights, like you could be having. A couple of times we picked up some cute girls in some bar. But there were two differences between our situation and yours."
"What do you mean?" Tom asked.
"Your girls are way hotter than any my brother and I ever got. The other difference is, we were smart. You're being dumb."
Tom laughed. "I'm fine. Thanks for your concern. I really would like that whiskey now."
"Okay, buddy," the bartender said with a smile. When he turned to get our drinks, he shook his head. "Dumb kid," he said.
The girls were back at the table when we returned with the drinks. I decided Tom had been right. We had died and gone to heaven. It was obvious to anyone within twenty feet that neither of them were wearing bras. Four very erect nipples were straining at the girl's shirts. Janine's looked bigger around than Michelle's, but Michelle's stuck out more. They were perfect.
"Hey guys," Michelle said. "Oh good, our drinks. Thanks!"
Janine positioned herself so that her entire hip and thigh were crushed against mine. "What are you drinking?" she said to me.
"Cola," I said. Then in my best Clint Eastwood voice, I said, "A good man always has to know his limitations."
"See if I write your next paper for you," Tom said, sipping his whiskey.
I know Tom well enough to know when he wants an argument to end, so I smirked at him and shook my head. Then we both smiled.
Michelle said, "If we could all hang out somewhere, I'd be ready to leave here soon."
"Me too," I said as Tom nodded.
"Where can we go?" Janine asked.
"Our rooms. Tom and I live right across the hall from each other. It's not a regular dorm. It's an old farmhouse the college bought. They're going to tear it down and build a new dorm in a few years, but until then, it's home. We're on the second floor. The only thing up there is our rooms and a bathroom. Like a house bathroom. Two sinks on little vanities, a toilet, and a tub with a shower. Very Ozzie and Harriet," I said.
"Sounds a lot nicer than the painted concrete boxes in our dorm," Michelle said.
"Yeah, but we've done pretty much decorating," Janine said. "Our room is cute. But it says a lot about both of us, if you look closely."
"Like in the laundry basket, the bookcases, and the DVD rack," Michelle laughed.
"Or your nightstand drawer," Janine said. "Gotcha."
"What's your room like?" Michelle asked Tom.
"A combination of early '60's remodeling in an old house, a typical college room with dorm furniture, books, and stuff, and a pretty good man cave, all rolled up in one," Tom said.
"A dump," I laughed.
"But one with charm," Tom said. "It doesn't look like a thirteen-year old kid's bedroom at home, like yours does, Dan."
"Fighting words, Tom. We've had this discussion." Turning to the girls, I said, "This moron is my very best friend. He's probably going to be my neighbor or the best man in my wedding or something. But he's never going to be my roommate. It's fine crashing in each other's rooms because we're just hanging out really late and we nod off. But waking up on the other side of the room with him every day? Not happening."
"Can we see your rooms?" Michelle asked.
"Tonight? Like, soon?" Janine asked. She turned to look at me, making sure her tit rubbed my arm as she did.