I was what one might call a “late-bloomer” (read: kind of dorky) in college, so I really wasn’t a big lady’s man. My friends, on the other hand, were quite a different story. They were all soccer and basketball players, and since my little east coast school didn’t have a football team, they were as good as it got for the girls. These guys had the tightest and hottest of coed trim literally beating down their doors nightly for a taste of their on-campus “popularity”. It was crazy, and pretty much all I could do was sit there, dream, and salivate…sometimes more than others. (Yes…I lived a lot—vicariously, that is—in those days.)
So—one night—it was quite the treat to actually witness a little bit more than my friends taking the assorted lasses off to their rooms and closing the doors behind them. By pure chance, I was using the communal restroom / shower-room on our floor of the dorm—finishing up with taking a leak—when I heard my friend John and his “girlfriend” Lexi stumble into the room. He was a mammoth individual—originally from Africa, though he spoke without an accent—the star basketball player on the team. She, on the other hand, was the quintessential rah-rah type—cute as hell, brunette, athletic, perky and bubbly. If ever there were jock and cheerleader stereotypes, these two would have fit them to a tee.
One thing that didn’t fit them, however, was sobriety…especially that fine evening. It was fairly clear that they had had a few to drink—probably from some free-flowing kegger that they had just attended—and they were most assuredly feeling it. None of this stopped them, of course, from starting to get hot and heavy over by the row of sinks on the far wall. The sloppy slurping noises and inaudible mumblings were the immediate and dead giveaways, and I quickly peered through the slit of the stall door to get a good look at them. To my amazement, they had no clue that I was there (“Thank you, God…or…err…alcohol!”), and—better yet—I had a perfect view of their little “show”. Indeed, what I couldn’t see directly, I could pick up in the large mirror behind the sinks. “Score!”, I thought to myself.
What transpired next was everything that I could have hoped for…and more.
After a short time of swapping spit and tangling tongues, they got really involved. John took Lexi’s head and pushed it down toward his crotch. This wasn’t her first rodeo, of course, so she knew exactly what to do…and exactly what he wanted. She reached into his loose-fitting sweats and popped his already-engorged hard-on out over the waistband. This was the biggest and blackest of dicks that I’d ever seen (some guys have all of the luck), and Lexi—though she’d certainly seen it all before—still seemed quite enthralled with her find. With a voraciousness that surprised me (and even John, apparently), she went to town on his champion cock…sucking, spitting, bobbing her head up-and-down and side-to-side…the works. He was clearly enjoying himself, as well…and I certainly didn’t mind being trapped in my “cell”.
Shortly, and once my astonishment with the whole affair faded enough for me to regain a modicum of conscious thought, I noticed that my own shorts were getting tighter. Watching Lexi guzzle and gargle John’s gargantuan girth was working wonders on my own testosterone-infused libido. “Fuck it.”, I thought. “If they can have some fun, so can I.” So—still taking in the whole sordid spectacle through my little crack in the door…my window to opportunity—I furtively reached down to my crotch, undid my shorts, and yanked out my own far-less-impressive schlong. Taking advantage of the only sexual outlet that I had had to that point in my life, I began to stroke myself—as quietly as possible—and trying to keep time with the flailing ponytail on Lexi’s cute bouncing brunette head. This was some good stuff…definitely stroke-worthy…and definitely better than the “adult material” that I had otherwise been turning to for “relief” at the time.
I kept watching…pumping my cock in my fist…and Lexi and John kept going. Their stamina was impressive, to say the least.
Eventually, he must have wanted more…as he took hold of her ponytail and literally pulled her up by it. She shuffled to her feet and struggled to maintain her balance by grasping out to the countertop. Her revealing, loose-fitting sequined black top shimmered the entire time under the perturbing motion and the harsh fluorescent lighting from above. The pair embraced, kissed, and John reached down to her tight black micro-skirt. Oh the wonders that this flimsy piece of fabric had been concealing from the deprived and desperate world. Of course, he wasted no time in hiking it up around her waist—a function of such skirts that I had always been certain was by design. And, at the same time, she yanked the top up and over her head…mussing and displacing her hair ever so slightly. John took a moment to eagerly regard his prize—as did I, but more for fear of bursting too soon and missing out on all that this scenario had to offer than anything else. Her entire body was smooth and supple…her breasts perky, hand-sized, and perfect…her panty-less crotch shaven down to bareness with nary any stubble nor razor burn. For a 21 year old such as myself at the time, she was perfection. THIS was perfection. John must have thought the same.
With a quick sweep of his arms, he propped her bare bottom up on the countertop and spread open her slender legs. Before him was the promised land, and he knew it. He spit on his hand and rubbed it on his throbbing dark member…oiling up his weapon of choice. With a solitary thrust, he entered her. She quivered and let out a slight yelp under his thickness. She shifted around a bit for both balance and position. As he began to slide in and out of her lithe body, however, any looks or hints of discomfort were quickly replaced with those of pure pleasure…of delicious delight…of erotic ecstasy. John grunted as he pounded her, picking up the pace. I stroked myself deeper and harder, still hidden behind the protection of the stall’s door. Lexi moaned, her breasts simultaneously bouncing along with John’s rhythm and also heaving under her quickened breath. It was sheer bliss…for all three of us.
Of course, all good things must come to an end, and they did as I saw John’s body tighten. He let out a primal grunt. He was coming…hard and inside of her…filling her with is misbegotten seed. As if on cue, Lexi shuddered, let out something between a gasp and a squeal, and then her entire body slumped and relaxed. John’s did the same. Knowing that the gig was up, I quickly jerked myself to a boiling orgasm…squirting everywhere…and leaving ropes and puddles of my cum on the stall door and floor alike. They didn’t hear me.
As quickly as it all started, it finished. John flipped his dong back into his pants, and Lexi threw her clothing back on. She adjusted her skirt so that it just covered her bare privates, and she shifted her top around to make it look semi-normal and a touch less disheveled. Even with her hair now fully out of whack and John’s semen dribbling slowly down past her hemline toward her knee, she was a sight to behold. With a laugh and a giggle, the pair then disappeared through the restroom door and out into the hallway. I could hear them getting further and further away, and—once I was certain that it was safe—I made my way back to my room. Sweet dreams were definitely in store for me that evening.
Of course, I never was sure as to whether John and Lexi knew that I (or even someone) was there that night. Certainly, the “evidence” that I left behind on the floor and door in the restroom could have later given it away (the poor housekeeper!). Or, perhaps I hadn’t been as quiet as I had thought and had been heard. It’s also distinctly possible that they never had a clue as to my “participation” in the evening’s events. One thing that did give me pause, though, was that the next time that I saw Lexi around campus she gave me the subtlest of winks and then turned away. Was she just being nice…showing recognition? Did she somehow know? Had she known all along? It never happened again, and John never mentioned anything. Who’s to really say? Who really cares? I got mine, right? (Kind of…)