Our hero can’t decide which girl to ask out.
NB: This story is for ADULT amusement only. It contains themes of group sex and of an adult, explicit, SEXUAL nature.
Enjoy.
>>>>
My last class on Wednesdays let out at 4:15, but I had hung out for a few minutes with another student to argue with our professor about a point she had made during the discussion that afternoon. Both my friend Cassie and I felt that the woman needed to know that she was just flat wrong, but didn’t want to waste our classmates’ time with our corrective input. Fifteen predictably unproductive minutes later, our professor remained impervious to our superior arguments, and we finally despaired of fixing her.
My friend peeled off to head for her newer, more luxurious dorm, and I carded myself into the aging Stenson Hall, wherein lay my own, less expensive, lair. I stopped to stomp the unseasonably late snow off my boots in the entry, then briskly hopped up the stairs to the second floor and ambled down the hall. I was in a good mood. I had a fun argument under my belt already that day, and my homework situation was about a chill as it ever got.
Two rooms before I reached my own, I saw the door to 210 standing open. The cultural rule at my university is that if you leave your door open, it is an invitation to one and all to drop in and hang out. If you find a door closed, but you still want to talk to the inhabitant(s), you knock, and wait. No answer, you move on. About a third of doors were open at any given time. I had passed several to get to this point in the hall.
I did not pass 210, however. Instead I swung in. 210 was the abode of Lisa and Lee. Both were sophomores like me, and both were good friends, and near continuous obsessions, of mine. I paused in the doorway and rapped on the frame. “Everybody decent in here?” I called as I came on in.
“Fully clothed!” sang out Lee cheerily.
“Shucks. Life is a continuous series of disappointments,” I grumbled as I passed their closets flanking the entrance and stopped in the middle of the room. The two of them shot a look at each other. That was honestly about the most flirty I ever got with these two girls, but not because I wasn’t interested. Far, far from it.
Lisa was sitting on her bed against the left wall, her legs crossed. The dorm rooms in Stenson are chronically kept at a wastefully, uncomfortably, warm temperature. Therefore, despite the late spring snow outside, Lisa was wearing athletic shorts. That suited me fine, as it afforded me a great view of her crossed, tauntingly athletic legs. Her naturally platinum blonde bangs hung down over her face as she twisted to the left to type furiously on the laptop sitting upon the bed next to her. She looked up at me briefly, an absent-minded but brilliant smile flashing into view. She muttered, “Hello, George,” and she went back to banging away on her keyboard, obviously completing a thought.
Lee was likewise sitting on her bed against the opposite wall, propped up against the veritable mountain of pillows she always kept there. She held a copy of The Invisible Man loosely in her hand in a gesture that clearly indicated that she’d prefer talking to me, or probably even a wall, over reading that book. She laid it open but face-down on the beautiful, half-shade darker than cafe au lait skin of her leg. She too was wearing shorts. Lee habitually wore her shorts almost to the knee however, as if she didn’t like inviting comparisons to Lisa’s toned masterpieces. Privately, I thought that ridiculous. Lee might not have the sculpted limbs of the nationally ranked skier that Lisa was, but her softer, curvier legs and ass were equally enticing, if differently so. She was mixed-race, and I mean really mixed-race. In just the prior three generations of her family, she boasted ancestors from the continent of Africa, two distinct parts of Asia, and Mexico, along with that most exotic of ethnicities: 14th generation Connecticut WASP. It seemed like the fates had decided to combine in Lee the most striking elements of each of her heritages. Not always the most ‘classically’ beautiful elements, mind you, but the most striking.
It should be obvious that I had the hots for both of them. And that was my problem.
Neither had much history of boyfriends in the time that I had known them. Both were wildly attractive to me, if in different ways. Both were happy, funny, smart, and charismatic. And both liked me, in what seemed like the best (worst) tradition of Platonic friendship. I wanted to change that. I wanted very much to ask one or the other of them out, and had wanted to since I had met them both the first day of the fall semester.
But which one?
“Are you going to the concert Friday night, George?” Lisa asked as I dropped my book bag and flopped uninvited onto their purple velour bean bag that served as a guest chair in their room.
“Yeah, thank God the weather will do its usual spring thing and be 60 instead of snowing by then,” I answered. I had grabbed a ticket for the cheaper lawn seating area back when they first went on sale. “You guys are going too, I assume?”
Our college boasted an outdoor amphitheater that often hosted public concerts and other performances beyond strictly campus events. Like most students, I had gone for the cheaper option that left you sitting or standing on the wide grass slope back behind where the people with adult money sat. It was the thing to do, even with the weather risk at that time of year. There was usually a pretty good party out there on the lawn beyond all the covered seating. Lisa slapped her laptop closed with satisfaction and patted a Ticketmaster printout on her desk. “We will see you out on the lawn,” she declared.
We chatted idly about the headline band, arguing about which album of theirs was the best. As is often the case with the three of us, especially when one or more is trying to avoid doing their homework, the conversation soon veered wildly off course to a heated discussion of 90’s Grunge Rock. Once on that subject, both Lee and Lisa started mooning over the ‘tragic story’ of Kurt Cobain. I contended hotly that he was a shit and an asshole who had had it all and whose self-indulgent suicide, exactly like Hemingway’s, served only to deprive the world of all the great work that they would have produced, if they’s just manned up instead of making out with a shotgun.
“You are a cold-hearted asshole,” Lisa told me good-naturedly.
Look, I might have had the burning hots for both these girls, but that didn’t mean I was going to back down on my opinion on a loser like Cobain. I have standards when it comes to my arguments about inconsequentialities.
Who am I kidding? Had I felt I was anywhere close to sealing the deal with either of them, I’d have agreed with just about any ridiculous contention, including Lee’s fervent belief that Niall Horan is in possession of any talent at all beyond simply looking good. But since I could not even make a decision about which of them to ask out in the first place, there was no potential deal to seal, even in early draft form. So Kurt Cobain and his memory just had to be shit upon. It was the only right and proper thing to do.
That sort of mental process was often underlying my thoughts when I hung out with the girls. I really wanted to go out with one of them, but was terrified of deciding who, and of what might happen if I tried.
So I did nothing. And by nothing, I mean not any kind of thing. I was so hung up on these two that I didn’t ask anyone else out either. I’m not sure that even in the impossible event that my lesbian friend Cassie had suddenly declared that she need to suck some cock for her Human Sexuality homework, that I’d have said yes. (That last example was for exaggerated illustration purposes only. Had Cassie expressed any interest in my dick, I’d have dropped trou instantly, even had we been standing in the middle of the Quad. Cassie, while quite hot, was not as sexy as either Lisa or Lee, but her friendly unattainability worked at my soul like a pebble in my shoe.)
I had resolved early on to simply bide my time, enjoy Lisa and Lee’s friendship, ogle them out of the corner of my eye, and look for any indication that one or the other might be finally looking for an invitation. And I had completely given up trying to decide between them. However, the problem was, neither they nor the fates seemed in any hurry to make my choice for me.