"I don't mind," she said. "But first I have to pee out some of this beer I've been drinking."
I could not believe my good fortune. I was only half serious when I half-jokingly suggested I should take a nap on her lap. Despite the volume and activity level of the frat party going on all around us, I'd just smoked a joint and, combined with the previously ingested beer, was extremely drowsy. She was just sitting there on the couch, wallflower-like, and my first thought was that she was in the way of my nap. My second thought was that she wasn't bad looking and would make a nice pillow. Never in a million years did I think she'd actually agree to my request. She later told me that I reminded her of a lost puppy and she just wanted to help me. Help meant keeping anyone from getting any ideas about vandalizing me for a YouTube moment, or anything else they could do to jeopardize my well-being or reputation. This was a frat-house, after all.
You have to understand that I didn't really take the time to assess her beauty or the chances that she would be disposed to suffer with my head on her lap for a couple of hours before I blurted out my proposal. I was high. She was in the right place at the right time. After she agreed, however, I sobered up enough to take stock of my situation.
She wasn't beautiful, but she was attractive. Her face was pleasant, especially when she smiled, and her eyes had depth and mystery to them. Her figure wasn't exquisite—she had a slight pear-shaped figure with hips wider than her shoulders—but a really nice ass, I thought, as she got up to go to the bathroom. She had a small bust, but her clinging top revealed that what she had was firm and pert.
As I watched her go, two things occurred to me. The first was that I would never see her again. She had just deviously let me down gently so she could make a hasty retreat. The second thing was that I wanted to watch her pee. Apparently the second thing made it out of my mouth out loud—a side effect of being inebriated. Remarkably, she agreed to this request also.
"Come on, then. Hurry up!" she said and took my hand. "I've got to go!"
She led me down the hall and into the master bedroom. There was a couple making use of the bed and reveling in the audience that had gathered to watch. But the bathroom was empty. She pulled me in and closed and locked the door behind us.
"I can't believe I'm doing this," she muttered more to herself than to me. She pulled off her jeans and I could see the dark triangle patch of pubic hair through her thin pink cotton panties. Seconds later, those were down around her ankles, and I could see that she did indeed have a healthy growth of pubic hair, neatly groomed, not untamed jungle. "You better kneel down here if you want to see." I knelt in front of her, though space was cramped, just in time to see her gush into the bowl. I guess she really did have to pee!
I thought that seeing her piss was kind of anti-climactic. It wasn't arousing, per se, but it was interesting. The thing that really got to me, though, was that she let me watch. I didn't even know her name and she drug me into the bathroom so I could watch her piss! That was awesome.
"My name's Becky," she said as though she could read my mind. I would find that she would exhibit this mind-reading capability again and again. Apparently, my thoughts were not all that difficult to discern—or maybe she really could read my mind.
"I'm John," I answered, "Thanks for letting me watch you piss."
"You're welcome," she said as she wiped. "I've never had anyone ask me that before. It sounded like fun." She stood up but made no attempt at modesty—probably realizing the pointlessness of it. I was transfixed, like I'd never seen a pussy before. Well, I had. Once. But it was dark. And hers was pretty. I also noticed that she had a marvelous ass. It was a little bigger than the scrawny skinny cheerleader asses I normally drooled over, but firm and round. I decided it was perfect.
"Your pussy and ass are wonderful," I said tactlessly. I would blame it on the weed, but the truth is I just didn't have a better way of expressing myself. Lame, I thought. But she liked it.
"Thanks, John. Maybe they'll make up for my lack of boobs." Sadly, she pulled up her panties and fastened her jeans again.
Clearly she was self-conscious about her breast size, but even in my marijuana induced haze it occurred to me that implicit in her response was the notion that I would have them all and that my disappointment with her small boobs would be outweighed by her great ass and pussy. I reveled in this knowledge because I was never a stickler for large breasts anyhow. To my mind, quality outweighed quantity.
The crowd in the bedroom was still watching the fuck show and paid us no mind as we made our way back downstairs. Sadly, the couch was no longer empty. One couple, doubtless inspired by the goings on upstairs, were busy groping and spit swapping. I was crestfallen. I was really looking forward to napping on the lap of my newfound love. Perhaps it was too soon to speak of love, but I was high and it felt like love to me.
"Looks like we have to find a different place to nap," Becky observed. "Where's your dorm?"
"Across the street from the soccer field," I answered.
She took my hand. "Let's go," she said.
We walked out across the soccer field. I was still tired but exhilarated by this new turn of events. But by the time I made it up the three flights of stairs to my room, tired was winning out. I couldn't quite fish my keys out of my pocket. Becky fished around in my pocket to retrieve the keys. Good thing. I probably couldn't have unlocked the door anyhow. She led me into the room and sat on the bed and began unfastening my jeans.
"Here," she said. "Lay on the bed so I can get your pants off." I was still conscious enough to think that it was sad that I couldn't get my own pants off, but, more importantly, that I couldn't do anything while they were off. She pulled my shoes off, then my jeans and skivvies. I was able to get my shirt off by myself.
