"Well... looks like it's gonna be a long night," said Mark.
His dorm party was winding down, and everyone was getting ready to go. A pair of R.A.'s with a mop were triaging the spilled beer, and the only girl in sight was holding firmly to the arm that was taking her home.
It wasn't going to be a long Friday night because Mark was planning on staying up and studying. It was looking like a long, sleepless night for the sophomore because he had spent the whole evening courting a pretty little freshman who had, ultimately, succumbed to a surfeit of alcohol and was now sleeping it off in her own bed.
His friend Barry had just stopped by on his way home. The burly senior was grim-faced, nursing a grudge and a wounded ego.
Barry had spent the evening in a bar with an old friend and two hot girls... both of whom had gone home with his friend. Both. Leaving Barry to walk home alone. His beer buzz was falling flat and he was teetering between resigned and downright grumpy.
"You got one more up in your room?" asked Barry.
"Sure, there's a couple beers in my fridge. Want one?"
"Yeah, I could use it."
Barry was still sore about not scoring, and was trying not to blame the world in general. And Mark, still almost able to feel the slight girlish curve of Geena's waist under her dress, wasn't much happier.
They knew the invitation would probably be about more than just beer.
There wasn't much chit-chat as they climbed the stairs to Mark's floor. They didn't meet each other's eyes as he unlocked his door. A pair of bottles was brought out, and the two of them sat at opposite ends of Mark's couch, sipping and quiet.
"So two blondes huh," said Mark.
"Models."
"Nice."
"The one I liked," said Barry, "had these punky little pigtails. Tall girl, almost as tall as me. Real pretty."
"Nice."
"Not super thin. Well, I mean like thin, but you know. Big tits, big hips. Solid and curvy, you know? She had this like innocent oval face, like a farmer's daughter or something. Right? Tits like a fuckin' pair of grapefruits, this little stretched T-shirt... well, maybe small grapefruits. Or big oranges," he reflected.
"What was the other one like?"
"Kinda tall too, but thin. Hot. Way out of your league." They shared a grin. "Black dress, like the bar was a fuckin' cocktail party or something. And..." Barry held out his hands, maybe in an attempt to demonstrate or just recall the shape of her body. His hands dropped. "Shit."
"Sounds hot."
"How about you with that Indian girl? What was she like?"
Mark thought for a moment. Geena had been really sweet all night and he didn't want to ... well, besmirch her, he guessed.
But he was horny as hell, and she had been so hot. Sweet or not, he had really, really wanted to fuck her.
"Geena's like a little bundle of sugar, you know? Small and kinda hyper and ..." He paused. How could he describe what it was like to watch her lips as she talked, to catch her eye and see her smile as their gaze met? How warm she was on his lap, and how soft her waist felt under his hand? How she went from adorable wearing a smile, to smoldering without it?
"Pretty?"
"Oh yeah, real pretty."
"Good body?"
"Yeah... she has this tight little body... it was all under this long dress... but I was really looking forward to taking it off her, know what I mean?"
Barry nodded. Mark was being honest and he wasn't sure why.
Proving to Barry that he really did have the hots for this girl? For a girl?
Maybe proving to himself?
He wasn't lying. Neither of them was. Mark didn't want to be on his sofa with a male friend nursing a beer. Mark had wanted to fuck Geena. And if she was as pleasant sober and not a complete flake, he had thought, she might be girlfriend material.
And Barry had wanted to fuck Betty-Ann. From behind. Then on top. Or the other order was fine too. The girlfriend thing wasn't so much on his radar anymore.
They swigged a little beer.
"Oh hell I have just the thing for you," said Mark suddenly. Then stopped, sheepish. Then plowed ahead.
"There's this girl with pigtails, sounds just like yours. In my porn collection." He was already opening windows on his laptop, looking for the half-remembered movie. "And I think she was even in a lesbian scene with an Indian chick. Wouldn't that be a hoot."
Barry didn't respond. Didn't say anything or sit up. He thought about that for a second. Lifted his beer halfway to his mouth, then set the half-full bottle aside and waited.
He wasn't sure he was going to like this... but thought he probably might.
And he didn't feel like objecting.
Mark opened a movie onto the laptop screen, set it on the coffee table, and squinted and clicked to skip to the part where everyone has their clothes off.
The white girl didn't look anything like Betty-Ann. She did have blonde pigtails, but long, and with fucking bows in them, which looked ridiculous, Barry thought to himself. Too thin, and too much makeup. And boobs that were almost certainly not real.
The Asian girl was Japanese or something. Not remotely Indian. To be fair to Mark's memory, it had been quite a while since he had watched any of this particular movie... and he had never watched it all the way through.
Mark sat forward, resting elbows on knees, at the edge of his couch, watching as the ostensible lesbians on his laptop shared an open-mouth kiss and played with each other's boobs. The girls were turned to the camera, displaying for it, legs spread for it, both full-frontal as they made out for the boys.
Barry was already half-reclining on the arm of the sofa. His manhood had been led on all night. And now he was suddenly looking at a landscape of nude girl. Rolling hills of thigh and belly and arm graced mountains of tit, and both boys surveyed the twin valleys laid bare at the junction of each girl's legs.
It was a map of girls, a guide to sex: here the body is, look. Go from here to here. You see? Your destination is where you always knew it was: here, we'll lay it out for you, here, look.
The ex-football player's short, fat cock swelled in his jeans.
Sitting back, he could feel it grow, observe it without looking. No penis goes from soft to hard instantly. He felt the first blood pump into it, not stiffening it, not yet, just a gentle swelling.
As he watched the glowing screen, it swelled more, and began to harden. Just half-hard now. Now the stiffening was building, the spongy length turning into a shaft, the still-pliant tissues shifting and stretching in his pants.
And then his cock was stiff and erect, the head squeezed and pushed further into the stretched clothing. Pushing into the final stage of erection. The tension was still building. The hardness was turning into an insistent pressure. Shaft hard as wood now, and bulbous head bulging and proud.
