It started as more of a soiree. My lovely friend Amy, a fellow student at the country college I was attending, had invited a bunch of us around to her student pad – an old house in town that she shared with three or four other students – for a few drinks and smokes on a Friday night.
Amy was a sweet girl, naturally beautiful with a slight aloofness that I read as shyness. She was Eurasian in appearance with black, glossy hair in a short bob, big dark almond eyes, and a sensuous mouth with full lips. Her body was compact and slender with an almost boyish figure, and I had secretly lusted after her for almost a year, since first meeting her at student orientation. In the time I had known her she had not had a boyfriend as far as I could tell, and I was not alone in thinking that she perhaps secretly preferred the company of girls.
Nevertheless, we had become reasonably close as knockabout friends and drinking buddies. I was what was known as a 'mature age' student and, at 24 years of age, I suspect my relative worldliness may have had something to do with Amy's befriending me. Most first-year students, including Amy, were pretty much straight out of high school.
The party was a typical student affair; you know - sitting around, cask-wine, pot, loud music and even louder talking. I didn't talk to Amy much during the evening. As the hostess, she spent most of the time flitting from group to group, although once, when I did manage to catch her eye, she held my gaze slightly longer than usual, a little smile flickering around the corners of her pretty mouth. Despite the secret thrill it gave me, I put it down to our friendly familiarity and the quality of the local grass we were smoking. At one stage late in the evening, Amy's cute best friend Sara, a petite but curvy blonde, who must have had one too many cones, suddenly expressed an urgent need to lie down. Amy offered her room, and Sara, muttering general goodbyes and apologies, swayed off up the hall towards the front of the house.
As the night wore on we all got pretty trashed, more stoned than drunk in my case (I really can't drink and smoke at the same time or it wipes me out). Eventually a few people started to leave and then, within minutes it seemed, the living room was empty, apart from Amy and me and a handful of bodies, passed out on the lounge and in corners. We were both pretty whacked but feeling fine, and she asked if I wanted to crash on the floor of her room. Not relishing a long and lonely walk across town, I accepted gratefully.
Entering Amy's room, it took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim light from a small, bedside lamp which had been draped with a scarf. An old queen-size bed dominated the room, and I could just make out the form of Amy's friend Sara, lying on her back, more or less in the middle of the bed. It was a warm night, and she had pushed the sheet down so that it was only covering her legs, leaving her exposed in dark knickers and a flimsy, short singlet or halter-top of indeterminate colour. The pale skin of her bare tummy and shoulders seemed to almost glow in the semi-darkness, and her deep, steady breathing indicated she was well and truly asleep.
I barely had time to register this image before Amy hurriedly stepped over the pile of clothes that Sara had obviously discarded immediately inside the door, and pulled the sheet up to cover the distinctly arousing form of her sleeping friend.
'Shit', she hissed softly, ' I forgot all about Sara being in here. Sorry. Still, it won't make any difference will it? I mean, to you crashing on the floor?'
'Are you sure?' I whispered, a tad disingenuously. 'I'd really hate to be a bother.'
'No, seriously, it's fine', she replied under her breath, going on tip-toe to the wardrobe in the corner. 'I'll just find an old doona you can use as a mattress.'
After rummaging quietly for a minute, she returned with a rather thin and musty old eiderdown, a pillow of similar vintage, and a folded blanket which I quickly went about fashioning into a rudimentary camp-bed on the floor. As I scrabbled about, cautious not to wake Sara, Amy surreptitiously moved back to the wardrobe, pulling the 50's style summer-dress she had been wearing over her head and carefully putting it on a hanger. Politely pretending not to look, I admired her slender bare back and shapely round bottom, clad in white satin knickers, as she bent, her back to me, to pull off her shoes. She pulled on a loose white t-shirt and as she did so, I caught a brief side-view of an incredibly cute small breast, the pale nipple indistinguishable from the surrounding flesh in the dim light of the late night bedroom.
My heart was beginning to pound and my breath was getting short. I quickly stripped off down to my briefs and was lying in my 'bed' by the time Amy turned around and padded back across the room. Stepping over me to climb onto the bed, she whispered, 'Good night, sleep tight. I'll leave the little lamp on in case Sara needs to get up in the night'.
She blew me a little goodnight kiss followed by a pretty smile, and slid down under the sheet next to Sara.
The inadequate thickness of my mattress, combined with the now more-than-adequate thickness of my burgeoning erection, made it very difficult to find a comfortable position in which to sleep. Consequently, it was after only a few minutes of tossing and turning that I heard Amy's soft voice asking, 'Look, do you want to come up here? There's not a lot of room, but if I squash up next to Sara...'
Needless to say, a second invitation was not necessary. I stood up gratefully and, careful to conceal my raging hard-on (now bent sideways and straining at the cloth of my underpants), I slipped under the sheet beside her.
In her relaxed state, our bed-mate Sara had by now moved from the middle of the bed, but was still occupying most of the other half, top sheet included, leaving Amy and me with the other half between us. Trying to take up as little room as possible, and still wary of my tumescent prick, I lay on my side with my back to Amy, a tiny scrap of sheet clutched to my groin in modesty. Bound by the practicalities of the situation, Amy faced the same way, and with her shirt-clad front pressed against my bare back, spoons fashion, she rested a gentle hand on my shoulder.
My precarious position on the edge of the bed left my knees hanging over the side, with any wrong movement threatening to return me to the floor. With Amy's soft breasts against my back and my bottom in her lap, the tension in my pants was foremost in my mind. I was hardly in a position to relieve the tension myself, and realised I could not survive the night like this. Something must be done. I had to at least turn over.
Careful not to disturb either of my bed-mates, I began to manoeuvre my body in the confined space. Finally I was more-or-less on my back, albeit with my right shoulder and arm hanging off the edge. From this position I discovered I could see Amy's face and, with a shock, I saw that her eyes were wide open and were looking directly into mine.
Spontaneously, I turned my head and pressed my lips to hers. She didn't pull away, so I gently slipped the tip of my tongue out to explore. As it slid between her lips I felt the slippery tip of her tongue touch mine and quickly withdraw, only to return a second later as our tongues began a slow and tentative pas de deux. Almost automatically, my right hand found its way to Amy's left breast outside the soft cotton of her t-shirt, gently stroking and squeezing its soft firmness, the nipple responding noticeably to my fingers' ministrations.
