Copyright © 2000, John Jameson. All rights reserved.

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This is a work of fiction, and all characters and events are drawn from the author's fevered imagination. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is unintentional. If you think you recognize yourself here, it's no doubt a matter of projection on your own part. (Unless, of course, you happen to be female, are not offended by what you read, and find middle-aged would-be authors of erotica irresistible. But we'll save that discussion for some other time.)

Please do not reproduce this work in any form without the express consent of the author. If you want to archive this story, you may contact me at [email protected].

If you are offended by explicit depictions of human sexuality, you may want to look elsewhere for entertainment (after consulting a competent therapist). If it is illegal for you to read such materials due to age, local laws, or other considerations (and you know who you are, so let's not kid each other), then please go no further. Not that I can stop you, but at least my conscience is clear now.

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Columbia, Missouri, the home of the University of Missouri's main campus, has long held the reputation of being a great place to meet women. When I first graduated from high school in 1970, the ratio of female college students to males in Columbia was reputed to be two to one. Not only did you have the Mizzou campus, there was also Stephens College, an exclusive women's college (one famous alumna is Annie Potts of "Ghostbusters" and "Designing Women"), and Columbia College, which had only recently gone coed and was still predominantly female. I never saw actual enrollment data, but the two to one figure is probably pretty close. Even an archetypal nerd like my roommate Alfred could get dates with beautiful women in Columbia; although, he only had one date I know of through the whole first semester.

As for me, while I'd never been the great stud of Mayville High School, I'd also never lacked for dates, but Columbia exceeded anything in my prior experience. In the first few weeks of my freshman year, I'd dated more women who would have looked at home on a magazine cover than I'd met in all the nearly nineteen years before. And it wasn't just that I was able to date them--thanks to the sexual revolution that was finally reaching even Missouri, I got laid more in the first month at Mizzou than in the whole of my senior year at Mayville. Bacchanalian keggers at the quarry which had been the centers for such revels since before my dad's college days helped, but even more was the whole "if it feels good, do it" mentality of the late 60's and early 70's.

It probably also helped that I was co-student director of the Birth Control and Problem Pregnancy Counseling Center at Columbia's leading volunteer counseling agency. I met most of the women on campus looking for a local doctor to give them a prescription for the Pill, that magic bullet that mortally wounded the last vestiges of Victorian morality (or so we thought at the time). While I didn't take undue advantage of that enviable position, I certainly had a better idea than most of my fellow male students of who in Columbia was at least considering becoming sexually active. Then there was the opportunity to sit down with many of these women and talk to them about the most intimate of subjects before I ever encountered them socially. More than one of the women whose bed I shared that fall had already spent time on the Salvation Army couch in the Center's office discussing contraception options.

My co-director was a sophomore named Barb Gruener, a petite blond from another St. Louis suburb. While we had several counselors on staff, one or the other of us was usually involved with every client, and we were the only ones taking the risks associated with the abortion counseling. That led to a lot of hours spent together, during which we developed a close friendship. I found her to have a wonderfully sarcastic sense of humor coupled with deep compassion. The two of us complemented each other well and were an effective counseling team. We shared a lot of laughs at some of the cases we handled and a lot of hours reassuring each other after dealing with some of the more distressing ones.

More than once we fell asleep together in the wee hours of the morning, sharing that lumpy couch, because we didn't have the energy to walk back to our respective dorms. Whether it was an unspoken agreement that becoming romantically involved would impair our effectiveness as a team or some other reason, we became close friends and confidantes but not lovers.

Naturally, I fell in love with a fellow freshman who, like me, was a dorm dweller.

The first time I saw Donna, the word that first came to my mind was "cute." From the neck up, she could have been thirteen. Dark brown hair tumbled in an unruly mop of loose curls to her shoulders. (She once told me that when it was cut short she looked even more like Shirley Temple, so she fought an unceasing battle to keep her hair under control.) She had big, round eyes the color of a summer sky over her native Missouri Bootheel. Her long, dark lashes were natural--I doubt she'd ever held an eyelash curler in her hand. Freckles dusted her pert little nose and dimpled cheeks. Her mouth was a Cupid's bow, her lips full, soft, and red enough that she had little need for lipstick.

From the neck down, there was no possibility anyone would ever take her for a thirteen-year-old. She was about five-three and had a tiny waist that made her slender hips seem voluptuous by comparison, but her breasts were true natural wonders. Full, round, firm, and high, they swayed delightfully whenever she moved, thanks to the passion for bralessness that was one of the major statements of the sexual revolution and particularly of the women's liberation movement. (Was I breast-obsessed? Sue me--I was a bottle baby.)

With the exception of foregoing brassieres, her usual dress was as unprovoking as anything could be on that body. More often than not, she could be seen in bell-bottom jeans (not too tight) and bulky sweaters that at least partially disguised the incredible shape of the body beneath.

We first met because we were in the same section of Foundations of Western Civilization, one of those massive lecture hall courses most freshmen must endure. Being in the same section meant we met with the same small group for discussion under the direction of a teaching assistant barely older than ourselves. As we began to realize we were the only students in our section who had at least a passing acquaintance with the thirteen books on the reading list even before entering college, we gravitated toward one another in class and in long study sessions in the Library.

Though Donna's body was the stuff of dreams, her personality seemed to be more in keeping with her face--open and friendly, but innocent and virginal as well. A year earlier, I'd have been begging her for a date anyway, willing to bide my time in hopes of seeing those incredible breasts bared to my kisses and caresses. In the flesh market that was Columbia, though, there were too many other women who lived off campus and who were more than willing to be my lab partners in Human Sex 101.

Some of them, sophomores and even one junior, were more than happy to share their more advanced knowledge with a student who was eager to learn. Before then, I thought I knew what it is to go down on a woman (okay, I'd done that with two of them, if you're gonna insist on an accurate count). By the end of my third week in college, I knew I had only begun to explore the possibilities of pleasuring women with my tongue. Thanks to the junior, Carla, I'd progressed to postgraduate studies in that art.

Still, Donna was adorable and we were spending a lot of time studying together in the Library. As first semester freshmen in the College of Arts and Sciences--I was majoring in Art History and Archaeology, Donna in Psychology--we had a lot of courses in common, even if we were in different sections in most of them. Gradually, our study sessions for Foundations of Western Civ expanded to all the courses we shared and then moved beyond to include all the subjects college freshmen so love to debate. Inevitably, that also included our views on sex.

Given her small town Bootheel roots and innocent demeanor, I'd assumed Donna would be one of those women who are determined to save themselves for their wedding night. It didn't take long to discover, once again, the truth of the old adage about judging a book by its cover. I had found my mirror image; Donna admitted she was turned on by almost every aspect of sex, not only the meeting of hard cock and warm, wet pussy, but all of the sensations surrounding the act from the first hesitant kiss to the feel of skin made damp and slick by the sweat of effort as the screwing gained in intensity. After a couple of these discussions in the hallowed precincts of the Library, it was pretty obvious that we weren't talking in the abstract anymore. She wanted me as badly as I wanted her, the only problem being that both of us lived in dorms. (For those of you who attended college in later years, there was a time when the presence of men in women's dorms and vice versa were strictly controlled. Shocking, yes, but true.)

This autumn had started off cool, and already the nights had moved into the nippy range, so just finding a secluded spot in the woods and ripping each other's clothes off seemed like a shortcut to the Student Health Center to be treated for hypothermia. I hadn't bothered bringing my camping gear to Columbia, so I couldn't even suggest heading for a state park campground, even if freshmen had been allowed to have cars on campus. I did know a few married and cohabiting couples living off campus, but none well enough yet to ask them for the use of their apartments so that we could rumple their sheets. We debated getting a motel room, but frankly neither of us had much experience in that arena nor did we have the surplus funds to pay for both the room and a cab to get us to and from a motel, so that idea was shelved for the time being.

Donna lived in one of the older women's dorms near the center of the campus, and the layout ensured that the Residence Assistants (RAs) could easily monitor the coming and going of all visitors. Also, her roommate was a devoted member of the sex police, eagerly reporting to the RAs whenever she suspected someone of entertaining a male visitor. Scratch Donna's dorm as a trysting place.

I was in one of the newer dorms on the southeast corner of the campus. These were larger structures that at least offered some possibility of entering and exiting discreetly. While the elevators and main stairwell door were in the lobby just outside the room assigned to each floor's RA, there was also a stairway at the far end of each of the three corridors where the rooms were located. We'd have to slip past twelve other rooms between mine and the stairwell, but it was less intimidating than trying to slip into Donna's dorm. There was, however, the matter of Alfred (never known as Al), who was at least as dedicated to preserving the moral standards of the student body as Donna's roommate. Okay, so we'd have to wait for him to take the Greyhound to Independence some weekend before my room became a viable location. Patience wasn't high on our agenda at that point, so we also put a pin in that idea.

The Library had a number of study cubicles and meeting rooms with real doors on them, but we ruled those out for two reasons. First, you had to have a minimum of three people to reserve one, and we weren't interested in a threesome. Not then, at least, but that's another story. Second, and more importantly, those rooms weren't very well soundproofed, and the doors didn't actually lock. So much for the Library.

Suddenly, it was as though a light had come on behind Donna's eyes. She began gathering up her books and notes and motioned me to do the same. Wordlessly, she led me from the Library and down the street to the physics building, almost running as we got closer. Each time I asked her what she had in mind, she just giggled and pulled me along faster until we were standing inside a stairwell in the classroom structure.

"There are evening classes, labs, and seminars all over this building," I told her in a stage whisper as she led me up the stairs.

"Do you know what's at the top of the stairway?" she asked in the same loud whisper.

When I shook my head, she explained.

"This is where the observatory is--there are two flights of stairs above the top level of classrooms and offices leading to the dome up on the roof."

Apparently exasperated by the puzzled look on my face, she explained more slowly.

"It's totally overcast tonight. How many people do you think are gonna be using the telescope?"

Comprehension dawned; as long as we were quiet, we could at least have warmth and relative privacy, if not comfort. We scrambled stealthily up the long flights of stairs until we reached the locked observatory door at the top.

Stacking our books on one of the lower steps, we huddled together on the landing and struggled out of our coats. With the mixture of tenderness and lust I saw on her angelic face, Donna looked like a cherub about to play a naughty prank. Our first kiss was slow and soft and tender. Her lips were incredibly soft and warm, and they clung to mine gently. We teased each other endlessly with soft kisses before our lips parted and our tongues met in light, teasing play. It seemed that since neither of us was in doubt about where this would end, we felt no pressure to push the boundaries. We were content, even determined, to let our passion build slowly in hopes that the prolonged foreplay would make our pending orgasms that much more intense.

The kisses did continue to grow more heated, and our hands finally began to wander, tentative caresses became bolder and more forward, moving from backs to hips to chests and from outside thick layers of clothing to bare skin. I was determined to let Donna set the pace this time, not to push her faster than she was willing to go. After all, I knew I didn't have to seduce her. I did soon reach the point, though, where I knew I'd need to make some adjustment in my clothing if I weren't to be distracted by pain. When I tried to nonchalantly maneuver my erection to a less confined position under my jeans, Donna noticed and smiled.

"Are you getting uncomfortable, honey?"

"Um, yeah, a little, but I just need to shift it around, so it's not trying to crawl down my pants leg."

"Here, let me help . . ." She made me stand a couple of steps down and, grinning up at me, unbuckled my belt and unbuttoned the fly of my Levi's. I moaned quietly as her fingers wrapped around the hardness of my shaft and fished my cock from my briefs--then moaned louder when her tongue flicked wetly over the swollen purple crown and down the underside.

"Are you sure you want me to put this away? I don't want you to be uncomfortable, but he sure looks like he could use some kisses," she giggled.

"So we won't be able to do any actual observing tonight, but you should have that much more time to get acquainted with the equipment in the observatory," we heard, as the sound of feet--lots of feet--reached us in the quiet of the stairwell.

Shit! I frantically buttoned my jeans and dropped to the landing, where Donna had grabbed the nearest notebook and flipped it open. As the evening Astronomy 110 class rounded the landing at the bottom of the final flight of stairs, we were huddled together over the open notebook trying our damnedest not to laugh. Since my face was no doubt at least as red as hers, I doubt the instructor fully accepted our explanation that we'd simply been looking for a quiet spot to study. I know at least one of the women in the class didn't because she sniffed the air delicately and then whispered, "Sorry about that," as Donna and I slipped down the stairs while the instructor opened the observatory door.

When we hit the sidewalk outside, we burst into laughter, holding onto one another and laughing until we had to find a bench and collapse for a few minutes to collect ourselves.

"Scratch classroom buildings," Donna giggled.

It was nearing ten o'clock, and we both had to deal with the eleven o'clock weekday curfew at the dorms. We admitted temporary defeat in our quest that night, and I walked Donna back to her dorm. As we approached the ivy-covered brick building, she grabbed my hand and dragged me behind some large evergreens.

"I can't let you go home in this condition," she whispered as she reached for my belt buckle once more.

"What about you?" I asked, equally quiet. "If you're going to be left hanging, certainly I can hold off for now, too."

"I can masturbate a lot more discreetly than you can," she replied, grinning and sticking her tongue out at me. "Five minutes after Janelle goes to sleep, I'll be enjoying a nice quiet little orgasm under the covers."

Again my fly was open, my erection back in full force almost as soon as Donna's hand enclosed it. We kissed hungrily, and I managed to slip a hand under her sweater to caress a full, round breast while she stroked me with mounting urgency. Okay, so maybe the mounting urgency was mine, but Donna really knew how to use her hands. She dropped down to her knees on the thick blanket of evergreen needles and flicked her tongue up and down my shaft and all around the tip, all the while stroking me gently in her hand. When she felt my cock beginning to jerk and swell in her grip, she took half my length in one gulp and drove me over the edge with the heat of her mouth and the maddening dance of her tongue. I managed not to groan so loudly that I attracted attention as Donna's mouth and hand milked me dry. Then she carefully licked me clean, tucked my slowly deflating cock back inside my briefs and stood to kiss me while she deftly re-buttoned my jeans. The salty taste of my cum on her lips made my sleeping cock stir, but I resolved to behave himself. Hand in hand, I walked her to the door of her dorm where we shared a chaste good night kiss under the watchful eye of the RA before I began the trek across campus to my own dorm.

The next evening after supper, I met Donna for our regular study session at the Library. For about twenty minutes we were able to concentrate on Plutarch's Lives of the Noble Romans, but then the hormones started kicking in again in earnest. As good as it had felt when Donna gave me the blow job outside her dorm the night before, I would not be satisfied with half measures, and neither would she. We had to find a place where we could safely get naked together and bring one another to total orgasmic fulfillment. In our youthful idealism, we could tolerate nothing less than the full success of our quest.

Unfortunately, neither of us had any brilliant flashes of inspiration that day. Well, I'd had a couple, but they both revolved more around what to do after we'd found a place and gotten naked.

"I talked to everyone I could collar among my off-campus friends today," she sighed, "and none of them seems to be willing to give us their place for a night, except one guy who insisted on being allowed to stick around and photograph us."

"Same here. The only people I found who were willing either wanted to join in or had some other strings attached I wasn't willing to accept."

We sat holding hands across the study table and sighed together, then had to stifle our laughter. Surely two determined, resourceful, and intelligent people could conquer a challenge this simple, right?

"Y'know," I whispered across the table, "I look at this as a personal challenge now. The motel option is still there, but I'm betting we can manage to find someplace else."

"I agree. We're supposed to be smart people, for God's sake! How smart can we be if we can't do something as simple as finding a place to screw each other silly?"

"Okay then, we're agreed. Do you feel up to a little stroll around the campus, M'lady?"

"I think that's a wonderful idea, Sir Knight. I trust you plan for us to seek a place where you can sheath your sword?"

"Oh, I know exactly where I want to sheath my sword," I chuckled as Donna covered her mouth to keep from laughing out loud. "The question is where shall we find a place where we can accomplish the sheathing?"

"Are we gonna play word games all night, or are we gonna look for a place to play the games we really want to play?"

I took her hand, and we set out together on our journey of exploration. Arms around each others waists, we strolled around the central campus like any other young lovers, poking our noses into Jesse Hall, looking for warm spots in McAllister Park, wandering through the Student Union and the classroom buildings in the campus core. We didn't have much luck, except we almost stepped on one couple making out near the Columns. They must have been braver souls than we were--or hornier--since the evening temperature was already in the 30s.

We got chased out of a couple of buildings by the night janitorial staff, found a few potentially promising spaces--all either locked or occupied, unfortunately--and kept up a running sotto voce dialogue about what we were going to do once we did manage to find our magic hideaway. Unfortunately for us, all we came up with that evening was more frustration.

"This time it's your turn," I told Donna as we ducked into the evergreens outside her dorm to say good night.

In spite of the chill, she eagerly complied, leaning back against the brick wall of the old building and watching my every move as I pushed her jeans down. We weren't going to be able to get her legs spread enough for me to go down on her without getting one leg free of the jeans, but as our tongues danced a complicated tango from mouth to mouth, she was able to bend her knees enough to give my hand room to maneuver a little. She whimpered into my mouth as my fingertips lightly traced the outline of her pubic curls, then dipped between her thighs to explore the contours of her outer labia, memorizing every curve and hollow with soft caresses before moving inward. Her inner lips were slick and hot, opening under the gentle urging of my fingers and eliciting a moan from deep inside her when I began to probe, ever so tenderly, between them. Her warm honey coated my fingers, and I lifted them to my lips for a taste before slowly entering her with one, then two, insistent digits.

Donna trembled and clung to me more tightly as I twisted my fingers back and forth and slowly pumped them in and out of her cunt; she wiggled and tried to imprison them in its velvet grip. Once I had my fingers thoroughly slicked with her juices, I began to spread the silky fluids upward, around her swollen clit. I was careful not to touch it. Her kisses became hungrier and more demanding with each circuit my fingers made around her clit--first dipping inside to caress her inner walls, receiving a fresh coating of her nectar, then brushing up the length of her slit. With each pass, I'd massage her throbbing clit a little more with a finger on either side of it, manipulating the folds of her clitoral hood so they caressed the little nub within.

She placed one hand over mine and directed me to the position and rhythm she needed, my fingers now dancing in little circles around and over her straining clit as she neared her orgasm. Suddenly, she began to tremble violently and moaned into our kiss as it swept over her like a massive series of ocean waves, each one further weakening her legs. At last she pulled my hand away and drew her jeans up enough to allow her to sit on the carpet of evergreen needles while her breathing slowed.

"Oh, baby, that was sooooo nice," she panted softly, her eyes glittering as she watched me clean my soaking fingers with my tongue.

After a couple of minutes, she slid back up the wall and zipped her jeans. Her legs were still trembling as we approached the door, and I saw the RA looking at us oddly. Donna laughingly complained about me running her until she was weak in the knees, and they exchanged knowing grins as Donna explained I hadn't listened to her warning that it was time to leave the Library. Another chaste good night kiss outside the dormitory entrance and it was again time for me to return to the solitude of my own narrow bed. As I undressed for bed, quietly and in the dark so as not to awaken Alfred, I pondered my erect cock and wondered if it wasn't time to accept defeat and admit that a motel was the only viable option open to us.

The next morning was a lecture hall day for Foundations of Western Civilization, so Donna and I sat in the cavernous auditorium and scribbled notes as we tried to keep up with the rambling lecture from the professor who "taught" the course. Though neither of us had yet spoken to him face-to-face, it was unlikely we ever would. Full professors didn't deal with freshman in survey courses--that's what teaching assistants were for. We both had an open period after the lecture, so we decided to walk the two blocks over to The Shack and examine the names and initials carved into the booths by prior generations of Mizzou students, while we munched their famous burgers.

"Holy shit!" I exclaimed, when she commented that one of the names was the same as mine, except it was followed by the date 10/10/47. "That's my dad's inscription; he was a student here in '47 after he got out of the Navy!" Donna laughed delightedly and kept examining the records left by the penknives of countless students over the decades. The Shack had been the University's landmark eatery in its location just across from Jesse Hall and the Columns.

"Why does the name Mort Walker ring a bell?" she mused quietly at one point. She showed me the inscription, and I laughed.

"Did you ever read 'Beetle Bailey' or 'Hi and Lois' in the newspaper comics?"

"The local paper carries 'Beetle Bailey' . . . Oh, God; this is the Mort Walker who writes that?"

"Yeah," I explained, "he was a student here, too. In fact, Beetle was a freshman at Mizzou before he joined the Army."

We took our time over lunch as neither of us had a class until two that afternoon. While we sipped thick, rich malts for dessert, we looked at other old inscriptions carved into the table top, benches, and back wall of our booth, making up little stories to go with some of them and laughing happily.

When we reluctantly parted, it was with the agreement we'd meet as usual on the third floor of the Library after dinner.

When I got to our accustomed study table, Donna was waiting there for me with a frown darkening her normally happy face.

"What is it, baby?" I whispered, stepping around behind her to massage her shoulders. She leaned back until her blue eyes met mine.

"Delay of game," she answered sadly. "I could tell at dinner tonight I'm gonna be starting my period before tomorrow."

"Oh, fuck!" I growled quietly as I dropped into my chair opposite her. "And here I thought I had good news for you: Alfred's going home for the weekend." I held her hand gently in both of mine while she tried to decide whether to laugh or cry at the irony.

"Doesn't it just figure?" she giggled, obviously opting for the humorous interpretation rather than the tragic. I still wasn't so sure it was funny, but I smiled back anyway. What the hell, I thought, she's gonna feel bad enough the next few days without me pouting about something we can't control.

"I don't suppose he normally goes back to Independence two weekends in a row, huh?"

"Nope, every other weekend, like clockwork."

"Shit, and my folks are coming up for Parents' Weekend the week after next," she sighed.

We went to work and got our homework out of the way, then strolled quietly from the Library to Donna's dorm. There was no groping in the bushes this night, just our usual kiss good night at the door. The next several days it seemed as though even the weather was laughing at our frustration, with a brief resurgence of Indian summer bringing daytime temperatures in the 70s, falling into the low 60s in the evenings.

That next Tuesday morning when we met at the door outside the seminar room where our class section met with the TA twice a week, Donna asked me what I was grinning about. Rather than answering directly, I asked how she was feeling now that her period was over.

"Wonderful, thanks; now what's so fucking funny?" she whispered.

"I'll tell you after class."

All through the discussion of the assigned readings from Plutarch, I kept grinning, Donna kept kicking my ankle under the table, and the TA kept giving us dirty looks. As soon as the class ended, she grabbed me by the arm and dragged me out onto the sidewalk.

"Okay, Mr. Smartass," she demanded as she melted into my embrace, "what's so damned funny?"

"What plans do you have for Saturday?" I asked, hugging her tightly.

"I thought maybe we could go see 'Catch-22' over at the theater on Broadway," she mused, "unless . . ." I saw comprehension dawn on her face just before she dug her fingers into my ribs. "You sneaky bastard!" she giggled. "You've found something, haven't you?"

"Some of the folks from the counseling center have gone in together to rent a huge, old pre-Civil War farmhouse outside of town," I told her. "If you're interested, we've got the use of one of the bedrooms Saturday night if we're willing to help with cleanup and painting during the day. We can stay through Sunday, and someone will give us a ride back into town before Sunday night curfew at the dorms."

We caught a few amused looks from passers-by as Donna leaped from the ground and wrapped her legs around my hips, kissing me passionately enough to raise the surrounding air temperature by a good ten degrees.

"Let's go get lunch," she whispered as she nibbled my earlobe. "You're gonna need your strength."

The rest of the week dragged on, with classes and our evening study dates in the Library and the usual demands of a full course load never enough to keep our minds off the weekend ahead for very long. Somehow, though, we survived. When I left her at the entrance of her dorm on Friday night, we agreed I'd meet her in the same spot at seven the next morning and we'd walk together to where my friend Donny would pick us up in his VW microbus to drive out to the farmhouse.

Saturday was a classic autumn day: clear, bright and cool. I don't think it was the chill air, though, that accounted for the flush in Donna's cheeks when I picked her up at her dorm that morning. I had my spare clothing and toiletries in a backpack, so I took her small travel bag and carried it as we walked over to the counseling center, each of us with an arm around the other's waist. Donna had taken advantage of the communal kitchen in the old dorm to bake a huge batch of blueberry muffins, which she then packed to bring along for people to munch with their coffee as we worked on the old farmhouse. The aroma of the fresh baked goods was almost as enticing as the scent of her hair as we walked the six blocks to the center.

There were ten of us going out in Donny's bus, so I had to "suffer" with Donna snuggled on my lap during the fifteen minute drive out to the farm. She teased and tantalized me, wiggling her warm bottom in my lap, kissing my ears and neck, and whispering about what would happen that night when we retired to the privacy of our room. I retaliated by slipping one hand up under her tattered sweatshirt and brushing my fingers across her belly and up to the undersides of her breasts. My fingertips brushed upward softly until they just barely contacted the edges of her areola, then retreated, only to repeat the cycle again on the other breast. I traced every curve of her magnificent breasts in this way--except her aching nipples. By the time the short ride was over, I was pretty sure she had a small wet spot in the crotch of her jeans, though it was much less obvious than the pulsating bulge in mine.

We were given a quick tour of the old place, a large brick Georgian design with massive chimneys at either end. It had been built in 1856 by a man who was to become a Union-sympathizing judge during the Civil War. Some people claimed the place was haunted by the ghosts of Confederates he'd had hung from the ancient oak trees out front. The house had a huge kitchen and even larger living and dining rooms on the first floor, a small room that had been a library, six smallish bedrooms and two nearly new baths on the second floor, and four smaller general purpose rooms on the third floor. Donna and I had been assigned to one of the guestrooms on the second floor, sparsely furnished with a double bed, an old wing chair, a dresser with a stained mirror, and a nightstand. To us it was a bridal suite, if only because the massive oak door and the thick old interior walls were, we were assured with a grin, almost soundproof. We deposited our luggage on the bed and rejoined the group around the coffeepot in the kitchen. The group ate and praised Donna's muffins as we split up the tasks to be done that day; then we all turned to and got to work.

Donna and I were part of the group painting the living room, and I was surprised at the level of discipline and craftsmanship everyone brought to the job. With a liberal use of drop cloths and a little time to make sure bare wood was masked, we managed to cover every inch of the walls with a fresh coat of pale yellow paint with hardly a drop spilled. What spills there were seemed to land on people, not surfaces we wanted to protect. By one in the afternoon, we were cleaning up brushes and rollers, setting them out on the wraparound porch to dry, when Donny pulled up with a busload of pizzas and beer. Barb Mueller promised us a home-cooked curry for dinner. We moved our materials into the library as soon as we'd eaten our fill of pizza.

Dan Franklin, the director of the counseling center, talked though the afternoon about plans to use the farmhouse as a retreat center for the staff. As one of the student directors, I agreed it was something we could use, since it was surprisingly stressful work at times, especially working the Acid Rescue lines and counseling pregnant women three years before Roe v. Wade. At that time, even advising a pregnant woman on where abortions could be obtained was illegal in the state of Missouri.

We mainly did preliminary screenings and helped women interested in adoption or keeping their babies to get in touch with appropriate support resources and to think about how to deal with families, boyfriends, etc. Women who wanted abortions were referred to a group of volunteer clergy who had accepted the risk of maintaining guides to places in the country it was possible to obtain such services legally and safely. The theory was that merely referring someone to a third party that did the actual referrals for abortions insulated us from felony charges if the state ever decided to play hardball.

We had similar protective rules because of our involvement with Acid Rescue and runaway counseling; no one was EVER allowed to bring any illegal substances into the center. More than once, the Columbia cops had come in and searched the building looking for drugs, but the worst they'd found had been a bottle of Boone's Farm wine in a fridge. Alcohol being considered almost a required food group at Mizzou, we'd never been hassled for that but were convinced if they ever came in and found so much as a dime bag of grass, we'd all be busted.

In any event, the idea of having some place away from the center where the staff could come and do encounter sessions and workshops, receive additional training, and just shoot the breeze together made a lot of sense to me. I promised Dan that the staff in my area would make contributions to the rent in order to have use of the facility.

We got so caught up in the discussion as we worked that we almost didn't realize we were done painting the library until it was time again to clean our tools. The smell of the chicken curry, which Barb Mueller had been cooking all afternoon, had permeated the whole house by the time we were done, and we sped through the cleanup and a quick change of clothes before dinner was served around the large old tables in the dining room. They say hunger is the best sauce, and we tore into the curry--which was served with brown rice, mango chutney, and Indian flat bread--with a relish.

The conversation was lively and interesting; this was truly an exceptional group for the most part. Ordinarily, Donna and I would have been in the thick of it until everyone just passed out from fatigue and the jugs of red Italian wine being doled out so liberally. About eight o'clock, though, Donna caught my eye and explained to the group that she'd been up early to bake the muffins so it was soon going to be her bedtime. We received a few knowing grins from those who knew us and knew of our quest for a private space, as we said our good nights.

And then the time arrived. We closed the heavy oak door of our room and made sure it was latched (though there was no lock), then looked around in wonder before looking at one another.

"I love you, Mike," Donna sighed as she moved to me and melted into my embrace.

"Baby, I love you, too. I can't believe we're finally alone."

Donna pushed me back until my knees hit the edge of the bed, and I sat, watching her as she moved around the room. She turned out the bedside lamp and left the two lamps on the dresser lit so that the room was illuminated but not so brightly that we had lights shining in our eyes.

Silently, she motioned me to raise up as she pulled back the covers on the bed, then had me sit again. Finally, still without having spoken a word, she faced me and slipped out of her tennis shoes. I began to undress, but she gestured for me to wait.

"I want this to be special," she said quietly, a brilliant smile brightening the room. "You sit there and let me undress for you, and then we'll get you naked, okay?" Who was I to argue with that?

Donna peeled off the sweater she'd worn to dinner and draped it over the back of the chair. Turning back to face me, she kept her eyes on my face as she unbuttoned her chambray work shirt and untucked it from her jeans. It parted to reveal the inner curves of her breasts almost to her nipples, and Donna smiled to herself as she deliberately unbuttoned each shirt cuff in turn. Still wearing the shirt, she slowly unbuttoned the fly of her jeans, and I had a shadowed vista of the perfection that was her breasts when she bent forward. Slowly, teasingly, she slid the jeans down over her slender hips and tapered thighs until they dropped to the floor. The rich brown curls of her pubis mesmerized me as she stepped out of the puddle of denim around her ankles. Only as she stepped toward the bed did she allow the chambray shirt to slide down her arms and fall to the floor behind her.

My eyes drank in the vision before me: the wild mane of brown curls, that gorgeous body. Then she paused to let those blue eyes possess mine, and I smiled back, her satisfied smile curving her full, red lips. She stood like Boticelli's Venus and let me memorize the complex curves of her marvelous breasts, so proud and full and firm, with a slight upward tilt at their ends that left each of her nipples pointing slightly up and away from the centerline of her body. The lustrous brown curls at the base of her belly were trimmed neatly, drawing the eye, without obscuring the soft folds beneath them. I followed the slender curve of her legs down until I saw the pale pink polish she'd applied to her toenails, then looked back to her face and felt my smile nearly splitting my face.

Donna stepped quickly to the side of the bed before I could move and begin to unbutton my shirt. She sighed and cooed with pleasure as my fingers traced the curves of her torso. Then she cupped the soft weight of her breasts and bent to unbutton and unzip my jeans. She slid my shirt off and tossed it over her shoulder to join hers on the floor before pulling me to my feet and kneeling to tug my jeans and briefs to the floor. As I sat back on the bed, she smiled and briefly kissed the swollen head of my thoroughly erect cock, her soft breasts caressing my thighs. Finally, she slipped my socks off before pushing me onto my back and sliding into the bed on top of me.

My arms went around her waist, my hands sliding down to caress the taut curves of her ass, and we shared a kiss as soft and clinging as our first. Her curly bush tickled my balls as we slowly kissed one another, tongues playing lazily, lips exploring each other's face and neck. Our hands slowly and softly memorized the curves and hollows of our young bodies as we moved toward union. Without pausing in our kisses and caresses, we inched our way to the middle of the bed before I turned her onto her back and let my trailing kisses move down her throat and lower. I traced the curve of her collarbones with my tongue while her fingers moved through my hair and her sighs filled my ears.

When I reached her breasts, I began to worship them with soft, little kisses, each one a discrete pressing of lips and tongue to warm, soft skin before moving to the next. My kisses resolved themselves into a pattern, and I felt Donna's anticipation rise as my kisses spiraled closer and closer to her erect nipple just as my right hand closed over her left breast and felt its hard tip burning into my palm. I flickered my tongue wetly over and around the swollen bud of her nipple, drawing a low moan from her throat and causing her to hold my mouth more tightly against her breast. She relented and allowed me to move when I kissed across the valley between to devote my attention to her other breast, my left hand continuing to tease and caress the one I had been kissing.

After several minutes, Donna caught me by surprise and pushed me onto my back. For the first time, I felt the softness of a woman's tongue lightly teasing my own nipples and the soft tug as her teeth closed on them gently. I think she could tell by my gasp and the way my cock jerked in response that I enjoyed it, because I heard a low chuckle. Her thick, dark hair brushed the skin of my belly as she trailed her kisses lower. When I felt the wet warmth of her tongue lapping ever so softly in the hollow between my hipbone and the top of my thigh, I thought I was about to lose my mind, but Donna was just getting started.

"I'm going to make you crazy, lover," she whispered, "and then I'm going to make you come in my mouth so that when you finally get inside me you don't explode."

She was right, too--she was making me crazy. She spread my legs and nuzzled her nose against my balls, licking them gently. Her hands wandered all over my body, with one exception: she wasn't touching my cock with either her hands or her mouth yet. When I was about to start begging for the touch of her lips on my cock, she ran her tongue up its underside and then just engulfed the head in her heated mouth, her tongue dancing madly over the supersensitive tissue of my swollen glans. Her hand cupped and tickled my aching balls as she sucked me into her mouth, her tongue never ceasing its dance around the head and shaft of my cock. It must have taken about a minute, maybe less, before I felt my balls tighten, and I nearly shredded the sheets in my hands when I began to shoot heavily into her mouth. She greedily sucked up every drop that spurted from me, her sucking slowing and becoming more gentle as the spurts subsided, until she left me clean except for the moisture of her saliva coating my still semi-erect organ.

When my feeble brain resumed its functioning, I took Donna's hands and pulled her up beside me. Her lips were almost feverish when they met mine and our kisses so incendiary that I'm surprised the old house didn't simply burst into flame. I began to explore my way down her neck, seeking out those little spots where I'd learned she loved to be kissed. Her warm, soft hand caressed my cock back to full hardness even before my kisses reached her breasts.

"Mike? Baby?"

"Um . . . yes, love?" I fluttered the tip of my tongue over and around one swollen red nipple.

"Oh, God, that feels good, but, honey, I really wanna feel you inside me; we've been waiting too long to put it off anymore." I couldn't disagree. God knows we'd extended our foreplay long enough. I knew Donna's only reason for the incredible blowjob she'd just given me had been to ensure I didn't explode the moment I entered her.

"Donna, I'll confess. As much as I want to taste you right now, I want even more to finally feel myself inside you." She smiled and squeezed my cock playfully.

"Then quit talking and fuck me, damn it!" she giggled as she gently guided me between her wet labia. The heat of her slick inner flesh made me moan at that first contact, which would probably have amused her if she hadn't been responding in kind.

"Why can't we do both?" I gasped, forcing myself to hold back and enter her slowly. Our hips moved in rhythm already, each of us savoring the slow, inch-by-inch merging of our bodies.

"You tease," Donna moaned, her brilliant smile almost melting me with its warmth, "let's see how you like it." And she tightened her inner muscles so that I could only withdraw until I was almost out of her, before relaxing and allowing me to slide in deeper on the next thrust.

"Oh, you don't want to be teased?" I grinned, thrusting deeper this time as I felt her slippery inner walls pulsing around my invading cock. We rocked together slowly until we could feel the meshing of our pubic hair and then paused, looking with wonder into each other's eyes. The realization that we were finally achieving what we'd sought for so long was upon us.

"Baby?" Donna whispered hoarsely, staring into my eyes while my cock twitched inside her and her pussy milked me gently with its rhythmic, rippling pulsations.

"What, sweetheart?" I was slowly withdrawing, the silky caress of her cunt making the head of my cock swell even more.

"Fuck me--now."

"Like this?" I thrust myself deep inside her, her hips rising to meet mine.

"Deeper," she purred, her heels digging into my ass, her nails digging slightly into the sides of my waist.

"Oh fuck yes!" Both of us thrust against the other, our sweat already dampening our skin.

"Fuck! Harder!" she cried.

"Baby, yes! God, you feel good!"

Donna whimpered in my ear as I licked and nibbled her breasts. Our hands roamed over each other's body, and we pushed against one another harder and faster, gasping and panting. The big, old bed creaked, protesting our athletic endeavors, but we didn't care at that point who heard us or what they thought. All that mattered was the incredible waves of pleasure we were feeling and the greater pleasure we anticipated.

"Coming!" Donna moaned. "Oh, baby, fuck me more!"

"Yes, baby, come!" I could feel the spasms inside her as the first string of orgasms led to a second and then a third--and then the CRASH as the bottom slat of the bed frame snapped and the mattress fell to the floor.

We froze for a moment, staring at each other. Then, giggling like naughty little children, we ignored the interruption and resumed our rhythm. Moans and grunts and whispers of obscene encouragement continued as each of us acted as the cheerleader for the other's drive to orgasm, and I could sense that Donna was on the edge of another wave, when someone knocked at the door.

"Are you guys okay?" I heard Barb, my co-director, laughing from the hallway.

"Just fine," Donna giggled so hard she almost forced me out of her. "We'll be even better soon."

"Oh! Well, as long as you're enjoying yourselves . . ." And the sound of laughter faded as we heard the door across the hallway close.

Laughter fought with passion or, more accurately, fed it for some perverse reason. Donna's heels were digging into the small of my back, and I was supporting myself above her on my hands, driving into her with all my strength now. We weren't about to allow minor distractions like a collapsed bed or the likelihood of being heard to distract us now.

"Come for me, Mike!" Donna moaned. "I'm gonna come again--oh shit! Now!"

"Donna! Come, baby! Oh, Jesus, I'm almost . . ." And all I could manage was a gasp as I felt my body stiffen, my cock buried deep in her spasming pussy. It felt as though I was shooting my whole being through my cock and into her depths as my balls contracted and emptied themselves inside her. I felt her teeth sinking into the meaty part of my shoulder and heard her muffled scream. Our bodies shook like leaves in the raw autumn wind for what seemed an eternity.

I collapsed over her, only my elbows supporting my weight so that I didn't crush her while we drew great shuddering breaths into our starved lungs. Donna's legs slowly relaxed the death grip they'd held on my hips, and we smiled at one another like conspirators whose plot had finally succeeded.

I saw Donna's eyes widen and the beginning of her giggle just as something icy touched the small of my back, and my shriveling erection slipped from her as I howled.

There was Barb, clad in panties and a tee shirt proclaiming "Queen Bitch," laughing and holding out a jug of chilled Chablis, already dripping with condensation.

"From the sound of things, I thought you guys might need a drink," she giggled. Donna laughed and reached for the bottle.

"I can't imagine what would give you that idea," she laughed as she took a deep drink and passed the bottle to me before pulling the comforter up against the cool air raising gooseflesh on our naked, sweaty bodies. As I looked from one of them to the other, Barb snuggled under the comforter on the other side of me, and Donna told me to either take a drink or pass the bottle back, still laughing delightedly.

I gave in to the absurdity of the moment and joined in their giggles. Donna reached an arm over and hugged Barb and I both when I passed the bottle to Barb. I admit it felt strange to be lying between two women, one of them my naked lover and the other my friend and coworker, sharing a bottle of wine as though we were sitting on a couch discussing the weather. I found out that Barb, who lived in the same dormitory as Donna, had been her confidante as well as mine through our weeks of frustration.

"Now that you two have finally released some of those pent-up hormones," Barb offered, "I suppose we can either put the bed back together or you can just come across the hall and sleep in my room." Before I could get a word in, she was tossing Donna her sweater and panties and handing me my flannel shirt and the briefs, which had been lying in the pile of clothing by the bed.

"I think we'll move in with you, if you don't mind," Donna answered with a smile. As I played the part of the clueless male (no great stretch at the time) and tried to frame a response, both women were still laughing, and Donna took another long pull at the wine bottle.

"It's not like you and I never slept together, Mike," Barb laughed.

"Yeah, on the couch in the office when we were both too tired to go home," I countered. "This is a little different."

"Relax, baby," Donna giggled from my other side, "I'll be there to protect your virtue." Realizing that they were both serious and knowing that Donna and I were probably spent for the night anyway, I gave in to the logic of their arguments, and the three of us covered ourselves and padded across the hall to Barb's room. I did gape a bit when Barb peeled off her tee shirt before slipping under the covers, but Donna just smiled and dropped her sweater onto a chair. After helping me shed the flannel shirt I'd donned, she pushed me into the middle of the bed and took the bottle from the blonde imp still chuckling on my other side.

The wine and the warmth streaming from the Buck stove soon had their effect, and I could feel consciousness slipping away from me even as the two women continued talking into the night.

I was disoriented when I awoke, though I knew wherever I was, it was warm and comfortable. The realization that there was a soft female body snuggled up on either side of me caused the whole of the previous night to flood back in on me just as Donna kissed my cheek and cuddled closer.

"Good morning, love," she whispered. "Sleep well?"

I kissed her tenderly, those soft, warm lips bringing me fully awake, before returning her whispered greeting and assuring her I'd slept like a rock.

"Don't bother whispering," Barb muttered sleepily from the other side. "I'm awake, too."

I felt the strange sensation of warm, firm breasts pressing into both sides of my chest as the two women hugged each other and me, but tried to ignore it just as I tried to ignore my morning erection. The sound of sleet striking the window discouraged any of us from wanting to get out of the warm bed too soon, but a full bladder and the women's insistence that I should feed the baked fire in the stove made it plain I was going to have to get up soon. I tried concentrating on the image of the icy sleet outside in an attempt to rid myself of my erection before complying, but the feel of their nearly naked bodies on either side of me wasn't helping a bit. Donna reaching down and tracing my hard cock with her fingertips through my briefs only made it less likely to go away.

"I don't think he wants you to know he's got a hard-on," she told Barb in a stage whisper, then laughed.

"Oh shit!" Barb giggled. "Like I've never felt it poking against my butt when we woke up on the couch." Both of them were taking obvious delight in my embarrassment.

"You have to admit that was just a little bit different," I tried to protest, but they cut me off.

"We won't make fun of you," Donna assured me, "but you'd better get that fire going if you expect either of us to get out of this warm bed today."

Aside from a muffled giggle or two, they were true to their word as I slipped from the bed with my erection tenting the front of my briefs. I fed some wood into the stove and retreated across the hall for our jeans before looking for an unoccupied bathroom. On my way back, I detoured downstairs and brought back three large mugs of coffee, but they insisted I lose the jeans before they'd let me back under the warm blankets. While we waited for the stove to do its thing, we sipped our coffee, and I gradually accepted that my lover and my friend were in some sort of conspiracy and all I could do was go along with events.

All too soon, Donny was knocking at the door and calling us downstairs for breakfast; then it was another day of cleaning and fixup on the old place. We worked until nearly dark with just a quick break when someone delivered McDonald's burgers for lunch. By late Sunday afternoon, the old place was looking pretty good considering most of the furnishings were either castoffs or Salvation Army specials. It was a tired but contented group that flopped down in the living room of the old house just off campus that served as the new offices of the counseling center. Before everyone dispersed to their own apartments and dorms, we devoured a sizable stack of pizzas, shared a few bottles of cheap red wine, and Donna and I endured at least six retellings of the Saga of the Broken Bed Frame. I walked Donna and Barb back to their dorm and got my customary big parting hug from Barb; then it was time to say good night to my darling.

"I hope you weren't too embarrassed about Barb," Donna whispered with a smile. "She's been so sweet to me through this whole thing that I couldn't deny her a chance to share in the glow afterward." She wrapped her arms around my neck and melted against my body as we kissed tenderly, the hunger we'd felt still there but tempered now with the satisfaction of having finally satisfied our desire--at least for the moment.

"You forget that Barb is my buddy, too," I grinned back at her as I hugged her tightly. "At least she waited until we were done before she decided to join us." With a long final hug we parted for the night, knowing that this was just the first chapter in a new phase of our relationship.

Over the next few weeks we fell into a new routine, studying together during the week and still necking passionately most nights before we parted, but we were much more relaxed now, secure in the knowledge that the weekends would be ours to share. On Friday nights we'd hitch a ride with whoever was heading out to the farmhouse and retire early to the (now reinforced) bed in what had become "our" room, where we'd make love until we dropped into an exhausted sleep.

Saturdays were for working on the house and the grounds, fashioning the old place into a retreat center, which was all the more impressive in that it was funded almost entirely from the pockets of a bunch of college students. Saturday nights, people would take turns cooking, and everyone in residence would sit up late, talking about what had happened during the preceding week at the center, politics, music--the usual bull sessions that most college students seem to thrive upon. Again, Donna and I would slip off to our own little sanctuary and share our bodies, our fantasies, and our love until sleep took us away. Most Sundays we were awakened early by Barb sliding into our bed with coffee for three, and the three of us would cuddle and talk until breakfast time. Then it was back to work and back to town to start another week.

One Friday night in early January, shortly after we'd all returned from Christmas break, I had the evening shift at the counseling center and promised Donna that I had a ride secured and would meet her at the farmhouse in time for bed. When I arrived at the farm about 10:30, Sherry, one of the other volunteers, pulled me aside.

"I think you should get upstairs," she told me quietly, a deep frown creasing her normally cheerful face.

"I plan to," I replied with what I hoped was a nonchalant smile, curious as to what was troubling Sherry but even more anxious to feel Donna's naked body in my arms.

"Men!" Sherry snorted, punching me lightly on the shoulder. "I mean that Barb's up there crying on Donna's shoulder and I think Donna could use a little help. You may be a horny bastard, but you're a good counselor, and I think Barb needs one tonight." Concerned now, I thanked Sherry for the warning and hauled my backpack up to "our" room. Just as she'd said, Donna and Barb were sitting on the big bed, Barb now weeping quietly with her blonde head resting on Donna's shoulder.

Donna looked at me as I entered and signaled me to be quiet, but to join them, so I slipped quietly onto the bed and gingerly laid my hand on Barb's shoulder. Startled, she turned and looked at me, not even realizing at first who had intruded on her grief. Then recognition set in, and she turned from Donna, wrapped her arms around my neck, and began to sob openly once again as Donna rubbed her neck and I tried to comfort her with hugs.

"That prick she was dating from back home gave her the kiss-off this afternoon," Donna told me quietly. I could see the sparks of anger in my lover's normally tranquil blue eyes. "He didn't even have the decency to tell her face-to-face over break; he fucked her all through the holidays, then called her this afternoon to tell her he's been seeing someone else since November and decided he didn't want to carry on a long-distance relationship anymore."

"Oh, Barb, honey," I murmured, stroking her long blonde hair and rocking her gently in my arms, "I'm so sorry." If I could have gotten my hands on that asshole right then, I'd have knocked him on his ass for causing the pain I saw in her eyes and heard in her voice.

Donna leaned over Barb's shoulder and kissed me softly on the lips. Her arms surrounded us both, and she and I did our best to comfort the grieving little blonde. We let her talk it out, offering encouraging comments and gentle hugs and caresses until at last she seemed to be all cried out for the night. When Barb reached the stage where she was resting passively in my arms, exhausted from crying, Donna slipped quietly down to the now-deserted kitchen and brought back a half-empty bottle of Chablis from the fridge. She urged Barb to take a big drink before taking one herself, finally passing the bottle to me. She was as tender as a mother with a newborn infant when she fetched a washcloth from the bathroom and wiped Barb's tear-streaked face while Barb leaned back against my chest.

Barb accepted her ministrations like a child, offering her face to the cloth and then settling back to snuggle up against my chest. Wordlessly, Donna signed for me to stretch out on the bed, and Barb followed my lead, curling up between Donna and me. I figured she'd probably be asleep soon from sheer exhaustion and realized Donna was planning on Barb spending the night in our bed.

I wasn't surprised when Donna quietly urged Barb to raise her hips while she pulled the blonde woman's blue jeans down and dropped them on the floor. Then, ever so gently, she eased her out of the white peasant blouse she was wearing, leaving Barb lying there in pink cotton panties. What did surprise me was Donna coming around the bed to kiss me softly, then moving toward the bedroom door.

"Honey? . . ." I whispered, puzzled.

"You be sweet to her, you hear?" Donna told me quietly. "I think she needs to be reminded that not all men are shits right now. I'll be across the hall in her bed when you wake up."

"But, Donna, I don't think . . ." I protested.

"You sure don't, baby, but I love ya anyway," she giggled. "I know you love me, Mike, but you love Barb, too, in a way." She came back to the bedside and kissed me deeply. "Now's the time for you to be here for her, when she really needs you. I'm not saying she's gonna want your body, or anyone else's, tonight, but if she does, don't you be mean to her, is that understood?" Donna slipped across the hall and was gone.

Oh well, I thought, it's not like I haven't slept with the woman before--even wearing as little as she's wearing now. And Donna's right, she needs someone to hold her tonight and reassure her that she's still loved. (Isn't rationalization a wonderful thing?)

Whatever the reason, I stretched out on the bed and took Barb in my arms, her face nestled against the front of my shirt. I think I had every intention of going to sleep, just cuddling her as I had so many nights back at the counseling center. I knew she'd had a terrible evening, and I truly was concerned that this young women, one of my closest friends, had been so deeply hurt. Whether she'd discussed them with Donna earlier or not, apparently Barb had other ideas.

I had just gotten comfortable and was about to start drifting off to sleep when it dawned on me that Barb was awake. I think my first clue was when she began to unbutton my shirt and I felt her warm, wet tongue teasing one of my nipples. I do remember an involuntary "Oh God" creeping past my lips at about that point. As she unbuttoned and kissed her way down my chest, I pushed her straight blonde hair aside and kissed the nape of her neck. Barb kept kissing further down my chest and belly, and I kissed and licked my way down her back, just as she was doing, until teasing turned to hunger and we twisted around on our sides so that her soft blonde fur was tickling my nose.

Even as Barb was spreading her thighs on either side of my head, I felt her tongue lapping softly around the crown of my cock. Her scent drew me in like a moth to the flame, my tongue flicking out to taste her as I parted her lips delicately with my fingers. We started softly, teasingly, but it didn't last long before we were each trying to devour the other's sex, our hands moving over one another's bodies. Barb's juices were thick and hot, almost syrupy, with a scent and taste that made me want to crawl inside her. She was moaning loudly around my cock, which she'd managed to get almost all the way into her mouth, and her head was bobbing rapidly back and forth. Although this was incredibly arousing to me, I knew I was a long way from coming. Barb seemed to have no such inhibitions--several times I felt her stiffen and shiver while I teased and explored her with my tongue.

"Fuck me, Mike," she panted when she finally let me slip from her lips for a moment. "I just want to fuck like bunnies and forget everything else for a while."

Only too happy to oblige, I disengaged from our sixty-nine and slipped behind Barb where she knelt in the middle of the bed. Her hand reached for me and guided me to her entrance. I felt her opening around me as we pushed against each other, and in seconds I was deep inside her, both of us thrusting together as if to merge our bodies into one flesh. The rhythmic sounds of our coupling were only broken when one or the other of us would shift into a new position as we sought to increase each other's pleasure and our own. Soon enough Barb's short, unpainted nails were digging into my shoulders as she arched beneath me, at the same time that I felt myself shuddering all over and emptying myself into her clutching depths.

Exhausted but far from sated, we collapsed together in a tangled heap, hands still exploring and caressing and mouths meeting in a long, wet kiss even as we gasped for breath.

"Mike, I love you," Barb said, smiling and letting a tear trickle down her cheek. "Not that I want to take you from Donna--I love both of you so much. But you've made me feel so loved--so desirable--when I felt so shitty earlier tonight."

"You are loved, babe," I smiled back at her. "You know how much I care about you, and obviously Donna does, too"

"Donna--my God, the poor silly bitch is sleeping all alone in the other room on what's supposed to be her big night of the week!"

"Well apparently she felt you needed it more than she did tonight. I'll just have to be extra nice to her tomorrow, or rather today."

"Ummmmm . . ."

"What is it, Barb?"

"Does she have to wait? I bet we could wake her up really nicely."

I sat bolt upright in the bed and looked at Barb, who smiled back at me like the Cheshire cat. I couldn't believe it. Barb and I had been making love for nearly an hour, and here I thought she'd really been into it. Was she telling me she was a lesbian and had only been fucking me to get to my girlfriend? My confusion must have been as plain as though it had been printed on my face, because Barb began to laugh quietly and wrapped her arms around me to pull me down into a hug.

"Are you gonna tell me you wouldn't like to make it with both of us together?" she asked me, giggling.

"You're bi?" I knew I was looking at her like a typical stupid male, but what the hell, I was a typical stupid male.

"Does that freak you out? More to the point, do you think it would freak Donna out?"

I had to admit that I had no idea how Donna would react to another woman making love to her, with or without me present. I didn't have to tell Barb how much the idea turned me on, as the answer to that question was pulsing insistently against the soft skin of her belly.

I pulled on my jeans, Barb wrapped herself in the sheet, and we slipped across the darkened hallway into the room that was normally Barb's. Donna was burrowed down under the covers, curled up in a ball like a sleeping kitten with only the dark mop of curls showing above the top of the quilt. As quietly as possible, Barb and I slipped under the covers on either side of her and snuggled up close. Donna murmured something in her sleep and burrowed her face into my shoulder, one hand slipping down to curl lightly around my semi-erect cock, but there was no sign of her waking out of her sound slumber. I saw Barb looking at me with raised eyebrows as if to ask whether I thought we should wake her or let her sleep. I shrugged and smiled at her in the semi-darkness; having agreed to this, I wasn't willing to wait too long for Donna's reaction.

I let my hands begin to wander over her body, tracing her lovely curves so lightly I was barely touching her skin. Occasionally, my hand met Barb's as she was also exploring the sleeping form between us, and we'd pause to exchange a caress. After a minute or two of this delicate treatment, Donna's face turned upward, and her lips met mine; then her eyes opened, and I could feel her smile against my lips. Sudden awareness seemed to awaken her fully, and she looked over her shoulder at Barb nestled up behind her and smiling.

"I hope this ape was nice to you, sweetheart," she whispered to Barb even as her hand was bringing me to full erection again.

"Oh, he was, girl, he was!" Barb replied with a giggle. Donna turned onto her back, and Barb and I each laid our head on opposite shoulders as her arms went around us and hugged us tightly.

"See, Baby?" Donna turned to me with a smile. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

"No, honey, it was fine once I was sure you were okay with it."

"In fact," Barb added, "that's why we're here--I didn't want to wait until morning to thank you for being so generous when I really needed it." Her fingers passed over and around Donna's on my shaft and balls, and I could feel Donna caressing Barb's hand much as Barb and I had traded caresses while we were stroking Donna just minutes earlier. That she had no problem sharing me with Barb had been plain since the moment she'd walked out of the other bedroom, but I was still uncertain how she'd feel about the three of us sharing a bed for something more than cuddling and conversation.

That issue seemed to be resolving itself, too, when Donna turned to Barb and the little blonde kissed her gently. I could see Donna's lips part a fraction of a second before Barb's, and the thought of my girl sharing a French kiss with my good friend caused my erection to twitch in anticipation of more to come. When they broke the kiss, Donna turned to look at me inquiringly, and I smiled at her.

"Like Barb said, she wanted to thank you," I whispered, "and I agreed that it shouldn't be put off until morning."

"Well, I didn't think the two of you woke me in the middle of the night because you had an overwhelming desire for conversation," Donna purred. "At least you'd better not have--not after getting me so aroused."

That seemed to eliminate any hesitation on my part or Barb's. We both began to caress Donna, who seemed to relish being the center of our attention and absorbed our affection like a sponge. She kissed me deeply, then turned to Barb and kissed her just as passionately before pulling the two of us close enough that we could share a kiss across her recumbent form.

From that point on, things are a little less distinct in my memory. Oh, there are moments that are still vivid in my mind--Barb's tongue meeting mine over the hard nub of Donna's clit and the incredible sensation of two warm, wet tongues caressing my cock--but most of the details are lost in a sensual haze. When I finally jetted my semen deep inside Donna's spasming vaginal sheath, she was busy bringing Barb off with her fingers, while Barb's fingers were caressing the two of us at the point where we were joined. Sated, or maybe just exhausted physically and emotionally, the three of us fell asleep in a tangled heap as soon as I'd drawn the covers back up over us.

I wasn't certain as I drifted off what the future would bring, but I hoped the three of us would be able to hold on to what we'd felt that night. It wasn't only the incredible sensations inherent in making love to two lovely and responsive women at once, but the emotional bond I'd felt rippling among us as well. I knew it wouldn't always be easy, but something told me the three of us had something more than lust and a love of exploration in common.

The coming weeks and months would test us singly and together, and there were pitfalls and triumphs ahead we could never have foreseen that night, but for the time being we simply curled up together and slept, willing to face the future as it came.

[Donna, Mike, and Barb will return. Their story is just beginning.]

[AUTHOR'S NOTE: The Shack is no longer there, having finally succumbed to "progress" and the dominance of the fast food chains. But Mort Walker, who took up sculpture in his later years, created a bronze in 1992 that will forever memorialize that glorious beer and burger joint. It depicts young Mizzou freshman Beetle Bailey sitting in one of The Shack's dark wood booths, carving his initials into the table for posterity. Who knows, maybe he was leaving his mark just before paying a visit to his sister Lois and her new husband Hi en route to Camp Swampy and forty years as a private in the Army. The sculpture sits in Pocket Park on the Mizzou campus.]