Chapter 1

"Fantastic! Frigging fantastic!"

Heather was elated. She had little or no money; she had just moved into a miniscule space with barely enough room for desk, chair, and bed, yet for this brand new college freshman, it unquestionably was the single most splendid day of her young life. She had left behind forever her former world of parental and small town oppression and an entire new life lay just ahead.

Heather felt euphoric just sitting in her dorm room with her meager belongings piled around her. She could sense the adrenaline surging through her bloodstream. Only the fear that her new roommate would not understand kept her from dancing about the room clutching Mr. Winkles, her threadbare childhood teddy bear. Instead she sat rocking back and forth, her bear pressed to her breasts. Inside she was jumping for joy.

Suddenly the dorm-room door flew open and a whirling dervish (however that might be defined, ) flew inside. That Heather had nearly jumped out of her skin went unnoticed by Kat, short for Katherine, Heather's roommate.

"I can not believe that 'Welcome Week' is half over! Why can't we just keep on partying instead of starting classes," shouted Kat.

For a moment, plastic sacks, clothes hangers, and other belongings seemed to burst from her overloaded arms in all directions—purse here, coat there, packages everywhere.

"Everything... I mean everything was on sale at Nordstrom's... the cutest stuff... I thought I had died and gone to heaven... check out this skirt... only 22 bucks... half price! It will go great with my little pink top... don't you think?" Kat clutched her new purchases against her and swayed provocatively in front of their mirror, hips moving slowly to some unheard dance tune.

"Wow, its... well... it is very cute... but... ah... god, it's short... it's like majorly short, in fact," said Heather with eyes widening. The skirt, in Heather's view, was only a bit more than a wide belt of faded denim with buttons up the front. Very few buttons were needed to hold together the entire length.

"Correct-a-mundo, Heather girl, that would be the point," giggled Kat as she held a second combo of daring skirt and skimpy top against her lean body. "Those of us who God cursed with small boobs have to do what we can, you know. Not that you would know anything about that, you with your mega-puppies! How about this together? Do the purples clash?"

Kat admired her image in the mirror.

"They're not that big... are they?" A look of grave concern came over Heather's face. She stole a glance down at her ample breasts and then modestly covered them with folded arms.

"I'll ignore that you said that," grimaced Kat. "My mother would fucking despise this outfit! She would fucking HATE it in fact! But, tah-dah, where is my mother... and yours too?"

Kat tossed the clothes aside and gave Heather a surprise 'high-five.'

"Mine is 500 fucking miles away, that's where! OH, YES!"

"Mine too!" echoed Heather. "Except double that number!"

Both girls began to dance around the room, cheering and screaming, arms clutching. Finally they fell in a heap together on Heather's bed. Neither noticed a rather loud knock at their door.

"Is there a problem in here?"

Latasha's face, wrinkled with concern, peered around the edge of the door. Latasha was the wing director for this portion of the dorm and she took her job very seriously. Her mouth opened slightly with surprise at seeing two females intertwined on the bed... in the afternoon, no less. She issued up a stern look.

Kit and Heather saw the look, flew apart, and suddenly realized how silly they must have appeared. That caused uncontrollable giggling to return. Soon they were rolling around again, this time far apart, with tears of laughter streaming down their cheeks.

"I will never understand white people," Latasha muttered. She turned to walk away.

"Wait," shouted Kat as she tried to regain her composure. "We're sorry, Tasha. We were just goofing around. Anyway, I have a very serious question for you."

"Ok?" answered the still wary older student.

"I overheard two guys talking at lunch today. They said that the official 'Welcome Week' activities are ok, but that the real fun happens at the unofficial welcome party. What's up with that?"

"Officially, I'm not supposed to tell you," whispered Latasha looking over her shoulder as if she feared discovery.

"Come on, Tasha, give it up," chided Kit. "We'll never be freshmen again, you know."

"Thank god for that." Latasha paused for a long moment and tried to size up the two very young coeds. "Well, you didn't hear it from me, ok?"

"Cross our hearts and hope to die," Heather whispered.

"Oh, pul-leeese," groaned Latasha. "When was the last time anyone said cross our hearts, etc. in the post-modern world?"

Heather offered only a thoroughly confused look in response. Latasha instantly knew better than to try an explanation.

"Ok," Latasha whispered, "here's the deal... every year there is a big unofficial welcome week party... it moves around... don't ask me where it is this year. Everyone gets shit-faced drunk and plays dumb games... they always have it on somebody's farm like out in a pasture. Yes, I went when I was a freshman. It was an eye-opening experience that I wouldn't recommend. So, speaking as your wing director and your friend, don't go. You have been warned!"

After tendering this sage advice, Latasha shook her head and marveled at how young freshman had become in just four short years.

Babies... these girls are naïve little lambs, she thought. So young and innocent... well at least Heather clearly is an innocent. Kat doesn't seem to be quite so.

"Come on, Tasha, do we look like women who can't handle ourselves at a party?" said Kat.

Latasha rolled her dark eyes.

"I refuse to answer that question on that grounds that I have known you a total of three days... so far, however, there remains considerable doubt."

"We are here for the full collegiate experience, girl friend," said Kat. "You are our friend, mentor, wise council, and wing director. You are supposed to take care of us. So, please tell us where the real party is."

"I said don't ask me... anyway, I don't know... and that's the truth... and I wouldn't tell you if I did know," shrugged Latasha. She paused, brow furrowed, looking for the moment as if she was seeking an ultimate solution to world hunger or a similar problem. Four sad puppy eyes stared back at her.

"Ok... (long deep sigh)... you know the brother who hangs in the lobby downstairs... dude named Marcel? He'll know where it is. But, watch out for him and I mean it. He'll be in your little panties before you know he is in the same room with you!"

"Oh... my," gasped Heather. Her hand went to her mouth.

"Thanks, Tasha," said Kat as if panty intrusion warnings were normal faire. "You are the best wing director of all!"

"Yeah, right," chuckled Latasha. "Just make sure you put on clean underwear... ones that you can't see through... before you go to that party."

With the last pearl of wisdom delivered, the door slammed and Latasha was gone.

"What in the world did she mean by... clean underwear... that you can't see through?" said Heather. She looked back and forth between the door and Kat.

"Who gives a shit? We are gonna paar-teee," answered Kat. "I'll go talk to Marcel and find out where the party is. In the mean time, you make yourself gorgeous because we are going to have some fun tonight!"

Thoroughly confused, Heather shook her head and turned toward the window. Outside brightly colored leaves were gently falling from the campus' maples.

"I always wear clean underwear... don't... you?"

By the time she had turned back around, Kat was gone.

In a dorm on the other side of the campus, Josh was stretched out in his dorm room top bunk jacking off with a wrinkled copy of Celebrity Skin magazine. Halle Berry's display of titties in Swordfish and an old upskirt picture of Jennifer Lopez's panties first had piqued his interest and now an Eyes Wide Shut layout of Nicole Kidman's firm, lean body was about to put him over the orgasmic edge.

Josh tensed his legs and prepared to cum when he heard keys jangling at his door. He flipped over on his stomach just in time to avoid embarrassing discovery by his roommates, Mark and Phil. It came as a great relief to Josh that neither of his roommates noticed his moment of near ejaculation. It would have been horrible to endure their kidding if they actually had discovered him wanking his cock in full view.

Josh still had not decided whether fate had dealt him a good hand or bad as far as his roommates were concerned. They were so cool, so stylish, so affluent, so experienced, and so good-looking. Josh was none of those things; at least that's what he thought. He, in his own mind, was so ordinary, so freshman, and so dorky.

Josh's only claim to any sort of fame in high school was winning first chair French horn in the band. Playing his horn in public was easy, but dealing with people, especially girls, was another story. He had almost thrown up before he got enough courage to ask Katie Larson to the high school prom. Much to his shock and surprise, Katie had seemed thrilled.

After that, he and Katie had hung out together almost all the time. Their relationship worked its way to the fairly heavy making-out stage when suddenly the school year was over. She left town to work as a summer camp counselor. In no time, the summer was over and they had entered different universities—wham, end of relationship, except for an occasional email.

Making out with Katie also was the full extent of Josh's sexual experience to date. He missed Katie's friendship very much. He also missed her soft lips, sweet smelling body, and firm breasts, even though he had only sampled the latter under her clothes twice. Most of all he regretted never having the courage to try to go all the way with her, or even half way for that matter.

"Josh, you are going to the party tonight, correct?" said Mark.

Mark had started combing his hair seconds after entering the room. He worked very hard at making his hair look uncombed, a goal Josh found weirdly fascinating. Josh watched with even more curiosity as Mark, leaning close to their mirror, started pressing a zit between two fingers. Both Mark and Josh cringed when the blemish abruptly burst and squirted a blob on the mirror.

"I don't know if I'm going or not... I heard it is just a big freshman initiation. I'm not sure that I want any part of that sort of thing," answered Josh as honestly as he could.

"Don't be such a pussy, Josh," yelled Josh's other roommate, Phil. "There's going to be girls there too... what could the upperclassmen possibly do to us that would be horrible... with girls around, I mean. I heard that mainly everyone... including the girls... get shit-faced and go wild. That's my kind of party!"

"Mine too," chimed in Mark. "We are so there, dude! Fresh pussy could be in the offing tonight! We want you with us, buddy."

Yeah, right, thought Josh. In a moment, his eyes narrowed as a sudden realization swept over him.

"And, maybe you guys would like to ride out there in my truck... since the party is way out in the country, I hear." Sarcasm dripped from Josh's words. The real reason for their attention and feigned friendship had been revealed.

"What a nice idea, Josh... thanks, dude. About five guys from down the hall want to ride with us too. Good of you to offer. Glad you thought of it."

"Right," answered Josh quietly.

In just three days, he had been conscripted into operating the taxi service more than once. Several of the other freshman guys didn't have cars. His truck was the first-call for moving and hauling.

"So, get yourself up and ready, dude," said Mark as he covered his bleeding blemish with a bit of tissue.

Thankfully, Josh's erection had subsided during the conversation. He secretly zipped up and climbed down out of his bunk. Unlike his more careful roommates, Josh's preparation for the evening consisted of pulling on a clean tee shirt and grabbing his truck keys. As he headed out the door, he glanced at his hair, hit it once or twice with his fingers, and determined that he would not enjoy the evening at all.

"Marcel insisted that he personally should escort us to the party," said Kat. She and Heather were making their way across the parking lot toward the smiling, ultra-hip-looking black man.

"Gosh, I've never gone out with a... black guy before," whispered Heather mostly to herself.

"What... are you prejudiced or something?" said Kat.

"Of course not!" glared Heather, "It's just that in my high school, there weren't any... I mean I never had the chance... oh, forget it. Anyway, I hope you are ready for a long evening of standing up, cause there is no way you are going to be able to sit down in that skirt."

Kat chose not to respond. A short distance away, Marcel waved at them from his position of coolness leaning against his car's fender.

"He's cute, huh," said Kat as they drew closer. "And, you know what they say about black men's cocks."

"Euuu, that's gross, Kat, gross, gross, gross. And you accused me of being prejudiced?" Heather screwed her face into an ugly grimace. "Such a nasty sounding word... cock. I've always hated the sound of that word. It sounds so... so... yucky dirty."

Kat ignored her momentarily, but then felt the need to react.

"We came to college for an education, right, Heath? Well, tonight we start!"

An evil grin crept across Kat's face just as they arrived at the smiling Marcel. He dramatically flipped his cell phone closed as if to celebrate their arrival.

Heather took a deep breath and gave Marcel her best beauty pageant smile.

"You ladies are looking lovely this evening, I must say... yes, yes," Marcel said beaming. "Slide right on into my chariot... yes, yes, lovely, lovely."

At this close distance, both Heather and Kat could not help but stare at Marcel's arms and chest. He wore a very tight black tee shirt that revealed every well-defined muscle. His broad shoulders tapered to a tiny waist forming a visual line that drew the girls' eyes downward to where tight jeans enclosed a bulging crotch, and a prodigious lump it was.

Looks like what people say is true, thought both the girls at once.