This story is true, mostly. The people in it are not.
Sam is 18 and I'm 19 when this story takes place. It's Sam's freshman year, I'm a sophomore. We're both living on campus, different dorms. Same-sex dorms. Co-ed living still a few years away.
"Nine out of 10 girls in California are beautiful. The tenth one goes here."
That one was pure bullshit. Whoever said it was just jealous. I've never seen so many good-looking girls in one place, ever. Remember, not all those blonde cheerleaders in high school were idiots.
In fact, it's one thing when you were a hotshot student body president or star varsity athlete at your high school. Then you find that half the people on your floor were student body presidents or varsity athletes, or both, and National Honor Society members on top of that.
Sam hadn't gotten here without a lot of discussion a year ago at application time.
"I want to be with you!"
"Sam, I love you. You know that. That isn't the most important thing. What the best school for you is, that's what you should be thinking about."
"I want to be at school with you."
"What if you don't get in?"
Fat chance of that happening. The kid had always been at the top of her class. Aced her SATs, too. Teachers falling all over themselves to write recommendations for her.
"Then I'll go somewhere else and transfer later."
So, that was pretty much the end of that discussion.
Now it was one of those perfect fall days. Heat of September gone, but still more than warm enough to lie in the sun.
It had been a tough week. Midterms. Sam wild over her TA's insistence that she take extra credit in Western Civ.
"Who does he think he is? I ... don't ... care ... about that crap!"
"Sam, look. He's not stupid and he's not doing it to punish you. You're coasting in that class. Keep coasting and you'll end up stupid. Or lazy. Or both."
Her reply was unprintable. Which usually meant that I was right but she didn't want to admit it.
So, as a reward to ourselves, we decided on a picnic in the hills behind the campus that Saturday. Game day, so we were pretty sure we'd have the place to ourselves.
Mid-afternoon. Sun hot enough for us to strip down almost all the way. No one around, and we were in a place where we could see anyone coming.
Apples and sandwiches and cookies gone.
"So, how many girls did you have last year?"
She knew the answer, since I had told her about all of them over the summer. Francine, Margaret, Lucy, Denise. Was I such a hotshot loverboy? No. I just listened, talked only when needed, and I kept my hands to myself, at least until whoever it was signaled she wanted those hands on her. It's amazing that some guys never learn that a girl will talk herself into your bed, or at least your arms, if you just shut up for once and listen.
I don't mean that as cynically as it sounds, either. It's not only listening, it's hearing and caring about what you're hearing, and who's saying it, that matters. You can't fake that, at least not for long. I didn't fake it at all. After all, what does listening cost you? If it's not working out, then it's adios at the end of the evening and you don't have to go out with her again.
"You already know the answer to that one."
We were in our favorite positions. Her flat on her tummy, me sitting on her hips with my cock semi-erect and nestled nicely in the crease of her bottom over her panties, my hands working on her back.
"So, how many guys for you last year?
"No, idiot girl."
I knew she was teasing, and she knew it, too. We'd never made a pact to be exclusive. Also, in my heart of hearts, I knew sooner or later, and probably sooner, she would meet the right guy and that would be it for us. She probably knew, or suspected, the same about me.
But for now, we enjoyed each other and we enjoyed the others we met and sometimes dated.
"Sam, the only thing that matters to me is that whoever he was, or they were, he or they treated you right. The rest is your business."
"Well, there was Steve. He was the first. This year, anyway."
.... There is more of this story ...