Copyright© 2011 by Pretty in Pink
Sex Story: Chapter 5 - A sequel to Weekend at Grandma's. Amber has now gone on to college and sorority life, where she has several things to consider, her love life, her swinging, and her future.
I fretted all of the way to Atlanta. I got in fairly late, got a room at a hotel near the airport, and the next day drove to the campus. I'd sort of hinted that I was coming, and I put on a nice skirt and blouse to make a good impression.
Why not a dress? There's a hierarchy to dressing up, and a dress is "more dressy" than a skirt and blouse, which is less casual than nice slacks, and way less casual than jeans. I think guys know this sort of thing, but I'm not sure. Girls certainly do. Often one of the earliest memories we have is wearing a dress for a "dress-up" occasion.
I had been to Tech just once, Eric's freshman year. I had a vague idea of where things were, but a campus map helped. It took a while, so it was mid-morning when I finally descended on his dorm room. I had no idea if he was there or not. It was Saturday morning, and it was possible he was out. I took out my cell phone and dialed his room.
After a few seconds it connected, and I could hear the ringing through the door. Then Eric picked it up. "Hello?"
"Eric? It's me."
"Amber! What's up?"
"No, not really."
"Open your door."
There was a pause of a few seconds, and then he did. I snapped the phone shut and gave him a smile. "Hi."
"H-hi. This is a surprise."
He was wearing jeans and a tee-shirt. I pushed him into the room, kicking the door shut behind us. I plastered myself to his body, kissing him frantically. After a second he responded.
With practice you can undress with one hand. But if you're in a hurry, you don't have to. My skirt, blouse and bra got shoved up out of the way, and he deftly yanked my panties out of the way. I jerked his jeans and shorts down, though we did pause long enough to get rid of his tee-shirt. And then we fell on his unmade bed, fingers exploring the strange yet familiar territory.
When Eric and I had sex we connected in ways I didn't feel with any other guy, with the possible exception of Wesley. But this was no time for thoughts of him back in Baton Rouge. Eric was here, I was in his arms, and we were making up for all of those times we'd talked but hadn't been able to do anything.
Good sex can be exciting. Fantastic sex can be messy, wild, crazy, and a lot of other things. This was all of that, and more. Clothes and covers got pushed to the floor. The sheets were definitely going to have to be replaced. And then, after a brief pause, we went at it again.
We were drifting in a post-climax daze, and I was wondering (hoping) that we'd have a third go-round, when the door opened. There was a guy and two girls there, and if they didn't understand what they were seeing ... let's just say there was no doubt in anyone's mind. Naked bodies with our intimate parts prominently displayed, a messy bed, clothes on the floor, heavy breathing, and the distinct smell of aroused female and spilled come; how could they not know what we'd been doing.
That's why I laughed when one of the girls blurted out, "Eric, what are you doing?"
I've always wondered why some girls get embarrassed when they see another girl's nakedness. I guess all my years of swinging has blanked that reaction out of me. At a party everyone's naked, and if you're curious at all, even the slightest bit, about a woman's intimate places, you have only to look around.
Both girls blushed, their eyes wide. They were looking down there, I wasn't sure if they were blushing at seeing Eric's dick, still semi-hard, or my red and wet sex. Then one of them covered her mouth with her hand. Maybe she finally figured out what this all meant.
Of course the proper thing to do is to straighten up. It was a public hallway, and you don't just lie there for anyone to see. I pushed Eric slightly, and he obligingly got up. His face was red, and not from exertion. He was trying to cover himself, but I had another concern. I couldn't find my bra or panties. Somewhere in the passionate tussle they'd gone missing. So I pushed my blouse and skirt down and paid a little attention to my hair.
A couple of days later, when I thought over that moment, I had to ask myself: why the concern with my hair. I think it's a female thing. Guys don't' automatically comb their hair, but a girl's looks are important to her, and a large part of it is her hair. Mine was a tangled mess, and was going to take a lot of straightening up. Still, I reflexively tugged at it, ran my fingers through it, and tried to make myself look "presentable".
There is nothing in the etiquette guide about how to handle yourself in a situation like this, so I held out my hand, palm properly down, and said "Hi, I'm Amber."
The two girls didn't budge. The guy's focus was on my chest, where my nipples were poking the front of my blouse. So predictable. At least he wasn't staring at my lap where he'd already seen my sex.
I got to my feet and helped Eric up. I smiled at him, trying to be the gracious Southern Lady. I think he caught the hint.
"This is Larry," he said, "my roommate, and his girlfriend Julie, and her friend, um, Rose."
I gave them a polite nod. Just then my foot found my panties. I couldn't very well put them on, not right then, so I stuffed them in my purse. My bra was still missing, and would probably turn up shoved against the wall or something. But at the very least, I found my shoes.
"We, uh, we were, ahem, we were all going to go to brunch," Larry got out.
"Brunch." I nodded. "That sounds good. Let me freshen up, and we can all go together."
I'd passed a Womens Restroom a few doors down, and retreated there as quickly as decorum let me. I put myself back together—still no bra—and got my hair in some sort of decent shape. Long, straight, red hair lends itself best to a ponytail. I was in shape to face everyone in less than two minutes.
When I got back to the room the door was closed and no amount of knocking produced any response. I put my ear to the door and listened; not a peep from inside. I was being given the cold shoulder, literally.