Their Wonder Years: Season 1: Fall 1998
Copyright© 2025 by Tantrayaan
37: All of the Above
Coming of Age Sex Story: 37: All of the Above - Bharath always thought going to America would mean fast love, wild parties, and maybe a stewardess or two. What he got instead? A busted duffel bag, a crying baby on the plane, and dormmates he never thought could exist in real life. Thrown into the chaos of Georgia Tech’s freshman year, Bharath begins an unforgettable journey of awkward first crushes and culture shocks. A slow-burn, emotionally rich harem romance set in the nostalgic 90s—full of laughter, lust, and longing.
Caution: This Coming of Age Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa mt/ft mt/Fa Consensual Fiction Humor School Sharing Group Sex Harem Orgy Polygamy/Polyamory White Female Hispanic Female Indian Female
The landline rang.
Once. Twice.
Mia surfaced from a dream of Bharath’s weight pinning her wrists, disoriented. She fumbled for the receiver.
“ ... What?” she croaked.
Laughter. Low, wicked.
“Buenos días, little Rivera,” Marisol purred.
“Morning, beautiful,” Sarah added, voice too sweet to trust.
Mia sat up. Her heart thudded. They’re calling about last night. “He left?”
“Gym,” Sarah said. “But not before wrecking us completely last night. He’s becoming too good for even the two of us last night. Looks like we need you as well Mia to really satisfy him.”
A warm ache bloomed low in Mia’s belly. “You’re evil.”
“Correction,” Marisol said, “we’re blessed. The bed’s stripped, but the whole room still smells like him.”
Mia pressed the heel of her palm between her thighs. “Stop.”
“We tied him up,” Sarah said, voice dipping lower. “With silk restraints. Hands above his head. Candles, incense. Costumes.”
Mia’s breath caught.
“I wore a red silk harem dress that barely held me in.,” Marisol murmured.
“I wore sapphire with a jeweled thong,” Sarah said. “He whimpered, Mia. Like a dying puppy.”
Mia bit her lip, fighting a grin and a moan.
“We left him for twenty minutes and made out with each other in front of him. He was desperate to get his hands on us,” Marisol continued. “When we finally untied, he was straining against the ties - chest heaving - like he might snap the headboard just to get to us.”
“And then, he dominated us completely,” Sarah whispered.
Mia’s hand slid under the sheets without permission. “What do you -”
“He made us do handstands in bed and licked me until I saw stars,” Sarah said dreamily. “He growled like he’d been starving. Mari couldn’t stand up when he finished with her.”
Marisol’s laugh was throaty. “And then he pulled me into his lap, told me to ‘wait’ as he spanked me and made Sarah count ... and made me beg for more. Real begging, Mia. I said things I didn’t know I knew - in Tamil.”
Mia’s hips shifted involuntarily.
“He made me watch,” Sarah said. “Made me ache until he let me touch myself ... then made me kiss Mari while he was inside her. I couldn’t breathe.”
“And I couldn’t think,” Marisol added. “He played with both of us at once - hands, mouth - like he was born to ruin us.”
Mia’s breath was ragged now.
“This morning,” Marisol went on, “he woke us with his mouth. No warning. Dragged us into the shower before the water was even warm.”
“Bent me over first,” Sarah said, voice husky. “Fast, deep, until I collapsed. Then Mari.”
“Then both of us together,” Marisol purred. “He said we’d be late unless we made it quick.”
“It wasn’t quick,” Sarah sighed.
“He made us wash him,” Marisol said, “and then kneel. One on each side. Stroking. Kissing. Taking turns.”
Mia’s eyes fluttered closed.
“And when he came...” Sarah’s voice turned molten. “On our faces, in our mouths, down our chests. He held our hair and made us clean each other with our tongues. Made us kiss while we swallowed him.”
Mia’s back arched.
“Then he fingered us both until we squirted in the shower,” Marisol finished, triumphant. “We didn’t even know we could.”
The silence on the line was broken only by Mia’s unsteady breathing.
“You’re doing this on purpose,” she whispered.
“Yes,” they said in unison.
Mia laughed weakly, shaking her head. “I hate you both.”
“No, you don’t,” they sang, giggling, before the line clicked dead - leaving her flushed, trembling, and very much awake.
The bathroom was already humid by the time Bharath returned, gym bag slung over one shoulder, shirt clinging to his torso. He paused just outside the steamy glass door, heart hammering - not from the workout, but from what waited behind it.
Through the fogged pane, he could see them.
Marisol, dark hair wet and glistening, was kneeling at the far end, adjusting the temperature of the water. Sarah stood beside her, tilting her face into the falling stream, eyes closed, a soft smile tugging at her lips.
Both of them turned when he opened the door.
“There he is,” Sarah said, her voice like warm water itself. “Our overachiever.”
Marisol grinned and reached out a hand. “Took you long enough. We warmed it up for you.”
“I was hoping you’d cool me down,” he muttered, stepping in.
Sarah giggled and pulled him by the waistband. “Not a chance.”
The moment the water hit him, he sighed in relief. Not just from the heat, but from their touch - Marisol’s soapy fingers trailing down his spine, Sarah’s palms massaging his shoulders. They took their time. Reverent. Intimate. Worshipful.
He let himself relax into it, eyes closing briefly as the girls worked in harmony - cleaning, caring, teasing. But there was a question burning in him, one that had taken root since last night.
He cleared his throat. “Can I ask you both something?”
Marisol glanced up. “Of course.”
Sarah was already rinsing his neck, humming. “You can ask anything, baby.”
Bharath exhaled, running a hand through his soaked hair. “After last night and this morning ... I’ve been thinking. When I take control like that - when I’m rough or demanding - I don’t want either of you to ever feel ... pressured. Or overwhelmed. I want to give you what you need. Not just what I want. So - honestly - what do you prefer?”
That made them both pause.
The water ran between them, soft and steady. For a moment, the only sound was their shared breath and the hiss of the showerhead.
Then Marisol leaned in, her hands sliding around his waist. “You want to know what kind of lover we want you to be?”
He nodded, unsure.
Sarah stepped closer behind him, pressing her body gently to his back. Her arms wrapped around his chest as she kissed his shoulder.
“I love that you care enough to ask,” she murmured. “Most guys never do.”
Marisol stood on tiptoe, brushing her lips along his jaw. “But we don’t have a simple answer.”
Bharath blinked. “You don’t?”
Sarah chuckled. “Nope. Because you’re all of those things. And we like all of them.”
Marisol tilted her head. “Depends on the mood and the moment. Some nights, I want you to be slow and loving. Like I’m a poem you’re writing with your hands.”
Sarah whispered, “Other times, I want you like a storm. Fast and hungry. Like you need me or you’ll lose your mind.”
“And sometimes...” Marisol’s voice dropped, her nails lightly trailing his abdomen, “I want to be conquered. Controlled. Told where to kneel, how to beg, how to come. I want your voice in my ear like a commandment.”
Bharath’s breath caught.
Sarah giggled at his reaction. “You okay?”
He nodded, throat tight. “Just ... trying to remember to breathe.”
Marisol smiled and resumed lathering his chest. “We love when you’re dominant, Bharath. Because we know it comes from love. It’s about attention. Focus. You never treat us like objects. When you’re in control, we feel seen. Like every inch of us matters to you.”
Sarah nuzzled his neck. “And it does turn us on, knowing you’re holding back all that fire just until we beg for it. That edge of restraint? That’s what makes you irresistible.”
He looked from one to the other, wonder filling his chest. “So you don’t prefer one over the other?”
Marisol grinned. “If we had to choose -”
“It’s a yes to all of the abovet,” Sarah finished.
“But we can share our favorite memories,” Marisol offered, slicking her palms with shampoo and beginning to massage his scalp.
Sarah purred. “Yes. Let’s do hits and kinks. Like a top ten list.”
Bharath laughed. “Oh god.”
Marisol: “Top moment for me? That night you blindfolded me and made me count how many times I came from you spanking me before you took me.”
Sarah: “Ohh, I remember that. I was watching. My favorite was when you made us kiss each other while you spanked us one at a time. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the sound.”
Marisol giggled. “We almost forgot our names.”
Sarah added, eyes twinkling, “And after last night and this morning, we were sore but so satisfied! That was your Dom-king moment.”
Marisol leaned in. “My favorite kink? Being told exactly what to do. With your hand tangled in my hair or your hand on my throat. I melt when you get that voice - all low and commanding.”
Sarah flushed. “I love that most too. But I also love being watched by you. When you make me undress slowly, or command us to do something for you while you watch, like a performance just for you ... I can feel the hunger in your eyes. That gets me wetter than anything.”
“Even more than...?”
Sarah blushed. “Even more than oral.”
Marisol chuckled, running soapy fingers down Bharath’s abs. “You’re blushing harder than she is.”
“I’m just...” He cleared his throat, touched. “I didn’t know it meant that much to you.”
Sarah looked up. “Bharath, you make us feel worshiped. Even when you’re rough. Maybe especially when you’re rough.”
Marisol nodded. “It’s the intention behind it. Not just what you do, but why. You always ask afterward. You always check in. That’s the part that makes us feel safe.”
Sarah leaned forward and kissed his collarbone. “And desired.”
“And owned,” Marisol added, voice husky.
Bharath swallowed. His arms slid around them both, pulling them close beneath the water. “I just don’t ever want to scare you. Or push you too far.”
“You don’t,” they said in unison.
Marisol added, “And if you ever did, we’d tell you. That’s part of the trust.”
Sarah smiled. “We want you to lead. But we also want you to know - we’ll follow because we choose to.”
They kissed him then - Sarah first, then Marisol. Gentle, slow, with water cascading around them like a curtain.
Bharath tilted his head back and sighed. “So ... gentle, rough, or dominant?”
Marisol traced her finger down his sternum. “Yes.”
Sarah grinned. “All of the above.”
“And more,” Marisol whispered. “We haven’t even explored everything yet.”
Bharath arched an eyebrow. “Like what?”
Sarah smirked. “Later. Class in twenty minutes, remember?”
“Damn,” he muttered.
Marisol handed him the soap again and winked. “You can think about it all day.”
Sarah added, “And we’ll be waiting for Sacred Tuesday, lover.”
Marisol whispered, “With no underwear.”
Bharath groaned. “You two are going to kill me.”
They kissed him again, laughing.
He didn’t mind drowning in them.
The lunch rush at the dining hall was in full swing, trays clattering, voices overlapping in a chaotic but familiar din. The scent of greasy fries and something that might have once resembled chili filled the air, and overhead fans clicked lazily above clusters of exhausted students.
At Table 7 - now unofficially reserved by unspoken law for the most eclectic group of freshmen on campus - nine trays were slowly accumulating. A half-empty bottle of Tabasco sat at the center like an offering to the academic gods.
“I swear,” Ravi groaned, collapsing into his seat beside Jorge, “Discrete Math just turned into evil incarnate overnight.”
“That’s because you slept through the first three weeks,” Marisol teased, nudging him with her elbow.
Jorge laughed around a mouthful of eggs. “Yeah, man. They say the devil’s in the details. You didn’t even read the details.”
“Don’t blame me!” Ravi protested. “We all chilled after midterms. We deserved that break!”
Tyrel plopped into his seat across from them, tray stacked high with cornbread, green beans, and a slice of questionable meatloaf. “Deserved or not, y’all about to get academically wrecked.”
He pointed dramatically with his fork. “We are officially in the Death March phase, my dudes.”
Bharath gave a faint smile as he set down two trays - one clearly for himself, the other already prepped with extra napkins and no pickles, just the way Marisol liked it. She beamed and mouthed a thank you.
Sarah arrived just behind him, sliding in next to Marisol and opening her notebook with the casual ease of someone who had already been through the battlefield and lived to tell the tale.
“Okay,” she said, brushing her hair back. “Who needs saving?”
Eight hands went up.
She laughed. “That’s what I thought.”
Camila, balancing a Diet Coke and yogurt, leaned forward. “Why is it suddenly so hard? I was doing okay! I even started reading ahead in Statistics.”
“Statistics are all lies,” Sarah said. “It’s chill until it’s not. Same with Thermo, Comp Arch, DiffEq - honestly, all of it.”
Marisol made a face. “I feel like I’m running just to stay in place.”
“That’s college,” Sarah said, popping open a granola bar. “They lull you into a rhythm, then after midterms they throw you into the deep end and see if you can swim.”
Tyrel leaned forward, voice low like he was narrating a war documentary. “First they hit you with the group projects. Then the curve becomes a cliff. Then - BAM - cumulative finals.”
“You okay, bro?” Jorge asked.
Tyrel nodded solemnly. “Just having flashbacks to the lab quiz.”
Sarah chuckled and turned to the group. “Look, it’s normal. Everyone feels like this around November. Professors stop hand-holding. The assignments get more abstract. Your high school instincts don’t work anymore.”
“I was so good in school,” Ravi moaned. “Top ten percent.”
“And now you’re bottom ten in logic,” Bharath added dryly.
Ravi threw a piece of bread at him.
“I’m just glad we’ve got each other,” Camila said, glancing around. “Study groups, late-night cramming, yelling at each other to eat -”
“- copying Bharath’s perfect notes,” Jorge added, to general agreement.
Marisol playfully pointed her fork at Bharath. “Seriously. If he ever sold those binders, he’d be rich. Pages look like they were typeset by a machine.”
“That’s because I take notes like I’m writing for future me,” Bharath said. “I’m scared of forgetting. So I write everything.”
“Fear is a powerful motivator,” Sarah said approvingly.
“And graphs,” Bharath added. “Lots of graphs.”
“I still don’t know how to draw a proper state diagram,” Ravi muttered. “Mine looks like a flowchart made by a toddler.”
“That’s because you use fountain pens,” Jorge said, scandalized. “Who brings fountain pens to class anymore?”
“They’re classy!”
“They smudge!”
Sarah laughed and cut in. “Okay, okay. Let’s get serious for a second. Since y’all are in the swamp now, let me give you some tricks I wish someone had told me.”
Everyone leaned in. Even Tyrel stopped poking at his cornbread.
“First,” Sarah said, holding up a finger, “make a weekly plan. Like on actual paper. Sunday nights, I sit down and block out my week. Classes, gym, tutoring, group sessions, everything.”
“We have a calendar on the wall,” Marisol said. “But it’s more ... vibes-based.”
“Then get rid of the vibes and use a grid,” Sarah said, grinning. “Second: sleep. I know it’s tempting to pull all-nighters -”
Tyrel snorted. “Too late.”
“- but your brain doesn’t process info properly if you’re running on fumes. Third: office hours. Go. Just to ask something - even if you know the answer. Build that rapport. They grade easier if they know your face.”
Camila looked skeptical. “Even Dr. Harkness?”
Sarah winced. “Okay, not him. He’s a robot. But the rest, yeah. Especially the TAs.”
“And finally,” she added, taking a bite of her granola bar, “don’t go it alone. Study groups like this? They’re gold. You don’t just learn faster - you learn deeper. Explaining stuff to others makes it stick.”
The group nodded in agreement.
“I think we’re doing a lot of that already,” Bharath said. “Group reviews. Flashcard nights. Dividing problem sets and cross-checking.”
Marisol added, “And screaming into pillows.”
Sarah nodded. “That too.”
“But what about burnout?” Ravi asked, unusually serious. “What if we’re doing all that, but still feel like we’re drowning?”
Sarah looked at him kindly. “Then it’s okay to pause. Rest isn’t quitting. You take a night off. You go for a walk. You dance. You watch a movie with Nandita and let her cry even though she’s seen the movie a dozen times already.”
Nandita, passing by with a tray, turned and smirked. “I heard that.”
The table burst into laughter.
“Seriously,” Sarah continued, “the goal isn’t perfection. It’s progress. You’re not supposed to have it all figured out.”
“Speak for yourself,” Tyrel said, dramatically placing his hand on his heart. “I’ve already planned my Nobel speech.”
“What for?” Jorge asked.
Tyrel grinned. “Category: ‘Surviving Thermo Without Crying in the Shower.’”
“Wait,” Camila said suddenly. “We never asked - how did you handle your own breakdowns, Sarah?”
Sarah leaned back and exhaled, eyes distant. “There was this one night, my freshman year. I was buried under Physics II, Chem lab reports, and some drama with my roommate. I broke down in the middle of the library. Like full ugly cry.”
Everyone went quiet.
“And then,” she said, smiling faintly, “a random senior handed me a peanut butter cup and said, ‘You’ll live. Barely. But you’ll live.’”
“That’s so oddly comforting,” Marisol whispered.
“Peanut butter cup wisdom,” Jorge said solemnly.
Sarah leaned forward again. “The truth is, college feels like it’s testing your limits. But really - it’s just teaching you how to recover. How to ask for help. How to adapt.”
Bharath nodded, quietly absorbing her words. “Like debugging life.”
“Exactly,” she said.
They ate in silence for a few minutes, a thoughtful sort of peace settling over Table 7. Around them, the dining hall buzzed as usual - lines forming, trays clanging, a radio somewhere in the back playing Lenny Kravitz a little too loud.
“Okay,” Ravi finally said. “Serious question. How many assignments do we have this week?”
Everyone groaned at once.
Marisol pulled out her planner. “Five CS problems sets, one Calc quiz, Chem lab write-up, English rough draft -”
“Jesus,” Tyrel muttered. “We’re gonna die.”
“We’ll survive,” Sarah said, smiling as she stood and slung her backpack over one shoulder. “Barely. But we’ll live.”
As they watched her walk away, back straight, hoodie tied at the waist, the group exchanged a collective look. It was possible, they realized. Not easy - but possible.
The whiteboard was already a battlefield.
Equations, flowcharts, circuit diagrams - some solved, others abandoned mid-thought like casualties of war - covered every available inch. Even the glass windows had been commandeered for logic trees and truth tables scrawled in dry-erase marker. The usual din of rustling papers, jokes, and sporadic “this sucks” was absent.
For once, Table 7 wasn’t joking around.
Bharath leaned over Sarah’s notebook, scribbling a quick derivation with his signature neat handwriting. Jorge muttered through his Statics formulas like a prayer. Ravi chewed a pencil eraser with alarming aggression while flipping between his textbook and a beat-up binder labeled CS 1331 – THE STRUGGLE.
Even Tyrel had removed his headphones and was frowning deeply at a thermodynamics worksheet like it had personally insulted his family.
Sarah sat cross-legged on a chair, highlighter poised mid-air. Her brow was furrowed, but her lips moved silently, whispering formulae to herself with a kind of meditative calm.
The room felt like a monastery. A very tense, overcaffeinated monastery.
The door creaked open.
Mia stepped in wearing a cropped pink Tech hoodie and low-rise jeans, her textbook hugged to her chest and her hair still damp from a quick shower. “Hey, nerds -”
She froze, blinking at the scene before her.
Silence.
Concentration.
Books.
No teasing. No laughter. No chaos.
“ ... Who died?” she asked.
Sarah looked up slowly, the ghost of a smile flickering at the corners of her lips. “Your GPA, if you speak too loudly.”
Mia smirked. “Oooh. You are that deep into it.”
“Welcome to finals prep,” Camila said without looking up. “It’s not a mood. It’s a war zone.”
“Where’s the smoke machine and glitter cannon?” Mia teased. “I thought this group only worked under duress and show tunes.”
Tyrel didn’t even look up. “We evolved.”
Mia raised her eyebrows, but wisely took a seat at the end of the table and pulled out her own workbook. “Damn. Okay. Vibes: funereal.”
The only response was the squeak of Ravi’s eraser on the whiteboard.
She glanced around again. Bharath was now explaining pointers to Ravi, Jorge and Marisol simultaneously, using a stick of gum as a stand-in for memory addresses. Camila had her notes spread across two chairs and was quietly explaining something about free-body diagrams to Nandita, who nodded gravely while sketching vectors.
Sarah’s gaze lingered on Mia for a beat longer than necessary. There was something mischievous behind her quiet stillness, like she was secretly watching a comedy while the rest of them tuned into tragedy.
Mia leaned over and whispered, “Be honest. Did you spike their water?”
Sarah whispered back, “No. It’s fear. The syllabus hit them like a bus.”
Mia grinned and nodded, then cracked open her own notebook and got to work.
For the next forty-five minutes, the room remained submerged in productivity. Pages turned. Pens flew. Bharath moved like a benevolent spirit between them, answering questions without judgment, giving little nudges of encouragement with a calm authority that left even Tyrel unbothered by correction.
Every now and then, Sarah would glance up at him, her lips twitching in amusement as if she still couldn’t believe that the shy boy who had once blushed at eye contact was now lecturing about recursive logic while Jorge nodded like he was attending Mass.
Mia focused on her calculus review. Her handwriting, always neat, became sharper under the room’s contagious discipline. She didn’t even notice when Sarah moved next to her until she felt the light tap on her notebook.
“Nice work,” Sarah murmured.
Mia blinked. “Wait, for real?”
“Your derivatives are clean. Like ... disgustingly precise.”
Mia gave a modest shrug but glowed inwardly.
“I see why he offered to tutor you,” Sarah added quietly.
Mia shot her a sideways glance. “That and my charm.”
Sarah laughed under her breath. “Obviously.”
Five minutes before the hour, Bharath finally stood and stretched. The spell broke. Chairs creaked. Pencils clattered to a stop.
“I think that’s all our brains can take,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.
Ravi groaned and collapsed backward. “I’ve seen God. He told me to be happy with a B.”
Tyrel wiped his forehead dramatically. “This might be the hardest thing I’ve ever done. And I once dated a Virgo with trust issues.”
LaTasha burst out laughing. “It’s true. He gave her a mixtape and she gave him a 7-page critique.”
As laughter spread again, Mia closed her notebook with a decisive thud. “Okay, study monks. Y’all ready to turn back into backup dancers?”
Jorge pumped a fist. “Yes. Finally.”
Nandita stood and stretched her arms. “Please, for the love of all that’s good, let this rehearsal be shorter than yesterday’s.”
Sarah smirked. “Depends. Are we finally going to nail the three-point turn, or are we going to collectively spin like confused ducks again?”
“I was not confused,” Ravi insisted. “I was flavorful.”