Their Wonder Years: Season 1: Fall 1998
Copyright© 2025 by Tantrayaan
51: Five Times Chosen
Coming of Age Sex Story: 51: Five Times Chosen - 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
Bharath’s chest still ached. Even after all the apologies, all the frantic kisses, all the clinging arms, the ache wouldn’t let go. Now ... he couldn’t breathe in that house anymore. Not with five women trying to love him all at once when his head was still ringing with betrayal.
He needed noise. He needed Smith 202. His boys. Jorge swearing about football and how Argentinians were all devils in human form. Ravi muttering Hindi under his breath and Tyrel talking trash over NBA Jam. He needed something dumb, something simple. Something not sacred.
His feet carried him there almost by muscle memory, even though it was late. Past midnight, the quad empty after a thrilling football game, the air cutting at his skin. His head buzzed with the night’s memories, the game, coming back to his girls looking divine, the blindfold, the kisses, the way his heart had cracked open. He had two more girls in love with him now. And the worst part? He knew he’d end up loving them too.
The stadium was quiet now, but the sidewalks were still littered with the wreckage - Coke cups, nacho trays, Red Bull cans, and a hundred flyers trampled into the concrete. Tomorrow the grounds crew would erase the chaos, but for now it felt like the party hadn’t ended.
“Aiyo,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing his forehead. “I’m so screwed.”
He keyed the door open, hoping for a sliver of distraction. Unfortunately, the dorm was in darkness. He’d hoped they were up late ... playing video games. Perhaps Tyrel was still trying to evangelize and convert them into American football fans while they argued about the merits of cricket and actual football over this crazy game where people beat each other up for something that didn’t look like a ball.
He inhaled the familiar smell of instant noodles and Wild Stone when he entered longingly. Jorge’s bed was empty, sheets a crumpled mess. His old desk lamp (Ravi’s now) was dark. Tyrel’s side looked quiet-until a sound suddenly sliced through the air.
A moan. High, breathless. “That’s it, Coach. Let me ride you like a good horsey.”
Bharath froze when he suddenly heard LaTasha’s voice.
Then - dear god - Tyrel, “That’s it girl ... giddyup ... ride me like a cowgirl. YEEHAH!” Then he let out a full-throated neigh. A cartoonish, awful NNEEEEHHHH that echoed off the cinderblock walls like some demon pony.
Bharath’s blood turned to ice. “Oh. My. God.”
His hand fumbled with the doorknob. He backed out in slow motion, praying the hinges wouldn’t squeak. His heart slammed in his chest like he’d walked in on his parents. He dared one last glance and caught just the vaguest silhouette of LaTasha bouncing before he yanked his gaze away.
Out. Out now. But the neigh was already carved into his skull.
When he got out in the hall, he pressed his hands to his face. “I did not just hear that,” he whispered. Then a strangled laugh broke out of him. “Aiyo, of course I did.”
He staggered down the hall, half-horrified, half-cracking up, muttering: “Tyrel. A horse? Really? NNEEEEHHHH?”
But the laughter soured almost instantly. His smile slipped, his chest tightening. Because really, who was he to judge? He - the same guy who’d been blindfolded and kissed by strangers while tied up. The same guy who had five women who called him theirs. The same guy who couldn’t even decide if he was blessed or cursed.
He wheezed another laugh, softer this time, almost bitter. “Yeah. I can’t judge. Not after the things we do.”
That thought gave him a moment’s relief. A fragile sliver of normalcy. But by the time he stepped back outside into the cold night, the ache was waiting for him like unwelcome guests. He couldn’t shake the fear and the feelings of betrayal. The crushing knowledge that two more girls now loved him, and he couldn’t escape loving them back.
Once he headed back to the house, he sank onto the porch steps again. Arms hugging his chest, cold continuing to gnaw his skin. Tyrel’s neigh still rang in his ears like some absurd ghost.
And in that absurdity, in that stupid horse sound, he felt the sharpest truth: Everyone was ridiculous in their own way. Everyone was vulnerable when they gave themselves over to love. Even his boys and girlfriends. Even him. The difference was, Tyrel neighed without fear while Bharath still wasn’t sure if he could even breathe without breaking.
Morning didn’t creep; it barged in. Light pushed through the curtains and showed the room as it was, faces puffy from crying, five girls tangled together. But they woke not to warmth. Not to the steady rhythm of his breath. Not to the anchoring weight of his arms. They woke to his absence.
Marisol stirred first, groggy and aching. One hand reached out instinctively, fingers trailing across warm sheets, searching for him as she always did every morning. She frowned when she couldn’t find him. Her touch found only folds of silk and the faint indent of where a body had once lain. He couldn’t have gone to the gym that early.
She blinked against the blur of morning, her heart still half-dreaming. She smiled sleepily, reached again-this time with purpose-and slid her hand lower, playful, seeking the familiar heat of his shaft to rouse him with kisses and moans.
But there was nothing. She found no heat nor solace in him laying on the bed. She then suddenly realized that there was no Bharath. Her brows drew together. Still half-asleep, she leaned in, nuzzling the place where his chest should be. Then her fingers slid toward his hand - where they always curled in hers.
Nothing.
She opened her eyes. And the cold slammed into her chest. He was gone. For a moment, the silence screamed. A knife of dread carved through her gut as the memories of the night before - his voice, trembling and broken - came crashing back like a tsunami. She recalled the scenes from last night: the blindfold; the kisses; his betrayal and anger; his anguish; and; him storming out of the house.
No.
Marisol sat up fast as she remembered everything vividly now. Her breath hitched as her eyes scanned the bed, the floor, the couch hoping to catch a glimpse of him.
“Sarah,” she whispered, her voice cracked and hollow. “Wake up. He’s still not back. He didn’t come back last night, Sarah.”
Sarah stirred beside her, blinking blearily. “Wha...?” she mumbled.
But Marisol didn’t wait. She was already rising, her legs shaking as she staggered to her feet, her crimson wrap swirling uselessly around her. Her arms usually thrummed from the way she clung to him in her sleep, but now ... they felt hollow.
Across the bed, Mia stirred beside Zara and Ayesha. One hand clutched the fabric at her chest like it could hold her together. Zara’s lashes fluttered, lips parting as she sensed the panic in the air. Ayesha bolted upright, eyes wild, hair tangled when she heard Marisol.
The girls got up hurriedly and went looking for him all over the house.
“He’s not in the other bedroom,” Sarah called, her voice rising, brittle with terror.
“He’s not the couch either!” Mia’s voice echoed from downstairs. “He didn’t crash there.”
“What if he left?” Zara’s voice shook, brittle with horror. “What if he-”
“-what if he’s not coming back?” Ayesha whispered, her throat closing around the words.
The ache in their chests twisted sharper, more jagged, than anything they had felt the night before. Because last night, he was angry. Devastated. But present. Reachable.
This morning? He had disappeared. Last night was the first time they had ever seen Bharath angry - much less at them. He had actually shouted and stormed out. Surely he had to come back to them!
“No,” Mia said sharply, her voice a shield against despair. She stepped into the center of the room, her gold silk clinging to her like smoke, lips trembling. “He wouldn’t. He loves us. He loves you. He just ... needed space. He wouldn’t run.”
“But we hurt him,” Marisol choked, her voice breaking. “We broke his trust in us.”
Sarah stumbled to the window, bare feet thudding softly against the floorboards. She pulled the curtain aside, eyes wild. And then with a huge sigh of relief she exclaimed, “Oh my god. He’s here. He didn’t leave us!”
Marisol rushed to her. “Where?!”
“On the porch.”
They ran. All of them. Silk fluttering, veils slipping from skin. Five goddesses in disarray, breathless with dread, storming to the window like a choir of repentance.
And there he was. Bharath.
Sitting on the front steps frozen like a statue. His shoulders hunched. His hands red from cold. His eyes fixed on a point no one else could see. The wind whipped through his hair, stung his cheeks, curled around his body with no mercy. And he didn’t move.
He looked ... lost.
“Oh god,” Marisol whispered, her heart collapsing. “He’s freezing,” Marisol’s breath fogged in the air as she fumbled the latch.
And then none of them were thinking anymore. They were moving. Bare feet on cold tile as they rushed to the front door. They rushed out into the cold without thinking, hair flying wild. But they didn’t care. They were out the door, down the steps, collapsing toward him in a panic of limbs and silk and breathless voices-
“Bharath!”
“Mi amor!”
“Please come inside!”
He looked up. And the pain in his eyes nearly broke them all over again.
He looked up - and froze. His breath caught hard in his throat. For a second, he thought he was hallucinating or perhaps already in heaven. There they were. All five of them. Barefoot and breathless, wrapped in whisper-thin silks that clung to their sumptuous bodies. The morning sun cut through every layer, revealing more than it hid as they ran to him.
It was too much. His mind was still fractured from the night before, still raw with betrayal and Tyrel’s animal noises. But his body? His body betrayed him instantly. He hardened the moment he saw them. Not just because they were beautiful - but because they were his. His destiny. And now - like apsaras descending from Indraloka - there they were. Breathing his name. Crying for him as they swarmed him.
Sarah collapsed to her knees beside him, as she hugged him fiercely. “Oh my god, Bharath, you idiot! You’re freezing!”
“You’re going to catch pneumonia amor!” Mia cried, already pulling his freezing hands into hers, her barely-covered cleavage bouncing with every frantic motion.
Marisol cupped his face tenderly, “Why didn’t you come back to bed?”
Zara was crying, her lean, model-perfect frame trembling in little more than a sheer veil. “We thought you were gone. We thought we’d lost you.”
And Ayesha ... Bharath’s breath hitched. Ayesha was glowing. This was the first time he had seen her properly. Sensual, breathtaking - her curves poured out of her silk wrap like they couldn’t be contained. Her hips swayed like honey. Her breasts - large, perfect, practically worship-worthy - strained against the gauze as she pressed her cheek to his shoulder and whispered, “Please come inside.”
Bharath’s vision swam.
His grief still clung to him like frost - but so did the heat rushing through his blood. He hated this. Hated how they’d manipulated him. And yet - how could he hate them like this? How could he look at them - so stunning, so wrecked, so willing - and feel nothing but lust? Because he didn’t. He felt rage, yes. The rage and sadness stemming from betrayal. But he also felt love.
“Kadavule! (Oh god!),” he muttered, forcing himself to glance toward the street. “We’re out in the open! What if someone-”
“Can see everything,” Mia gasped, suddenly glancing down. “Oh god!”
Bharath stood abruptly, pulling Sarah and Marisol up with him clutching them close to him, jaw clenched, heat prickling his skin. “Inside. Now. Before someone calls the cops or has a heart attack seeing you girls like this.”
They didn’t need to be told twice. The five of them scrambled back toward the door in a blur of billowing silk, tangled hair, and half-hysterical laughter. Bharath followed-dazed, overwhelmed, erect, and still broken.
The moment Bharath stepped inside, the warmth hit him like a sigh-but it wasn’t the heater. It was them. He barely got one foot over the threshold when Marisol launched at him-her body hitting his chest like a silken missile. Her arms locked around his neck, legs wrapping around his waist, mouth already pressing frantic kisses to his cheek, his temple, his lips.
“Mi amor,” she breathed, kissing him again. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t think. Please-”
“Marisol-wait-!”
But he didn’t get the word out before Mia came from behind like a sneak attack, jumping up and wrapping herself around his torso, arms under his shirt, hands splayed across his abs like she was trying to memorize every line.
“You’re so cold right now,” she whimpered. “Thank god. Don’t be mad. Don’t be cold. Please just ... feel us again.”
“Girls!”
And then Sarah joined the assault, not climbing-but lunging, like a cat in heat. She practically jumped into his arms, pressing kisses to his jaw, his throat, his collarbone as she whispered, “I couldn’t bear it. Not another minute of you hating us. We’re sorry. Let us love you. Let us make it right.”
In less than five seconds, Bharath was carrying two women-Sarah wrapped around his front, Mia clinging to his side-and Marisol on his back like a jungle cat.
“Girls ... please ... I can’t even walk-”
“That doesn’t matter. Just go. We missed you.”
They were everywhere. Hands groped his chest, his shoulders, his waist. Kisses found his jaw and throat. Fingers tugged at his shirt, slipped under his waistband, clawed into his hair like they could anchor him in place.
Marisol whispered against the back of his neck, “You’re ours. You’re still ours. Please ... let us fix this.”
Mia’s fingers found the edge of his waistband. “One kiss. One breath. Please.”
Sarah whimpered against his mouth, “Just tell us we didn’t lose you...”
And Bharath was staggering-literally dragging three goddesses with desperate apologies on their tongues and silk barely covering their bodies-toward the couch, jaw clenched, heart pounding, groin absolutely betraying him.
Across the room, Ayesha and Zara watched, frozen. They just watched in stunned silence as Bharath carried two women and dragged a third toward the couch, his lean, muscled frame on full display - shirt half-unbuttoned, chest heaving, abs tight, neck flushed. Ayesha’s breath caught. Zara’s knees buckled slightly. They hadn’t known he was this strong.
“Wow. He is strong,” whispered Ayesha. “What the hell was wrong with us that we took so long to look at him?”
“Damn girl ... look at those biceps and those abs. We must have been blind!” said Zara longingly.
Watching him now-face contorted with restraint, arms trembling under the weight of devotion, lips bitten in frustration-they felt the yearning in their bones.
They looked on in disbelief as he managed to drag all three girls to the couch from the foyer. Their hearts were beating like jackhammers. Then they felt despondent when they realized that he had rejected them last night. Ayesha sobbed and squeezed Zara’s hand in frustration. Zara didn’t even need to look at Ayesha to know what she was thinking.
He gasped, “Please. Let me talk. Before I completely lose my damn mind.”
The girls stilled-barely. Mia kissed his jaw again before whispering, “Then say it quick, before we start all over again.”
Marisol chuckled softly against his back. “You don’t get to look this good and expect restraint, mi amor.”
Sarah straddled his thigh. “Say whatever you want. Just don’t stop holding us. We’re going to ride you like a horse.”
Bharath groaned as he recalled Tyrel’s demon-like neigh from that morning, and shuddered. He turned his head slightly, eyes wild, breath ragged. He needed to get that damn noise out of his head
“I love you,” he said. “All of you. That’s not in question.”
He looked up-past the three girls draped over him-and met the hopeful eyes of Zara and Ayesha that had lit up when Bharath said that.
“And that includes you.”
Both girls inhaled sharply. Ayesha’s hand flew to her mouth. Zara’s heart cracked open on the spot. Ayesha and Zara squealed in excitement. He exhaled.
Bharath groaned. “You two are going to kill me. But if we’re going to survive this...”
He sat up straighter, almost dislodging Sarah - who was clinging on to him like a limpet - from his lap and shifting Mia and Marisol just enough to get some air, “ ... you have to let me speak. And please get off me so that I can think clearly.”
And finally, finally ... they nodded but refused to listen. They made it so far as to get off him, but within a couple of seconds were back on him clinging to him half-naked. But at least they agreed to listen.
Bharath collapsed onto the couch, chest heaving. He barely had time to breathe before Mia climbed into his lap again, arms locking around his neck.
“Don’t-don’t push me off,” she whispered, clinging like he might dissolve. “I can’t. Not after last night.”
“Mia...” His voice cracked.
Then Sarah pressed in from the side, curling herself against his chest, burying her face under his jaw. “You left us once. You don’t get to do it again. Not without a fight.”
Marisol slid behind him, pulling his back against her, her lips brushing his ear. “Mi amor, you’re not slipping away from me. I’ll hold you here with my whole body if I have to.”
He let out a strangled laugh. “Girls, I can’t even breathe...”
“Good,” Sarah shot back, muffled against his throat. “Then you know how we felt.”
Mia’s nails dug gently into his shirt. “Say you’ll stay. Just say it. One word.”
“Not yet.” His arms twitched, half-heartedly trying to pry them off. “I need space-”
“Then take us with you,” Marisol murmured, tightening her hold. “We won’t let you go away by yourself again.”
At his feet, Zara and Ayesha inched closer across the rug. Zara’s hands reached for his knee. “We won’t sit apart. Not anymore.”
“Please,” he rasped, looking down at them. “Not like this. Don’t kneel. It feels wrong.”
Zara’s head jerked up. Her eyes were red, her cheeks wet. “I’m not kneeling because I think I’m less than you,” she whispered. “I just ... I can’t sit far away. I can’t not be touching you. Not after last night. Not after almost losing you.”
“I don’t want distance,” Ayesha added, her voice thick with emotion. “I just want to be near you. Even if it’s like this. Even if I have to sit on the floor.”
“Don’t worry baby. We’ll take turns,” said Sarah rubbing herself on him as if that made it easier for him.
“Kadavule (god),” he muttered, voice breaking. “You’re smothering me.”
Sarah leaned back just enough to glare up at him, eyes red but fierce. “Then suffocate. Better that than losing you.”
Mia kissed his jaw again, desperate. “We’ll crawl back a hundred times if we have to. You can’t shake us off.”