Their Wonder Years: Season 1: Fall 1998
Copyright© 2025 by Tantrayaan
57: Post Euphoria
Coming of Age Sex Story: 57: Post Euphoria - 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 bass from Euphoria was still thumping through the walls like the club was a living animal that refused to sleep. The neon sign buzzed above the door; somebody’s laughter spilled down the stairs; a stray flyer did a tired lap of the sidewalk like it was last call too.
Andy stood by the velvet rope with a clipboard, a headset, and a grin like he’d just hosted his own talk show. The two bouncers flanked him as a gaggle of tipsy clubbers poured out. He grinned when he saw the trio that had set the club on fire with their dirty dancing all night long.
Ayesha and Zara came out draped over Bharath while his arms were fixed on their luscious midriffs. They were laughing and singing and kissing each other all at once drawing envious looks from everyone around them. These three were young, beautiful and clearly in love. The good looking boy he had never seen before this evening was holding the girls as if they were his most prized possessions while the girls eyed him like a hungry tiger would raw meat.
Andy spotted them and clapped. “My heroes! Romeo and his double trouble.” He gave a courtly bow to the girls first, then a smaller one to Bharath. “Apologies again for being harangued by D-Rock and his posse. He’s a pain but he’s never been like that before. Thanks for not blowing things out of proportion.”
“That faker,” Zara said, prim as a headmistress, then burst into a grin. “I cannot believe he tried that line on us. He was so disrespectful and he thought he could get us to be with him?”
Ayesha rolled her eyes. “What was it? He called us jewel-girl and chain-girl. Do girls actually fall for that?”
Andy sighed, “You’ll be surprised. Not everyone has a cutie like this one with them though.”
Bharath blushed.
“In his defense,” Andy said, “These two mamacitas were fire tonight. How’d you manage to bag these two spitfires mister?”
The nearer bouncer said, “Facts,” and the farther bouncer added, “Preach,” like a choir with a two-word repertoire as they all looked at Bharath with wonder.
“You think we’re spitfires? Mr. Stud here has five of us. You should see Marisol, Sarah and Mia. Maybe we’ll bring them down sometime,” said Zara proudly as Ayesha giggled when she saw Bharath turning red.
Andy and bouncers did a double take. “Five? Are you kidding me? And that too at Georgia Tech? What are you cutie? Some kind of magician?” The bouncers looked at each other disbelievingly.
Zara nodded, lips pressed together to stop a smile from exploding. “They’re our sisters. We’re a family.”
Andy blinked. “Atlanta woke up and chose telenovela.”
“They’re not here tonight,” Ayesha said, softer. “But they’re real. And they’re ... everything.”
Andy caught Bharath going red and grinned. “Oh, honey. Are you blushing?”
“Leave him,” Zara said, amused. “He’s shy.”
“Shy?” Andy asked the bouncers. “Does that look shy?”
“It do,” said Bouncer 1. “It does,” corrected Bouncer 2.
Ayesha tilted her head at Andy. “You can be our friend too, you know.”
Andy placed the clipboard to his chest. “Honey, I’m applying right now.”
“Application accepted,” Zara said chortling. “And no interview required.”
“Good,” Andy said. “Because my answers would’ve been wildly inappropriate.”
Ayesha’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Define wildly.”
“Scale of one to Madonna” Andy said. “We’re talking MTV After Dark.”
Zara clapped a hand over her mouth and giggled.
Andy said. “Trendsetters. Now, can I order you a cab before you trendset your way into jaywalking?”
Ayesha and Zara exchanged a look that was practically subtitled. They turned in perfect sister-sync to Bharath, then back to Andy.
“Actually,” Zara said, all innocence. “We’re not ready to go home yet.”
Ayesha slid closer to Bharath, finger tracing the seam of his shirt. “We need twenty minutes.”
“Twenty,” Zara confirmed, holding up two fingers and then awkwardly adding a zero with the other hand. “We’ll be back.”
Andy lifted an eyebrow. “Twenty minutes to do...?”
“Walk,” Ayesha said.
“Breathe,” Zara said.
“Hydrate,” Ayesha said.
“Discuss literature,” Zara said, solemn as a judge.
Andy looked at Bharath. “Are you hydrated?”
Bharath opened his mouth, closed it, then tried again as he hugged the girls’ waists harder. “I ... may need ... more hydration.”
“And literature?” Andy asked. “You look like a man with opinions on the Oxford comma.”
“I have many opinions,” Bharath said, straight-faced, which only made the girls laugh harder.
“Okay,” Andy said, clapping once. “Go take your walk. I’ll be here shutting down. I’ll wave at the moon for you. Need me to call a cab in twenty?”
Ayesha already had Bharath by the wrist. “We’ll call you if we need you.”
Zara was tugging his other hand. “We’ll be back before you miss us.”
“I’ll try to survive,” Andy said, mock-swooning. “Go! Shoo! Take your romance. Be adorable on my sidewalk. My bouncers need to get back to the club patrons still here.”
“Be good,” Ayesha told Andy.
“Be careful,” Zara added.
“Be legendary,” Andy said, pointing at Bharath. “You, sir, are in the presence of greatness.” He looked at the girls. “And you two know it.”
Ayesha winked. “We told you.”
“Told me what?” Andy teased.
Zara sing-songed, “He’s a sex god.”
Andy wobbled theatrically, like he needed the velvet rope to steady himself. “Noted.”
“And he has three more girlfriends at home,” Ayesha finished, as if it needed a drumroll.
Andy fanned himself with the clipboard. “I’m calling the Smithsonian.”
Zara leaned in, stage-whispering, “Also ... he’s...” She shaped her hands like she was framing a secret, then dissolved into laughter before she could complete the thought.
Ayesha, wicked, made a large hole with her hands, “Very ... equipped.”
“Scandal,” Andy breathed. “You can’t just drop ‘equipped’ on a Saturday night like that!”
“It’s Sunday now,” Zara said.
“Worse,” Andy said. “Okay, my angels, off you go. Twenty minutes. I’ll be here, and if anyone asks, you are absolutely discussing Hemingway.”
Ayesha wrinkled her nose. “Ugh, no. Chaucer. He’s always naughty in his books.”
“Even better,” Andy said, delighted.
The bouncers stepped aside like automatic doors. The girls pulled Bharath past the velvet rope and down the short steps to the sidewalk. The city night yawned open: a halo of streetlights, a few taxis prowling, the faint gasoline perfume of a hundred stories heading home.
“Goodnight, Professor Volcano,” Andy called. “Don’t erupt on my curb!”
Ayesha spun backward, walking, laughing. “He won’t ... we’ll clean up the mess.”
“You harlots! Begone!” said Andy laughing.
Zara pointed two fingers at her eyes and then at Andy: I see you. Andy mimed zipping his mouth. The bouncers snorted in stereo.
They turned the corner into the narrower side street - with a couple of dumpsters, the kind of place where the world goes quiet just long enough to hear your own pulse. A busted streetlamp flickered like it was trying to keep up with the club’s beat. The bass still pulsed faintly through the walls reminding them that the party was still not over.
Ayesha pressed Bharath gently into the cool brick with the kind of confidence that had learned how to dance in heels tonight and didn’t want to stop. Zara slid in on his other side, close enough that her perfume and the leather and the warm electric smell of sweat and joy turned the little alley into a private planet.
Bharath swallowed. “We said we were going to walk.”
“We are,” Ayesha said. “This is walking.”
“We walked,” Zara said. “Past the corner.”
“Now we pause,” Ayesha said, “for ... hydration.”
“We don’t have water,” Bharath said.
Zara looked very thoughtful. “We do have ... ourselves.”
“That’s not water,” he said, valiantly, failing not to smile.
“Close enough,” Ayesha said, grabbing the collar of his jacket and coaxing him down for a kiss that was sweet.
Zara watched for a beat with that amused, tender gaze she saved for moments that felt like Polaroids. Then she stepped in, nudging Ayesha’s shoulder with her own. “Share.”
Ayesha broke off, breath bright. “Always. Come here bitch ... let’s kiss him together”
Zara cupped Bharath’s jaw, radiant and a little wicked. “Hi.”
“Hi,” he said, voice lower than he meant.
“Do you feel famous?” she asked.
“Famous?”
“You just got your first gay friend’s blessing,” Zara said, eyes dancing. “That’s like a blue check.”
Ayesha, forehead to his shoulder, laughed. “A verified loverboy.”
“Stop,” Bharath said, mortified and thrilled, which was pretty much his permanent setting around them.
Zara kissed him along with Ayesha, a little nipping smile at the corners, a dare tucked into a hello. She broke away slowly, like a cat leaving a sunny window. “Taste test passed.”
“Science,” Ayesha said solemnly. “Peer-reviewed.”
“Double-blind,” Zara added.
“I am not blind,” Bharath protested. “I can see perfectly.”
Ayesha’s gaze swept down and back up, a slow, deliberate caress that made the brick wall feel warmer. “We noticed.”
Zara’s grin sharpened. “About that.”
“About what?” he asked, trying to sound clueless and failing again because he’d been learning their dictionary for months now.
Ayesha’s voice dropped into that teasing, grown-woman register she’d found tonight somewhere between the third dance and telling the rapper no. “About the problem you have.”
“I don’t have a problem,” he said.
“You have ... a condition,” Zara said sympathetically.
“It’s called ‘you’re very, very - ‘“ Ayesha began.
“Equipped,” Zara supplied, because saying the exact word again made her blush and laugh at herself for blushing.
Now that they were by themselves Bharath started feeling more confident. “Oh ... and what are we going to do about it? Looks like my girls need some ‘treatment’ before we go home. See that lane there? Let’s go there. I need to take care of you before we head home.”
Ayesha and Zara squealed with excitement, “But we wanted to take care of you,” gasped Zara as Bharath sneaked his hand into their skirts and squeezed their asses.
“Uh uh ... My girls have standards. We do things in at least a five to one ratio ... Plus you’ve only had one toe curling moment with me so far. We have a long way to go. Let’s go chellams. It’s time for the pre-game before we return home for the real thing.”
Ayesha and Zara dragged Bharath to the alley next to the club. It was dark enough that no one was around and yet close enough to the club that it would be safe.
The alley was a narrow slice of night between two shuttered buildings, brick walls sweating under the glow of a flickering streetlamp. A drain gurgled somewhere, the sour-sweet smell of spilled beer rising with the heat.
“Hands on the wall,” he ordered. “Skirts up.”
They obeyed without hesitation. Zara and Ayesha pressed their palms to the cold brick, hips tilting back, skirts rising until the hem trembled at their thighs. Their perfume hung heavy in the cool air, mixing with the faint metallic scent of rain on asphalt.
Bharath came up behind them slowly, one palm on each hip. His thumbs traced small, claiming circles, making them shudder. “This is what you wanted?” he murmured. “You wanted to stop watching and start feeling?”
“Yes...” Ayesha’s breath hitched. “Please, Bharath.”
Zara nodded, eyes squeezed shut. “Show us,” she whispered. “Show us what you do to them.”
He moved closer until his chest was almost against their backs, heat radiating through their clothes. “You have no limits?” he asked quietly.
They both shook their heads. “No limits,” Ayesha said. “We’ll do anything you tell us.”
“Anything?” His hands moved a fraction higher, testing. “Say it. Tell me what you’re asking for.”
Ayesha’s answer came first, rushed and trembling. “Push me. Make me lose myself the way they do.”
Zara’s voice was low but clear. “Take me the way you took them. Make me yours. Make us yours.”
Bharath’s grip tightened. For a heartbeat he simply breathed with them, the three of them locked in a current of heat and surrender. His mouth dropped to Zara’s ear. “When we’re alone,” he whispered, “I’ll show you everything. I’ll show you what it means to belong.”
Zara’s knees almost buckled. Ayesha let out a sound that was half‑whimper, half‑plea. Bharath slid one hand down, slow and deliberate, until they both gasped, caught between anticipation and need. “Right here?” he asked softly. “Right now?”
“Yes...” they breathed together.
He gave a short, sharp command: “Look at me.”
They turned their heads just enough to meet his eyes. His gaze held them, steady, dark, promising. “This is the edge,” he told them. “Step over, and you don’t go back. You’re sure?”
They nodded, trembling. “We’re sure,” Ayesha said. “We’re begging you.”
Bharath exhaled, a sound like a growl. His hands slid higher, skirts bunched in his fists. For a second it felt like the world had narrowed to just them - the brick wall, the flickering lamp, three bodies caught in a suspended moment.
And then the light changed.
A pair of bright white beams cut across the alley mouth, spilling over their bodies like a spotlight. The low growl of an engine followed, bass rattling from inside the vehicle. Bharath froze, every muscle taut. Zara blinked, eyes wide, still bent over. Ayesha straightened a little, confusion cutting through her haze.
The SUV rolled forward until the grill loomed only a few feet from them. Chrome caught the streetlight; tinted windows reflected their compromised tableau. Then the engine cut and the driver’s door swung open.
“Well lookie what we have here,” a voice drawled from the shadows.
D‑Rock stepped out first, chain swinging against his chest, his grin like a predator. Two of his crew slid out behind him, bigger and quieter, their eyes flicking over Bharath and the girls like they were already prey.
Bharath moved fast. In one motion he dropped the girls’ skirts, turned, and stepped in front of them, his body a barrier. “Stay behind me,” he murmured without looking back.
Zara’s hands clutched at the back of his jacket. Ayesha’s breath came in quick, sharp bursts as she tried to pull herself together. The warmth between them evaporated, replaced by a cold spike of adrenaline.
D‑Rock stopped a few feet away, spreading his arms theatrically. “Man, man, man,” he said, smirking. “Didn’t know you was holding a private show out here. VIP treatment, huh?”
The stooges chuckled, low and mean.
Bharath squared his shoulders, every bit of softness gone from his face. “Get lost,” he said evenly. “This alley’s taken.”
The rapper’s grin widened. “Oh, we’re walking,” he said. “But maybe we stop for a second. Talk business. But ladies - the show you were ‘bout to put on ... you should be doing it with me and these fine gentlemen.” His stooges burst into laughter.
“Fuck off assholes. I’d rather die than be anywhere near scum like you,” said Zara showing him her middle finger causing the trio in the car to stiffen.
“Get ‘em bitches. Let’s show em who’s boss. Break that fool and let’s go,” snapped D-Rock as his two henchmen swarmed out of the car.
The stooges moved fast, splitting left and right. Zara screamed, swinging her fist. Ayesha clawed at a wrist, nails raking skin. They both kicked and scratched, their voices high and panicked. One man caught Ayesha by the arm; the other lunged for Zara.
Bharath stepped in, shoving one back. “Get your hands off them!” he barked, but the second man drove a fist into his ribs, then another across his jaw. Bharath staggered, doubled over. The girls shrieked, still fighting, but the men were too strong, dragging them a step at a time.
D‑Rock leaned back against the SUV, watching like it was a show. “Yeah,” he said lazily. “That’s right. Make it interesting.”
Bharath tried to rise but the two men hit him from opposite sides, a blur of fists and elbows. He went down on one knee, palms scraping the pavement. Ayesha’s scream cut through the alley. “Bharath!”
Zara twisted and kicked, landing a heel in someone’s shin. Ayesha swung her free arm, nails drawing blood. It slowed them but didn’t stop them. The rapper grinned wider.
Then one of the stooges lost patience and slapped Ayesha hard across the face. She cried out, clutching her cheek.
Bharath saw red.
He surged to his feet like he’d been launched. The man closest to him barely had time to blink before Bharath’s shoulder drove into his chest, slamming him back into the wall. D‑Rock’s grin faltered. Bharath turned, grabbed a loose brick from a pile of debris at the wall’s base, and swung it at the second stooge. It struck him square in the forehead with a sick crack, sending him reeling back, cursing.
The rapper stepped forward, trying to bark something, but Bharath swung on him next. His fist connected with D‑Rock’s jaw in a single, perfect punch. The rapper stumbled, gold chain swinging, and hit the pavement with a grunt.
“Run!” Bharath barked over his shoulder. “Now! Back to the club!”
The girls shrieked, still fighting. “We’re not leaving you!” Ayesha yelled, trying to drag at Bharath’s sleeve.
“Run!” Bharath barked without looking back. “Go get help! Now!”
“But - “ Zara started.
“Go!” he roared.
They hesitated only a heartbeat, then tore off down the alley, heels slipping on wet concrete. One stooge reached for them but Bharath stepped between, taking a glancing punch to the leg to block the way. “Move!” he snapped, and the girls disappeared into the neon glow at the end of the street.
D‑Rock’s face twisted. “You just made a mistake, dawg,” he sneered. “Now we make an example of you.”
Bharath wiped blood from his lip and squared his shoulders. “Come on, then.”
He darted forward, catching the first stooge with a hook to the body that doubled the man over. A quick uppercut to the second’s chin made him stumble. For a moment, Bharath looked like he might actually take them.
Then they regrouped. One caught him from behind in a bear hug while the other drove a fist into his stomach and another punch to the ribs Bharath staggered, then went down on one knee, palms scraping the pavement.
D‑Rock strolled closer, shaking his head. “You think you’re some kind of hero?” he said. “You think you’re too good for me?”
He snapped a blade open with a flick of his wrist. The metal glinted under the streetlight. His smile turned cold. “I’m gonna show you what happens to people who think they’re too good for me.”
Bharath’s eyes narrowed. He tried to push up but the stooges shoved him back down, one pressing a knee into his spine.
D‑Rock crouched, knife glinting inches from Bharath’s face. “Look at me,” he hissed. “Look at me when I teach you -”
“ENOUGH!” a voice boomed.
Everyone froze. The stooges glanced toward the alley mouth.
The girls had returned, breathless and wild-eyed, flanked by Andy and two massive bouncers. Behind them came the older man from the VIP room, walking like he’d been here a thousand times before, silver hair and dark suit catching the light.
He didn’t shout. He didn’t need to. “Drop that boy ... before you hurt yo’self,” he said, eyes fixed on D‑Rock.
D‑Rock straightened but didn’t lower the knife. “This ain’t your -”
The man stepped closer, voice still calm. “You not hear good? Drop. It.”
The older man didn’t look like anyone important, but the weight in his voice changed the air. The bouncers froze, Andy stopped mid-step, even D-Rock’s stooges hesitated.
“You deaf, boy?” the man said, gaze locked on the rapper. “I told you before, those girls said no. You respect that. You don’t follow them. You don’t bring that noise to my house.”
D-Rock swallowed, still holding the knife. “I was just -”
“You were told,” Mookie interrupted quietly, “to stay clear. You didn’t. And now you’re out here waving steel like some fool. You think I don’t have enough trouble keeping heat off this block?”
One of the stooges muttered, “Boss, he -”
“Shut it fool,” Mookie said without raising his voice. The single sentence landed like a hammer.
Something in his tone made even the stooges shift uneasily. The older man’s gaze swept over them like a searchlight. “Get yo hands off him. Step back. Now.”
The stooges obeyed without thinking, releasing Bharath. He staggered to his feet, blood at the corner of his mouth. Ayesha and Zara rushed to his side, grabbing his arms. “We’re here,” Ayesha whispered. “We brought help.”
The older man took another step. “You will apologize,” he said to D‑Rock, voice like steel wrapped in velvet. “To him. To them. Now. And you will not so much as breathe near them again. Do you understand?”
D‑Rock’s jaw worked. The knife trembled slightly in his hand. “Man -”
“I said, do you understand?” the man repeated, softer this time.
D‑Rock’s bravado drained. He flicked the blade shut and stuffed it into his pocket. “Yeah,” he muttered. “I get it.”
D-Rock looked at Bharath and the girls sulkily and said, “Sorry.”
“They didn’t hear you fool. Louder.”
The rapper gave Bharath an evil look and said, “Sorry for troubling you and your girls. Please forgive me.”
“Good.” The man’s gaze didn’t waver. “Get you and your clowns back in your SUV. Now.”
As the others backed away, Mookie crouched beside the rapper long enough for only Bharath and the girls to hear.
“You forget what I said once,” he murmured, voice low and level, “and I’ll forget you’re one of ours. You pull this kind of stunt again, and I won’t stop the next man who comes looking for you. You got that ... boy?”
D-Rock’s lips twitched; he wanted to talk back, but the knife hand still shook. He just nodded.
“Good,” Mookie said, straightening. “Now get gone before I change my mind.”
The stooges hauled D‑Rock backward, muttering, and bundled him into the vehicle. The engine roared to life and the SUV disappeared blasting loud hip-hop music.
Only when the taillights of the SUV disappeared, did the older man turn to Bharath. “My apologies son,” he said quietly. “This should never have reached you or the lovely young ladies. Are any of you hurt?”
“I’ll live,” Bharath said, catching his breath.
Mookie studied him for a moment longer, reading the stance, the split lip, the defiance that hadn’t faded.
“You did good, son,” he said finally. “Most would’ve frozen. You didn’t. But next time, walk away first. These idiots won’t cross you again - trust that. They don’t want that kind of heat on the crew, not after tonight.”
Bharath frowned slightly. “Crew?”