Their Wonder Years: Season 1: Fall 1998
Copyright© 2025 by Tantrayaan
58: Washed Clean
Coming of Age Sex Story: 58: Washed Clean - 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
/And then a hero comes along/
/With the strength to carry on/
/And you cast your fears aside/
/And you know you can survive/
Mariah’s chorus kept looping in Ayesha’s head, the way songs do when the heart has decided on a single truth and refuses to let it go. She’d grown up on Delilah’s late-night dedications - truckers and nurses and brokenhearted teenagers calling in from nowhere, asking for the one song that held their stories together. Tonight the dedication felt like hers: to the man in the center of the room. His body was bruised but his arms were gentle, holding and being held by the women he loved most in the world... well except for Mia, thought Ayesha.
Zara and Ayesha were behind him on the couch, arms threaded around his waist, their cheeks on his shoulders. She could feel the soft rise of his breath, the slight flinch when Sarah’s fingertips grazed a tender patch along his ribs, the deliberate way he exhaled to steady Marisol as he made love to his first two women. It wasn’t lust first, not right now. It was worship.
Ayesha had heard a thousand love stories in strangers’ voices through static-filled airwaves, truckers and nurses confessing to the night, begging for songs to say what they couldn’t. But none of those voices had ever sounded like this room. There were no callers here, no requests, no dedication, only breath and warmth and the small sounds of people learning what safety felt like. The kind of love she’d once thought existed only in radio fantasies was happening in front of her, raw and unguarded. And she wasn’t just listening anymore. She was inside the song.
“Breathe with me,” Bharath murmured, kissing Marisol’s forehead. “In. Out. I’m here.”
Marisol’s laugh broke in half. “You’re an idiot,” she whispered, voice shaky. “But you’re my idiot.”
“Forever,” he said.
Sarah tried to smile and failed. “You don’t get two forevers, dummy. You already said that to me.”
“I have five,” he said firmly, eyes flicking between them, then back to Ayesha and Zara over his shoulder. “Turns out my math was always generous.”
Zara choked on a laugh that turned suddenly into a small sob as she pecked him on his cheek. Ayesha tightened her arms around his middle, pressing closer, letting him feel the warmth of her, the steady thrum that had matched his from the first night she’d admitted the Delilah listener lived inside the “mean girl.” Hero wasn’t background noise anymore; it was a pulse.
Ayesha and Zara watched with fascination as Bharath first made love to Marisol as Sarah kneeled behind her, holding her. Ayesha felt a thrill as he marked Marisol all over her torso while he cupped her luscious ass and made her ride him.
“Mark me, mi amor. Yes! Bite me! Harder! Argh!” implored Marisol constantly, as he explored her magnificent body as if he had a map to all her pleasure centers. Her huge breasts jiggled as she now ground into him as if she was trying to fuse into him.
“SI AMOR! ESSO! MAS FUERTE! ARRRRRRRRRRRGHH!!!! YA!!! YA!!!”
Ayesha watched open mouthed as he was able to reduce the latina girl from lucid moans to mouthing gibberish in just a few minutes. She looked across at Zara who was also staring at Marisol disbelievingly. They had never known anything like this!
Despite him lavishing his attention to Marisol, none of the other girls felt left out. Bharath often pulled Sarah and the other girls in for kisses while Marisol rode him. Each girl relished the spark as they kissed him - as strong, if not more, as the first kiss that they shared.
When Marisol climaxed explosively, completely incoherent, he pulled her to him and kissed her passionately. Marisol collapsed on the couch breathing heavily needing a few moments to recover.
“Zara. Get down and take Sarah’s place. Sarah, come here, chellam.”
Zara quickly dismounted as his hands framed Sarah’s jaw as Sarah literally jumped into his lap and flung her arms around his neck. Ayesha watched the way Sarah’s eyes unfocused as she slowly fitted her into him. He shifted and kissed Zara as she held Sarah, pressing their foreheads together until the tremor in Sarah’s shoulders eased. Every touch said the same thing: I’m not going anywhere. Ayesha nuzzled into the crook of his neck. “He’s real,” Zara whispered, as if the room might be a dream. “We’re here.”
“We’re home,” Ayesha said, and felt Bharath’s abdomen rise and fall as he gently showered his attention on a gasping Sarah. She could feel him smile and pecked his jawline as he turned toward her. Ayesha felt a gush of affection when she saw him looking at her through the corner of his eyes.
They had a secret she hadn’t named out loud yet: music. He hid it like she did, under competence and jokes and caretaking. But on their date, when they hummed an AR Rahman track together, they realized that they both loved the same things. He’d tipped his head, she’d tipped hers, and they’d grinned like two thieves recognizing each other’s work. She knew it now: the way he matched his breathing to Sarah’s wasn’t only discipline; it was rhythm. He was setting a tempo the room could survive.
When Marisol recovered, she quickly got up took Zara’s previous place behind Bharath.
“Talk to me, chellam,” he said, voice hushed, to both Sarah and Marisol. “Tell me what you need.”
“I need you not to die. I need you with me ... always,” Sarah blurted, tears slipping into the corner of her mouth. “That’s it. That’s the list.”
Marisol swallowed. “I need to believe that protecting us doesn’t mean losing you.”
He nodded. “Both are fair.”
“Fair?” Sarah sniffed. “It’s non-negotiable.”
He kissed the tear from her cheek. “Non-negotiable.”
Ayesha’s heart did a small somersault. This was what Delilah’s callers were always reaching for and rarely got back: the exact words, spoken plainly, then kept.
Zara whispered into Sarah’s shoulder, “You saved us too.”
He turned his head just enough to brush his cheek against hers. “No one touches what’s mine.”
Ayesha felt heat at that - yes, the possessiveness, but more than that, the shelter of it.
“Do you want to know what I heard when you said that?” she asked.
He tipped his head, inviting. “Tell me.”
“That you see us,” she said. “Not just the part that needs saving. The part that wants to love you out loud.”
Zara hummed agreement, squeezing his thigh. “We want to be the same with you as well.”
Sarah and Marisol were already answering with their bodies - leaning in, kissing, breathing in his breath. The room slowed to a sway.
“Say it again,” Marisol asked, voice steadier now.
“I’m here,” he said. “I’m yours. I’m not going anywhere.”
Ayesha let her lips graze the spot behind his ear. “We’re yours.”
He reached back, found her hand, and threaded their fingers. The contact sparked something tender and giddy inside her. For years she’d performed as a girl who loved control more than vulnerability, applause more than truth. With him, she wanted to be the girl who sang off-key in kitchen light, who cried at radio dedications, and learned the names of constellations because he pointed at the window and said, “Look.”
Sarah drew a shaky breath that sounded finally like relief. “Kiss me till I’m okay,” she whispered.
He did. It wasn’t hungry. It was love. Ayesha loved that he always took the time to ensure that he always paid attention to all of them. The four of them moved together in a knot of warmth; Ayesha and Marisol didn’t break their hold from behind, only pressed into his back, anchoring him while he anchored them. Love can circle, Ayesha thought. It doesn’t always have to face forward.
“Z, you good?” Sarah asked over her shoulder, a watery smile forming.
“Better than good,” Zara said, cheeks flushed, cheek still resting on her shoulder. “He’s ... he’s making it okay for you, and it’s making it okay for me.”
Marisol’s eyes, still wet, lifted to Ayesha. “And you?”
Ayesha nodded, words tumbling out easy. “I’m happy. I’m ... happy.” She laughed at herself. “I didn’t know it could feel like this.”
“Like what?” Bharath asked, thumb stroking over her knuckles behind him.
“Like we’re a song and you’re the rhythm underneath,” she said, embarrassed and brave at once.
He squeezed her hand. “Wow. That was so deep Aish. You’re a poet!” The girls giggled as Ayesha blushed deeply.
Zara lifted her head. “I want to say something before Ayesha makes me sound stupid.”
“You’re already stupid for him,” Sarah teased gently, and Zara grinned.
“Facts,” Zara said. She pressed a kiss to Bharath’s shoulder and spoke to all of them. “Seeing him with you two - the way he calms you - made me love him harder. I didn’t know I could love anyone like this. And I like that I love you both for loving him like that.”
Marisol’s laugh came out surprised. “That might be the nicest thing anyone’s said to me today.”
“Today?” Sarah said as she undulating in Bharath’s lap going faster and faster as she got closer to the end. “Try my life.”
Bharath turned his head to catch both Ayesha and Zara with a sideways smile. “I’m lucky.”
Ayesha nudged him. “We are.”
His voice softened. “You never have to be anything you’re not, Aish. With us you just have to be you.”
She breathed in, shaky for the first time tonight. “I know. That’s why I’m terrified and thrilled. The radio-dedication version of me is out of the closet.”
Sarah gasped. “Oooh, what would you request? Ooh ... yes baby. Just like that baby.”
Ayesha didn’t hesitate. “For us? ‘Tu Hi Re’ for the ache. ‘Dil Se Re’ for the promise. And Mariah for the proof. The first two songs are AR Rahman songs. Since Bharath, Zara and I both love those songs we’re going make you guys listen to those songs till you can sing along with us.”
Marisol’s eyes danced. “Okay, music director. Put it on that list for our first road trip.”
Sarah moaned loudly as she finally climaxed. She collapsed on top of Bharath kissing his broad chest, “Mmm ... baby. How is it that no matter how many times we do this - it’s never bad?”
“Facts,” said Marisol as she kissed Bharath. “Sex with mi amor is like skydiving. No matter how many times you do it, it’s just as thrilling as the first time.”
“Hey!” protested Zara. “We want the skydiving experience too.”
Bharath kissed the corner of her mouth. “Let’s start after the shower,” he said. “I need hot water, heat on my bruises and then bed.”
“No way jaanu. We want the shower claiming experience. Mia gave us rave reviews yesterday. Like you said when you quoted Frost that you have promises to keep and many orgasms to go before you sleep.”
The girls giggled as Bharath groaned.
Marisol murmured, “And we keep you upright so you don’t do your tough-guy fall.”
“I don’t do a tough-guy fall,” he protested.
“Uh-huh,” Sarah said dryly. “Tell that to the dent in the living room wall from last month.”
“That was Tyrel,” he said, deadpan.
“Tyrel doesn’t fall,” Marisol said. “He lounges aggressively.”
They chuckled - real laughter now, loose and bright. Ayesha felt the room exhale fully for the first time. He had done it - turned fear into breathing, panic into rhythm. She kissed the back of his shoulder.”
“Before the shower,” she said softly, “can I say one more thing?”
He angled his head. “Say everything.”
“I love you,” she said, plain and clean. “For the fact that you love me. Not the version I was pretending to be. Me. The girl who cries at radio requests and hums Rahman under her breath and gets a pair in you.”
Zara’s voice followed, quiet but sure. “I love you too.”
He stopped moving for a beat, eyes closing, as if absorbing it before answering. When he opened them, they were damp. “I love you both,” he said, and then - turning to Sarah and Marisol - “I love you. Thank you for letting me prove it the way you needed.”
Marisol cupped his face. “You didn’t have to prove anything.”
“I did,” he said. “To me.”
Sarah brushed a thumb over his split lip. “Then consider us convinced.”
They stood like that, a warm tangle, until the air cooled enough that goosebumps rose along Ayesha’s arms. Zara felt it too and rubbed her forearms against his sides for heat.
“Okay,” Ayesha said, smiling into his shoulder, “hero man, shepherd your flock. Shower time.”
“Bossy,” he teased.
“Only because I love you,” she said.
“Come on,” she said, offering her hand to him as the first ribbons of steam reached the doorway. “Let the music keep playing.”
/I love you, always forever/
/Near and far, closer together/
/Everywhere, I will be with you/
/Everything, I will do for you/
Steam thickened the air, curling into every corner of the bathroom like a misty embrace. The tiles gleamed under the overhead lights, and the slow hiss of water echoed like a lullaby for the soul. The mirrors fogged instantly as the door closed behind them, sealing them in this temple of healing and intimacy.
Ayesha was standing in the water next to her man hugging him, reveling in the feeling of standing so close to him. She eyed his thick shaft as it stood erect. She was desperate to touch it but decided to wait for her turn. It was Zara’s turn first. Bharath squeezed her and raised her chin affectionately. He stared into her eyes and it was almost as if they communicated without any words. She understood. She was next. She kissed him excitedly causing the other girls to laugh.
Bharath stood under the warm spray, bruises marking his skin like faint, violet reminders of the night. But his eyes weren’t on himself. They were on Zara, her arms wrapped around herself, eyes wide and glistening.
“Come, my chellam,” he said softly, holding out a hand.
Zara’s lips trembled. She took one shaky step forward, then another, before she reached him. She looked up at him like she was about to cry.
“I...”
“Shhh,” he whispered, pulling her into the water. “You’re safe with me Zara, my love. You don’t have to be anything you’re not with me.”
Her gasp was quiet, like her soul finally inhaling. “I know jaanu ... you’re everything ... I’ve never even had the audacity to dream about. I know you feel you’re the lucky one ... but I just want you to know ... you are everything to me.”
He kissed her brow. She pressed her face into his chest, her hands on his ribs. “Chellam, I am the lucky one. You are more than I even deserve ... I am lucky to have one of you. You...”
“Okay we’re all lucky. Enough already. Less talking. More fucking...” teased Sarah. Marisol winked at Ayesha causing her to giggle.
Marisol stated, “We hereby declare all sentimental stuff to be done later. Quoting another great latina poet. Let’s get physical ... Vamos.”
Sarah and Marisol stepped in silently behind her, their movements synchronized, practiced, reverent. Sarah held a bar of soap, Marisol the bottle of shampoo. No words. Just quiet care.
As Bharath turned to rinse Zara’s hair, Sarah ran the soap gently across his shoulder blades, tracing the bruises with featherlight fingers. Marisol knelt beside him and began gently working a balm into the side of his abdomen, where a mottled bruise pulsed deep under his skin.
“This one’s swelling,” Zara murmured.
“It’s fine,” Bharath replied, brushing wet strands from Zara’s eyes. “I barely feel it.”
“Liar,” Sarah said, but her voice was affectionate.
Zara clutched him tighter, water streaming between them.
“I ... I didn’t think it would feel like this,” she whispered.
“Like what?”
“Being touched and ... not wanting to run. Everytime I have had sex before, I have never felt anything for the men I have been with.”
He paused, then leaned down and kissed her temple. “I never want to ever hear about anyone else again. You are with me now. Forever. Let it feel like what it is - love.”
Ayesha whimpered as she hugged Bharath tightly.
Marisol smiled from below. “Preach.”
Sarah pressed a kiss to his back before stepping around to Zara. “Let me help,” she said.
Zara looked startled.
“You don’t have to do anything,” Sarah said. “Just let us care for you.”
Zara nodded.
Sarah took the shampoo from Marisol and worked a small amount into Zara’s hair. Her fingers were firm but nurturing.
“You have amazing hair,” she said lightly.
“It’s always been wild.”
“So are we.”
They all laughed. It broke the heaviness.
Zara exhaled deeply. “I think ... this is the first time I’ve ever been washed. Not ... washed with. Washed.”
Sarah kissed her shoulder. “Then welcome. As you know one of our rules here is that Bharath never bathes alone. You will have plenty of opportunities to continue to wash and get washed.”
Marisol had moved up to Bharath’s side now, dabbing another bruise near his ribs. “How does this one feel mi amor?”
“Like a reminder,” he murmured.
“Of what?”
“Why I fight ... Why I bleed ... Why I feel.”
She looked up at him dreamily. “Oh my god! You’re on a roll today aren’t you? You’re a romantic idiot.”
“I’m your idiot.”
Marisol reached up and kissed him. The kiss was slow, but not soft. Ayesha also reached out as Marisol pulled her into the kiss.
“Hey!” whined Zara. “It’s my turn for the shower ritual bitches. Back off.”
Marisol and Ayesha rolled their eyes as Bharath laughed and pulled Zara back into him. He reached for the shampoo, lathering it between his fingers slowly before massaging it into her scalp with reverence. She gasped at the first contact, her head tilting back as his fingers worked her roots with worshipful precision.
He was unhurried and sure. She felt seen.
He kissed her forehead, her temple, her closed eyes - everywhere till she was moaning as his hands performed their magic in her hair while his mouth claimed her. When he moved onto her body with the shower gel gently moving from the top of her body to the legs, she was sobbing softly now. It was the most intense sensation she had ever felt in her life.
The soap cascaded down her body in silvery ribbons, and Bharath followed it with his lips- kissing down her throat, her collarbone, over her heart, pausing with a hand pressed just above it.
“You are mine,” he whispered.
Zara cried out in assent as he kissed down her arms, then bent to his knees and began washing her legs- carefully, deliberately- pausing to lick behind her knee, which made her nearly collapse.