Their Wonder Years: Season 1: Fall 1998
Copyright© 2025 by Tantrayaan
69: Sacred Tuesday, Delayed
Coming of Age Sex Story: 69: Sacred Tuesday, Delayed - 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 gang hadn’t heard a single peep from Bharath or the girls all day.
No calls. No emails. No drop-ins at the dining hall. Not even a blurry figure speed-walking past the SAC gym in a suspiciously oversized hoodie.
It was like they’d vanished.
Like the entire harem had been ... raptured.
And honestly? That wouldn’t even be the weirdest explanation.
They hadn’t seen Bharath or the girls since the salsa-drenched, churro-filled, tearfully wholesome birthday party at Maria’s house the night before. A night that ended, allegedly, with Bharath and the girls staying behind to give Mia her “final birthday gift.”
Earlier that morning, Ravi was the first one to notice something was off.
He walked into the SAC weight room at 7:03 AM sharp, three minutes late by Bharath Standards - and immediately froze at the entrance like someone had unplugged his Nintendo 64 mid-boss fight.
The bench press was empty.
The squat rack was empty.
The dumbbell area was empty.
“No way,” Ravi whispered, gripping the strap of his gym bag like it might offer emotional support. “No freaking way.”
Jorge, arriving seconds later with Tyrel and wiping sleep from his eyes, yawned. “Bro, I swear if this is about the food at Maria’s house last night ... I feel you. My stomach is still fighting for its life.”
Tyrel snorted, “I don’t know what you’re complaining about. I wasn’t even full. Wait till you guys come home for Thanksgiving tomorrow. You’ll be full then.”
Jorge and Ravi shuddered a little thinking about this. They decided to park this conversation for later.
Ravi shook his head. “He’s not here.”
Jorge blinked. “Who?”
Ravi gave him a look.
Jorge gasped. “No. Shut up. He always comes the morning after eating junk. He ... he literally said that yesterday. ’Tomorrow morning I run until I can burn up all the junk we’ve eaten today.’ In that weird spiritual voice he does.”
“And he never misses gym,” Ravi whispered. “Unless he is too tired from all the sex. Let’s check again.”
Tyrel choked on air. “Bruh. It is 7 AM. You can’t just say sentences like that.”
They turned slowly toward the empty treadmill row as if expecting Bharath to suddenly materialize mid-jog like a Pokémon spawn.
Nothing.
Just one dedicated guy in cargo shorts who looked like he was training for the Olympics two years too late.
Ravi swallowed. “Something’s wrong.”
“Or,” Jorge said, stretching his arms, “OR, counterpoint: after last night’s food coma, he ascended.”
“Hmmm,” Ravi muttered. “That is possible.”
Tyrel guffawed, “Well looks like today’s show is going to be spectacular. Too bad there aren’t too many people around to see it. Imagine ... Bharath with four shawties.”
Jorge grinned, “To the show!”
Later that morning, the Computer lab in the Van Leer building smelled like old carpet, monitor dust, and the faint sadness of students who had already mentally gone home for Thanksgiving.
The professor was gone for the week, leaving their TA, Paul, a grumpy hunched-shouldered senior with a goatee that looked like it was still buffering, to handle today’s session.
There were maybe five students total in the entire lab. Most of them were wearing headphones. One guy was fully asleep on his keyboard.
Ravi and Jorge took their seats behind the CRT consoles. Ravi immediately scanned the room.
There was still no sign of Marisol or Bharath.
“Okay, weird,” Jorge murmured. “Marisol never misses class. She shows up even when she’s sick. Remember last month? That girl had, like, a full fever and was still taking notes.”
“Yeah, and she still got an A on that test,” Ravi muttered. “Meanwhile I get a B even after three nights of studying and sacrificing sleep and playing no video games.”
“You didn’t sacrifice sleep or video games,” Jorge said. “You went to bed at 11 last night after we played Need for Speed.”
“It was only for two hours. For me, that’s sacrifice!” Ravi hissed.
The TA clapped once. Weakly. Like even he didn’t want to be there.
“All right. Morning,” he said, monotone. “Before you leave early ... and I know you will ... we’re handing back the test from last week. The pseudocode one.”
Ravi and Jorge exchanged looks.
“I got this,” Ravi whispered.
“You say that every exam.”
“But this time I mean it.”
“You say that every time.”
Paul walked down the rows handing out papers. Ravi’s paper appeared face-down. His heart hammered as he turned it over.
83. B.
“B,” Ravi whispered, deflating like a balloon losing helium. “Bhai! I thought I aced this exam.”
Jorge flipped his. “I got 82. B ... as well.” He groaned. “Why. WHY. I literally did all the practice problems.”
“You did half.”
“The hard half.”
“No you didn’t!”
Ravi rubbed his face dramatically. “This is so unfair. We study with Marisol and Bharath. How are we still stupid?”
“We’re not stupid,” Jorge said confidently. Then after a beat: “We’re ... we’re specialized.”
Ravi nodded solemnly. “Right. We are specialized.”
“In what?”
Ravi thought. “Soft skills.”
“What soft skills?”
“Social ... uh ... being ... hermano, I don’t know, don’t make me think on a Wednesday morning.”
They paused as the TA paused near them.
“Hey ... you guys are friends with Marisol and Bharath right?”
“Yes.”
“Do you mind handing them their papers? They can pick it up next week if needed - but you can give it to them in case you meet them.”
“Sure.”
“Here’s Marisol,” he said, placing the paper down.
Ravi and Jorge both leaned forward like meerkats.
Then Bharath’s paper. Both reached out, sliding the papers toward themselves discreetly.
Marisol: 94. A. Bharath: 98. A+.
Ravi dropped his pencil.
Jorge whispered, scandalized, “No. No-no-no-no-no. I refuse. I REFUSE.”
“This is rigged,” Ravi hissed. “Marisol gets an A because she’s hot. I’m calling it right now. TA totally has a crush.”
“Oh 100%. Look at the margin comments. Look... ‘Excellent structure.’ Bro. The only thing excellent is the shape of her...”
“Hey! You want Camila to slap you or something ... chill bhai”
“What? Her code, hermano. I meant her code.”
“Yea ... uh-huh. Sure, bhai.”
Ravi squinted. “This is corruption. Academic corruption.”
“Should we report it?” Jorge asked.
Ravi contemplated chilling his resentment. “Nah. Too much paperwork. Besides, she gets all that extra time with Bharath.”
“Yea. I’m sure they spend that time studying.”
Both of them giggled as the TA droned on about project deadlines, but most of the class was already packing up.
Ravi gathered his papers bitterly. “She didn’t even show up to collect her A. That’s how hot people operate.”
Jorge nodded sagely. “She doesn’t come to class, still gets an A. We come to class, get Bs. The world is unfair.”
Ravi sighed. “Before coming to Tech, I was the smartest person in my house.”
“I was the smartest person on my street,” Jorge said proudly.
Ravi snorted. “Your street has like six houses.”
“Still counts!”
“What were you good at?”
“Excel,” Jorge said immediately. “And PowerPoint transitions. My cousins used to think I was a wizard. Like, ‘HOW does he make the text fly?’ They thought I invented it.”
Ravi cracked up. “Bro, that’s so sad.”
“What about you?”
Ravi puffed up his chest. “I installed software for everyone. Everyone. Windows 95? Boom. Done. Encarta? Installed. That one typing program? Installed.”
Jorge whistled. “Impressive.”
Ravi lowered his voice. “But I did have ... one incident.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. My uncle brought this old radio and asked me to fix it.”
“A radio? Why?”
“He said, and I quote: ‘You know computers. Fix it.’”
Jorge snorted. “Did you fix it?”
“No! It’s a radio! It has knobs and wires and copper coils. And then he got mad and said I act like I know everything. My mom banned him from the house for three months.”
Jorge burst out laughing.
“Bro,” he wheezed. “BRO.”
Ravi covered his face. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
They gathered their things and headed out.
The campus was eerily quiet. Deserted. Almost spooky. Thanksgiving break at Georgia Tech meant people vanished like they’d been kidnapped by aliens. You could probably walk across Skiles Walkway blindfolded without hitting a single soul.
Ravi and Jorge spotted Tyrel slumped on a bench under the weak November sun, sipping a Coke and staring at the fountain like it had personally offended him.
“Yo,” Jorge said. “Where’s everyone?”
Tyrel shrugged. “Don’t know. Haven’t seen Sarah. Haven’t seen Zara. Haven’t seen Ayesha. Not even Marisol walkin’ around with her big-ass calculus binder.”
“That’s not good,” Ravi muttered.
Nandita and LaTasha approached from the direction of Brittain Dining Hall.
“No sign of Sarah?” Ravi asked.
Nandita shook her head. “Her lab partner said she didn’t show up today.”
“Zara or Ayesha?” Jorge asked.
“Haven’t seen them since the party,” LaTasha said.
“Where is everyone?” Nandita murmured.
Jorge crossed his arms. “Something happened.”
Ravi gasped. “What if they’re sick? Like food poisoning?”
“No,” Tyrel said confidently. “That food last night tasted blessed. Like, made-with-love blessed.”
“Then where are they?” Ravi demanded.
Camila jogged up to them, backpack bouncing, ponytail swinging like it was running from responsibilities.
“You guys!” she panted. “Have you seen any of them today?”
Everyone answered in unison.
“No.”
Ravi frowned. “Even Marisol’s missing from class today.”
“Oh that’s DEFINITELY bad,” Camila said. “She doesn’t skip class for anything. She literally showed up with a sprained ankle once.”
“And Bharath didn’t show up to the gym,” Ravi added.
The group gasped.
“Oh that’s really bad,” Nandita whispered.
“Suspicious,” Jorge said, eyes narrowing dramatically.
“Disturbing,” Tyrel added.
“Sexy?” LaTasha offered.
Everyone stared at her.
She shrugged. “What? I’m just saying. When people go missing together like that, there’s usually some ... activity.”
Ravi covered his ears. “Stop. Please. Bharath is like my brother. I can’t ... no.”
Camila dropped her bag and crouched like she’d discovered a fossil.
“Wait,” she said. “Waitwaitwait.”
Everyone leaned in.
She lifted her head slowly, eyes widening.
“Today’s Tuesday!”
“No,” Jorge said, “It’s Wednesday.”
There was a beat of silence.
“Oh. My. God,” LaTasha breathed.
Nandita’s binder slipped out of her hands and hit the ground with a slap. “Sacred Tuesday ... but on Wednesday.”
Tyrel clutched his large Coke. “NO. Don’t say that. Don’t manifest it.”
Camila’s voice rose an octave. “It makes perfect sense! Yesterday was Mia’s birthday. Special circumstances! Sacred Tuesday delayed!”
“Oh hell no,” Tyrel whispered, crossing himself like a confused Catholic. “I’m not ready to know that. Black Jesus, hold me!”
Jorge groaned into his hands. “They’re absolutely doing it right now. Aren’t they?”
Camila wiggled her eyebrows. “Somewhere. On campus. Or maybe off campus. I bet they never left the house.”
Tyrel muttered, “Please stop narrating.”
LaTasha leaned in dramatically. “Dom Papi Bharath is in da house.”
There was an eerie silence, like the part in a horror movie when everyone realizes the call is coming from inside the house.
“I don’t want to go ... I’m just a boy,” whispered Ravi mournfully.
“You keep saying that,” Jorge muttered. “Upgrade, hermano. You’re at least a teen.”
“We made a pact,” Camila whispered, ignoring Jorge and Ravi, her voice reverent.
Tyrel groaned. “We made that pact when we thought it was, like, metaphorical. Like a ... fun dare. Not for realz.”
“We were drunk on emotion and bad decisions,” Nandita snapped. “The pact stands.”
“But this pact is about spying! On our friends!” Jorge protested. “We are not built to see Kama Sutra: Live in Dolby Surround.”
“We’re not spying,” Camila said, already digging into her backpack. “We are studying. Like researchers.”
Even Ravi looked shaken. “I still haven’t recovered from their last revelations. You want me to go near a live Bharath session on Sacred Tuesday?!”
“I’m just a boy!” he repeated weakly.
“You’re a boy on a mission,” Nandita stated. “And this is sacred anthropology.”
Ravi folded instantly. “Bhagwan. Please forgive me.”
“God made ‘em hot,” LaTasha said. “Let’s move. Operation Spy on Sexy Times is on!”
Nandita and Camila did a high five while the boys just whimpered pitifully.
Despite all protests, not one of them backed out though.
“Let’s get dressed and meet back here in 20 minutes!”
“Done”
“Done”
The Operation: Spy on Sexy Times was a go.
They gathered like a budget heist crew. Codenames. Half-assed disguises. Leftover birthday snacks as field rations. Mission Objective: approach the perimeter of Sarah’s house on 10th Street and witness Sacred Tuesday without being absorbed into it.
Tyrel wore his Atlanta Braves cap so low he walked into a mailbox. Twice.
Camila and Jorge arrived in mismatched camo gear. “Vibe-consistent,” she insisted.
Nandita wore all black, except for her neon pink fanny pack. When asked about it she stated gravely, “I’m a contradiction. Fear me.”
Ravi brought binoculars and a copy of the Bhagavad Gita, muttering he needed “spiritual protection.”
LaTasha carried her Sacred Tuesday Logbook, glitter-penned and reinforced with stickers that said things like Observe, Don’t Engage and Horny But Ethical. They moved through campus like a Scooby-Doo gang with too much pop-psychology and a mild case of voyeurism.
As they approached Sarah’s two-story on 10th Street, the group fell quiet.
The house glowed. Not metaphorically, but there was a literal flickering candlelight in one of the upper windows.
The gang could detect no movement or shadows.
Everything seemed too still.
“They’ve started,” Camila breathed.
“That house has energy, ” Jorge agreed, eyes wide.
“What kind of energy?” Tyrel asked.
“The kind where someone’s tied up and also emotionally healed,” Nandita muttered grimly.
“Like tantric PBS,” Ravi whispered, clutching his binoculars and his Gita.
They huddled together and made a battle plan.
The Battle Plan:
Kitchen window stakeout: Ravi and Nandita behind the hedge.
Living room angle: Tyrel and LaTasha under the left bay window.
French door visual: Jorge and Camila crouched behind the patio flowerpots.
“Everyone remember the signal?” Camila asked.
“Three owl hoots. Then a dolphin noise,” LaTasha confirmed.
Jorge looked haunted. “Why is the dolphin noise part of this?!”
“Because it’s memorable, Jorge. It’s like you don’t even know!” snapped Camila.
“But I don’t even know how to make a dolphin noise,” protested Ravi.
“Don’t worry ... I’ll pinch you so hard that you will do it,” said Nandita glaring at Ravi.
“Are we all set then team?” asked LaTasha. Tyrel was the first to nod his head.
The crew deployed like chaotic polyamory commandos.
They hit the grass. Crawled without needing to. Whispered. Hid behind bushes like it was D-Day but with more lip gloss and less national security.
Sarah’s house stood still. They crouched, trembling as they headed to their assigned places. Inside, somewhere beyond the drawn curtains, Dom Papi Bharath was presumably doing unspeakable things. Beautiful things. Terrifying things.
“I hear a moan,” Ravi hissed.
“That’s just Jorge’s asthma,” Camila whispered.
“Oh. Okay.”
They leaned in, breathless.
Whatever was happening inside that house ... they were not ready for it.
And yet? They would not look away. Because in that moment, they were not just students. They were witnesses to something sacred ... carnal. To something very probably illegal in all 50 states.
Sacred Tuesday moved to Wednesday had apparently begun and Operation: Spy on Sexy Times was getting its Eagle landing.
Sweating copiously as they crouched low beneath the bush, LaTasha adjusting her bra as if it mattered while Tyrel was muttering a prayer.
“I don’t like this babe,” he whispered. “This feels wrong.”
“You kill tons of people in your video games and you’re worried about this?” she snapped back.
“That’s different. That’s pixels. This is real-life softcore.”
“Shh! I think I see movement.”
They both froze as they both rose to peek into the window.
“Oh Black Jesus save me,” Tyrel prayed. “If I see Bharath naked I’m joining the military. Hold me honey ... I think I’m gonna faint.”
Ravi and Nandita were nestled behind a potted fern and an empty bird feeder.
“Why are we doing this?” Ravi moaned.
“Because you adore me,” Nandita said sweetly.
“That’s what cult leaders say right before the Kool-Aid.”
A light flicked on in the kitchen.
“DOWN!” she hissed, yanking him into her lap so hard his binoculars poked him in the eye.
They saw shadows moving. A silhouette? Maybe Ayesha? Maybe Zara?
Nandita began scribbling notes. “I think she’s in a thong.”
“How can you tell?”
“I know.”
“Do you need to write that down? How is that important?”
“Don’t question the process, Ravi. Details matter.”
Camila was basically frothing with excitement.
“We are making history right now,” she whispered to Jorge, who was still questioning his life choices so far.
Then suddenly ... They heard it.
A voice. Soft. But commanding.
“Good girl,” it said.
Camila slapped Jorge’s shoulder so hard he nearly fell over.
“Did you HEAR that?!” she whispered furiously.
Jorge’s face was pale. “I’m gonna be sick.”
Nandita clutched Ravi like a koala as the phrase drifted through the window.
“You’re a good girl too Zara,” Bharath’s voice said again, low and velvety.
Ravi stopped breathing.
Tyrel collapsed to the ground like a maiden fainting at a duel.
“Black Jesus take me,” he wheezed.
LaTasha tripped over him and landed in a pile of pinecones, her eyes wide as dinner plates. “Lord have mercy on me.”
Camila gagged quietly into her sleeve. “It’s happening. It’s actually happening.”
Jorge was too stunned to speak. His left eye twitched.
And then they looked in.
Carefully, one by one, heads popped up like a rejected lineup from a Scooby-Doo episode: Nandita and Ravi peering from the hedge, LaTasha and Tyrel crouched near the porch beam, Jorge and Camila behind the overhang with Jorge visibly praying.
They squinted inside.
And what they saw...
... was not what they expected.
Not even close.
There were no leather straps. No ceremonial oils. No candle-lit altars or Sanskrit chants from Enigma. There was no Marisol in stilettos with a flogger shouting “Más fuerte!” while Bharath hung midair like a piñata of sin.
Instead ... what they saw took their breath away.
Bharath was bandaged. Not dramatically ... just enough to make them blink and mutter, Wait ... what?
His bare chest was scratched in jagged, shallow lines, like he’d fought a rose bush and barely won. Ayesha was wrapping one of his forearms in gauze. A band-aid stuck to his forehead. His legs were elevated on a lumpy pouf, a faded Toy Story pillowcase peeking out beneath it. He looked like a man who’d been through something ... and it wasn’t a group orgasm.
He held a hot water bottle in his lap.
Sarah sat beside him at the dining table, not in lingerie, but in a baggy “Emory Women’s Rugby” tee that had a ketchup stain near the collar. Her hair was in a messy bun. She looked more like someone’s hot older sister than a high priestess of seduction.
Zara seemed to have emerged from the kitchen wearing what was unmistakably Bharath’s shirt, sleeves too long, and a pair of plaid boxers that nearly reached her knees. She had finished handing him a steaming mug with both hands like she was presenting a prize.
“Careful, it’s still hot, jaanu,” she mouthed softly, lips moving just enough for the gang to read from across the yard.
Ayesha, having completed the gauze wrapping, was curled at Bharath’s side. Unlike what they had expected to see, she was not grinding on him, but brushing his hair. With a soft-bristled brush. Like he was a wounded prince and she was on a Target-brand Florence Nightingale mission.
It was ... Domestic and tender and confusing as hell. The gang crawled back to each other in confusion.
“Wait. What’s happening?” Camila hissed. “Did they ... did they break him?”