Chapter 2

Jason and I were lolling, naked, on my sofa during the half time of the football game, resting from our sexual exertions of the night, the morning, and earlier in the afternoon. His cell phone rang.

"Hi, dear," he said. A pause.

"Yeah, I'm free. I'll be right over." He hung up the phone.

"Sorry, I have to go. My girlfriends back in town." With that he got up, put on his pants, leaned over, kissed me on the cheek, patted me on my left tit, and said, "I loved it. We'll talk later." And he was gone.

I lay there, speechless, my legs still parted in anticipation, my mouth open in astonishment. I had imagined that he was my lover, my boy friend, my companion, mine! It took me a while to get my mind around the contrary. He wasn't mine. I had only been entertainment while his girl friend wasn't around. When all the neurons in my brain began firing again in a rational sequence, I was pissed, pissed at him, but mostly pissed at myself. How could I have deluded myself? What a dimwit I was – to have imagined that our sex had meaning to him.

I didn't behave very well those first few days after Jason and I had sex. The next day, I feigned bored indifference when he kissed me on the cheek and patted my rear. But I wanted him. Again. My anger came out when Doug, our other roommate, left a dirty glass on the kitchen sink. "What the hell is this!" I shouted. "What am I? The house maid?"

"Sorry," he said humbly. Doug was more sensitive than Jason, a pleasant guy who seemed not to have a mean bone in his body. As a social worker he dealt with abused children all day long and he treasured the harmony the three of us enjoyed in our shared townhouse.

I dissolved into tears. I hugged Doug. "I'm sorry too. I didn't mean to be a bitch."

"Hey, let's go have a beer and talk about it."

We walked to the sidewalk café down the street, sat at a table, and Jason ordered two beers. I didn't dilly dally around. Doug inspired me to spill my guts. "I feel like a whore. I fucked Jason and now he's gone back to his girl friend. I was used."

"Did you enjoy it?" he asked.

"Oh, yes, way, way too much. It was the best sex I've ever had in my stupid, miserable, fucked-up life." I was feeling very sorry for myself.

"You can have it again," Doug said. "But Jason loves this girl. He can't break up with her now -- or maybe ever."

"If he loves her, why did he fuck me?" I'm not usually profane, but saying "fuck" that night was helping me get my emotions out on the table. "What am I? Just a bauble, a punchboard, a slut?"

"You're a sweetheart, Becky, and very sexy. And emotionally vulnerable, it seems."

I was a little angry at that. "I'm not vulnerable. I'm a fucking Ph.D in physics. I'm 28 years old. I know what makes the world go round." That sounded so absurd that I laughed in spite of myself.

"Then enjoy what it offers, sweetie, and don't expect more." He sang the line from the Rolling Stones tune, "You can't always get what you want." I joined him on the next line, "but if you try you just might get what you need." Doug could sing. I liked to sing.

I laughed again. I felt a little better and changed the subject from my misery to him. "What about you and your girl?"

"We've been going together since college. She's the only girl friend I've ever had."

"You're kidding me. You mean the only one ... sex?"

"Yes, the only one ... sex."

I laughed. "Compared to you I am a woman of the world. A slut in fucking red!"

"Shhh," he said, pointing to the people at the table next to us. "You're broadcasting to the world." He added, "And, yeah, you're a woman in red. I noticed that red kimono of yours."

I put my hand over my mouth and laughed. "What a pain in the ass you fucking men are. You bastards." But I wasn't serious. I just felt like cursing. Doug and I laughed and he joined me in the chorus of another favorite song, this one by Rodriguez, "I wonder ... how many times you've had sex. I wonder ... if you know who'll be next."

"C'mon," he said, "Let's go home. We've got to work tomorrow. I hope you feel better."

As we walked down the street toward our townhouse, I was weaving a bit from too many beers. I asked, "Would you like to fuck me?"

He answered. "Yes, but like Jason I have a girl friend. Are you offering yourself to me to make him jealous? Or getting revenge?"

"The thought entered my mind. But maybe I'm offering myself to you cause you're the sexiest man alive."

"And maybe the moon is made of cream cheese? Jason would only be jealous if it hurt his relationship with you, or me. Look on Jason and me as married men. Have you ever had sex with a married man?"

"Once. It lasted two minutes and I never saw him again." I laughed.

"Jason is better than that -- but he's in a committed relationship, like a marriage. You'll have him part-time -- or not at all."

"Thanks for the insight. " I said, as he unlocked the door of our townhouse. "I'll think about it."

Doug and I both got a glass of water out of the refrigerator and walked up the stairs together. I kissed him in front of his room on the second level, turned and began to walk up the stairs to my room on the third level. "Beck," he said.

I stopped. "Yes."

"You're beautiful and very, very sexy. Please don't be sad. Jason and I don't want to hurt you. And we like you as our roommate. We love you as our roommate."

"I love you too. Both of you. I'm just trying to get my head around this situation." I continued up to my room. Alone.

I relaxed after my talk with Doug. Jason and I had spent a playful, enjoyable night together. If that's all it amounted to, so be it. I wasn't going to be a clingy, dependent, bitchy female. Jason, doubtless primed by Doug, sought me out the next night for a chat and we joked and laughed together on the sofa. I wasn't going to show that my pride was hurt. But when he kissed me, said goodnight, and said, "I loved our night together, Becky," I collapsed into tears.

Time heals all wounds and the bittersweet memory of my night with Jason slowly faded and we were again just roommates. Affectionate roommates. The boys and I took up the habit of greeting each other with a kiss and a hug.

My realization that sex could be more fun than I had imagined caused me to take on some self-improvement projects. I quit eating biscotti with my cappuccino during my walk to work every morning – and I walked more briskly. I ate carrot and celery sticks with diet ranch sauce for lunch. I did bending and stretching exercises before I went to bed. I was rewarded with two pounds lost the first week and several more in the following weeks. I achieved my goal of ten pounds lost. That put me at 140 pounds, fine for my height of 5 feet, eight inches, big bones, 36-D tits, and ample hips.

Doug came home one night while I was in the kitchen eating a snack. He opened the refrigerator, took out a beer, and say down beside me at the table. "My girl friend is cheating on me."

"How do you know?"

"She told me. She said she wants to have some experiences before she settles down with me permanently. She's met another man," he added. "She's had sex with him."

"Poor, Doug." I gave him a hug. I loved him to death. He was sweet, thoughtful, nice – the very things that would inspire some women to cheat on him. "Good girls love bad boys" goes the line in the song. Doug was not a bad boy.

To make a short story shorter, Doug and I went to bed that night.

Doug became mine. All mine. Too much mine. Devastated by the desertion of his girl friend of six years and enamored of his sudden access to fresh meat – that was me – he became a needy, dependent, fucking machine. He wanted sex, and he wanted it all the time. For the first few days I was flattered. I had never had a man whose desires for me were so consuming and insatiable. Becky, nerd since birth, felt like a sex goddess.

My moment of revenge on Jason came soon after Doug and I started bonking. Doug and I were in the hot tub together, me sitting on his lap enjoying the feel of his dick inside me, pumping up and down gently, working our way toward a climax. Suddenly, Jason opened the door and stepped out on the deck. "Oh, excuse me." He said, turning around to leave.

Doug shrunk down in the tub, but I, cool as a cucumber, turned my head around to face Jason, my large, wet, slippery tits flopping up and down as I continued to pump and said, "No problem. What can we do for you?"

"Oh, well, nothing, I was just going to say hello. But it looks like you two are busy."

"Not at all," I said.

"Well, I'll see you all later."

"Ciao.' I gave him a wave and squeaked in ecstasy as I brought my hips down hard on Doug and his dick penetrated deeper into me.

I felt good. I had shown Jason that he was not the only man in the world for me – nor even the only man in the same house. I pushed the thought that I wished it were him out of my mind.

My relationship with Doug was pleasant, but too intense. I liked him, I liked getting fucked regularly, I liked having a man I could call my own – but Doug was too needy and clinging. I wanted the relationship to continue, but I needed to dial it down a notch. Doug was a charming, immature boy I would never fall in love with. Doug had to be discouraged, but not dismissed.

I cut him off on weeknights. I was nice about it, laughing and joking about his permanent hard-on and his marathon performances in bed, but after a week of kidding around, I got to the point. "It's got to be quick tonight," I said one night. "I have a big project and I have to get up early and work hard." I took his penis in my mouth and sucked it briefly, then climbed on and rode him hard, my tits flopping in his face, and exhorting him, "Cum in me, cum in me, cum in me!" He did. And I did. And I climbed off and said, "Shoo, now. I've got to go to sleep."

He was a bit chastened, but he got up and stood over me, his dick dripping cum on my chest. He kissed me on the cheek and dutifully retired to his own room. After that, I found excuses to fend him off most weeknights.

This went on for a couple of months. Our sex was mostly on the weekends.

But there was Jason ... My infatuation had cooled but I still wanted him, often fantasizing that it was him in bed with me rather than Doug. Jason and I had become comfortable with each other as friends, but with just a little bit of sexual tension between us. Or maybe a lot. That led to a tryst.