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Was shocked that so many enjoyed the first part of my story! Been working away at Part 2 which continues from our first year in college when we were 18/19, most of which is based on my real experience with Claire:
More parts coming soon.
I woke up earlier than usual the next morning, before my alarm even went off. For a few peaceful seconds I was still in that half-asleep haze: warm, weightless, thinking only about my pillow and the blankets wrapped around me – before my senses pulled me back to reality.
My throat was dry. My body felt dehydrated. And my room carried a faint, unmistakable scent from the night before. I could feel the stiff, dried patches on my sheets and along my thighs where I hadn’t bothered to clean up properly. A light rain tapped against my window, but the hallway outside was silent now: no muffled moans, no rhythmic thuds against drywall.
That silence is what did it.
Everything came rushing back at once.
“…fuuuck.”
I probably spent close to an hour last night jerking off about Claire, my blonde bombshell best friend and dormmate, while I could hear her getting railed by some mystery guy two doors down.
I had never done that before. Never gotten off to the thought of a friend.
I tried convincing myself it was a one-time slip. A weird, heat-of-the-moment lapse that wouldn’t happen again.
To be clear, I enjoy a solo session, but attention usually turned to a past hook-up, a porn video, or maybe an attractive celebrity like Margot Robbie when I was feeling extra spicy. But I never – never – jerked off thinking about a friend before, and especially not Claire, and absolutely not thinking about another dude with her.
Claire was just off limits. It felt dirty. And wrong.
In the seven months we’d known each other, I never once made a move or let myself see her sexually. I knew she was gorgeous – objectively, undeniably gorgeous – but from the first dorm party the night we moved in, we clicked as friends and kept it that way. Besides, wasn’t rule number one of dorm living to not fuck your floormates?
It wasn’t like other people didn’t assume something was there. Plenty of them did.
There was the girl who hooked up with me at a party purely because she thought Claire was my girlfriend and she was “stealing” me away. Or the gym attendant who asked, “Where’s your girlfriend today?” the one time I showed up without her to work out.
I’d always just laugh those comments off.
I never thought twice about them.
Until now.
I thought back to last October, a few weeks after we’d moved into the dorms. One of my closest friends from my hometown, Noah, came to visit for the weekend, crashing on the floor of my room.
We ran into Claire in the hallway that afternoon, and I introduced them. Within seconds, Claire and I slipped into our usual rhythm, talking about the NY Rangers game from the night before (we’re both die-hard fans) and the frat-house mixer we were all planning to hit later that evening.
After we said our goodbyes and stepped into the elevator, Noah turned to me with a perverse smile.
“Ethan, that girl 100% has the hots for you.”
I blinked at him. “What the fuck are you talking about? Claire and I are friends.”
“Did you see the way she was twirling her hair? The way she kept looking at you? Dude, she was practically undressing you with her eyes. She wants the D.”
“That’s just how she is,” I shot back, though I could feel heat creeping up my neck. “I’m not into her anyway. Not like that.”
Noah chuckled, shaking his head. He genuinely thought I was playing it cool.
“Six weeks away from home and you’re suddenly into dudes now? Or did you just go blind? She’s an eleven out of ten. Minimum. She makes Kayla (the girl that every guy from our high school grad class pined for) look like Jabba the Hutt.”
“Relax,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I’ve been getting plenty of action. With girls.” I emphasized the last part when I saw him about to make a sassy retort. “Claire and I are friends. That’s how it’ll always stay.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Well, shit. If you actually mean that, and you’re not going to make a move tonight, then I am.”
I laughed. Noah had been my friend since kindergarten, but women were never exactly his strong suit. Still, I clapped him on the shoulder.
“Good luck with that.”
Later that night, Noah and I pre-drank in my room before heading over to the frat house. I said hello to a few people I knew, and it didn’t take long before we ran into Claire.
She was wearing a tiny black dress that hit above her knees, her blonde hair pulled into a high ponytail, a few curled strands framing her face like she’d done it effortlessly (even though I knew she hadn’t).
She looked good. Really good.
But I still registered her the way you admire a masterpiece at the MoMA: something objectively stunning, something you appreciate… not something you imagine bending over and sticking your dick in later that night.
The party rolled on, the music getting louder as everyone got progressively drunker. I was locked into a game of beer pong when I spotted Noah across the room talking to Claire. He was leaning in, animated, clearly trying to make her laugh with one of his terrible jokes. Claire, ever polite, was laughing, the kind of laugh that was just a little too generous.
Then I saw it.
She reached out and touched his left shoulder, leaned in to say something I couldn’t hear, and stepped away.
I didn’t need to hear it. I’d seen that move enough times over the past few weeks to recognize it instantly. The shoulder touch. The soft smile. The graceful exit. Claire’s signature “thanks, but no thanks.”
Sure enough, a few minutes later Noah joined me at the table. He didn’t say anything, but the tight smile on his face said enough.
An hour later, though, I saw Claire again, this time heading up the stairs toward the bedrooms with a broad-chested sophomore, the total frat archetype.
The staircase was steep, and her dress was short enough that when she climbed behind him, I accidentally caught a flash of her thin purple thong, the fabric disappearing between her ass cheeks.
I smirked to myself and shook my head. She definitely knew what she was getting up to tonight. Claire and Saturday night dick were practically a ritual at this point.
“OH shittt…”
I’d completely zoned out and didn’t even realize my hand had drifted back down, stroking my cock frantically the entire time while replaying those memories.
Without meaning to, my mind snapped to Claire upstairs in that frat house, her and that guy going doggy on an old creaky twin bed, one of his hands gripping her firm ass, the other tugging at that same purple thong while he took her from behind.
But to makes things worse, it wasn’t that which got me off. Not that alone, anyway. It was me thinking how hot it would have been if I managed to sneak up the stairs a few minutes later, perhaps with the excuse of needing to find a bathroom, to be able to listen in on their fun. Maybe they had carelessly forgotten to shut the door entirely, giving me a tiny peak into their fun.
I passed the point of no return before I could stop myself, a weak, frustrated dribble spilling out, more reflex than payoff, like my body hadn’t fully reloaded from the night before.
I lay there staring at the ceiling, breathing steady again.
So much for it being a one-time thing.
Yeah. I’m going to have to figure this out.
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