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I lay in bed for a few more minutes, trying to ground myself. Hair disheveled. Head pounding from dehydration. The lower half of my body marked with dried cum stains, my dick now limp and spent.
I let out a slow sigh before pushing myself upright. I really needed that shower now, not just to clean up, but as a mental reset.
I grabbed my toiletries and stepped out of my dorm room toward the showers. As usual, I had to pass Claire’s room on the way. It was completely quiet now, like you’d never guess that just a few hours earlier some of the most guttural, erotic sounds had been coming from inside.
I was almost at the bathroom when I heard a door click open behind me.
“Ethan!”
Goddammit. Not now.
“Hey, Claire,” I said, turning around, trying to keep it casual.
She was in sweats and a loose t-shirt, her long blonde hair unstyled and falling naturally around her shoulders. Even in her “just woke up” look she could’ve passed for a Victoria’s Secret model. Meanwhile, I probably looked like Shrek.
“Are we still good to hit the gym in an hour? I’ve got a finals project to work on after lunch.”
Right. In the midst of all of my.. I guess you can say self-passion last night I completely forgot about our usual Sunday morning gym session.
“Yeah, I’m good. I just really need a shower first.”
Claire gave me a slow once-over. “Yup. You definitely do.” Our friendship had gotten close enough over the past few months that her bluntness didn’t faze me. If anything, I’d always appreciated it.
Then she tilted her head slightly and sniffed. “You smell like you had an interesting night. I thought you said you were studying last night? You had a girl over or what?”
I’d always heard women had a better sense of smell, but I didn’t expect that. I couldn’t respond honestly and be like “no, I was jacking off listening to you.” I needed to pivot. Fast.
“Haha, yeah. Got bored of studying and started swiping on Tinder. Lucked out, I guess.” I shrugged. “But speak for yourself, sounded like you had fun too. I’m pretty sure half the dorm heard you.”
Her lack of inhibition about keeping quiet had always been a running joke on our floor. Falling asleep to the sounds of Claire’s moans on a weekend night became as normal as seeing the moon in the sky. Until yesterday, I’d found it funny. Sometimes even annoying. Heck, some nights I even considered sending an anonymous complaint to our RA to tell her to shut up. I hadn’t realized how quickly perception could flip, how something that once irritated me could suddenly feel like the hottest thing in the world.
Claire giggled, that soft, easy laugh I’d always found charming, and flashed a smile, perfect white teeth catching the hallway light.
“I had a good night,” she said simply. “Now hurry up and shower. A workout sounds perfect right now.”
Damn. I thought as the water started running.
Claire gave me nothing. no detail whatsoever. A good night?
Before, that would’ve been enough. I wouldn’t have thought twice about it. But now I wanted more. Who was the guy? What did he look like? How did he fuck her and in what positions? But that interrogation would just sound weird right now.
Suddenly I wanted nothing more than the details of her sex life in pornographic detail. I realized that while Claire and I were close, even helping each other get laid on multiple occasions, our discussions on sex were always at the surface. We never talked about specifics. Never about what we’d actually done with other people.
Without realizing, I looked down and saw that in the midst of washing my groin, I started pumping my cock yet again while I was thinking about Claire’s sex life. I recoiled and took my hand off like I touched a hot stove.
I need to cut this out right now. This can’t continue.
After my shower, I changed into my usual gym clothes and knocked on Claire’s door.
She stepped out wearing one of her color-coordinated, skin-tight sets, this one aqua blue, somehow making her lapis-colored eyes look even brighter.
She was holding a laundry basket. “Mind if we stop by the laundry room on the way to the gym?”
“Yeah, sure.”
On our walk down, Claire and I went back to our regular conversation, talking about hockey, upcoming exams, and our plans for the summer.
I was heading home and volunteering at a local hospital to pad my resume. Claire, with her wealthy and well-connected parents, was spending the summer interning with some NGO in Europe. One of those programs where rich kids “work” ten or fifteen hours a week and spend the rest of the time touring the continent and curating their Instagram.
In a lot of ways, Claire and I represented two sides of the Ivy League coin. I’d worked and grinded for my acceptance. Claire’s parents were both alumni, her path had been laid out long before she even set foot on campus.
And yet here we were. Walking side by side. Laughing. Talking.
And I was walking slightly behind her, trying not to stare at the way her tight, firm ass moved in that skin-tight set.
No. No. Stop. i tried grounding myself again as I realized my eyes were glued to her behind as we walked up the stairs to the laundry room.
I darted my eyes away, as much as it pained me to do so.
Our conversation continued as Claire flipped open a washing machine and started sorting her clothes into it without missing a beat, barely seeming to register that I was standing there.
Most of it was innocent enough: jeans, sweaters, tops.
Then she pulled out a black lace pair of cheeky panties and held them for a second, almost absently, still mid-sentence with me and clearly in autopilot. Either she didn’t realize what she was holding, or I was so deep in the friend zone that she genuinely didn’t care.
I was starting to feel myself get hard. Was that the pair she was wearing for her mystery guy last night? Was the strap on that same black lace piece the one that hugged her ass, the same gusset area that was rubbing against her pussy lips as it got wetter and wetter that night?
Claire threw it into the laundry machine, still ignorant or uncaring that I saw it.
Meanwhile, I was pitching a tent but was luckily standing to the side of the machine where only my top half was visible to her.
“I just realized I really need to use the washroom,” I said, the words coming out tighter than I intended. I turned quickly toward the door.
“Okay! I’ll meet you at the gym,” Claire called, still focused on loading the washer.
She had no idea. Thankfully.
I closed the stall door behind me and sat down on the toilet, elbows on my knees, head in my hands. I took a few slow breaths.
Seeing the same pair of panties Claire likely wore while getting railed the night before felt like crossing some invisible line. Like I’d been pulled a step closer into a part of her life I’d never had access to before.
After a few seconds of silence, and making sure no one else was in the restroom, I pushed my sweats down, my body already reacting before my brain could catch up. My rock hard dick sprung out, finally freed against the pressure.
I then fished out my phone in my pants and pulled it out, opening up Instagram and clicking Claire’s handle, still at the top of my search list after last night.
I went to another photo of her, this one of her on a yacht from her Christmas break in Aruba, wearing a red and white striped bikini, the top barely covering her tits. When I saw it a few months ago, I had liked it mindlessly and moved on, continuing to scroll my feed. Now, it was the best masturbation fodder that could be offered to me.
I threw this photo on split screen as I opened up my browser, going to my favorite porn site and searching up ‘college blonde gets railed’, quickly finding one that could emulate Claire and putting it on play.
I started jerking off, my eyes darting between Claire’s tits and the video, replacing the actors in the latter with her and the mystery guy.
I thought about the guy undressing her and seeing her in those skimpy black lace panties. The lucky fucker probably didn’t realize until then what type of freak he bagged that night.
I thought about him pounding her in doggy as the actors in the video got in the same position. I thought about Claire’s tits bouncing with each stroke, looking at the photo of her ample breasts.
The camera angle changed to now face the woman as the guy continued behind her, the actress looking up at the camera while biting her lip. I imagined myself where the cameraman was, a front seat to watching Claire and the mystery guy.
The sounds, the rhythm, the flashes of skin, all of it bending to fit the version of her I couldn’t stop replaying.
It didn’t take long before I passed the point of no return yet again, as I dribbled the little bit of cum that had regenerated since earlier in the morning into my hand.
When it was over, I just sat there for a second, staring at the dim stall door in front of me.
I told myself it was necessary, better to get it out of my system so I could act normal at the gym. So I could stand next to her without my thoughts betraying me. Trying to ignore the fact that I was jerking off to her Instagram in a public restroom like a sick pervert.
I flushed, stood up, and adjusted my clothes.
Well, time to hit the gym. Before I’m able to get hard again.
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