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From: Nick Scipio <nick_scipioSPAM@BLOCKyahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} "Summer Camp - Book 3" by Nick Scipio - Ch 17 (MF, teen, oral, first)
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Date: Wed,  2 Mar 2005 15:10:03 -0500
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Author: Nick Scipio
Title: Summer Camp - Book 3: Kendall
Part: Chapter 17
Universe: Summer Camp
Summary: Coming-of-age story about a teenager whose family spends 
their summer vacations at a nudist camp.
Keywords: MF, teen, oral, first
Revision: 1.03
Word Count: 13,123
Web Site: http://www.nickscipio.com/summercamp/book3/
FTP Site: ftp://ftp.nickscipio.com/summercamp/book3/
Discussion Forum: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Scipio_Forum/

*****************************************************************
                       STANDARD DISCLAIMER

This piece of fiction is intended as ADULT entertainment. It 
contains material of an adult, explicit, SEXUAL nature. If you 
are offended by sexually explicit content or language, please DO 
NOT read any further.

All characters in this story are fictitious; any similarity to 
any persons, places, individuals or situations is purely 
coincidental. The author does not necessarily condone or endorse 
any of the activities described in this story.

This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit without 
the written permission of the author, Nick Scipio 
(nick_scipio@yahoo.com). This story may be freely distributed 
with this disclaimer attached.

Copyright (c) 2005 Nick Scipio. All rights reserved.

*****************************************************************

Summer Camp - Book 3: Kendall
by Nick Scipio

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

"Welcome back," Professor Joska said as he strode into the room. 
He had his usual air of purpose about him, and he carried a roll 
of drawings as well as a stack of papers. "I hope you had an 
enjoyable holiday weekend. I, on the other hand, was mired in 
mediocrity," he said heavily, holding up our drawings.

_I bet he's talking to me,_ I fumed silently.

"Some of you _still_ don't understand that architecture is a 
serious business for serious people," he said. "Overall, your 
drawings were better than your midterm project, but they still 
lack discipline, focus, and attention to detail." Not 
surprisingly, he _was_ looking directly at me when he said the 
last.

"The critiques were _slightly_ better than last time," he 
continued, "but they still showed an alarming lack of critical 
thought. Superficial _will not do_," he said, pausing to let that 
sink in. "Your drawings were marginally better, but I expect an 
even _higher_ level of precision from you. After all, you've made 
it this far--some of you on luck more than anything else--and you 
should have a better understanding of design concepts, much less 
drafting skills.

"At least four of you will _not_ receive a passing grade for this 
course unless you somehow manage to earn a perfect score on the 
final exam. Many of you hang in the balance; your future will be 
determined by how well you do on the final. _None_ of you are 
home free, however. Despite the improvement on this project," he 
said, brandishing the roll of drawings again, "your projects only 
count for twenty percent of your overall grade."

As he let that hang over us, several people glanced around 
nervously. Antonio looked sanguinely self-confident, of course. 
Trip did too. I tried to project an air of confidence as well, 
but inside, I was anything but.

Professor Joska started speaking again, but I wasn't listening.

Instead, I tried to suppress my growing panic. What if I flunked 
the final? Would I still be able to take architecture courses? 
Would I ever get a job as an architect? With an angry headshake, 
I suppressed my wild--and fruitless--speculation. _No matter what 
he throws at me,_ I repeated to myself, as calmly as I could, 
_I'll keep coming back for more._

"...and forty percent of your project grade is based upon in-team 
competition," Joska was saying.

I scowled in irritation. We _knew_ how the grading worked; he'd 
explained it a half-dozen times, at least. Did he think we were 
idiots?

"Are there any questions?" he finally asked. When there were 
none, he started handing out drawings and critiques. With each 
one, he commented to the recipient. _None_ of his comments were 
very heartening. He called my name somewhere in the middle. "A 
plebeian effort, Mr. Hughes," he said as he handed over my 
project. "You'll have to do better than this if you want to be an 
architect."

I felt my lips go tight with anger, but I merely nodded and 
accepted my rolled-up drawing.

Back at my desk, Trip glanced at me as I sat down. He'd been one 
of the first to receive his project, and he grimaced as he 
flashed me his grade--he'd gotten a 50, an F.

At that point, I started to panic. What if Joska had suddenly 
changed his grading standards? If Trip had gotten a 50, I didn't 
even want to _think_ about what I'd gotten.

I dithered for less than a second, however. Morbid curiosity 
drove me to flip to the last page of my critiques.

Joska's note read, _Working with Mr. Whitman has sharpened your 
critiques, but you still need to focus more on details. People's 
lives might one day depend upon your analyses, and you need to 
grasp the importance of this fact. These critiques aren't 
personal, and you should stop treating them as such. An 
improvement, but I expect better. 6/10._

I silently groused about his note, but at least it was better 
than the set of critiques I'd done for the mid-term project. 
Then, with a barely suppressed pang of anxiety, I unrolled my 
drawings. Joska had circled several areas on my plan drawing, and 
written short notes next to each one. In a rush to see my overall 
grade, I didn't even read most of them, but the consistent theme 
was, "lack of attention to detail." My elevation drawing was much 
the same.

Without reading the note, I flicked my eyes to the bottom of the 
drawing. My overall grade was...

....an 86?!

A little confused, I looked at Joska's note. It read, _You have a 
good grasp of the design as a whole, as well as the various 
architectural elements used to create the Jeffersonian effect. 
Regrettably, your drawings are lacking in precise execution of 
crucial details. I cannot stress this enough: details, details, 
details. Artists draw buildings, but architects _build_ them. You 
need to decide which you are, an artist or an architect. Until 
you consciously make that choice, your drawings will suffer from 
defects which will spell disaster for anything you attempt to 
actually build._

He followed it with a quote by Ludwig Mies van der Rohe, _"God is 
in the details."_

"So _that's_ where he gets it," I said under my breath, referring 
to Professor Ledbetter. Mies van der Rohe was a famous architect 
from the 1920s and '30s, and had even served as Director of the 
Bauhaus. I knew who he was, of course, but I guess I'd always 
thought that Professor Ledbetter simply had an odd turn of 
phrase. Instead, he was quoting Mies.

With a headshake, I refocused my attention on the drawings. 
Underneath the quote, Joska had written, _Technical merit: 40/50. 
Critiques: 6/10. Design: 1st place, 40/40. 86 points overall, B. 
Average, nothing more. You'll have to do better than this, Mr. 
Hughes._

I sighed like a man given a reprieve from the executioner's axe.

"Congratulations," Trip said when I showed him my grade. "I 
managed to get third place," he added, which explained his grade.

Before I could commiserate, Samantha shrieked.

"Is there something you'd like to tell us, Miss Poole?" Joska 
asked laconically.

"No, sir," she said quickly, her cheeks rosy. "Sorry."

Joska merely looked inscrutable as the class went back to looking 
over their project grades. Samantha, however, whirled in her seat 
and practically lunged over my desk. Instinctively, I tried to 
dodge, but she wrapped her arms around my neck and squeezed. I 
was a little baffled, but hugged her in reply. She kissed my 
cheek and then pulled back.

"Thank you _so_ much, Paul," she said, her eyes welling up.

"You're welcome... but... um... for _what?_"

She sniffed once, smiled, and then reached for her drawings.

When she shoved them at me, I stared at them blankly.

"Look at the grade," she said, with impatient excitement.

I flipped to the elevation drawing and looked at Joska's note. It 
said a lot of things about her drawing style and her need to 
focus on the design as a whole. At the bottom, however, I got a 
shock.

Joska had written, _Technical merit: 32/50. Critiques: 8/10. 
Design: 2nd place, 20/40. 60 points overall, D-. A definite 
improvement, Miss Poole._

Before I could even look up, Samantha hugged me again. She 
crushed her drawing, but I don't think she cared. I couldn't 
breathe, but I don't think she cared about that either.

"I couldn't've done it without you, Paul," she gushed, followed 
by another kiss. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

"If you're quite finished with the hugging and kissing, Miss 
Poole," Joska said, "we have an exam to review for."

Samantha didn't even bother to hide her elation as she turned 
around and sat down.

With a half-smile, Joska began his lecture.

-----

"Well, I guess 'workmanlike' isn't a bad comment," Trip said 
after class.

I looked a question at him.

"Joska said my drawings were staid and workmanlike," he 
explained.

"I still can't believe I got second place," Samantha said. Then 
she glanced up at Trip. "Sorry, I didn't mean it like that..."

Trip waved off her apology and then smiled at her.

Antonio merely shrugged. His concentration was Historic 
Preservation, and he knew that he wouldn't need drafting skills 
as much as Trip and I would. I don't think he was _happy_ with 
fourth place (a paltry 34, well short of even a D), but he knew 
that his exam scores would more than make up for his poor project 
grades.

"Thank you again, Paul," Samantha said.

"You're welcome," I said. "But I didn't do all that much. I mean, 
you actually did the work, I just gave you a few pointers."

"Let's go celebrate," Trip said. Then he glanced at me. "Do you 
have your... um... drawing class?"

(I had told him about my modeling, but not that it was _nude_ 
modeling. I think he figured it out anyway, but he hadn't said 
anything. In any event, Siobhan didn't need models for the last 
two weeks of the quarter. So the Wednesday before Thanksgiving 
had been the last time I went to her class.)

"No," I said at last. "I'm done with classes for the day."

"I'd love to hang out, y'all," Antonio said, "but I've gotta haul 
ass to English. So I'll see y'all Wednesday."

We waved and he dashed off.

"I _still_ can't believe it," Samantha said, staring at her 
carrying tube. "Second place!"

"Congratulations," Trip said. "You deserved it." Then, "C'mon, 
I'll buy you a Coke to celebrate."

-----

I spent the next two days studying. With all of Professor 
Ledbetter's "extra credit" work, I had mastered the basic 
techniques, so I wasn't worried about my Drawing exam. The Art 
History exam would probably be easy as well.

In addition, I finished my English paper, "Realism in Nineteenth 
Century American Literature." I had done an analysis of three 
authors' work: William Dean Howells, Henry James, and Mark Twain. 
Despite Jeff's offer to help me with my computer, I still hadn't 
taken the time to do it. So I spent several hours at Kendall's 
apartment, typing the paper's final draft. It was a pain, but it 
gave me one last chance to proofread it.

I spent the bulk of my time, however, studying for my Design 
exam. I was bound and determined to do _better_ than I had on my 
midterm. But I had a lot of work to do, since the final would 
cover virtually everything we had learned so far.

By Wednesday night, I was sick and tired of studying, so I 
cajoled Trip into an evening workout.

"What're you doing over the Christmas break?" I asked as he used 
the bench press machine.

"Same old, same old," he grunted, finishing his set. Then he 
stood up and wiped off the bench.

I decided to use his weight--220 lb.--and do a low-weight, high-
rep set. That way I could actually _talk_ while I pressed.

"What're you up to?" he asked.

I told him about my family's ski trip with the Coulters, and how 
I was looking forward to not having to deal with Joska or the 
rest of my classes.

"But what about Kendall?" he asked.

"I wanna invite her to come skiing," I said, taking a break 
between sets. "But I don't think Gina'd be very happy if I did."

He fell silent as I started pressing another set.

"I mean, I wish I could go back to how things were in high 
school," I grunted in between repetitions. "You know?"

"No you don't," he said flatly. "That's what memories are for. 
You know?"

"I guess," I said.

"Think about it," Trip insisted. "The past is... well... past. I know 
that sounds cliched, but it makes sense. You can never go back, 
you know?"

"That doesn't mean I can't wish for things to be like they used 
to be," I ground out.

"Why? 'Cause you're not happy with the way things are?" he asked 
rhetorically. "Then fix 'em. I mean, I know you've tried to get 
the girls together, but that hasn't worked. So what have you 
done? I mean, really, _what_ have you done to fix things?"

"What _can_ I do?" I asked, trying not to sound plaintive.

"You can make a decision, that's what. I mean, why do you _have_ 
two girlfriends?"

"It seemed like the thing to do at the time," I said.

"You were thinking with the little head," he accused.

In reality, I _hadn't_ been thinking with the little head (much). 
If I had been, I would've simply had sex with Kendall, without 
the commitment of a relationship. But I couldn't really explain 
that to Trip, and my silence was an admission of sorts.

"Exactly," he continued. "So now it's time to fix things with the 
big head."

I looked a question at him and then started another set.

"Do you think Kendall and Gina are happy with the way things 
are?" he asked.

I shook my head and pressed the weight into the air again.

"And you're definitely not happy," he added.

"No... fucking... kidding," I grunted.

"So why drag things out? I mean, think about it for a sec. What 
Lori did to me hurt like hell, but it was quick. Yeah, it ripped 
my heart out, but she didn't linger over my dead body, if that 
makes sense."

I sat up and wiped my forehead. Then I paused as I considered his 
words.

"The three of you have a relationship that used to be pretty 
good," he said, "but none of you have been happy for a while. 
Right?"

"Yeah," I admitted heavily.

"So _do_ something about it. If you can't fix things, you're only 
hurting everyone involved. You're gonna have to make a choice. 
You _know_ it," he said, "but you don't wanna admit it."

I didn't want to answer him, so I started another set. 
Unfortunately, he fell silent and let me think. If I _had_ to 
choose, who would it be?

Gina had been my first true love, but over the past months, we 
had drifted apart. True, our Thanksgiving weekend had been really 
good, but I wondered whether it was a sign of things to come, or 
simply a glimpse at the past.

My relationship with Kendall, on the other hand, had blossomed. 
We ate together, we studied together, we hung out together, and 
we talked a lot more than Gina and I did. Kendall seemed to 
understand me better. And she wasn't as mercurial as Gina.

"In a way," Trip said at last, "I don't envy you. I mean, yeah, 
Kendall and Gina are great, and I'm still jealous that you've got 
_both_ of them, but I wouldn't trade places with you for all the 
tea in China," he finished. Then he laughed.

"What?"

"Well, I _will_ say this... your sex life's gotta be better than 
mine. I mean, I'm ready to start calling my right hand 'mon 
cher,' like Luke does."

We shared a rueful laugh.

"But I'm serious about you having to make a choice," he added 
softly. "If you keep going like this, the whole thing's gonna 
come apart at the seams. And you're going to kill me with your 
workouts," he added. Then he grinned to take the sting out of his 
words. "Although watching you work out while I do all the talking 
isn't bad."

"Says _you_," I shot back. Then, "Lemme do one more set and then 
we'll head home."

"No problem."

I did more than one set, but Trip understood that I was thinking. 
He stood by quietly, without complaint, and let me work through 
his advice.

In the end, I knew that he was right. I didn't want to admit it, 
but he was. Even more than I didn't want to admit it, however, I 
_really_ didn't want to choose one girl over the other. I loved 
them both; how could I hurt one of them?

I couldn't.

But I'd have to. If things weren't going to get better, it was 
only a matter of time.

-----

Exams at UT weren't on the same schedule as classes. They were on 
the same _hourly_ schedule--8:00 to 8:50, 9:00 to 9:50, etc.--but 
they rarely matched the class day or time. In addition, 
_Saturday_ was on the exam schedule, so it was possible to have a 
test on the weekend (although I didn't).

My first exam on Thursday was with Professor Ledbetter, at eight 
o'clock. I breezed through the test and then went back to check 
my work.

_Maybe God _is_ in the details,_ I thought with a rueful chuckle.

When I turned in my exam booklet, Professor Ledbetter smiled at 
me.

"Do you think it's an A?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," I replied confidently.

"Have a nice break, Paul," he said with a smile. "I'll see you 
next year."

For Professor Feller's "exam," later in the day, we simply turned 
in our final papers and then left.

By coincidence, my Art History exam was also on Thursday, but at 
four o'clock. It was easy. Professor Dubois made us keep an empty 
seat between each student, but Christy, Wren, and I all sat in 
the back row, as usual. Surprisingly, Christy finished the exam 
before I did. Wren looked like she was struggling a little, but 
she finished well before the end of class.

As we walked back to Morrill together, we talked about our exams 
and the upcoming break.

Christy was spending Christmas in Hawaii with her brother Harry's 
family. (She had four brothers, all of whom were in the military. 
I'd picked up snippets of information about them, but I still 
didn't know much except their names: Harry, James, Danny, and 
Rich.) Since her father was on cruise with his Battle Group, 
Christy and her mother were flying to Honolulu for the holidays.

Wren and her parents were going to Florida. Her family owned a 
condo on the beach, and planned to spend the week of Christmas 
relaxing there. (Unlike Christy, Wren was an only child.)

Since the Art History exam was our final class together, we 
wished each other happy holidays and then I headed back to my 
dorm.

On Friday, my Intro to Architecture exam was a piece of cake. I'd 
known a lot of the material before I even started college, so I 
breezed through the test.

Afterward, Trip and I met the rest of our Design team to study 
for the final. Antonio quizzed us on the material, and we worked 
until well after dinner. Finally, around ten o'clock, we decided 
to call it quits.

My weekend was mostly consumed with studying as well, although I 
took a break to call Erin and wish her a happy birthday. She was 
glad that I called, but she was giddy and distracted; Dad had 
surprised her and flown to Charlotte to pick up Sean Sullivan and 
his parents.

After I talked to my mom for a few minutes--she wanted to make 
sure I was getting enough to eat--I said goodbye and walked 
across the hall.

"Whatcha listenin' to?" I asked Trip as I pushed his door open.

"The Beach Boys," he said.

"Really? It sounds like some weird hippy music."

"Yeah," he said, laughing. "It's 'Pet Sounds.'"

"Is that the name of the song, or the album?"

"In this case, both," he said. "But here, you'll recognize this," 
he added, lifting the needle and flipping the album.

When the music started, I immediately recognized "Wouldn't It Be 
Nice."

"This is their best album," he said. "And it's one of the best 
albums of _all time_, as far as I'm concerned. I guess it's a 
toss-up between 'Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band' and 'Pet 
Sounds,' although I think 'Pet Sounds' edges out the Beatles. 
Anyway, I'm sure you didn't come over to discuss the finer points 
of all-time great albums. So... what're you up to?"

"I just came to see if you wanted to go over that human sciences 
stuff for the Design final," I said.

"Sure, I'm game," he said. Then he turned down the music and 
reached for his textbook.

We studied until dinnertime. Then we met Kendall and Abby at the 
Morrill dining hall. Afterward, we all went to the library to 
study some more. While Trip and I studied Architecture, Kendall 
pored over her Organic Chemistry textbook, and Abby worked on the 
footnotes and bibliography for her Comparative Literature paper.

Sunday was more of the same. I tried calling Gina, to see if she 
wanted to have lunch with me, but she was out with Regan. I left 
a message and then called Kendall. We had lunch together--with 
Trip and Abby--and then headed to the library to study some more.

After spending the entire weekend studying, I got up early Monday 
morning to study some more. By the time I got to the three 
o'clock exam, I was sick and tired of the Design textbook, and I 
was _past_ the point of worrying about the exam itself.

"I brought more McDonald's job applications," Professor Joska 
said as he entered the classroom. "Mr. Hughes, would you like 
one?"

"Yeah," I said, in an exhausted fit of pique. "I think my 
graduation speech might run long."

The rest of the class tittered nervously.

"Would you like an exam as well?" Joska asked.

"Sure, what the heck," I said flippantly.

"You're feeling punchy," he observed.

"I can't flip burgers anyway," I said with a shrug.

"Let's hope you take this more seriously than flipping burgers," 
he said. Then he turned to the class. "The exam is sixty 
questions--half multiple choice, half short answer--and... an essay 
question," he finished.

At that, we groaned. Essay questions are the bane of every 
college student's existence.

"The essay question will count for forty percent of your grade."

Without waiting for us to react, Joska started handing out the 
exams.

I flew through the sixty questions and then went over them again. 
After I double-checked my answers, I flipped to the final page, 
the essay question. As soon as I saw it, I felt a surge of 
adrenaline.

It read, _Why do you want to be an architect? (250 words or 
less.)_

In a flash, I knew what I wanted to write. But then I hesitated. 
As I stared at the question, I contemplated what I was about to 
do. Did I really want to put my entire college future on the line 
just to make a point? I must've been drunk with fatigue to even 
consider it. My pen hovered over the paper. Then...

I wrote six words.

With a deep sigh, I sat back and silently considered my future. 
Such a brief answer was bold--even reckless--but it was the 
truth. I capped my pen and simply stared at the test. Finally, I 
gathered my things and walked to the front of the classroom.

_Do I really want to do this?_ I silently agonized. _Is it worth 
it? What if Joska doesn't Get It? What if he...?_

Joska glanced up as I loomed in front of his desk. His expression 
didn't change, but he seemed to be taunting me. In a flash of 
defiance, I mustered my resolve. Then I stood straight and looked 
him in the eye. Without flinching, I turned in my exam.

He gestured for me to stay and then took out his red pen. While I 
waited, he graded my test. I got four answers wrong. When he 
flipped to the essay question, he actually grunted in surprise.

Unconsciously, I held my breath as he read my answer. It took him 
only a few seconds, but as far as I was concerned, it might've 
been a lifetime.

When he looked at me, I almost made up an excuse for my answer, 
but my resolve held and I kept my mouth shut. His expression was 
Sphinx-like. My breathing quickened and my skin tingled with the 
desire to do something, _any_thing. Instead, I simply stared him 
down. After a long moment, his eyes flicked back to my exam.

In silence, I watched him write "40/40" under my six-word 
"essay." Then he flipped my exam closed and wrote "96, A" on the 
first page. Finally, he made a note in his grade book.

"Congratulations, Mr. Hughes. There may be hope for you yet," he 
said as he returned my exam. "Enjoy the holidays."

"You too," I said, too stunned to remember that I hated him.

With that, I clutched my exam and left. On the balcony over the 
atrium, I leaned against the rail and let out an explosive 
breath. Then I flipped open my exam and simply stared at the 
essay question.

_Why do you want to be an architect? (250 words or less.)_

My answer?

_Because God is in the details._

-----

Later that night, the phone rang. T.J. answered it, but then 
shouted for me.

"Another girlfriend?" he asked when I emerged from my room.

I glowered at him.

"Just kidding," he said. Then he handed me the phone.

"Hello?"

"Paul? Hi, this is Wren."

"Wren?" I asked. I guess I was a little confused, since she had 
never called me before (I'd never even given her my phone number, 
although she probably got it from the campus directory).

"Yeah... hi," she said. "So, how're you?"

"Um... fine. How're you?" As we talked about inconsequential things 
for the next few minutes, my confusion only deepened.

"So," she said at last, "you're probably wondering why I called."

"I guess," I said. "I mean, it's nice talking to you and all, 
but... well... I _am_ a little curious."

"I need a favor," she said. I could usually tell when she was 
flirting with me, and this definitely wasn't one of those times. 
She sounded like she genuinely needed help.

"Sure, anything," I said without hesitation.

"My mom was coming to pick me up, but she was running errands 
today, and... well... to make a long story short, she was in an 
accident. You know how traffic is in Atlanta."

"Is she okay?" I asked.

"Oh, she's fine," Wren said hastily. "It was just a fender 
bender. But her car's in the shop, and my dad's out of town on 
business. So I was wondering... I mean, since our families 
practically live next door to each other..."

"Sure," I said, without waiting for her to ask the question. 
"I'll give you a ride home. I'm taking Kendall home to 
Chattanooga, so the Jeep'll be pretty full, but I'm sure we'll 
all fit."

"Oh, thank you," she said sincerely. "You're a lifesaver."

I was glad she couldn't see me blush.

"When did you want to leave?" she asked.

"I've got a Calculus exam tomorrow, and Kendall's last exam is 
late tomorrow afternoon, so we weren't planning to leave 'til 
Wednesday. Is that okay?"

"That's perfect," she said. "I've got a Journalism final 
tomorrow, but I'll be ready to go whenever you are."

We made arrangements to meet on Wednesday and then chatted for a 
few more minutes. Finally, we said goodbye and hung up.

-----

My Calculus exam was a major struggle, but after checking all of 
my work, I was pretty sure that everything was correct.

_Of course, that's what I _always_ think,_ I mused dryly.

I had studied hard, so I wasn't tremendously worried.

After the exam, I went to meet Gina for lunch. She was already 
through with her exams, and planned to drive home after we ate. 
(She knew that Kendall was riding home with me, and we had 
tacitly agreed not to discuss it.) When I kissed her, though, she 
seemed distant.

"What's the matter?" I asked as we sat down.

"Nothing," she said, affecting a smile.

I knew her well enough not to be fooled, so I arched an eyebrow.

"It's nothing I can't handle," she insisted.

"What?"

"It's _nothing_, okay," she said. "Why do you have to try to fix 
everything?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" I shot back.

"What do you think it means?"

"I'm just trying to help," I said, struggling to maintain my 
calm.

"If you really wanted to help, you would've-- Oh, never mind. 
Forget I said anything."

"Would've what?"

"Never mind."

"Would've _what?_" I repeated testily.

"Do you really wanna know?"

I nodded.

"If you really wanted to help, you should've actually _tried_ to 
get a bid from Sigma Chi. Then I wouldn't have Regan and Hayley 
bitching at me about dating a non-Greek."

"'Should've actually tried...,'" I echoed angrily. "I _did_ try."

"Not hard enough, evidently," she said.

"D'you know why I didn't get a bid?" I asked, doing my best not 
to shout. "I didn't get a bid because of _you!_"

"Don't try to pin this on me, Paul, I'm not the one who--"

"I don't think you understand," I said, interrupting her. "I'm 
serious. I didn't get a bid because I left the Sigma Chi rush 
party so I could meet you. Fucking ironic, isn't it?" I asked 
angrily. "You get bitched at because you're dating a non-Greek, 
but _you're_ the reason I'm not a Greek."

She looked as if she'd been slapped.

"If I hadn't left early, they would've given me a bid, but--"

"That's not true," she said. "You don't know that. They don't 
tell you--"

"No, they don't," I agreed. "Not usually. But they called to 
offer a bid to Trip, and they told him."

"I don't believe you."

"Believe what you want, but that's the truth."

"I'll _bet_ it is," she said, her face hard. "That's just too 
convenient."

I shrugged. We sat in silence for a long moment. Then she picked 
up her tray.

"I don't know why I even _came_ to UT," she said spitefully.

"Me either," I muttered as she stalked away.

Back in my room, I threw myself onto my bed and stared at the 
ceiling. Billy had gone home on Monday, so I had the room to 
myself.

I tried to think about anything _but_ the fight, but my mind kept 
returning to it. What was the matter with her? It had to be more 
than just Regan and Hayley. She'd stood up to worse pressure 
before. What was different then? I knew the answer, but I didn't 
want to admit it.

In high school, Gina and I had been together constantly, and we 
talked about things before they had a chance to fester. With the 
stress of college and our conflicting class schedules, we didn't 
see each other as often. We still made time for each other, but 
even then, we saw each other a few times a week, no more.

Maybe Trip was right. Maybe it _was_ time to make a choice. And 
with the way I felt at the moment, the choice would be clear-cut 
and easy. But I wasn't going to make any decision in the heat of 
the moment; it wouldn't be fair to Gina. Besides, I still loved 
her, and the thought of living without her--even as frustrated as 
I was--left a pit in my stomach.

But if I didn't do _something_, my life was going to continue to 
be miserable. Worse, Kendall's and Gina's lives were going to be 
miserable as well. Neither of them was happy when I spent time 
with the other, and they let me know it.

Strangely, Kendall was more strident in her "complaints" about me 
spending time with Gina. Most of the time, Gina came right out 
and said what she felt. But she knew it bothered me, so she tried 
to restrain herself. With Kendall, however, I got heavy sighs, 
disappointed looks, and the occasional barbed comment. She always 
apologized when I called her out, but her behavior didn't change.

Consequently, I felt trapped.

I wanted to wave a magic wand and have things return to "normal." 
But what was normal anyway? Had anything ever really _been_ 
normal for me?

"Somebody made life difficult while I wasn't looking," I mumbled 
angrily.

Then I bounded to my feet and cast about for my weights. A moment 
later, I stripped to the waist and gazed at myself in the mirror 
as I did biceps curls.

An hour later, I was still working out. I hadn't solved any of my 
problems, but I guess exhaustion is a solution of sorts.

-----

"Oh," I said to Kendall, the next morning at breakfast, "I forgot 
to tell you..."

She smiled for me to continue.

For a moment, however, I guess I simply gazed at her.

"What?" she asked, growing nervous at my silence.

"Sorry... I was just thinking about how beautiful you are," I said.

"Thank you," she said, her cheeks turning rosy. Then she tucked a 
lock of hair behind her ear and smiled warmly. "But that's not 
what you forgot to tell me."

"Um... no," I said. "I forgot to tell you that we'll have company 
on the ride home."

"Oh?"

"Mmm hmm."

"Who?"

"Oh, a certain girl who's in my Art History class," I said as 
nonchalantly as I could.

"A certain brunette?" she asked.

Smirking, I nodded.

"Oh, really?"

"Mmm hmm," I said. Then I told her the story.

"Bless her heart," Kendall said. Then, "It's a good thing you 
live in Atlanta."

Our eyes met, and I could see that she was excited. I knew she 
was attracted to Wren, almost as much as I was (but I'd never 
admit that to Kendall, of course). With a roguish grin, I reached 
for her hand and pulled it to my thigh.

She spared a nervous moment glancing around to see if anyone had 
noticed, but the dining hall was mostly empty.

"With exams and all," I said, "we haven't gotten to spend much 
time together."

She shook her head and then shifted in her seat as I pulled her 
hand toward my rapidly expanding manhood.

"Billy's already gone home," I said. "Are you thinking what I'm 
thinking?"

"I hope not," she said.

I paused, confused.

With a grin, she leaned close. "If you're thinking about what it 
feels like to have your boyfriend throw your legs over his 
shoulders and fill you with his big, hard dick, then maybe we 
need to talk."

"Just for that," I said, suppressing a laugh, "I'm going to make 
you beg."

"Beg?" she asked artfully.

"Beg," I said. "And then I'm going to make you beg again. And 
again, and again, and again."

She moistened her lips and then arched an eyebrow.

"C'mon," I said. "Before I simply rip your clothes off and ravish 
you right here."

"But I'd _like_ that," she teased as I grabbed her hand.

Without a backward glance at our half-eaten breakfast, I dragged 
her toward the exit. I think we made it to my room in record 
time.

-----

Kendall and I spent the rest of the morning in bed. Fortunately, 
T.J. and Glen had already gone home, so we had the suite to 
ourselves.

Eventually, however, she had to return to her apartment to finish 
packing her things. I kissed her goodbye and then hopped into the 
shower. Afterward, I got dressed and finished packing my own 
belongings. Then I called Wren.

"Hey, it's Paul. Are you ready to go?" I asked when she answered 
the phone.

"Just about."

"Okay. I'll be there in fifteen minutes," I said.

"Do you mind helping me bring my things down?" she asked.

"No problem."

"Cool, thanks. Just come on up when you get here. I'm in room 
507."

-----

I probably should've had an escort, but the RA at Morrill's front 
desk didn't even look up as I walked past him. (The dorm was 
coed, with men and women living on separate floors, but everyone 
used the same elevators.) When I got to Wren's room, she opened 
the door and gestured me inside.

"Sorry," she said, "I'll be ready in a sec."

As she packed the last of her makeup, I looked around her room 
(I'd never been in one of the suites in Morrill). The beds were 
along the near and far walls, and the room's desks sat in the 
middle of the right-hand wall, facing each other. The closets 
were along the left-hand wall, opposite the beds.

"When did Christy head home?" I asked, making small talk.

"Yesterday," she said. "Simon's coming to visit her in San Diego 
and then she and her mom are flying out to Hawaii next week."

"Ah."

As Wren stuffed her makeup bag into her suitcase, I went back to 
studying the room. To the left, an opening led to the suite's 
shared bathroom and shower. The girls had hung a curtain across 
the doorway, but it was tied back. I couldn't see much of the 
room on the far side of the bathroom, but it was obviously the 
mirror image of Wren and Christy's room.

"Which bed is yours?" I asked.

"By the window," Wren said.

_Like mine,_ I thought idly.

Her side of the room was decorated with swimming posters. I 
recognized Mark Spitz, but none of the others. Most of the guys 
were tall and lean, muscular but not bulky (in other words, they 
looked like swimmers).

Christy's side of the room was more feminine, but her eclectic 
choice of artwork immediately drew my eye. A poster of 
Michelangelo's _David_ hung over her bed. Next to it, she had a 
picture of Rodin's _Kiss_, Myron's _Disk Thrower_, and a small 
picture of the _Venus de Milo_. In addition, she had several 
other pictures of famous sculpture. Even though I recognized most 
of them, I didn't remember the artists or titles.

Curiously, the other wall over her bed was covered with 
traditional Asian art. To my surprise, her stylized "CMC" adorned 
the corner of each drawing. I was impressed. Her style was 
completely different from the charcoal and pencil sketches she'd 
done for Siobhan's class. I couldn't explain it, but the pictures 
"felt" Asian.

On Christy's desk itself, she had pictures of her family. With as 
many brothers as she had, there were several pictures. One of 
them, a picture of a Marine, was bigger than the others. The 
photo showed a younger, waiflike Christy as she pinned a pair of 
gold pilot's wings to the uniformed man's chest. A snapshot was 
stuck in the corner of that picture frame. It was of the same 
brother, this time wearing a flight jumpsuit and posing with his 
crew in front of a big Marine Corps CH-53 helicopter.

I wondered which brother it was before I let my eyes move to the 
wall above the desk. It was filled with charcoal drawings. One of 
them caught my eye straight away. It was of a guy with glasses 
and tousled hair. He looked bookish, and while his eyes were full 
of love, he seemed a little perplexed.

"Is that Simon?" I asked, pointing to the sketch.

Wren absently looked over her shoulder and then nodded. "Don't 
get me started about him," she said. "Christy says she's in love 
with him, but she's not. _I_ think he's a loser." Then, "Crap, 
where's my hairbrush? Sorry," she added, "I really thought I was 
ready."

"Take your time," I said, eager for the chance to return to my 
not-so-casual inspection.

Most of the other drawings hanging over Christy's desk were of 
people I knew. I saw several sketches of Wren, in various poses. 
Surprisingly, there were almost as many sketches of _me_, also in 
several poses. I had seen some of them, but others were 
unfamiliar. I was positive that I hadn't posed for several of 
them.

_Well,_ I mused,_ if I can draw buildings from memory, then I 
guess Christy can draw _people_ from memory._

As my eyes slid over the sketches of Wren and me, I was surprised 
to see several of Siobhan. In them, the older woman was 
sculpting, her face a mask of concentration. From the drawings, I 
could easily tell how much Christy admired her mentor.

_I wish _I_ could find someone like Siobhan,_ I silently 
lamented, _someone who'd nurture and fuel my creativity. Instead, 
I've got _Joska_, who seems bent on testing the limits of my 
self-control._

"I'm sorry that took so long," Wren said at last, interrupting my 
musing. "Are you ready?"

"Ready when you are," I said.

With that, I helped her carry her bags downstairs. A few minutes 
later, I parked the Jeep in front of Kendall's apartment 
building. Then Wren and I headed upstairs. Kendall opened the 
door and invited us inside.

"We've never actually met," Wren said to Kendall, before I even 
had a chance to introduce her, "but I've heard all about you."

"It's nice to finally meet you, too," Kendall said to the shorter 
girl. "Paul's told me a lot about you."

As the girls exchanged pleasantries, I gathered Kendall's bags. 
She had two, plus her overnight bag.

I had warned the girls to pack light, but we _were_ going to be 
away from school for more than three weeks. When I finally loaded 
all of our things in the Jeep, half of the back seat was full 
from the floorboards to the roof. Wren wouldn't have anyplace to 
put her feet, either, since I had to wedge one of her bags behind 
my seat. Even Kendall would have her overnight bag on the 
floorboard beneath her feet.

Finally, we were ready to go. Five minutes later, I pulled onto 
the interstate and we roared toward Chattanooga. We hadn't gone a 
mile before Kendall loosened her seatbelt and turned to face 
Wren.

"Paul hasn't told me _every_thing about you, Wren," she said, 
with a self-deprecating smile. "So, what's your major?"

"Public Relations."

"I thought you were an Art major," I said, glancing at her in the 
rearview mirror.

"Uh-uh. Art History is just my minor."

"Is Public Relations part of the Business College?" Kendall 
asked.

Wren shook her head. "It's in the College of Communication," she 
said. "It's actually a concentration within the Advertising 
degree."

"How is it different from a regular Advertising degree?" Kendall 
asked.

As the girls talked, I listened with only half of my attention. I 
guess I zoned out longer than I thought I did, however, because 
when I started paying attention again, they were talking about 
modeling.

"How did you get started?" Kendall asked.

"Christy just asked me to do it," Wren said simply. "I mean, I'd 
never done it before, but I thought it'd be cool."

"What's it like?"

"For a figure model, it's really easy. And I don't have any 
problems taking my clothes off, which is good. Basically, I just 
sit there, or stand there, or lie there, or whatever they want me 
to do. It's actually kinda boring. Unless Paul's there, of 
course," she said, a grin in her voice.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kendall smile and nod.

"The guy they had last year, Rock, was a real jerk," Wren 
continued. "He thought he was God's gift to women or something. I 
mean, he kept coming on to me and asking me out and all. Needless 
to say, I wasn't interested."

"Why? What did he look like?" Kendall asked.

"He was this Italian guy with a big Roman nose, and he wore more 
gold than most _women_ I know," Wren said. "He had a nice body 
and all, but he was really hairy. Totally not my type."

"I know what you mean," Kendall said. "I don't like the hairy 
Neanderthal type either. I go for muscular guys with a smooth 
chest."

"I never would've guessed," Wren teased. Then, "But that's not 
_all_ that's smooth on Paul."

I glanced up in alarm.

"I know," Kendall said. Then she leaned toward Wren after 
glancing at me. "He trims his pubic hair," she said in an 
ostentatious whisper. "And... he shaves the base of his dick."

In shock, I looked at her, nearly swerving off the road in the 
process.

When the girls stopped laughing at me, Kendall put her hand on my 
arm. My stomach dropped as I realized that she was Up To 
Something.

"He likes the shaved look," she said.

"I could tell," Wren said.

"But that's not all," Kendall added.

"Oh?" Wren asked, her curiosity piqued.

"Mmm hmm," Kendall said, still grinning. "He likes me to shave 
_my_ pubic hair."

My jaw hit my chest. What was she doing?! She was usually 
discreet, but for some reason, she'd thrown caution to the wind. 
I stared at her, agog.

"Completely," she added, impervious to my reaction.

"Completely?" Wren asked, surprised. "So you're totally bare down 
there?"

Kendall nodded.

"Then I guess Paul doesn't have to worry about getting hair in 
his teeth," Wren joked.

"Oh, he likes it for a different reason," Kendall said.

"He does?"

"Mmm hmm. He likes how it looks, especially when we have sex."

I nearly choked.

"And," Kendall continued, "there's another reason he likes shaved 
women."

"Do tell," Wren practically drawled.

"Paul lost his virginity to a woman who shaved," Kendall said 
matter-of-factly.

At that, I _did_ choke.

"Are you okay, Paul?" she asked sweetly. She seemed to be having 
as much fun as Wren.

I gave her a hard look, but then immediately had to return my 
attention to the road; traffic was slowing down. A moment later, 
it slowed further. Finally, it came to a stop. Ahead of us, cars 
packed both lanes, none of them moving.

"There must be an accident ahead," I said, hoping to change the 
subject.

"That'll give us more time to talk," Kendall replied. Then she 
flashed me an unrepentant smile and turned back to Wren.

I sighed in resignation and looked to see if the cars in the 
distance were moving. They weren't, so I pulled the transmission 
out of gear, released the clutch, and set the parking brake.

Then I shifted in my seat and tried to get comfortable. By then, 
my dick was completely hard. Fortunately, I was wearing a pair of 
my new boxer shorts, and my hard-on had simply expanded down the 
left leg. _Un_fortunately, it was obvious. _Very_ obvious.

I breathed a sigh of relief when Kendall didn't seem to notice. 
Given her current mood, she probably would've pointed out my 
predicament. I was tempted to just haul out the little guy and 
see what happened. Luckily, my big head still had control of the 
situation, so I kept my dick in my pants.

"So, where were we?" Kendall asked Wren.

"You were telling me that Paul lost his virginity to a woman who 
shaved her pubic hair," Wren said helpfully.

I tried to glare at her in the rearview mirror, but she pointedly 
didn't notice. She'd spent too long trying to find an angle to 
tease me, and now that she had one, she wasn't going to simply 
let it go.

"Mmm hmm," Kendall said. "I think that's one of the main reasons 
he likes shaved women. Besides, I like shaving for him."

Wren sensed my aroused discomfort, so she ruthlessly moved in for 
the kill. "I've always shaved the sides," she said, "because of 
my swimsuits. But some of the girls on the swim team used to 
shave before races. Shave completely, I mean. I did it a couple 
of times, but not all the way."

"Oh?" Kendall asked.

"I used to do this 'racing stripe' thing," Wren said. "You know, 
just a little stripe down the middle."

At the thought of Wren with a small stripe of pubic hair, I 
surreptitiously tried to take some of the pressure off my 
erection.

"I've done that before," Kendall said, "but Paul likes the 
totally smooth look."

"I'll _bet_ he does," Wren said. Then, "But let's talk more about 
him losing his virginity."

"Let's not and say we did," I countered tersely.

"Then we can talk about when you took _my_ virginity," Kendall 
said.

"Paul was your first?" Wren asked.

"Mmm hmm. We were on a hike with friends, and there was this 
beautiful pool at the top of a waterfall. Well, Paul and I..."

I stared at her in disbelief as she related most of the details 
from our first time together. I don't think I'll _ever_ get used 
to the things that women are willing to share with each other. 
Guys would simply say, "Yeah, we did it." Women, on the other 
hand, seem perfectly comfortable telling each other things like, 
"I did this and then he did that. Finally, we did this, that, and 
the other." And then they'd share _details_ of "this, that, and 
the other."

Un-fucking-believable.

"I lost my virginity to a guy on the swim team," Wren said. "Not 
surprisingly."

"What happened?" Kendall asked.

My dick practically _pulsed_ in anticipation. I glanced at it 
ruefully. I wasn't going to get any relief any time soon, but it 
didn't seem to care.

Treacherous organ.

"I was going with this older guy, a junior," Wren said. "After 
practice one day, we were over at his pool. His parents weren't 
home, so we started kissing and fooling around."

"How old were you?" Kendall asked.

"Almost fifteen."

"That young?"

"I was ready," Wren said confidently. "_Boy_, was I ready. 
Anyway," she continued, drawing out the moment, "I let him pull 
the top of my swimsuit down. My nipples have always been really 
sensitive, so when he started sucking them, I knew I was a goner. 
The next thing I knew, I was pulling off my swimsuit so he could 
play with my pussy."

"Did he know what he was doing?" Kendall asked.

"Not really, but that didn't matter. I really had the hots for 
him, so he could've fumbled around blindly and I still would've 
done it with him. But he occasionally brushed my button--by 
accident, I'm sure--and he _was_ still sucking my nipples. What 
was I supposed to do?" she asked, feigning innocence.

At that, both girls tittered.

"I know what you mean," Kendall said when they stopped laughing. 
"My nipples are pretty sensitive too."

"It's a curse, isn't it?" Wren asked without conviction.

"Not with the right guy," Kendall said, glancing at me.

At that point, I began silently praying for cars to start moving. 
I was horny, and I wasn't going to get any relief as long as we 
were stuck in traffic. When we got to Kendall's house, however...

"Where was I?" Wren asked. "Oh yeah. Anyway, once I had my 
swimsuit off, he pulled his off too. I started playing with his 
dick, but I didn't really know what to do. He didn't seem to 
care, though, 'cause he started moaning and saying stuff like 'oh 
yeah, baby.' He kept sucking my tits, but the next thing I knew, 
I was on my back and he was pushing his dick inside me. It hurt 
at first, but then he started playing with my nipples again, and 
I didn't care."

"Did you use a rubber or anything?" Kendall asked. "Were you on 
the pill?"

"God, no," Wren said, laughing. "But believe it or not, that was 
the best part."

"Oh?"

"Mmm hmm," Wren said, glancing at me. "He didn't want to get me 
pregnant, so he pulled out when he came. And that's when I 
discovered that I _really_ like having a guy come on my tits."

My dick throbbed sadistically.

"As soon as the first spurt landed," she added, "I came."

"Just like that?" Kendall asked, surprised.

"Not really," Wren admitted. "When he pulled out, the base of his 
dick was pressing against my button, and that kinda helped. But I 
swear to God, I didn't come 'til I felt a hot splash on my 
nipple. He didn't shoot much, but most of his jizz hit my tits," 
she added. Then she chuckled. "After my reaction, he thought he 
was the greatest lay in the world," she said. "He _was_ in love 
with my tits, though. And he liked to 'spooge on my boobs,' as he 
called it. Every time he did, I went off like a rocket."

"Wow," Kendall said softly.

"No kidding," Wren said. "So now I like it when a guy comes on my 
tits. Crazy, huh?"

"Not really," Kendall said.

In a flash, I knew what she was about to say, and I looked at her 
in stunned disbelief.

"I like Paul to come on my face," she said, true to my 
prediction.

"Oh really?" Wren asked sweetly, looking at me.

I must've turned six shades of purple.

"He usually wants me to swallow," Kendall said, "but every once 
in a while, I can talk him into shooting on my face." Then she 
shrugged. "I don't know why I like it, but I do."

"I know what you mean," Wren said. "I used to think I was weird 
for wanting a guy to come on my tits."

"Well, we can be weird together," Kendall said.

"Exactly," Wren said. Then she glanced at me. "So, Paul, what do 
you have to say about all this?"

"Judging by the bulge in his pants," Kendall said, "I'd say he's 
enjoying himself."

"Is he hard?" Wren asked excitedly.

"Very," Kendall said.

"Oh, my God, do you mind if I look? I mean, I've never seen him 
hard."

"Never?"

"Never. I've _felt_ it a few times, when I managed to get him 
excited in Siobhan's class, but he was always behind me when it 
happened. And I couldn't really turn around and look. Not without 
making it obvious, at least."

"Oh _really?_" Kendall asked me, teasing-sweet.

I'm sure my blush only deepened.

"Yeah, sorry," Wren said. "I guess I've been trying to give your 
boyfriend a hard-on. I dunno why, but I like teasing him."

"That's okay, so do I," Kendall said.

"And you'll pay for it," I muttered.

At that, both girls howled with laughter. When they stopped, 
Kendall looked at me, the very picture of sincerity.

"Do you mind if Wren looks at your hard-on, Paul, darling?" she 
asked.

"You don't have to take it out or anything," Wren said from the 
back seat. "I just wanna see how big it is."

"It's pretty big," Kendall said. "See for yourself," she added 
without even waiting for me to answer.

Before I could blink, Wren was out of her seat and perched 
between Kendall and me.

"See?" Kendall said, indicating my fabric-outlined erection.

"Oh, my," Wren said. "It _is_ big. Bigger than I thought. I mean, 
you know how some guys don't get much bigger when they're hard? 
But others--"

"Get a _lot_ bigger," Kendall finished. "Oh, yes. Paul's not 
exactly small when he's soft, but he does get a lot bigger."

"And thicker too," Wren added, mischievously.

"If we're done talking about my Johnson...," I said, a little 
irritated.

"But we _like_ your Johnson," Kendall cooed, her blue eyes full 
of feigned innocence.

Then she and Wren looked at each other and broke into gales of 
laughter at my strangled reply. When they settled down, they 
seemed to come to some unspoken agreement to tease me 
mercilessly. To that end, they talked about everything from dick 
size in general, to spit or swallow, the taste of semen, their 
favorite positions, and more.

They decided that my dick was plenty long enough, but not _too_ 
long. They also agreed that while they both liked girth, length 
was important too. I knew that Kendall swallowed (obviously), but 
Wren looked directly at me and smiled when she said, "I swallow 
too, of course." Kendall liked the taste of semen, but Wren 
simply tolerated it. Kendall's favorite position was on her back, 
with her legs over my shoulders, while Wren liked to be on top, 
cowgirl style. ("So the guy can play with my tits while I'm 
riding him," she said.)

I listened to the entire conversation with rapt attention. After 
all, they seemed to be having it for _my_ benefit, although I'm 
sure they were enjoying comparing notes. I was enjoying myself as 
well, but I was getting hornier by the minute.

By the time the cars in front of us started moving, my nerves 
were thrumming with pent-up sexual energy. I was tempted to pull 
into a gas station and take Kendall into the restroom, where I 
could fuck her brains out. Unfortunately, the girls were still 
having fun teasing me, and didn't seem inclined to stop.

"So," Wren asked Kendall, "if your nipples are so sensitive, do 
you like tit fucking?"

At that point, I think I was immune to the shock of a question 
like that.

"We've never really tried it," Kendall said.

"Oh, you should," Wren said. "My tits aren't super big--not like 
yours--but I still like to push 'em together and let a guy put 
his dick between 'em. And then, of course, he's already in 
position to come on my tits."

"Or my face," Kendall said, her eyes flashing as she glanced at 
me.

I imagined what I was going to do to Kendall when I got her 
alone. Then I muttered something under my breath about paybacks 
being hell.

She blithely ignored me.

"You'll have to try it sometime," Wren said.

"Oh, I plan to," Kendall answered.

"You'll have to tell me about it after you do," Wren said. When I 
looked in the rearview mirror, she smirked at me. "You should 
give me your phone number at school, Kendall," she added. "I'm 
sure we'll have _lots_ to talk about."

"I'm sure we will," Kendall replied. Then she turned thoughtful 
and flashed me a sly glance. "You know, Paul's never mentioned 
your boyfriend," she said to Wren. "He told me that Christy's 
engaged to a guy named Simon, but he hasn't said anything about 
you."

"That's because I don't _have_ a boyfriend," Wren said simply. 
"Not at the moment, anyway."

"You don't seem like a shrinking violet," Kendall said. "So why 
aren't you dating anyone, if you don't mind me asking, that is? 
What do you do when you're... you know... in the mood?"

"You mean like after class with Paul?" Wren asked playfully.

I darted a glance at Kendall.

She merely grinned at me.

"I'm a modern girl," Wren said simply. "I've got my vibrator."

"You've got a vibrator?" Kendall asked, a little shocked.

"You mean you _don't?_"

Kendall shook her head.

"Why not?"

"I guess I never needed one."

"_Every_ girl needs a vibrator," Wren said. "Even if you've got a 
boyfriend, he's not around all the time. Besides, most guys don't 
know what they're doing down there."

"Paul does," Kendall said.

"Still," Wren disagreed, "he's not always around, is he?"

"Not always," Kendall said, and I detected a sour note.

_Sometimes he's with Gina,_ I filled in mentally.

"There you go," Wren said. "Every girl needs a vibrator."

"That still doesn't explain why you don't have a boyfriend," I 
said, speaking for the first time in several minutes. I wanted to 
know the answer to the question, but I also wanted to nudge the 
conversation back to Wren (and away from Gina). Kendall and Wren 
seemed to be feeding off each other's enthusiasm, and I was 
learning all _sorts_ of interesting things. I didn't want that to 
end any more than I wanted Kendall to turn sullen at the thought 
of me spending time with Gina.

"I can take care of my own needs," Wren said abruptly. "Anyway, I 
haven't found a guy who can keep up with me. Besides, who said I 
need a _guy_ in order to get off?"

At that, I raised an eyebrow. When I glanced sidelong at Kendall, 
I realized that she hadn't missed the significance either. Wren 
obviously liked guys, but did she _also_ like girls? And if she 
did, did she like Kendall? My dick got even _harder_ at the 
thought.

Flustered, Wren realized that she might've said too much in the 
heat of the moment, so she returned the conversation to Kendall 
and her lack of a vibrator.

Kendall glanced at me once--a very meaningful glance--and then 
turned her attention back to Wren.

By the time we got to Kendall's house, the girls had shared even 
more intimate details (about vibrators, masturbating, and 
fantasies, to mention a few). I tried to pay attention to the 
conversation, but I was too busy thinking about the possibility 
of a threesome with Wren.

As soon as I pulled into Kendall's driveway, however, I had 
another problem. My erection wasn't going away any time soon, so 
I needed to figure out a way to hide it. Fortunately, Kendall's 
mom was the only one home. Adam was still at work, and Drew was 
at football practice (his team was in the state finals).

In order to hide my erection, I made sure I held something in 
front of my crotch whenever Kendall's mom was around. But that 
brought up a bigger challenge: what to do after we finished 
unloading Kendall's things. Melissa would undoubtedly offer us a 
snack, or make small talk. I was so horny that I was thinking 
about simply fucking Kendall in front of an audience, no matter 
who it was.

I had just deposited her last bag in her room when she solved the 
problem for me. She shut the door behind her and practically 
knocked me over as she rushed into my arms.

"Oh my goodness, Paul," she whispered in between kisses, "I'm 
_so_ horny. And Wren is incredibly cool. And hot. She's _both_, 
at once."

"I can't _believe_ you told her all those things," I said.

"I trust her," Kendall said simply. "Woman's intuition. Besides, 
you know how I am."

I nodded. She had an uncanny knack for reading people, and she 
was rarely wrong.

"But now," she said, pressing her body against me, "we've got a 
minute or two. My mom's showing Wren her doll collection. So I 
was thinking..."

Instead of answering, I kissed her, hard. Then I slipped my hand 
under her sweater and quickly lifted her bra over her breasts.

A moment later, she opened my fly and extracted my dick.

I pushed her to her knees without a second thought.

She engulfed my cock with a whimper and then began sucking for 
all she was worth.

I put my hands on the sides of her head and directed her 
movements. After less than a minute, I felt my balls tighten up. 
With a barely suppressed groan, I erupted.

Kendall cried out softly as the first spurt caught her by 
surprise. She quickly recovered and started pumping my shaft, 
milking me. Three more hard spurts filled her mouth, and she 
tried to swallow. The following gushes were too much, and she 
pulled back, coughing. With tears in her eyes, she finally 
recovered and looked up at me apologetically.

"Oh my goodness," she said, breathing hard. "I didn't expect so 
_much_."

"Sorry," I said, panting as well, "I was pretty worked up."

With a rueful grin, she licked the back of her right hand (my 
final gushes had landed there). Then she used her finger to wipe 
the escaped semen from the corners of her mouth. Finally, she 
licked her finger and smiled up at me. Before she could say 
anything, however, someone knocked on the bedroom door.

"Are you okay, Kendall?" her mother asked through the closed 
door.

"I'm fine, Mom," Kendall said, abashed. Then her eyes darted to 
the doorknob as we had the same thought.

Had she locked the door? Would her mother open it? What would she 
say if she did?

Thankfully, Melissa didn't open the door. Instead, she pointedly 
reminded her daughter that she had a guest.

"Okay, Mom," Kendall said. "We'll be right out."

When we heard her walk down the hallway, we both breathed a sigh 
of relief.

"Oh my goodness," Kendall said softly. "That was close."

"No kidding," I said, thinking back to the _last_ time her mother 
had caught us. That time, Melissa had been so shocked that she 
cleaned my semen from her daughter's face and then grabbed my 
dick to clean it as well. I still had fantasies about what 
would've happened if...

"We'd better get out there," Kendall said.

"You don't want to do anything else?" I asked. I was still hard, 
and I guess I was hoping to actually fuck her.

"No," she said immediately. "We don't have time," she added. Then 
she chuckled.

"What?"

"Maybe I _do_ need a vibrator."

-----

Once Wren and I said our goodbyes and got back on the road, she 
gave me an appraising look.

"So, did you enjoy your blowjob?" she asked casually.

My eyes flew wide and I reflexively glanced at her. I immediately 
got my expression under control, though. Then I tried to look 
innocent.

"I'll take that as a yes," she said. Then she smirked. "You 
didn't think I'd know what you two were up to, huh?"

"We weren't _up_ to anything," I lied.

"Oh, yes you were, although you must've been _really_ horny, 
because it was pretty quick."

I didn't answer.

"I could tell by the look in your eye that she'd taken care of 
you. Besides, I could smell it when she kissed me goodbye. Did 
you come on her face?" she asked sweetly.

I tried not to advertise my shock, but I don't think I succeeded. 
I hadn't actually come on Kendall's face, of course, but the 
question alone was shocking enough.

"I'll take _that_ as a yes, too," Wren said, misunderstanding. 
Then, "And now I see why you said what you did."

"Said what? When?"

"When we first met, you told me that you weren't going to be 
tempted away from your girlfriend, or something like that. Now I 
see what you meant. Kendall's really cool; I like her. And she 
seems like a lot of fun."

"She is."

"Ha! I'll bet. I mean, not just any girl would slip away to give 
you a quickie blowjob, especially while her mother's in the next 
room."

_No kidding,_ I thought. Normally, Kendall wouldn't do it either, 
but we'd both been horny. _Very_ horny.

"Did you have a chance to take care of her?" Wren asked.

I silently wondered if my face was glowing or not.

"Evidently not," she said saucily. "And it's a shame she doesn't 
have a vibrator."

"Can we change the subject?" I asked.

"Sure," she answered, too quickly.

_Uh-oh._

"Let's talk about when you lost your virginity."

"Let's not."

"No, I'm serious. Kendall said something; 'Paul lost his 
virginity to a woman who shaved.'"

"So?" I asked, as nonchalantly as I could.

"Kendall's very careful about the way she speaks. She uses proper 
English. Trust me, I notice things like that. Public Relations, 
remember? Anyway, she says 'yes' instead of 'yeah.' She says 'oh 
my goodness' instead of 'oh my God,' like most other people. She 
doesn't swear, and she's very... precise."

"Yeah, so?"

"Why did she say '_woman_'? She didn't mean some fifteen-year-old 
girl. If she had, she would've said, 'Paul lost his virginity to 
a _girl_ who shaved.' So," she asked, grinning smugly, "do you 
have a thing for older women?"

I glanced at her again, out of surprise, but immediately jerked 
my eyes back to the road.

"So, who _was_ this mysterious older woman? One of your teachers? 
A neighbor? A friend's mother?"

"That's none of your business," I said.

"I can just ask Kendall," Wren said.

I gave her a hard look.

"Okay, I won't," she said at last, to which I breathed a sigh of 
relief. "But I'm still curious," she continued. "I mean, you know 
about _my_ first time."

"Maybe I'll tell you," I admitted after a moment. "Someday."

"I'm not very patient," she said.

"Then you'd better learn to be."

"We'll see."

The rest of the trip to Atlanta was more of the same. Wren was 
obviously horny--she kept shifting in her seat, and I caught her 
furtively squeezing her legs together a couple of times--but she 
didn't do anything more than flirt.

_Do I _want_ her to?_ I wondered._ Yes. No. Yes! _No!_ No, no, 
no! I already _have_ one wild girl in my life--_two_, judging by 
Kendall's recent behavior. But Kendall and Wren, together... 
lips... breasts... asses-- Stop it!_

Despite my almost painful erection, the big head was firmly in 
control (more or less). Unfortunately, our conversation never 
strayed far from the subject of sex. As a result, I was as horny 
as she was by the time we pulled into her driveway.

"Do you want to come in for a few minutes?" she asked.

I sensed that she wasn't simply being polite, but I still had the 
problem of my erection. And besides, I wanted to get home and 
jerk off.

"You've been a real lifesaver bringing me home and all," she 
said. Then she implored me with her eyes. "My mom said she wanted 
to meet you," she added. When I fidgeted, she seemed to notice my 
erection. "Oh, for God's sake, are you _still_ hard?"

"I'm hard _again_," I said tightly. "We just talked about _sex_ 
for an hour and a half," I added. "_Four_ hours, if you count the 
drive from Knoxville and the traffic jam."

"Still..."

"Still nothing," I snapped. "You're horny too. I saw you 
squirming and squeezing your legs together."

She blushed, caught.

"Besides," I added, with a pointed glance at her breasts, "it's 
not _that_ cold in the Jeep."

She suddenly looked down at her nipples, which threatened to poke 
through her shirt. Then she automatically crossed her arms, 
covering the evidence of her arousal. For a moment, I caught 
myself wondering if her pussy were wet as well. I couldn't _see_ 
a damp spot at her crotch, but that was no guarantee.

I started to let my mind wander to what I knew her pussy looked 
like, but then I gave myself a mental slap. I needed to think 
rationally, but that was becoming harder and harder to do. 
Finally, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. When I opened 
them, I looked at Wren, once again in control.

"Okay," I said, the voice of reason, "so I'm not the only one 
who's a little worked up."

She squared her shoulders and then set her jaw, daring me to make 
something of it.

I almost laughed. Then, "It's just that I can't hide it as 
easily. So I don't know if I wanna meet your mom in... um... in this 
condition."

"Can't you do something about it?"

I flashed her a deadpan look.

"Okay, okay," she hastily agreed.

"Listen," I said, "I can stick my hands in my pockets. That'll 
hide... it."

She looked up, brightening.

_This would be so much easier if she'd just suck me off before we 
go inside,_ I thought. Then, _Stop it!_

"That should work," she said, nodding. Then she got out of the 
Jeep and came around to the driver's side.

As I got out, I thrust my hands into my pockets.

"I can't believe I'm helping you _hide_ your hard-on," she 
muttered, scrutinizing me. "After all my hard work..."

I laughed out loud.

She shot me a faux-annoyed look.

"Hey," I said, still laughing, "_you_ want me to meet your 
mother."

"Come on," she said, acting disgusted.

I might not have Kendall's insight, but I easily figured out that 
Wren didn't want me to realize how horny she was. I also realized 
that she wanted to jump me as much as I wanted her to, and she 
was covering it with bluster.

"And quit smirking," she snapped. "My mom'll think we've been up 
to something."

"Yes, ma'am," I said, doing my best to comply.

Wren's mother, Helen, was a nice woman in her late thirties or 
early forties. She was more full-bodied than Wren, but still slim 
and attractive. She wore glasses, and had her dark hair pulled 
back with combs.

"It's nice to meet you," she said as we shook hands.

I made sure to keep my left hand in my pocket, of course.

"Wren's told me all about you," Helen added warmly.

Wren blushed when I flashed her an inquisitive look.

"She says you're an Architecture major," Helen said.

We talked for a few more minutes--during which I was 
excruciatingly aware of my erection. Finally, I helped Wren 
unload her things.

Her bedroom was about what I expected. The walls were covered 
with posters, although a few were missing. They were probably the 
ones currently adorning her dorm room walls. She also had two 
shelves full of trophies and medals.

"Did you win those for swimming?" I asked, pointing.

"Uh-huh."

"Do you miss it?" I asked, glad for the opportunity to talk about 
something _besides_ sex.

"Miss what?"

"Swimming."

"Sometimes," she said, with a twinge of sadness. "I mean, I still 
swim almost every day, but I miss the competition. I miss the..."

"Adrenaline," I said, completing her thought.

She nodded. "You used to wrestle, right?"

"Yeah."

"Then you know what I mean," she said, to which I nodded. "I'd 
still be doing it if I hadn't gotten mono," she added. "Although... 
well... I guess I can't be a professional swimmer."

"No kidding," I said. When she started to bristle, I quickly 
explained. "I didn't mean that like it sounded," I said. "My high 
school wrestling coach told me the same thing, more or less. But 
I'm like you, I really miss the competition. I miss the... I dunno... 
the..."

"The rush," she said quietly.

"Exactly. But I wanna be an architect more than anything in the 
world, so I'm sure I'll survive. Besides, I get my excitement in 
other ways."

"Oh?"

"Mmm hmm," I said, grinning. "I give rides to girls who talk 
about sex and make everyone horny."

"Do you do that often?" she asked archly.

"Not as often as I'd like," I said.

To my surprise, she sighed.

"What?" I asked, a little confused.

"I was just thinking about that older woman who shaved," she 
said. "I guess I'll have to take another ride with you to find 
out."

I'm sure I blushed suitably.

Fortunately, Helen saved me; she appeared in the doorway and 
offered us Cokes.

Wren grinned playfully at my obvious relief.

I made sure to keep my left hand in my pocket until I sat down on 
the couch. Even then, I crossed my legs to hide my erection. Wren 
grinned shamelessly.

After I finished my Coke, I stood up, careful to shove my hand 
back in my pocket. Then I thanked Wren's mother for her 
hospitality. Wren wrote down her phone number and handed me the 
slip of paper. I told her my number and she wrote it down.

"If you need a ride back to Knoxville," I added, "give me a 
call."

"That's very thoughtful of you, Paul," Helen said. Then she 
turned to her daughter.

"Yes, thank you," Wren said.

"When are you heading back?" Helen asked, in the same tone 
Kendall used when she was playing matchmaker.

"The Sunday before school starts," I said. "I think it's January 
3rd."

"Are you sure you don't mind giving Wren a ride?" Helen asked. 
"We'd hate to impose."

"I wouldn't mind," I assured her.

"I'm good friends with Paul's girlfriend," Wren said, attempting 
to put a stop to her mother's matchmaking. "She lives in 
Chattanooga."

"Isn't that nice," Helen said.

I tried not to grin as I recognized the tone of voice that 
Southern women tend to use when they're stymied, but refuse to 
admit defeat.

"We'd better let Paul get home," Wren said. Then she turned to 
me. "Thanks again for the ride. It was... fun," she added, her eyes 
darting to my crotch.

At Helen's confused look (she hadn't seen her daughter's glance), 
Wren linked her arm through mine and escorted me out.

"Your mom seems to think you need a boyfriend," I teased her, 
once we were safely outside.

"She thinks a lot of things that aren't true," Wren shot back.

"Then why do you flirt with me?"

"I've got to keep in practice for when I _do_ want a boyfriend," 
she said artfully. "Besides," she added, "you're cute when you 
blush."

As if on cue, I'm sure I got cuter.

"See?" she said, laughing. Then she sobered. "Are you sure about 
the ride back to Knoxville? I mean, if you don't want to, I can 
have my mom--"

"I'm sure," I said. "I don't mind at all. It'll be fun."

"Fun for whom? You?"

"Fun for all _three_ of us," I said.

She looked like she wanted to reply, but she just smiled 
suggestively instead.

I cocked my head to the side.

"I can be mysterious too," she said softly.

"You're not as mysterious as you think you are, Beautiful."

"Oh, really?"

"Mmm hmm. But it's a good thing you've got all the right, ahem, 
equipment to be a 'modern girl,'" I said. As she squawked 
indignantly, I dug in my pocket for my car keys. "Give me a call 
sometime," I said.

"_You_ are impossible."

"Mmm hmm. Seeya."

Her expression softened as I got into the Jeep and started the 
engine. She waved when I backed out of her driveway. As I turned 
around in her cul-de-sac, she waved again. With a grin, I watched 
in the rearview mirror as she turned and practically danced into 
her house.

I don't really remember the fifteen-minute drive to my house. 
Instead, Kendall and Wren cavorted through my imagination.

They were both nude.

They were both eager.

They were both beckoning to me.

-----

Copyright (c) 2005 Nick Scipio. All rights reserved.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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