This story is a tribute to smart women everywhere, by far the most creative and adventurous lovers. The smarter the woman, the hotter the fuck. Why don't more men realize this truism? (Sssh, I ain't tellin 'em, it'll be our little secret, ladies!)
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They were among the two smartest women at the University of Delaware when I matriculated there, and that may have been what they were respected for, but the men had a different level of admiration.
The roommates and sorority sisters from Alpha Phi were affectionately called the 'Double A' girls, but not just because of their Dean's List grade point averages. Lynn Abbott and Dianne Accorsi were at the very top of the student roster when listed alphabetically, but in any guy's grading system, they also happened to be two of the hottest coeds on campus. "All that smart, hot pussy in one room," raved one of my own fraternity brothers one day. "Einstein himself would be intimidated." (Me, I always figured if you had a haircut like Einstein, you couldn't be all that brainy to begin with.)
Lynn and Dianne were polar opposites in every way except for their intellectual prowess. Lynn was petite, perky, Irish, and gregarious, a captain of the cheerleading squad who was enrolled in pre-med. She stood about five-two with long light brown hair and a cute, pert little ass that could have made her a legitimate All-American tight end. She was maybe about one hundred pounds soaking wet, and since she had been fucking me silly for the better part of two months, I can attest that Lynn was frequently soaking wet, at least from the waist down.
Dianne was dark, an Olive-skinned ebony-eyed Sicilian, and voluptuous, the closest woman I've seen yet to resemble the porn star Tera Patrick, She was the owner of an almost indescribable hourglass figure with big, soft tits that stopped pedestrian traffic throughout campus.
Shy Di was quiet almost to the point of being withdrawn. Urban legend had it that she was stuck-up, but in the time I had known her, mainly through her association and close friendship with her roomie, I had found that wasn't the case at all. Dianne had a very soft, composed manner, but was also very polite, a bookworm accounting major who spent nearly every weekend for three years now traveling back to South Jersey to visit her lucky boyfriend.
Oh, and lest I forget this tidbit, no matter how hard Dianne tried, no matter what she wore, up to and including a burlap sack, her huge, dark chocolate areolas peeked through any piece of clothing like oversized Hershey Kisses on steroids. There wasn't a man on campus who had yet to touch those delicacies, though countless had taken their swings.
I happen to have a thing for areolas so wide in circumference that you could three-putt on them.
So, on more than one occasion when I was in Lynn's room, my attention was almost solely focused on Dianne's bust. I should have been duly satisfied to be banging one of the hottest chicks in school, the captain of the cheerleading squad. But, noooooo, I was fixated on Dianne's massive cocoa-colored chest cones. After all, I reasoned, this made me the only guy in school who had license to sit in her room and ogle Dianne's tits. The fact that I was tapping her roommate was icing on the cake, but almost an after-thought. (I did say, 'almost'!)
As fate would have it, Dianne soon would get the opportunity to get a glimpse of a rather prominent appendage of my own. Dianne usually didn't return from her weekends with her boyfriend until mid-evenings on Sundays, so around five o'clock one Autumn afternoon, Lynn was writhing wildly on my cock with that flexible gymnast-like body of hers, using my big dick like a balance beam with a choreographed series of leaps, acrobatic skills, somersaults, turns, and dance elements.
Lynn's animated wails of pleasure drowned out the sound of key turning lock to the door of the dorm room, and before we realized it, there were four big, dark things staring at our aerobic artistry: Dianne's two eyes and two areolas.
Lynn jumped up with a start, damn near extracting half of my cock from her clenched cunt muscles when she leaped off of me. "SHIT!" she screamed. "Dianne, what the fuck, why are you early, Goddamnit!" Lynn threw a blanket over her tushy and ran to the bathroom to hurry into a t-shirt and a pair of sweat pants, her stretched and well-fucked pussy streaming juices down her legs as she did so.
That left me and Di, in a stare-off between my naked, twitching cock, covered in Lynn's milky fluids, and Dianne's even-bigger-than-usual nipples poking through her purple cotton sweater.
Now, I'm no slouch when it comes to the size and girth department, the Good Man upstairs who divvies out such inventory had taken care to bless me with more than ample endowment, and as Dianne fixed her gaze on my throbbing, distended member, which until seconds ago had been buried about seven inches up her roommates' twat, I recognized the look in her midnight-black pupils. It was similar to the look that virtually every male on campus had when staring at Dianne's jugs, a combination of amazement and pure lust, as if suspended in a mesmerized trance, unable to look away.
I have to admit, I didn't rush for my own clothes. In fact, in the fifteen seconds or so when Lynn was in the bathroom, I reveled in the fact that my cock was now the center of Dianne's attention, and I casually rose from the mattress, spreading my legs apart as I faced her, and tantalizingly stroked my cock for the seemingly hypnotized beauty, who unconsciously licked her lips like a dog eyeing up a bone.
I was just sliding on my briefs when Lynn emerged from the bathroom, and Dianne turned her back and blushed as Lynn spoke, but not before getting a nice, long peek to whet her memory of the image of my eight-inch slab of steel. "Christ, I'm so sorry, Di, you usually don't come back for another couple of hours, I didn't mean to embarrass you."
I decided it would be best to bid a fond adieu to the ladies about this time, so I gave Lynn a brief kiss on the forehead and scurried from the room to let the girls sort it all out. But, just as I was closing the door behind me, I peeked over my shoulder, and from the corner of her mouth, just out of Lynn's vision, Dianne gave me a sultry smile, her dark eyes twinkling in mischief. That look alone was fodder for two animated masturbation sessions in my own dorm room later that night.
The next afternoon, in between classes, I spotted Dianne and her twin peaks, cloaked loosely in a teal blouse which did nothing to conceal the puppies within. I was lounging in the warm sun in the quadrangle outside of the business school buildings. It was an unseasonably warm Indian Summer day, and I had on a pair of loose khaki Bermuda shorts, legs spread slightly on the stoop of the steps, and as Dianne and her 'fellas' saw me, was it my imagination or were her eyes focusing in the same general area as last evening?
Just in case it were indeed so, that she was looking 'down there', just to be a show-off, my cock took the opportunity to begin bouncing up and down, essentially waving a cordial 'hello' to Di (and her breasts) as she (they?) approached.
"Hi," I said brilliantly, waiting to gauge her temperature. Would she be pissed, enraged, amused?
"Hi," she responded softly with nonchalant indifference, brushing her cropped, raven hair off of her forehead. No hint there, I sighed. My move.
"Um, listen..." I began haltingly, feeling my own face flush with heat. "I'm, uh, sorry, you know, that...well..." I shrugged bashfully, hoping she would rescue me from further chagrin.
Dianne looked down at me for a minute, apparently reveling in my obvious discomfort. She then plopped herself down next to me on the steps, so close that her thighs brushed my own. It looked as though she was doing her best to stifle a giggle. "Hey, no harm, no foul."
She must have seen me heave an audible sigh of relief. She continued, again flicking her hair in that adorable way that beautiful women have of flicking their hair. They MUST know it drives men wild, right, why else would they fucking do it? C'mon, who really needs to flick their fucking hair all day?
"Now I know how Lynn always gets those straight A's in biology. All that extra-credit work."
In the three years I'd known her, it was the first time I'd ever heard Dianne crack a funny. A big-titted smart woman with a sense of humor who flicks her hair adorably is about as good as it gets.
Before I could do anything but laugh, which was just as well, because it was now painfully apparent that I was overmatched in both the smarts AND wit department when it came to Dianne by country miles, she asked me a question, seamlessly changing the subject to a more neutral topic. "Hey, are you still having trouble grasping Gillespie's Accounting 202 course? It can be really tricky, he's a bit of bastard, no mercy."
"That's an understatement," I responded, equally happy to walk on a more sturdy conversational bridge. "I screwed up the mid-term big-time. Unless I get at least a 'B' on the final, odds are I'm going to have to take the class over."
Dianne rose, pressing her leg more tightly against mine as she stood. "So, then, why don't you come over to our room on Wednesday night about seven, and I can help tutor you?"
Instantly, my face must have lit up in excitement like the home-team side of the football scoreboard when we play West Chester (yes, they stink). Then, doing the math in my head, I scowled, remembering Lynn's schedule. "Uh, no. Lynn has her chemistry lab classes on Wednesday nights."
Dianne put a pair of sunglasses on as she began to walk away. "Yeah, I know. See you about seven?"
I nodded and then gulped. 'Could this mean what I think it might mean?' I wondered. Geez, be careful what you wish for.
Then, Dianne's next throwaway line put any ambiguity as to her intentions to rest. "I may need some help of my own with anatomy. I still can't believe what I saw last night. I may have to perform some data experiments to reinforce my hypothesis."
Be careful what you wish for, isn't that what they say?
Lynn got fucked especially vigorously for hours on Tuesday night in my dorm room, not knowing that she had her bookworm roomie to thank for my carnal enthusiasm. Even though Lynn was built like a tiny figure-skater and Dianne like the proverbial brick house, it was all I could do not to shout out Dianne's name ever time my dick reached the depths of Lynn's cunt. I was less than twenty-four hours away from accomplishing the heretofore impossible exacta: Lynn Abbott and Dianne Accorsi, two brilliant, beautiful roomies, fucking me on successive nights.
Almost like a confirmation stamp on the proceedings, as Lynn roused around midnight for the short walk from the male Rodney dorms to the female Dickinson dorms (overnight co-habitation was a strict no-no), to get back to her room, she mentioned, almost as an after-thought, while slipping on her jeans over her sopping thong, "Oh, by the way, I'd been telling Dianne about your cock, and she never believed me, how fucking big it was, until Sunday night. She kept babbling about it the whole night, she'd never imagined one could be that......" Lynn gave my pecker a playful, little tug.
