I originally submitted this story with a much colder ending, but got feedback from more than one person who stated they were disappointed with it. I have therefore listened to my readers and changed a story, even though it had a red 'H' listing... please show your appreciation, if you feel it, by voting!
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Alistair sat on the edge of his bed and listened to the voices going up and down the corridor. Part of him desperately wanted to join in, but he was shy and didn't have a clue how to start.
He'd arrived on Sunday and everyone else had got there on the Saturday, so by the time he was settled in with all his stuff unpacked, all the others on the corridor had got to know each other and were already partying hard.
Whenever he'd thought about university it had always been with some misty-eyed view of what it would be like. For one thing he himself would be totally different – less skinny, less gangly, less shy.
He'd make loads of really good friends, go out and get drunk like other teenagers and he'd have sex. All the time. Lots and lots of sex.
He hated the way he looked and he knew his social skills left something to be desired and it was these he blamed for the fact that he was nearly nineteen and still a virgin. There'd been girls that he fancied, but he could rarely summon up the courage to talk to them and, if he did, they called him 'sweet' and counted him as one of their closest friends.
Now he was here, there was literally only a door between him and drunken fraternising with possible future friends and lovers, but he couldn't bring himself to open it.
Suddenly he jerked upright from the slumped position he'd assumed.
"Is there anyone actually in this room?"
There were voices outside his door. That one had been a girl's voice. Quite deep, cultured – sexy he thought.
"Yeah, I'm sure I saw some skinny bloke go in there earlier. He had a box of CDs or something so he must have moved in. Why don't you knock?"
That was a male voice. A strong northern accent, maybe Manchester, but friendly sounding. Alistair actually felt relief. If they knocked on the door, then he wouldn't have to make the first move, he could act like he'd just been too busy up till now and they'd never know he was a weird, anti-social freak.
He jumped up and stood by the bookshelves, rearranging his DVDs as the people outside knocked on his door.
"C...come in!" He cried out, as confidently as he could, turning to face the door with a disc in each hand as two heads poked round the door.
Now the door was open and more noise could come in he realised that there were more than just two people out there and steeled his nerves for an onslaught, but only the two spokespeople entered.
The Mancunian was a short guy with black-framed 'trendy' glasses, a loud, stripey shirt and a pair of very tight-fitting jeans. His hair hung over his face in gelled hanks and chunks of it were dyed blue.
The girl with the sexy voice had a figure to match. Curvacious, yet toned; her t-shirt and jeans clung to her hips and breasts, but weren't slutty. Alistair gulped. Much harder to be cool when confronted by curves like these and a long mane of glossy auburn hair.
"Hey." He managed, as they came in.
That's good, he thought to himself. Just be cool, reserved, you won't have to say much and then you can't look or say something stupid.
"Hey man. We were just wondering if you wanted to come join us, like? I'm Dave, by the way, this is Katie."
"Hi." She said. "We weren't sure there was anyone in this room?"
She voiced it like that, like a question and Alistair knew he had to speak now.
"Yeah, I've just been getting my room sorted, you know? Wanted it all... sorted. You know, before I got distracted."
He cringed inwardly. Not hideous, but not exactly cool either.
"That makes sense," she said, "my room's still a tip and I've no idea when I'll get round to tidying it up. Need any help or are you nearly done?"
"This is the last bit," Alistair replied, with a close approximation of pleasure at getting done.
"Excellent. Come and have a drink and get to know everyone." She said, throwing him his room keys and ushering him out. "By the way, what's your name?"
"Um, Alistair," said Alistair, following her to the common room and trying not to stare at her arse.
*****
A week later and Alistair was a changed man... almost.
He'd tasted his first alcoholic drink... and his second, third fourth and fifth, then tasted them all again on the way back out. He'd gone dancing in the Student Union club twice, played pool with the boys, watched Chick Flick DVDs with the girls and played strip poker with everyone on the corridor.
That had been an interesting night. Luckily for Alistair his dad and uncle had been keen poker players and Alistair had been initiated into the art at a very young age. He'd played for matchsticks before and chocolate; even money the last couple of years, but articles of clothing was a whole new experience!