Debbie Garafolo was a high school tennis star and head cheerleader, the object of every classmate's lust and a girl destined for stardom.
But a funny thing happened to Debbie on that not so heavenly road. She attended Fairview State University, and there she found hundreds of girls just like her. Each was also a high school star, each was a prom queen, each had hordes of boys following them around.
"It's just not fair," she once confided in me. "I work hard, I try my best, yet I just never seem to make it to the top here in college."
I was a friend. A guy, but first and foremost a friend. Debbie had been the object of my affections for more than two years. We shared a few sodas at the Silver Diner, a couple beers at the local pub, and even went to a couple matinees. We talked of failed romances, insensitive members of the opposite sex, teachers who would be better off retired and various and sundry problems of the world.
Most of the time we merely studied together or hung out. Heck, I had never even gotten to first base with her. A peck on the cheeks but never the lips.
Not that she was a virgin. She had been with guys and a few men in college. A couple relationships, a couple one-night stands. More recently she dated a few different guys, sashaying her five-foot, four-inch frame around town. She had a great figure, complete with luscious breasts that filled out her tops well, and a view of her backside encased in tight-fitting jeans was guaranteed to create hard ons as she came into view.
Her grades were good, she was going to graduate on schedule, but there was still something missing.
"I can't believe I have never earned a varsity letter," she pouted. "I've only played on the junior varsity tennis team, and I don't think I will get my letter this spring either. And four years of junior varsity cheerleading doesn't get me a big "F" either."
I commiserated with her, stroked her ego by telling her she was beautiful and a fine athlete to boot. I told her the coach was a jerk for not using her in varsity matches, and that she was better than at least half of the girls on the varsity cheerleading team. But I could tell it had really gotten under her skin.
There was nothing I could do, but I still felt for her as that varsity letter was very important to her. Once I offered to steal one for her use, but she told me that if it wasn't earned, it wasn't hers.
One Saturday I attended a job fair at the university library. Midway through the day I visited the men's room for a little bio break, and sat in the stall dreaming and scheming before reading some of the usual items written on the wall.
There was a message in the middle of the wall. Above it was the age-old saying, "Flush twice, it's a long way to the cafeteria."
To the left was scribbled, "Zero was here."
Below it was written, "Dr. Johnson is a rat bastard."
But it was the middle new brief that caught my attention "There are cocks, big and small, and Debbie G., loves them all."
Now I don't know about you, but seeing the love of your life treated with such little respect ticked me off. Debbie might not be Miss Perfect, but she was close. At first I wanted to slap her for being a slut, but my mind got the better of me and I realized it was probably the ranting of some dweeb who was rebuffed in his efforts to coax Debbie into the bedroom. Or it was another Debbie the written words were about.
Still, that night when I was relieving my sexual tension with Ms. Slow Hand, I thought of Debbie and her sweet body next to mine. I envisioned her pouty lips sucking on my dick. I visualized her in her short maroon and gold cheerleader skirt with the tight panties which caressed her ass when she twirled and I exploded a mess of sauce onto my sheets.
A couple weeks later the school was quieted by mid-term exams, and all but the jocks were cramming for the tests. To celebrate the completion of the exams, each of the fraternities had parties, and I made my way from one to another. At the third party, at the frat jokingly called Tappa Kegga Beera, I ran into The Slickster, a newfound buddy from Science class whose real name was Charles.
We made small talk for a while, drank an endless stream of beers, and generally got blasted. During a break in the heavy metal music, The Slickster bent toward me and whispered an invitation. "Don't say anything, but the boys tennis team is having a little apres party get-together. Wanna come?" he asked.
"Oh I don't know, I'm beat," I replied.
"Earth to Jonathan. Can you say the word, easy pickings?"
My eyes lit up. I knew The Slickster, and I knew that he had bragged on several occasions about special parties he and his teammates had.
"You mean..."
"I mean you won't be beating your meat tonight, Jonathan. That's what I mean."
Needless to say, I told him to count me in. Beauty or pig, I wanted some guaranteed pussy. If history was any predictor, this was stellar chance to get some.
The next couple hours seemed like a week, as all I could think about was being part of the in group getting a little action. Even if it was a false alarm I was psyched. To this point I had three sexual partners, and while memorable and satisfying, the sex was just good. And since I wasn't getting anywhere with Debbie why not sample a sure thing at a frat party?
"Who's the girl," I asked.
"Just one of the girls who has dated a couple of us TKB's," he said. "She wanted a special favor, and since she'd already fucked a few of us anyway, she figured why not pull us on a Saturday night train? Actually she's a pretty nice girl. You'd never know she loved cock so much!"
I nodded, as if I actually knew what he was talking about. The girls I had sex with seemed to enjoy the act, some more than others, but none was what I would call crazy over cock. "Hey Slick," I asked. "Is it really going to be a gangbang?"
"That's the plan, that was the deal. No major pain, only straight sex. So don't think you are going to get her ass or something. But you can bang her until your weenie explodes. It might be a little messy, but it will give you something to tell your kids!"
Yea, right, like I would admit to anything of the sort. Still, I had to manage a continuous hard on as my mind continued to wander toward the "sure thing" that awaited us later in the evening. I wondered if she'd truly like it, if she were drugged, if she was a slut or if she were a pig.
It was nearly 11 before The Slickster and I sauntered over to his frat house. As we arrived, I noticed the old house was relatively dark as only cracks of light emerged from the windows. The wind started slipping from my balloon as I figured it was a frat prank on the dumb kid or something. "Hey Slick, what's going on? It looks dead!"
"Shush," he replied with a chuckle. "Oh ye of little faith."
