It was a Friday night in 2007, there was a party at the Purple House and Amy was in her apartment getting ready.
She had moved off campus after sophomore year to Allston, a student neighborhood filled with battered apartment buildings and houses, hosting constantly changing configurations of students as they moved every year. On weekends it was chaotic no matter the season, with house parties, loud drunk students everywhere.
Amy finished her dark eyeliner, and examined her outfit in the mirror. Denim skirt, ripped lingerie tights, a black halter top showing a lot of boob, Chuck Taylors. Everything except for the Chucks had come from the dollar a pound pile at the Garment District in Cambridge. Her mother had bought her the Chucks before she left Los Angeles. Her mother definitely would not approve of the booby halter top, but her mother wasn't there.
She grabbed a black hoodie, her bike helmet and purse and was out the door. Her bike was locked to the railing with about six other bikes, she unlocked it and carried it down the stairs and set off.
The Purple House was only a five minute ride away, through the streets of Allston. It was only 9pm, but sounds of college parties seemed to be coming from every other building she rode by. The buildings were familiar, she had definitely been to parties in most of them during her freshman and sophomore years.
Recently though she had begun hanging out at the Purple House more. It was occupied by a loose group of friends from the art school at BU. At the moment it was five guys, and one girl. Amy had no idea how the girl, Mary, managed it, but Mary had also dated or slept with at least four of the guys, so it was more like Mary's home than anything else.
Pulling up to the house Amy locked her bike on the porch and said hi to a few people smoking on the porch. The party was starting to gather steam, and the front door was open. She walked in, through their chaotic living room, filled with furniture rescued from the street during the yearly moving day free for all known as Allston Christmas. There were bottles, bike parts, and stuff everywhere. People lounged on the couches and chatted over a loud indie pop playlist coming from the speakers. M83, The Strokes, Bloc Party, MGMT, Deerhunter, The Futureheads.
She walked through the kitchen, down the stairs to the basement. The basement was also packed with bodies, a band playing in one corner, people dancing. It was dark, and despite being cold outside, sweaty and stuffy. She spotted her friends in the corner, and went to say hi.
She accepted a beer from a friend's purse, and then stole another friend's red solo cup, filled with something sweet and extremely alcoholic. The music was too loud for talking, so she let herself be swept up in the crowd, grabbing on to her friend Ben who seemed to appear from nowhere. They danced for a while, close, he was in a baggy t-shirt, ripped jeans, and she could feel heat radiating from his body. He was grinning wildly, face bright in the darkness. They had always been flirtatious and she wasn't surprised when suddenly his hand was cupping her face, and then they were making out, standing in the mass of bodies, getting bumped and jostled, his hand now on her ass, pulling her roughly toward him. She could feel all of him pressed against her, his skinny frame, lean and muscular from biking everywhere. He tasted like vodka. He pressed her up against him, and over the music said into her ear
"LET'S GO UPSTAIRS".
She had forgotten that he had moved in recently. She nodded, and he took her hand, and led her through the crowd to the stairs. She turned back and got her friend's eye, and pointed upstairs so someone would know where she was. The friend grinned and then made a humping motion and a thumbs up.
They moved through the house, which was even more crowded now, the halls crowded with people who they had to push past. They reached Ben's room, an open attic space on the top floor, bed on the floor, ratty couch and armchairs also rescued from the street.
Unfortunately, at the moment, all occupied. The current house occupants, minus Mary, were taking a smoke break, passing around a lit joint. Their faces turned towards Amy and Ben as they came up the stairs, but they seemed too stoned already to understand what they were there for. Seemed like she wasn't going to get to fuck Ben. He looked at her, apologetically, and then said, "Well, do you want some of this joint?".
They both squeezed onto the couch. Amy sat in the middle with Ben next to her, and a couple of the other roommates, Chris and Pat to her left. It was a tight squeeze, and Amy found herself sitting partially on Ben's lap. They sat, and chatted for a while. She accepted the joint as it came around. Ben's hands were drifting over her body, surreptitiously tracing paths over her skin. She shifted a little, and his hand dipped under her shirt, tracing a path along her stomach where her skirt stopped. She pushed herself back against him, and his fingers dipped cautiously under her skirt, but it was too tight for them to go much further.
The room was dark, and no one seemed to be paying attention as they chatted and smoked, so she reached down, running her fingers over his wrist and strong large hands, and popped the first few buttons of her jean skirt. She could feel his heart beating against her, as his hand slid slowly downward, over her tights, down gently cupping the mound of her pussy, his middle finger sliding down the crease formed by her pussy lips. She bit her lip to stifle a moan and tried to press herself against his hand, thrusting her hips against his hand, slowly, secretly, so no one would notice.
She found just the right angle, and now couldn't help but let out a moan, before she could realize what she was doing.
"What are you guys doing over there?"
The two other roommates on the couch were looking for them.
Ben's hand didn't move. She thought about what they must be seeing. From her black stocking toes, resting on the nearest one, Chris' lap. Following the run of her legs, up to her skirt, hiked up almost to her ass, the obvious bulge of Ben's hand under her skirt.
