I first met Carol during Freshers' Week at University. Before that week was over we were to have formed a friendship that has lasted, so far, for almost ten years. She was, and still is, warm, friendly and stunningly good looking. I suppose, if I was being honest, I'd admit that even then I found her attractive. Not that I'd have admitted it then. With my fairly religious, strict, middle class, Northern Irish background I wasn't even aware that I could have those sort of feelings for a member of my own sex. I'd had enough problems boys and even though Paul and I had had an active and pretty adventurous sex life for quite some time I still had more than my fair share of guilty feelings.
My parents would never have approved of Carol. Although, to be fair, they wouldn't have approved of Paul either if they knew about even half of the things that he and their precious daughter got up to. They'd probably have disowned me too. Carol's free and easy attitude towards sex and her sexuality would have outraged them. It shocked me slightly when I realised just how sexually active she was. If the number of partners Carol had had disturbed me the fact that they hadn't exclusively all been men was way beyond my ability to comprehend.
Carol was openly bisexual and while I may not have been comfortable with the fact it didn't stop me from liking her. I imagine that, secretly at least, it added to her attraction. Over the course of our first year our friendship grew to the point that when the time came when we had to move off campus and get a flat in town I had no hesitation in agreeing to sharing a flat with her.
As I've said, initially I was shocked by what I thought of as Carol's 'promiscuity'. As time went on I grew, secretly at least, to envy her carefree attitude. Carol, while single, had an active and, from all appearances, extremely satisfying sex life. Despite having a boyfriend my own sex life, during term time anyway, was practically non existent being restricted to those rare weekend visits home and even rarer visits from Paul. It wasn't that I didn't get any offers. I'd had quite a number and I'd be lying if I said that I didn't sometimes find them tempting. Tempting or not however, there was no way I could have brought myself to be unfaithful to Paul. After all, when we were together during the vacations, our sex life was full, varied, satisfying and ultimately exhausting. I used to get no end of stick from Carol after I'd been home for any time. Once I returned from a weekend at home to find she'd bought me a thick padded cushion to sit on and she'd poke fun at me if I so much as dared to yawn in her presence. On the whole I was happy to endure a term filled with abstinence, relying only on my fingers and my imagination to relieve my frustration, when I could spend as much time as I wanted to with Paul during the holidays.
My contentment however, wasn't to last. We'd been drifting apart ever since ever since I'd decided to leave home to go to University. I wanted to broaden my horizons and experience new things whereas Paul was content to stay at home. Even when we were together it was clear that we were becoming more distant. Don't get me wrong, we still enjoyed each others' company and the sexual side of our relationship was nothing short of fantastic, but each time we were together it was increasingly obvious that we had less and less in common. In the end we just fizzled out.
It was during the spring term of my second year when we finally called it quits and admitted it was over The end had been inevitable for some time but that didn't make it less painful. Despite the barriers that had grown up between us, deep down I still loved Paul. I'd had a few 'boyfriends' before him but it was with Paul that I had surrendered my virginity, just as he had surrendered his to me. He had been my first and, until then, my only and once he was gone I was devastated.
I guess it was inevitable that I went off the rails a bit after that. Figuring that if Carol was able to enjoy a being with a different partner whenever she wanted then, surely, the same could be true for me. I don't know how many guys I bedded in the month that followed the split but I do know, that to my way of thinking, it was too many. I drifted from encounter to encounter, another night, another meaningless fuck. I was looking for liberation, instead I felt cheapened. Every load of sperm I swallowed, every thrust of a cock inside my pussy, lowered my opinion of myself. To me, sex should have been an expression of love not, as it had become, a meaningless exchange of bodily fluids.
It was Carol who ultimately came to my rescue. It was a Friday night. I had planned to go out but instead I just moped about the flat feeling sorry for myself. I knew that if I had gone out the evening would have followed an all too predictable course. I'd have ended up drinking too much before allowing some guy to chat me up. We'd have ended up back at his place (I almost never brought them back to mine) for the inevitably unsatisfying drunken shag. To enjoy sex I needed tenderness, I needed someone who was attentive to my needs as well as their own. What I invariably ended up with was about 15 minutes of frantic groping followed by about a 2 minute fuck from someone who saw me as nothing more than a place to stick his cock. I hated it. I hated what I'd become. That night, I finally decided that enough was enough.
It must have been about 10 o'clock when Carol got back to the flat. She found me huddled on my bed, my knees tucked up under my nightshirt, sobbing my eyes out and generally feeling sorry for myself. I must have looked pitiful. "What's wrong?" she asked as she attempted to wipe away my tears.
"I'm sorry," I replied, "I didn't mean for you to see me like this. I'm all right really," I lied.
"You're not fooling me, missy. C'mon, tell your auntie Carol!"
I sat up. Carol put her arm consolingly about my shoulder. "I'm sorry," I said, "I'm just so miserable. My life's a complete mess!" I moaned.
carol put her hand on my cheek and stared into my eyes. "I know it's hard right now," she said, "but trust me, it will get better."
"I know, I know." I protested. "I just wish I could be more like you that's all. You enjoy being single, you don't have any problems sleeping with other guys..."
"But it makes you feel cheap," she cut me off.
"Am I really that obvious?" I asked plaintively.
"No, not really," She replied, "but I used to feel like that at first. It took me a while, but now, as you've no doubt noticed, I quite enjoy it."
"Part of me wants to enjoy it too", I said, "but another part tells me that it's wrong. I'm just so confused, I don't know what I want."