[Disclaimer: None of the names mentioned herein are those of real people. The events described are fictionalized experiences and extrapolated fantasies from my college days. Additionally, I do not in any way intend to imply that the scenarios described are typical of what occurs at a women's college. They are simply typical of me.]
*
During my last two years at college, my favorite sports to participate in were fencing and wenching. The former is quite rare, and the latter even more so, for a woman. But I was at a women's college, and at such establishments, women are encouraged to believe that anything is within their grasp. In my case, it was fencing foils and girls. Fencing because it was like a fast game of chess, and girls, because they were soft and warm and smelled good. One day, not long after my first night with Pilar, those two sports came together very well.
Once a week I stayed late after practice and worked with my instructor on fencing left-handed. I was an adequate fencer right-handed, and only marginally better left-handed, which is my natural hand. But there are few lefty collegiate fencers, and so I was useful in competition mainly because most people found it unnerving to cross foils with someone facing the same direction, rather than mirror-opposite. And facing me could be rather discouraging, especially since one never knew which hand I would fence with. But being left-handed worked against me, as well: I had only faced one other lefty, and lost, and so my instuctor and I worked once a week on improving both our skills as left-vs-left fencers.
Usually, by the time we paired off, my thighs were trembling from two hours of lunging and I was dripping sweat under my mask and padding. This day it was particularly warm in the gym and about 30 minutes into our extended practice I bowed, excused myself, and headed for the locker room. As expected, it was deserted. I immediately stripped down, turning my padded coat inside-out to air it, and draped it on the edge of the locker door. The air was warm and humid from the showers, and I could feel the sweat trickling down my back and between my breasts. Anxious to clean off and cool down, I grabbed my towel and the tubes of shampoo, conditioner, and body gel and stepped into the shower room.
It was very warm and steamy in there, as a few shower heads had been left running at the far end of the room. I found it extremely wasteful and that made me cross. I had walked toward the one closest to me and reached out to turn it off when I heard a long, low moaning. My heart leapt in my chest and my eyes stared into the steam, seeking the source of the sound. I couldn't see anything, so I stepped into the stream of water. It was almost too hot as it pummelled my right breast and shoulder, sheeting over my torso and down my legs. My straining eyes made out two figures, one of which was pressed against the wall. Unthinkingly, I stepped forward, concerned that someone was injured or being assaulted, and another moan rolled over me, followed by an obviously pleasured gasp.
'Ahhh,' I thought to myself, 'Good for them.'
I turned toward the shower fixture, my fingers fumbling to stop the wasteful flow of water. I made certain that my presence was known as I moved to the farthest showerhead and commenced bathing. I would have left, giving them privacy, but seeing as I was already wet, I decided I might as well finish cleaning up. I squeezed some body gel into my hands and started soaping myself, paying close attention to the places where sweat tended to collect on me: under my arms, beneath my breasts, between my buttocks. My hands flowed over my skin, accompanied by the erotic, symphonic sounds of the two women. I was feeling flushed and warm. My mouth was watering and my nipples were hard. I turned down the water tempurature and slipped my hand between my legs, clearing away the slippery signs of my own arousal, and giving my clit a few good flicks at the same time. I wondered if Pilar would be waiting for me in my room that afternoon, as she was sometimes at loose ends on Thursdays.
I went to work on my hair, pulling the elastic band off and unplaiting it. Elbow-length it was, and when I fenced I wore it in a neat braid, but during practice the fencing mask always made me sweat profusely, so I had to wash my hair. One of the tricks of keeping long hair healthy despite almost daily washing is frequent conditioning. After I wet it I worked conditioner into the bottom half, then soaped up my scalp, giving it a nice massage that made me tingle.
I rinsed the soap and conditioner out of my hair and as I turned around, my eyes swept the corner where the women were. The steam had thinned enough that I recognized them: a tall, leggy redhead named Erin and a smaller, voluptous latina named Sophia, a couple known by some on campus as Erinna and Sappho. It was Erin who was pressed against the tiled wall, and her expression riveted me. She looked angelic, transcendant. Her pale skin glowed, suffused with a rosy blush. Her neck was arched, her eyes closed, and her mouth, one of those enviable rose-bud mouths, was open, just begging to be kissed. Sophia's darker skin created a lovely contrast. Her body was wet and glistening, back muscles shifting, her body rocking with her efforts to please Erin. Her back was to me, her luscious ass pointed my way as she leaned forward to tease Erin's breasts with her mouth. I could see her vulva there between her legs, dark and mysterious with its occasional flash of pink, winking teasingly at me.
Sounds came from Erin's open mouth, ecstatic, glorious sounds, and at one point her eyes opened wide. Her eyes met mine and she smiled. I thought it a rather inviting smile, but I figured I was mistaken. I continued my turn into the spray of the shower when I saw her hand lift from her lover's shoulder and signal to me, 'Come here.'
A man would not have hesitated, I know. Certainly, Drew hadn't the few times Pilar or I had given him the come-hither gesture with a crooked finger, inviting him to step over the line from spectator to participant. But I had heard through the grapevine how possessive Sophia was of Erin, and I had no desire whatsoever to provoke one of Sophia's legendary jealous rages. So I raised my eyebrows and pointed at Sophia, my expression doubtful. Erin grinned and leaned forward. I saw her take her lover's earlobe into her mouth, then whisper something. Sophia looked over her shoulder at me. It was an intense glance, her large black eyes studying me, running over my body, noting the hand cupping my breast. I felt a blush run up under my skin, staining my neck and cheeks with colour and heat. I could almost hear her thinking, 'Dilettante,' which was one of the terms we used to describe women who liked to play with other women, but were enthusiastically and unapologetically hetero. In otherwords, she understood that I was no threat. In fact, I realized, recognizing that predatory gaze, she probably considered me 'fresh meat.'
