This all happened long before the days of AIDS and rampant STDs. Back in the days of free love, where our motto was "If it moves, fondle it." And we did.
Remember those days? Free love? Free love! We all had condoms, but we didn't use them much because we didn't need them much. Every sane college girl was on The Pill. STDs were rare and minor, at least in my college crowd. And AIDS didn't arrive for another decade. Chill out.
About 50-50 truth and wishful thinking.
Names changed to protect the innocent and the not-so-innocent.
*****
Our frat had many parties, big ones about once a month on Saturdays, and little ones, BYO, most Fridays. The big spring party is "Houseparties Weekend," near the end of classes, before exams.
This year it was exceptionally warm. All the guys were in cutoffs and tees, the girls in shorts or miniskirts, T-shirts or tank tops. My honey had her favorite tennis skirt on, a little pleated thing that is very short to show off her gorgeous legs.
We were having a good time, dancing, drinking, talking. At one point I wanted to take her out onto the patio but she didn't want to leave. So I picked her up, threw her over my shoulder in a fireman's carry and headed for the back door. I hadn't gone ten steps before I heard a shout, "Red panties! Whoa! Check it out! Red panties!" One guy, then another, yelling, laughing, and pointing. At me! I realized eventually that they're talking about her! It's her panties they see. Because I threw her over my shoulder like that, her butt was straight up in the air, and her little pleated skirt must have been falling down, or up, above her waist, exposing her bottom to everyone - everyone except me. She pounds on my back. "Let me down, you asshole!" Oh, boy, is she going to be pissed!
I put her down and convinced her to walk with me to the door. It wasn't hard now to get her to leave, with a dozen drunk guys pointing at her and commenting crudely on the color, size, and contents of her underwear. Which I haven't even seen yet, and I was the only guy on the first floor who hadn't. Red panties sounded familiar, but I wanted to see, too.
We had a smoke out on the deck and talked about it. I apologized for putting her in that situation and eventually she forgave me. She hadn't thought about what the skirt would look like, either, when I first picked her up. And the juvenile appreciation of her hot underwear? "Boys will be boys," she sighed. The other girls probably sympathized with her, but they didn't offer much support.
When we went back in, though, all the guys were now calling her "Redpants! Redpants!" Or "Miss Redpants" if they were being polite asking for another peek. How cool. She had no choice but to take it, and after a while it became her nickname.
We went back to the dance room to get away from the taunting. She always dances sexily with a lot of suggestive hip movements and such. But that night she twirled a lot, too, and that little skirt didn't entirely hide what's underneath. Oh, look, little flashes of red. Intentional, I'm sure. A few guys were even bold enough, and drunk enough, to just walk up to her, or crawl up to her, and flip up the hem of her skirt to expose the red pants briefly. Finally I got to see the famous panties and I recognized them. Yes, red, nylon, bikinis, really tiny and tight, a little lace around the edges. Hugging her mound and cheeks. Yummy.
At one point she disappeared for fifteen or twenty minutes and I couldn't find her. She wasn't in the ladies room or the bar or the dance room or the pool room or anywhere obvious. When she found me later, she told me that Mac was at the party stag, and he took every opportunity to get his hands on her. Out of sight of others, fortunately, he pulled her aside into an alcove upstairs. He held her there for a few minutes. "He pulled me in with him, rather forcefully, and held me tight. He kissed me. A lot. Really passionate, too, like . . . the other time. Not just friendly." She looked down. "Good thing Bill has a date tonight. If they both grabbed me in there like that, I couldn't have resisted at all. Mac was enough of a handful."
"And?" I asked. "You were gone quite a while."
"And . . . he felt up me up. Like the other time." She glanced up at me but looked down again. "I didn't object much, or loudly, because I didn't want anyone else to hear or see us together. I pushed his hands away at first, but . . . I mean . . . he's already 'sampled the merchandise.' Why make a big deal of it? So he put his hands on my boobs and my ass. . . . You know I like . . . I like having a man's hands on me." Then she looked up at me. "And I like him." She tried to explain. "I like the way he kisses me. And I like his hands." She looked down again. Embarrassed? Not at being turned on, for sure. But maybe at admitting that she likes being felt up by another guy? Maybe admitting to me, her serious boyfriend, that she was playing sexually with another man just a few minutes ago? And loving it?
I was taken aback. She likes his touch? She wants him? What about me? She sensed my uncertainty. "Oh, no, Tommy, I *love* the way you touch me and kiss me. I *love* you. . . . It's just that, well, he's . . . different . . . new . . . a little . . . adventure." Pause. "And so I didn't mind him touching me. I didn't stop him."
She buried her face in my shoulder. "Then he started to grope under my skirt. First he put his hand on my ass, sort of, then really on my ass. He reached up inside my panties." Given that they had already been intimate, this was not unexpected, nor, I got the impression, unwelcome. She didn't break away and leave. He continued kissing her and feeling her up. "After a couple minutes, he worked his hand around to the front of my pants and cupped my pussy, hard. I could feel that the crotch of my panties was damp and hot. He felt my wetness, and I didn't object, and that encouraged him to push his fingers hard on me, between my labia, and press on my clit. Oh, god that felt wonderful." She was squirming now, against me, telling me this. "He even got his hand inside the front of my pants and, before I could react, he pushed a finger inside me. Oh, I was so wet. He didn't have to work hard to get into it. . . . I just couldn't keep my legs together. Being fingered felt so good, I relaxed and melted. I think I actually swooned. Good thing we were still kissing so deeply. I'm sure my moaning would have been audible."
She was hiding in this dark alcove being finger fucked by a boy that wasn't her boyfriend, someone she had no relationship with. Well, I thought, not much of a relationship - other than that a couple weeks earlier, she had spread her legs for him and let him fuck her. And come in her. In front of an audience.
"We've already been . . . intimate. What's a little more playing around? And it felt so good to have his hands on me. And in me. He had me before. I'm sure he wanted to have me again. And I was getting really turned on. I wanted to get really well fucked right then, but that was hardly the place. We would surely have been caught . . . because I'm not, well, quiet, am I?"
Now she looked up at me. "I had to go back and find you before you wondered what had happened and started looking for me. I didn't want you to find me with your friend's finger pumping my vagina."
I was amazed by what she was saying. And I was hard as a rock. "Do you mind that I played with your friend? Are you upset?" She pushed up against me and felt my erection in my pants.
She could feel that I was aroused. Why deny it? "No. . . . No . . . I'm not . . . Not at all. I wish I could have been there to see it."