My girlfriend-sharing fantasies started when I was in college. The girl I was seeing at the time was going to a university that was about a 6-hour drive away- she was an extremely pretty redhead who had played soccer in high school and she had a kinky streak, which suited me just fine. She was five-foot-five, roughly, and curvy in a really athletic way. She had red hair and a dazzling smile, and a thick ass and thighs that I worshiped almost daily. Needless to say when we parted ways for school in the fall, I was left wanting. Wanting her, mostly.
The college life seemed to be treating her just fine when she and I talked. I knew she liked to drink, and she liked to go out with her friends and dance, and I knew she loved sex. Our sex life had always been very active, starting in high school, and we fucked in her car to a Kings of Leon CD so many times that, like one of Pavlov's dogs, I feel a rush of blood to my groin whenever I hear those songs on the radio. She still keeps that album in her car to the best of my knowledge.
So back to this story and when it took place – the fall of my sophomore year of college, not long after she started her freshman year at a bigger school, she quit talking to me for several days. I was mad that she had chosen to attend a big football game instead of meeting up with me back in our hometown for a weekend together.
Turns out, as she explained over the phone when I finally called, she had been hooking up with other guys at parties and having a good time. No actual sex yet but lots of kissing, groping, even a few blowjobs, if I was going to take her word for it. It wasn't a stretch to believe.
So as much as she would love to see me, she said, she wanted to just have fun this weekend. She promised we would schedule a few days soon when we could both come home and meet up. I hung up the phone, nearly in tears, not knowing what in the hell I should do.
For a few days and nights this new knowledge about her activities destroyed me. I was in a fever dream; I didn't eat, I barely slept, and I didn't even think about going to class. But one morning I woke up at dawn and, her admissions not being at the forefront of my mind, I grabbed some granola bars and headed out for a lengthy bike ride. I needed the fresh air.
I was doing battle with stupid Midwest headwinds, typical for where I'd chosen to become a road cyclist, and thinking deep thoughts. Did this girl love me any less? No. She had said she was torn between sexual gratification and being in a relationship with me, and sex had never been a problem. I'm well-endowed and very fit, and our chemistry in bed was amazing. She just wanted to get some of that when I couldn't give it to her. I mulled over the thought of her getting fucked by other guys and giving head at parties, and as much as my stomach clenched, I realized that on some primal level... I was getting turned on.
Despite the blood volume circulating through my legs, I started to get hard in my spandex bike shorts. I calmed myself down, because it got uncomfortable really fast, and turned around and headed home.
I can tell you, I was grateful to have the wind at my back as I pedaled back to my dorm room. I just wanted to get the hell off my bike and ponder these new thoughts in a private setting. Under a blanket, maybe.
I carried my bike up the flight of stairs in my dorm, unlocked my room (my roommate, mercifully, had a block of classes that kept him gone for most of the day) and stripped off my sweaty bike clothes. I had made a decision – I was going to make the best of what was racing around my brain. I was going to get off on it, instead of letting it kill me.
I went into the bathroom and shut the door. I was rock hard before the shower even got up to temperature. I stepped into the stall, drawing the curtain behind me, and stroked myself as I let the jets of water pelt my head and shoulders.
