This is another fictional story, in as much as it didn't happen to me. It is based on the facts relayed to me by a friend, and I have taken some liberties in the telling. I hope you like it, "Amy!" (BTW: my friend ended up with doing post-graduate work with one of the males in this story, and they still see each other occasionally, though she is now married.
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Amy rolled her battered Corolla to the curb and looked at the apartment building. It was old, nestled under a canopy of oaks, but not without a certain charm. "Well, I guess this is home," she muttered, glad to be on her own after 18 years of living under her parents' roof. College! The great liberator! She laughed at her own naivete'.
Dianne pulled the borrowed F-250 in behind her, nudging her bumper. "Sorry," she yelled. Dianne was a freshman, too; a kind of clutzy, second-term science major, whom Amy had met while signing up for classes two weeks ago. They hit it off right away, and Diane volunteered to help her move in, since she was already settled. Good thing, Amy thought - it was either that or ask her father to drive up and help ... and that was not going to happen! Diane had begged her boyfriend for his truck, a hulking, rusty behemoth with oversized knobby tires and a rebel flag across the back window, but it had been up to the girls to load and unload it. He was laid up with a broken foot.
"Hey, this isn't bad," Diane said, looking toward the building. "It's got a kind of middle-class retiree feel to it, but hopefully it's clean..." She laughed. Amy had to agree, but the rent was reasonable enough, especially for a college town.
"C'mon, let's get this over with." Amy pulled the tailgate down and grabbed her little Swiffer, a must-have for any college student, then headed for the apartment. It was ground-floor, also a plus.
They had gotten most of the small stuff into the building when the two guys showed up. They looked older than either of the girls by a couple of years. Both were casually dressed in shorts and t-shirts, and looked like they'd been working out. They were attractive, both of them. The blonde one extended his hand toward Amy. "I'm Brian," he said. "You must be Amy." She was surprised. She hadn't met him before. He was beach-boy blonde enough and muscular enough that she should have remembered that, she mused. "I'm the building super," he explained. "Well, that and the maintenance man, the postman, the rent collector, and the guy who keeps track of who's moving in and who's moving out." He smiled, and Amy noticed his white teeth. And a hunk, she thought, as she shook his hand.
His friend, who was already chatting Dianne up, introduced himself to the girls as Jack. They all shook hands. Jack was, if anything, even better looking than Brian, tall and thick-chested, with black hair and piercing blue eyes. He set his paper Starbucks cup down and asked, "Can we give you a hand moving in?"
"Wow, thanks," Amy said, grateful for the help getting the bureau and bedframe off the truck, and perhaps more than a little anxious to watch all those muscles get put to work. She glanced at Dianne, who gave her a wink.
"Paydirt!" Diane sang, in a falsetto voice, and high-fived Amy when they guys weren't looking.
After the truck was unloaded and the furniture situated, Brian went back to his apartment and returned with a 12-pack of beer. "House-warming gift," he said, handing Amy a cold one. She didn't drink, normally, but it felt good in her hand. They were all sweaty. A toast was made. "To many happy days ... and especially nights, in Amy's new abode," Brian joked. Dianne said, "Here, here!" a little too loudly, prompting more laughter.
By the time dusk came, the four of them were still sitting around Amy's un-decorated, rapidly darkening living room, talking about their lives to that point and drinking now-warm beer. Dianne had been teasing her new friend shamelessly with her little comments about Amy's being single, and how lonely it must be for a girl on her own. Amy liked the attention. At one point, they let the guys talk them into kissing each other on a dare, and Amy had to admit she enjoyed that, too. Now Dianne was leaning into Jack, and Brian's arm had found its way around her shoulder. She thought about kissing him. She wondered how those lips would feel on hers, but she wasn't quite drunk enough to initiate anything, and he seemed hesitant, as well.
When Brian and Jack went upstairs to unlock the electrical box, Dianne walked unsteadily over to Amy. "Omigod, Amy!" She slurred her words. "Do you believe these guys? I'm in fucking love!" The mousy blonde's nipples were very prominent beneath her thin top. Neither girl was wearing a bra, and she was sure the guys had noticed, early on.
She laughed at Dianne. "Easy, sister," she teased. "What about the boyfriend back at your apartment? The one with the broken hand?"
Diane laughed loudly. "Who? Oh, 'whats-his-name?'" She pfffffttttted, sending a plume of beer-laced spittle into the air. "Hell, baby, he's laid up. Damaged goods! Jack's in perfect shape! And I mean. perfect!"
Amy had to agree. Brian was no slouch, either, but the little voice in her head kept saying that she didn't really know either of them that well yet. She was infatuated, for sure, and horny as hell, but she knew better than to be taking any guy at face value. She tried to tell Dianne that, but her friend was too far gone. Now Amy started to long for the peace and quiet of her own place. The light in the little kitchen came on.
"You're in business," Brian said as he came through the door. He resumed his seat on the floor next to Amy, and took a long swig of his beer.
"Where's Jack?" Dianne sounded disappointed.
