Two Janes at College

Two Janes at College

Two Hoosier freshman coeds look for love & find sex

Warnings:

There is non-consensual sex, group sex, anal sex, compromising pictures, and betrayal in this story.

**

Freshman year we were assigned roommates, and everyone lived in the dorms. I was lucky, and got a double. Triples were crowded and it doubled the chances you'd be paired with someone hard to take. I got to the room first, and grabbed the bed that I felt was better positioned. Later, in the afternoon, my roommate arrived, and she was a match made in heaven for me.

Jane and I both loved all kinds of literature, and reading. I for one would read anything, from Stephenie Meyer to Toni Morrison. My favorite was detective stories, and I had read the Sherlock Homes stories several times, and all of Dashiell Hammett. I was working through the books of Jo Nesbø, even if they were a little too full of blood and gore for my taste, but boy, could that guy write! I wanted to major in Comparative Literature, and my roommate Jane H. was thinking of choosing a Business major.

Freshman year we had both pre-enrolled for the exact same classes! We had even both signed up for the class on Greek plays, because we had heard that the prof who taught it was supposed to be wonderful, making ancient Greek plays come alive with relevance for people today, like us. Not bad, for a school in Indiana, right?

We were both blonde, both with blue eyes, and both around the same height and weight. We wore our hair the same way, and ended up rather quickly sharing clothes. We were also both named Jane. Not only that, I was Jane Simmons and she was Jane Higgins. If someone spoke one of our names a bit indistinctly, or if the other person was even a little hard of hearing, or if an ambulance blared nearby, or if the room was noisy with music or other conversations, well, it was hard to tell us apart, as we quickly discovered. We became fast friends, and were often seen together on campus, to the point where our friends began to call us Jane Squared.

There were differences, of course. For example, Jane Higgins has a large bust (a 34D), and I have a small one (a 34B). If they gave pluses and minuses, Jane might have been a 34D+ and I might have been a 34B-. Anyway, we felt that was a significant enough difference to avoid confusion between the two Janes, and by and large, we were right. It didn't hurt that Jane H. tended to flaunt her bust, either.

Guys would see one of us, check out our boobs, and know which Jane we were. It was a bit gross, but Jane H. liked it. Well, she would, with her D cup boobs. I just found it sexist and humiliating. Sometimes, though, if the guy was right, I too enjoyed it.

I had one advantage. My areolas were large, and dark. Jane H. had pathetically small areolas, and they were soft pink. In addition, I could skip wearing a bra and be comfortable all day. Not so, for the big jugs mama who was my otherwise adorable roommate.

With Jane H. my new best friend, I wore push-up bras exclusively, when I wore bras, so that I had something to show. Nevertheless, I could play my smaller boobs to advantage. I could, with my smaller boobs, go without a bra on rare occasions, and Jane H. really could not. Her bust was just too big, since when braless she looked a bit obscene. I could even wear blouses and tight tops where my nipples would poke prominently. As the weather got colder, my nipples would get hard when I was outside, and then I really looked hot.

We hit it off right away, Jane H. and me, taking the introductory tour of the campus together, and joining a small group of guys and flirting outrageously, before heading back to our room, to change before dinner. We went through the cafeteria line together, and two good looking guys joined us at our table. Since the sun rises in the East, they both hit on us. Neither Jane nor myself were ready for something like that, on our very first day. We were polite, but left the guys behind, after exchanging numbers.

"Did you give the guys your real number?" Jane asked me as we walked back to the dorm.

"Yes. Did you?" I replied.

"Yeah. Possibly a bit foolish, but Brad was a bit of a hunk, don't you think?" she said.

"He's all yours, Jane. I'm waiting to see who's in my classes. Besides, I still have Steve, my boyfriend from high school," I said.

"Oh! Is he here?" Jane asked.

"No, he went to some Ivy League college back east," I said.

"A Brainiac?" she asked.

"More like a legacy. He's the fourth generation to go to that school, and his family is loaded, so he doesn't need brains," I explained. "He has some, nevertheless," I quickly added.

"How long do you think it will be before you cheat on him?" Jane asked.

"Is it cheating if he gave me permission?" I asked.

"No.... that's called an unconscious desire to break up the relationship, while still having you deluded enough to fuck his brains out whenever you're together," Jane said.

That casual yet profound remark got me thinking. Finally, I replied, "Yeah, I suppose you're right. Steve and I probably don't have much time left. Once he finds some Ivy League slut who is better than I am in bed, I'm sure I'll be toast," I said, and seeing Jane's face, I added, "Not that I don't plan to hone my bedroom schools while I'm here. College is all about learning, after all, right?"

"I couldn't agree more," Jane said. "But remember there's also the old adage: A bush in your bed is worth two birds far away."

"It could be updated to: A bush in your bed is worth two birds back home in Indiana," I guess, and I made a gesture to indicate the two birds were us two. Jane H. giggled.

I sighed. I really liked Steve. I gave him my love, my body, and my thoughts. I was hoping his heart would be more powerful than his cock, when it came to choosing a girlfriend, but I knew Steve was the kind of guy who would want a girl in his bed every night, and I tried, but I didn't get admitted to his Ivy League bastion of the smart, rich, and powerful, alas. I had tried. I had tried hard, and love makes one do silly things, but I knew I was never going to get in. Being good in bed was not one of the criteria colleges used for admission. So here I was at IU (Indiana University), and Steve was back East.

**

As the semester wore on, Jane had significantly more hookups than I did, especially since I only had two and a half hookups. (A half hookup is when not too much sexual happens: he got a handjob and he played with my boobs. I got nothing. Nada, other than the "thrill" of having the guy squirt on my boobs, which I then had to clean up myself. I didn't date him again, even though he tried hard to convince me to.) The two real hookups, though, were nice. I didn't climax with Bruce, but his cock felt nice inside me. He climaxed. Oh yeah; he climaxed big time. I always feel good, somehow like a success, when a guy climaxes like that.

We did enjoy recounting our brief affairs to each other after we were in our respective beds, in full detail, and a lot of giggling transpired. Jane was casual about sex the way I wanted to be, but never, ever, could be. Jane finally found a boyfriend who was a keeper, however, even if she called him Mr. Magoo.

"He can't see worth shit without his glasses, but he won't admit it, and he doesn't wear them enough. Vanity, you know. He also has a Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde aspect to his personality," my roommate Jane Higgins said.

"Go on," I said. I just had to see where this was going.

"Well, he's well-endowed so he doesn't have to do much other than the old in and out, in and out, in and out, to drive me to a climax," she explained. Jane and I were obsessed with having orgasms. Nice sex without a climax just didn't cut it, for us. We knew other girls who had more of an easy-going attitude, and everyone seemed to be faking climaxes all over the place to keep their men happy, but not us. For the two of us, it had to be real. No faking allowed in Dorm Room 3G, which was our room.

So far, I was climax free, but the year was still young. Hope springs eternal, as they say. My sights were set on Eric Keyes, but so far, nothing had happened. I began to go without bras on the days I had classes with Eric. I'd tried to sit where he could see me, too.

"However, he does much more, a hell of a lot more, than just the old in and out. He is a tender, considerate, fabulous lover. When he's Dr. Jekyll, that is," Jane H. said, rambling on about her new discovery, Mr. Magoo.

"Tell me," I said. "Spare no detail." Jane did indeed tell me, in great detail in fact, and over the next hour she recounted all his little tricks to drive her insane with lust, and then how he went about satisfying her lust, effectively, and thoroughly. Really, quite thoroughly.

"He sounds too good to be true," I said.

"He almost is, but then there's the Mr. Hyde aspect, let's not forget," she said.

"When the moon is full?" I giggled.

"I wish it were only that. No, it's when he gets drunk, and he gets drunk every Friday night. When he's drunk he becomes an animal, only wanting to fuck me to get his rocks off, and in fact, he's quite brutal. I have the bruises to prove it, and Jane lifted her nightgown, pulled down her panties (yes, she wore panties under her nightgown; go figure. I surely didn't, myself), and showed me her bruised vagina. It looked as if she had been raped, or something.

"You don't like rough sex?" I asked.

"Of course, I don't! Why would you even ask?" When I remained silent, she said, "Oh. I didn't know."

"I don't know if I'd like rough sex. I've never had it. However, it's my number one fantasy when I'm lonely," I confessed. "You know, having a man take me without regard to what I want. In my fantasy, he ties me up so that I'm hopeless," and Jane H. giggled. "I mean so that I'm helpless, and then he fucks me brutally."

"Nice Freudian slip, Jane. Anal, too?" she asked.

"In my fantasy, yes, of course, but with lube; I'm not that much of a masochist. In real life, I've never done anal. Have you?" I asked.

"Not before Mr. Hyde entered my life. Mr. Hyde is an ass-fucking aficionado. The animal he becomes is beyond brutal," Jane said. "Want to see my poor, unfortunate ass?"

"I'll take your word for it, Jane," I said. She nodded. She didn't blame me. Seeing a horribly bruised vagina is one thing, but a bruised ass? No thanks.

"In that case, Mr. Hyde is for you. Sadly, though, you can't have him, because I'm not giving up Dr. Jekyll," Jane said. "Between us, let's just call him Mr. Magoo."

"What does his mother call him?" I asked, wondering what his name actually was.

"Oh no, you don't, Jane Simmons. I found him, and finders-keepers. He's Magoo to you," Jane Higgins said. "Besides, he told me his Mom calls him "Batty," because he's as blind as a bat without his coke-bottle-bottom glasses, which he hates to wear." I was surprised Jane was so paranoid that she thought I'd steal Mr. Magoo from her.

Okay, as Example A, I did succeed to steal Bruce Tankersley from her, but in my defense, she had told me she was finished with Bruce. How was I to know she was only saying that? Anyway, Bruce was no prize. I mean, I liked him well enough, but he was never going to give me a climax. I know that sounds superficial, like I'm only into men for my own sexual gratification, and not for the thrill of a nice relationship, and all, but Bruce was also not relationship material. Bottom line? Bruce had nothing to offer, other than good looks. At least, we parted as friends.

"How did you ever find, and decide, to hook up with, Mr. Magoo?" I asked.

"I lost a bet with Sally, and the penalty was I had to go out on a date with a guy she chose, and she chose Mr. Magoo since he looked like a nerd on steroids, mostly because of his glasses. He took off his glasses for the date, however, and it turns out once you get beyond his glasses, he's kind of ripped, and good looking. I kept him from bumping into the furniture, and he liked me for that. Then, to be polite, I let him kiss me goodnight at our door, and he kissed me so well, I didn't want him to stop, so I invited him in. He got hard during our kissing, and I was so charmed I let him take my top and my bra off, and when my thigh would "accidentally" touch his cock, well, I could tell he was big, and I wanted to see it, and you know how one thing leads to another, and..." Jane explained.

"It usually does with you, my dear," I said, hopelessly jealous. Why couldn't I be a slut like my roommate? "Where was I during all this?"

"Oh, I think you were sucking off Eric in the library, or some such thing," she said. I knew Jane was annoyed by my tease about how easy she is, but she let it slide. Not that I'm much better, as that time with Eric in the library illustrated perfectly.

"Right," I replied, remembering that shameful but erotic evening. I had neglected to tell Jane I had let Eric fuck me for the first time, too, in one of the soundproofed study rooms in the library. Eric gave me an orgasm, and he still does, every single, wonderful time. The library is fairly empty on Friday nights, but I got off a bit on the risk of being caught. (There's a large window in the door to the sound proofed rooms.)

The upshot was, for me at least, that Eric was much better than Bruce, and in fact, I was still seeing him. I had already received the "Dear Jane" letter from my now ex-boyfriend Steve, who was all gaga over some heiress named Stephanie. The word on Stephanie was that she loved taking it up her ass. Once Steve was gone, lost to the ass-fucking heiress, I considered Eric to be my consolation prize.

How do I know about Steve and Stephanie and their good times enjoying anal sex? I have a spy at Steve's fancy-schmancy Ivy League College. Clever me, right? Not so much, in fact.

**

I had to take an airplane to go to visit Steve over October Break. Steve bought the ticket for me, and he met me at the airport. He was hard on the entire drive back to his college, and even though I wanted to see the college in its full glory, he ignored that and he took me straight to his dorm room. They had a suite of rooms: a sitting room, with bedrooms off of it.

The dorm room had a hardwood floor, a stone and masonry (working!) fireplace, leaded glass windows, and a hand-carved door tilling of a scene with a naked nymph over the threshold. It would be small wonder if Steve thought he had entered the ruling class with a dorm room like that.

The bedrooms had bunk beds. Steve's roommate Elliott, who slept in the other bedroom off the sitting room, left the two lovebirds alone and picked up a book to relax in the sitting room. Steve proceeded to undress me almost as soon as the bedroom door closed.

I went down on Steve, to get the first one out of the way, but he was too eager to fuck me, so he pulled out, lay me down, spread my legs, and he entered me. It felt so wonderfully good to have Steve inside me again, that I'm afraid I was much too noisy, and there is no doubt Elliott heard it all. I climaxed on our second fuck and like I always do; I screamed when it happened.

My orgasmic screams are not subtle. Probably half the dorm heard me scream in ecstasy, and Elliott most certainly did. It turns out that sometimes, hearing a girl scream during orgasmic sex, gets a man interested. The others in the suite of rooms were men. Steve was playing with fire, and I was just an innocent, bleating lamb, being prepared for slaughter. Live and learn, right?

It took two more fucks before I had drained Steve dry, and then a very pleased Steve, feeling all macho, and a horribly embarrassed me, got dressed and faced the music. I met Elliott and his other two roommates Ashton and Slick. Slick was of course a nickname; I never learned what Slick's real name was. All three of Steve's roommates checked me out thoroughly, with Slick having no subtlety at all, and they all knew I was full to the brim with Steve's jizz, which also colored my breath, and filled my pussy to overflowing.

I quickly excused myself to go to the bathroom, locked myself in a stall, and tried to push out as much jizz as I could. I knew I'd smell of sex the rest of the evening, but that's life, isn't it? I tried to smother it with some generously applied Dyptique Eau de Parfum, and I hoped it helped.

Steve and Elliott took me out to dinner, and as I got to know Elliott Branford III, which was his full name, I came to like him. He was an honest, forthright, smart guy, and a good conversationalist. He also seemed to have a boob fetish, given how often he'd peek into my cleavage (I should not have worn my push-up bra!), but I decided that I didn't mind. Guys are like that. Too bad he's not meeting my roomie, the other Jane!

The next day, after an exhausting but very satisfying night spent sharing Steve's twin bed, he and Elliott and I went to breakfast, and then Steve dropped the bomb. He had classes in the morning, and a chem lab the bloody entire afternoon. Translated: 'You're on your own, Jane. Sorry. Gotta keep the grades up, you know.'

I was skipping classes, having flown out there to be with Steve, and all he did was say, "Have fun! I'll see you at dinner," and he ran off, leaving me sitting like a dork in the cafeteria, in the company of his roommate, Elliott Branford The Third.

"Are you okay, Jane? You look upset," Elliott said, with a certain sweetness in his tone of voice.

"Yeah, I'm okay. I can't blame Steve for wanting to keep his grades up. That's why we're in college, after all. I had just been looking forward to some quality time with Steve, is all," I said, but Elliott could plainly see I was upset, and holding back the tears.

"Let's go for a walk. I'll show you the campus," Elliott said, and I nodded. I had dreamed of Steve romantically showing off the gorgeous campus to me. Its buildings looked as if they dated from 14th century England, due to their Gothic architecture, but they did not, of course, being built with imported, highly skilled European craftsmen, during the Great Depression. During the depression the rich remained rich, and became even richer, while everyone else was at risk of starvation. It was easy to get the European artisans to work for a pittance.

Steve wasn't showing me anything, however. Elliott was. A breeze picked up, and tousled my hair, and my sleeveless blouse and short skirt were not the best things to wear, as the wind-chill took its toll. It had suddenly become chilly, and I began to shiver. Elliott noticed, apparently, and he put his arm around me, and as he squished my pliable form, I melted into the romance of his arms. When we got to a small grove of trees and a little babbling brook, the romance of the spot was extreme, and Elliott took me in his arms, facing him.

Elliott looked at me, and I looked at him, and we both knew what the other was thinking. As he leaned down to kiss me, I turned my head. "You're Steve's best friend here, and I'm his girl. It's just not right," I said.

"I know. Nevertheless..." Elliott said, and he tried again. He got my cheek as I again turned away from his attempt to kiss. I was slower with my head the second time. Instead, he gave me a lingering kiss on my cheek which morphed into a sexy kiss of my neck.

"Steve told me you two have an agreement that you can see other people," Elliott said.

"Steve just wants to play around without guilt," I replied.

"So, you've been faithful?"

"No, not exactly," I said. "There's been a couple of guys, you know how it is when you're eighteen and horny and Steve is far away, enjoying the sluts of the Ivy League," I said, not succeeding to hide my bitterness.

"I'd love to kiss you, Jane. You're gorgeous, sweet, and the type of woman I want in my life. Just one kiss? Please?" Elliott said.

"If you were back at my school in Indiana, I'd kiss you in a heartbeat; but you're not, you're here, and you're even Steve's friend and roommate. The level of betrayal is just too high. I'm sorry, Elliott. I really am, more than I can say," I said. I meant it, too. Just then, I was hopelessly attracted to Elliott.