The tale I'm about to relate to you is true. Of the many people involved, several are certain to object to much of the story, so I've changed the names of the principal characters and the dates and locations of the events described. Given that it actually happened pretty much as I'm going to tell it, you can assume anytime between 1970 and 2010, whatever appeals to you when you read it through your own filters and experiences.
It was early in the fall semester at the U when the group formed. I was a sophomore liberal arts student looking for a major that I liked and could manage to master well enough to graduate. The other members of the group were: Abbe, a dark haired, busty female with glasses and a fantastic mind to go with her fantastic breasts; Becca, a calm redhead with a great body and imagination; Carole, everybody's idea of the girl next door with a quick, if sometimes, caustic, sense of humor; Darlene, thin, small but not tiny chested, with a cute flat ass and sometimes slow to laugh at Carole's comments and who everyone calls Lena; Emily, a quiet, tall pigtailed blonde with blue eyes, long legs and a good head on her shoulders who goes by Em; Angus, a Scotsman without an accent, with a square body and sturdy legs known locally as Gus; Jorge, a short, wiry fellow, stronger than he looks, with deep brown eyes that draw in the women; and me, Frank, an average American male with short hair, sturdy body and an off color approach to life.
All eight of us were twenty years old when we met, having been born in the same year. We were all Liberal Arts majors having made the freshman cut. I was happier than most at becoming a sophomore since I had probably used the least effort to get there. None of us fit the usual categories of university students. We weren't drawn to the fraternities and sororities on campus. We weren't athletic and we didn't fit in with the business majors or the science and computer geeks either. We just lived in the dorms, hung out in the student union, ate in the dining hall, studied in the library and lived our lives without complications.
We were, however, a very ecumenical group. Abbe was Jewish and Becca a free spirit. Carole's skin was as dark as Emily's was light. Darlene was a lapsed Catholic; Angus a devout Anglican and Jorge, a Hispanic, dedicated Catholic. I'd have to classify myself as an all-American WASP.
Becca and I had met in freshman year and were already having frequent sex together. We met for lunch at the same table in the student union most days and dined together every night, also at the same table, frequently leaving the dining hall together to exchange bodily fluids until lights out.
Almost immediately after Becca and I consummated our return to university life after the summer break, Emily joined us at lunch one day. Em knew Becca from a shared English Literature class that morning and sat with us when she noticed Becca. Three weeks later there were eight of us at the large round table in the student union for lunch. I don't know if more students would have joined us but there were only eight chairs.
We were all independent minded and may have been drawn to each other because we shared that experience of university life. Whatever it was, it brought us together and we developed an affection and intimacy between us. Our tables in the student union and the dining hall were always vacant when we arrived, almost as if the rest of the student body recognized our unique group and deferred to us. Carole labeled the group the Eight-Twenties, based on our number and age.
By mid semester, it was an open secret between us that a considerable amount of sex was occurring. Becca and I probably led the way but the others quickly and enthusiastically embraced the concept. The guys freely admitted they had sex with all five women and the women confirmed that fact and a few additional connections between themselves. Abbe described our group as 'friends with benefits' and no one disagreed. Carole quickly changed our name to The Eight-Twenties Beneficial Association and Emily shortened it to 8BA.
One Saturday afternoon in late October, Becca and I were lounging as best we could in my dorm bed after a prolonged and sensual ninety minutes of random sex. Saturday afternoons were special to us since my roommate usually drove the short distance home to visit his parents, do his wash and improve his diet. That Saturday afternoon was no different, except for the conversation Becca and I had after sex.
"Frank," opened Becca. "That was especially nice."
"I agree," I agreed. "It's always special with you but that was better than most."
"I think you could sell it," Becca suggested.
"Sell what?" I asked naively.
"Sex with you," she replied.
"You're kidding, right?"
"I know it sounds like I might be but I'm serious. You could be worth a lot of money," she elaborated.
Becca was a marketing major and she was always thinking of how to sell everything from used textbooks to good ideas. She was already thinking how to sell her latest good idea, me.
"Give it up," I said. "Nobody around here will pay anything for sex with me or anyone else when there is so much free sex available all the time."
"True. We'd have to pick our market carefully. The student body is clearly not an exploitable market. They have neither the incentive nor the money. However, I think there have to be hundreds of older women, married and otherwise, who would pay to have a night with a stud like you."
"I appreciate the complement, but older married women?"
"Sure. I don't think the length of a marriage improves either the duration or the quality of sex. Otherwise, there wouldn't be so many cougars out there on the internet looking for sex."
"You've looked?" I asked.
"I have. I had the idea several weeks ago and I did some research. I'm sorry I didn't mention it to you sooner."
"Even so, there has to be a similar number of men looking to hook up," I offered.
"That's the thing. There doesn't appear to be and most of those are voyeurs, freaks or losers. I think, with the right message, some of those women would be willing to pay for a romp with a guaranteed result. In fact, you'd make someone an incredible Christmas present."
"I think you're nuts."
"I'll make you a deal. I'll market you anonymously and, if I'm successful, you get laid and I get a percentage."
"You're crazy but I don't think I can stop you, can I?"
"Probably not. If I do it without your permission, I'll have to sell it to you after I find a client. This way we're working together and I think it will be fun."
"If we do this, I'm not the only merchandise for sale," I stated.
"Me?" asked Becca.
"You. If I'm for sale, so are you."
"Deal but I get final say if you're successful and the price is a major factor," agreed Becca.
"I get final say as well but my compensation might be flexible based on the general condition of the cougar."
Becca laughed and punched me in the arm before planting her mouth around my cock in preparation for the next half hour.
I didn't do anything to market Becca. I thought it was a stupid idea without much chance of success or reasonable income. I did look at the cougar market on the internet and concluded that most of the women in the ads had to be shills or completely made up to induce men to sign up and serviced few actual clients. I'd almost forgotten about the arrangement until the week before winter break. Becca caught up with me in the library three days before we were to go home for the holidays.
"Frank," she whispered. "What are your plans for the holidays?"
"Not much. Just time at home with the family," I replied.
"Do you think you could visit me after Christmas?" she asked.
"I could if you think it's all right. I don't want to interfere with your family's plans."
"It wouldn't be a problem and I think I have a live one."
"Live one?" I asked.
"You know. Our deal," she clarified.
"You found someone willing to pay to have sex with me?" I asked incredulously.
"I think I have. I just need to confirm the arrangements."
"And you want me to visit you as part of the arrangements?"
"I do. Please come. You have nothing to lose. I'll make it worth your while and you have the possibility of getting laid by a sexy older woman who would appreciate your skill and stamina and come home with some bucks in your pocket," Becca begged.
"Okay," I conceded, "but the deal's not final until I see the client."
"Thanks. I love you," said Becca as she kissed me and left the library in a hurry.
Waiting until the end of the week was torture. It was worse after I got home. Christmas was in a few days and then I was off to visit Becca's family and meet the client. I admit I was nervous. I imagined everything that could go wrong. The client might be unattractive or she might be married with an easily angered husband. The last thing I needed was a run in with an alcoholic husband with a temper and a gun. I wondered what my face might look like after meeting him unexpectedly while bedding his wife.
How about if she rejects me? How would I feel about that? What if I couldn't perform? I've never had the problem but there's always a first time. What if I performed and disappointed her? How embarrassed would I feel and how angry might the client be? What if I hurt her in some way or she hurt me and, finally, what if she got pregnant? That would certainly cause an uproar.
All these thoughts swirled through my head as I drove the 187 miles to Becca's parent's house. I arrived just after noon, left my overnight bag in the car and walked up to the front door. Hesitantly, I pressed the doorbell. I stood waiting, unsure of what would greet me when the door opened. Becca opened the door and I felt the first wave of relief since I left home.
Becca greeted me with a full body hug and a kiss on the lips. I cautioned her when she finished. "What about your parents?" I asked.
"They're cool," she said. "I've told them we have a relationship."
"What?" I responded.
"Not all of it, silly. Just that we're good friends, not about the benefits."
Becca took my hand and led me into the living room where her parents waited. Her father, Bill, shook my hand and welcomed me to his home. "Becca speaks highly of you," he told me. "Let me get you a beer," he added as he left the room.
Becca's mom, Claire, almost stopped my heart. Becca was beautiful and her mother was all of that with a smile and grace that took my breath away. She held my hand gently and greeted me with a little kiss on my cheek. It was enough to set off a series of events that would have caused me embarrassment except that I sat down on the sofa and adjusted myself in the process.
Becca sat next to me across from her mother. Bill returned with a beer for me, something fruity for Becca and water for Claire. I couldn't stop staring. Claire sat, almost regally with her back straight and her chest pushed forward. She wore a deep-scooped boat neck blue shirt with an unbuttoned white cardigan sweater hanging over and curved around her breasts. I could see the beginning of the cleavage between her breasts. From where I sat, her breasts were larger than Becca's double handful breasts and her nipples extended far enough to raise her shirt and catch the sides of her sweater. She complemented everything with a white pencil skirt and three-inch black heels.
Claire's skirt was short, several inches above the knees as she sat. She kept her legs together most of the time but occasionally shifted position and separated enough to tease my imagination. I let Becca and her parents lead the conversation until I could talk again.
Over the next half hour, we talked about how Becca and I met, what classes we had in school and how well we were doing. I learned that Bill and Claire were married for twenty-four years and was reminded that Becca had a brother that had enlisted in the army following graduation from high school. All three of them were very proud of Jonathon and showed me pictures of him in uniform and on station in Germany.
