Message-ID: <27611asstr$975323402@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: X-Original-Path: not-for-mail From: "omnivore" X-MimeOLE: Produced By Microsoft MimeOLE V4.72.3110.3 X-Original-Message-ID: NNTP-Posting-Date: Mon, 27 Nov 2000 04:16:53 GMT Subject: {ASSM} Shower Club, Chapter 1: Bathroom Friends (f f mast voy) Date: Mon, 27 Nov 2000 06:10:03 -0500 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: dennyw, gill-bates Shower Club, Chapter 1: Bathroom Friends (f f mast voy) by omnivore Disclaimer: Of course we need to start off with the usual **LEGAL** stuff about this being adult material. Leave now if you are too young to read sexually explicit stuff, 18 in most jurisdictions, some require you to be 21. Obviously these stories will be about sex, and by the end of it guys and girls will have been put together in just about every conceivable combination, so if you are an adult and find this sort of thing offensive, don't read it, go elsewhere. Permission is hereby granted to reproduce, archive, and disseminate this story by any means, as long as the following conditions are met: 1) The entire text of the story is reproduced, archived, or disseminated, including this disclaimer and the author's name. 2) The story is not reproduced, archived, or disseminated as part of any commercial product or collection that is distributed for financial gain. This exclusion applies specifically to, but is not limited to, archives that require an Adult Check ID number for access to this file. It also excludes any archive that accepts advertising on any web page visible to a person attempting to access this file. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Shower Club, Chapter 1: Bathroom Friends (f f mast voy) --------------------------------------------------------------------------- I wish I could say that I met Tyler Renfro as a single-serving friend on a plane, like in the movie, or on a nude beach, like in the book, but the fact of the matter is that I met her in the bathroom. Not nearly as cool, I know, but then again if it had been anywhere else the whole thing might have gone differently. I mean, what's the name of this whole thing, anyway, not to mention the name of this chapter? Let me get the Penthouse Forum prelude out the way, before we go any further. Ahem . . . I'm a sophomore at a prestigious east coast university, and wasn't very sexually experienced when I got to college, and I definitely never thought anything like this would ever happen to me. I turned 19 at some unspecified point during this story (no point giving you TOO many clues), and I'd describe myself as good looking, but far from gorgeous. Dark brown hair, shoulder length, hazel eyes (contact lenses), flat stomach, belly ring (everyone at my high school did it, what I can say?), 5' 4", 34B chest with average-sized light brown nipples, pubic hair trimmed but only moderately, decent butt (nothing to brag about), clear skin, nose maybe a little too big, no visible tattoos or scars, hymen no longer intact (probably from tampons, initially, but my last three boyfriends' dicks probably didn't do it any good, either), non-disgusting feet (despite freakish "second-toe-longer-than-big-toe" mutation), short fingernails (only occasionally chewed), cute smile (everyone says it, even if I don't really see it), and one mole perched on my right hip, just at the point where you can push through and feel the point of your pelvic bone. Got that image into your head yet? Step right up close and take a real good look, `cause you're not getting descriptions this clinical for anyone else in the story. I want to keep people anonymous, but I don't want to put anyone in disguise, so I'll just have to be moderate, and maintain deniability. I had lost my virginity at the age of 17, and slept with my last three "serious" boyfriends, but it was pretty vanilla sex, and fun but not terribly exciting. Oh, and since I know you'll ask, no I hadn't ever done it before. And I'd never even given it that much of a second thought, although I had wondered what it was that got guys so inevitably hot about it. I mean, how many Skinemax movies have BOYS having sex together in them, anyway? Tyler definitely had an opinion about that, believe me. So now picture that wavy line effect on the screen, or maybe Superman spinning the world backwards in order to save Lois Lane, and follow me back to one fateful day in late February . . . when I was first really introduced to Tyler Renfro. ------------------------------------------------ It was a Tuesday night. For some reason I remember that clearly. Working on some stupid paper had kept me up past 3, and I headed for the shower through completely abandoned, silent hallways. One of the disadvantages of the majestic gothic dorms we live in is that sometimes there isn't a girls' bathroom on your floor, and I was one of the unlucky ones, but I didn't mind walking the halls in my robe, or even occasionally in a towel, when it was this quiet. In the mornings it feels like a train station, sometimes, and every guy seems to be trying to peek in your robe, or use his puny mind ray to make your towel fall, which is why I usually showered at night. When I got to the bathroom, it was equally deserted, and after taking a quick pee, I headed for the last shower stall. Some idiot friend of mine once sent me this little, marginally funny .exe file about "How to Choose the Correct Urinal," and I'd say that shower etiquette in a 5-shower college bathroom is about the same. The first one in always takes the far end stall, The next one takes the stall at the near end. The third takes the one dead in the middle, of course, and the next two in are left to pick one of the remaining "surrounded" spots, or if they're really uptight they might even wait a really long time before they finish their "pre-shower preparations." I didn't really care one way or the other, but I knew enough to follow the rules, even if there didn't seem to be anyone else awake in the entire entryway. The steaming hot water was exactly what I needed to drive away all thoughts of gender-related themes in classic fiction or social stratification or the history of Arab rule in Spain or whatever the hell it was I was writing about that evening. I washed my hair, and then just sort of soaked for a while, or as close as you can get in a bathtub-less world, anyway, leaning against the wall and letting the water just pour over me. I slowly tried to let every muscle in my body relax, from my toes up to my head, turning my face up to let the water rush past me. One of the advantages of the number-keyed locks on the bathroom doors is that they make a lot of noise, and the design of the bathroom makes it really easy to hear someone coming long before they could . . . well, catch you at anything. You know what I mean. I had avoided boys completely since arriving at school (a combination of lingering feelings for my summer boyfriend, annoyance at my desperate, idiot classmates, and disdain for the cocky upperclassmen who thought they had it made with the chicks just because they could get them into parties) and had taken advantage of the shower room's basic "safety" more than a few times. After all, how am I supposed to play with myself with my roommate in the room, thank you very much? On the Tuesday in question, I really felt like I deserved a good orgasm, having worked my ass off for the last three nights in a row. My roommate, generally a pretty tolerable person, had really been getting on my nerves, and if she hadn't been sleeping over in her boyfriend's single room two out of every three nights since Orientation Week, we would probably have been at each other's throats. I'd been rejected from the singing groups I'd tried out for, even though I knew I'd been a lot better than when I'd done it first semester, and had made two separate callbacks. Poor, poor pitiful me. But a good wank could solve all of that (the word "wank" is one of the greatest gifts the English have given the world, by the way), or at least make it MUCH less important for a moment. Just to be sure I was alone, I shut off all the water and just stood there for a second, listening. Nothing. I turned the water back on, got it to that perfect, hot but not too hot temperature, and started by massaging my small, firm breasts, gently tweaking and rubbing the nipples. While my left hand kept playing with my nipples, I reached down between my legs with my right hand, and lightly touched my clit. There was no time for extensive foreplay in a "shower massage," as I liked to think of them. I leaned back against the tile wall of the show, re-adjusted the shower head so that it was back on me, and started rubbing with intensity and vigor. Occasionally I'd slip a finger or two up inside me, but the big pop is really from going straight for the center of things, and I focused all of my attention on that little nubbin. Eventually I was leaned against the back of the shower, head down, both hands working furiously, doing intricate little dances of fingers and thumbs and musical patterns and combinations, breathing faster and faster and faster, eyes tightly closed, and still with ears straining for the slightest sound of someone coming through the door. I was on the top of the roller coaster hill, just waiting for that final click when the screaming starts, when for some reason, maybe a subtle shift in the light against my closed eyelids, I looked up. And I saw her. There was a girl looking at me through the gap between the shower curtain and the shower wall, and she was looking me right in the eye, not embarrassed at all, but my fingers couldn't stop, and suddenly the click came, and it was a hill, a loop and a corkscrew, followed by a few more hills, with everyone in every car screaming the entire way, with fireworks exploding in the beautiful dark blue sky and a brass band waiting on the platform. Here I was, eye to eye with a person I hardly knew, and I was having the orgasm of my life, and as I was slowly shuddering to a stop, she just stared at me, and she smiled. And then she walked away. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. What the fuck?! All I could do was lean up against the wall, catching my breath, totally stunned, my mind racing furiously, but incoherently. I heard her enter the shower stall immediately to my left. Next to mine. A blatant violation of the rules. I heard the shower start, and wondered what I should think about what had ju st happened. Should I say something to her? Would she keep it a secret? I may not have known her, but I knew who she was. Her name was Tyler Renfro and her dad was some kind of millionaire, but that was true of so many of my spoiled classmates that it didn't seem remarkable at the time.. What was remarkable was her face . . .. oh, and her figure . . . and, oh right, her incredible, naturally red hair. In fact, she was fairly universally acknowledged to be the most beautiful girl in our college, and those in the know said she was in the top five, campus-wide. Her breasts were large, her skin was white and perfect, her eyes were a green so brilliant they looked like they glowed. And she had seen me masturbating. Some columnist recently wrote a piece in our campus paper describing different "classes" of friend, and the only one I thought had any real validity was the "bathroom friend." A bathroom friend is someone that you know enough to make chit chat with in front of the mirrors in the bathroom, but anywhere else on campus you'll just acknowledge with a wave or a raised eyebrow and a nod. For a good portion of the year, you may not even know their name. As far as I was concerned, Tyler was definitely a bathroom friend, but beyond a few five-minute discussions of parties and classes and politics, I didn't think I'd ever really talked to her. She definitely hung out with a different crowd than I did outside those tiled walls. I was still a little frazzled, both from the orgasm and the surprise, and no matter how much I tossed it around in my mind, I couldn't decide if she was the type to talk or not. After a few minutes of dithering, I came to the conclusion that there was really nothing I could do about it, and that if I was lucky she'd be just as embarrassed about watching me as I was about being watched. If that was the case, she'd never even acknowledge that it had happened. I crossed my fingers and repeated it to myself silently: She won't tell. She won't tell. She won't tell. I quickly finished my shower, wrapped myself in my towel, grabbed up my stuff, and got set to hustle out of the bathroom before there could be any kind of confrontation in front the mirrors, or something. But as soon as I stepped out past the curtain from my stall, I heard something. It was a low, growling, quiet moan, and it had clearly come from the stall Tyler was in. I started to walk past, and the curtain was half open, so how could I help seeing her there. Totally naked, one hand busy between her legs and the other stretched behind her, apparently playing with her asshole. Her breasts, which I'd never seen before, were incredible: large but still totally firm, with big, light pink nipples that were clearly erect. She was easily as "in the moment" as I had been a few minutes before, just inches from the peak, but there was one crucial difference. She was looking right at me. Staring. Smiling, even as her legs started twitching and her breath started her catch. Her eyes were locked directly on mine, and suddenly a lot of new definitions for the term "bathroom friend" started racing through my head. After about ten seconds, I ran. -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderator: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Archive: Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository | |, an entity supported entirely by donations. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+