I wonder if they know I can hear them. The people living in the other bedrooms of my house are college students too, but I never hear any of them having sex. Then again, the frat boys probably don’t even care. They’re probably proud of the debauchery that goes on over there.
I pull my pillow over my ears but it doesn’t help. How long can these people go at it? This has been happening since I moved in, so I know from experience these noises are going to drive me nuts all night. These men have crazy stamina, I guess in part because they’re young, virile, and healthy. Then again, I wouldn’t know because I haven’t been with even one guy in my entire life. God, I’m going to die alone, tormented in my spinster’s bed.
Then I bolt upright in a rage. What the hell! I’m half tempted to go over there and give them a piece of my mind. But then, I slump back down again. Who am I kidding? I don’t have the courage. I’m just a coward.
I squeeze my eyes shut to try and sleep but all I can picture are the bodies to go along with the moans I’m hearing. Hard, naked bodies, filled with testosterone. Bronzed skin, with six pack abs and enormous tools between those muscular thighs. I squirm in my bed. Oh my god, this is so wrong!
But I’ve seen the guys from Delta Tau Tau, and what I envision in my head is true. The frat is known for its athletic and good-looking members. I don’t think they can legally have an attractiveness requirement during recruiting, but somehow, they ended up with all the tall, hot men at Remington College.
Then again, I’ve never spoken to a single guy in DTT. Well, aside from the casual “hi” in passing if we see each other on the sidewalk. If I tried to say anything more, I just know it’d come out as gibberish because I’ve never been good at talking to hot guys. I always end up sweaty and red-faced, with my armpits feeling damp.
A tall figure forms in my mind. There’s this guy in the frat, Mike, who I’ve seen a couple times. He’s got to be about six foot four and his hair is black and swept off his forehead. His piercing blue eyes stop me in my tracks every time I see him, and he’s got the most amazing body. I wonder if he’s a varsity athlete. It would explain the sports bag I see him carrying sometimes.
Then, there’s another DTT brother, Brent. Last winter, I saw him outside chopping wood and I thought I was going to die. I get it: this is Vermont, so people actually chop wood, but still, Brent looked like a Viking come to life. It helps that Brent also has a fantastic six-pack that I’ve been lucky enough to see a few times. The DTT guys love to walk around half-naked with gym shorts hanging about their hips. Not that I’m complaining. My only substitutes are the male models on the covers of my romance novels, so seeing these guys in 3-D is a treat.
A few of the DTT guys I’ve seen float around before my eyes as I lie in my mattress. They’re tall and muscular, with charming smiles and knowing gleams in their eyes. Sighing a bit, my hand dips into the front of my pajama shorts. I’m soaking wet, and my slit is puffy already. The men’s images, coupled with the sounds coming from next door, are enough for me to begin stroking my clit.
I start off gentle, teasing myself. This is one of my favorite things to do. I like to imagine a guy kissing me and grinning slowly as he trails his thumb over my nub.
Tonight, it’s Mike whose massive bulk is between my thighs. I easily imagine his hands in place of mine. I bet they’re rough and calloused, not to mention big. He’d feel so good entering me with one finger, stretching me out and preparing me for his cock.
I moan gently, my eyes falling shut, as I slide into myself. It’s nowhere near as good as it would be with Mike, but it’s good enough for now. I bite my lip and moan out Mike’s name as I plunge my fingers deep in my pussy with a wet sucking sound.
“Fuck, that feels good, Mike,” I whisper. I can’t be too loud or someone in my house might hear. I’d never live it down if someone overheard me masturbating because the people in this house are very square and very ordinary.
My eyes close again and my back arches as I reach deep.
“Oooh,” I breathe, tingles going through my pussy. “Mmmm.”
I stroke my clit with my thumb as I penetrate myself with more fingers. The pleasure builds and builds but I can’t quite bring myself over the edge. I try again, reaching deeper while spreading my legs. My thumb is rapidly strumming my clit now, and I’m so close, and yet I can’t get there. My body strains again, praying for climax, but it just won’t come. I collapse, sweaty and flushed on the mattress, unhappy and desperately frustrated.
This happens sometimes. No matter how turned on I am, I can’t make myself finish.
I try touching my nipples as I work on my pussy, thinking furiously of the men next door. If anything, the sex sounds outside my window crescendo, and I can hear a man groaning with exertion. But nothing helps. My body can’t get over the edge I so desperately want to reach.
I snatch my hands from my shorts and huff. I’m so
