My First Time

Physical Co-education: Part 1

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Physical Co-education: Part 1
Colt Johnson’s prep school coed gym class.

Based on a post by Hector

Bidon. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.



Forward: The students in this story are

in their final semester of Rhode Heritage Preparatory School ,in Rhode Island.
The school systems in Rhode Island have a custom of waiting until a child is 7
years old, to accept them into first grade. Hence, the 12th grade
class is also a year older, and all of them are 18 years old. Copies of their
birth certificates are on file in the principal's office. Rhode Island has some
other approaches to social issues, like granting tax credits to parents whose
teenage girls are compliant with reliable birth standards. It saves the state
millions in otherwise inevitable welfare programs. Most girls opt for the
implanted hormone, but some chose the IUD. This is also said to be a reason
Rhode Island girls have bigger tits, because of the added hormone-based birth
control. Thank you, governor!

Applied Phys Ed, 4 oh 2.

The girls always took a little longer than we guys

did, to get ready, and so we always had to wait for them to come out. We'd mill
around self-consciously, in the middle of the gym. You put 20 naked guys
together anywhere, and they're going to mill around self-consciously.

Finally the 20 girls would come out, in a single

tight little group. Even clear across the gym you could see that they were
naked too; bare legs, bare feet, bare chests, bare everything. They shuffled
their way toward us, just as self-conscious as we were.

There was Gretchen Portland, who just fifteen

minutes ago in Civics class had answered a tough question about the Supreme
Court protocols, with the confidence of a National Merit semifinalist, now
embarrassed to have the whole world see that her tits and her ass were just as
perfect as her SAT scores.

There was Nancy Wilson, who sat beside me in

Calculus, blushing for all she was worth and trying to remain inconspicuous in
the middle of the pack.

There was Harriet Thompson, whom I'd known since

kindergarten, trying to pretend she didn't mind that I was looking at her
vagina.

And there were our fifteen teenage penises, fully

exposed, nowhere to hide, getting more and more self-conscious with every step
closer they took.

Senior Phys Ed.

Phys Ed had been segregated since middle school, but

in fall Senior Phys Ed, 4 oh 1; they focused on social applications, like mixed
doubles tennis, coed variants of many sports, and such We wore our gym clothes;
and so did the girls. Mr. Palmer, our phys ed teacher, had a teaching
assistant; Miss Olson. She was an athlete on the college gymnastics team, but
now in the grad school education program, getting her master’s degree. The
girls loved her enthusiasm and the guys loved her petite energetic and outgoing
spirit. In November and December, they started the social and cultural dance
units; teaching us a multitude of dances.  We got to wear our usual school
uniforms for those two months. Just before holiday break, the fine arts
department put on a choir and drama production.  Between the music and
drama, Mr. Palmer and Miss Olson put on a cultural dance exhibition, then
invited the audience to join the students in the foyer, for waltzes. The
students were instructed to dance with a class partner for the first dance,
then go into the surrounding crowd to select a new dance partner for the second
song. After 4 songs, the DJ thanked the crowd and invited them back into the
auditorium for the drama club’s presentation.

After the holiday break, we had a new semester, and

Phys ed 4 oh 2. The university sent a different teaching assistant for the
spring semester. She’s doing her internship for a masters degree in physical
education. Miss Latimer instantly became the object of every guy’s sex
fantasies. Her D cup tits and wide ass are separated by a very narrow
waistline.  The class uniform was now the swimwear approved by the school.

The guy’s swimsuits are a snug golden spandex brief,

without lining. Girls approved swim uniforms are maroon tankini sets. Again,
without liners. Miss Latimer wore the same Tankini for the aquatic units of the
semester. Her most amazing feature is her huge nipples, which become erect
whenever she experiences a change in skin temperature.

First aquatic units include lifesaving and water

safety. Miss Latimer handled much of that. We sat on the edge of the shallow
end of the pool. She got in the waist high water, inducing the goose pimples
and massive nipple erections. The guys; and some of the girls, had a hard time
remembering most of what she said. I lost count of how many times she said;
“pay attention!” In addition, she taught traditional swimming and diving skills,
After those units, she generally stayed out of the pool, but guys figured out
creative ways to induce that catalyst and observe the physiological phenomena.

 The girls occasionally got grabby with each

other during chicken fights. It was a delight to watch, because you never knew
when a tankini ‘wardrobe malfunction’ would happen. We eventually figured out
that some girls delighted in having their top ‘rearranged’ in front of the
class. Melissa Paxton was the first to get her top yanked completely off. The entire
class roared in laughter, but when Melissa got out of the pool, Tankini in
hand, she stood near the ladder and bowed to the applause, then jiggled her C
cup tits, as an encore.

Melissa set a great precedent. The other girls

seemed to take it in stride when they got exposed. Karen yanked Harriet’s
tankini and pulled it up right away, leaving her bare B cup tits wiggling for
the entirety of the match that she and Bill finally won. Karen blamed Carl for
being distracted by the titty show. Carl retorted; “You’re the one who
brilliantly thought it was a winning strategy to expose her, Karen!”

After the aquatic phase, and spring break; our final

8 weeks of Phys ed were the hygiene and reproductive units. They were conducted
in the nude.

Inspections.

Mr. Palmer blew his whistle. We formed up into two

parallel lines, using the red volleyball attack line stripes. The boys on one
line, the girls on the other attack line, facing us. Mr. Palmer had played
volleyball in college and took it for granted that everyone knew. He called the
roll, strutting up and down, in his faded gym shorts and open-mesh jersey. His
busty teaching assistant from the state university, Miss Latimer, stood to the
side.

After roll call came the inspection. Mr. Palmer

inspected the girls, and Miss Latimer inspected the boys. Miss Latimer was just
a couple years out of college herself, with a perky, athletic figure and a
jaunty blonde ponytail. She was wearing baby blue cotton shorts and a navy
sports top.

We boys were supposed to keep our cocks and our

balls clean-shaven, and our upper pelvic pubic hair trimmed to regulation
length. Miss Latimer had told us that most girls these days, herself included,
found the shaven look to be much more attractive than the unruly rats' nests
we'd had at the beginning of the semester. Needless to say, nobody wanted to be
seen as unattractive in Miss Latimer's eyes. We all took our grooming pretty
seriously.

She walked down the line, scrutinizing each of us in

turn. Most of us still couldn't make it through the inspection without getting
a boner. She just took them in stride, knowing we couldn't really help
ourselves. In fact, it made the inspection a little easier for her.

If she was satisfied with your trim; no missed

spots, no errant hairs; she'd look up and give you a friendly nod of approval.
Her eye would always have a little twinkle in it, as if to say that, just
between the two of you, she wasn't really as immune to your manliness as she
was pretending to be.

Meanwhile, Mr. Palmer was inspecting the girls. The

code for them was about the same as it was for us. They had to shave or wax
their vulvas and keep their pubic hair trim and tidy. But they also had to
shave their legs. Mr. Palmer made it a point to run his hand over each girl's
thigh, front and back. He never touched anything else, but he always felt their
thighs. For whatever reason, he always seemed more embarrassed than they did.

In fairness to Mr. Palmer, and all male teachers,

the system and culture is stacked against all male teachers. No one dreads the
‘p’ word more than male educators. But it doesn’t stop there. Mr. Palmer could
face assault charges for what he does, but no female teacher would face such
scrutiny of their conduct.  Even the occasional felony case against a teacher
for sexual misconduct is treated vastly different. Convictions against men are
almost a slam-dunk. And incarceration sentences are 500% higher for male
teachers having sex with students.

And let’s face it; female teachers who seduce

students are often thanked by the student. Hell, the boys brag about screwing
the woman!

So Mr. Palmer does not enjoy inspecting teen girl’s

cunts. Even if his huge boner says otherwise.

Warmups.

After inspection, Mr. Palmer always lines the

students up on the volleyball lines, guys on one side of the court; girls on
the other. Half on the attack lines, and half on the back boundary service
lines. The 6 climbing ropes were suspended from the rafters above the tumbling
mats, which were laid between the lines on the gym floor.

He started us off with calisthenics: jumping jacks,

running in place, jazzercise, and Miss Latimer even introduced us to basics of
yoga. Because our two lines faced each other, we couldn't help but see the way
the girls' boobies bounced around during these jumping jacks. Nor could we help
letting them see the flipping and flopping of our cocks. It was an object
lesson for all of us never to take ourselves, or each other; too seriously.

Then more stretches. Then pushups. Then leg raises,

up, then spread wide, then halfway back and hold it. This was the most
entertaining part of the calisthenics Great views of cocks and cunts, but
because of the physical depletion, none of the guys were turgid. Finally, 20
sit ups. Everyone trying not to be last. Nobody was thinking much about cocks
and boobies now. Glycolytic depletion, or physical exertion; turns out to be a
pretty powerful libido suppressant. Finally, mercifully, Mr. Palmer blew his
whistle. We collapsed to the mats.

As we lay there panting, Miss Latimer read out the

partners for the day. The guys and gals found each other, grabbed a clean,
folded sheet from Mr. Palmer, and lined up along the two court sideline. The
girls got to see us guys’ baseline cock size. We got to see their retracted
nipples. Bid deal! Later, we’d get some gauge of how impacting our activities
changed our physical ‘enthusiasm.’.

Today, I got Meg Billig. Meg was one of the more

reserved girls in class, someone you didn't always think of, right off the bat.
But, in fact, she was not a bad person to have as a partner. She was trim and
reasonably fit, with pretty, petite tits and pretty chestnut hair; bobbed, just
above her chin. And, actually, a sweet, shy smile that kind of reminded me of
the little mermaid. She smiled shyly as we paired up. “Hello, Colt Johnson.”

 The blood was starting to find its way back to

my tallywhacker. And back, apparently, to her pretty mermaid nipples, as well.

Team Competitions.

The day's activity was rope climbing. It was set up

like a race to keep things exciting. Three pairs of students on each rope. We
had Donny Morgan on our team, so there was no way we were going to win. But at
least we could shoot for not coming in last. Kenny and Marcus were on the coed
cheer squad, so they were very fit and athletic. Pete is a wrestler, but a
heavy weight, so we might beat him in the rope climb relay.

When it was our turn, Meg went first. She grabbed

the rope, jumped up on the knot, reached higher, hauled herself up a good
several feet, wrapped the rope around her leg, and stepped on it with her other
foot to brace for the next haul.

From my vantage point below it was a pretty explicit

lesson in neuromuscular movement science; the strain and release of her biceps
and shoulders, the flexing of her ass, the tautness of her calves. And of
course I couldn't help but notice the pursing and un-pursing of her pretty anus
as well. It's kind of intimate, I guess, to be given such a close-up view of
your classmate's private parts. But it's kind of sweet too.

Eight pulls and she touched the bar, then carefully

segmented back down, breathing deeply, her chest deeply flushed. No one wants a
rope burn.

"Good job," I called as she dropped down

and I jumped up. I used to worry about my equipment getting tangled up in the
rope, but that doesn't really happen. I concentrated on climbing and tried not
to be too self-conscious about the anatomy lesson I was providing to Meg and
the other girls.

Four pairs to a team; each pair, in rotation. The

first climber on each of the 5 teams went to the back of the line and wore a
‘captain’ ball cap; so we could keep track of how each team was doing. First
and second place were pretty well assured, but we battled hard for third and
won it by half a rope. Bashful shoulder hugs all around.

Positions of Kamasutra.

The last 40 minutes of class was for Kamasutra. The

position of the day was something called the Catherine wheel. This was the most
nerve-wracking part of the class, hoping to avoid being chosen for the
demonstration. Fortunately, Mr. Palmer called on Ned Baker and Susan Carson.
They went sheepishly forward, and the rest of us breathed a collective sigh of
relief.

It was one of those complicated Kamasutra positions,

and Mr. Palmer and Miss Latimer had to go over it a couple of times to get Ned
and Susan arranged the way they wanted them. Ned ended up sort of half sitting
on the mat, half lounging back on one elbow, with her sitting on his lap and
leaning back on both of her arms. She had her legs wrapped around his middle,
and he had one of his legs hooked around her waist. The demonstration never
involved actual penetration, and so Ned's erect cock was sticking out
perpendicularly, poking between Susan's thighs. The two of them were red with
embarrassment.

"You're on top in this position, ladies,"

lectured Mr. Palmer. "You control the action. Brace yourself with your
arms and thrust yourself back and forth." Susan did her best to
illustrate, hyper aware that what everyone was looking at was the way her pussy
lips kept kissing up to the underside of Ned's rigid cock, with a clear glaze
of precum running down from the tip.

"But you boys have to help," Miss Latimer

chimed in. "Use your leg and your free hand to guide your partner's
movement." Presumably, that's what Ned was trying to do.

"You can also use your hand to stimulate her

manually," Mr. Palmer continued.

"To gently caress her clitoris and her

tits," Miss Latimer explained. Susan's slit was already glistening. Ned
brought his hand up and teased it gently.

"Although you can't so easily reach her nipples

very well in this position," Mr. Palmer clarified.

"Unless you try," said Miss Latimer, a bit

sarcastically, and more to Mr. Palmer, than to us. Ned reached up and easily
petted Susan's tit. Mr. Palmer blushed. We loved the way that the two of them
bantered back and forth during the demonstrations. It was pretty clear that
they tried out all the positions themselves ahead of class, and chose the final
9. We liked to think that underneath their no-nonsense demeanors, they were
really kind of sweet on each other.

"The main thing, boys," Miss Latimer went

on, leveling with us now, in her sincere, if-only-someone-had-told-us-when-we-were-eighteen
voice, "is to make sure to provide your partner with what she needs.
That's the real secret of coupling. She's listening to a different drumbeat
than you are. Try to remember that. Do your best to pick up on it, too."

Even though Ned's cock and Susan's pussy were only

in superficial contact, her thrusting and his petting did indeed seem to be
striking the right chord. She had her eyes half closed and was no longer paying
any attention to the instructors, or to her audience. A good demonstration can
be more sexually arousing than a porno movie, and pairs of students were distracting
each other.

“Pay attention to the demonstration, students!” Mr.

Palmer barked. “You won’t want a failing grade in this unit!”

I was getting pretty turned on myself. I playfully

nuzzled my hard-on against Meg's thigh. She reached back and grabbed it, to
keep it from getting us into trouble. Her nipples, though, I noticed, were
standing on tiptoe, themselves.

Applied Phys Ed.

It was our turn pretty soon, anyway. Susan and Ned

were allowed to continue on their own, and the rest of us spread out our
sheets. The one advantage of being the demo couple, is that you get more time
to ‘get it on’ while the other couples are getting situated.

"Are you, ready?" I asked. Meg blushed in

reply. Just to make sure I gave her a little hug, nuzzled the base of her neck,
ran my hands down to caress the swell of her fleshy mermaid tail.

We got down on the sheet. I reclined back onto my

elbows. She crouched down tentatively astride my thighs. My cock was standing
at full attention between us. Just to make double sure, I reached past it to
run my fingers up and down her shy but slippery slit.

Meg was shy and quiet, sure, but she was fully aware

of her budding womanhood, and kind of enchanted by it. She knelt up, took hold
of my cock, and fit the mouth of her vagina around it. She squatted down,
squeezing it half way in. Up again and down, wetter this time, less plowing,
more gliding. And again, and again, and this time she managed to get me all the
way in. She settled herself comfortably back onto my thighs and gave me a shy,
but confident, grin. Just then we heard the loud moans of Susan, in thorough
ecstasy. This helped put Meg in the mood.

Then came the tricky part. She had to bring her legs

up and wrap them around my waist. She leaned back on her arms, but she couldn't
get her knees all the way unbent without my cock popping out. She arched her
back and straightened her legs. I held my cock for her and she crab-walked
herself back on. She was plenty wet. I was plenty stiff. She slid herself all
the way on, then rested her weight back down on my thighs and tightened her
legs around my sides. From my vantage point it was sexy as hell.

"That's right," said Miss Latimer, making

her rounds. "Now the male hooks his leg." Just then I heard Ned,
grunting and then holding his breath. Meg looked over and saw him pumping
Susan. Now Meg was truly a horny woman.

I had to rotate further onto my left leg to free up

the right. It took a bit of maneuvering, because every time I made an
adjustment Meg had to make one too. But eventually I was able to bring my leg
around her and rest the foot on my left knee. Voila! The Catherine wheel.

Meg and I exchanged a glance of mutual

accomplishment. It was kind of a nice position actually. I had my legs
completely wrapped around her, and she had hers completely wrapped around me. I
gave her a little squeeze. She blushed and gave me a little squeeze back.

Everything was conveniently laid out right there

between us. Her beautiful nude body right there on my lap: her ruddy slit, her
narrow mermaid waist, her perfect little tits, all right there within easy
reach. She started to try her thrusting. My line of sight ran directly down the
axis of her cunt. I could see the way my cock slid further into her as she
thrust down, and further out of her as she eased off. I tried my best to lever
the tip up to massage her special spot as she did it.

I realized that I hadn't been paying enough

attention to her drumbeat. To tell you the truth, I wasn't really sure exactly
what I was supposed to be listening for. She still seemed to be concentrating
on getting the mechanics right. My own drumbeat, on the other hand, was getting
louder and more insistent.

"Umm" I said. I sucked in my stomach to

retract back as far as I could. She eased way off, somewhat begrudgingly, to
let me pull out. I pressed down to deflate the slippery, bulbous head, the way
we'd been taught. Then I held it steady and she slid herself back on.

I tried to massage her from the outside as well as

the inside. I gently palpated her mound and her hood, catching an exciting feel
of her stiff little nubby. I reached up and let her nipples brush against my
fingers. They were nubby with excitement too.

I found I could reach her pretty mermaid face,

gently caress her parted lips with my thumb. She invited it into the wetness of
her mouth. From a nearby sheet came the familiar yip-yip-yip of Marilyn Paulson.
We didn't pay it any attention.

My cock was massaging circumferentially now,

pistoning the full slick length of her plush canal. Her breathing was becoming
more rapid, more excited, her thrusts more tidal, more wave-driven, more
kelp-like.

Her legs were so open, her plushness so snug, her

tits so ripe, her gaze so intent. My alluring siren classmate, fixing me in her
shimmering sea-gaze, so intent, so ripe, so open, so snug.

I gave her what I had to give. Every measure. Every

drop. I gave, and she accepted.

Awkwardly Unaffectionate.

One shortcoming of the Catherine wheel is that it's

not very good for snuggling after. Meg and I both fell back Our heads were
about 6 feet apart, but our bodies were still copulated. Reached down to her
mound and she reached and gently took my hand in hers, and gently squeezed it.
Then we disentangled ourselves and rearranged ourselves more cozily sitting,
side by side.

"Kind of; acrobatic, Colt." she summed up,

in a soft voice. She had her head on my shoulder, her leg rubbing against mine.

"Yeah," I replied. Her hair smelled softly

of, cinnamon. "But pretty sweet. Meg."

She cuddled her agreement.

We weren't really that close of friends, Meg and I.

We were classmates. We interacted once in a while, like classmates do. We'd
been gym partners once before. But it was nice to lie there with her, playing a
pair of affectionate lovers, tired and happy at the end of a busy afternoon,
more perfect together than apart.

Chances are; neither of us would ever do that much

‘rope-climbing’ in our future lives. Probably not that much calculus either.
But I had to think that both of us would have cozy afternoons like this, and a
special, cinnamon-smelling someone; to share them with. Yes, school should
prepare you for life. And this class counts for that.

But school days roll on. Mr. Palmer blew his

whistle. We got up. We gathered up our sheet. Meg let her tit brush one last
time against my arm. I let my hand trail one last moment on her ass cheek.

She headed off with the other girls to take her

shower. I headed off with the boys to take mine.

The guys in the shower were gabbing about how great

a fuck they got. The wise ones smiled about how great a fuck they gave.

Senior Class trip: sharing a hotel room.

Our prep school has a senior tradition every 1st

weekend in May. We take a trip to New York City on Friday morning, and come
back Sunday evening. The first stop is at the historic plaza hotel. The hotel
had an immense lobby with lush carpeting, fat armchairs, and actual trees
growing in huge vases. Gretchen and I had to sign both our names on the little
card at the check-in desk. It was the first time I'd ever stayed in a fancy
hotel, and the first time I'd ever shared a room with a girl.

Our room was halfway down the hall from the

elevator. Gretchen inserted her key card with the savvy of a frequent traveler.
The room had a bed, a TV, a desk, and an easy chair. She put down her suitcase.
"Only one bed," she humphed. "And it's only queen size,
Colt."

"Seems nice enough to me," I replied,

checking out the remote control. Gretchen opened her suitcase and hung some
things in the closet.

I looked at our itinerary. "We've got to be

back down in the lobby in about 45 minutes. The banquet is in the ballroom.”

"That will barely give us time to get ready. Do

you need to use the bathroom? Otherwise I'll just go ahead."

Forty-five minutes seemed like plenty of time to me.

Gretchen and I had been classmates since

kindergarten, although we'd never really had that much to do with each other.
She'd always been the prissy teacher's pet with the perfect grades and the new
penny loafers. I'd been the kid in the back with the dog-eared homework and the
holes in his sneakers.

She went into the bathroom and ran the shower. I put

on a clean pair of slacks and a clean shirt and turned on the TV. After a while
she came out wrapped in a towel and used the hair dryer in the alcove. Then she
got a bag from her suitcase and one of her outfits from the closet and went
back in.

She hadn't been quite as prissy in high school. She

still got her Ayes and A plusses, while I got my Bees and Cees. She still piled
up her extracurricular awards, while I played my video games. But we were both
growing up, I guess. We no longer looked at each other as if we came from
completely different planets. I wasn't crazy about having to spend the weekend
with her, but it wasn't the end of the world.

Finally she came out again, all dressed up for a

night on the town. She looked nice. In fact, she looked stunning: a stylish
skirt of bright swirling colors, a snug alabaster top, a hairstyle that tapered
down to the nape of her neck in back and swept down to touch her eyebrows here
and there in front.

That was the other thing about Gretchen. Somehow,

over the course of the semester, she'd blossomed into a very attractive young
woman. It was like she'd just given up on high-school fashion altogether; and
jumped straight to being a poised young professional. I'd never thought of her
as particularly pretty before, but I was finding I had to recalibrate my
assessment. She was pretty, in an exciting, stylish, grown-up kind of way.
Maybe having to spend the weekend with her wouldn't be that bad after all.

I pulled on my sports coat and felt completely

underdressed. "You look really nice, Gretchen," I told her.

She took my compliment for politeness and gave me a

polite smile in return.

Early Curfew.

When we got back to the room it seemed too early to

go to bed. Gretchen plopped down in the easy chair and put her feet up on the
bed. No need to keep being ladylike around me.

"Did you like the symposium, Gretchen?" I

asked, just to make conversation.

"It was interesting, I guess," she

replied. "Learning about those mediaeval instruments. The music was a bit
repetitious though I thought."

"I dozed off through most of it," I

admitted. "I think that's the way it's meant to be listened to."

She gave a little laugh.

I got up from the desk chair and sat down on the

bed, leaning back against the pillows.

"So where will you be going next year?"

she asked. Not really that interested, just trying to keep the conversation
going.

"Ivy Tech;" I joked.

"You're not going to college, Colt?"

"My folks want me to."

"But you don't?"

"What for? All I want to do is be is an auto

mechanic. They don't teach that in college. In six months I can be certified in
my trade and begin drawing my own income and building my life."

She shrugged. It didn't make that much difference to

her one way or the other.

"How about you," I asked. "Where will

you be going?"

"State, probably."

"Really. I would have thought some big name

university."

"I've applied to a couple, but I won't be able

to go, unless I get a significant scholarship."

"But you will; won't you? I mean,"

"We'll see. But State is pretty good in marine

biology, which is what I'm interested in."

I hadn't known that. "That's like studying

fish?"

"And plankton and algae and coral and seaweed

and everything else that lives in the ocean." She kind of perked up,
talking about all that under-the-sea stuff. She told me about feeding cycles
and ecosystems and the big changes that are taking place because of global
warming. She told me about all the important decisions that will have to be
made in our lifetime. She got pretty passionate about it all. People in high
school are always talking about changing the world, it's kind of expected. But
I'd never given much thought to what it would take to put yourself on a course
to actually accomplish it.

"That's really cool," I said, kind of at a

loss for words. My own career plan seemed pretty lame in comparison.

"Well," she said. "Big day tomorrow.

Maybe we should get some sleep." She went into the bathroom and changed
into her pajamas. White ones with long pants and long sleeves, like Lucy
Ricardo might wear. I took my own turn in the bathroom. When I came out she was
already under the covers. I took off my pants and shirt and got in beside her.

Gretchen and I had been gym partners twice before;

once when we were doing the standard missionary position, and once when we were
doing the rocking horse. But she hadn't seemed particularly enthusiastic either
time. A couple of other guys had said the same. She put in the effort, but not
the heart.

That was another reason I'd been less than thrilled

about having her as my partner. Two nights sharing a hotel room with one of my
female classmates, and I got the ‘brainiac ice queen.’ Still, though, tonight
hadn't been too bad. She'd been pretty passionate about her plankton.

I hadn't really planned to even bring it up, but;

"So, umm, Gretchen?" She had her back to me but she turned her head.
"So, umm, here we are, senior class trip, nice hotel and everything. Do
you want to; maybe?"

She winced ever so slightly. "Do you mind if we

just go to sleep, tonight? I really am tired. And I have a bit of a
headache."

"Sure. OK. Of course. I'm sorry about your

headache. I hope you feel better."

She smiled politely and settled herself back down. I

settled myself down too.

A headache! You'd think a National Merit

Semifinalist would be able to come up with something a little more original
than that.

The packed itinerary.

The next day was a real Manhattan whirlwind.

Breakfast at the hotel, the Matisse exhibit at the museum, hot dogs in the
park, shopping along Park Avenue; then back to the hotel to dress. Dinner at La
Traviata, mezzanine seats at the Orpheum Theatre's production of "The
Tempest." 'Ban-ban-ca-caliban!'

We got back to the hotel about eleven, but everybody

was too buzzed to let the night end so soon. The hotel had a pool, and we'd
been told to bring our suits. Gretchen changed in the bathroom while I changed
in the bedroom. A group of us went down; just horsing around, mostly. But
Gretchen put on a swimming cap and swam some serious laps. Then we all sat in
the hot tub for a while, and talked about the day.

Invited to a foursome.

Gretchen and I rode the elevator back up with Tom

and Melissa Paxton. They invited us to stop by their room.

Their room had a small loveseat, which they offered

to Gretchen and me. Then Tom sat at the desk chair and turned on his Bluetooth
speaker. In a few seconds, he started a playlist.

Tom, perhaps the best vocalist in the school

musical, began singing in perfect harmony to Ed Sheeran’s ‘Shape of You’.

Standing by the door in her red bikini and a white

towel draped around her neck, Melissa swayed her hips to the beat and put on a
show.  Between Tom’s Broadway-quality singing, and Melissa’s hot sensual sawing
body, Gretchen and I were stunned to happy silence, our grinning faces were all
the other couple needed, to encourage more.

On the second verse, Melissa slowly  pulled two

strings tight, one behind her neck and the other below her shoulder blades. When
the second courage thundered, she made a theatrical show pulled, Her bikini top
dropped, but her tits were cloaked behind the dangling ends of the white towel
hanging from around her neck.

She danced with yet more energy, causing her towel

to sway,, and her plump tits to rock with the towel. Her hands then came up to
her chest and rubbed, drying her cute tits. Then she dramatically pulled two
more strings at her hips, and dropped her bottom, as well. She was still
singing along and hips swaying. Then she pulled her towel down off her neck and
swung it between her spread legs. She caught the other end and began stroking
the towel back and forth, to the trance beat of Ed Sheeran’s ‘Shape of You.’
The final chorus ended while she slowly, buffed her pussy dry, and initiating
her own lubrication to flow.

 That was one thing about having mixed gym

class, we were all kind of used to seeing each other naked. Still, though;
there was a definite thrill to be doing it in a hotel room. You could see that
she was pretty excited to be showing herself off. You could see that Tom was
pretty excited too. Melissa’s nipples were stiff and long. Clearly she is an
exhibitionist.

"So what should we do now?" Melissa asked,

as the song faded, stretching her nude self out on the bed.  Gretchen and
I got a clear view of her bald cunt from our love seat. Gretchen steeled
herself, not realizing I saw that her hand was rubbing her own crotch. Her
nipples were also raised, tall and proud. This was going to be one of those
things she'd have to go along with, whether she wanted to or not.

Then I totally bailed Gretchen out, without even

stopping to think about what my raging cock wanted. "You know what?"
I said. "I'm kind of bushed.” Turning to Gretchen, I added; “Do you mind
if I just call it a night?"

Gretchen was surprised, but she took the opening.

"Me too, I'm afraid. It's been a long day."

They weren't that disappointed to see us go.

Gretchen had somewhat of a reputation as a killjoy. Melissa was already on her
phone seeing if anything else was going on. Part of me thinks Melissa climaxed
during the final chorus, as her towel buffed her own pussy to an orgasm.

"You could have stayed," Gretchen said as

we walked down the hall.

I just shrugged.

To be continued. Based on a post by Hector

Bidon, for Literotica.

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