Disclaimer: All of the characters are fictional and over the age of 18.
“Dammit, Kurt, we need to get you laid at least once before we graduate!” said my roommate Dave. Graduation was in about four weeks.
“Mister Tongue-Tied?” asked Tom. “Good luck with that. Have you ever thought about a prostitute? I’ll chip in.”
“So will I.” said Jasper. “What do you think?”
I blushed, even though this wasn’t the first time the subject had come up with my roommates. “C’mon, guys, I don’t want my first time to be with some unknown girl I need to pay to have sex with me. I want it to at least be a girl who likes me, and who I like back. But you’re right, I get tongue-tied anytime I make that my goal. That’s the real obstacle. Paying a prostitute isn’t actually going to solve that, even if I managed to go through with it. If anything, it will just make me more convinced that I’m a failure at relationships.”
It was nearly the end of my college life, and I was still a virgin. Not because I really wanted to be, or was saving myself for my future wife. No, I was one of those poor cases where my brain freezes up around women whenever I was thinking about trying to be romantic with them.
Study buddy? No problem. I was asked to do that a lot, maybe a dozen different girls over the past four years, and agreed because it helped my grades, too. These were usually pretty girls, used to getting guys to help them out. And so long as I kept my focus on studying, I did just fine being around them, and the fact that I didn’t hit on them only brought more girls to my door.
I really wished, though, that I could turn that kind of relationship into something more, but whenever I thought of it, I couldn’t speak. I just froze up, until I gave up on the idea. For whatever reason, none of the girls were making a move on me, either. I wasn’t even getting close to the “I’m a virgin at 22” speech that I knew I’d have to reveal before changing that status.
To be honest, I had nearly given up hope of ever losing my virginity, finding that I could enjoy myself more at parties if I stopped worrying about trying to flirt or picking someone up, could study better if I was only thinking of a study buddy as a study buddy.
Until one day, about two and a half weeks before finals were going to start…
I was coming back from Friday classes to our first-floor on-campus apartment, when I heard a woman’s voice shout, “You want us to do what?!?” from the apartment next to ours, through an open window I knew was one of the bedrooms.
These were student housing right on campus, cheaply furnished two-bedroom-one-bath apartments housing four students each, with a small kitchenette and a living room. As the best housing option on campus, they were picked by the upperclassmen first, and as we were seniors and I had a high GPA to select our apartment for the group, we had picked one of the better locations, closest to where our classes were.
The shout came from the apartment next to ours, sharing the entrance to the stairwell that led to the two floors above us. It was occupied by four women, Colleen, Danielle, Susan and Wendy. All of them had been regular study buddies of mine multiple times over the years, and all four of them were gorgeous. We’d even gotten to the point of selecting courses that we could take together, just to be able to study for them together. At least one of them was in every course I had that last semester. I would argue that they were the best-looking foursome on campus, maybe even the four most beautiful women I knew.