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 12^th 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 1^st 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.