number one!” We all three collapsed with laughter, and did some more kissing and fondling, and then all three went to the bathroom for a shower. Then we got dressed and joined the collective campus pub-crawl, the hysterical celebration of the end of finals week making it seem like Mardi Gras. We got as drunk as we could, and all three of us – even me – scored chicks (three sorority sisters), and fucked them silly until dawn. I was glad, however, when they left, and none of us joined them in search of an early breakfast. All the steak-and-eggs I wanted were in the next room, and after the girls were gone, RonJon and I showered together again, and crawled into Ron’s big bed for some much-needed rest.

(RonJon and I lived in that house, in those rooms, for another three years, Ron finishing a double major in Business Administration and Architectural Engineering, Jon in Journalism, and me in History/Pre-Law. We kept up our frequent couplings and triplings until Ron met Betty his senior year, and when they became a couple, Jon moved in with me. 15 years later, we are still in close touch, and see each other 3-4 times a year. Ron worked for several big companies on several big projects, and now owns his own architecture firm. Jon is a freelance journalist, who works mostly for educational institutions, the Smithsonian, and National Geographic, traveling the world for his documentaries. I took my first job out of Law School with the ACLU, and was recently made a Regional Director.

Ron and Betty are happily married, with four kids as bright, sunny, and good-looking as they are themselves. Ron has come to visit more often in the last year or two – he is still insatiable sexually, and I think Betty is grateful for the rest! I don’t think she and the kids know that Ron’s connection with Jon and me is anything more than just old college buddies…

I have had my share of encounters, but never developed a lasting relationship – pressures of work, mostly, plus never meeting the right guy – one with Ron’s hard body and Jon’s sweet smile.

I don’t want to think about who-all – or even what-all – Jon has screwed in his travels. He is still basically depressed, still spouts incomprehensible Blake, and still doesn’t talk much, but the few stories he has told – well, let’s just say that we can’t print them here. He still smiles when he sees me, and that smile and those dark eyes still give me a thrill.)