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English Undergraduate

Posted by: Author: Age: 19 Posted on: 0 comments
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Contrary to popular belief students do not lead a life of alcohol, drugs, and sex; between studying and paying our tuition fees we work pretty hard. But we are human!


Hi, I'm halfway through my first year at a red brick university in the Midlands. I don't have a regular boyfriend at the moment, so for a little relaxation I often spend some time surfing the net. My roommate goes home every weekend to visit her boyfriend; it's about the only privacy I get. I have had some fun reading the posts on this site, with the door locked and nobody to disturb me! Well, what goes round comes round, so I decided it was my turn to contribute.

When I came up to Uni I was allocated a place in a hall of residence. It's a large 60's built block. Each floor is just a corridor with a row of two-bed rooms each side and bathrooms with showers and loos at each end. The ground floor has a communal kitchen, TV lounges, etc. It's a women only block; the men have an identical block on the other side of the campus. Male guests are supposed to be out by midnight, but frankly my dear nobody gives a damn. The construction is really cheap and you can hear every sound from the room next door.

I was a bit nervous when I arrived and the Chancellors office told me that I would be sharing. I have had my own bedroom since I was seven and I was a bit shy. I need not have worried, Lucy was super and we soon became best friends. She had been to a boarding school, so she was used to sharing, which helped. She has little ways of defusing embarrassing moments and putting me at ease. We soon settled into Uni life, I enjoy my studies and we party when we can. Everything was fine except that after a week or so, sharing a room was becoming a bit of a problem.

I was brought up in a Catholic family and I am still a little inhibited. Mother taught my sister and I, 'Never touch down there, except to attend to hygiene!' and I didn't experience my first orgasm until I was fifteen. I had been on a date with a boy from school. His father allowed him to borrow the car, and when he drove me home he parked and we snogged for a while. He was a really good kisser and I got quite excited. Somehow he got his hand up my skirt and started to feel me through my knickers. I told him firmly that was enough, and he just held me and we kissed again. But his hand was still cupping my mound through the knickers, and he had a way of just very gently running his thumb up and down my crack. After a few minutes we came up for air. I realized I wasn't in control and got quite frightened. I asked him to take me home. When he dropped me off I gave him a last peck on the cheek and he asked me for another date.

Mother and father were watching TV and I put my head in the door to tell them I was home. My knees were trembling and I wanted to be alone, so I said goodnight and went up to my room. I locked my door without knowing why. My sister's room is next door to mine and we have a shared bathroom between us with access from each side. I went in and slid across the bolt on her door as usual before using the loo, but I left the bolt on. Again I don't know why. As I put my clothes in the laundry basket I noticed that the crotch of my knickers was sopping wet. I put on my nightie and slipped under the covers, but sleep eluded me. As I lay there tossing and turning my mind went over the events of my evening with Sam. I remembered how nice it had felt when he touched me. I thought it might relax me enough to get to sleep if I did it myself, so I put on a fresh pair of knickers and lay back on the bed. I lay there for ages, legs spread, cupping myself, languorously running my thumb along my crack. The feeling was becoming more intense, my nipples were so hard they ached and I used my other hand to massage them. My pelvis took on a life of its own, making little involuntary jerks up against my caressing hand. Suddenly it came crashing over me, I cried out in surprise, totally unprepared for the intensity of my first orgasm.

Afterwards I lay there panting, soaked in sweat. Wow! So that was what it was all about, no wonder Mother had told us not to touch down there! A lot of things suddenly made sense. Over the next few days I did it a couple more times, with equally fantastic results; but I started to feel slightly uneasy about it. Not that it was a sin, a concept that I don't buy into, more a feeling of wicked self-indulgence. So I decided to stop! That was fine for a few days, and then the urge would start to build. Eventually I would lock myself in my room, usually after a date with Sam had got me heated up, and abandon my self to finger induced heaven.

Gradually Sam had taken over these duties, first with fingers, then tongue, and eventually with his penis. He had taken me out to a local hotel for dinner on my eighteenth birthday and I was the dessert course. He was gentle and attentive, I liked him a lot, we were good friends, but we were not in love. We would date a couple of times a week. I enjoyed the social life and we would usually have sex in the back of his car afterwards. I rarely masturbated anymore. The night before I came up to Uni we had a long talk. Sam was going to a Uni on the other side of the country. We both agreed we didn't want the added pressure of a long distance relationship. We had one last glorious shag and parted as good friends.

Which brings me back to where I started. By halfway through the second week of term the little man in the boat isn't so little, and he really wants some TLC. Since I had first discovered masturbation the longest self-imposed abstinence I had achieved was eight days, but there was no way I could indulge with Lucy in the other bed just feet away. If she ever knew I would just die! By day twelve I am going up the wall. I am in the shower and my washcloth starts to feel real good. There are two problems, first there is only a plastic curtain between me and a dozen other girls; second I just can't do it standing up, I tried it once at home, watching myself in a mirror, just as I'm nearly there my knees give way and I fall over. Not a good idea. I dress and go to my morning lectures. I can't concentrate; my mind is full of images of Sam, Robbie Williams, a chap in the French rugby team, hell the entire French rugby team in one of those big baths with me in the middle!

That night I wake from a troubled sleep at 2 am. I have been dreaming of Sam and that big bath. My hands are between my thighs and I pull them away guiltily. I am soaking wet. If I'm really quiet Lucy will never know. I am just getting into it when Lucy sighs and turns over in bed. I freeze; this is no good. I can't lie here, so I ease my dressing gown on and slip out of the room. I pace the corridor for a few minutes and it dawns on me that no one is stirring. I have an idea. I go to the bathrooms and lock myself in the far cubicle; if anyone comes in I will hear the door go. I hang my dressing gown behind the door and sit down. Moments later my nightie is bunched up under my armpits and my fingers are flying. My orgasm is on me so quickly I am not ready for it. I arch up off the seat, head braced against the back wall, thighs trembling as I grunt out my spasms. I slump back on the seat sobbing as the relief flows through me. I sit there quietly composing myself for a few minutes then clean up and creep back to bed. I am asleep the moment my head touches the pillow.

I was going to write more, but Lucy will be back any moment and this is not the sort of essay one wants her to casually glance over one's shoulder to read. So I will log off and continue another time. Claire.



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