Ask any college freshman what they most crave and I bet I know how they’ll answer. Sure, they might want an escape from cafeteria food or a quality fake ID, but what they really yearn for is some time alone. 

Tonight, I finally had it. With my roommate spending the night at her girlfriend’s apartment, I wasn’t going to waste the opportunity. I glanced at the door to ensure it was locked, then grabbed an inconspicuous black case from underneath my bed. 

Back under the covers, I removed my yoga pants, then my underwear. I started with lube, squirting it onto my fingers and rubbing slow, tantalizing circles around my clitoris. I felt the familiar rush of hot and cool spread through me in agonizing, alternating sensations. Then, I reached for my trustiest companion — a purple rabbit vibrator. 

I turned it on and felt it thrum to life in my hand. On the lowest setting, I dragged the pulsating tip down my neck and my nipples, my stomach clenching in anticipation as I moved lower. 

First, I teased my inner-thighs. I ran the toy over the shivering skin, feeling my wetness build and a gasp catch in the back of my throat. At last, I slid the shaft of my vibrator inside of me and selected the buzziest setting. As it rumbled inside me, its ears tickling my hard clitoris, I clenched my pillow tight and stifled a scream. 

But who said I had to come just once? I wanted to savor the still, exhilarating privacy, just as I would make myself savor every second of this next orgasm. I put the toy on its lowest setting again, the hum quiet, gentle but persistent. Despite the light vibrations, I felt my eyes flutter closed and the muscles in my legs start to soften. 

At this point, I usually upped the intensity. But this time, I resisted the impulse, drawing out the shuttering, intoxicating moment as long and as far as it could carry me. After all, I had all night. 

Later, in the coed bathroom, I performed the rest of my ritual: I scanned under the stalls and listened for the sound of shower water running. Once I confirmed I was alone, I started washing my vibrator in the sink, lathering the soft silicone with warm, soapy water. Just as I began contemplating another solo session, maybe this time in the shower, I heard the unmistakable sound of flip-flops slapping against the linoleum, getting closer and closer until... 

“Hi, Maeve. How’s your night going?” I tensed, feeling goosebumps spread across my skin as I looked down at just what I was wearing: short cotton shorts that revealed the underside of my ass and a tank top with no bra. 

I recognized his voice instantly. 

“Umm, g-good,” I stammered, struggling to push the vibrator underneath the rapidly draining bubbles. Instead, I accidentally turned it on, then rushed to silence the unbridled pulses. The laugh that seemed to reverberate off my bare shoulders told me nothing about the moment had proven subtle. 

That’s when I turned to look at him — Ezra Sanderson. I took in his dark, curly hair, his long, leanly muscular limbs, and his light blue eyes, which betrayed a mix of surprise and... was that intrigue? 

“It seems to be going very well,” he mused, his body lightly brushing mine as he headed toward the shower. I tried to avert my stare as his shirt fell to the floor. But our exhilaratingly close quarters had other plans, forcing me to confront his sexiness with every swivel and dart of my eyes. His broad, defined shoulders and the toned contours of his stomach both captured my gaze in the mirror. Several seconds passed before I could tear my attention away. 

That’s when he pulled the curtain closed, tossing his shorts over it a second later. I couldn’t help but imagine myself in the shower with him, rubbing soap down his body with a slow, confident touch that explored every muscle I’d just seen, his dick hard and wet against me. I wondered how big it was. I wondered if I could make him come, even though I didn’t have much experience. 


But it was no use. My thoughts started to spiral further, to visions of him kneeling and spreading my legs, him realizing just how much I wanted him as I eagerly rode his face... 

This is against the rules. 

Sure, I masturbated in a dorm room with super thin walls, but... fucking my resident assistant? No way. Not even if it served as one of my most common, effective fantasies. Not even if every interaction with him — even the times we happened to bump into each other at the communal recycling bin — made me flushed and desperate to feel his hands on my hot, pleading skin. It had been that way since the day he helped me move in, something about how he never complained about the number of boxes or how I couldn’t decide where any of them should go. With his easy, natural presence, he’d felt like a strangely familiar comfort in a new, uncertain territory. 

And, lately, nothing seemed more uncertain than why I’d never had sex. But how could I know he was even interested? Was that... possible?

As the water came to a stop, Ezra craned his head out of the curtain, mesmerizing me once more with the glinting suggestion in his stare. “Still... cleaning up?”

Was I misinterpreting what seemed like a thick layer of flirtation in his voice? As I pushed those thoughts out of my head, he stepped closer, his mouth almost against my ear. 

“Remember, Maeve, as your RA, it’s my job to teach you all about college. If you ever need anything... just stop by my room.” 

If I ever needed anything? Like what, study advice? Or... my face burned with embarrassment as I recalled the bucket of condoms he’d held out at our floor orientation. I definitely needed... something, either to calm my erratic heartbeat, or, oppositely, to memorize everything I could about this moment, to inspire me next time my roommate went out. 

This time, I could be sure Ezra was eyeing the vibrator in my hand. 

“Don’t get too loud tonight,” he chastised me. The edge in his voice was gentle and teasing, making me wonder what he would do if I betrayed that suggestion. “Quiet hours are still in effect, you know.” 

I went to Ezra’s room minutes later, before I could silence the desire that overwhelmed my thoughts. I stared at his name on the door until the letters melted together and lost all meaning. I wondered if I should just head back to my room, to my fantasies, to the alone time that I so often pined for. But now that I’d seen half of Ezra unclothed, wet and inches away from me, now that I’d sensed the raspy tinge of potential in his voice and smelt the sandalwood soap on his skin, now that he’d hinted that he wanted me, too, I felt too close to pull away. 

I took a deep breath and looked down the long hallway. With no one to be seen in the low fluorescent light, I knocked. The door opened. 


I rushed in before I lost my nerve, barreling past the once-again shirtless, gorgeous boy in front of me. 

“You said...” I forced myself to meet his eyes. “You said you’d help me with anything I wanted, right?” 

“Right...” Confusion and amusement played across his face. 

I stepped closer to him, shrinking the distance between us in the small dorm room. Suddenly, I was hyperaware of the proximity of both his lips and his bed. I placed my hands on his bare chest, curling my fingers, and looked up at him. 

“Is this okay?” I asked. 

We both leaned in at the same time. His lips brushed mine, soft at first, then rougher and hungrier as I opened my mouth to the taste of exploration that beckoned. A moan escaped me as he tugged my bottom lip with his teeth. One of his hands slid up my shirt and found the underside of my bra, my breasts warm and swelling beneath his cool, sweeping touch. The other caught the waterfall of my hair as the kiss weakened my legs and made me lean backward. Meanwhile, my hands ravaged the fuzz that trailed down his lower abs and my self-consciousness began to evaporate. 

We moved instinctively to the bed, a strong and unyielding inner-force guiding our tangled, frantic collision. I pulled him up so his body rested against mine. As he spread out on top of me, I felt the bulge in his pants grow, pressing harder against my leg. He caressed me over the thin layer of my pajama pants, his fingers moving methodically. I started to rock against him. His hand brushed the inside of my thigh, moving higher and electrifyingly slowly. 

I pulled away breathlessly. 

“You should know... I haven’t done this,” I told Ezra, not knowing what to expect as the words settled around us. In the anxious Google scrolling I’d done since I’d started college, I read that guys usually had two reactions: total recoil or a gross, macho amount of enthusiasm about being a girl’s first. 

But Ezra surprised me. He ran his fingers through my hair, twirling the messy, bedhead waves. His touch traveled down my neck, waking up a prickling erogenous zone that had long been dormant and waiting. His lips soon followed, lightly sucking where my skin proved the most sensitive. The tender tug of his kisses trailed from my neck to my collarbone, each deliberately placed to provoke my exhale, my hand in his hair pulling him more firmly against me. 

He moved his lips to my ear, nibbling it and then parting his lips over my eardrum so that I heard his sharp intake of breath on high, amplified volume. The sound spoke to a deep, rumbling sigh from somewhere both distant and alert inside me. A release. 

“We can take it as slow as you want,” he whispered. “Or as slow as you can stand it.” 

My breath caught in my throat. But he wasn’t the only one with a sexy line. As I intertwined my fingers with his and placed his hand on the zipper of his pants, prompting him to remove them, I kissed him with more intensity. 

“Will you teach me?” I murmured. 

I wanted him to teach me how to give him what he wanted, how to arrive at what I wanted, how to navigate all the fierce want buzzing through my body. 

“I’ve been waiting for you to ask me that.” Ezra slid my shorts down my legs, his sure, smooth contact lingering on each curve. Once they lay on his floor, he shifted his concentration to my underwear. 

He edged his fingers over the lace, his hand leisurely rubbing up and down the length of my squirming crotch, until he pulled my underwear aside and he slipped two fingers in. I felt my mouth widen against the heat of his neck as he teased the full mound of my clitoris. The stroke of his thumb was purposeful and steady on my firm, dripping pulse while his fingers plunged in and out of me, sinking further and further. The slipperiness he found made it easy. I shuddered at the pattern, shocked to find it could still stun me, unlocking newfound levels of moisture and desire, even when I began to meet the repetition of his thrusts. I naturally tilted and buckled beneath him. 

It wasn’t just that Ezra was guiding me, but it turned out I could direct myself along with his touch. I felt myself unfold and unravel for him. My hands clutched at his shoulders, scratched down his back, held him tighter to me as I screamed into his skin. 

His breath grew more desperate and rugged. “It seems like we should take these off,” he barely managed to say. 

Of course I knew he was referring to my underwear, but what I didn’t anticipate was for his head to disappear under the sheets and for his teeth to drag against the waistband. I felt their unexpected sharpness skim my pelvic bone. 

He took them off with a savoring, unbearable patience, tasting the evidence of how much I had already come. 

“How many times do you usually orgasm?” he asked. 

Before I could break my surprised silence — umm, once? — his head dove between my legs. His tongue prodded me softly, short licks against my clit. Though my legs began to tighten around his head, for a second, he got enough air to bring me to the next stage of our lesson. 

“Say you’re ready for me to go faster, Maeve,” he suggested. “Just say it and I will.” “Yes,” I gasped. “Faster.”

Instantly, all teasing and restraint vanished. His tongue danced and writhed inside of me. With each skillful stroke, my thighs clenched his face harder. But I still needed more. He read me just right; he didn’t stop as I pushed myself up into a seat. I looked down at him and watched his eyes widen as they met mine, reacting to the rush of my wetness. Quicker now, my exhales emerging as deepening sighs, I leaned my head back and I lived out the fantasy that had flashed through my mind earlier. I rode his face like it was the best, most enthusiastic sex toy I’d ever had. It was like earlier that day and this moment, the fantasy and the reality, collided. 

Ezra sucked every drip from me as the second orgasm flooded my body, this one even more powerful and trembling than the first. 

“It was even better than I thought it would be,” I admitted as we collapsed against the bed and Ezra planted a kiss on my forehead. “But you didn’t...” 

“Tonight was all about you,” Ezra interjected. “As soon as I thought about you getting off, I wanted to be the one to get you there. And besides, we’ve already been loud enough. But... tomorrow night?” 

I traced the outline in his shorts and kissed him one more time. “Quiet hours are overrated, anyway.” 

Along with her sexy stories, Flora Rae has published poetry, journalism, and personal essays. When she's not writing or working as an editor, she spends her time fighting for reproductive rights, reading, and vintage shopping.