The Contest Ch. 01

A similar story was told to me as a real scheme conceived by three college sophomores. However, this story is purely fictional, and I would sleep much better if no one ever tried it out in practice.

*

It happened last year when I was living in the third floor quad. There were James and Alex and Nathan and myself, and we were all single at the time and quite desperate for a lay. There existed only one girl for us, however: the freshman Veronique. She lived three doors down the hall and saying she was a hot chick was a gross understatement. Veronique had the sort of tanned, smooth tight little body, perfect face and dirty blond hair that made me hard every time I passed her in the hallway. She would spend hours sitting on the hallway floor, spread legged, wearing only shorts and a long sweater, talking to her mom or her dreaded boyfriend on the phone so as not to disturb her roommate. We all scrambled to take showers at such times so we could walk over her and get a glimpse of her perky 34B boobs tucked under her sweater neck and her creamy, athletic legs she always shaved impeccably. With that sexy image burned into our retinas, often times we couldn't hold off blowing a load in the bathroom stalls, which made the return trips sort of awkward because she was still there. But she was so sexy it hardly mattered, the only problem was that all four of us were too shy to ever speak to a girl so overwhelmingly hot. Oh, and her boyfriend of course.

On one of those shower nights, when a particularly long phone conversation had allowed all four of us to file past her and pay our masturbatory respects in the bathroom, the plan was conceived. Sick creeps that we were, we decided to stir our fantasies one step further and organize a little competition among ourselves. The object of the contest was simple: the first one who could get their semen (yes, we are talking about freshly squeezed cum) to touch any part of Veronique's body or skin within ten minutes of discharge won. The prize for the winner was... nonexistent; knowing it had happened was enough reward in itself. The stakes were enormous because we knew we could end up in jail. Finally, we decided to award ourselves style points on account of the nature of fluid to Veronique contact. It was easy enough pasting your cream on her door handle or leaving a wet wad of it on the doormat. But this was easily detectable, incriminating and unsporting. Stealth was of utmost importance, we decided, and so was the proximity our moo juice managed to her slick little mouth.

The first to go was Alex. A Classic Studies major, he favored a conventional approach. One night Veronique was doing laundry in the first floor laundry room. It was a big game night, so she slipped in the lounge to watch the game, while her clothes churned in the laundry machine. Every single soul in the dorm seemed to be in the lounge at that time, their eyes stuck on the big screen TV. Along the shadows crept Alex. He had his camera cell with him for visual confirmation and we were on the line, breathlessly listening to every development from the quad. He entered the laundry room just as Veronique's load had finished its last drying cycle. He removed her dried undies and replaced them with carefully pre-soaked decoy laundry he had taken out of a Salvation Army clothes-swap basket. He had planted the basket in the laundry room a day earlier, in anticipation of Veronique's customary laundry day, and so as not to arouse any suspicion during his nightly descent.

Now Alex commenced with his evil dead. Turning the light off, he unzipped his pants and soon we could hear quite audibly the flapping and suction noises that his Norwegian uncircumcised foreskin made as he furiously beat his cock. Thirty seconds elapsed; then a quiet groan of satisfaction escaped him and told us that Alex had done it. He snapped the scene with his phone and the image loaded slowly in front of our revering gazes. At the top of the heap, there were Veronique's familiar yellow boxers, the same ones she wore casually around the dorm inflicting painful boners to all guys who saw her. The boxers were completely drenched now, layered thick with globs of Alex's semen, which had started to coagulate and trickle down the creases of the pants to the rest of Veronique's laundry. Never before had I been so excited by seeing a photo of another guy's cum.

Now time was short and of the essence. Alex turned his techy phone into video mode and placed it into a nook by the radiator from where it commanded a view of the whole laundry room and streamed a live feed to our headquarters. Then, as quietly as he had come he climbed up the opposite stairwell and joined us. The ten minutes were almost up when Veronique entered the room. The wet spot of cum on her pants attracted her attention immediately. We bit our lips in anxious anticipation not knowing what she would do, but she just stood there staring. She made a couple of steps toward the laundry, held out her hand and.... to Alex's extreme frustration withdrew it an inch from his triumph. Then, she reached out again and carefully lifted her shorts by the dry edges, folded them over the wet spot, and put them into a plastic shopping bag that had formerly held someone's detergent bottle. No doubt, she was going to take them to the police, in which case we were screwed. Alex suddenly grew pale at the realization, especially as he was not as horny anymore, and we tried not to imagine a couple of troopers banging on our doors subjecting all men in the dorm to a DNA test.

But Veronique seemed to hesitate, swinging the bag in one hand and holding her basket of laundry with the other. She bent down and inspected the clothes that were tumbling behind the plastic window of the drier. She stopped the machine and started rummaging inside, making Alex roar in anger that he hadn't thought of cumming over the decoy laundry too. Veronique didn't seem to find any clue among the clothes-swap garb, so she stopped searching and fixed the whole room in one hard last stare, as if she was trying to discern the presence of our hidden camera. Fortunately for us, her eyes went over the nook next to the radiator. Then, she simply got her stuff and strode out of the room.

The trepidation and guilty anticipation for Alex that night was horrific. He twisted and turned in bed and drank about a gallon of cold milk during intermittent trips to the fridge. In the morning he told all of us he was going to skip class and walked out on the balcony to feed our tortoise Greedles. To our amazement two seconds later he plunged back in the room with a horrible shriek.

"What is the matter?" we asked, "Have the police surrounded the building or something?"

Alex just slumped into a chair with a look of incredible revolt on his face and pointed outside.

We strode on the chilly balcony to find our tortoise hopelessly entangled in Veronique's yellow boxers, now crispy with pale patches of dry cum. It was clear that overnight Greedles had made quite a hearty snack out of Alex's reproductive seepage. On top of his shell was attached a post-it note. It read:

"So that is the best you losers can do? Try me again and you'll wish you licked it off each other's puny dicks, you prepubescent fuckers. V."

The contest had just become darker and deeper...