Every week it was hosted by the university’s active Gay-Lesbian-and-Bi Student Collective. Always the best entertainment, best crowds and cheap beer. I’d never been in a bar and it scared me a little, but on the weekend before Halloween that year, I decided to check it out. All the advance billing was right. Imagine a rock-and-roll venue with about 600 university students swilling beer. Mind-blowing for an otherwise innocent kid like me. I stood for a while by the bar, sipping a beer, when a guy came by and struck up a conversation. He was a second-year engineer I’ll call Red. A husky guy who looked like he played football. When we could actually chat, he informed me of the Saturday night protocol – that guys standing alone by the bar were indicating there “availability”. So, Red wanted to know, was I? Available for what? Sex. Excuse me? He said that was the routine. If I didn’t want to get hit on, I should move to a table. I laughed that off and Red continued to chat me up. We got. She tastes of coffee and breath mint. His of Scotch. His hands have been busy folding her elastic sexware down over her hips. He realized there wasn’t anything under them, rather risqué considering how thin and tight those pants were. He had to break away from their kisses to take a look. He held one hand of hers, lifting it over her head to get her to twirl for him. Her hips, bare now, nearly to her delta, seeing the crease between her legs and her round, tight rump, partially covered, partially uncovered. His inhaled breath noticeable yet again.Now sans her top, spandex down just below hips, butt viewed and touched, he watched her fingers, stretching pant down past trimmed silky blond bush, down thighs, over knees, past calves, and off one foot, then the other. He stood back to admire her view. She stepped forward and without asking, opened his pants and pulled them and his boxers down, hobbling him below the knees. His erection sticking out between his shirttails as she unbuttoned.
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