Tolerance
Chapter 1
DJ Swanson sighed with frustration as he packed up six boxes of pizza to cart it down the dormitory’s hall to the garbage. Another attempt at a floor program, another no-show by his residents. He’d really thought he’d get some this time—he’d even managed to nag a few out of their rooms and into the hallway, but had somehow lost them in the hundred-odd feet between the floor lounge and there. Making his way back to his room, he could hear them rushing out to steal the bounty of free food before his door even shut.
He settled into his desk, and after a few minutes of frittering away time on social media, he got to work on his research project. He’d already had to abandon his topic twice to satisfy Dr. Restrepo—no, “Melissa”—no, “Missy.” It was her first semester out of her own PhD program, and she wanted to relate to her students, though DJ could never think of a professor by their first name no matter how many times she insisted she was “one of them.” The only trouble was that Missy was a mean-spirited narcissist whose standard for satisfaction was that everyone write exactly the way she’d have written their paper, and arrive at the same conclusion. She’d lambasted his rough draft of this topic—“this simply will not do” she’d scrawled across the top, then not bothered explaining why. He respected her, truly; she’d accomplished much in her field in a short time, and although her youth and good looks might make some of his peers see her as less than she was, DJ hoped she’d grow into her role as professor.
But for now, she was a chore, and he did his best. He’d put hours of work into this, so he’d cast the dice and let come what may.
Some time into his revisions, DJ was surprised by a sudden voice behind him. “So are we going to do this or what?”
He turned to see the his fellow RA, Emily, silhouetted in the doorway. He’d forgotten to show up for rounds, and she’d had to come get him—doubly irksome since she plainly disliked being his rounds partner to begin with, but a common schedule made working together this semester a common occurrence. He liked her well enough—she was a good student, a good RA to her residents, and heaven knows she was more than easy on the eyes—but the feeling was not mutual. She was a triple major with a double minor, beautiful and brilliant and no-nonsense in everything she did, and it was clear that fraternizing with the likes of DJ was nonsense to her.
After a murmured apology, rounds went by in silence. From Emily, anyway; he tried to strike up conversation, but he was nervous talking to girls, especially pretty girls, especially pretty girls who seemed not to like him. Which was most of them, really. She gave monosyllabic replies as necessary, and did nothing to further conversation. Like most nights, all was well, and save for a student locked out of her room, the evening passed without incident. He finished his essay as best he could, and flicked off the lights.
As he drifted off to sleep that night, it was with an effort that he held back tears. It had been his birthday, and outside of a handful of old high school friends saying something on facebook, nobody had said a word. His family hadn’t even called, though really, that wasn’t unusual. His birth mother had died before he was old enough to remember, and his father followed her in a traffic accident when DJ was eight. His step-mother and step-sister had raised him grudgingly, but both had been happy to see him shuffle off to college and were never thrilled when he returned for breaks.
It was pitiful, really, and he could scarcely even blame anyone for not taking more notice of him. DJ wasn’t especially handsome, nor was he a great student. His grades were the result of elbow grease and a lack of distractions by way of a social life. He had hobbies, but none that would impress or interest anyone. He was introverted, even shy at times, and had only a few friends here at college. He had an annoying laugh and skin that only a small fortune in skin care products kept from breaking out. DJ was a loser, and everybody knew it. Usually within minutes of meeting him. His only real desire was that instead of being treated like one, he could just get people to be merely civil. Not friendly, necessarily—just not cruel. To treat him with a modicum of dignity.
Now there are many stories of wishes coming true. Tales with genies, wizardry, or even a merciful god who answers heartfelt prayers. Sometimes they were granted by the blowing out of birthday candles, though DJ had done no such thing today. Still, whatever power motivated it, that night, his words were heard by someone, and someone with the means to grant wishes was listening when, just before falling asleep, he whispered, pleadingly—to no one at all—“I just wish people would tolerate me.”
The next day between classes, DJ popped in during Dr. Restrepo’s—no, Missy’s—office hours, and there she was. Long legs lead up to a slender body; a pair of breasts just prominent enough to be unable to avoid notice were present beneath cascades of curly brown hair halfway down her back. Insisting as ever on trying to fit in, she was dressed casually as usual, a skirt that ended midway down those divine thighs and a tank top that revealed the lack of bra beneath it for anyone more than glancing at it.
He’d heard more than one male classmate make crude comments or wolf whistles; the one time she’d overheard it, she’d whirled on the offender and brought the full wrath of the university to bear on him. The boy had dropped the class before the next meeting, and it was said the hell she’d raised had almost been enough to get him expelled. DJ guarded the level of his gaze carefully, keeping it off the hint of cleavage and on the bored expression on Missy’s face.
“What can I do for you, Schmidt?”
A dozen answers flooded his mind, all of which would have gotten him slapped, and he composed himself. “I revised my rough draft.”
She held out a hand, and he thrust the papers into it. After a moment’s perusal, she rolled her eyes. “Didn’t I tell you to switch topics? Social media’s impacts on political protest movements is just so passé—is there anyone who hasn’t already weighed in on it?” She shook her head deprecatingly. “I’m just trying to help you out here, Swanson. Scrap this wreck and come back with something fresh.” With that, she unceremoniously dropped the entire essay into the trash can in front of her.
He tensed with anger. “Hey! I worked really hard on that! And that’s the third one I wrote, since you didn’t like the first two. I’m just taking this course for credit—I’m not trying to revolutionize the field. No, I am not going to re-write it again.” He set his jaw firmly, fighting not to look down at the floor.
Missy seemed to consider a moment. “Oh. Well all right then.” She bent down to pick up the essay out of the trash can before she could see the stupefied expression on his face. He couldn’t believe she capitulated so easily. And he couldn’t believe what a great look he had down her top while she was bending over like this.
And he couldn’t believe she caught him staring as she fished out the essay from among the other papers.
The well-built professor rolled her eyes at him, though she looked more impatient than offended. “Get enough of an eyeful?” Still, she remained bent over, fishing for the essay. It was almost impossible not to at least glance at the two perky breasts beneath, little bee-sting nipples pointing the way to the floor.
“Oh! No, I, uh,” DJ stammered.
Finding the last page, she set the essay on her desk—still annoyed, and still bent over! “Well, let me know when you do.” She drummed her fingers on her desk impatiently.
His stare was more shock than interest—was she actually posing for him? He’d never gotten such a prolonged look at someone’s breasts before, the way they rose and lowered with each breath. Over and over. Over, and over. Was she some kind of slut? Exhibitionist? Trying to set him up for a lawsuit?
Up, down...
DJ had lost track of how long he stared. A minute? Two? He shook himself. “Sorry Dr. Restrepo. I don’t know what came over me. I’m SO sorry.” He blushed furiously.
She finally sat up; involuntarily, his eyes drank in every second of the view down her neckline until it was utterly gone. The impatient look on her face faded completely, like she hadn’t just given him a free peep show. And now it was painfully obvious that her nipples were hard, tenting out two spots in the thin tank top fabric. His eyes goggled.
“Schmidt?” She waved a hand to get his attention, and he looked back up, somehow discovering an even deeper shade of crimson. “Anyway, like I was saying while your eyes were fixated on my breasts, I’ll look this over and get it back to you next week with a grade. OK?” She still didn’t look more than annoyed.
“Sure—that’d be amazing. Thanks, Dr. Restrepo.”
She smiled, and even if it was forced, it was a smile. “I told you, call me Missy.”
He went over and over it after he left. Why the hell would she have let him ogle her like that? Was she just supremely understanding? And what was with the sudden flip-flop on his essay? None of it made sense. Still, other than a few bouts of vigorous masturbation, the incident passed, and he gave no more though to grander designs.
Then it was Saturday night, and across the college, people his age were dressing up and heading out to parties and dates and bars. Meanwhile, he was stuck on duty again with Emily. Still, he was in a good mood even so. He’d had a good end to the week—he’d had a few positive interactions with his residents, had lunch with some guys from class, and hung out with his fellow RAs on Friday night watching a couple movies. Maybe he wasn’t popular, but he’d felt included. It was nice, and he was determined that no sour looks from Emily were going to harsh his mellow.
And so far, so good. She’d made polite chit-chat with him during their first rounds, even, practically unprecedented kindness from her. Second rounds, just after midnight, were going disappointingly well until they hit the fourth floor lounge.
He’d heard stories before of RAs walking in on steamy scenes, but it was DJ’s first.
As they opened the lounge doors, he caught the sight of Ashley Vandoren straddling the hips of her boyfriend, Charlie Temple. Charlie was a second string lineman on the university’s football team who lived on DJ’s floor; Ashley he remembered from a party he’d had to bust last semester—especially since on several occasions since that incident she’d spit at him or flipped him off in passing.
Presently she was in nothing but a bra, a leopard-print number that was struggling to contain the two titanic tits within it, and with each bounce they threatened to break free, quivering and wobbling like mad. A blanket bunched around her waist was the only thing concealing the root cause of her quivering. Charlie noticed the RAs first, and began sputtering nonsensically.
“Oh don’t let us interrupt you two.” He grinned at Emily, who likewise looked fairly amused to have stumbled across the torrid scene.
Ashley squeaked, whirling to see who was there while Charlie winced at the sensation her sudden shift had on him. “Oh!” She looked hard at the two RAs, and then, unbelievably, she resumed grinding on Charlie’s lap.
DJ stared in shock—and in fascination. He’d never seen anyone have sex except on the internet, and his own meager experience with girls had never included a girl nearly as hot as Ashley. She had the whole hot-nerd-girl thing going on with just a hint of goth aesthetic, with black-rimmed glasses, creamy pale skin, a lazily groomed dark red mane of hair—and of course, those stupendous boobs of hers. Boobs which were even now resuming their wild flopping as she bounced on her boyfriend’s lap.
DJ looked to Emily, who had averted her eyes, but otherwise was making no move to intercede. Aside from some mild embarrassment, her body language said she was waiting on DJ for permission to proceed.
“Um, Ashley? Charlie?”
Charlie groaned as she rocked her hips forward, so it was Ashley who responded. “Yeah, DJ?”
He blinked. “You know my name?”
She moaned as Charlie tugged down a cup on her bra and put his mouth over one of her large pink nipples, and it was some time before she recovered enough to reply. “Sure—you’re DJ Swanson, the asshole who made me pour out $200 worth of booze last semester, you—oh FUCK YES baby, suck me, SUCK ME—you bastard.”
Charlie pulled back and murmured into her cleavage. “Quiet, babe, someone might hear and come in.”
DJ raised his hands in a wtf gesture. “Um, hello? Someone already did come in.”
Ashley silenced her boyfriend by leaning forward and burying his face in an avalanche of tits. “I thought you didn’t want to interrupt.” She looked back at him, and the expression on her face was a mix of sexual bliss and earnest curiosity.
Before he could reply, Emily interjected. “Hey, do you want to do the write-up for this, or do you want me to do it? I don’t care either way.” She was pure casual, though still not looking directly at the two.
What the fuck was going on?
DJ literally pinched himself. Ashley and Charlie fucking like his presence was no big deal, Emily patiently standing by while he ogled them. This had to be a dream.
Ashley reached behind her to undo her bra, tossing it behind the couch and increasing the tempo of her hips. Her big tits threatened to suffocate Charlie as she wrapped them around his head—or at least to batter him unconscious as they flew about unrestrained. They looked even better than they had in DJ’s imagination—which made him all the more certain that this couldn’t be real.
“DJ?” Emily spoke up again. Oh, she’d asked him a question. Still, if this was a dream... he’d read about lucid dreams, though he’d never had one. May as well enjoy it until he woke up.
He raised a finger and pushed it to Emily’s lips, shushing her. She stood by and let him without pulling back or even complaining—and if that didn’t confirm that he was dreaming, then nothing would. Emboldened, DJ walked up behind the blissful couple, and without warning reached over Ashley’s shoulders and took a breast in each hand.
They felt great—better even than his fantasies, because these felt real, not like the impossibly firm, perfect bubbles he’d imagined, but rather tender, quivering girl flesh, cool on the outside but hot where his fingers dug in. He squeezed them, then smushed them against Charlie’s face. “You don’t mind if I feel up your girlfriend, do you?”
Charlie looked up at him, mildly unhappy but in a pouty, ineffectual kind of way—which was good, since the real Charlie would surely be on his feet and kicking DJ’s ass up and down the hall. “It’s cool, man—I can’t say as I blame you.”
“And Ashley, this is all right with you, right?” He impulsively took a handful of her hair and tipped her head back, bending to kiss her. His tongue slid into her open mouth, and he felt her moan on his lips as his other hand found and tweaked her nipple.
“Sure, it’s all right,” she panted as he pulled back. She eyed him warily, like she was still displeased to be watched, but determined not to stop. His hands took liberty, caressing her neck, her smooth stomach, and of course those fantastic tits.
He was at it for some time before he heard Emily behind him. “Look, I’m gonna go finish rounds—you can take the write-up on this.”
His hard-on responded for him, emboldened by the surrealness of it all. “Nuh, uh, Emily—get that cute little ass of yours over here.” He walked away from Ashley, who seemed perfectly happy to be the focus of only one man again. It was moments before he clearly heard her climaxing, and she barely slowed as her body trembled with her orgasm.
“Nah, I got a good view from back here. You have fun.” DJ was having none of it though, and gripped the waistband of her pants and tugged her toward the couch next to where Charlie and Ashley were still fucking contentedly. He plopped down, smiling at the sight of Ashley’s bouncing tits, and pulled Emily down on his lap. She didn’t struggle, but still, it was clear his pulling was all that was moving her.
With manly impulsiveness he shifted his grip to her neckline, tugging hard to tear her shirt clean off—only it didn’t tear. For a dream, it was embarrassing. Emily scowled at him. “Hey! Hey, if we’re gonna do this, at least don’t ruin my top, all right? This thing cost $40.” With that, she stripped it off herself. Too eager to wait, he unclasped her bra—a boring beige one, oddly unsexy for a dream—and there they were. Emily Turner’s tits. Two glorious hemispheres, perfectly tanned and blemished only by a tiny mole on her left breast.
The next several minutes were lost in frantic groping and sucking; all the while Emily’s expression was more what one would expect on someone caught in a long line at the post office than a woman being felt up. Nonetheless he was proud when his efforts caused her to intake a shape breath between her teeth, released in a soft breathy moan.
Beside him, Ashley whined between ragged breaths, “Babe, are you gonna cum? Getting kinda tired up here.”
He gave her an exasperated look. “Ash, my RA is sitting two feet from me. Kinda gun-shy here—just be happy I can keep it up, hey?”
“DJ? Can we give it a rest yet?” She directed her pout at him; it could have melted steel.
He pushed Emily’s right tit away from his face long enough to respond. Why was it he was leaving Charlie in his dream, anyway? “Sure—Ashley, get off him. Charlie, get out.”
The spectacled girl heaved a sigh of relief, lifting herself off Charlie’s cock and standing completely nude in front of them. Her bush was thick—not DJ’s preference, but evidently his subconscious was keen on tossing in weird little quirks to this scenario. She began gathering up her clothes as Charlie hastily shucked his condom, then tugged on his pants and boxers from where they’d pooled around his ankles. “Don’t bother getting dressed, Ashley.”
Charlied looked between them as he fastened his belt. “Hey, like, is it cool if I ask you not to fuck my girlfriend, man? I mean, I’m not trying to push you around, but like, it’d be a courtesy.”
DJ responded by grabbing Ashley’s ass and pulling her back down onto the couch between them, then shrugged. “I don’t make any promises, man.”
Charlie frowned, then nodded, standing and pulling on his shirt. “All right. I’ll be in my room, babe.” She nodded, crossing her legs as he left the room with an apologetic look to his naked girlfriend.
“Emily, maybe you should take a cue from Ashley here and lose the pants, eh?” He smirked. This was all so unlike him, the arrogance and assertiveness, but he figured his odds of having another lucid dream about two beautiful women again any time soon were pretty low, so he intended to make hay while the sun was shining.
Emily frowned, sharing a mutually sympathetic look with Ashley, who had one hand placed over her lap and the other in a vain effort to conceal her chest. “Do I have to? I mean, if you’re just going to play with my tits, it seems kind of pointless to take my pants off.”
“I dunno, looked like Charlie had a good idea there—might go for a little of that myself.” He grinned.
She considered. “I’m not on the pill or anything—what if I just blew you? Would that be good enough?”
At hearing Emily Turner offer to suck his dick, it twitched in his pants—which he still had on for some ungodly reason. “Hmm... I could be persuaded to let you keep your panties, maybe, if you promise to do a real good job.”
Emily stood, and with a grimace, slid her pants down and stepped out of them. Her granny panties weren’t any sexier than her bra, but still, she had a tight, perfect little ass that’d look good in anything. He tugged her panties up into her crack, pinching her butt for fun. “That’ll do, Emily—as long as you suck cock as well as you give judgy looks.”
She settled down onto her knees in front of him and immediately began to undo his button and zipper casually. “I give pretty good blowjobs—never heard complaints anyway.” She gave a self-conscious look to Ashley, who was looking away anyway and still trying to guard her posthumous modesty. DJ’s cock throbbed almost achingly he was so hard, even after all the jerking off after Dr. Restrepo’s peep show the other day. Oh wow, Dr. Restrepo—Missy. He concentrated on having her appear, but he was interrupted by the feeling of Emily’s tongue dragging up and down his cock before his fantasizing had any results.
His eyes closed in rapture, but his hands had the presence of mind to brush aside Ashley’s arms, tugging her thighs apart and slipping his middle finger into her pussy. She moaned softly, still aroused from fucking Charlie a few minutes ago, and the moaning got louder as his thumb found her clit.
“Yeah, you like this, don’t you slut.” DJ snaked the fingers on his free hand in Emily’s silky mane.
Emily lifted her head off of his cock and looked up at him, sweeping back her hair to keep it from making contact with his saliva-drenched cock. “Not especially.” Ashley chuckled until a pressure on her clit turned it into a high-pitched whimper of pleasure. His other hand grabbed the back of Emily’s head and shoved it back down to her blowjob, which she resumed right where she left off.
A few minutes of outstanding cock-sucking later, DJ heard a male voice outside the lounge door. “Dude, I’m telling you, there’s somebody fucking in the lounge—I opened the door a moment ago and... look, just trust me OK?”
Ashley stiffened in panic as the door swung open and wrapped her arms across her bountiful chest, and Emily squeaked unhappily around a mouthful of cock. There were two young men, both of whom DJ vaguely recognized from around the quad though couldn’t name, both with cell phones out. Flashes illuminated the room like a lightning storm, and even in a dream, DJ momentarily froze in embarrassment.
Then he remembered the situation. “Girls, c’mon, try to look like you’re enjoying yourselves!” He smiled at the cameras, and with a pouty glare at DJ, Ashley lowered her arms and let the boys take pictures of her naked and getting fingered in the lounge. Emily tried to smile into his dick, though it wasn’t reflected in her eyes. DJ nudged her to the side so that the cameras could make out her face more clearly, then he nodded to the cameras smugly.
The wet quivering girl on his finger, the warm mouth on his cock, the sight of two sexy girls he’d lusted after for a long time naked and mostly-naked, the thrill of having them seen doing it... the cum was surging up his cock and he barely had time to pull back Emily’s face in time to plaster it.
She squealed indignantly, sputtering as a burst hit her right in the eye. “What the fuck, DJ!”
Before his hard-on could fade, he pressed it to her lips in the same shushing motion his finger had done to her earlier. “Hush now, gorgeous, and be grateful I’m letting you keep your panties after such a mediocre blowjob.” It wasn’t true, of course—DJ had only ever had one blowjob, and that had been from a girl nowhere near as hot as Emily, and she’d had braces (needless to say, nothing he remembered fondly). Still, Emily already thought plenty of herself.
Standing, he wiped the remaining bits of cum and saliva on Ashley’s tits, then for good measure, on her cheeks and lips. “That’s enough guys,” he said to the two guys, who laughed as they put away their phones and left the lounge.
DJ pulled his pants and boxers back up, catching his breath. “I can’t believe you just let those guys take pictures of us,” Emily groused.
“Seriously! Can I at least get dressed now?” Ashley stood, hands on her hips in what might have looked intimidating if she hadn’t been nude.
“Sure, knock yourself out. Tell Charlie he’s welcome for me not fucking you—maybe next time.”
Ashley quickly tugged her clothes back on, skipping the bra and underwear in her haste. “Yeah. Sure.” She hustled out the door, and DJ enjoyed watching her broad butt go.
Emily dressed more deliberately, but headed to the lounge sink before putting her top back on. “And thanks for the fucking facial, too.” She tested the water’s temperature with a finger, waiting for it to warm up.
“Sorry. I just couldn’t help it.”
“You could have helped it—but you decided it’d be funnier to jizz on my fucking face.”
He frowned at the back of her head. Awfully sassy for a dream girl. “Hey—shut that water off. I think you look better like that.”
She flashed him an exasperated look. “Seriously? Is that really necessary?” Still, she shut off the water.
“One more complaint and I’ll have you do rounds topless too.”
She opened her mouth, then thought better of it, then tugged on her top while being careful not to smudge his cum. Maybe she was just protecting her blouse, but it felt more like she was playing along with his request.
They finished rounds. There was nothing else going on at the late hour, though more than a few night owls noticed the pearl spots on her copper skin and stared or chuckled. She kept her chin up and ignored it. All the while, DJ waited for his alarm clock to jolt him out of the dreamscape.
“Have a good night, Emily.”
He expected a caustic retort, but instead, all he got was a simple “good night, DJ.”
Not knowing what else to do or how to end the dream, DJ went to bed, closed his eyes, and went (back?) to sleep.
DJ woke up the next morning and immediately blushed at the previous night’s dream. He could hardly believe that even in his dream he would be so crude, so disrespectful to women, so crappy to one of his residents. It was completely unlike him. He felt the urge to apologize to Ashley, Emily and Charlie for just dreaming about such things.
Then he logged into his social media accounts to find dozens of new notifications. Unheard of for someone like him, surely—he worried something had happened. Lots of “so-and-so and such-and-such has commented on a photo you’re tagged in,” and he scrolled through until he found the original post.
It was an album of pictures of him sitting on the couch in the fourth floor lounge. Beside him, Ashley Vandoren sat naked and buried to the knuckle on his middle finger, back arched in pleasure as he worked her clit. In front of him, what might have been any hot, tanned brunette knelt, sucking his cock with a determined expression, but it was difficult to be sure who it was given the dick in her mouth.
But the tag on it labeled her unambiguously as Emily Turner.
He pinched himself again. And again.
A third time, for good measure.
What the fuck?!