Alex left for college in late August, nothing packed until the night before, the last-minute anxiety and a long droning drive through the night. The small college town was two hours from everything familiar, and when he said goodbye to his girlfriend at the curb in front of her house, she wore an old hoodie of his, much to big for her petite frame, her eyes already glassy from the exhaustion of it all, the way leaving felt like tearing a tiny ligament. She was a year behind him in school but they promised they would be just fine apart. They had that conversation a dozen times before departing: yes, they would stay together; yes, they would try; yes, they knew it would be hard, but yes, they would do it. But in the final week, when it became real, she’d surprised him by proposing an open relationship, her logic as pragmatic as her approach to everything else—she was going to be a chemistry major, after all, and had always said that if you can’t quantify the experiment, you have no business running it. “It just makes sense,” she said, “since we’ll see each other, what, once a month if we’re lucky?” It felt weirdly clinical, like a pre-medical consent form, but he signed off, not willing to be the one to seem possessive or irrational.

Freshman orientation was a blur of endless icebreaking activities and PowerPoints about sexual safety. His roommate, Jordan, was one of those guys who’d played every varsity sport in high school, tall and constantly unshaven, catering to the stereotype of the laconic lunk but somehow, in practice, less loathsome than the model suggested. Jordan was friendly without trying, always in the center of whatever rotating group of people had gathered on their floor.

It didn't take too long for his girlfriend to visit; she arrived by bus one chilly weekend in October, bringing her overnight bag and a nervous excitement. She had told her parents she was going away for the weekend with her best friend's family.

Alex introduced her to Jordan together, and the chemistry was immediate—not the awkward, forced small talk of strangers but a genuine, easy rapport, the kind of thing that makes everyone else a third wheel. It was meant to be a quiet weekend, but Jordan insisted they come out to a house party. “You’ve gotta experience a true college party,” he said, already pulling out his phone to arrange rides.

The party was in a decaying rental north of campus, the porch sagging under the weight of clustered smokers, music vibrating through the walls. Inside, she was instantly a magnet: guys noticed her, tried to talk, made jokes, and asked where she was from, and she played along with a kind of wry detachment that he’d never seen in her before. At first, he found it funny, a novelty, watching her field compliments with a dry wit, but as the night wore on and the drinks kept coming, he noticed that she wasn’t fending them off so much as inviting them, like she was testing out some new role for herself. He tried to join her conversations but found himself increasingly sidelined; more than once, he returned from the bathroom or the makeshift bar to find her laughing at something Jordan had said, their heads close together in the dim light. The room was humid with sweat and spilled beer, and each time she caught his eye from across the kitchen, she smiled, but it landed differently now, like an in-joke he’d missed the set-up for.

He decided not to bring it up as they stumbled back to the dorm, the three of them crammed into a cab, her legs draped over Jordan’s knees, his hand “accidentally” lingering on her thigh. The unspoken rules of their open relationship seemed to have mutated in the five hours since she’d arrived. The elevator ride up was silent except for the hum of cheap fluorescent bulbs. Once inside the room, she announced she was starving; Alex volunteered to run to the dining hall for snacks. The door had barely closed behind her when she turned to Jordan. “That was fun,” she said, pulling off her shoes, “but I think I drank too much.” She flopped onto his bed. She glanced up at him, a mischievous glint in her eye as she settled comfortably in Jordan's bed.

"Whoops, wrong bed," he laughed, but she just smirked back.

"Maybe I'm in the right bed after all," she teased with a wink. Jordan's eyebrows raised in amusement, and he couldn't help but chuckle at her boldness.

"What about your boyfriend?" he asked playfully, knowing full well the answer.

"We're in an open relationship," she replied nonchalantly, as if it explained everything.

Alex returned with some snacks, chatting with them as they munched on chips and zoned out to some music. Eventually, he turned to his girlfriend, a playful glint in his eye, and suggested it was time for bed. She hesitated for a moment before mentioning that she's not quite ready to call it a night. With a smile, she informed him that she would just sleep in Jordan's bed. He cast a glance at Jordan, who gave a casual shrug, clearly unfazed by the suggestion. Nodding slowly, Alex got into bed and attempted to get some sleep.

He lay awake for a long time, listening to the sounds of their muffled voices as she and Jordan whispered about trivial things, then nothing at all. The room was quieter than usual, and after a while, he heard the careful, practiced sound of two people trying to keep quiet: the rustle of sheets, the soft intake of breath, and then, unmistakably, the sound of two people kissing. His stomach knotted, but he didn’t move, didn’t say anything, even as the kissing noises got more insistent, as they abandoned the pretense and gave in to it. He listened to them, wide awake, as the breathing intensified, as his girlfriend's moans started quietly at first, then louder and more urgent.

The sounds became a chorus, a brutal symphony that echoed through the small dorm room. Alex wanted to disappear, to melt into the thin mattress beneath him. Each moan was a stab, each whispered word a twist of the knife. He tried to focus on the dull hum of the mini-fridge, the distant murmur of other late-night conversations in the hallway—anything but the sounds coming from the other side of the room.

His mind raced, a whirlwind of confusion and hurt. This was his girlfriend, the one who wore his old hoodies, who knew his dreams and fears. Who was his first, and he hers.

He remembered the endless phone calls when he first moved away, the way they'd talk until his battery died, her voice the last thing he'd hear before falling asleep. Now, he was lucky if she responded to his texts within a day or two; her replies were always breezy and brief, as if she was constantly distracted, her attention elsewhere. The stark contrast stung, especially now, as he listened to her breathe hitch in pleasure from another man's touch.

He thought about the last time they'd spoken on the phone, really spoken, not just the perfunctory check-ins that had become their new norm. It was late at night, much like this one, and he'd been rambling about his upcoming philosophy exam, the one he was sure was going to be a nightmare. She'd made all the right noises, the reassuring mm-hmms and yeahs, but something had been off. He'd brushed it aside at the time, chalking it up to the sketchy phone connection or her own exhaustion. But now, as he listened to the rhythmic sounds from Jordan's bed, he couldn't shake the feeling that she'd been distracted for a reason.

He remembered the way her voice had drifted in and out, how she'd seemed to be listening but not really hearing him. There had been a moment when she'd gone quiet, a soft gasp that she'd tried to pass off as a yawn. But it was clear now, painfully clear. He could picture her, phone pressed to her ear as some asshole gripped her hips and slid his hard cock into her perfect, tight pussy.

Alex's imagination was vivid and brutal, and it was nothing compared to the reality unfolding mere feet away. The room was filled with the scent of them, the raw, primal odor of sex and sweat. He could hear Jordan's low grunts, the sound of his body meeting hers in a steady, relentless rhythm. His girlfriend's moans were no longer soft or hidden; they were bold, unashamed, filling the room, echoing off the walls, just as Jordan was doing at this exact moment, fucking her with an intensity that made the bedframe creak and groan in protest against the cheap dorm walls.

Alex could feel each thrust like a physical blow, his gut twisting with a mix of anger, humiliation, and arousal. He hated himself for it, hated that his body responded to the raw sounds of their fucking. He tried to block it out, squeezing his eyes shut,

His girlfriend's voice broke through his tormented thoughts, a sharp cry of pleasure that sent a shiver down his spine. "Fuck, Jordan," she gasped, her voice ragged. "Right there, don't stop." The words were like a knife twisting in his heart, but they also sent a surge of unwanted desire through him. He could feel his own body responding, his cock hardening despite the pain and anger coursing through him.

He tried to quiet his breathing, to keep his presence unnoticed, but it was nearly impossible.

The slightest shift in his mattress made it creak, and he stiffened, praying they hadn't heard. The idea that they might pause, that Jordan might look over and see him awake, eyes open, cock hard, was unbearable. He willed his body to stillness, his breaths shallow and silent. His girlfriend's pants grew more erratic, her pleasure escalating. Jordan's grunts matched her rhythm, their bodies slapping together in a frantic dance. Alex's heart pounded in his chest, a mix of mortification and unwanted excitement coursing through him. He couldn't bear the thought of them knowing he was awake, listening, a pathetic voyeur in his own room.

Suddenly, her hand slapped against the wall, her body convulsing as she came with a loud, trembling moan that seemed to shake the very foundations of the room. Alex could feel his own body trembling in response, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. He heard Jordan's final, guttural grunt, the sound of his release, and then, finally, the room began to quiet, the frenzied sounds of their passion subsiding into soft, satisfied sighs.

The silence that followed was almost as unbearable as the sounds that had preceded it. Alex lay still, his body aching with a tension that was both painful and pleasurable. He could hear the rustle of sheets as they shifted, the murmur of their voices as they exchanged soft, intimate words.

Alex's ears strained to pick up any further sounds, but all that remained were the soft, steady breaths of two people drifting into a satisfied sleep. The room was finally quiet, but the silence offered no peace. He willed his body to relax, to find some measure of calm, but his mind was a whirlwind, replaying the sounds and images of what had just transpired.

His eyes were wide open, staring at the ceiling, the dim light from the streetlamps outside casting long, eerie shadows. He could feel the tightness in his chest, the way his heart refused to slow its frantic pace. Below, his cock was still rock hard, almost painfully so, throbbing with a need that made him grit his teeth. He tried to shift, to find a more comfortable position, but every movement sent a jolt through him, a reminder of his body's betrayal.

He turned, finally daring to look at them, their bodies entwined, his girlfriend's bare bum hanging off the bed towards him. Her leg was draped over Jordan's torso, her hair splayed out across his chest. The sheet was twisted around them, barely covering anything. Alex could see the curve of her breast, the faint glow of sweat on her skin. He swallowed hard, his mouth dry. The sight of them together was both haunting and hypnotic, a car crash he couldn't look away from. His eyes traced the line of her spine, hip down to the bare skin of her ass, pale and exposed in the dim light. The knowledge that she was full of Jordan's cum, sent a wave of masochistic lust crashing through him. He couldn't bear it any longer. With a trembling hand, he reached down and touched his cock, the slightest contact sending a jolt of pleasure through him. He bit his lip, trying to suppress any sound, any movement that might give him away.

One stroke, then two, and on the third, his body convulsed, his orgasm tearing through him with a ferocity that left him gasping. Ropes of hot cum shot out, landing on his sheets, on the floor, even reaching halfway across the room. He lay there, panting, his body shaking from the intensity. The release was overwhelming, but the emptiness that followed was almost unbearable.