Okay.

That was a true story.

In a way I wish it wasn’t, since I realize it doesn’t reflect too well on me, but I’m afraid it is. That is what happened and it’s more or less how it happened. Not in every single detail. I have made it considerably more wicked and salacious than it truly was. I didn’t plan things quite so cold-bloodedly, for example, and I didn’t do the strip poker trick, and we didn’t do and say all that sick stuff the following morning, but the essence of it is faithful to the reality.

In my first term at college I did share a room with an older girl (let’s stick with ‘P’) who was a good deal less attractive and sexually experienced than me. Perhaps not quite a virgin, I made that up, but close.

And we did hit the town one evening and got talking to two handsome young guys, who I knew both fancied me rotten although one was pretending hard to like P.

And yes we did invite them back, to our room, where we all got drunk on cheap wine and inhibitions flew out the window, then one thing led to another and before too long I was getting seriously hit on by both the boys and poor P was being totally ignored.

I should have called a halt to proceedings at that stage, I know I should, but I didn’t. I was actually enjoying the situation. Getting a perverse pleasure from how these two dishy guys were into me and not my roommate, how they were both hell bent on seducing me.

So, heart of the matter, poor P crawled off to bed alone and I ended up sleeping with the two guys, shagging them both in my bed right next to hers.

And I enjoyed that too. Not just the sex, which I obviously loved, but the fact that here I was getting bedded by two gorgeous boys while P was stewing there in lonely isolation, just a few feet away, hearing everything and no doubt feeling insanely jealous.

Why did I get a kick from it? I’m not certain. I think it was probably that I was insecure at that age despite the fact that I was so pretty. So this whole kind of sordid episode was providing me with an ego boost, a confirmation of just how appealing I was to the opposite sex.

Anyway, whatever, I behaved like an utter bitch. That’s the point.

You’re perhaps wondering what came next.

Well, you’ll be surprised.

I said how we didn’t really do any of that rather vile mocking of poor P on the morning after, didn’t I?

Okay, so we didn’t.

What actually occurred was that my two conquests got up early, whispered goodbye to me, and they were long gone by the time that me and P awoke properly.

There was an atmosphere between us at first, me and my roommate, but we had a clear-the-air chat about things and I apologized and she ended up just laughing about it. She was great.

We decided amicably that we weren’t compatible to share digs, since I’d want to be partying, bringing guys home, all of that, whereas P was more into her studies and a quiet life.

So we split in that sense (I moved out a few days later) but in another sense we didn’t, because we stayed in touch and in fact became very good friends right the way through university. We mixed in different circles, did different things, but always enjoyed each other’s company. Perhaps it’s because we were such opposites that it worked so well.

We’re still friends now, almost fifteen years later. Our lives have diverged radically and we don’t hook up much (we live hundreds of miles apart) but we do manage to get together sporadically.

Last time was a couple of months ago, in fact. I happened to be in the city where P lives and I had a little downtime so I called her and we met up.

We had drinks and then dinner and it was a blast. P got married just late last year and she brought Malcolm along, the first time I’d met her hubby and so that was nice. Really sweet guy.

Only slightly awkward aspect of the evening (and it was quite awkward) was Malcolm taking way more interest in my cleavage than a man ought to do when his wife is around. It got more and more obvious as the night went on. By the time we were in the restaurant and halfway through our main course the poor guy seemed almost transfixed. It was pretty embarrassing because P most definitely noticed, although she was pretending furiously otherwise.

And okay I must own up to a touch of ‘mea culpa’ about the situation, and more specifically about poor Malcolm’s inability to stop drooling at my breasts. I had a very racy dress on and I guess the dangerously plunging neckline wasn’t at all appropriate for this particular occasion. I really should have chosen something else, shouldn’t I, given I knew perfectly well that P’s new husband would be joining us.

Can’t think why I didn’t.