She was 19. I was 19. We’d met by accident, passing in the hallway, exchanging awkward smiles, on our floor in the co-ed dorm. After a week I turned that shy smile into a movie night, and we’d been dating ever since. Now it was the end of the first semester of college, and our bodies were at the peak of our adolescent beauty.
She was 5’7, 110 pounds, a lean, lithe body from running cross country, long, thick nut brown hair, a gorgeous, white smile, firm and perky B cups, and an ass that would have looked incredible in a burlap sack. At her invitation, I flew out to Colorado to visit her parent’s cabin over winter break. They had met me a few times during the school year, at football games and parent’s weekend in October, but they had always gone well as far as I could tell. Now I knew they did. Despite my precocious nature, I couldn’t help but feel a bit awkward around them, likely because they knew how intimate she and I had become.