Forget her and head upstairs.

You offer your thanks to Alley once she's returned your paperwork and given you your room key. She callously ignores you and summons the next person in line. Oh well.

Your room is on the second floor of MacLaren Hall. The thing about living so close to the ground level is that you can get up and down quickly and easily, but other residents give you dirty looks if you try to take the elevator. In spite of this, the lifts are jam-packed with people and their belongings, no matter what floor they're going to. It probably takes an hour for one car to get up and down the building. Being the philanthropist that you are (you are a philanthropist, right?), you take the stairs. Thankfully, you've packed light: a duffel bag full of clothes and toiletries, a backpack filled with stationary and notebooks, and a tote to carry your laptop.

Emerging from the stairwell, you're greeted by throngs of movers desperately trying to get in and out of their rooms, stepping over paraphernalia, negotiating paths between people and things. You make your way through as best you can, trying not to step on anything-- or anyone.

Finally you come to Room 250, which will hopefully be your home for the next nine academic months. You fumble for your key, but then see that the door is already slightly ajar. Your roommate, one Uday Dasgupta-- whom you had a chance to phone about a month back-- must be here already. Indeed, someone is already in the room, but he's a bit too fair-skinned to be named "Uday."

The scene before you is shocking, to say the least. Some white guy reclines on one of the three beds, ostentatiously naked and quite happy about it, if his euphoric expression and his protruding penis are to be trusted. It's not hard to see why, as there are three girls on the tiny twin-size mattress with him, astutely tending to his bare body with their own, sucking his dick, playing with his balls, and rubbing his shoulders.. They look about your age; in fact you can recognize at least one of the girls from the downstairs queues. This guy, however-- a little pasty, blue-eyed, unshaven, lean, with thick, wavy brown hair-- looks older, maybe by three or four years. Does he live here? Afterall, the dorms are supposed to be reserved for freshmen and sophomores. From the looks of it, he's getting more than his fair share, and there's a lot more to that than just housing!

You stammer something to the effect of, "What the hell...?" The naked quartet shifts its attention to you, the three girls shooting mocking smiles in your direction. Apparently uninterested in the other male in the room, they go back to what they were doing, irreverently unabashed and unashamed.

Meanwhile, the guy holds his smart-ass expression, looking directly at you. "Nothing like bagging a couple eighteen-year-olds, right, Freshie?" he pronounces suddenly. He places one hand on a girl's head, guiding her mouth up and down along the -full length- of his manhood. She adjusts her position between his legs, bent over and kneeling so that she can adequately service every inch. Her ass goes up as she does so, prominently displaying her pussy as it glistens majestically with wetness.

"What's wrong, Freshie?" the guy asks, not entirely certain of your reaction. "You got a frontrow seat. You don't like it?" With that he taps another girl on the thigh. "Dance for us, Bitch." The long-haired, well-endowed brunette instantly complies, rising from her place on the bed to show off her curvaceous figure and round butt. Her arms fold over her head, and she sways and undulates her hips like a bellydancer, or a charmed serpent. Seriously, what kind of mesmerizing instrument does this guy play, and where can you get one?