By 8 PM, nearly an hour before Fall-FuckFest was expected to even start, Byron was already rather drunk. Martin, who lived across the hall, had stopped by to pre-game with Byron and Damien. Like many of the students at Waycroft, Martin came from a well off family and he felt it only right to generously share his families wealth by bringing several cases of beer with him to drink-ups. As much as Byron appreciated the alcohol, he wasn't sure where Martin had managed to dig it up. Usually students relied on local older siblings, bribed townies, or found convenience stores with the most apathetic staff but it was evident that this beer did not come from any of these sources. The label, to Byron's best guess, was in Croatian, the beer burned his throat, and it was (albeit it was difficult to tell with the Croatian label) somewhere in the area of 12% alcohol content.

The three boys, along with numerous others that had filtered in and out of the room as their hallmates paced out their pre-party jitters, had been playing some drinking game, the rules of which Byron had never truly grasped. A poor drinking game performance combined with his slight build left Byron not so drunk that he was in danger of being sick, but drunk enough that Martin was fairly easily able to convince him that wearing a flag with the school crest on it as a toga would be a daring fashion statement.

“Svi jedemo sir i jebemo koze!” apropos of nothing, Byron shouted a phrase he had read on the back of the beer case.

Martin and Damien were looking at him expectantly. It must have been his turn to play a card. He took a deep swig of his Croatian beer and tossed out one at random.

“This is a coaster,” said Martin, “from the... Big Texan motel? How do you even have this?”

“I think this game should be over,” Damien declared, eyebrows knitted.

He leaned over to try to tug the beer from Byron's grasp, but like the long, proud history of drunk people that came before him, Byron held on to his drink with a ferocity that belied his modest strength.

Patiently, Damien leaned closer and said quietly, “Normally I would be all for you getting absurdly drunk and making a huge ass of yourself. Trust me, I'll be the one egging you on more often then not. But if you are too drunk to enjoy tonight you're going to massively regret it in the morning.”

Although his drunk belligerence had firm control of the wheel, the tiny voice of reason in Byron's head managed to take over for the briefest moment and he let the beer slide out of his hand.

“Go take a cold shower,” Damien suggested, “I'll keep your toga safe for you.”

The shower helped. As did the next hour of abstaining from drinking. But even so, in the days that followed, when Byron would think back on the beginning of the party, he could only recall bits and pieces. It was as if every time he closed his eyes the world jumped forward in time.

They arrived at the party a little earlier than might be considered fashionably late, but it was already roaring. The hall lights were all off and colored effect lights strobed feverishly. Someone had gone absolutely ham with fog machines and a thick layer of smoke wafted over their feet to the rhythm of some tuneless EDM song.

Blink.

The lights haphazardly illuminating the smoke in the opulent hallway and the thumping bass of what might generously be referred to as music churned the Croatian beer sloshing around in Byron's stomach in an unpleasant way. But at that moment he didn't care. The energy in the party was electric. He turned around to share his excitement with Damien and Martin but they were nowhere to be found.

Blink.

The silhouettes Bryon could see moved through the party exuberantly, almost giddily; the chatter that he could pick up over the music was light and excited.

Blink.

The people he passed, people whose names he hadn't really yet learned, shouted admiration for his toga and slapped him on the back. Byron did not remember picking up a drink, but someone must have handed him one. He was delighted to find that this did not burn his throat and he drank deeply.

Blink.

A cheer went up as Byron pushed open the door to the cafeteria and it took a moment to realize the cheer was for him. Or, more accurately, his toga, but if still felt nice. He waved to his public like Caesar and a dozen hands pulled him into the thick crowd gathered on the cafeteria floor.

Blink.

At some point Byron's natural tendency towards hammery must have taken over because he was dancing exuberantly with a group of people he didn't recognize. They seemed to be edging away from him in fear of his increasingly wild arm moves. His moment was already over, people had lost interest in the novelty of his outfit and his physically dangerous dance moves but his spirit was still light. This was going to be a night, he was sure of it.

Blink.

Now dancing by himself and sweating from exertion, Byron allowed himself to coast to a stop. He tried to spot a place to refill his drink but only saw a writhing mass of bodies no matter where he looked so he picked a random direction and pushed his way into the crowd. The press of the crowd was so overwhelming that he didn't realize he was being tapped on the shoulder for several moments before he finally registered it.

Blink.

He was talking to a girl that looked a lot like Lindsay. She was small and blonde like Lindsay and wore Lindsay's perpetually terrified expression. It occurred to Byron that this might, in fact, be Lindsay, though if that were the case the fact that she was voluntarily talking to a fellow human would be out of character. Maybe-Lindsay was talking very fast and gesticulating emphatically. Byron couldn't make out anything she was saying over the pounding music. Probably-Lindsay had paused and was looking at him expectantly so he nodded sagely as if he had understood anything she said to him.

Blink.

Lindsay had her hands on Byron's shoulders and was shouting in his face but his senses were still so overloaded that he wasn't really taking in what she was saying. Her eyes were bulging out of her head and she looked like she expected to find her self on the business end of a guillotine any moment- so pretty much how she always looked.

“I completely understand where you're coming from, I kind of want to choke him too.”

Byron heard the voice from behind him clearly over the racket of the party. He turned his head and saw the statuesque figure of Chloe, head and shoulders above the crowd, her wide hips easily clearing a path her as she came to stand beside him. She looked amazing in a tight blue dress made of a soft material. She was wearing shoes with a small heel, an inconsequential addition to her height but made her already tremendous backside seem even more prominent. Her expression had the forceful confidence and mischievous playfulness that had so charmed Byron on their previous encounters... but there was something else hiding behind the poise.

Wait, wait. That was jealousy, he was sure of it! Lindsay had sensed it as well, her arms went slack on his shoulders.

Of course, of course, Byron had already blown his shot, things were going way too well for him. He wanted to explain that he regarded Lindsay more as one might an umbrella or a toaster, something you see frequently but don't really have any emotional attachment to, but he couldn't get any words out. Panicked, he stammered thinking of the right way to assure Chloe that he might not know what was happening at the moment but it absolutely could not be a prelude to anything romantic.

Before Byron even had a chance to get out a word, almost certainly making things worse, Chloe slid a long arm around his shoulder and squeezed him possessively to her side. Dazed from emotional whiplash and still more than a little drunk, he allowed himself to sink into the softness of her side. Chloe grinned broadly at Lindsay. Ostensibly, it was a friendly gesture that said “we're all friends here” but even in his cups Byron was astute enough to see the real message, “I'm not threatened by you but this is my territory and I am perfectly willing to squash you.”

Blink.

Byron was walking somewhere. He didn't know where but there was an insistent force on his upper back directing him forward. Sensing an imposing presence he looked over his left shoulder and found himself staring directly into Chloe's chest. Her right hand was centered on his spine, but big enough to cover the majority of his back.

If she had told him where they were heading his brain had pissed away the information like so much Croatian alcohol. The force of her hand was such that he didn't think he could stop moving if he tried. He chanced a glance at her face. Impassive.

The cafeteria door swung shut behind them as Chloe marched Byron into the outer hallway, the full assault of music dropping to a steady, percussive thump of bass. Away from the oppressive crowd and music, Byron scattered thoughts started to knit back together again.

The outer hallway was by no means empty. Numerous tightly entwined couples were working valiantly to earn the party's name. While nothing Byron saw was beyond PG13, it was clear where this hormone train was headed. Byron passed a girl he thought he knew from his Senior Seminar class rounding first base with a boy with a shaved head and nosiness got the better of him. As he indelicately tried to lean closer and see if it was her, the statuesque figure behind him moved around to the front.

Chloe looked down at him with an expression Byron couldn't quite read but impatience and reluctant amusement were key elements in its construction. Wordlessly, she took Bryon's hand, her larger hand enclosing his with room to spare, and pulled him along behind her. She turned into a nearly deserted side hallway and pulled Byron in front of a closed door, where she stopped.

Chloe let go of Byron's hand to pull a pin from her hair and work it into the latch of the door. Free of persistent stimulation, Byron's slack attention was immediately pulled into the swell of Chloe's butt. He could see it jiggle ever so slightly through the soft fabric of her dress as she worked the door. He was at the point of wondering if her hips were a full three times as wide as his when he heard a click and a satisfied sigh from Chloe.

“There.”

She caught his eye, winked, and pushed open the door.

“What is this place?” Byron asked, glancing around, impressed.

They entered a small, comfortable room, less stuffy and formal than most of the campus but no less expensive looking.

“Teacher's lounge,” Chloe responded. “It's one of the smaller ones, so I don't think many students know about it.”

Byron flopped gratefully onto a couch, which was as comfortable as it looked. Chloe sat down next to him, her considerable weight bouncing him briefly up into the air.

“Ah,” Chloe sighed, “I love a rager but that was getting a little much even for me.”

“I can think of some things I'd like to discuss with the deaf robot that chose the music.”

Byron noticed that she was sitting so close to him that the edge of her hip was resting lightly in his lap.

“So who convinced you to dress like that?” Chloe asked.

“What makes you think I need any help picking out my wardrobe?” Bryon shot back, a little too forcefully to be completely playful.

Chloe raised her eyebrows at him but mercifully decided not to press the matter.

“You don't have a drink, maybe I should go get us some” she offered.

Byron hesitated. “I think you might be too drunk,” he said dryly.

Chloe laughed.

“I'm going to go get us some drinks,” she said, standing, “and if any little blondes come sniffing around you can send them on their way.

She gave him a sly smile and he rolled his eyes but couldn't help but smile back.

“Don't miss me too much,” she called back to him as she left the room.

Byron laid down on the couch. As anxious as he was for Chloe to return he was drained from his overindulgence, the intensity of the party, and the emotionally fraught misunderstanding with Lindsay. He needed a few minutes just to lay down until the world stopped spinning.

Before he even had a chance to overthink how his romance was going, he heard the door handle jiggle. It was too soon for Chloe to be back. Byron sat up, prepared to shoo away any other students trying to encroach on his quiet place.

“Chloe?” came a voice. The voice had a slight accent. Byron knew that voice.

The door popped open and Amy's head peaked in the room. She frowned when she saw Byron.

“What are you doing here?” Amy sneered, her tall, curvy body following her head into the room. She was dressed much more informally than Chloe in a low cut blouse that revealed an acre of cleavage and a pair of dark colored jeans that she had somehow pulled over her wide hips and shelf of an ass. Her clothes were tight enough to reveal her muffin top and the size of her generous belly but the overall effect highlighted her hourglass shape.

“Chloe brought me,” Byron said with a smirk. He considered asking her to leave but as little as he knew about Amy he could tell that a direct request from him would only embolden her to do the opposite.

“Ugh, are you following her around like a puppy again?” Amy asked, sitting heavily on the couch next to Byron. Her wide ass took up a full cushion and then some.

“Hey, she found me at the party and I don't really think I had a choice whether or not I came with her.”

“Did you wear that,” Amy said, gesturing to Bryon's toga, “instead of developing a personality?” She glared at him for a moment and then turned away.

It was a weak insult. Of the many colorful things Byron had been accused of over the years, being bland was never one of them.

“Wait,” he started, leaning over to try to get a look at Amy's face, “are you jealous?”

Amy turned further away and spoke with her back to him.

“Ugh, shut up.”

“You are jealous, I don't believe it!”

Slowly, something clicked into place for Byron.

“Wait... are you jealous of her... or me?” he asked.

Amy turned around and looked at him. She seemed to be debating providing him with an answer when they heard the door handle shake.

“I don't know what is in this drink someone described it as domestic terrorism so it should get the job done.” If Chloe was surprised to see Amy there she was playing it close to the chest. “Oh, sorry Amy, I didn't get one for you.”

“That's OK,” Amy said flatly, “I'll just have his.”

Chloe met eyes with Byron and he shrugged. Chloe handed the extra drink to Amy and sat down on the other side of Byron. Amy made gloating eye contact with Byron as she drank deeply from the cup that was supposed to be his but she was overestimating how much he cared about forcing more alcohol into his body.

Byron leaned back on the couch feeling very cozy between the two large girls, whatever animosity or complications might be brewing. Byron wasn't touching either girl but they were separated by less than an inch on either side- it occurred to him that because both girls needed so much space for their substantial bodies, specifically their considerable backsides, it wouldn't have been possible for all of them to fit on the couch without being on top of each other if his own body wasn't so small and narrow. Not for the first time, Byron wished he was a little bit bigger.

There was a silence. It wasn't a good silence. Amy looked slowly back and forth between Byron and Chloe as if hoping to catch them passing secret messages to each other. Chloe looked directly at Amy, her face expressionless but her still, unblinking gaze obviously a challenge. From his comfy home in the back of the couch, Byron endeavored to break the tension.

“Look,” he said, “if it will make everyone feel more comfortable we can all just fuck right now and get it out of the way.”

Chloe laughed and shoved him. Amy hit him with a pillow so hard that if he had been standing he was sure it would have lifted him off of his feet.

The girls were much more amicable after that, helped in no small part by weapons grade alcohol. The three of them laughed easily together and even Amy's teasing was trending less barbed and more whimsical. Flirting was played ostensibly as a joke but light touches and held glances made it clear the jokes were a facade. The mood became so light that Byron was willing to leave the convivial, sexually charged oasis of a teacher's lounge and get them all drinks to keep things rolling.

When Byron returned with three drinks, Chloe and Amy were sitting next to each other, whispering and giggling. When they heard him come in, they turned to him. For a moment, Byron knew what a gazelle experienced when it was spotted by a cheetah.

“Whats the matter?” Chloe teased, “Come sit down.”

Chloe slid over so the middle seat was open. Slowly, carefully watching both girls, Byron walked over to the couch and sat down. On the pretext of taking one of the drinks, Chloe slid closer to him, her hip pushing into his side. She placed the drink on the side table and took another which she also set down.

On the other side, Amy leaned in and took the final drink. She sipped it inattentively and a droplet leaked out of the corner of her mouth and ran down her neck into her bountiful cleavage. Byron's eyes couldn't help but follow the droplet as it disappeared into the darkness.

“You know,” Amy purred, “you might be kind of cute if you were the size of a real boy.”

This was the closest thing to a complement Amy had ever said to him. He stared at her, stunned, until he felt a hand on his leg. He turned to see Chloe rubbing his thigh.

“I don't know, I kind of like him this size,” she said in barely more than a whisper, “much more pliable.”

Amy reached across Byron and grabbed Chloe's free hand, guiding it to her upper arm.

“And here I thought you liked girls. Big ones.” Amy said in a playfully offended voice.

“A girl can't like two things?” Chloe replied.

They both leaned in across Byron until their faces were inches apart. Their lips met. Softly at first, their tongues gently probing just inside each other's mouths, then with abandon, their bodies undulating as their lips surged together again and again.

Byron hadn't even noticed he was getting hard until his erection bumped into Chloe's hand on his thigh. He made to casually adjust himself in his seat so his arousal wasn't quite so obvious but Chloe's grip was pinning him in place.

Chloe looked at him with a knowing smile as Amy kissed down her cheek to her neck. She let out a moan of pleasure and raked her fingers across Amy's face. Amy bit down on her neck and she let out a cry of surprise before falling back into the couch, giggling.

Amy turned to Byron.

“Who's jealous now?” she smirked.

Before he could even begin to formulate a response Byron felt Chloe's hand snake around the back of his head, her large hand easily palming the back of his skull. Forcefully, she turned his head toward her.

Her hot mouth was on his before he was even completely facing her. She tasted like peaches and vodka. Her huge tongue forced it's way in his mouth as her hand pushed him into her. Byron did not feel like he was much of an active participant in this encounter but before he could try to match Chloe's enthusiasm he felt a massive thigh slide over him.

Chloe broke away from their kiss and Byron looked up a the towering, voluptuous figure of Amy as she straddled him, kneeling on the couch. Amy grabbed the front of Byron's shirt and pulled him up towards her. She leaned down and kissed him forcefully on the mouth. It was so aggressive that it challenged Byron's understanding of a kiss as an affectionate gesture. After only a moment she pulled away and let Byron fall indelicately back to the couch.

Byron looked up at the two girls, equal parts ecstatic and intimidated.

This was really happening. Somehow Byron didn't feel very drunk anymore.