I was a college freshman, attending school in the same city that I grew up in. It wasn’t much different from high school, except there weren’t people all over campus directing you to class. You were completely on your own here. It was you and you alone, whether or not you’d make grades good enough to keep going. And no one was interested in excuses. You signed up for classes, paid big bucks for books, went to class, sat and listened, and then you performed. Yes, indeed, it was entirely up to you.

At home, Mom was driving me nuts. No, she wasn’t nagging me. We were tired of each other. As an adult, I had different expectations. I wasn’t her little boy anymore. Of course, I still loved my Mom – and I knew she loved me. Full-time schoolwork and a part-time job, plus a fairly decent social life kept me out of the house for most of the week. Still, though, I could tell it was an emotional drain on her. Me? I didn’t know what else to do.

At school, Sal Agliano and Keith Laverty, a couple of pot-smoking, married guys, were in my communications class. Both were honest, accepting people, never saying a negative word. Both wore ponytails, the classic ‘60s-style hippies in the year of 1973-74. They weren’t necessarily changing with the times, but that was okay with me. Something about their lifestyle was comforting. They didn’t judge anyone, and felt like no one should judge them.

It was confession time at class one day: Sal and Keith were telling me about their wives. They were great gals. All four lived together in a rented house a couple of miles from campus. Sal and Keith usually rode to school together while Sal’s wife, Angela, and Keith’s wife, Sandy, shared the other car.

“I know I’m going to be needing a place to stay,” I told them. “My Mom’s not happy. I think she’s a little tired of me coming and going all the time. You know, working, going to school, going out on the weekends.”

Sal said, “Has she said anything?”

I shook my head.

“Then how do you know?”

“It’s just a feeling.”

Keith said, “I know my mom and dad love me. They know I smoke weed, and I’ve got the long hair. It makes them a little uptight, but they never asked me to leave. I got married and wanted to be on my own.”

Sal nodded. “It’s almost the same for me. I’m a little older (25). I went into the Navy, got out, married Angela, and started school. I don’t think your mom cares. I think she’s kind of proud of you, I’d bet.”

They had me thinking. Maybe I was wrong. They could see the quizzical look on my face.

“Hey,” said Sal, “if you want, we have a spare bedroom downstairs. It’s right next to the kitchen. There’s a bathroom that’d be all yours. We’d get you for, what, 60 bucks a month.”

It took me less than a day to decide I’d do it.

After a couple of weeks, I moved in, giving Sal $120 up front to cover the first two months. These four people were almost freakish; they were so kind and friendly. The food, well, I contributed to the groceries. Mostly, they ate fruits and veggies, plus a little milk. No meat, no eggs, no chicken, rarely some fish.

For a couple of weeks, it was paradise. It drove me nuts to listen to their lovemaking upstairs. It was hard to make out which couple was which. Both were within earshot. The bumping and grinding, the bashing of their beds into the wall. All four seemed like they were well-versed in the art of sex.

My experiences were limited to only a few girls, a couple in high school, another who was in college (who drove me to high school one day, then offered herself to me that weekend), then a college girlfriend, Carol Mount, for all of three weeks (and about a dozen romps in her bed).

Sal and Angela never did it while Keith and Sandy were home, and it was vice versa. It was too small upstairs. Neither wanted to tread on the other’s performance. Oh, maybe Sal might lick Angela’s pussy, while Sandy might treat Keith to a quiet blow job – while the other couple was in bed. But if Sal and Angie were gone for the night, Keith and Sandy were ready to rock.

And rock they did one Thursday night while Sal took Angie to see Godfather II. Keith found out the movie lasted for three hours, and he took advantage of every second to turn his wife into a special woman.

It was a frank exchange of sexual information one day between me, Sal, and Keith. We were all adults, right? Men? Experienced? Their experience rose far above my own, but they were left with the conclusion that I’d had plenty of pussy options. They’d seen me at school, dating Carol and a couple of other girls. They assumed I had my share.

“Don’t be afraid to bring anyone back to the pad,” Sal told me, “if you have something going.”

Thanks, I told him.

Truth be told, it was damned hard listening to their activities upstairs. I’d be reading, or studying, or even trying to sleep while the rocking was taking place. I’d hear a groan, a moan, a sigh, the movement of the bed, the pounding of a wall – all the sex noises.

“If I were married, I’d rock like you guys,” I said.

They looked at each other, smiled, then looked at me.

Keith said, “I hope it doesn’t bother you.”

“Hey, I know what’s going on up there. You’re married. You’re made for your wives. It’s nothing. The problem is that Sandy and Angie are babes. You guys are lucky.”

Sal started laughing. Keith grinned, lit up a cigarette, and looked at Sal.

“What are you saying?” Sal asked. “You’re saying you want to take a crack at our wives?”

Oh, no, that’s not it. “What are you talking about? That’s crazy!”

Keith shook his head. It was like they were keeping a secret. Sal kept laughing.

“What is it?” I asked. “What are you trying to say?”

The secret was still out there.

Finally, Keith said, “We were all talking the other day.”

Sal cut him off. “You sure about this, Keith?”

“Whatever. We were going to tell him, anyway, weren’t we?”

Sal shrugged his shoulders.

“Tell me what?” I asked.

There was a pause, a lengthy pause.

“The four of us went to a concert last week,” said Sal, “and we had an extra ticket. We forgot to tell you about it. Sandy picked it up, thinking you’d want to go with us. Hey, Sandy and Angie like you, buddy.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

Sal shrugged again. “Hey, we’re not perverts. We kind of live open, man, you know. We’re married, but we don’t tell our wives that they can’t be with anyone else. As long as we know. We’re peace freaks. We smoke a little weed.”

Keith said, “We’ve swapped wives. It’s no big deal. Twice or three times, I think, I’ve taken Angie off for a weekend. Left Sandy and Sal together. Hey, we like each other. And we all think you’re cool.”

Oh, God. What was I getting into here?

“I’m not following this at all. Are you offering your wives to me?”