There was no way Sophia could be getting this much oral sex legitimately.

Betsy didn't begrudge her roommate her pleasures. God knew half of her incredulity was unadulterated jealousy, but the other half...

Kmele Colter, for instance. He was a fine, fine specimen of manhood. Tall, chocolate complexion, good shoulders... mmmmmm... Betsy's eyes crossed a little at the idea of him going down on her, or even just giving her the time of day, really... but there he'd been with his head nestled between Sophia's thighs, up against the bathroom door in their dormitory suite. Sophe was clearly enjoying herself—it didn't take a linguistics major (cunning or otherwise) to interpret those moans— but hadn't hung a sock on the doorknob or texted or anything. Awkward! But how did kinda-dumpy, not great at makeup Sophia rate such nice man-meat?

And it's not like he had been the first. Since coming back from Thanksgiving, Sophia had hooked up with at least twelve guys... and those were just the ones Betsy knew of from either walking in on them or from seeing them leave the room the next morning (if they stayed that long). Sure, they hadn't all been Kmele-caliber, but none of them were someone Betsy would kick out of bed. And judging from her own observations and Sophia's not-very-discreet commentary when she gave Betsy the unsolicited lowdown on their performance afterward, all of said gentlemen were making with the licky-licks throughout their tenure amidst her thighs. Maybe Betsy was just not good at demanding what she wanted, or just plain unlucky, but in her experience this all seemed... statistically unlikely.

It wasn’t until Betsy found her roommate with her legs wrapped around other girls’ faces, too, that her suspension of disbelief began to waver. The fact that she hadn’t known her roommate was into girls wasn’t the issue; she could have been secretive, or private, or maybe even just experimental. That was within normal parameters.

It was the girls she was with that were unbelievable. And not because they were all gorgeous, in different flavors of blonde, goth, sorority, nerdy-chic. They were. But they were also people that were well known to be on the straight side of the tracks—two of them were, in fact, members of religious coalitions on campus who were outspoken about their opposition to alternative lifestyles. Yes, it was possible all these girls were just closeted and spent time on the down low with their tongues in each other’s snatches… but, again… low probability events. How the fuck was this happening?

The night Betsy discovered her best friend Callie face down in Sophia’s miniskirted lap, she freaked out a little bit. She wasn’t discreet at all about slamming the door and stomping out, and crashing on the couch in the common room in the dorm basement that night, and after much internal conflict visited Callie’s room later the next afternoon.

“What the fuck, Callie?”

“What? What’s up, Bets?”

“What’s up? You and my roommate?”

“Oh. That.” Callie looked down. “She told you?”

“Uh, no. I saw. Way more than I wanted to.”

“Oops. Sorry, I didn’t see you.”

“No, you were facing… the other way.” Betsy cringed. “Look, I don’t care that you’re gay—”

“But I’m not!”

“Um… okay, bi, curious, queer… whatever. I’m not good with the latest terms. I don’t mean to be disrespectful, I swear. I think I’m just hurt that you never told me.”

“That’s the thing, Bets. I’m not into girls. Or at least, I wasn’t. I think I’m still not. Just with your roommate… I dunno. I couldn’t help myself. It was really freaky. For some reason, when I was with her… I just had to, you know?”

Betsy didn’t know, not really, but she did have to admit that it was consistent with the rest of what had been going around.

Sophia’s spree with other girls didn’t last forever, though; after she worked her way through smearing her juices in the mouths of every cute chick in her classes, in the dorm, and throughout their entire spectrum of acquaintances (Betsy purposely kept the rest of her friends away from her dorm room), Sophia went back to guys. Though she apparently alternated back the other way from time to time, like when their resident assistant’s pretty cousin came to visit, mostly she kept her focus on getting all the local strapping young men on their knees once more.

It wasn’t until the final night before school broke for the winter holidays that Betsy gathered the courage to confront Sophie.

She was getting better with her makeup, Betsy had to admit, and she’d been dressing more provocatively, almost always in dresses and skirts (for easier access, Betsy was sure). Whatever was going on, it seemed to have boosted Sophie’s self-confidence, and that was always an attractive quality. Tonight she was dressed up in a sexy faux-fur Santa’s Elf outfit with red stockings, en route to some party and undoubtedly some really great cunnilingus.

Even though she’d already resolved to discuss this with her roommate, she wasn’t sure how to bring it up without sounding prudish. “Hey, how are you getting your cunt licked so frequently and by, like, everybody?” Too accusatory of promiscuity? Was it still slut-shaming when the girl truly was a total fucking slut for anyone with a tongue and a pulse?

Finally, she settled on direct.

“Okay, spill.”

“Huh?”

“What’s your secret?”

“Secret?”

“Okay, I could believe that somehow you’ve gotten some kind of reputation with guys… you give good head or something, are always up for anal… something that’s making them unable to resist your… charms.”

“And by my ‘charms’ you mean my pussy.”

Betsy reddened. “Your… yeah.” But curiosity was overwhelming her. “But girls, too? It doesn’t compute. I didn’t even know you were bi.”

“Neither did I, honestly. I don’t like labels.”

“So what’s made you so irresistible all of a sudden?” And will you lend me some?

“Are you sure you want to know?”

“Jesus, God, and Baby Jesus, Sophie,” she replied in consternation, “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know the answer.”

“Suit yourself. But you might not like it.”

“Spill.”

With a shrug, she moved closer to Betsy and leaned in, her voice lowered. “You know how my birthday was on Thanksgiving this year, right? Well, I might have swiped a little wine and then I might have swiped a lot of wine and then I might have given this big tipsy speech about how thankful I was for family. And grams heard it and was touched by it, and in her senility she gave me a dried up old garland and what she said were the words to a charm that would bring me love.

“Not much of a present, really, right? I was hoping for a Black Friday shopping spree, but I get a piece of vegetation and shred of paper with some creepy symbols on it and a language I can’t understand.” Sophie touched her friend’s arm on the bare skin. It was odd, but Betsy didn’t think to stop her.

“She helped me with the words and the plant and how to use it. I mean, they always say those are the rules around this time of year, right? So I humored her.” Stroking the arm now; Betsy knew something wasn’t normal about this, about the way she was feeling.

“I didn’t expect it to work at all, let alone the way it did. No wonder grams and gramps stayed married all those years. Guys were, like, helpless to stop from kissing me. Any guy I wanted. Then I got the panties as a gag gift from my bestie back home… and the rest is history. It’s been Pillow Princess City ever since.”

Sophia cupped Betsy's chin in her hands. “I understand you're skeptical and confused, and maybe a little uncomfortable with this. I didn’t want to make things weird between us ‘cause we kinda have to live together. So I'm sympathetic. Really, I am. But we can't let that get in the way of tradition, can we?”

Betsy shook her head, against her will and against her better judgment and against all she knew about her own sexuality. “No, we can't.” There was one thing missing, though…

“Just be happy it's not midnight on New Year's Eve,” Sophie smirked. “They say whatever you're doing then you'll be doing over and over again all next year. Those are the rules, ya know?”

With a shudder, Betsy dropped to her knees in front of the other young woman— who had, generously, already lifted her pleated skirt to reveal the tops of her stockings and her panties. Those panties... She exhaled onto their fabric, her breath hot and damp, but not as heavy and humid as the aroma on its way back from them. The smell of excited, wet girl tickled her nostrils as she drew closer, near enough to read the caption accompanying the screen-printed green sprig with berries and a red ribbon.

Ah… now nothing was missing anymore. Everything suddenly fit.

KISS ME, it read, UNDER THE MISTLETOE.

Never one to neglect the rules, Betsy moved the panties aside and her mouth went to work on what was beneath them.