From College Classroom to Bedroom – Part 1

Hi friends, this is Aryan from a small engineering college tucked away in the misty hills of Uttarakhand.

All names are fake, but every single thing I’m about to tell you happened for real. This will be a 5-6 part series, and trust me, it turns super wild with adventures that still give me chills thinking back.

We had treks, hidden spots in the forest, and even some risky moments where we almost got caught. But let’s start from the beginning, nice and slow, just like how it all unfolded.

*****

So it all kicked off in our second semester, right in the circuits lab. The room was packed that day because half the batch was late from breakfast, and the benches filled up quickly.

Mansi, this girl from a nearby town, ended up sitting next to me. She had this simple vibe — long hair tied in a ponytail, wearing a light blue kurti and jeans, nothing flashy.

Our elbows touched accidentally while she was fumbling with the breadboard wires. It was just a brush, but I felt this weird tingle. She turned and smiled shyly.

Mansi: Sorry yaar… jagah hi nahi thi yahan.

Me: Arre koi baat nahi… adjust ho jayega. Yeh wires tangle ho jate hain har baar.

We laughed it off and focused on the experiment. Class dragged on for two hours, the professor droning on about resistors and capacitors.

After it ended, we packed our bags and headed out separately to our hostels. Mine was the boys’ block up the hill; hers was the girls’ one near the canteen. Nothing more that day.

But that night, around 10 PM, my phone buzzed. It was her on WhatsApp, asking for photos of the practical file because she’d missed a diagram. I sent them, and we started chatting.

It began with college stuff — how the mess food sucks, which professors are strict, how the cold weather makes mornings tough. We talked till almost 2 AM. Next night, same thing.

She shared memes about engineering life; I told her about my hometown. This went on for three or four days straight, every night turning into a long conversation.

Mansi: Yaar, yeh college mein padhai se zyada toh survival hai. Kabhi kabhi sochti hoon, dropout kar loon.

Me: Haan, but yahan ke views dekh… mountains aur fog… free therapy. Tu kahan se hai exactly?

Mansi: Ek chhota sa town near Dehradun. Tu?

Me: Haldwani side se. Kal walk pe chalegi?

After about a week of non-stop texting, she agreed.

Mansi: Chal… basketball court ke peeche walk pe chalte hain evening mein.

We met at 5 PM. The court was behind the main building, surrounded by tall pine trees. A cold breeze was blowing, carrying that fresh, earthy smell. Fog was starting to roll in from the valleys.

She showed up in a hoodie and track pants, her hair open this time. We walked slowly, talking about everything — favorite movies, why we chose engineering, even silly stuff like what superpower we’d want.

Mansi: Shaam yahan kitni sundar lagti hai na… jaise painting mein.

Me: Haan, yeh hi toh fayda hai yahan padhne ka. Ghar pe toh garmi se mar jate. Tu basketball khelti hai?

Mansi: Nahin, but trekking karti hoon sometimes. Yahan trails hain na acche?

That walk lasted two hours. We sat on a bench near the edge, watching the sun dip behind the hills. No touching, no flirting, just pure vibes.

From then on, it became our routine for the next whole month. Classes in the morning, a quick lunch in the canteen — she’d always get extra chutney for her dosa and share with me. Then evening walks, sometimes extending to the temple stairs up the path.

The temple was old, with stone steps worn smooth, overlooking the entire campus. We’d sit there, sharing one pair of earphones, listening to old Hindi songs or whatever playlist she’d made.

Mansi: Yeh song sun… perfect for this weather.

Me: Wah, Arijit ka? Nice choice. Kal chai tapri pe chalenge walk ke baad?

The tapri was this small shack run by an uncle, serving hot chai and maggi. We’d huddle there when it got too cold, steam from the cups fogging our glasses. Still, nothing physical.

Just building this connection, laughing at inside jokes, sharing secrets about family pressures and dreams. She wanted to travel after college; I talked about starting a startup. It felt easy, natural.

But after that month, things shifted a tiny bit. One day, the lecture ended early — the professor had some meeting. Most students left, but we stayed back in the classroom to finish an assignment on network theorems.

The room was big, with wooden benches and blackboards, windows showing the green hills outside. It was empty now, just us two at the back bench. Our knees were touching under the desk as we wrote, and neither of us moved away.

Mansi: Yaar, bore ho raha hai itna likhte likhte… truth or dare khelte hain?

Me: Chal, break ke liye accha hai. Tu start kar.

Mansi: Truth.

Me: College mein koi crush hai abhi?

She looked down at her notebook, smiling a little, her cheeks turning pink.

Mansi: Haan, ek ladka toh hai jo roz walk pe jata hai mere saath.

Me: Sach? Kaun hai… bata na.

Mansi: Abhi nahi bataungi… guess kar. Teri baari.

My heart was beating faster now. I took dare to keep it light.

Mansi: Dus minute tak mera haath pakad ke baith.

I reached over and held her hand. It was soft, warm from the pen grip. We just kept staring into each other’s eyes. I put a timer on my phone, but those ten minutes felt like hours.

Her thumb started rubbing mine slowly, and I could feel the pulse in her wrist matching mine. After the timer beeped, she didn’t let go immediately. Then she said with a grin, “Ab naya game banaate hain. Jo ek karega, dusra same action copy karega. Touch ho ya movement, sab copy.”

She started simple. She touched my forearm lightly with two fingers, tracing a small line. I copied on her forearm, feeling the smooth skin.

Mansi: Ab tu kar kuch.

I touched her cheek slowly, the back of my fingers brushing it. She copied on my cheek, her touch lingering a second longer. We laughed nervously, but the air was changing.

Then she touched my knee under the desk. I copied on hers, feeling the warmth through her jeans. She touched my neck, her fingers light on the side. I copied on hers, and she shivered a bit.

Mansi: Yeh game mast hai yaar. Lag raha hai current lag raha hai har touch pe.

Me: Haan, kal phir khelein? Thoda time nikaal lenge.

Mansi: Pakka, same room, same time. Door half closed rakhen toh koi disturb na kare.

We had to stop when we heard the peon jingling his keys, locking other rooms. We packed our bags quickly and left. The whole walk back to the hostel, I could still feel every place her fingers had been. My skin was buzzing.

That night, the texts went absolutely crazy. We couldn’t stop talking about the game.

Mansi: Aaj wala game bahut mazaa aaya. Dil ki dhadkan badh gayi thi.

Me: Mujhe bhi, kal thoda bold karenge? Aur actions add karenge.

Mansi: Haan, soch rahi thi kal kahan kahan touch karna hai. Like shoulder, ear, maybe more.

Me: Main bhi soch raha tha, which part is your weakest? Jahan touch se goosebumps aaye.

Mansi: Neck aur waist shayad… sensitive hain. Tujhe?

Me: Neck aur… arms maybe. Like full arm up wala. (I didn’t tell her about my armpit fetish yet. I was dying inside, secretly hoping she’d go there someday in the game. Just imagining her fingers there made me hard.)

Mansi: Kal pata chalega sab. Waise, shirt ka button kholna count hota hai kya game mein? Action toh hai na?

Me: Bilkul count karta hai… jo bhi action hoga, copy karna padega. Fair game.

Next day, we were back in the empty classroom at 4 PM sharp. The door was half closed, the fan whirring slowly overhead. Outside, the hills were misty, birds chirping. We sat closer this time, our thighs almost touching.

Mansi: Start karte hain. Top button khol.

She slowly opened the top button of her kurti, revealing a bit of her collarbone. I copied and opened the top button of my shirt, showing some chest.

We both laughed, but our eyes were locked. Then I did the second button on my shirt. She copied on her kurti. Now a little more skin was visible — I could see the edge of her bra strap peeking out.

Mansi: Ab yeh action.

She touched her own collarbone, tracing it with one finger. I copied on mine. Then she reached over and touched my collarbone. I copied on hers, feeling the soft curve. Her fingers were trembling slightly now. My heart was pounding like a drum.

Mansi: Waist allowed hai na?

Me: Haan, allowed. Copy game hai.

She slid her hand inside her own kurti and touched her waist, her eyes closing for a second. I copied inside my shirt, touching my side. Then she touched my waist over the shirt, her fingers pressing lightly.

I copied on hers over the kurti, feeling her curve. We kept escalating slowly. She lifted her arm a little and touched her side near her rib. I copied. Still no armpit, but I was going insane inside, hoping.

That session ended with us breathing heavily, but we stopped before it got too much. The night texts again.

Mansi: Kal arms up karke touch karna chahiye na? Full stretch.

Me: Haan bilkul… jo bhi action copy. Weakest part test karenge.

Mansi: Thik hai… kal full arms up. Waise tujhe pasina smell pasand hai kya? Game mein agar aaye toh??

Me: Haan thoda sa… clean wala. Natural.

Mansi: Achha 😏… Soch rahi hoon honeymoon pe kya kya karenge agar aisa hi chalta raha.

Me: Honeymoon? Bold ho gayi tu. Bata, kya plan hai?

Mansi: Pahadon mein cabin, no one around. Roz subah walk, shaam games like this but without clothes. Tu kya karega?

Me: Tujhe bed pe letake har jagah touch, weakest parts pe focus. Neck se start, waist, thighs, sab.

Mansi: Mmm, sounds hot. Aur cleavage? Allowed hoga na honeymoon pe.

Me: Bilkul, fingers se trace karunga slowly.

We chatted like that for hours, our fantasies building. But in real life, we kept the game slow. Day by day, the copy game got bolder. On the third day, she opened the third button, showing the edge of her cleavage.

I copied, my shirt half open. She touched her own cleavage lightly over the fabric. I touched my chest. Then she touched my chest, her fingers on my skin. I copied on her cleavage, my heart exploding.

Mansi: Yeh weak hai mera. Goosebumps aa gaye.

Me: Mujhe bhi.

We started copying more actions — like breathing on necks. She came close, breathed hot air on my neck. I copied on hers, smelling her shampoo. Goosebumps everywhere.

One day, finally, she lifted her arm fully and touched her own armpit over the sleeve. I copied, my fetish kicking in hard. My dick was instantly hard.

Then she touched my armpit over the shirt, her fingers pressing. I almost moaned. I copied on her armpit, feeling the warmth.

Mansi: Yeh part weak hai tera… lag raha hai.

Me: Bahut weak. Tu bhi try kar.

We kept playing daily, but there was this 5-day gap every month. She’d text saying she wasn’t feeling well, probably her period. I’d wait patiently, texting sweet stuff, no pressure. Those gaps made the next meetings even hotter, the built-up tension exploding.

Sometimes we copied pulling hair lightly at the nape. She’d tug mine gently. I copied. Sometimes opening the zipper on jeans an inch. She’d unzip a little; I’d copy. Fingers brushing near private areas but not quite.

Sometimes sitting on laps for two seconds and copying — she’d sit on mine, I on hers (awkward but fun).

We talked more about the honeymoon in texts during the games.

Mansi: Honeymoon pe beach pe jayenge… bikini mein main. Tu touch copy karega sab jagah.

Me: Haan, cleavage se start… nipples pe end. Thighs inner side.

Mansi: Aur armpits? Since weak hai tera. Lick copy game.

Me: Fuck yes.

Everything was slow, copying exactly. The sexual tension was killing us both. We touched inner thighs over clothes, copied breathing on ears, even gave light kisses on cheeks and copied.

One session, she touched her breast over her kurti. I touched my chest. Then she touched my nipple over my shirt. I copied on hers, feeling it harden.

Mansi: Honeymoon pe yeh without clothes.

Me: Promise.

The game evolved to include talking about fantasies mid-play. We’d describe what we’d do on the honeymoon while touching — like tracing her cleavage and saying, “Yahan kiss karunga honeymoon pe, slow slow.”

Those 5-day gaps per month were torture. She’d say, “5 din baad milte hain… tab tak soch what next.” I’d jerk off thinking of her armpits, cleavage, all of it.

By the end, we’d touched almost everywhere over clothes—cleavage, inner thighs, butts lightly, armpits multiple times. I still hadn’t confessed the full fetish, but she was getting it.

*****

That’s where Part 1 wraps. Part 2 is coming soon, where we go under clothes and the adventures start.

If any girl wants to chat, share fantasies, or anything, mail me at [email protected].

I reply to every single mail, promise.