Continuation from PART 1
Chapter 2: The Blonde Seductress
The blaring beeps of my bedside alarm-clock forced me awake.
“Why did I have to sleep so late last night?” I groaned, sitting up on my bed with the white blanket disarrayed over my lap. “Oh, right,” I remembered suddenly, “the whole sexual episode with Karen and Chaval, not to mention that mysterious girl….”
A scramble to prepare for classes began: there was only twenty minutes till my first lesson. Following a quick, hot shower, I got dressed in uniform, a white button-shirt over which I threw on a black coat and simple black dress pants. Picking up my schoolbag, I admitted to the growing fear in my stomach.
This is the first morning of my post-secondary education, I thought. It’s not going to be a joke like high-school.
However, I felt thrilled as well.
“Time to meet some girls!” I said out loud, rubbing my hands together.
I darted for the lecture hall, cutting across the field and reaching the building within minutes. Castle Turin, it proclaimed in silver lettering above the large, wooden doorway of the elegant Gothic structure. The stone walls, worn away by rain, were a dull, smudged gray. I wasn’t sure if this building was a replica of a medieval castle or an artifact surviving from that age.
It didn’t look so big from outside, I remarked to myself after walking in.
The overall shape was in the medieval strain. It was like a large, many-floored tower. I walked up the spiral staircase to the seventh floor, my steps echoing off the grimy walls. After taking a few confused turns I finally found my class. The wide double-doors of wood and iron were open, and when I walked inside I noticed that the room was already half-full. With a quick look around, I took a seat at the edge of one of the back rows.
Wow, I thought, my eyes scanning around, this place sure is amazing.
The inside of the spacious room was a strange fusion of old and new. The long, ornate tables which stretched from one end of the room to the other were remnants of a bygone era, as were the leather-backed chairs. A pervasiveness of the colour gray in the ancient stone walls and floor served to give the place a brooding, almost haunting atmosphere. However, there was an LCD projector on the ceiling and a large television in the left-hand corner of the room.
Not many other students showed up and the class remained half-full. At around two minutes before ten the professor walked in. I got a profile view of her, and let me tell you—YOWZA! She was hot!
Writing Professor Elizabeth York on the blackboard, she turned to face the class and began arranging her notes upon the lectern. Professor York seemed to be a foreigner, possibly from Germany or Austria. She had a very graceful figure and looked so gorgeous in her sleek, light-purple dress suit. It had trimmings of black at the sleeves, pockets, and hem, with small black buttons running down on the right side. Her matching dress was a bit provocative, ending just above her knees.
I leaned out of my chair to snatch a better view.
“Ooh, what sexy legs!” I whispered to myself.
Her slender legs were a pale cream, and she wore a pair of black, high-heeled pumps. My eyes scanned for a wedding ring: none! (like I had a chance…) Suddenly, the twinkle of jewelry caught my attention and my eyes were drawn to a golden bracelet circling her left wrist.
Perhaps it’s a family heirloom, I wondered.
Ms. York’s face was as striking as her body: full cheeks with a dab of red on each, the narrow, high forehead of an intellectual, with a few curls of golden hairs hanging down to her eyes. It was a perfect outline, a beauty only enhanced by the smooth luster of her pale skin. Her thick curls of golden hair fell past her shoulders, and I could just make out a pair of tiny round earrings behind that voluminous hair.
If it was possible to deduce someone’s personality based on their looks, Ms. York was what I could only describe as deep. This woman had something to hide: an air of melancholy was present in her every gesture. She looked stern with her stoic, almost unmoving face.
“Welcome to European Literature, a first year introduction English class.” Her voice had a slight accent (German—I was right) and it was firm yet feminine. Sure, it didn’t have any of the seductive charm of Ms. Maynard, but it did possess a calm eloquence. “In this course we will be covering major developments in the literature of Europe, from Realism to Post-Modernism. Reading is heavy, but that’s to be expected,” she stated, pacing left to right. “Works range from novels by Flaubert, plays by Chekhov, poems by Wordsworth, critical essays by…”
She went on talking, but I didn’t pay much attention to her words as much as I did to her movements, her curls of hair, those luscious lips forming blank words, and her beautiful figure. I don’t know when it began, but as I stared at the gorgeous professor—my eyes fixed on her every movement—I imagined us engaged in a steamy romp.
I see Ms. York and myself in the empty classroom. All the lights are turned off and it’s almost pitch-dark inside. We’re standing in front of the wide glass windows and there’s a huge, glowing moon hanging in the sky; it illuminates the room and our bodies in its shimmering white light.
We stare at each other for a moment before she bends to her knees, unzips my pants, and slips out my steel-hard cock. She begins stroking it slowly, her smooth palm gliding from the base to its pink crown. Ms. York looks up, her golden hair falling over her eyes, and smirks wickedly. I nod in understanding as she closes her pink lips on the head of my member and takes it into her mouth. The noise of her sloppy sucking fills the quiet room and I see her face scrunched in concentration as she gives me head. Soon she pops the cock out of her mouth and, using the back of her tongue, glides it down my length in one long stroke.
Then Ms. York unbuttons her suit in a slow and sensuous way, licking her upper lip with a single sweep of her tongue as she does so. She shrugs off the purple jacket, revealing her red, lacy bra, and begins to squeeze her own hefty breasts. Next she unclasps her bra from behind but doesn’t take it off; rather, she holds it by the cups to her chest. She looks at me with a mischievous smile, her face slightly tilted to one side. Anticipation wracks my body and I thrill with impatience. Ms. York suddenly flings her bra aside; placing my hot, solid member between those creamy globes, she then proceeds to give me a long breast-fuck.
The feeling of her warm tits enveloping my stiff prick, that delicious friction of her soft, pale skin against my hard spear created by the constant up and down movement—it all overwhelms my senses. My legs tremble and I throw my head back and let out a breathless gasp. Ms. York is still on her knees, pressing the supple spheres of her tits together, enfolding my rigid phallus even tighter.
With my cock mashed between her warm cleavage, Ms. York jerks her chest up and down, her shoulders rising and falling as she continues her expert breast-fuck. Pre-cum swiftly bubbles out of my piss-slit; it runs down the valley of Ms. York’s tits, streaking down the firm, rich flesh of her abdomen in quick zig-zags before disappearing into her bellybutton.
This minor detail mesmerizes me.
Ms. York gets to her feet and wraps one arm around my neck while we lean in to kiss; her other hand is busy stroking my dick. As our lips connect I slide my right hand under the snug waistline of her purple skirt; my palm slips into her panties and finds her slippery burrow. The beautiful professor lets out a long sigh as I work my fingers in and out of her dripping slit. She stands on her tip-toes and rocks her body back and forth with her left arm wrapped tightly around my neck while we kiss.
Then, removing my soaked digits, I hold them to her mouth. Ms. York shakes her head in disgust, her golden curls swishing with the movement. But I press my fingers more forcibly to her lips and she licks them with reluctance. Soon she’s eagerly lathing her tongue around my digits, at one point taking three of them into her mouth and sucking on them hard. I ask if she likes the taste of her own juices and she nods.
At last the moment comes: I strip Professor York down to the nude. She sits atop my dick, holding it by the middle and rubbing its mushroom-head across her glistening cunt. I’m lying on my back on her desk, staring up at the golden curls framing her nether-lips as my cock brushes her pink folds.
Ms. York slides down my length with a little cry as I feel her warm,drooling cunt grab tightly at my pillar of flesh. We both groan with arousal. But looking up into the professor’s face I can see it creased with pain, her eyebrows twitching and her pink mouth open and panting with unfulfilled desire. And so she begins gyrating her hips round and round, slowly at first then quicker and with greater urgency, forcing my rigid erection to describe circles inside her hot, oozing cunt.
My hands are busy sliding up and down her silken thighs, feeling their sleek contours before wandering up to her perfect buttocks. Suddenly my fingers dig into the sensitive flesh, my nails driving into the skin and raking agonizingly across the creamy globes; Ms. York throws back her golden hair with a shriek of pleasure, her throat pulsing with an unintentional gulp of saliva.
The silver moon highlights Ms. York’s ravishing body as she continues to bounce up and down on my engorged phallus, brightening her golden hair and making each tress and thread glisten, playing on her lust-filled expression and creased forehead, on her cheeks and eyes and throat, setting aglow her large and swinging breasts as they heave up with rise of her supple buttocks only to crash against her chest as they descend, the radiant light caressing down the tight-knit muscles of her abdomen and kissing the satin-smooth flesh of her elegant thighs.
I throw my arms around my lover’s neck and bring her down for a passionate kiss, our hungry lips meeting to click wetly in the otherwise quiet room. Ms. York then slips her tongue into my mouth which I meet with my own, and together they coil and dance in our throats—licking, fluttering, battling—twin lines of saliva erupting from the corners of our lips and running down our chins.
I can feel my professor’s large, pillowy breasts squished firmly against my chest, the luscious orbs bulging outwards from the pressure of our contact
Oh, their nipples feel so hard against my pecs!
Ms. York breaks our kiss and leans back, and as she does I stroke my open fingers down her jiggling tits all the way to her waist, clenching it in a vise-like grip. The seductive professor runs a hand through her thick curls and winks at me. We both know the time has come. And once more the blonde starts bucking her hips, plunging up and down on my massive cock with unrestrained lust, crazed by desire and driven by the need for orgasm. She rides me with a violent fury, her creamy buttocks rising and falling to an insane tempo, her sweat-covered tits catapulting through the air recklessly, slapping together in the moon’s effulgent glow.
By now I’m also spearing my cock upwards while clutching Ms. York’s slender hips, my penis stabbing all the way up to its hilt as my head thumps against the table below. The two of us are moaning louder than ever as we get closer, closer to that anticipated moment.
Our tempo increases. I can hear my professor’s dripping twat sing in tune to my pumping shaft as the desk starts to creak and vibrate with the combined weight of our love making. The blonde lecturer screeches from the depths of her throat, her voice grating in my ears and echoing through the silent room.
Yes, I feel Ms. York’s juicy tunnel get pounded by my member as it rises and falls inside of her depths. We’re both at the edge of orgasm….
— and that’s when I wake up.
The real Professor York was still addressing the class, pacing the room as the heels of her pumps clicked against the floor.
I sighed. This is getting out of hand. Why am I constantly fantasizing about beautiful women?
I’m a total asshole for having such filthy thoughts about Ms. York, I scolded myself. It’s debasing, like I’m taking advantage of her….
As I gazed around the class I had to stifle the urge to burst out laughing. Almost every pair of male-eyes was following Professor York with rapt attention. Some of the boys leaned in close and whispered among themselves, stopping every few seconds to look at Ms. York and smile before resuming their conversations. The girls were clearly distressed and insecure over having such an enchanting professor.
One of the guys sitting behind me had his mouth gaping with a tiny sparkle of drool glinting off the corner of his lips. A cute red-headed girl sitting one seat over on my right noticed the drooling boy as well; she turned her face away in disgust, looking at me and shaking her head.
“Perv,” she says to me while nodding the other way.
I laugh. “Don’t tell me about it.”
The Professor went on speaking, and as much as I would love to have watched her, I began a whispered conversation with the girl.
“I’m Enyo; first year and majoring in English.”
“Name’s Millia,” she said beaming, her bright eyes having a smile all their own. I had met some girls before whose smiles lacked sincerity: Millia’s smile, however, was as honest as it was elegant. Though she spoke in a whisper, her voice was brisk and alive with confidence. “I’m taking Journalism and a minor in Philosophy.”
“I love philosophy!” I replied. “Did you know that this place is older than Plato’s Academy and Aristotle’s Lyceum? While they lasted that is.”
“No, but that’s fascinating.” Millia’s smile widened, her supple cheeks extending with the gesture; I noted this tiny detail and was struck by how beautiful she was.
“So Enyo,” she continued, snapping me back to reality, “where you from?”
“From America; Manhattan, actually. You?”
“Canada,” she replied, “I was born and raised in Montreal but later moved to Toronto.”
“Really?” I laughed. “I was set on going to Queens in Ontario till I got accepted here.”
“Yeah,” she nodded, “I was going to go somewhere else as well,” Millia leaned towards me, glanced around the room cautiously, and whispered, “but then that letter arrived.”
Ms. York went on talking; the boys went on staring; the girls went on trying to hide their disgust. However, Millia and I were in our own little world.
“What do you think about this place?” she asked, looking inquisitive.
“It seems mysterious, like something out of a book or movie. But you know: it does seem like a great school. I can understand—to some extent—the seclusion and why they want to admit students through their own methods.”
“Yes, yes, but don’t you think it’s still quite strange?” Millia said quickly, sitting on the edge of her chair. “I mean, this whole absolute secrecy thing seems too much, and being so isolated—I’m sure there’ll be problems here.” Millia stared thoughtfully at the blackboard behind Professor York’s desk.
Yeah, I’d thought of that as well, but then I took comfort in the fact that if this university had its sinister motives or was up to anything illegal it couldn’t have survived this long. Being so thoroughly connected to the government…well, I’m sure the government would know of anything illegal going on here and put a stop to it.
Then I asked myself a frightening question: what government? Exactly what country is this university affiliated with? America? Some place in Europe or Asia?
As we conversed I checked out Millia’s features. She was a few inches shorter than me with a head of vibrant red hair which fell in snaky waves to her shoulders; each fine strand gleamed with a dark luster. It was charming when she brushed aside the threads of hair from her eyes with a flick of her hand, or how some of the longer strands were tucked behind her ears.
Millia’s small face was delicate but bursting with spirit (especially when she spoke with that fire in her voice); her cheeks were cute and full, curving down to meld with seamless grace into her strong jaw. She sat facing me, and as she talked the brilliance of her dark brown eyes flashed with an unshakeable will—she just had that air about her.
My heart was gasping in my chest and I couldn’t keep my eyes from roaming over her face. Her lips, a natural, bright pink, were without any lipstick. Sometimes I just stared at the movement of her lips forming each spirited word while everything around me—the classroom, the students, Professor York—seemed to disappear into darkness.
There was only her….
Millia’s skin was a delicious light brown (I wasn’t sure if it was natural or tanned) and was without a single blemish. I noted with some surprise that she didn’t have any makeup on.
But she’s still so gorgeous, I thought with a sigh of longing.
Her uniform of the standard dark-blue top and skirt were a snug fit. Though Millia’s breasts were small, they were firm and round and stood contoured tightly against the silky material of her top; the sleeves, which ended some inches below her shoulders, were wound tight to her arms. The hem of Millia’s short skirt was smoothed over her thighs and she sat with her legs pressed together. I could tell that she was shy about her body, especially about the skirt which ended several inches above her knees and revealed her naked thighs.
It was obvious that Millia felt the uniform to be demeaning. For someone who looked so confident in conversation she sure seemed self-conscious about her body.
I don’t see why, I told myself, she has such long, attractive legs.
Her lean thighs had a superb outline, inclining in subtle curves to her knees; from there her long white socks, which hugged her calves firmly, sloped down to her black dress-shoes. The bottoms of her thighs were flattened against the chair’s seat; as a result they seemed more full and wide, though in a very alluring way.
Our conversation was suspended as Ms. York asked the class, “Any questions?”
I raised my arm, itching to ask something that had been pestering my mind since yesterday. “Yes!” I exclaimed, standing up. “Why is it that we have to wear these absurd uniforms in university?”
The room filled with murmurs of agreement, mostly on the girls’ part.
“I believe being told that it was to keep order,” replied the stoic professor. “It does seem out of place in a university, but as long as it keeps the students intent on their studies….”
The murmur rose louder and many could be heard voicing their disagreement, shouting, “That’s stupid!”
The professor sat on the table’s edge, legs crossed, her hands on her knees. “Well you can’t do much to change that so just get used to it the best you can.”
Millia scowled at the once-drooling boy behind her as he smiled at the teacher’s remark.
Ms. York spent the rest of the class handing out sheets of information, from the course syllabus to the required readings for next week.
“I want Madame Bovary finished by this time next Monday. Since this is the first lecture of the year and there have been no assignments, tutorials will not be held at the appointed time. So please don’t show up.”
Millia, scanning her time-table, asked me, “Is she your instructor for the tutorial that’s supposed to be later tonight?”
Holding back a smile as I found the answer on my time-table, I replied, “Yes. Yes she is.”
So the first class ended as Millia and I parted ways (I could see her walk away down the hall with her tiny skirt swaying behind her). My first class had been two hours and the next one was only an hour long. However, I had a sixty minute break in between to grab a quick lunch.
With lunch over, I headed to the Alexander Complex. The building was Greek in design and the wide exterior composed entirely of gleaming white marble. Columns ran along the front holding up the triangular entablature, which was filled with friezes of satyrs and fauns. There were four giant sculpted figures of marble on either side of the steps leading up to the main entrance. The glittering figures were all female with veils over their heads and torches clasped to their breasts. I climbed the steps and stared up at one of the twenty-foot high statues.
“Simply brilliant!” I muttered.
The shady portico gave way to the entrance and inside I found a giant, forty-foot statue of Zeus holding a lightning bolt in his raised hand, staring down at my gawking face.
How much did it cost to build this place! I wondered.
At least this time I had little trouble finding my class, since it was just to the left of the Zeus figure. The room was much larger than the one in Castle Turin, almost like an amphitheatre. It was a very bright, red-coloured room with rows of florescent lights flaring from the ceiling. A huge white theatre screen was right behind the professor’s desk, which was elevated slightly on a platform. I took a seat and waited for the start of my Greek Astronomy course. It was an elective; as in, it really didn’t have to coincide with my major: I could take Home Ec. for all it mattered.
The room was filling up: it was a much larger class than I had anticipated.
The professor walked in and began the lesson right on time.
“My name is Professor McAlister,” he said, and went on to speak the usual. Course content, what’s required of us, the texts….
It took me a while but I realized that many of the girls were talking between themselves as they eyed the professor. I looked all around the room and found them smiling and giggling in the manner of excited teens. Actually, it was very similar to the way the boys were reacting back in English class to the beautiful Professor York.
Maybe they think he’s handsome? I asked myself, looking around at the girls’ smiling faces. Well I can’t tell; but he does seem like a cool guy.
During his lecture, Mr. McAlister made some witty jokes that got the whole class laughing—he seemed to be a very approachable person. He also seemed very young for his profession….
Some minutes into the lecture a student came in and sat on one of the empty chairs beside me. He looked to be of South Asian origin, as I guessed by his dark, chocolate-coloured skin.
Half an hour passed by as we sat next to each other listening to the professor lecture.
I should probably talk to him, I thought, looking at him from the corner of my eyes (he seemed to be doing the same thing). Both of us sat with our chins propped on our desks, looking equally bored.
“`ey, mate,” he said without turning to look at me. I was a bit surprised at his British accent. “`ave ya noticed all the girls eyeing up the professor?”
I chuckled. “Yeah; they’ve been doing it since I got here.”
“Really?” he asked, “Well I don’t give a bloody `ell about the male professors, but ‘ave you noticed the women?”
“Have I?” I said with a laugh. “They’re gorgeous!”
Finally he turned to look at me. He was grinning, and his white teeth stood out against his dark skin. “Name’s Naipaul, mate. And you are?”
“Enyo,” I replied, shaking his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Pleasure,” he said.
“So, Naipaul, whereabouts are you from?”
“Can’t ya guess?” he asked with a grin.
“Well,” I ventured, tapping my chin, “I’d say born in England but of Indian heritage.”
“Right on the mark,” replied the smiling Naipaul.
We quickly become friends and I learned that Naipaul had also been set on going to a university in England but had come over when the letter arrived. Quite eccentric, Naipaul possessed that famous British charm and wit, as well as his own odd quirks. We talked about the girls, their skimpy uniforms, our hometowns, and compared time-tables.
“Alright!” Naipaul exclaimed, “We `ave more than one class together.”
Professor McAlister finished his lecture early, ending with, “Remember, to pass this class you will need to keep up with the readings and homework, or just slip me a few hundred dollar bills with each assignment!”
The class broke into laughter.
One of the guys at the far back of the room, who had his legs up on the chair in front of him, made a rather annoying remark:
“Only an idiot can fail this class!”
I recognized him from my first lecture with Ms. York. His name was James Maxwell. I knew his kind well and had met enough of them in high school, usually flanked by cronies as he was at the moment. They felt that by being loud and obnoxious people would somehow idolize them.
“Well,” began Mr. McAlister, “you shouldn’t be upset when you do.” His comment was met with great roars of laughter from the students and a glare from the tall, long blonde-haired boy, who soon stood up and strode out of the classroom.
“Bloody good one,” said Naipaul turning to me in fits. “That McAlister’s got a razor sense `a humour.”
After the end of class Naipaul and I split. There was no tutorial so I decided to wander around the school for a while, eventually stopping in front of the Gothic-styled library. It was very rigid and symmetrical in shape: two cone-top towers rose up on either side of its walls. The library was huge and wide, stretching far up into the clear blue sky. I could even spot a few black birds circling its conical-towers. A dull gray, most of the bricks looked quite distinct from the overall, vibrant colour-scheme of the school. Wide stone steps led up to the large wooden doors of the front entrance.
As I admired the view a student walked out of the library doors. She had her face down, books tucked between her folded arms. I stepped to the right to let her pass but she moved in the same direction and we bumped into each other.
“Sor—” I began to say, but was cut short when a knot formed in my throat.
The girl looked up at me dazed. Her long hair lifted in the wind like a black, rippling fire, her faint blue eyes widened, magnified further by her glasses, and that slender neck arched up to meet my stare—it was her; the girl that I caught masturbating last night in the bushes. We both recognized each other instantly.
I tried to say something but only managed to stutter.
Tears sparkled around the corners of her eyes, and before I could utter anything coherent, she shoved me out of her way with her elbow and ran off. Unprepared, I was knocked off balance and fell on my butt.
The girl, embarrassed further, stopped and glanced back at me, her long black hair swept by the wind—she seemed so gorgeous that I didn’t even mind being knocked down.
She ran on, turned a corner, and was soon gone.
“What are the chances?” I asked myself, and then began laughing.
After checking out the library I wandered around aimlessly for a while. At one point I was walking by a water fountain, admiring the gush of sparkling liquid as it fell out of an urn tucked under the arms of a stone nymph—and whom should I see then? Sitting on the edge of the water fountain was James Maxwell and four of his cronies.
I could see James and his friends’ licentious eyes trailing after the girls who walked by them. Their leers were quite hideous, eyes wide as they fixed themselves on the girls’ breasts, buttocks, hips, or legs. Just then, two girls (one of them Oriental and the other Black) strolled past James and his buddies. They leaned in between themselves and said something I couldn’t catch.
James whistled out loud and his idiots hollered. The two girls quickly turned around, their faces assuming expressions of disgust as they looked from each other to the boys.
“Did you just whistle at us?” asked the Black girl, who seemed more outgoing and confident than her friend. Both of them were quite beautiful. The Black girl was tall, about 5’8, with dark skin, and shimmering chestnut hair with auburn-highlights which fell just past her shoulders. She had a full figure, with small breasts but very long and sexy legs. I could see a faint, golden luster of sunlight on her dark brown thighs.
The uniform she was wearing stressed the curves of her body and looked striking against her dark skin. Actually, the skirt was very short for her height: it wasn’t even up to mid-thigh and served to accentuate her slender legs. She had a long, beautiful face: large eyes with blue irises (contact lenses, I would guess), a slightly upturned nose, and full lips painted in maroon lipstick.
The Oriental girl (possibly Chinese) was an arresting contrast. She was very short, at only 5’1, thin-figured, and pale skinned. With vibrant brown eyes, a cute, slim nose, and bright red lips, her face’s miniature features were offset by her robust cheeks and dimpled smile. Though the Oriental girl was petite, her heavy breasts were larger than her friend’s. Her legs, neither long nor short, were nonetheless a beautiful and tantalizing contrast to her shy nature.
Compared to the Black girl, her uniform was a loose fight; the dark blue skirt fell to her knees and I could see it flapping in the wind. Perhaps the girl’s most resonating feature was her hair: it descended sleek and straight to mid-back, and I imagined sliding my fingers through those fine, silk threads.
James leaned back on the fountain’s edge and said with supreme arrogance: “Yeah, babes. Why, you don’t like being whistled at?” His buddies were snickering between themselves and slapping their leader’s back.
“As a matter of fact, no,” replied the Black girl, who had one foot forward and a threatening finger pointed at James and his friends. She looked furious. “We don’t like dickheads whistling at us, so just keep your lips shut!”
Following a burst of laughter, James’ friends fell silent as they realized they’d just been insulted. James stood up and pointed to his crotch. “Why don’t you open your lips and suck on this. You’re gonna like it, babe. And maybe you can get your little Asian friend there to join in. I’ll bet she’s real tight. Come on; there’s some great places in this school where we—”
“Fuck you!” barked the Black girl in a loud, fierce voice. She attempted to step forward but was pulled back by her friend. The Oriental girl’s expression was that of a scared little child’s, her red lips in a big frown.
“Please, Carmen; let’s just forget it and go….”
Carmen, however, had her teeth barred and eyes flared; her left hand was set into a shaking fist. “No, Miko; I’m not gonna leave those fuckers alone! You heard what they just said!”
The more Carmen tried to move forward, the more Miko pulled her back. In fact, Miko was putting in her greatest effort to prevent Carmen from charging at James and his friends, holding onto her friend’s wrist with all her might.
“Please!” Miko begged in a quivering voice, still yanking her friend’s arm. “Don’t do this!”
I stood watching. There was no need to interfere and prove myself some sort of hero who rescued the damsels in distress.
Carmen’s handling that job just fine, I thought with a smile.
She was barking obscenities like a sailor as she tried to move forward with Miko dragging her back. James and his friends stood up off the fountain and looked on stunned.
Suddenly, Miko shouted, “Please, Carmen! Don’t do this—for my sake please don’t do this!” I was surprised when she let go off her friend’s wrist and began crying into her hands.
Carmen turned around and placed her hands on Miko’s shoulders. “Oh come on, girl,” she said in a soothing voice, “don’t cry.” Carmen was so much taller than Miko; when she pulled the latter into a hug her chin rested on the Oriental girl’s head.
It was a touching scene, and I was amazed at how strong Carmen was. As they embraced each other, Carmen’s dark brown skin looked so distinct against Miko’s pale flesh. Miko’s hands wrapped around her friend’s back as she cried into Carmen’s shoulder. “Fine, let’s go,” said Carmen.
She placed her right arm around Miko’s waist; as the two walked away, Carmen turned her head around and snarled at James and his gang.
“Dude,” said one of James’ friends to the rest, “that’s one scary bitch.” They all started laughing, but I could tell that they were relieved. As I walked by them my eyes met James’s. We stared at each other in silence till I grinned. He looked pissed, but didn’t say anything as I walked away.
I decided to make a future counseling appointment with Ms. Maynard and so headed to the South Knox Building. It was all the way at the other end of the university and took me a good fifteen minutes to get there. The single-floored edifice was wide but quite small; from about a hundred feet away I could see the mirror-like glass of its façade reflect the sunlight and blaze a bright gold.
Man, I thought, it’s almost blinding!
When I got nearer I could see that the building was very modern in design, with a lively, silver colour-scheme, automatic doors of stainless steel, and a digital board on the front lawn displaying the time and weather conditions.
Once inside I walked up to the directory and located Ms. Maynard’s room number: 12 B.
There was a secretary behind the counter in Ms. Maynard’s office when I entered: she was busy typing. I paused a moment at the door, considering what to do, and then went over to her. Her name-plaque stated Sarah Waters and I could see that she was very pretty herself. She had a slender body dressed in a sleek, sky-blue suit; her black hair, tied into a neat bun, provided a strong contrast to the suit’s colour.
Ms. Waters could’ve passed for a supermodel: she had an oval face on which not a single strand of her black hair fell to hide her cobalt eyes. Her cheeks were full, with a dab of pink powder on each. A subtle shade of dark blue eyeliner brought out the almond eyes, and she had on luscious pink lipstick which made her lips glitter, lips I would very much loved to have tasted. Ms. Waters’ skin was a fair cream colour, a perfect compliment to her light-blue suit.
As I stood in front of the counter I noted that the white blouse under Ms. Waters’ suit had its top button undone, revealing the luscious valley of her cleavage.
“May I help you?” she asked, scaring the hell out of me.
“Errr….” We looked at each other and I noticed that she was smiling: it was obvious she knew what I’d been up to.
However, Ms. Waters’ face relaxed into a professional demeanor as she adjusted her square-framed glasses.
“Yes,” I swallowed. “I-I would like to make a counseling appointment with Ms. Maynard. When’s the earliest I can do it?”
“Oh she’s quite free right now,” replied Ms. Waters in a soft, low voice, “so you can just go right in.” She pointed towards a door and then resumed typing.
Well that was a surprise; I thought it’d be at least some days from now.
With a cordial “thanks” I walked right in.
Ms. Maynard’s office was larger than I had expected. It was full of paintings, two bookshelves on either side of the room, degrees and certificates hanging in frames from the hardwood walls, and cupboards with more texts on them. There was a large green leather couch in the left corner, and behind Ms. Maynard’s desk at the back of the room were a pair of huge, curtained windows.
What caught my attention was Ms. Maynard herself.
She sat smiling, looking at me over her thin black glasses. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a prim ponytail and as usual not a single strand of hair fell on her face. By the looks of it, she had been busy reading over some papers till I had entered. Her slim body was dressed in a black suit and from under the desk I could see her bare legs slanting diagonally in a very feminine way. Her feet were encased in a pair of black pumps.
It’s obvious, I mused, that black is this vixen’s colour.
“Welcome Enyo,” she said, standing up and walking around her desk.
She remembers my name! I told myself, which in a silly, self-important way made me feel good.
I noticed that once again Ms. Maynard was wearing a very short skirt.
“So what brings you here today?” she asked.
I wanted to say that it was her, that when she stroked my cock some days ago I couldn’t stop thinking about her—but I shied from anything so brave.
“I don’t really know,” I answered in a low, almost apologetic voice. “I thought I’d have to wait a few days before I could get an appointment. I really don’t have any problems to speak of, but maybe thought we could talk some more.”
“That’s very sweet of you, Enyo.” Her smile widened, those full red lips extending. “I was quite bored myself, you know. The beginning of term is very dry.”
Ms. Maynard walked behind me and closed the door; the mechanical lock clicked into place. I gulped, wondering what she was up to. Ms. Maynard then strutted over to the couch with a sexy shake of her hips and sat down with her legs crossed, patting the cushion next to her with a smile. It took me a while to realize that this was an invitation. I quickly walked over and took a seat on the opposite corner of the couch, pretending to examine the room’s décor.
There was a moment of painful silence: from the corners of my eyes I could see Ms. Maynard staring at me with a smile. She was waiting for me to talk first.
“I understand,” I began all of a sudden, worried that if I didn’t say something I’d look like a goof, “the first couple of weeks are boring for everyone. Though I’m sure in a month everything will be hustle and bustle when the tests and assignments come in.”
She nodded and slider closer to me. “Mmm, you’re right.” My heart began pumping faster.
“Y-yes,” I stammered, “soon you’ll have lots of appointments, I-I’m guessing. A-and you’ll be b-busy with appointments…p-plenty of appointments.”
Ms. Maynard nonchalantly put her index finger on my left shoulder and began to trace a circle.
Oh man, I thought, my stomach squirming with fear and excitement, I’m so hard: all I want is to take Ms. Maynard in my arms and ravage her.
Well I wasn’t going to let this opportunity go to waste.
I turned my body towards her but kept my eyes on her lap. “Ms. Maynard—”
“Call me Julia,” the enchantress said in her soft, feminine voice.
“Umm,” I began, “d-do you remember that d-day in the b-boys’ dorm?”
“No; refresh my memory.”
She was teasing me! “Y-you know, when y-you, uh, pressed y-your b-body to mine a-against the wall a-and….”
“Yes?” she asked, still tracing miniature circles on my shoulder.
“You know, s-stroked—my, my—”
“Your what?” The smile on her face was so wicked. She curled her smooth legs up on the couch while still tickling my shoulder.
“My cock!” I barked out loud, surprised at myself.
Her grin widened. “Why yes, I do seem to recollect something of the sort. What of it?”
“Why?” I asked with a desperate need to know, turning my frantic eyes up to her face for the first time. “Why did you do that?”
“Because I felt like it,” she replied, looking at me without even blushing.
Our faces were about a foot apart, and though I found myself turned on, it was quite uncomfortable to be sitting so close to such a gorgeous woman.
“Do…do you do that with all the boys?” I asked with a half-embarrassed smile.
Ms. Maynard’s index finger left my shoulder and strayed lightly up my neck. I shuddered at the touch and let out a low groan. She shook her head. “Only the boys who inspire me. In your case, Enyo, I think you’re very special.”
“Really?” I smiled. “W-why?
“You just have this air to you,” she replied, stroking the back of her index finger up and down my neck, making me squirm in my seat. “You’re a man of mystery and I’m sure most women would find you attractive. In fact, when I first saw you I knew I wanted you.”
Whoa! I thought. My ego was definitely getting a boost.
“It’s that mystery,” she continued, “which makes me desire to know the deep thoughts and secrets of your mind.” Ms. Maynard’s compliments were making me blush; her voice was casual and didn’t break like mine.
Then she asked me the dreaded question: “Are you still a virgin?” It came out of nowhere. There was no small talk leading up to it!
I stammered, almost choking: “I, I, I….”
Ms. Maynard threw her head back and let out the mature, delightful melody of her laugher. “I knew it!” she said, still chuckling. “I knew it! Oh, Enyo, you really are a wonder.”
“Wonder?” I asked. “W-what do you mean?”
“Oh, you know,” she began, now caressing my cheek with her soft fingertips, “You’re so intelligent, mysterious, modest, and handsome—but you’re still a virgin.”
“S-sorry,” I apologized for some stupid reason. Her caresses were thrilling through my skin and making the hairs on my face stand up electrified.
“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” she said. “I think it’s cute. Besides, it’s been a while since I’ve had a virgin in this room.”
“W-what!” I exclaimed. “Y-you don’t mean…H-have you e-ever, you know…?”
“What, Enyo?” she asked with a mischievous smile. Her golden complexioned face, her blonde hair, her smooth neck—everything came together to create such a striking portrait. To think this woman—the sexiest I’d ever met—was trying to seduce me!
“Y-you know, d-done it with one of t-the students?”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss that, Enyo,” she said with the same naughty smile.
Ms. Maynard sidled closer to me. “I could barely contain myself that time when I pushed you against the wall and stroked your cock. I wanted you then. Oh, Enyo! It was so difficult.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing!
My thoughts were broken as Ms. Maynard placed her soft fingers on my lips. I gently kissed them and noticed Ms. Maynard squeeze her luscious thighs together and rock her head back and forth, her eyes glazing over.
“But I knew I couldn’t just give in my urges,” she said after a moment, gasping for breath. Her penetrating hazel eyes were fixed on my own. “I needed to make you want me—crave me.”
I laughed nervously. “Well it seems to have worked.”
“Really?” she asked, sliding her hand down to my right thigh and squeezing it.
“B-b-but tell me,” I croaked out, stunned at what I was hearing. “W-why do you want me to c-crave you? Unless….” My voice broke as Mrs. Maynard squeezed my thigh harder; tremors shot through my body. I was continually shaking, as if I had a fever.
She stopped all physical advances and answered, “Because I think you’re very sweet, Enyo, and I like sweet young virgins like you.”
I was about to reply “thank you” but Ms. Maynard moved herself to the end of the sofa and spread her legs wide apart. I could see the dull shine of her black satin panties between her full thighs. My cock was harder than it had ever been.
“Like what you see Enyo?” she asked, pulling the edge of her skirt up.
It was such an amazing sight to see the deep black of her skirt held high up her lush, creamy thighs. With her other hand she started stroking her panties.
I was speechless and could only stare, my eyes fixed between Ms. Maynard’s legs. Her three middle fingers, pressed together, slid up and down over her panties in a slow, regular motion. Ms. Maynard never let her mischievous smile drop, but the slit between her red lips told me that she was very aroused. Her unblinking hazel eyes were locked on my own.
Finally, I gathered the courage to move up closer.
The beautiful counselor slipped her fingers inside her panties and started stroking her bare pussy; a low moan escaped her strawberry-lips as she spread her thighs farther apart.
After fingering herself for about thirty seconds, she pulled out her hand and held the glistening digits up to the light.
“Oh, Enyo; do you see how fucking horny I am?”
Then with a sudden movement which caught me off guard, Ms. Maynard leapt at me and knocked me over on my back. Before I could realize what the hell was going on, she was lying on top of me with her tummy crushing my suffocated member.
Ms. Maynard placed her soaking fingers on my lips; her juices were dripping down the sides of my chin. I opened my mouth and licked them slowly; my thirsty tongue worked up and down the valley between each separate digit before I sucked in all four of her long, white fingers.
As I sucked Ms. Maynard’s digits, I would bob my head up and down on the green sofa. I could tell she loved every second of it: she kept thrusting her fingers deeper into my mouth, all the way up to her smooth knuckles.
“Oh, Enyo!” she panted, her eyes rapidly flickering open and shut, “No one’s ever sucked my fingers like this! Mmmmhhhhhh….”
The fingers were so deep into my mouth that I could feel the bones of her index and pinky fingers glide past the walls of my tightly pursed lips. A wet and filthy slurping sound was created each time Ms. Maynard drove her fingers deeper into my mouth. I was groaning hard as I sucked, looking up into the beautiful counselor’s face just inches above mine.
Ms. Maynard withdrew her hand and bent down to place a quick kiss on my lips.
“That’s got me so fucking horny, Enyo,” she said. Her gleaming fingers were covered in thick layers of my slime-like saliva, which started to drip down her slender wrist.
Oh man: it was so hot! Ms. Maynard, her face slightly turned to one side, had her wet, glistening hand held up; as she looked down at me, she licked her fingers clean of my saliva with long swipes of her pink tongue, starting from the knuckles all the way to the tips. “Who would’ve thought finger-sucking could be so hot?”
“Not me,” I replied, staring up at the beautiful woman.
Ms. Maynard moved up to straddle my chest and began unbuttoning my black jacket. Pulling aside its flaps, she rubbed her palms all over my white shirt. Her legs were spread on either side of my body and, lifting my head up, I could see that the babe’s skirt had ridden so high up her legs as to fully display her black satin panties. Ms. Maynard’s naked thighs were smooth and full; not wanting to feel left out of the action, I ran my hands up and down their graceful curves, feeling the taut, silky flesh slide across my fingertips.
That’s when Ms. Maynard began dragging her crotch back and forth across my chest.
“Mmmmmmhhhh, this feels good!” she said in her low, seductive voice, gripping the armrest of the couch as she bent over me, her breasts hanging above my riveted eyes. Ms. Maynard’s hips were going wild, rocking back and forth, and I could feel her sleek black panties sliding without the least friction over my chest.
“Mmmhh! Mmmmhh! Mmhhhhh!” she kept moaning, furiously moving her crotch across my chest, her large tits shimmying in her tight black suit. Soon I noticed Ms. Maynard’s panties were getting soaked through: her juices leaked through the flimsy material to pool in a large gray spot on my white shirt.
“Oh fuck!” I groaned at the realization, gripping her firm, bare thighs. Soon my hands moved behind her and squeezed her ass.
“Enyo!” she mocked. “You naughty little virgin!”
Ms. Maynard brought her face down to mine. I peered up into her eyes, our noses almost touching. The thrill was too much for me; my breaths were coming out ragged.
“Your breathing is so loud,” she said with a smile. “Are you scared my little virgin?”
I didn’t have the power of words so I just nodded; as I did so, our noses rubbed together. Ms. Maynard chuckled and said, “How cute!”
She licked her lips, brought her face down next to mine, and then began rubbing her warm, soft cheek against my own.
“Mmmhhh, your cheek is so soft, Enyo,” she said, kissing the crook of my neck.
Soon Ms. Maynard’s mouth was hovering over mine; I could feel her lower lip against my own as her hot breath tickled my chin. Seconds passed by and we still didn’t kiss.
I knew she was playing with me.
Suddenly her pink tongue darted out and into my willing mouth. My lips closed on her juicy mouthpiece and I sucked on it with passion, bobbing my head up and down on the couch. That tonguing turned into a deep kiss as Ms. Maynard held my face in both her hands and devoured my lips, our wet, hot mouths smashing together over and over. She was an expert kisser while I kissed back somewhat sloppily because of my nervousness.
Is this really happening? I asked myself in a state of half-delirium.
As our pink tongues mashed together, they would curve backwards from the contact and our saliva would mingle. Then Ms. Maynard’s licked the underside of my tongue one final time before she slowly drew her face back from mine. Helpless and on my back, I could only stare as our lips parted by inches.
She smiled again. “Enyo, you’re a very good kisser.”
“T-thank you,” I said, my voice cracking.
She laughed with amusement. “Oh you’re so cute when you’re shy!” Then, staring down at me with lust-filled eyes, Ms. Maynard said with a strained, shuddering voice, “Do you know how wet and horny it makes me that you’re a virgin, Enyo? Do you know how fucking turned on I am? Do you how badly I want to suck your sweet cock? How much I need you shove it in my pussy and fuck the life out of me? Do you know how much I want your virgin cum all over my face?”
“No, but I’d love to find out.”
Ms. Maynard was still on top of me, laughing. The warmth and softness of her body pressing down on mine was making my cock throb in pain. I could feel the lovely blonde’s firm, round breasts through her suit squished against my chest, the curve of her waist against my stomach, and the softness of her bare thighs on my own.
My hands wrapped around Ms. Maynard’s back as she started to grind her body against mine.
“Ohhhh,” I moaned, feeling her panties glide up and down my chest.
“Mmm, yes, ooh this feels soooooooo good,” the gorgeous counselor moaned with her hazel eyes half-closed. “Oh fuck, Enyo! Ahh! Ahhh! Ahhhh!” I was a little surprised, and very turned on, when Ms. Maynard sat up on my chest, reached for her breasts, and began groping them. Her hands cupped the large tits through the black suit, felt their weight by lifting them up and down, and then squeezing hard. Ms. Maynard’s mouth opened wide and I could see a thin strand of spit connect the surface of her pink tongue to the roof of her mouth.
“Oh fuck yessssss!” she rasped, rubbing her crotch against my chest madly, riding me like some wild cowgirl. “I feel so fucking horny, Enyo! I haven’t had sex in so long. I want you! I want you so bad!” Her hips were going wild, bucking and twitching over me. Though it was painful as her luscious thighs squeezed the sides of my stomach, I was too breathless to complain.
Soon Ms. Maynard slid lower down my body till her face hung above the tented crotch of my black dress pants.
She smiled. “Let’s see what my little virgin is hiding.”
Before I could say anything she unzipped my pants and lowered them to my knees along with my underwear. Out popped my member, standing tall and straight, the blue veins ready to burst with tension.
“You’re so much bigger than I thought!” said a stunned Ms. Maynard, her eyes bulging in surprise. She didn’t blink as she continued to stare at my rigid phallus and licked her lips. “How I love sucking the cocks of young boys!”
That’s a surprise, I thought, I take it she’s done this with other students.
My penis felt cold in the air-conditioned room, but luckily Ms. Maynard warmed it up with her hand. She toyed with my dick at first, stroking it in slow, languid motions, feeling the hard, veiny flesh slide through her soft fingers. Every time she stroked it downwards, the foreskin would roll down and reveal the glistening, bulbous head; and every time she stroked it upwards, the foreskin would roll back up to sheathe the crown again. Ms. Maynard was on her knees, bent low over my crotch, while she jacked me off. I was still lying on my back, powerless as always before this seductress.
“How does such a big nasty cock belong to such a sweet little boy?” she asked, speeding up her handjob. I could see her palm flying up and down my long prick in a blur; with each upward stroke, I would lift my hips off the couch and let out a harsh grunt.
I didn’t bother answering the rhetorical question, but propped myself on my elbows just in time to see Ms. Maynard bend down and begin licking the crown of my throbbing cock. A string of dull, translucent white pre-cum bubbled out from the slit of my stiff member; it streaked in a snaky wave down my length as Ms. Maynard looked on in fascination. She was quick to lick it up and swallow it.
“Mmmhhh!” she sighed, smacking her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “The cum of virgins always tastes so sweet.”
For a few minutes Ms. Maynard just concentrated on licking the helmet of my phallus, holding it in the center and flicking her wet pink tongue around its ridge. The swollen head was now sparkling under the light, coated in a thick layer of saliva.
Then Ms. Maynard surprised me by gripping my penis just under the crown and squeezing it extremely hard, making the head swell even larger; she quickly bent down and gave the dripping cock a long, succulent kiss, her ruby-red lips covering most of the helmet.
“Ohhhhh….” I groaned at her assault. “M-Ms. Maynard!”
Then she began stroking the shaft in her hard fashion as I grunted out loud with each movement of her hand. I couldn’t help it: she had complete power over me now.
Finally the moment I had waited for arrived. Ms. Maynard, or Julia, if she preferred, closed her mouth on my dick. Her full red lips stretched wide around the engorged pink knob as she let out a deep groan in her throat: I was a snug fit.
Her head began to bob up and down on my prick as she shoved it all the way down her throat. She plunged her face down so low on my cock that her lips touched the base of my crotch, her nose becoming buried in the black, wiry pubic hairs. Each time she came up to its tip, I saw my penis washed in Ms. Maynard’s warm saliva. The dark skin of my shaft was now shining a bright silver.
“Mmmph,” Ms. Maynard moaned, coming up for breath. A thick, juicy strand of saliva connected the head of my penis to her wet lips.
Ms. Maynard’s words were drowned as she engulfed my member once again; the only noise to be heard in the room was the wet sound of her expert mouth on my throbbing pike. It was a mesmerizing sight: Ms. Maynard’s eyes, wide open and focused, never left my crotch as she continued to suck me, her blonde ponytail bouncing along behind.
Her lips were tightly pursed around my shaft; it was such a tight fit that I didn’t think Ms. Maynard’s jaw could stretch any further. As her lips slid up and down on the thick column of my cock, her creamy cheeks (now flushed red) puffed outwards. I could tell she was trying hard to make me feel good: Ms. Maynard’s breaths were forced through her nostrils, which I could see quivering with each laboured breath. By now, her saliva had washed my cock to a slick, silver gleam, making it a bit easier for her to take it deeper down her throat.
I couldn’t take it any more. “Julia, stop before I cum.”
Ms. Maynard didn’t stop; instead, she just went on sucking even faster, groaning even louder, her black-suited breasts jiggling every time she moved her head up and down. As she sucked me, her right hand would stroke the bottom of my shaft while her left hand fondled my heavy balls.
“Wha—what are you doing?” I gasped, raising myself on my elbows.
Still Ms. Maynard didn’t relent. My penis burned hot, the purple veins throbbed, and I could vividly feel the cum shoot out. The sensation began at the base of my penis, a shuddering vibration which flooded through to the tip until it finally shot out and hit her tongue; for a split-second, Ms. Maynard’s eyes widened as she felt my semen fire into her mouth. She removed the prick from her lips and opened her mouth wide. I could see a large white pool of my sperm on her once-pink tongue.
It was an amazing sight: slender Ms. Maynard, blonde-haired, black-suited, stood there staring down at me with her beautiful gold-complexioned face; her mouth was hanging open and inside was a thick puddle of my sticky white cum, some of which had smeared her once-vibrant red lips and made them glisten dully.
“This is unbelievable,” I muttered, surprised at not only the vision before me, but the fact that my first blowjob had been given to me by a gorgeous women nearly ten years my senior (not to forget the secret, perhaps illegal nature of it).
Ms. Maynard smiled as well as she was able and closed her mouth; I could hear her swallow my jism, the distinct noise of the hot white liquid cascading down her throat. Just a faint luster of the translucent cum was smudged around the corner of her lower lip, which she quickly used her tongue to lick up.
I was breathing hard as my cock was becoming flaccid. Ms. Maynard had crawled over my body once more, stretching out her arms and legs on either side of me, the black skirt riding up her lean, smooth thighs.
“Why?” I asked weakly, looking up into her eyes. “Why didn’t you want to have sex properly?”
Again that wry smile hung on her lips. “The fun is in the anticipation, Enyo. We’ll do this another time, and who knows, maybe next time I’ll let you fuck me properly.”
Nothing short of dumb-surprise seized me at the moment. My jaw gaped open as I stared up at the gorgeous counselor.
“Can’t I even, you know….” I trailed off.
“What?” she asked, looking down at me and caressing my face with her soft hand.
I turned my head to the side and stared at the back of the sofa. “L-lick your p-pussy.”
She shook her head. “Not today.”
“You’re a great manipulator,” I said, finally looking up at her, noting how still not one single strand of her blonde hair fell in front of her face, even after her fervent blowjob.
Julia Maynard laughed and placed her finger on my nose. “And you’re just an adorable little virgin.”
I couldn’t believe her: she held off her own pleasure to double it for the next time. What a woman!
She kissed my lips, her tongue-tip skimming my own for just a brief second, and then got off the couch. Ms. Maynard straightened out her suit, winking me a goodbye. I left her office and walked out to the front door. Ms. Waters, her secretary, had a smile of her own.
Does she know? I wondered as terror clutched my heart. Who cares? I’m too happy.
By the time I reached my dormitory it was about 7:30 at night. So I decided to have a large dinner in the cafeteria, and soon after headed back to my room. I unlocked it and was stunned. I had left it this morning in a disheveled state.
Why was it so organized? I asked myself. Oh, it’s probably a cleaning lady or someone who came by to fix up my room when I was gone.
“I wonder if she’s hot?” I asked out loud, and then began laughing.
Some minutes later there was a knock at my door. I opened it to find a uniformed man in a light blue suit bearing the sun logo of our school; his uniform said EROS U. at the front in white letters.
“Sorry to bother you, Mr. Verge, but I was told to hand you the texts you’ll need for this year. They’re all right here in this box,” he said, as I stepped out of the way and let him place the cardboard box on my desk. “If you want to drop a course, you can always take the books for that class to the room called “Text Return” in the left wing of the first floor.”
I said thanks and the man went off.
Wow, I thought, talk about service! I always wondered as a child what staying at a 5-star hotel would feel like, and now I knew.
I spent some time arranging the books on my study and bookshelf while the rest of the night was whiled away with some readings for Ms. York’s English class.
Let me say that sleep came easier to me that night, my body’s lust having been temporarily satiated. However, I still craved Ms. Maynard.
As I lay in my bed, looking up at the ceiling, I muttered, “I can’t wait till the day we have sex properly.”
And so ended the first day of classes at Eros U.