Do You Have Any Regrets Ch 02

This chapter introduces a new complication. As with the first chapter, this chapter is mostly autobiographical, to the extent that I am keeping it as autobiographical as I remember it.

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I had recently gotten a job with the continuing ed office at the university to proctor some distance learning courses. This was in the days before Skype, so the majority of my job was keeping my fingers crossed that the big, expensive, scary equipment worked and to make sure that I didn't break it.

The course that I proctored was being sent to a college campus a couple of hours away. On the other end was a proctor, a guy who seemed clueless about his job. Lost in my turbulent submissive love for Chris, I paid him no mind as I did the sound and video check. All I knew about him is that he seemed really tall, and his name was Alex.

"Hey, can y'all see and hear us?" I asked on a crisp November evening into the microphone.

Alex came into view. "Yeah, we can, and you're beautiful."

Total and complete shock stole over my features as his words registered. I tried to discount it, to pretend it didn't happen, but the female graduate students in the class on my end wouldn't let it die.

"Give him your number," they hissed when he asked for it. I tried to say no, that I already had someone I was interested in, but they put off my refusals.

So, that is how Alex got my phone number and called me later that evening after I returned home from work.

The first few conversations were the "getting to know you stuff." But, soon, the conversations became sexual, and we were having regular phone sex.

I wish now that I could go back in time and visit my 22-year-old self during one such conversation. A virgin having phone sex with a much more experienced guy had to be pretty hilarious.

Because Alex was leagues ahead of me in experience. Though only two years older than I was, he had slept with dozens of other girls. Looking back now, nearly thirteen years wiser, he was probably fucking girls in between phone conversations with me.

You are probably wondering what Chris thought of Alex. Well, he did not like the idea of him, for starters. He had overheard Jess and me talking about Alex's request for my phone number.

He went ballistic; he made several dire predictions of what he thought was going to happen.

But, bringing up Alex's name in front of Chris did not give me the one thing I had desperately hoped for when I childishly tried to make him jealous: Chris seemed more disgusted that I would talk to someone I had only met through an over-the-air medium than eaten up with jealousy.

As Alex's interest showed no sign of waning, I felt stuck. Chris no longer stared at my breasts or legs with the desire to do something deliciously dominating.

And Alex? I wasn't attracted to him. We had no common interests. When I finally got a word in to discuss my desires and sexual needs, he referred to them derisively as that "whips and chains stuff" and said, simply, that he was not into that and would never participate in it.

As Thanksgiving break faded into the end of another semester, I welcomed the lessening of the frequency and duration of Alex's calls.

With Alex's calls drying up, it seemed as if Chris's interest might be rekindling. Frosty walks, our conversations visible in the puffs of air we exhaled, returned.

And my nighttime fantasies and daydreams again heated up. Chris, imperious as the tsars of Russia, whipping my nude form, extracting pleas and tears and promises to never try to make him jealous again while he punished me severely.

Daydreams of him ordering me to my knees on one of our walks to service him orally where anyone could pass by danced constantly behind the edges of my vision to tease and tantalize my imagination and senses and distract me from whatever I should be focusing on.

The fall semester ended with a dinner among our group of friends: Jess, Chris, and me, and two of our other friends, both moms who were students. Chris and I parted that evening with charged glances and Merry Christmas wishes.

I had hopes that he would phone, but he never did during that long winter break.

Even though I was disappointed, I knew I would see him again during the spring semester. We had arranged to take two afternoon classes together, both education courses.

The first day of the spring semester dawned cold. I hurriedly ate and drank my breakfast, so that I could be the first one to the break room in the liberal arts building that day. Sure enough, I arrived with minutes to spare.

I tried to calm my pounding heart. The previous weeks' sleeps were crammed with images of my submission to him, what-if scenarios of the previous semester, played out for the delectation of me.

I was in love, or at least, lust with Chris. And, behind his enigmatic, piercing stare, I had absolutely no idea how he felt about me.

Soon, I heard his shuffling, scraping tread. I schooled my features to neutral, even though a part of my mind I had compartmentalized as his kneeled facing the door, already his.

Trying to keep it casual, I could almost pretend that my aloofness bothered him. Upset him. Maybe even fueled an enraged, dominant anger in him. But I blinked, and it was gone.

We talked of the break; I had a new nephew, my first, born over break. He talked of his sister and her child. The shared, easy comraderie returned to the fore.

And, yet, I could feel his eyes, when I was too cautious to look up (and instead was writing mindless early drafts of what would later become "Bitsy's Inhuman Submission"), burning holes through my clothes.

I had dressed in what I felt was appropriate attire. There was a bit of a chill, it being January in Louisiana, so I wore my short black skirt and cream-colored cable knit sweater. This sweater had never fit correctly through the breast area. Even at that point, several sizes smaller than I am now, I deferred all of my clothing decisions to my boobs.

Intentionally or not, okay, intentionally, I remember holding my shoulders back, proud of my femininity and my voluptuous assets for the first time ever.

His voice faltered. I think he had been talking about our newest shared obsession, Harry Potter. We had discovered the books a couple of months ago almost at the same time.

I looked at him and saw his jaw, his resolve, tighten. The tightening of his jaw coupled with the piercing blue grey of his eyes turned my insides to jelly. In that moment, I would have done anything, promised him anything.

But that moment was shattered by the arrival of Jess.

Even now, reflecting thirteen years later, I don't know what Chris thought of Jess. In part, he seemed to accept her as an extension of me, and therefore, at least, tolerated her.

Jess, on the other hand, still thought of Chris (and, I'm sure if I were to ask her today, her opinion hasn't changed) still as the "icky Chris." She tolerated him only because she knew I was obsessed with him. His awkwardness didn't endear him to her at all, whereas I thought it adorable.

I also thought that his awkwardness was a front he threw up to ward people off, warn people away from knowing his true tendencies.

The next day, Wednesday, was our first shared class. We had planned to meet up at a nearby Mexican restaurant for a late lunch/early supper. Chris thought we were meeting up with everyone, but I manipulated the situation (begged Jess, in other words) to keep everyone else at bay.

We walked in to the restaurant, and the waitress seated us. Our conversation continued as if it had never stopped, even after a car ride apart. The waitress seemed to think we were together-together, not just two friends having a meal.

I was giddy. I had never been out on a date with a boy before. Yes, me, at the age of 22 had never been out on a date before.

And, even though this wasn't a date, per se, it sure felt like one. Restaurant. Check. Sitting in an intimate booth. Check. Guy staring inscrutably in turns at my eyes and my tits, check.

I think that's when he asked the startling question of why I laughed at his jokes. I had never thought of not laughing at his jokes, to be perfectly honest. But then I got to thinking: no one else laughed at them.

Again, the very sheltered 22-year-old me was very naïve when it came to boys and dating.

The assertion of his dominance reared its head when it came time to pay for the check. Both of us were poor college students (he was working his way through college and I was on loans), but he insisted, again with the look that he would take me over his knee if I attempted to refuse, again, on paying for the meal. He won the argument on the caveat that I pay next time.

He walked me back to my car at the restaurant before returning to his disheveled sedan. From the fogged up windows of my little Volkswagen Beetle, I watched him lope back to his car. And shivered internally.

Class passed by, as I sat beside him, in a haze. I stopped short of writing our names together in a mix of swirls and curlicues, but just barely. I, the meticulous Summa Cum Laude, 4.0 college-graduate student understood not one word the professor spoke. She could have been speaking Klingon Latin for all I knew.

My dreams were turbo-charged with erotic submission again that night and for several nights after. I took to reading more and more of the spanking stories, rubbing out orgasm after orgasm picturing me as the spankee and Chris as the spanker.

I lived for Wednesdays and Thursdays because that meant that, not only would I see him in class, but we would also go out for lunch. People began speaking of us with our names joined with hyphens as a single unit. Even Jess noticed the inevitability of it.

And then came the day that changed EVERYTHING...

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Thanks to the excellent supporters who loved/liked chapter 1! This chapter is for you. The next chapter truly does/did change everything. I hope you enjoy. Feel free to comment constructively!