Going to college is a new experience for most people, and it's especially so if you grew up in a really small town and you were the first in your family to go to college. We all have a frame of reference for how things are supposed to be depending upon the environment in which we grew up. The environment in a major university is so different you sort of lose your place in the world until you get it all figured out.
That was how I felt after the first day at The University of Tennessee. I lived in a dorm complex that had as many students in the six dorms as my whole town had residents including kids. About half of those students were girls, and that was a huge change. My graduating class from high school had twenty seven guys and nine girls. Needless to say, none of those girls had any trouble at all getting dates, even Marjorie Evens. Marjorie was a nice girl and I dated her a few times. She just wasn't very pretty and she didn't have much of a figure.
There's no way to hide anything in a small town. Everybody knows what everybody else has done, is now doing, and is thinking about doing in the future. As a result, girls in school are pretty chaste. They all want to look sexy, but just try getting your hand in a bra or up a skirt and you'd get shut down really fast. Sex was something they all fantasized about, or so Marjorie told me one night, but she didn't dare do anything for fear the whole town would know.
That was probably the case. High school boys like to brag about their prowess with girls, so if one of us had gotten lucky, he'd have told everybody he knew. As a result, I graduated without so much as a feel of a naked breast, or even a feel of a breast through a bra, and I'd given up on getting my hand in a girl's panties. It didn't really matter all that much with Marjorie because Marjorie didn't have much of anything in her bra. I wasn't sure what she might have in her panties.
That all changed when I got to college. There were a lot more girls around, and while there were a few like Marjorie, most had big enough breasts they jiggled when they walked. The other thing was that back home, all the girls dressed so you couldn't see that jiggle. At college, the girls seemed to dress to accent that jiggle.
One that really did was Randira Minsky, and Randira had a lot to jiggle. Randira was in my Rhetoric 101 class, and the first day of class she was wearing bell-bottom jeans and a tight blue top with a deep "V" neckline. That's all I remember about her because of how that top fit. Sticking out of that neckline was cleavage like I'd never dreamed existed. I mean, it wasn't just cleavage like a separation between her big breasts that you could have stuck your finger in. It was both her big breasts pushing out her top and squeezed together so tight the cleavage was just a line between them.
She took the desk next to mine and smiled at me. I couldn't do anything except stare until the professor started the lecture. Even after that, I kept stealing little glances at her. She'd see me doing that and grin.
She knew I was staring at her. She obviously knew why too, and it didn't seem to embarrass her. If anything, she seemed to like being stared at. I'd never met a girl in my life who liked being stared at.
The Rhetoric 101 class met three times a week, and every day the first week, Randira sat in the desk beside me. After that first day, I was still staring, but I'd sort of gotten used to the way she looked and could see the rest of her.
Randira had long, dark brown hair, and her ass was pretty great too. It wasn't like Marjorie's ass at all. Marjorie had a little ass that didn't move much when she walked. Randira's ass was alive. Watching her walk out of the room after class was mesmerizing. Her ass had a life all it's own, and that combined with her huge breasts made her a sight to stir the imagination of any young, horny guy. More than one time I'd jacked off in one of the stalls in the dorm bathroom while imagining how Rondira would look naked.
It was two weeks into the semester when she stopped me after class.
"Jerry, your last name's Markarov, right?"
I said it was and she smiled.
"That's a Russian surname, just like mine. Are you Russian?"
Well, from what I'd been told, my family was originally from Russia. One of my ancestors was a ship's carpenter on a ship that brought a group of Russian men who sailed to Alaska sometime around 1810 to hunt fur seals. While he was waiting to go back to Russia, he found a Native American woman he liked a lot. He stayed in Alaska with her and they were living there when the US purchased Alaska from Russia. One of his grandsons moved to Colorado when gold was discovered there.
I told her that my grandfather said the family was originally from Russia and we probably still had relatives living there. Randira smiled.
"I haven't met many students with a Russian heritage. We should get together sometime and compare family histories."
Now, I'd always thought it was up to the guy to ask a girl for a date, but Randira had basically just asked me out. I didn't quite know what to think about that. I mean, all the girls in my high school had seemed pretty shy. They'd never have even thought about asking a guy out...well...I suppose some of them did, but they never said that to any guy I knew of. As a result, I'm sure I came off like some dumb hick from the sticks.
"Uh...what do you mean by 'get together'?"
I probably should have noticed the way Randira grinned, but I was too busy looking at her big breasts. She'd pulled her shoulders back and that forced them up and out against her white, low cut blouse.
"Oh, just that we should meet somewhere and talk about our parents and grandparents, that's all."
I asked her if she meant a coffee shop and she shook her head.
"No, I'd like it to be someplace quiet so we can really talk without anybody else overhearing us. A coffee shop would be too noisy. Hey, I know where we can go. We can go to my apartment."
That was a little odd, I thought. The university rules required all freshmen to live in a dorm unless they were twenty-one or older.
"How did you get to live in an apartment?"
Randira smiled and shrugged.
"I'm twenty one because I got a late start on college. My parents couldn't pay for school and I didn't want to borrow a bunch of money, so I got a job after high school and worked for three years. I like being by myself and an apartment is cheaper too. It's not much, but it's a place to sleep and study. Wanna come see on Saturday?"
Randira's apartment wasn't a palace, but it was a lot better than my dorm room. Actually, it wasn't even an apartment like I'd always thought of as an apartment. She had two rooms on the second floor of a house and her landlord lived on the first floor. She did have a separate stairway, so she could come and go as she pleased without him knowing.
The main room was kind of a living room/kitchen combination. She had a tiny little range and a refrigerator and a sink. The rest was furnished with a couch, a chair, and a small table where she ate and studied. The second room was her bedroom, and she said it had a separate bathroom.
While we ate, we mostly talked about school - what classes we were taking and which professors we liked and didn't like. Randira was studying to become an English teacher and loved Rhetoric 101. I was studying to be a mechanical engineer and hated Rhetoric 101. I couldn't see why it was important that I be able to write a paper about what it means to be confident. That was the latest assignment - write a paper describing how it feels to be confident. I told Randira it was a hard paper to write, but she just laughed.
"No, it's easy. If you're confident, you aren't afraid to say what you think because you know you're right. Don't you feel that way? I do. Just write how you feel when you know you're right and tell that to somebody."
I must have made some sort of odd face, because Randira reached over and touched my arm.
"Tell you what...you write it and then let me read it and I'll fix anything you've done wrong. Now, tell me about that ancestor of yours who came to Alaska from Russia."
I shrugged.
"I don't know if it's true or not, but supposedly, about 1810, one of my ancestors was a ship's carpenter on a ship that brought fur seal hunters to Alaska. While they were hunting, he made some repairs to the ship. He also met a Native American woman he liked a lot. When the ship sailed, he stayed behind with the woman and built a small boat. Together, they traded with the settlements up and down the coast of Alaska.
"As the story goes, they had one son and two daughters. Nobody knows what happened to the daughters, but the son, Nikolai, came to Colorado about 1840 because he'd heard rumors of gold there."
I had to grin at the next part because it was a family joke.
