Dear Readers,
Welcome to my latest story! Sorry it has been such a long time since I've produced something new, but here it is at last. I hope the wait was worth it. A word about this story: It is novel length. It is about half completed. I plan to release a chapter every few days. It builds slowly. I plan to publish it after I've given you a chance on Literotica to read it.
As always, I would appreciate to hear back from you, good or bad, and please rate if you are so inclined. And to reiterate, it does build slowly, so if you're looking for something 'quick' move on and come back in a few chapters ;)
Enjoy!
Titania
******
"Now Ophelia, she's 'neath the window
For her I feel so afraid
On her twenty-second birthday
She already is an old maid"
-"Desolation Row" Bob Dylan
PROLOGUE
For two hours, twice a week, I sat to the back and right of the most amazing set of legs I had ever seen. It was a summer Intro to Political Science course, and the thirty-two inch long legs belonged to a studious brunette, who, before asking her out, I luckily learned was only seventeen. Apparently, she was taking a few college courses during the summer of her junior to senior years of
high school.
At the time, I had just turned twenty and had sworn off girls younger than myself. I was well beyond the drama of high school and was looking for mature women, not girls.
She showed up to class every Tuesday and Thursday in skimpy, light-weight running shorts and running shoes. You could see the wisps of hair at the nape of her neck curl from the sweat garnered during her pre-class run. She was clearly smart, always answering the professor intelligently, especially for a teenager, and even once earning a comment from him on one of her papers. She was one of those uptight kinds that makes something feral inside you want to break into a pliable, pleading hot mess. But, like I said, she was only seventeen.
That was three years ago, and as I sat across from the rowdy group of girls, trying desperately to place that delicately cut, exotic face of the smart brunette that had all the answers, it was those legs that flashed into my mind, and then I knew
exactly
who the woman was.
The Colony is a stand-alone brick building complete with low, wood ceilings and floors, a large brick fire place, an excellently carved bar, low lighting, and oh, yeah, trivia on Tuesday nights. Occasionally the prize is money, but more often than not, the draw is just an hour and half of fun entertainment, good beer, and the likely chance of hooking up with pretty tail. Usually, four or five of my closest classmates join in on Tuesday night trivia, often times winning. At first glance, it appeared that night would be no different as the rainy January weather had caused a low turnout.
But in the booth across from our table were five young women, obviously looking for a little fun during their last week of winter break. Drinks were thrown back at an alarming rate, and several of the girls got louder and louder as the evening wore on. Being guys, we checked them out quickly, scanning for any pretty faces to watch or bodies to lust over. There were several, especially the ring leader. She had straight, platinum blonde hair and giant tits. Even in her thick sweater, you could see how great they were. And she gave you plenty of opportunities to witness their greatness when their team, the, ahem,
Pussy Galores
got correct answers. She would stand up and throw some loud obnoxious taunt while shaking her torso, sending those mammoth tits to swaying tantalizingly.
After the third round, I noticed the seemingly stupid chicks were not only ahead of us, but the margin of difference between our scores was growing steadily. Now, without bragging, I can honestly say that I am usually ranked at the top of any peer group, and thankfully, without much effort. Granted, I studied hard for the LSAT, but that was more the exception than the rule. I am also by nature extremely competitive and have been called an elitist several times. All these attributes culminate to make me quite an arrogant asshole.
Or so I've been told.
There was something about that group of girls, led by that big-titted, dumb blonde that made my fingers itch. At each question, I would watch them, trying to discover how they came up with their answers, and that's when I noticed her. She was sitting in the corner of their booth with the least amount of light in an already dimly lit place. Her dark hair was down, veiling a great amount of her from recognition.
The question would come over the crappy loud speaker, and the entire group would immediately turn to her. Sometimes she had to think about it, tap the pen wildly on the table, but usually she was able to spout off an answer instantly. The rounds went on, as did my study of this girl. It quickly became clear that if I wanted to beat this group, she was my opponent.
Her face was hidden in shadow, making her true features hard to see. But something intrigued me about her. Perhaps it was the shadow-king effect. You know, she had all the power but didn't flaunt it, or maybe it was spurred on by my competitive nature that stung wildly at being beaten by a girl. Whatever it was, I needed to know more about her.
