Eight down, one to go. How could I have known, when this challenge began that the ninth girl would have so profound an effect on my life. I had, for better or worse, looked at the girls in this challenge as just that, a challenge. Like homeruns in baseball or a goal in soccer, just a way of keeping score.
Number nine turned out to be very different. A freshman like me, but from the other end of the state. An art history major, just like every other girl in her circle. Her father was a professional board member, having made a ton of money, sold his company, them spent his time being overpaid to go to meetings around the country a couple of times a year.
Patricia was gorgeous. Blonde, perfect body. It is amazing what happens to a girl when she spends her childhood traveling the world, going to spas, playing sports, and can afford every beauty treatment and product known to man and science. If you could create the perfect woman from scratch in a laboratory, she would turn out looking like Patricia.
That was her trap. She was the spider, spinning a web, and though I didn't know it, I was the hapless fly.
We had met my first day at school, at one of those mixers the staff put on to force you to meet new people. She lived on the floor beneath me in the dorms and we hit it off. We shared our stories during rush. All nine sororities had been knocking themselves out to get her to join but she finally had to go with Phi Mu, making her the fourth generation to pledge that house.
Even though I had a lot of confidence when it came to girls, I figured that Patricia was out of my league. She was just too gorgeous, too smart, too everything. But with only two days left in the competition, I figured I had nothing to lose but a little pride at what I considered an inevitable rejection.
I saw her eating breakfast at the dining commons and brought my tray over and sat down next to her.
"Hi, Patricia. How are you?"
"Doing well, Joe. You?"
"Not bad. Struggling a bit with one of my classes."
"Which one?"
I lied. Girls love to play mother to a poor dumb guy. "Art appreciation."
This peaked her interest. "What's the problem?"
"I just don't get it. Throw a pile of numbers in front of me, or a work of literature, and I can tell you all about it. But I look at a couple of paintings and I am lost."
She smiled. "That's easy. I'd be glad to help you out if you like."
"Great! I have a test tomorrow, so could we make it tonight?"
"Sure. Do you have a pledge meeting tonight?"
"Yes. You too?"
"Every Wednesday! How about I come over to your house afterwards?"
"Works for me! See you then."
All day I fretted. I don't know why. I had made my way through eight of the houses on campus with relative ease, but this one was somehow different. Something about her had captured my soul. If she was a great fuck, I was dead.
I didn't hear a word in the meeting, so lost was I in thoughts of Patricia. I learned later that I had voted on both sides of two issues, giving my pledge brothers quite a laugh.
Patricia arrived about nine, dressed to kill as usual. She wore black slacks that showed off her legs and ass to maximum effect. Same with her blouse, just transparent enough to show a hint of the color of her bra, which was some shade of blue. Her blonde hair was tied back in a pony tail and, though she could probably afford enough jewelry to put a czarina to shame she only wore simple diamond earrings and a simple pendant necklace.
"Hi, Joe. Let's get started."
I took her hand and led her upstairs. I had spread out a couple of art books from the library on the table. After we seated ourselves she began a litany on schools of painting, periods of art, personalities of artists. All I could concentrate on was the smell of her perfume.
"Joe, are you listening?"
"Yeah. It's just that I have a hard time concentrating when I'm with a pretty girl."
She giggled at that smooth line. "Well, thanks for the compliment. You don't really give a damn about the art, do you?"
"Is it that obvious?"
