I barely made it to my first class the next morning. Jill had stayed over after showing up at my door the night before and releasing me from her "erotic contract." Afterward, she had crawled into bed with me and curled up in my arms, pressing every inch of her body next to mine. Even though I was mentally (and physically) spent from the activities of the night, I was more than willing to try and satisfy her - give it the old college try, as it were - the moment I felt her silky skin against me.
She reached around and patted me on the hip.
"Go to sleep, you," she said softly. "You'll need your energy tomorrow."
Then she snuggled in harder and let out a contented sigh. And just like that, I was out too. I didn't move for ten hours. When I awoke, Jill was gone but had left a kiss, perfectly outlined in lipstick on my forehead that I discovered when I shaved that morning.
The first lecture of the day failed to hold my attention; as did the second; and the third. My mind was completely focused on Jill. The fact that I was constantly aroused by her went without saying. The combination of physical beauty, smarts, and personality - well, you'd have to be an idiot (or dead) not to have a libido that was in complete overdrive. But the previous night's image of her standing in the middle of my room, like Aphrodite clad in black lace and heels, was burned into my brain so completely it left little room for anything else that morning.
By mid-morning, I was loitering around the Student Union, hoping to run into her. Her cell had gone to voice mail both times I dialed it. To my credit, I had managed to hold off sending any texts for fear of seeming too needy. But the truth was I did need to see her. Even if it was to dispel the growing irrational notion in my head that the previous two weeks - and last night in particular - were just some post-adolescent fantasy borne out of a collegiate alcoholic haze and hormonal overload.
I wandered around the campus after my last class. Fridays started and ended early for me so I usually planned out the afternoons for studying. What they were not planned for was roaming the halls of the university like a horny schoolboy, peering into the library cubicles and cafeteria alcoves, hoping to catch sight of her or hear the musical lilt of her laugh.
By three, I was completely demoralized and badly in need of caffeine. Standing in line at an espresso cart behind a mass of blonde dreadlocks and stale pot-smoke, my phone buzzed with an incoming text.
It read: Turn around, Stud Muffin.
I turned, and Jill practically leapt into my arms, planting a deep erotic kiss on my lips. I fell backward and bumped the guy next to me, spilling his fresh latte on the ground.
"Heeeyyyy...duuuude..." he groaned.
Jill peeked over my shoulder and flashed him a dazzling smile.
"Sorry," she chirped, "I just get really excited when I see this guy. I can't help myself! You know, you wouldn't believe how wet I am right now."
The barista choked trying to stifle a laugh. The woman behind Jill looked as if she'd been shot. Dreadlock PotSmoke just gaped and dropped his empty coffee cup.
"...s-s-say whaaa...?"
I hastily jammed a five in his hand and smiled. "Nothing, man...she's just kidding..."
Jill turned to the woman behind her and mouthed the word "big" as she made an exaggerated size gesture with her hands and we hustled away from the line. We laughed hysterically, holding onto each other as we ran across the green.
"You're out of your mind, you know that don't you?" I said, as she looped her arm through mine.
"Whadya mean?" she asked feigning innocence. "I wasn't lying."
"What? Which part?"
"I'm sorry, Hot Stuff," she said and squeezed my arm, "That's a need to know basis. Anyway, where have you been all day?"
"Me?" I asked, "I've been trying to find you."
"Really?"
I nodded, realizing I had just broken the first and most fundamental law of guys and girls: I had let her know I was chasing her. I know women have a similar code. But where it seems women look upon the breaking of that axiom as a misdemeanor-level indiscretion, guys view it as an all-out, crack-your-nuts-in-a-vise felony, punishable by death... of your manhood...preferably in public. Right. Well, nobody ever said, as a sex, that we were Rhodes scholars.
As if reading my mind, Jill stopped and pulled me to her, peering up at me with iridescent green eyes and smirked.
"Go on," she said slyly, "Tell me all the juicy, emasculating details."
"Well, you know...I...I didn't...not the whole day..." I hesitated and stammered a lame attempt to save face. "I...I did go to class, but..."
"Oh," she pouted, (good God, she was adorable!), "I kind of liked the idea of you moping around the library or student union looking for me."
"How did you know about the libr-?" I blurted, without thinking.
"Aha! J'accuse!" she said and poked me in the chest before breaking into one of her patented smiles.
I stood there gaping as she planted a kiss on my cheek and started walking again, pulling me behind. Christ, I thought, there was no way I was sharp enough to keep up with this girl. I was in trouble - in so many ways.
####
That night being Friday, we went to dinner at a small, friendly Italian place near campus. The food was excellent. The lighting was romantic. And Jill was exquisite in a light-weight black cotton summer dress that was slit up the legs and hugged her body in all the right places. We talked, laughed, trashed our professors, and generally rubbed against each other as much as possible without getting thrown out.
During dessert, a shared portion of Crème Brule, Jill scooted her chair closer and began playing footsie under the table. She slipped off one of her sandals and was slowly but deliberately running her toe under and up the leg of my pants to tickle the hairs on my leg. Every now and then, she would emphasize a laugh by dropping her hand on my thigh. It was like an adrenaline rush that went straight to my crotch and it took very little effort on her part to get me going in high gear. It also didn't help matters that after the last bite of dessert, she dropped her hand in my lap and left it there.
Slowly tracing the inside of my thigh, she worked her way up to the growing outline of my erection. A jolt of electricity went through my groin as she squeezed my cock through my pants. Concealed (mostly) by the ambient light level and the tablecloth, she began stroking me while talking casually about some girl in her English Literature class.
Abruptly stopping - talking, not stroking - she leaned in and whispered in my ear.
"Are you going to come for me again like last night?"
I swallowed dryly and croaked, "Yes, especially if you don't stop doing that."
She purred, "Hmmm, I don't think so."
"Then we're going to have a problem," I insisted.
"MmHmm," she said, "A big one it seems."
She picked up her water glass and took a long luxurious drink. I groaned as I watched her delicate throat move up and down, draining the liquid from the glass. A tiny drop remained at the corner of her mouth and she wiped it slowly across her lips. She held the glass up to me.
"Still thirsty," she said in a throaty voice, "Maybe you'll just have to shoot in my glass to refill it."
"I'd rather do it elsewhere," I managed, trying to re-focus my attention on the task of getting out of there without staining the front of my pants.
She nibbled my earlobe and sighed huskily. She might have also whispered something that was close to, "Like maybe on my ass?" - But I don't know for sure. I kind of blacked out for a second. The next thing I knew, we were walking out into the cool night and I could breathe again. I assumed someone paid the bill. No one came chasing after us as we made our way down the street and back to campus.
The elevator ride was a steamy, blurred grope fest with our tongues playing in each other's mouths while I grabbed her ass and she ground her pelvis against the hot bar of steel in my pants.
I barely managed to get the key in the lock before she was unbuckling my belt. Leaving me half-undone, she kicked out of her sandals and stepped back. Her dress came off with one flick of her hand.
I almost passed out. Underneath, she wore a red lace bra and thong that accentuated her green eyes to the point that they were almost viridian. She hooked a finger in my direction and beckoned me forward. Having extricated myself from my uncooperative pants, I followed her directions as she settled into the loveseat across the room. I didn't even wait for further instructions and dropped to my knees in front of her as she spread her stunning legs to invite me in.
I had planned on lingering for a minute at her knees, working slowly down her inner thigh, and then taking my time, making her yearn for a change. That plan went out the window as soon as the scent of her perfume and femininity overtook me. I felt myself pitching forward, falling though it with a surge of unbridled lust. I needed to taste her. Hell, I was desperate to taste her. I was consumed by an ache and a thirst that I knew would only abate when the first hint of her wetness reached my lips.
Like a possessed man, I mashed my face into her panties, my tongue pushing the flimsy fabric into her pussy the barest fraction of an inch. I must have caught her off-guard. I half-expected her, sensing my desperation, to tease me some and make me work for my satisfaction. She didn't. She wove her fingers into my hair and pulled me deeper.
"Oh fuck," she cried out, "Yes! Get them off...get my panties off!"
