Marcus lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling of his apartment. What a day! He'd ridden his bike over to the MP Building to check on his club's new homeroom. Things had looked fine, so he hopped into the elevator to leave. Then, on the very next floor, the door had opened on heaven: A strawberry-haired goddess, covered from waist up in an amazing tribal pattern of multicolored paints, was standing there and she'd stepped into the elevator car with him.
He'd literally sweated with nervousness, fought the urge to drool over her stunning figure, become so overcome with lust that he'd missed his own floor, and practically dropped to the floor when she stepped out. Then she'd turned around and invited him to follow.
That was about 4 hours ago, and he was exhausted. They'd had sex, the most amazing fucking he'd ever had, by far the most incredibly stimulating experience of his life. She'd kissed him and left him there, in the showers, walking her gleaming, clean body out the door. And he couldn't stop thinking about her.
He kept in good shape but didn't consider himself especially attractive; his social skill with the opposite sex wasn't exactly the stuff of legends. All his adult life, he'd been in mostly chaste relationships with women who appreciated his personality enough to look past his awkwardness. He had no complaints, but nothing he'd ever been involved in had even approached his night with a painted goddess.
He knew he should probably drop it. They'd had their fun and parted, leave it at that and hold onto the memories. But he
couldn't
. She'd responded to him like no woman ever had, and she'd driven him wild. He couldn't just move on, he had to make an effort to try and find her, see if they could ever have more, if the amazing bond they'd shared was deeper than a single night of pleasure. Swinging his legs over the side, he hopped off his bed and poured a drink to think of a way to track her down.
He could try running her name, "Mandy", through the student database. But it lacked photos and he knew little about her, really. That body paint had to be professional work; he could keep an eye out for an article or poster of some sort to pop up on campus. But as soon as something like that came out every horny guy on campus would be trying to crawl into her jeans.
The gym bag! She'd had a bag, with towels, fresh clothes, and that incredible black leotard that she'd pulled on afterward in place of underwear. She definitely worked out regularly; she was toned and had stamina. He didn't recognize her from his own workouts, but that merely excluded the Old Complex pool and his biking route, she probably stayed at the new MP building. All he had to do was hang around the building long enough to catch her coming or going to a workout, shouldn't be a problem. Satisfied at his plan, he lay back down to sleep, trying to think of things to say to her when he finally found her.
The next morning he woke early and sent "I'm sick" emails to his professors. His attendance was damn near flawless, he could risk a day out of circulation. He hopped in the shower and fought the urge to stroke his cock as thoughts of Mandy's body flowed through his mind. He didn't want to waste time, and he knew the real thing would be worth the wait.
Packing a bag with his usual swim supplies, he dressed in what he hoped was his best looking casual workout clothes and got ready to leave, to execute his master plan for being reunited with his painted goddess. Then someone knocked on his door.
"Who is it?" He asked with some irritation. He couldn't risk missing her because some hall-mate wanted to share some stupid problem.
"Hey Moose" Called a muffled voice "Open the hell up"
