Although I was only twenty, I was an ex-wife and a mother of a two-year old son. I had to wonder what I was doing among all those wide-eyed college sorority girls. When the professor entered I nearly groaned out loud. He must have been in his mid-thirties and in the throes of a mid-life crisis. He definitely worked out as he was very well built, gorgeous blonde hair, awesome tush, and the only thing bigger than his pecs was his ego.
He entered the room in a rush wearing a light jacket and dark ski glasses. The sorority girls with their curls and bows were visibly aghast and squirming in their mini skirts as Professor Stud took off his jacket. I almost felt a pang of sympathy for the cleaning crew that would have to scrub those chairs when the girls finally stood.
The class was child psych, and I had heard horror stories about the tests. Although the professor wasn’t what I expected, I did not dare sluff off this class. I was on scholarship and needed the grade. I tried to listen intensely to the lecture, but my attention kept wandering to the young girls creaming over the professor. Unexpectedly, an attractive brunette plopped into the seat beside me. I had never seen her before, and was somewhat shocked when she whispered, “Married or gay?”
“Excuse me?”
“Married or gay?” she whispered again.
I guess my expression let her know I had no clue, so she explained, “I’ve watched you from a couple rows back. You’re obviously not impressed with the handsome professor, so you must be married or gay. Which is it?”
Finally comprehension sank in. “Divorced, and not interested in another man whose ego is bigger than his dick.” I whispered bluntly.
She laughed and quietly took notes throughout the rest of the lecture. As she concentrated on the lesson, I couldn’t help but look her over. She was gorgeous. Her sandy brown hair curled softly down to the top of her shoulders. Her soft blue eyes were framed by long, dark lashes, and she had an incredible girl-next-door smile. Her long fingers circled her pen with a feminine touch and ended with well-manicured pink nails. She flashed me a sly grin, and I felt my pulse quicken and butterflies flutter in my stomach. I had never been with another female, and I tried to pass it off as just another strange side-effect of my all-too-recent divorce combined with a seriously long absence of a sex life.
Class drew to a close, and as the perky, bow-headed girls stayed to ask mindless questions and try to get Professor Stud’s attention, the brunette and I slipped out the back door. In the hall she grabbed my hand as I had one foot out the door.
“Hey, I hope I didn’t offend you in there. I just thought. . .well, it would be nice to talk to somebody with a . . . huh,. . . brain. I’m Jenny, by the way.”
“Don’t worry Jenny, I was glad to see someone else was unimpressed. I’m Dianne,” Searching for something to prolong the conversation, I continued, “Have you heard about this guy’s test?”
Jenny flashed that coy grin again, and my stomach flipped. “Yeh, my ex-roomie said he’s a real killer. You want to get together, swap notes, and study?”
My first reaction was to run. I felt like a flirting school girl and was appalled that I could be attracted so strongly to a woman. The problem was I had seen Jenny’s notes. She was bright, and I had been so distracted, “Yes, I would love some help studying,” I said before I could change my mind.
“Great,” replied Jenny. “If you have time, we can go to my place now. You can follow me.”
The short trip to Jenny’s apartment passed quickly, and we went upstairs. The apartment was another surprise. I had seen my friends’ typical messy college apartments and was amazed that this one was so orderly and classy. The white leather sofa was the nearest seat, so I quickly sat feeling somewhat embarrassed.
Jenny excused herself while I spread out the books. She came back with two tall glasses of ice water, and we really studied hard for two hours. The more we studied, the more anxious I got about our upcoming test. Jenny was brilliant, and I knew she would have no problems acing the test. My anxiety must have shown.
“Don’t worry so much,” said Jenny. “You’ll do fine. Hey, I have an idea. How about a massage?”
The shock must have registered on my face. “You are kidding, right?”
“Nope,” Jenny replied, “I am a bona fide masseuse. I even have a certificate—Want to see?”
I just shook my head no.
“It’s good money, but I can only handle a couple customers a week with classes and all. To be honest, I could use the practice.”
It sounded too good to be true, so I quickly agreed. Jenny handed me a white towel and directed me to the bathroom to disrobe and wrap myself in the towel. When I returned, she had a masseuse table erected and was arranging oils on the coffee table. I laid on my stomach and loosened the towel as she instructed. She lowered the towel so it barely covered my rear end, and she began spreading the oil over by back.
Jenny’s hands were magic as they kneaded the tension from my neck, my shoulders, and on down to my lower back. As she rubbed, I felt her soft hands inching the towel further down and her fingernails gently scraping my buttocks. The feeling was so erotic I almost moaned aloud. Or at least I think it was ‘almost.’ She immediately moved her hands to my feet and began her kneading moving up to my calves and then my thighs.
As she moved upwards her touch had me thoroughly aroused. It had been months since I had sex, and I could feel the moisture building between my legs. I couldn’t help grinding my sex against the hardness of the table. When Jenny’s hand parted my thighs, and I felt one of those delicious pink fingernails brush lightly on the outer folds of my pussy, it was enough to make me groan aloud.
A rattle at the door brought me out of my haze. Jenny’s hands stopped immediately, and she threw the towel over my naked rear end.
“This is my boyfriend, Zack,” Jenny said. “Zack, this is Dianne.”
As I was still lying on the table without the gift of clothes, I only leaned up and said, “Hi.”
