Carol

"We're just making out," said Carol, looking up. She gave the two guys a broad, welcoming smile. "I don't know his name."

* * * * *

It was Friday, in week three that Carol was going without underwear. She trotted up the stairs of the subway into my arms. By now it was second nature for me to check out the guys who were checking her out. Though she tended to walk quickly, she had at least four men behind and below her, staring up at her as she stopped at the top of the stairs.

Today she had her heavy shoulder bag, some sandals, and a short pink dress. The dress had two straps over her shoulders -- rapidly becoming my favorite clothing accessory, those straps -- and was made of some gauzy material that floated around when she walked. The best part of the dress was the bustier -- it had low scoop in front, but was tied together beneath her breasts with a little bow.

One of the men who'd followed her up the stairs didn't pass by us. He stopped right next to her.

"Tyler, this is my friend Andrew," she said, taking his hand.

For a second I was incredibly turned on... was she making friends in the subway, now? Was she kissing guys who made small-talk with her?

"He's an old friend from high school, he's visiting from college this week."

"Oh," I said, "how do you do?"

He shook my hand. "I'm thinking of transferring. Carol is showing me the campus."

"Well, it's not a campus like other campuses," she said. "It's more just a bunch of buildings."

"Still, it's in the city. It sounds totally cool."

We were getting jostled by the crowd from the subway. Carol, standing in the wind with her short skirt at the top of the stairs, was causing a traffic jam as men slowed or even stopped.

I guided her away from the subway exit and we started down the street. She had her arms looped through Andrew's and my elbows. "You look wonderful today," I told her. "Doesn't she, Andrew?"

"Yeah," he said, "though all the old perverts were checking her out."

I laughed ruefully. "The price of being a total babe in Manhattan."

"I guess that's true," said Andrew. "But if

I

were a girl, I don't know if I could deal with it. Guys rubbing up against you in the subway. Yelling on the streets. Grabbing your ass as you walk by."

"Trust me," said Carol with an air of wisdom, "if you were a girl, you'd stop noticing after a while." She gave my arm a squeeze. "It's amazing what you stop thinking about."

I caught a glimpse of the three of us in a reflective window. Two schlubby guys, sandwiching a drop-dead gorgeous girl in a little pink slip. Her legs flexed as she walked, and her breasts swayed in counter-time to each step. Guys were pausing to watch her go by.

"Let's get coffee," I said as we got to our breakfast place. We went in and stood in line. The guys behind the counter recognized her immediately.

"Hey, it's the pretty girl!" they called.

Carol laughed, flushing slightly.

They had memorized her order, but I still had to give mine. As they got the food together, the cashier leaned over. He didn't even try to hide his gaze. He addressed her chest directly: "So Carol, when are you going to let me take you out?"

"Who knows?" she giggled. "You just keep asking. Makes me feel pretty."

"Someday she'll say yes, huh?" he winked at me. He didn't recognize me, though I was there every morning right next to her.

"If you're lucky," I said.

"I know," the cashier said. "That little dress you're wearing, Carol. Is that even legal?"

"That's what I asked her," said Andrew.

"It's legal," she said. "Why, are you going to frisk me?"

"Something

that

see-through, and I already know what you're hiding," he laughed.

Carol gave a little twirl. I watched her slip billow out from her legs. In the right light, I realized, you could see her shape through the fabric. Andrew merely stared at her and looked lost -- and very, very hungry for her.

"Well, consider dinner, at least," said the cashier. "I know a little Italian place. Then you come back to my place, a little kissing, a little oral?"

Carol flushed prettily. "And

then

maybe you'll comp me my bagel?"

"She's sharp!" said another guy behind the counter. "Don't mess with her!"

"She's a dream," said the cashier. "Come back soon, honey. Tell your guy-friends here to take good care of you."

"If they don't," she said, "I'll know where to come."

We were back in the streets, and I guided us towards Carol's first class.

"New York is

so

cool," said Andrew. "You were just flirting!"

Carol giggled.

"You haven't seen anything yet," I told Andrew. "She has all the guys under her thumb."

"I don't remember you flirting like that in high school," he said.

"I'm coming out of my shell," she said. "It's easy. You just be friendly and smile a lot, and let guys say anything to you, and just laugh. They're your friends for life."

"Like the guy at the newspaper stand, in Queens?" he asked, his tone suddenly different.

"What's that about?" I asked.

Andrew shrugged. "We walked past, and he starts yelling to her how he wants a girlfriend for twenty dollars. Polish his knob, all that." Andrew looked uncomfortable.

Carol was smiling. "He

always

shouts something. If I ever need twenty dollars, I know where I can pick it up. Ha-ha."

"You know," I said, "he probably only yells at you because he doesn't know you. Why don't you stop next time, and get to know him? Use that Carol charm on him?"

She flashed me a smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. She was looking at me speculatively, as if she wasn't sure what I was asking. I nodded to her, meeting her gaze boldly.

She probably wanted to tell me how old he was, or what a reject. I didn't care. Here was a man who was left out, who didn't know what Carol's mouth tasted like. Here was a man who didn't have the same opportunities as the others, to chat her up, kiss her, or wrap himself around her and dry-hump her from behind (oh so innocently, of course).

I nodded encouragingly. "Just give it a shot, Carol. I'll bet he's a nice guy, deep down. Pretty soon you'll be hanging out in the newstand, behind the counter."

"Or under it," she rallied, giving a weak laugh. I gave her a friendly squeeze to show what I thought of

that

.

We went into her building and I pulled away. "This is where I get off. I'll see both of you later?"

"Sure thing, sweetie," she said, giving me a kiss. "Follow me, Andrew."

She turned to the stairs and sprinted up them. The twin curves of her ass smirked at us under the hem of her skirt as she went up. I knew what I was seeing, so I enjoyed the microsecond glimpses into the shadows. All the others who watched and followed -- they would have to guess.

She knew I liked to watch her and the guys, so she always took the stairs. A sizeable percentage of the line for the elevator detached itself and headed for the stairwell too -- all guys, some from her class. Andrew gave me a little wave and charged up after her, his eyes on her receding figure.

I knew that Andrew would see. Carol liked to stop at the top of each flight, and spin around, and talk to the person with her (who was invariably catching up). And when the guy answered, it didn't matter to her if he was looking at her legs, her heaving breasts, up her skirt, or even her face. To her it was becoming all the same -- she'd ceased to notice or care what they were looking at.

She confessed, often, that she liked the feeling. She liked feeling that she was the only edible morsel in a city full of sharks. Once, when she was drunk, she also told me that she would someday fuck them all. Everybody who had ever looked at her, "since she got tits." She'd fuck them. The whole city. She was really drunk to be talking like that. She promised me that they would be lined up to fuck her. Lined up around the block.

* * * * *

I met Carol and Andrew again in the library, in the study lounge. They were sitting side-by-side in one of the loveseats, pressed up against each other, whispering back and forth. I came up behind them, and heard a little of their conversation.

Andrew was saying, "But they were all over you. Guys just walking up and copping feels. And you hugging everybody, tongue-kissing them. They were calling you a slut and you were right next to them."

"Andy, they're just guys," she said. "I can't help how they tease me."

"Sliding a hand over your chest, that's not teasing," he said. "Putting their hands up your skirt, that's not teasing."

"Nobody slid their hand over my chest," she said.

"They did! I watched them do it! And the guy with his hand up your skirt--"

"He just pinched my ass. And if I didn't notice the rest, well, then it couldn't have been too bad, could it?"

Andrew snorted. "You know what I think? I think you noticed it, but you just let them grab you all over. You don't know how to tell them to stop."

She gave a light little laugh. I sensed some tension around the edges, however. "Oh, I know how to say stop. All girls know how to tell guys 'stop.' They just have to want to. You want to know how I shut up guys who are calling me a slut?"

"Sure. Let's have it."

Carol took his arm and wrapped it around her shoulders. Then she raised up and turned sideways on the love seat, leaning back across his lap. She positioned his arm so the elbow framed her left breast, and his fingers were trapped in her right underarm.

He now had a full, swelling handful of the top of her right breast, with the slightest swatch of fabric and the strap between the skin of his hand and the skin of her chest. Trapping his fingers under her arm, she rearranged her skirt -- her legs were now bent, her knees pointed at the ceiling, and her ankles crossed.

She said, "See? You've stopped calling me nasty names. My super-duper strategy has worked on every guy so far."

"That's circular reasoning. And besides,

I

wasn't calling you a slut," said Andrew quietly.

"I know," she said. "But I don't mind if you do. I guess."

"I can call you slut to your face?"

"Slut, or Cock-tease," she said. Then she added, "Or Carol."

"Cock-tease, huh? You don't have to do this," he said. "You don't have to put my hand on your breast..."

"Don't tell me you're not more comfortable," she said.

"I'm very comfortable."

"Your hand isn't on my tit, it's just on my chest. And I notice you've stopped talking about other guys touching me. So shut the fuck up already, and let me take a nap."

The whole interlude left me stiff, she'd handled him so capably. Perhaps, in the back of my mind, I'd had the suspicion that all her 'Carol rules' were just for me. That they weren't rules she really believed in, or wanted. But hearing how she managed him, bringing him into our little shared reality -- I was relieved and turned on. She wasn't faking it. Our rules were her rules, whether I was there or not.

There was still traffic past the love seat, and I wondered at the view people were getting of Carol's lower extremities, now barely covered by her skirt. Her head was reclined against the arm of the chair, her torso spread over Andrew's lap like a gourmet meal. I saw her chest rising and falling quickly, a sure sign that she was turned on.

I snuck up behind her, and, winking at Andrew, covered her eyes. Andrew grew stiff at the sight of me, but I made sure to smile and be friendly. I leaned in and kissed Carol's lips.

From underneath my hands, she couldn't see who it was. She returned the kiss lustily, arching her back to press harder on my lips. "This better be someone I know," she said.

"It's me, honey," I said, uncovering her eyes. She was hugely turned on, now. I could tell because her eyes were only half-open. When she was hot, her eyelids lowered. I told Andrew, "You shouldn't worry about her. The first thing a girl in New York learns is how to handle men."

"Or how to get handled," mumbled Andrew. "You weren't there."

"I have complete faith in her abilities," I said.

Andrew was trying to gently move her upright, but she still had his hand trapped against her breast. I gestured for them to stay where they were, and sank into a nearby seat close to her legs.

I glanced at her hips, where the skirt flared away from her skin. I had an unencumbered view up her skirt, to her waist, and there was clearly no underwear on her. Her ankles were crossed right in front of her crotch, her feet held in place by the arm of the love seat, so her private parts were covered. Barely.

"Ooh, what a day," I said. My own classes had come down on me like a ton of bricks. I'd just picked up two writing assignments that would keep me busy for a week. "Andrew, you said guys kept hitting on Carol?"

"Guys kept asking her out on dates," he nodded.

I turned to Carol. "And what did you say, sweet?"

"I told them to keep asking, I'd have to say yes someday."

She and I laughed together, with Andrew looking confused. She and I both knew that with Andrew here, she couldn't exactly sneak off with Cap, or the Guido, for her make-out sessions. I already planned to tell her to roll them over to next week -- so she'd have three make-out sessions on Monday. Something told me she wouldn't have a problem with three make-out sessions. But it would be a huge turn-on to suggest it.

Andrew said, "You don't care about all the guys, Tyler?"

"She's young. I'm young. We have lots of life ahead of us." I shrugged. "If I'm going to date a hot woman, I know I have to get used to guys hitting on her."

"But everybody was rubbing up against her, grabbing her. Moving her around."

Carol's eyes were closed again, but she had a smirk on her lips. Maybe she liked the words Andrew used. I know I did.

Moving her around.

"I don't care," I said. "She could give them all a blow-job. What does it matter? She's mine."

"I guess I'm the jealous type," he said, sounding miserably confused. He shrugged, staring down at her in his lap. His fingers flexed.

"Oooh! Ticklish!" Carol cried. She moved Andrew's fingers out of her armpit, repositioning his hand further down her chest. It was now wrapped shamelessly around the top curve of her breast. The hot bead of her nipple was pressing up the fabric, right against the side of Andrew's palm. She didn't seem to notice.

"You know what I think?" I said.

"What?" Andrew watched his hand rise and fall on her chest. Her knees swayed back and forth minutely with each breath. When he breathed, her whole torso rose.

"If the girl doesn't care, and nobody cares, you're a fool if you don't take advantage of it. She likes you, and she's comfortable with you. You just watched a bunch of strangers glom onto her. Now she's wrapped around you." I nodded at Carol. "The last thing

I

would do is try to make her self-conscious. The

first

thing I would do is cop a feel."

"Cop a feel? Off Carol? Right now?" Andrew looked bleak.

"Or kiss her," I shrugged. "Make her feel loved and appreciated. You were just calling her a slut, you should apologize with a kiss."

"I wasn't calling her a slut," said Andrew. The poor boy was clearly out of his element. (In all fairness, Carol and I were seriously bending reality.) He moved his hand off her chest -- by sliding it over the curve and down to her waist. For a fraction of a second, the burning tip of her nipple had traced a line across his palm. His free arm curved around her head, cradling it, and his free hand slid down her neck to her left breast.

He now had her in a touching embrace, still quite innocent, his hand on her waist plucking at the gauzy pink fabric. "At least, I didn't mean to call her a slut," he added. His head sank towards hers. "You're not a slut, Carol. I'm sorry."

His lips met hers, very lightly at first. I saw Carol's tongue move first, flicking out over his lips. He felt it, and leaned in more closely over her. Seeing him explore her mouth, almost against his will, with her thighs flexing so she could get closer to him, turned me on like a light switch. I wanted to rip her out of his grasp and bend her over the couch, pulling her skirt up over her naked ass.

Instead, I dug out a textbook and flipped through it. Their kiss went on, and when they pulled apart I could hear their breathing. He leaned in again and continued the kiss. I started reading my book, feeling a warm glow of pride.

When I looked up, they had paused. Two students stood in front of the love seat, fidgeting uncomfortably while Carol and Andrew took notice of them.

"Sorry to interrupt," said one of the students. He had a big camera around his neck.

"We're with the student paper," said the other. "Mind if we snap your picture? We're doing a story on student culture. You know, 'Love in the Library'? Are you two dating?"

Andrew glanced at me, nervous again. He was probably thinking about saying that this girl, who he had just frenched, was actually

my

girlfriend. He finally just shrugged.

"We're just making out," said Carol, looking up. She gave the two guys a broad, welcoming smile. "I don't know his name."

The guy stared down at her and swallowed.

"Is it okay to take a picture or two?" asked the cameraman. He glanced at Carol with a raised eyebrow.

"Sure!" she chirped. "You want us to kiss? Or maybe just in the throws of passion?"

They laughed, the cameraman saying, "No, just look at each other. Pretend like we're not here."

Carol turned back to Andrew. "Stare at me, lover," she laughed.

Andrew had moved his hand discretely off her breast, but she added, "No, you should hug me."

"Yeah," said the student without the camera. "Just hug her." There was a lascivious note in his voice.

Andrew gathered her up again, and Carol's arm went around his head, drawing it down towards her lips. As the camera flashed -- filling the lounge with light -- she parted her lips as if preparing for a kiss.

The camera moved a step closer, and took another picture. He took a step towards Carol's feet, and went to his knees. If he was seeing what I was seeing, he had a view under the fabric to her belly button, obscured only by her bent legs.

The camera flashed twice more.

"Okay, that's it," said the cameraman. "Thank you very much, guys."

They took Carol's and Andrew's names down on a notepad.

"Hey," said Carol. "Do you think I could have a copy of those pictures?"

"And me?" added Andrew.

"Sure!" he said. "Just come by the office in an hour or two."

"You're probably going to be in tomorrow's paper," said the other one. They moved away, casting glances back at Carol.

Carol waited until they had moved out of earshot. She gave a low sigh and shook her head, "Too crazy."

"What's too crazy?" asked Andrew.

"Shut up," she told him. "Let's have a make-out session. I want to check your technique. Let's only stop when a security guard comes and breaks us apart." And they did, though the security guard was a long time coming.

* * * * *

I walked Carol and Andrew to their subway station. Andrew, it turned out, would be staying at Carol's house over the weekend, and then returning to his college on Monday. It was

my

first big test -- I was leaving her in close proximity to another guy, for two whole days. Would I be able to take it? Would I implode? Was I strong enough to go down this path which I'd started us on?

At the station, Carol sent Andrew ahead. True to form, she paused at the top of the stairs. The hot air flowing up the stairway kicked around her skirt. It was late afternoon, and clouds were making it darker than usual. She had never looked more beautiful to me.

"Sweetheart," she said, stepping up to me. "I didn't get to spend much time with you today. I'm sorry."

"That's okay, Carol," I said. "I was there for the best parts."