Seeing Is Believing 3

Seeing Is Believing

Of course,

Jason had a right to be pissed off. His 'contract' with the coaches was that he was supposed to get free room and board. He had imagined a comfortable room, perhaps shared with a congenial roommate, and all-he-could-eat at the caf. Maybe it was because he was a walk-on, junior jump from CC to the U. No scholarship, but his choice of campus jobs. The costs of lab fees and even certain electives written off. Of course they didn't tell him most of the great jobs with the best pay: barista at the Golden Bean, libe assistant, or waiter in the Nightlite, were all locked up by other students the semester before.

Still, he made do: dish belt where he could cadge all the free dishes the rich pricks thought were too shit for them; maintenance at the book store where he literally 'picked up' all his basic supplies, assistant RA in the dorm to a jolly Associate Prof. in her middle years. Of course, that came with 'mop up' duties in the dorm when assholes and assholesses got too tanked and yucked in the lobby. But it came with a room, if you could call it that.

Now, at first he was ready to squawk. It was

tiny,

more like a cell, with a single bed, a skinny bookcase and kiddie desk. It was on the half-basement level which could have been dark and shit but actually had some pretty nice light from a tiny 'secret' garden tucked in a hidden corner of the back courtyard. It could have been ratty but someone had planted some flowers and even what looked like tomato and cucumber plants at the edge. So, all in all, nice view.

He wouldn't have noticed the garden because it seemed like for ages the window was jammed shut and painted over. It took him quite a bit a cursing before he got the sucker open; some soap on the sliders to get it moving smooth and surprise! Daylight. And a pretty view, chest level of that 'secret garden.'

First few weeks he didn't spend much time in his room, what with two-a-day practices and learning the ropes of his various jobs. It was good that Professor Langstrom, that was the RA in the building, she wasn't a hard-ass at all. They had coffee a couple of times so she could fill him in on what was expected of him. She wasn't too chummy and yet she didn't 'pull rank'. Just letting him know she would need his 'presence' in making sure the rowdier men in the building didn't break stuff or make the women students feel uncomfortable. He wasn't expected to actually

clean

bathrooms or the halls, but to make sure gross stuff didn't get anyone upset. He wasn't a cop.

"But..." She winked at him in a sisterly way. "...I do trust you to be a bit of a

spy

, I'm sorry, but there it is, and they will know it too, I'm sorry again, but it comes with the badge. You don't have to be Goodie Two Shoes, or the cowboy in the white hat, but the idea is to keep the

school

from getting in trouble from

shit going down

that you know and I know would get bad press. I think you can figure out what kind of thing that might be...such as...smoking a little weed in your room, is okay...look the other way...

selling

weed and other scary stuff like a business...no way, José. Kids want to hook up...that's their business.... Bringing underage cuties from town...give me a buzz."

"They're not going to like me much."

"Could happen. But they also know you have something special...power. So they will learn to be...respectful."

A few months in; soccer season was over and he headed for the gym, a little bored and restless. Hadn't hooked up with anybody for a while. He knew his way around the circuit of machines, not pushing it too much, but challenging himself a bit. Not proud of his pecs or his lats, but working on them.

He noticed the next workout was a rowing machine. He'd never done one of those. He sat down and was trying to figure out the little instruction screen. Might as well be hieroglyphics. Then a voice from the next machine over says: "It's impossible until you get the hang of it. I think it took me a

month

before I got it right."

He glanced over and who should be sitting there in tight rust-colored spandex but his 'boss,' Professor Langstrom. She almost seemed like a different person.

Her curly chestnut hair was pulled up in a cute topknot with a raspberry scrunchy. No makeup to speak of; but her face was glowing with the workout. The tight top revealed some high, round,

substantial

breasts. Toned shoulders. And whatever she did in the gym had created

powerhouse

thighs and glutes. This was a bod to be reckoned with.

Because they were 'compatriots' and co-workers, she was pretty comfortable getting up and leaning against his shoulder as she showed him how to flip through the screens and program a good beginner's workout. She also coached him as he began his row, telling him not to 'shoot his tail' and to keep his back straight.

As he began, she stood next to him, arms crossed over her substantial chest.

"Good.That's good. You have the basic rhythm. Hmm, you're stronger than you look. Sorry. I mean you can handle more; but we'll stick with this for now. Don't forget to breathe. That's good, but right now don't try to prove anything. You're doing great. I'm back to my machine now."

The thing wasn't easy, even though it looked so simple, with the sliding seat, and the basic hand grip, but it used all of his body. Pretty soon he was aching and sweating. But he didn't want to look like a pussy to his workout companion.

When he glanced over he was surprised to see her pumping away twice as fast as he was. Impressive legs pulling her forward. Impressive ass as she drove back.

She had started before he did. He didn't know how long. But now she finished when he was still rowing. Wiped down her machine and came to stand beside him, toweling her neck.

"I think you've got it. Pretty much a natural. Impressive legs from the soccer. You could be good at this if you strengthened your upper body and core a bit. Can you get your middle like this?"

She flipped up her tank top and revealed washboard abs.

He grinned. "Show off."

She grinned back, blushing a bit. Or was it just the hard sweaty workout?

About then Jason's machine beeped and his program was over. Professor Langstrom gave the back of his neck a friendly swipe with her towel.

"Hey, I've got to charge out of here to a faculty meeting. Otherwise I'd say, let's have a coffee, or even a beer. I think maybe you could be good at this and I'd love to see you out on the lake in the Spring. That's my thing. Talk about it later. Sorry, gotta run."

He realized he was privileged to see those serious buns go jogging off. She had the wonderful 'separate hemisphere' kind, each with a motion of its own. He never got stiffies in public, but...butt....

He was tempted to do another session on the rowing machine, but he still had no clue how to set it up. Have to ask Professor Langstrom the next time around. Hmm. 'Professor Langstrom' was beginning to feel awkward in his mouth.

******

As it was, the next time he saw her wasn't at the gym. He had crashed after a hard day of classes, practice and some serious study for an upcoming Poli Sci exam. He was bushed. And he rewarded himself with a beer. So he was sleeping the sleep of the gods when a godawful banging woke him up.

He staggered to the door and there was Ruben Gurgevich, pale large chubby dude. Glasses, barefoot, sorry ass bathrobe.

"Mr. Brodnax..."

"Jason."

"Uh, Jason, uh...I...I...they're too goddam

loud.

I can't get them to

stop

. I have a bitch of a physics exam at eight...fucking

eight

tomorrow morning and...and...and it's a make up and I

have to pass it,

but I can't sleep

at all

with all

that

going

on and on.

I mean...aren't there

rules?

I mean...I hate to be a

rat.

They will

hate

me, but I

gotta

pass this exam or I'm

fucked.

"

"Music too loud?"

"Uh uh. Music's fine. No, it's the fucking

fucking

. Just non stop, 'ooh, ooh, ahh, ahh' And the beds

slamming

the wall. And when one stops the other starts. It's like a fucking

tag team.

You gotta tell 'em to stop."

It

was

his job.

"Yeah, okay. Lemme pull on some clothes."

He did. Followed Ruben upstairs. He wasn't kidding. Groans and moans echoing down the corridor. Women, plural, and men. Was it fuck night for the whole dorm?

But no, just about the whole concert was coming from behind one door. He knocked, long and loud.

Zip. The concert continued unabated.

More knocking. Nothing. He didn't want to start yelling. Why wake up more suffering souls?

And then Professor Langstrom was standing next to him with a woman who was the female match to Ruben; big, soft. Seriously pissed off.

"What do I do?"

"Oh god! Oh my god! You're the

king

!

You're my

champion!

Oh,

do

me!

Do

me!

Do

me!"

Prof. Langstrom materialized a key and unlocked the door. Shoved it open with a bang.

"Okay, you're

DONE."

Her voice was HUGE. "Anyone not assigned to this room...GET OUT!"

There were squeals, and three women wearing just about nothing, but covering their faces, scrambled past. Jason saw a lot of very nice, well-toned thighs and butts and breasts. But they disappeared down the corridor like scared rabbits. Rattling, doors. Scrambling on stairs. Wailing. Quiet.

A

huge naked

dude grumbled his way out of the darkness. He was huge in more ways than one. Holding his instrument in a large paw. Big stupid grin.

"Prof. Langstrom, what can I

do

you

for?" Voice way down it the basement. Jason realized the guy meant what he said the way he said it. He was frankly offering his 'assets' to the professor. It was as though he expected

any

woman to accept the

privilege

of riding on that monumental rod.

Prof. Langstrom was giving him the hairy eyeball.

"Mister Wisnewski, IF you wish to go on playing sports for this University, and IF you wish to be on the starting roster for the next game, you WILL keep your

extracurricular

activities quiet between the hours of eight PM and eight AM on any day of the week. ANY. I don't care how big the win was or if your

salary

is bigger than mine. Coach and I have an

understanding.

Expect to be doing some interesting exercises involving toilets for the next couple of weeks. And...Mr. Jordan and Mr. McGraw, I know you are back there. Everything I said to Mr. Wisnewski goes double for you. So. Keep it

down

. And maybe keep it in your pants until after homecoming."

Wisnewski was wilting. The professor turned to the two chubby people who had complained, both standing behind her with mouths open, staring a Wisnewski's schlong. They turned to look at each other and small smiles appeared on both faces.

"Ruben...Felicia...go to bed. Show's over."

The two moved off slowly, whispering, giggling. Doors closed down the corridor.

"Jason, please let me know the

second

any of those beasts messes with you

in any way.

They shouldn't. They know I don't kid around. But they

will

be pissed at us for busting them, and for the 'workouts' coach is gonna give them. Thanks for being my backup. I can handle myself...but that guy is

big.

G'night."

She patted his arm as they parted. Was it 'friendly'? Was there a little extra

freight

to how she said, "I can

handle

myself, but that guy is

big"?

He woke the next morning to

noises

coming from outside his widow. He peeked through the spot where he had scraped some paint off the glass. Prof. Langstrom was out on the little patch of lawn, working out

furiously.

Her thick hair was dragged carelessly on top of her head. She wore a pair of grey stretch shorts and a matching sports bra top. From the sweat stains down her back, and between her breasts, she had been working out for a while. Crunches. Burpees. On her back, hips crushed upward in a bridge, strong thighs quivering with the effort, and a disturbing

camel toe

between them. She finished with a furious set of situps, doing them as fast as she could, face red and sweaty, bare belly tight and shining with the effort.

Jason was disturbed. Although he enjoyed watching women's sports; he had never seen a woman so lost in the effort of it. Maybe it was because she was alone. Maybe it was the kind of competitor Professor Langstrom was. But she was going all out. And it was the hottest thing he had ever seen. His nuts were beginning to ache and he

had t

o grab hold of himself. And then it got hotter. Because she suddenly collapsed with a big groan, her lips open, her belly 'popping' and her hips rocking upward.

"Oh! Oh, lord. Oh my god. Oh yes, oh please, oh Jas...Oh, yes I want..."

And

that

spot between her thighs was wet now, and she clutched it tight with one hand while the elbow of the other arm crushed against her chest.

Rough breath. Tiny moans.

Jason discovered he was pretty wet too. Without hardly having tugged at himself. He felt out of breath, almost as though he had done that frantic workout. And what had she said...during her 'coregasm'? Did he

invent

the sound of her gasping

his

name?

Damn.

***********

No one really messed with him. Oh, some guys who were

probably

teammates of Wisnewski bumped him in the corridor sending his cell flying. Couldn't prove anything. Still, he mentioned it to Prof. Langstrom. After that he noticed that certain guys actually steered away from him in the corridors. Certain women kind of

looked him over.

The next time they met up in the gym he had to ask her, "What did you tell them? People are looking at me like I'm

dangerous."

She had no trouble talking while rowing thirty-five strokes a minute.

"Oh, I just told the coach that I was lucky to have an assistant who knew Shang Tan Yu. Made me feel safe and confident. The women in the dorm would not be messed with. And you were a fine candidate for crew in the Spring."

"What's Shang Tan Yu?"

"Exactly. I made it up. And you can easily say something like, 'Oh we don't talk about

the discipline

,' if anybody asks. But they won't. Now let's start working on your form."

And those workouts got to be a regular thing. And

of course

it was totally professional how she placed a hand on his back, to keep it straight, or his thigh, to indicate how far back he should slide, or his belly, to remind him to breathe. And it was natural for her to have him watch

her form

.

During the winter the garden outside his window had remained barren; though one morning he looked out and the fresh snow was matted down.

He made a point of keeping an eye on the weather. And, sure enough, early one morning in late February, when it had snowed all night, he heard the rush and clanking he assumed was Professor Langstrom's shower on the opposite side of the wall from his own. Sure enough, a few minutes later, the professor appeared in the snowy garden, dressed in a thick white terrycloth robe, and, he soon discovered, nothing else.

The robe flipped over a convenient bush and the professor stretched up toward the falling snowflakes, stark naked in all her glory. Her body was ivory, slick from the shower. As he peeked through his peephole he realized with delight that snowflakes were falling on her perfect breasts. They really were amazing, the kind of high, thick bosom that women pay serious money to be made out of silicone. But these were very real. Her lavender nipples were so tight in the cold; but she didn't seem to care, arms raised to the dark sky, dancing slowly, lifting those lovely breasts to meet the snow; and as she turned, bouncing the strong cakes of that magnificent ass. And as she spun some errant snowflakes caught in the chestnut curls of the soft triangle between her thighs.

But then, with a shout, she was on the ground, flailing her arms and legs in the deep snow, crooning a little wordless tune. All her hair filled with snow until she looked like some exotic winter creature.

And in a moment, she was gone.

It all could have been a fantasy, except that the snow was now imprinted; in the place she had created a snow angel, her arms making wings and her spreading legs making the angel's skirt.

And he was left with a fleeting memory of a wink of pink in the dark triangle as her legs spread to made her angel.

In the Spring, with her encouragement he went out for crew...and absolutely loved it. Even on the chilly days when he came off the lake blue and goose-pimply and gutted by the intensity of the 'simple' but carefully-timed workouts, he was on a natural high. Just being out on the water, forgetting himself and any petty shit in his life as he made sure his stroke was timed exactly with Josh in front and Daron behind him. The way the blade of the oar seemed nothing in the water and yet took everything he had to move that fragile boat down the lake. The fierce joy of getting a little better and a little faster until they were JV first boat.

It didn't hurt at all that Professor Langstrom seemed to give him a little extra time. Probably her reason was that he was the greenest person on the team. About everyone else had rowed in high school. But she also kept an eye on his form and supervised his training; meeting him for extra sessions in the gym.

Surely there was nothing

suspicious

about their meeting at the lake outside regular practice. He didn't mind the extra work because the experience of just the two of them gliding across the water was magic. And it didn't hurt that she usually rowed in front of him, and he got to watch those amazing haunches sliding back and forth. See her come off the water all sweaty, nips perky, and her face flushed with effort.

And of course he didn't tell her he had seen her in the nude.

He didn't see her in the garden through most of the Spring. Too chilly and damp; though some daffodils that someone, perhaps she, had planted graced the edges of the plot. And he sometimes threw the window open to smell the growing season in the new grass.

One Saturday, late in the season after a home meet, where his boat had not only won, but also beat the time of the second varsity boat, and they threw Professor Langstrom off the dock, and she emerged with those magnificent mammaries practically transparent in her team jersey, and

then

she hugged him and whispered close in his ear, "You're so good now. You've come along so strong." And he could feel those large nipples so hard against his chest. And did he

imagine

that she

kind of

ground her...well...

that

against his hip? Still, she hugged the other guys, too, and Jane, their cox, who was also dripping wet from being chucked in the drink. But still...

So he went to sleep with his cock in his hand because, for some reason he had not been able to close the deal with any of the gals celebrating at Murray's that night. He wasn't sure why. Marta, the pole vaulter

seemed

to be eyeing him. And he knew he had a chance with her because he liked her strong shoulders; but the other guys didn't, and they made cracks about her 'playing for the other team' and stuff. But he wasn't sure of his moves, and when he felt ready to chat her up, she was gone.

And Sunday morning he woke up with his cock in his hand; and it was

ready,

because he had been dreaming about fucking Professor Langstrom

in the boat, as they rowed.

And her voice was in his head, saying over and over, "Oh Jaaas'n, oh Jaaas'n, oh Jaaas'n." And he was starting to whip one off to relieve some serious tension, when he realized he was really hearing it. "Oh Jaaas'n, oh Jaaas'n...." What the fuck?