George walked past again, swinging a bottle. The characteristic tinkling laugh followed down the corridor. Ryan drank his cider from the glass jar and watched. And wanted.
Georgina had caught his eye early on at university that year, a funny mixture of self-assurance and self-mockery. With her swishing ponytail she was hard to pin down as any particular "type" and her easy manner made her attractive to everyone. She had a big smile, a twinkle in her eye and a way of pulling down one corner of her mouth when she made a joke that stayed in his mind long after. He longed to spend more time with her, and hear her laugh, listen to her voice, sit up close to those generous womanly curves she had, maybe kiss those quirky lips... but it wasn't going to happen anytime soon. George (she hated Georgina) was always moving around and laughing, always popular, always surrounded by friends it seemed. And Ryan was not those things. He tended to be on his own. Alone but not lonely, he would sit and watch others, and he knew better than to try and tell jokes.
George was now in the lounge room of the shabby student house that was hosting the party. She was with her best friend Erica, as always. They seemed to be inseparable, laughing together at stories that only made sense to them, hanging on one another's shoulder, sharing the odd kiss - done mostly to shock other people, Ryan suspected. He watched them doing a sexy dance together, while the boys, and girls, around them cheered. With her arms above her head her breasts were lifted up and swayed invitingly. She rolled her hips around to more cheers and applause.
Ryan shook his head. Mate, not a hope, he said to himself. Then another thought came to him. Hell, why not? This has been a great day. It's worth asking, and if she knocks me back, I reckon she'll be kind about it.
Earlier that day, Ryan had picked up an essay and got a nice surprise with the mark, more than he thought he'd get. This had inspired him to persuade the coffee shop lady to make his own invention - a vienna macchiato, which was tried and admired by his friends. Then tonight's performance was a great success. George, Erica and Ryan were in the university choir. They were observing an old tradition of holding a party after every show, which was why Ryan was drinking cider from a jam jar in a shabby student house. A good performance made for a good party, and Ryan felt good. He took another drink.
Then he saw George's bottle. The same cider he was drinking. He thought, this is a sign, mon brave.
He was sitting in one of the quieter rooms. People were chatting, talking about the performance, arguing ridiculous points of view or just sitting around. George walked in with her cider bottle and looked around for a chair. Unusually, she was alone.
"Hey George, I need to tell you something. Come and sit down."
Ryan gasped inside. Did he really say that? What had come over him? How much cider had he drunk?
George looked at him with her eyebrows raised. "Sit down? On what? I guess you'll have to do." She twisted the corner of her mouth, then sat on his lap. She took his jar, splashed some cider into it and took a sip.
Ryan's senses were reeling. The girl he had dreams about, was sitting on his lap. Her breasts sat proudly right in front of him, he could see them rise and fall slightly with her breathing. Her perfume, her hair, the scent of her sweat from the dancing intoxicated him. The warmth of her skin electrified him where her legs and arm brushed against him. The weight of her was real, her lean towards him took over his mind.
"Ryan? Any thoughts you might want to share?"
Ryan started. "Oh George you... you're gorgeous. Amazing..."
George paused, staring. "That was it? Not exactly poetry, but what a sweet boy you are." She kissed him, lightly at first, then gradually more intensely, licking his lips, his teeth, slurring around his tongue. She tasted of the sweet cider. Her tongue played in his mouth.
Ryan's sense reeled more. Tingles shot down his body and arms. His whole frame seemed charged and ready. Something stirred in his hips. His hand found its way to George's waist and rested in the womanly curve there. Their noses brushed. Their eyelashes brushed.
George pulled away finally, leaving Ryan stunned where he sat. She bent down to whisper on his ear.
"Chase me."
Then she was off, whisking away into the hubbub of the party. Laughing, dancing, shimmying her way through the rooms.
Ryan was breathing heavily. Chase me, she'd said. Well, why not? This evening is like no other already, why stop now? He got up and wandered off himself. He started to put a plan together, then rejected that, remembering a quote he'd read. "There is a tide in the affairs of men, Which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune." Shakespeare's nailed it he thought, let's just go with the flow.
Ryan was a bit of a Shakespeare tragic. He found when he got through the difficult language and the sheer number of people and scenes, he met reckless characters committing deadly and beautiful acts. Unlike Ryan, they lived and died vividly, purposefully. Ryan had vivid dreams, but they stayed just that - dreams.
Except maybe tonight...
He found George again, sitting in the kitchen, half-listening to the conversation. Ryan came boldly up to her.
"Move over a bit. I've remembered what it was I wanted to say."
"Move over? It's a single seat!" George made her tinkling laugh, but gave him a sliver of seat. Ryan pushed in, surprising himself again, and had to hold George to stop her falling off the seat. Her soft warm curves pressed against his slim frame. He glanced down at her cleavage showing above her t-shirt and he felt the stirring again. Shakespeare gave him words.
"O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!
It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night
Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear;
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!"
The kitchen had fallen silent. Then erupted into claps and cheers and cheeky whistles. Except George, who sat quietly, savouring the words. Her breathing was changed slightly, her breasts seemed to stand out more. She twisted in her place, kissed his ear and ran her tongue quickly over it. Ryan shivered. "Keep chasing," she whispered. And she was gone.
I should be seriously embarrassed by that, but I'm not, Ryan wondered. Strange. He left as the conversation moved on. Still holding his jar of cider, he went on the chase.
But without success. He found himself in an old half-collapsed couch on the back verandah, alone this time. Couples were sitting or lying on the grass, hoping to be out of sight in the darkness of the warm night. George walked past. Impulsively he caught her hand. "The hunter strikes, the quarry falls!"
George rolled her eyes. "Not good!" she laughed, but let herself fall into his lap. She snuggled her bottom into his lap and leant back. He felt the real weight and warmth of her. The scent of her hair blocked all other thoughts. His cock responded though, pushing up between them, bent painfully in his pants. Ryan felt awkward. George noticed his hard-on and giggled. "Fix it up, silly!" she said, sliding forward for him.
Ryan was too startled to do otherwise. He put his hand into his pants and straightened his cock with relief. George slid back and wriggled it between her cheeks. George seemed quite happy with the result, and gave him the tiniest shimmy. "Mmm, that's better." She rested her head back on his shoulder. He glanced at her breasts, two mounds with a darker vee between, a glorious sight. "Now, give me some more poetry, big man."
Ryan thought. Romeo and Juliet was good before...
"The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars,
