Author's note
This deeply personal narrative explores a young man's formative experiences navigating love, power dynamics, and self-discovery within his first serious relationship. Set against the backdrop of a mathematics department and steeped in the protagonist's complex relationship with guilt, desire, and control, the story delves into the raw and unvarnished reality of growing into oneself. Through moments of tenderness, cruelty, and eventual reckoning, the protagonist reflects on his own shortcomings and the limits of connection when love isn't shared equally. A blend of passion, regret, and self-awareness, this is a tale of what is given, what is taken, and what is ultimately left behind.
Based on a true story, with names and places changed to protect anonymity.
Part 1 - Ordinary Differential Equations
The first time I truly noticed her was on a mundane Tuesday morning. I arrived late to Ordinary Differential Equations class--nothing unusual for me--and found the front rows, my usual domain due to a stubborn refusal to wear glasses, completely occupied. This forced me to take a seat near the middle of the room, next to her.
We had started university in the same year, but somehow, in those three years, she had been invisible to me. She was one of those girls who blended seamlessly into the background, especially in a school of positive sciences where such anonymity was easy. About 5'5", with straight brown hair that just brushed her shoulders and deep brown eyes, she wasn't unattractive, but she wasn't strikingly beautiful either. She dressed in unisex clothes that masked her figure and added to her unassuming presence.
But that day, for reasons I can't fully explain, I noticed her. Or perhaps, more accurately, I noticed her body--specifically her breasts. Large, but not overly so, they had an understated allure that, until that morning, had escaped me. It was as though I was seeing her for the first time.
That night, back at home, my mind was consumed by her as she became the star of my private fantasies. I decided then and there to turn my imagination into reality. I didn't have a full grasp of the desires brewing within me--my youthful mind hadn't yet found the vocabulary or confidence to label them--but I knew one thing: I wanted her.
In the days that followed, I made an effort to get closer. Through casual conversations, I learned she was 22, originally from Aigaleo, and single. The field was open, the coast clear, and I saw my opportunity. The following week, another stroke of luck placed me beside her in Differential Calculus class. Determined not to let the chance slip by, I initiated more personal conversation. She responded warmly, laughing at my jokes and engaging with genuine interest. Her response emboldened me.
That particular morning, the professor was meticulously working through the Picard--Lindelöf theorem, a foundational proof in differential equations. As the class emptied, Nicky lingered, her brow furrowed as she stared at her notes. I noticed her struggling and took the chance to help. For the next ten minutes, I walked her step by step through the reasoning, explaining how the Banach fixed-point theorem tied everything together.
As we packed up to leave, I took a deep breath and, masking my nerves with casualness, asked her if she'd like to grab a coffee. To my surprise--and relief--she agreed with an eagerness that lifted my spirits. We spent the next hour chatting over coffee, the conversation flowing naturally, though nothing of real substance was discussed. When the ping-pong table became available, she surprised me by suggesting we play.
"Are you any good?" she asked with a confident smile.
"I know a thing or two," I replied, feigning modesty.
"Well, I'm pretty good," she declared. "Just let me know if I need to go easy on you."
What I didn't tell her was that I had been playing competitively since high school. Seeing my chance, I proposed a wager: "The loser buys drinks on Saturday at Hitzáz."
"Deal," she said with a grin.
Predictably, I wiped the floor with her, barely allowing her to score more than 13 or 14 points in any set. The thought of letting her win crossed my mind, but something instinctual told me to assert dominance--subtly, of course. The bet gave me an excuse to see her again, but more importantly, it planted a seed of dynamic control, a faint echo of my deeper desires.
That Saturday at Hitzáz, swaying to the soulful voice of Janis Joplin, I kissed her for the first time. It was easy, natural--despite Janis crooning warnings to the contrary. In that moment, everything else faded, leaving just the two of us locked in that kiss. It was a spark, a promise of what could come.
When I walked her home later that night, I kissed her again at her door, holding her tightly before pulling away. "Goodnight," I said, turning on my heel without waiting for her reaction. I felt her gaze follow me as I rounded the corner, sneaking a glance back to see her standing there, looking dreamily into the distance.
It wasn't long before our connection deepened. By Tuesday, I intercepted her on her way to class and kissed her in greeting, as though claiming her all over again. That evening, when I walked her home, she invited me upstairs. My desire was overwhelming, but I declined, citing an early morning class. Truthfully, I wanted to savor the anticipation.
An hour later, unable to resist, I returned. When she answered the door in her nightgown, her body silhouetted faintly by the light, I saw her as if for the first time--her figure, her femininity. She hesitated, unsure, but I took control of the moment.
"Get dressed," I told her gently. "Let's go for a drive."
Without waiting for her reply, I turned and headed downstairs, hoping--no, knowing--she would follow. Ten minutes later, she emerged, dressed and ready, her face a mixture of confusion and curiosity. She slid into the passenger seat without a word.
"Where does my girl want to go?" I asked, emphasizing the possessive.
"Wherever you want," she replied softly.
"The sea," I said, starting the car and driving toward the coast. When we reached a secluded spot overlooking the waves, the sound of the crashing surf filling the air, I parked the car and turned to her.
Under the sound of the waves, I leaned over and kissed her passionately, a passion she returned and more. I caressed her breast for the first time, running my hand lightly over her, and when I realized I had her consent, I squeezed her tightly. Then my hand went inside her blouse and then inside her bra. She indeed had large and firm breasts, and my cock was rock hard. I took off her blouse. She hesitated a bit when I went to take off her bra but didn't resist. Leaning over, I alternately sucked her nipples, squeezing the other breast hard.
We made out for about half an hour, and then my back started to hurt due to the awkward position. I straightened up and let her sit naked from the waist up in the passenger seat. She started to put on her bra, but I stopped her.
"Don't put it on. Stay as you are."
Nicky hesitated for a moment but obeyed. I turned on the interior light, and Nicky instinctively moved to cover herself because, truth be told, if someone parked next to us, they would see her.
I didn't say anything; I just took her hands and lowered them.
"You will stay as you are so I can admire you," I said.
I lit a cigarette and smoked it all without talking. When I finished the cigarette, I ordered her to get dressed. I took her home, kissed her, said goodnight, and went home to jerk off.
The next evening, she invited me to her place. She had already cooked. After we ate and chatted in front of the TV, we sat on the couch.
"You haven't told me much about yourself," I said, and it was true.
"Are you interrogating me?" she asked, laughing.
"More or less," I replied.
I leaned over and kissed her. As we were kissing, I pulled back and said, "Take off what you're wearing on top."
"Don't you want to take it off yourself?" she asked, quite passionately.
"No," I replied.
She undressed from the waist up, and I found myself admiring her breasts under full lighting.
"Take off your pants," I ordered.
She hesitated.
"Take off your pants, please," I said again.
Her mind went elsewhere.
"George," she said and hesitated for a moment. "I... I... I haven't done this before."
I smiled at her sweetly. "I don't have that in mind, babe," I said. "When and if this happens, it won't be like this."
Hesitantly and slowly, she took off her pants and was left only in a black thong. She also had a very nice ass and very nice legs. I even told her, "The way you dress does an injustice to your femininity."
She looked at me, not knowing what to say. I ordered her--because it was an orderly tone--to stand upright in front of me. She obeyed.
And then--realizing the first of my fantasies--I made her kneel in front of me. She knelt and stayed there kneeling.
"Tell me about yourself," I ordered. "Tell me and say whatever comes to mind."
She looked at me for a moment, lost.
"What do you want me to tell you?" she asked.
"Whatever you want," I replied. "Tell me about your dreams, your fears, what makes you happy, what makes you embarrassed... whatever you want."
