The blonde in your first ever class of law school catches your eye, even from across the room. Intoxicated with the sight of her hair brushing her tan skin, you sit down beside her before you even know what you're doing. As soon as you do it, you see my face in your mind and feel a surge of guilty. Looking around the room, you see a lot of guys who are probably single. "Great," you think, "not only am I lusting over a new girl after seeing her for 30 seconds, I'm cockblocking all these guys who actually have a chance with her."
Just then, she glances your way. "Hi," she says with a nervous giggle. "I'm Allison." Is it just your imagination, or is she actually making you as nervous as she's making you? Forcing your mind to focus on me instead, you manage to squeak a more or less normal greeting in response. Just then, the professor walks in, and starts passing out the syllabus. As he does so, she asks "Where'd you you do your undergrad?"
"Chicago," you respond.
"Oh, a Midwestern boy," she responds with another of those adorable laughs, and you first detect the Southern accent in her voice.
Giving in to temptation for now, you ask "Tennessee?"
"Georgia," she replies, not a little haughtily.
"Terribly sorry ma'am," you respond with a playful smile, your dimples showing.
As the professor begins to speak, you and your new...well, whatever she is, settle in. As you bend down to pick up a pen from your bag, you notice for the first time her long legs, barely covered by a tiny denim skirt. Not exactly what you expected from students at this prestigious law school in the nation's capital—not that you're exactly complaining. You think about how, from the front, you could probably see her panties. As you think about what color they are, you drop your pen, and she passes it back to you. When she bends down, her t-shirt slides off her shoulder, exposing a red lacy bra strap. You struggle to control your erection—red on a blonde? What is she trying to do to you with this perfect combination of lust and classic all-American wholesomeness? Remembering the time you told me your favorite lingerie colors for each hair color, you wonder if this is all an elaborate set-up to test your faithfulness. You resolve to focus on the teacher for the rest of class—you can't afford to fail either, the trap or the course.
After an hour, you mind is buzzing with new rules and regulations and inspiration stemming from the teacher's info-packed lecture. So much for an easy first day. You're so lost in your reverie, you run smack into Allison, and find your hand squarely on her curvy behind.
"Oh my God—I mean goodness, goodness, crap, now I've doubly offended you. You Southerners never take the name of the—"
She cuts you off midsentence. "You have sexy hands." With that as a farewell, she strides quickly off in the opposite direction, tan legs effortlessly carrying her away, blonde hair swinging.
