From my bedroom window it didn't look as if it was going to snow when I woke up this morning. Lying in bed tucked under my warm blankets I spent at least four minutes attempting to motive myself to crawl out into the cold air and turn off the alarm clock that had been buzzing for the past hour or so- or at least I assume it was buzzing for the past hour, one can never be sure of these things when she tends to incorporate the sound of the alarm into some random erotic dream that inspires quite the orgasmic awakening.
Not unlike my typical morning, I awoke with my hand pressed firmly between my thighs and felt lukewarm drips of moisture falling onto my fingertips. I lie there for a minute, ignoring the devious sound of the buzzer, and closed my eyes to finish the fantasy which I had drifted to sleep contemplating during the night previous.
But this morning was indeed different from other mornings. Of course the pale pink paint on my wall gave off the same hue it had the day before and the IKEA furniture stood intact in its expected locations, but as I awoke and began to allow my thoughts to drift to musings of pleasing my professor and her boyfriend, I quickly remembered why I had been victim of a terrible case of insomnia the night before.
"Today is Valentine's Day," I remembered with a sudden chill of resentment. Although my anti-capitalist tendencies should denote my lack of care regarding this Hallmark holiday, I can't help but- being the girl that I am- long to feel loved on a day set aside as a holiday to celebrate- not being alone. Removing my fingers from my pajama pants, I lifted up the curtain to study the Chicago weather from the safety of my dozens of blankets and pillows. After a week straight of the world being covered in grey, the sky was this amazing rich blue; one vibrant enough to even lure me from the comforts of my silken sheets and onto my tired feet.
One step at a time, my bare toes gently traced themselves across the freezing tile flooring, picking up speed as the surrounding temperature became further apparent, spreading goosebumps on my flesh and, as I noticed when I arrived in the bathroom and removed my shirt, causing my nipples to become quite hard.
Standing in front of the mirror, I allowed my fingertips to examine each nipple, first left- then right. My fingers must have been as cold as the tile floor, for when my hand graced my nipple, even slightly; I felt a pulsating chill rush through my body. I reached over to the shower faucet and turned it on, studying the thick steam rising from its heat tainting the pure and frigid air.
Turning again to the mirror, I allowed my fingers to gently pinch my right nipple, enjoying the sensation of arousal tickling from my chest down through my stomach and aggressively down to my cunt. Squeezing harder, this sensation increased, for a moment at a rate I was unprepared for which lead me to gasp for air.
By now the room was full of steam, and the shower was more than ready for my entrance. Besides, there was nothing better than a nice, long, hot shower to make one feel less alone, or at least remind one that there are certainly benefits to being alone- even on Valentines Day.
The scalding hot spray of water against my stunned back took only a few moments to adjust to as I turned my naked body around slowly to allow the water to press against my sides, my stomach, my chest, my thighs-
Almost too hot for me to bear, I was tempted to step out of the shower and lower the temperature, but something about the slight tinge of pain as each razor sharp bead of steaming wetness stung my flesh was oddly appealing. Wrapping my arms around my body, squeezing my back, I imagined what it would feel like to be held right then, to be held tightly- to be kissed and sucked and nibbled on- I tried to imagine how the pain of pleasure would compare with the stinging of the water against my flesh.
The remaining light bulb flickered four times, and then died entirely. Only a gentle glow of natural light lit the room now, plunging my knees and calves into almost complete darkness. The lack of lighting didn't bother me at all- in fact, it aided to the mood of the morning- this Anti-Valentines Day, yet terribly aroused sort of mood.
And then I thought of her. It was only a matter of time before a thought of her would cross my mind and I could think of nothing else.
She walked into the room on the first day of class with a huge grin on her face, more as a cover of insecurity than a proclamation of confidence. I found this incredibly sexy. She was a last minute replacement professor for my Composition and Rhetoric course, looked not a day older than 25, although, as friends who had her in another class earlier in the week mused with a PhD she must be at least 27. But age certainly wasn't what I had in mind when she first stepped foot into the classroom. Petite, with gentle curls of shoulder length dark brown hair and huge angelic hazel eyes, my own irises traced the curvature of her face before sliding down to slip over each of the buttons of her navy blue tailored jacket, down to her tan a-line skirt and knee-high mahogany hued leather boots.
Needless to say, I had a hard time paying any attention in class, as whenever I thought I was deep in concentration I actually was off daydreaming about running the tips of my fingers ever so gently up her inner thigh, feeling her warmth, pushing her down onto the table and kissing her with a force that was not unwanted, but was unexpected in the sense that she would be shocked into the immediate wetness lubricating her cunt, her desire for what she had never thought possible to desire. Her guilt, her want, her longing to escape all the social constrictions, the insecurity, the feeling of inadequacy that had sculpted her into a kind, smiling, constrained person hiding her true self, made me want her even more.
And so I spent countless hours in class pondering what I would do to her if only a chance were to arise, although I knew for a fact that it never would. On the third day of class, she brought up her boyfriend amidst classroom discussion, and although my gaydar had not signaled that she was remotely queer, this quickly shattered most of my remaining hope. Still, I couldn't help but imagine her, staying late in her office, working on a syllabus for a new class next quarter, happening to run into me in the halls of the nearly desolate school, starting a conversation- inviting me into her office- and then of course, one thing would lead to another.
All these thoughts- well, they seemed appropriate for this morning. Without a boyfriend or girlfriend to celebrate this day of love with, what else could I do? All of my friends were attached to someone, spending the day doing this or that, arguing over whose plans were more romantic than the others. In the end, the romance only leads to getting laid- but still, it seems that somehow on a day like today, even someone like me turns into a sappy romantic. A sappy, depressed romantic, that is.
I returned to my thoughts of my professor, as thinking about how all my friends were out for early morning strolls with their significant others was making me significantly nauseous. The other day in class she informed us of how she was going to see her boyfriend on Valentine's Day, but only at night, because he had to go out of town for the weekend on business.
Business. Wonder what kind of business he's in. Probably some prince charming look-alike. I wouldn't mind joining in- I mean- if he was around, I think that would be kind of hot...
I hadn't really thought about it before, but suddenly I became quite aroused by the idea of meeting her boyfriend and fucking them both. Without a physical image of my professor's boyfriend in my head, it was quite hard to get a believable fantasy situation into my mind. But of course, as I am the queen of make-believe when it comes to these sorts of things, it didn't take long before I could picture myself spending Valentines Day wrapped in the arms of the loving couple.
With liquid soap in my hands, I brought them down to my toes and grasped my leg, sliding up to my thigh, allowing my hand to scrub my pussy for a few seconds before reaching down the other leg and giving it an equally thorough scrubbing.
Just then, there was a knock on the door. Standing in the darkness, I quickly turned off the shower in fear that my roommates had decided to bring a party of people over for some sort of impromptu Valentine's Day brunch. But she would have used her key, and a few seconds later there was a knock again.
A familiar voice.
"Hello? Dave? Hello?"
No. It couldn't be.
Then, silence. I threw my pajamas back on my sopping wet body and raced towards the door, pausing a moment before flinging it open.
A bare back of smooth pink flesh and sharply defined shoulders greeted me.
She turned around.
"Laurie," she exclaimed.
Not Dave. I couldn't tell what she was thinking, but she just smiled. She had the way of making anyone feel at ease in any situation, regardless of how awkward.
