Summer Heat 42

The first I suspected that there was more to what she felt for me than I for her was when I felt the soft but insistent pressure of her cotton clad crotch nudging into my back as I sat, facing away from her, in my desk chair. It wasn't that she hadn't given me signals before, but for all my claims to be a smart woman, there are times I can be quite slow on the uptake, especially when it comes to reading the clues correctly from people who are coming on to me and although it may look like I have the same lapse when it comes to those who are giving me the opposite message, I do not, but I can inhabit the space called "denial" for an awfully long time. Psychoanalyze that all you want, but don't bother to tell me the outcome of your analysis as I know exactly why I don't read those clues correctly, usually at least, until those people have long since absented themselves from my life.

But this the particular instance, shall we say, turned out a little differently than the others that I had failed to grasp in time, for that pussy - clothed though it was - grazing my upper back was such a clear signal that even I couldn't fail to understand what was being offered to me.

It was a very warm summer day and we were ensconced in the dormitory, most of us -mid-career professionals working on our graduate degrees through a summer program - isolated in our own small rooms, books (yes, this was "back in the day") with weighty vocabulary but enlightening ideas were strewn in piles on almost every available surface.

If not completely open, our room doors were usually left unlocked and we would, occasionally, give a quick knock and pop in for a chat, or a coffee, or an invitation to take a break and go for a walk on the campus' circle road to blow the cobwebs out. As this was our usual practice, I wasn't at all surprised when K popped into my room with a cheery hello - she and I were in several classes together and frequently walked from the lecture halls back to the dormitories - and, although I did not raise my head from the large, clunky computer I was plugging away at, I muttered a greeting, vaguely aware that she had shut the door to my room before walking over to stand behind me, to read what I was writing, I thought.

I was, although reluctant to admit it, ready to take a break and my shoulders, neck, and eyes were feeling the ache of being too long hunched over big ideas and bigger still, it felt, assignments that were to be completed in minuscule time frames.

It was with relief then, that I felt her cool hands on my tee shirt clad shoulders, skim over to the bare skin of my neck, and begin to massage away the knots in my muscles. Letting go of the philosophical labyrinth that had kept me hunched over the computer for too long, I linked my hands together and stretched my arms up high above my head arching my back in a muscle stretching relief that was almost audible. It was then that I felt the swaying nudge that was so obviously K purposefully brushing her cunt back and forth against the top of my back as she continued to massage and stroke my shoulders and neck. Was I mistaken? No, there it was again, the unmistakable mound of her pubic area pressed against me and then rubbed seductively back and forth. I froze for a moment. I'm not attracted to women like I am to men, but I had had several variations of lesbian sex from the moment I'd hit puberty to this point in my early thirties, and none had been without their pleasure.

I froze, as I said, with my arms stretched up in air, my back arched, and in that moment of hesitation, K's hands slid down my shoulders and arms to cup, and then rub, my breasts. A sigh escaped my lips, and, leaning back in my chair to afford her hands greater access, my outstretched hands grazed her breasts as well. I could almost feel her smile, and her hands, cool and soft against my heated skin, slipped inside the top of my tee shirt and under my bra where they found erect and willing nipples that she slowly circled with the barest tips of her fingers. I rested the back of my head against her torso as she continued the soft, slow caress that lit a fire of erotic pleasure burning across my skin.

Although thrilled, I was not content with her hands under my clothes; I wanted her to want all of me and so I leaned away from her slightly and pulled my tee shirt off over my head and then reached around to unfasten the back of my bra. Leaving my bra hanging off my shoulders, but my breasts hanging free, I toed at the carpet, slowly spinning my desk chair around to face her. She was grinning with a hungry, lascivious grin that only widened as I slid my bra off the rest of the way and tossed it aside. "More," I murmured, "more. . ." and again arched my back to thrust my breasts fully out and ready to fill her hands, and, I hoped, mouth.

It took no more encouragement on my part for K to perch lightly on my lap - she was a much smaller woman with an almost boy-like figure - and to cup me again with her cool hands, bouncing my breasts a few times before bending forward and taking a nipple firmly between her teeth. It was an ecstasy I will never forget - an ecstasy that burned itself into each of my cells - as she alternated between biting at my nipple with her teeth and sucking so that it was as erect as I had ever seen it. Then she switched to the other breast that she had been stroking with her cool hand and nuzzled that nipple with her soft lips. Even as I was groaning softly, on the periphery of my awareness I was recalling that in the middle of the afternoon, as this was, practically each of us was in their dorm room hitting the books and that, in addition to the fact that there was virtually no sound proofing between rooms to muffle my groaning, I couldn't recall K locking the door behind her as she entered. With a quick knock, and no wait for permission, anyone of the other students in my post-grad cohort could burst into my room unexpectedly.

Perhaps it was this potential for exhibitionism that heightened my sexual arousal as I've never shied from public displays, not just of affection, but of blatant rubbing, grinding, or sucking with the slight danger of discovery or observation. And so, rather than, metaphorically, reigning things in, I ran, rather than walked, right into that maelstrom of sexual energy. Pushing K back slightly so my breast popped noisily from her mouth, I smiled and reached up under her tee shirt. Not surprisingly as a woman with a boyish figure, she was not wearing a bra and I, in turn, stroked and circled the almost pre-pubescent shaped mounds that were her breasts, then reached for the hem and pulled it off over her head. Staring me in the face like the wrong end of a gun were the darkest, largest nipples I had ever seen on a Caucasian woman.

K had small breasts, true, but they were almost all nipple: a dark, shimmering milk chocolate brown areola topped with a beautiful firm nub of erect nipple. I'm sure I looked surprised as K leaned back a bit on my knees, cupped her own breasts, and murmured an apology of sorts that I quickly silenced by kissing each breast and then beginning to lick those nipples, ending, as she had with me, by firmly and energetically sucking each in turn. She tasted of sweat and sweetness.

Of course, things progressed from breasts, and, as I was in the chair, she sitting on me, I easily slipped my hands easily under the elastic waistband of her shorts and grabbed her ass, stroking and squeezing the firm, round buttocks and dancing the tips of my fingers over her asshole until she sighed with enjoyment. K moved to do the same with my shorts, but I stopped her. How much more delicious is prolonging each step toward sexual ecstasy than an immediate sating.

While K stood and removed her shorts so that she stood before me completely naked, I merely undid the zipper of mine - they were skin tight denim cutoffs - and then reached down to part my labia with my fingers and my erect and juicy clit nudged out, barely visible between the open fly of my shorts. She knelt as I spread my legs wide, resting them on the arms of the desk chair, and slowly began to flick my clit with her tongue. I could feel the swell of warm juice running down the crack between my labia, pooling at the entrance to my vagina and her tongue following that juice, constricting my tight jean shorts even further so that my pussy lips bulged out on either side of the denim seam.

For K, sucking and pulling on my clit with her mouth, as much as I was moaning and writhing in pleasure, wasn't enough and she slipped a finger between the tight crotch of my shorts and my vagina, barely able to stroke because of the tight shorts and my sex engorged pussy. But stroke she did and I could see my slick cunt lips bulging out around the oh so tight denim seam between my legs.

So close I was, so close to that sweet pinnacle of orgasm when it happened. That quick knock on the door I had anticipated might happen, and a gust of cooler air swept in followed, of course, by the one male colleague in my cohort who had, somehow, become the object of my infatuation, an attitude he had gently but firmly rebuffed while maintaining a connection that allowed for a mild flirtation and a rather sexy meeting - or mashing might be a better word as we frequently engaged in rhetorical debate - of the minds.

The expression on his face told the complete story as he took in the sight of K - naked, crouched in front of me - and me, bare-breasted, legs akimbo in my desk chair, the glisten of cunt juice darkening the crotch of my barely on shorts, and the expressions on our faces that told how close to the brink of orgasm each of us was.

Without a word, he stepped inside my room, closed the door, and clicked the lock securely shut.