I really gave my vibrator a run for her money Tuesday and Wednesday. I even had to recharge her. I buried my fingers in myself, gasping silently, thinking of the way they looked at me when I left the classroom. I felt swallowed whole. I laid in my bed Tuesday night, eyes closed, imagining that the slow drag of my fingers along my sternum was theirs. I pressed a pillow between my thighs, riding it until I felt my panties soaked. My own fingers playing with my nipples--so sensitive that it feels like they're directly connected to my pussy--became the thick pads of their fingers; I thought of them slipping their hand down my underwear, teasing me for how wet I got, at the same time I dipped my own fingers into my wetness; I thought of them making me whimper and beg them to touch my pussy.
Needless to say, Wednesday was simultaneously a blur and crawled by. I spent a little extra time on campus, hovering around the building where my psychology class is. You know, just in case. Wednesday night I made sure my nails were perfect, I exfoliated, I face masked--the works. The excitement of the next day keeps me awake; I can't stop thinking of their face. It feels a little obsessive, and so I try desperately to read schoolwork to keep my mind off them. It's hard not to think about them, and even just in a completely non-sexual way. They activated something in me that felt eager to please; I wanted desperately to make them laugh, smile, look at me.
I fall asleep thinking of heavy hands over my tits, wet kisses down my body, and a sandy-blonde head between my legs.
***
The outfit was specially crafted. I didn't need any approval from my friends on this. This felt too...scandalous to share with them. Maybe that's the right word. My skirt, light and airy, hit just above the middle of my thighs, and when I sat down, the straps of my garter belt show. My shirt is thin and silky, draped loosely over my tits, accentuating the curves of my waist. I know I look fucking hot. There's something about outfits like these, timelessly feminine, that make me feel so femme. It feels affirming to stand in the mirror and twirl, seeing the exact degree of bending over needed to give a scandalous glimpse of my garter.
If this doesn't work, I don't know what will.
I make sure to leave more than enough time in the morning for me to feel pampered. Sometimes it's easier to think about doing my tasks if I think of myself as a little Sim; mine would have gained the 'confident' and 'flirty' moodlets. I dab a little perfume on my pulse points, choosing a lush, dark vanilla scent. The good thing is that this is my first class of the day, and I don't have to go to the rest of my classes like this. I brought a change of underwear and some shorts, you know. Just in case. I know it's going to be the day that I'm totally unprepared to be fucked, dressed in my least sexy underwear, that my T.A. is going to push me up against a wall. Or sit on their lap. I also have a feeling this class will make me soak through my panties, thus the extra pair.
You could say I'm prepared.
I'm too full of nervous energy to stay at home, so I get to campus earlier than I anticipated. The parking lot is deliciously empty, which makes me feel extra lucky. I'm getting out of my car, walking to the trunk, when a shitty little Mitsubishi comes rolling through, parking a few spots over from me. The driver looked an awful lot like--
"Good morning!" A bright voice chirps, my T.A grinning over at me. My heart lurches so hard it almost makes me nauseous and I wave, a little too violently. Ugh, fuck. They get their bag from their backseat, and I'm still in the process of coming back to my senses, pausing before realizing my bag was in my backseat. Not my trunk. Duh.
They're walking over, now, grinning still with their backpack slung over one shoulder. God damn. They're so handsome. I feel a little struck, and I can't help my own smile. They look so fucking good today. That shirt, in particular, was one of my favorites. The fabric looked so soft, and it looked like it was made for them the way the sleeves hugged their arms. I could see the faint bulk of a sports bra under there, too, which made me laugh a little to myself as I unlocked my back door. Fucking dyke.
"Sorry, one sec--fuck." My water bottle had rolled under my seat, and without thinking I lunge to bend on the floorboard of my car, pawing around (and trying desperately not to think of all the germs and crumbs and dust and--ugh), before I emerge victorious. I wasn't doing it on purpose that time, but if they had happened to catch a glimpse, that's none of my business. I grab my bag and dust myself off, shutting my door. I don't think they looked, though, as they're respectfully looking away, squinting through their glasses at something in the small patch of trees nearby. I squint my own, trying to see what they do, and I'm about to ask when they inform me it's a cat.
I exclaim, quietly, when I see it. It's paused mid-stride, staring over at us--just a tiny tabby. "Oh!" This is exciting news. I crowd a little closer to them, and the cat takes off into the treeline. We both make noises of disappointment. "What an asshole. He couldn't even be bothered to say goodbye."
They chortle, and we begin to walk together. "Yeah, I know, right?" It occurs to me that they're holding a small white bag, distinct grease spots on it, and a coffee cup.
"What'd you get?" I ask, nodding at the coffee cup.
"Just a regular coffee, but they gave me the wrong one. I was actually going to ask if you want it."
I immediately protest and they laugh. "No, seriously. I drank mine in the car. There's no way I'll be able to drink this." I pause before taking the cup, smiling in surprise at their kindness.
"Hey, thanks. That's really nice of you." I had worried for a moment that they had gone out of their way to buy me a coffee, since I had a feeling that the bag in their hand was for me, too. I had nothing to base this on except for the fact that they just seemed like they stuck to their word, and our interaction two days before was seared into my brain permanently. They hold it out to me, too.
"And your apology donut."
This really gets me. My cheeks get hot immediately and I'm sure I look really ridiculous, trying to hide my surprise and delight. "No way. I told you you didn't have to do that. I feel bad," I say as I take the bag they're gesturing towards me.
I'm peeking inside the bag when they chortle. "What can I say? I keep my word. And I wanted to, also." This makes my cheeks burn even brighter; I'm thankful that I'm occupied with peeling the donut out of the bag. "Do you need help?" They ask, laughing, and I can't help but join in.
"Yeah, uh, sorry--can you take the coffee?" They oblige and I take the donut out, crumpling up the bag and throwing it away at a passing trash can. "This is maybe the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me. Thank you, man."
They seem a little surprised, laughing. "What? I'm sorry nobody's ever gotten a donut for you before. I hope that wasn't the nicest thing anyone's ever done for you."
They have a way of making me feel utterly transparent when we speak that hits my stomach first sometimes. There's no judgment when they say that, just a sense of genuine kindness and warmth, and sympathy. "I mean..." I'm at a little loss for words, taking a bite of the donut to cover up my mild embarrassment.
"That's fucked up. I'm sorry. Their loss." It seems like they want to say something else, but I just shake my head.
