*Author's Note: This story is my intellectual property. No reposting it unless you've contacted me and I say it's OK. But please read it and tell me what you think by e-mailing me at the address in my profile. This story has also been posted at the EMCSA.*
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We're mirrored. I can see the back of his neck and the tip of his nose but I'm not facing him; I'm feeling him. Our skin slides, smooth and hot against us. I nuzzle his neck, feeling his hair brush mine. His grip on my thighs anchors me. We both sweat out a smell, *the* smell. It's physically addicting, it binds us. Melancholy eyes over moaning mouths, I bite his neck where it meets the shoulder and look up across the room, into my own eyes. I see his orbs reflected over my shoulder; he's gazing into the other glass, the one over my dresser. I keep looking; our eyes lock. My roommate's dresser has brown speck in the corner—rust from some past year. He keeps pushing himself into me, and each jolt of pleasure he brings me makes the scent stronger, sends me racing towards the edge the cliff, the precipice with only air below rushing up inside, harder, harder, whistling speed—yet roots me more firmly in the present than I've ever been. Each detail of my dorm room picks itself out, unravels inside my corneas; imprinted memory, a fantastic flashbulb of presence.
He slides his hands over the back of my neck and the sensitive spot below and I arch my back instinctively and mewl. Panting, scrabbling at his back, going higher with every thrust that he gives me and I give one back, working every muscle I still have control over to give him pleasure to give me pleasure, give me the heat, the searing fire. This is the kind of sensation that usually sends me running down the halls tearing my hair out in frustration but now, now it's being taken care of, pounded into and out of me by this man, this boy, this guy and his seductive scent rising into my nostrils.
My head flops forward and my eyes relax back into the mirror, into our doubled-to-infinity images. Our shy eyes meet; we grin.
His eyes flash; they glow! Just for a second, but maybe the light was coming from mine, I thought I saw a light there, too, no, that's not poss—irises! Irises green and blue, flowers against the sky in the springtime, stomping flowers that reach for the sun, open their purple petals oh irises, crunch under my foot, obey the foot the sun the sky the earth cringe back to the grass, take refuge in those pathetic roots, shooting with growing glowing oh crunch in my teeth your tubules, stalks, irises, irises in the springtime, staring up at the sun through the blazing blue and green staring back at yooooooooou!
I collapsed against the dresser and him and then we slid to the floor together. His breath was coming out in snorts, and I was shaking like I was a crowd a wave of laugher had just passed through. Relief. Sweet, citrusy, icy, thermal, slick relief. Dripping. My dry hair brushed against my wet shoulders and I shivered again in aftershock.
Seeing, he smiled and nuzzled my neck below my ear, a tuft of his hair brushing the lobe. It prickled and soothed. I reached up and curled my fingers into his shag, just looked at that smooth, roguish face. It came closer; a kiss. Cool lips, compared to the rivulets of sweat that lined the rest of our bodies, the sweat that sheened our faces. His lips were pressed together and firm, twisting against mine. Here was a guy that knew how to give kisses that made you lose days...
"Good?" he asked, a hint of a smile playing in the corners of his eyes.
"Mmmmm," I sighed, stretching my arms above my head and then twisting side to side to get out the kinks in my abs. "Yeah." I blew him a kiss and then placed one hand on his shoulder and pushed him gently backwards. "But I need to go to class now."
"What, you don't want to take a shower?"
With him? Everyone would know about us if someone saw us in the bathroom together, and I wasn't ready to break cover about this. Maybe *he* could afford to let people know he made another conquest, but I wasn't faring so well in public opinion this semester...
"Naaah...I want to go to class smelling like you."
"Really, me?"
"Yeah, *you*, who *else* did I just fuck? Anyway, that way I can sit in class and just think about you. About us. Hee."
He gave me a wink. "Know what? I will too."
I flashed him some teeth and glanced up at the clock.
"OK, time to start getting dressed now. I only have ten minutes to get across campus as it is."
He looked at his wrist to try and check the time and realized that his watch wasn't there. I pointed to the shining thing where it lay strewn like a ticking jewel underneath Jenna's bed. He crawled over to get it, flashing his ass at me. I stifled a giggle; I'd brought the mighty Tristan to his knees. Too bad no one would hear about it. Oh well. I know how to keep my big mouth shut now, that's for certain, but there are still times I wish I didn't have to. Little tidbits like that, small confidences exchanged, are the ways girls build friendships. Boys brag and girls giggle, that's how it works, and that's the problem with letting my cunt think for me so often. My presumptuous (and sumptuous, if any of the *feed*back I've gotten has been honest) pussy leads to shallower friendships, because I can only share so much without ruining my standing. Those nicknames and impressions stick, you can bet on that and win more often than the pope drinks wine.
I stood, stretched my arms above my head and pulled them to first the right side and then the left until I could feel the burn in my side, then dropped them and started gathering my scattered clothes. Pants? Good...bra? Need that. Panties go on first, then bra, then jeans...oh, there's a sock!
"Tristan? I think that's *my* sock."
He looked down at the cotton he'd been trying to stick on his foot, chuckled, and tossed it over to me.
"Thanks."
Sock one, sock two...where did that shirt get to? Hey, it's kind of dark in here...oh! There it is, over my desk lamp...
"OK well...bye!"
He gave me the little boy-nod, smelled his armpit, laughed, and swaggered off down the hall. He adjusted his balls right before he turned the corner. Eew. Really hot though...
I jiggled my head. Time to get to class. There shall be no daydreaming. I grabbed my bag and my keys, locked the door, and jogged across campus, sliding into the fourth seat on the left just as Professor McAlice started his lecture.
I tried to concentrate on it, I really did; some of the allele stuff was actually really interesting. Not as interesting as me, apparently. I kept hearing whispers, buzzing around my ears like flies. I caught a 'Shayla' here, a 'slept with?' there, a 'smells like *sex*, can't the hussy be bothered to' over there. Shit. I should have risked the shower, or just shown up late. Or not at all. Was it too late to transfer, or maybe just turn back time until everyone else disappeared? *Nah,* I thought. *I'd get too horny if I was alone on earth.* I grimace. *I get too horny *now.* *That's why I'm in this situation to freaking begin with.* I slumped down on the desk and tried to restrain both from crying and from touching myself. Self-pity always made me so *hot*, dammit.
But all the whispers, they just started getting to me. I mean, I was just sitting there trying to take notes and they just kept chip chip chipping away and every time some girl giggled I realized how much of a slut she must think I was and every time I heard the word 'slut' the more that sex stench slapped me in the face. All memory of the amazing fuck itself faded into the distance, replacing pleasure with pain, hotness with humiliation (which I do *not* find hot), until, *until*, UNTIL--
"SHUT UP!" I roared, tipping up the hinged desktop and sending my textbook and notebook flying in an explosion of papers.
Chest still heaving, I spun around. "All of you! Stop whispering! Where do you fucking get off on calling me a slut?" I clenched my fists, prepared to take an actual swing at the first kid to speak up, no matter what the Professor would do to me for—wait. Everyone was silent. Not a whisper, not a giggle, not a word. Not a single noise, not even from McAlice. "What?" Silence. I heard a pen drop. Its owner was shaking in fear, clutching at her throat. She wasn't choking, she was...mute?
Not to be narcissistic or anything, but...did *I* do this? No one seemed to be able to talk; when I turned around to look at McAlice, he was looking similarly shocked. He was clearly trying to shout; all the veins on his forehead were bulging with the effort...but no sound was coming out.
"Uh...you can all talk now?"
"--DISRUPT THIS CLASS, MISSY, I'M GOING TO HAVE YOU--"
