I thought this fancy college might have some other hard working souls staying over, but apparently not. It was classic post-apocalypse. The pathways were vacant and the gothic halls echoed. Everyone, at least everyone but me, had left for the holiday.
I lived in Maine and my family was scattered to the winds. Also, I was seriously behind on my work, a top-notch college being a tad more labor intensive than anticipated. No family Thanksgiving for me this year. So I had walked downtown to pick up a frozen turkey dinner, and now I was working on feeling sorry for myself.
It was a gray November (of course) day, one of the reasons people don’t retire in the Northeast. The wind was damp and cold, and occasional flakes collected at the edges of the campus paths. A big snow was coming, and the preceding quiet had started already. There was no traffic noise, no party noise, no music blaring out of open windows. The only sound was an occasional low wail as the freezing wind turned the stone corner of a building. I thought of a typical Thanksgiving dinner, a ceremony I generally disliked, and began to think better of it.
A voice behind me said “Hey!”
I dropped my frozen dinner and kicked it.
“Are you for real?” she asked, “I thought every living person had left this hole.”
Looking to see who was interrupting my self-sympathy session, I smoothly kicked my dinner away again in mid-pick up. I said “Happy Thanksgiving to you, too.”
“Or the zombies got everyone,” she continued.
It was a girl. Maybe a cute one. Time to freeze up. But first, I tried retrieving my dinner again. And kicked it again.
“Unnnh,” I said. Quick inter-sexual repartee is my forte.
“Maybe you’re one of them,” she suggested. “A zombie.” She didn’t seem to appreciate my conversational skills. Or my soccer skills.
“Well…,” said I, “I seem to have the shuffle going pretty well.”
She was looking at my dinner, hungrily, I thought. “Don’t you guys eat human flesh?”
“There was no one here to eat,” I said. “Frozen turkey is our second favorite thing.” I thought I was doing better, but she still didn’t smile.
“I’m here,” she said.
We both considered that observation for a moment.
“What are you up to, studying?” I asked wittily.
“I gave that up for Thanksgiving. I wanted something to be thankful for. But I’m stuck here. I have zero money. I can barely afford to breathe. God, I hate this place. It’s freezing, it’s lonely, there’s nothing to do. Even with side jobs my expenses take 500% of my income. I’m eating cornflakes three times a day. HBU?”
My brain was slowly starting to process again. “Oh, you know, just the usual. Skydiving. Trying to get the Ferrari repaired. A little piecework for the CIA. Nothing, really.”
She had a face that seemed quite classically beautiful but borderline bitchy. She was tall. Her full-length parka prevented further assessment. She never smiled.
“Wanna hang out?” she asked. It was almost a demand.
“Well, you know, while the Ferrari is in the shop we won’t be going anywhere. But if you’re looking for a 20-inch TV and a frozen dinner, I’m your guy.”
She agreed, except for the TV and the dinner. We walked over to her dorm. She had a 25-incher.
She was Elle. Her place was as ghost-infested as mine. You could hear the mice scampering in the walls. Her living room was an ocean of old clothes, blankets, pillows, quilts and cushions, mostly her roommates’, she said. You could guess from the bumps that a chair and a couch were a few layers down.
Her roommates “never picked up,” she said as she dumped her parka on the floor. I sat on the couch. Actually, my tailbone hit something hard which turned out to be a vibrator. Hmmm. I shoved it back behind a pillow.
She wore a bulky sweater and jeans. She dropped her knitted hat on the floor and wavy dark hair fell well below her shoulders. She turned on the TV and sat at the far end of the couch. We small-talked.
She was a freshman too, studying economics and psychology. She came from California, a rural area East of L.A. “where it’s nice and toasty right now.”
We started watching a movie and got halfway through before she decided it was boring. The parade was over. The football game was a rout. Daytime TV re-runs were awful. She couldn’t afford Netflix. I didn’t tell her I could.
We muted the sound and talked while we watched. I listened to her bitch about the weather, poverty, the college, her roommates, you name it. She never mentioned a boyfriend and I could see why.
She got up and found some cookies in the closet. She pulled some cold beers off the outer windowsill.
I asked about her side jobs. She said she occasionally got calls to model, although most of her contacts were in California. She didn’t like it because you weren’t always treated well. You still had to act enthusiastic and sexy even though you were essentially a piece of meat. Also, it was a short career; she would soon be too old. Bitch, bitch.
The muted TV was showing curling, a dream-like sport similar to shuffleboard in super slow motion. I found it mesmerizing. The big, circular stones trundled down the ice one after another. Players steered them by brushing the ice. The scoring was opaque. It went on and on. For some reason we both kept watching. I had another cookie.
She eventually peeled off her sweater, revealing a tee shirt barely containing large boobs and some nice pokies.
The couch sagged in the middle and as we gravitated toward the center our elbows occasionally started to connect as we drank. She pointed something out and her pokies swayed gently under her shirt. Eventually our hips touched ever so slightly. Had she noticed? Should I lean away?
The curling stones sailed slowly down the ice. We watched as they bumped, formed patterns, separated, and were cleared away. I was starting to think better of her. Long, lustrous dark hair. Thin and fit with major boobs. Classic straight nose. Blue eyes. Fantastic smile, suddenly. Kissable lips that moved in fascinating patterns, up, down, stretch, close.
“What’s in these cookies?” I asked.
“Just the usual,” she said. “Aren’t they great?”
Silently the curling stones marched back and forth. She leaned on me a little, now obviously on purpose. Maybe in a friendly way. Time passed.
“I’m bored,” she announced.
I wanted to interest her, but I had no plan. “The CIA is closed today,” I said. “How about we get a pizza?”
“Too early,'” she said. It was still before 5 PM. What to do? I tried to think fast. Maybe she was right; this place was a hellhole.
She gave me an appraising look. “Let’s fuck,” she said.
Time to freeze up. How many freshmen have a model lay that on them? What would Miss Manners do? I gave the only possible response.
“Unnnnnhhh…”
“Oh, c’mon. It has to be better than daytime TV.”
“…sounds OK…but I barely know you.”
“What’s to know?” she asked. She kneeled on the couch facing me and stuck her boobs in my face. They swung temptingly as she achieved balance on the sloping cushion. “You’re a guy. I’m a girl. We have parts that fit. It’ll feel good. Let’s do it.”
Good, yes, but it didn’t feel right. I mean, I was sure it would feel great, and I really, really wanted to grab those tits. But I was discovering that I might be one of the last romantics. “Look,” I said, “I’d absolutely love to do you, but …This may just be the cookies talking, but I also think a little anticipation can be hot. Let’s do this: I’ll take you out for dinner first. Maybe a really good one, to break your breakfast cereal habit. Then we can…whatever. I’m at your service.” Quaint of me, I know.
“How quaint,” she confirmed. “But the dinner is tempting. Where would you take me?” She named Aiello’s, the most expensive place in town.
“Wow,” I said, “starting at the top, huh?” I had a brainstorm. “…Here’s a plan we might both like. I’ll take you somewhere based on how hot you look. You could just put your big sweater back on and I’ll pop for Wendy’s.”
She thought for a minute, but not too long. “What do I have to do to get to Aiello’s?” she asked.
“Don’t get me wrong – you’re really pretty and any nice date outfit will land you a good dinner from me. But for Aiello’s it would have to be something daring. Something…entertaining.”
I guess she was really hungry. “Call Aiello’s and get a reservation.” She kissed me fast, smack on the lips, before I could react. On her way into the bedroom she called over her shoulder, “And I’m not bored any more. Have another cookie; this will take a minute.”
****
Actually it took 40. But who’s counting. (Me.) I called Aiello’s even though I was pretty sure we’d be the only ones there. I knew the place from dinner with my parents. It was darkly atmospheric, of course. It had tablecloths, a tinkling piano, unctuous waiters and overpriced drinks. I reserved the booth in the corner.
When Elle emerged I had high expectations. I was disappointed. She had on a shawl over a black blouse, a black skirt, admittedly short, and plain black stockings. She did have on heels that brought her up several inches, and her wavy, dark hair swept down her back. And her make-up was professional. She now had Slavic cheekbones, big dark eyes, and extra-cushy lips. “Don’t worry,” she said, “all in good time.” We grabbed our coats and headed into the now-driving snow.
****
We sat at the circular banquette in the corner, with her on my left. Our server introduced himself as Antonio. The Italian accent had a hint of Brooklyn. We agreed on a bottle of Cabernet, and I picked a really good one. She raised her eyebrows at me and took off her shawl. I felt free to stare, for a change, which was a good thing because I couldn’t help myself.
That black blouse was just a fine mesh. It was clingy and slinky and almost completely transparent. Beneath was nothing but Elle. She had aureolae the size of quarters and her big tits were so firm that her protruding nipples pointed just above the table.
“You’re staring!” she said. But she smiled.
“I’m a human male,” I said, “and I’m thinking of getting a second bottle of that wine.” She arched her back for me and extended her tits over her place setting. “Like them?” she asked. “They’re all me. Want a feel?”
She was getting ahead of me again. Antonio would come gliding back with the wine, and I didn’t want a scene. “C’mon,” she said, “this dinner is worth it.” She was grinning. I sneaked a peek around, then reached over and tweaked a nipple. “Hey!” she said, but she was still smiling. “…how about the other one?”
Antonio arrived and the moment passed while we went through the decanting ritual. He lingered slightly longer than strictly necessary. She quickly sucked down most of her glass and said it was good, “especially for New England.” California girls! Then she leaned forward again and put a hand on the inside of my thigh.
“We were supposed to be getting to know each other,” I protested.
“I’m getting a good feel for you.” The hand went higher but then retreated. “OK, OK,” she said in mock resignation, “tell me about yourself.”
I told her I was born on third base, as far as anyone from Maine could say that. I was the youngest of three by far and a science nerd. My two sisters lived abroad and my retired parents travelled the globe. I was on the freshman soccer team.
She asked if I’d had a lot of girlfriends, and I kept it vague. “What do you like in bed?” she asked. Good grief. “I’m getting to know you,” she said, grinning. “When you cum, where do you like to do it?”
For me, this was an AP course. I again wished Miss Manners were available. I was probably red-faced. To get out of the spotlight, I quickly stammered that it varied and asked her what she liked to do.
“Oh, I have a few pet kinks,” she said, matter-of-factly continuing the subject matter. “They come from experiences in my youth that I might tell you about some day. Maybe. Anyway, I might as well say right now that I need a little extra spice to get off, OK? I like it a little forceful. Nothing painful. A little light bondage, again nothing freaky. Having my arms tied or a hand on my throat helps. Doggy with hair pulling…you get the idea. Dammit, I should have braided my hair. I do like exposure, like doing it in front of a window.” She paused and looked down. “You can see why I keep up the modelling,” she said in a lower tone.
I had developed a boner while she was speaking. “You can model for me any time,” I said.
She asked ‘like now?’ and stuck out her tits again. Then, with a “just a minute,” she got up and left. I inspected the menu.
When she returned I couldn’t help noticing that her skirt came down just barely to her crotch, and the lacy tops of her thigh-high stockings were on display. “Wow,” was all I could say.
She said she’d like the filet mignon au béarnaise, for $37.95. “Wow,” was all I could say. Uncle Harry’s trust fund was going to get a workout tonight.
“Want to see what’s underneath?” she asked.
“For desert,” I said, with masterful self-control.
She actually did open up about herself a bit during dinner. Her folks were divorced and her mother eked out a living in a trailer in a rural town, method undisclosed. Her father was brilliant but a criminal jerk and almost estranged – she hadn’t talked to him for over a year. She had a brother in the military. Only she went to college, and she was finding it easier than she expected. She was “smart about some things.” But she made it into this college, in her mind, because of special preferences and the fact that her truly terrible rural high school had no other good students. Most didn’t even speak good English. She was “valedictorian by default.”
So we were not just from the opposite ends of the country, we were from different planets. I was born to all the advantages. I didn’t see my parents much anymore, but they loved me and paid all my expenses. I’d had good examples for everything, and maybe even some inherited brains. This all adds up. With private schools and a mysterious ability to handle multiple choice exams, I had waltzed into college. Oh – also, my folks could pay full freight. As a result, I had no idea whether I really deserved to be here, in a top-10 one.
From my perspective, she had clawed her way in and I was an imposter. But to her, I “belonged” and she worried that she was trailer trash who never would. It was a painful confirmation when her new, better-off friends dumped her for Thanksgiving.
So we tried to reassure each other about our insecurities even though I’m sure they seemed ridiculous to each other. “At least we have something in common,” I said. We toasted Imposter Syndrome.
I have to say she seemed nicer under the influence. But I now understood why she had been in such a foul frame when we met.
I had almost forgotten the evening’s grand finale and I think she had too, because we lingered, chatting merrily over another bottle of wine, a shared desert and some coffee. I suddenly noticed that we were the last persons in the restaurant and Antonio was eyeing us impatiently. Or maybe he was just eying Elle. Either way, I semi-reluctantly said we should leave, signaled for the check and got out my card.
Elle kind of snapped out of her mellow mood and asked if I was good and ready, because she was. And she still wasn’t bored. She took my hand and guided it under the tablecloth and between her thighs. I looked around nervously for waiters with bills, but the coast was clear and I explored with my fingertips. She did have panties. But they were crotchless, with her pussy lips exposed to the breezes. I stroked them lightly.
Antonio materialized with the check, but I was distracted. I just gave him my card, one-handed. Elle had opened her knees and slouched down, and I managed to insert the tips of two fingers into her under the tablecloth. I could tell she was having fun already.
When Antonio returned with the bill, my card and the charge slip in the usual folder, I took it with my right hand and continued exploring with my left. Antonio said what a pleasure it was to serve us. Looking over at the half naked Elle, who appeared to be in a coma, I believed him. Just for a thrill, I complimented the dessert and asked about its ingredients while inserting three fingertips. I slid them up and down while we went over the recipe. Maybe he knew what was going on under the table, but of course he wouldn’t say anything. With a wide smile he hoped we had enjoyed our evening at Aiello’s. I said we had, and Elle said ‘Yes’ but it came out a little low and breathy. He left us to decide on his tip, and I added some extra even though I bet he’d have done this one for free.
Outside we fell together laughing. The wind was howling and the walk back to the room was chilly, or at least that’s what I dimly recall. The snow was now about three inches deep but since I was walking on air, it didn’t matter. I was thinking of the wind getting under Elle’s long parka and meeting her exposed pussy lips. I also thought back to Elle’s initial invitation to fuck. It would have been an ego thrill to do that, barely knowing her. But then she was bad tempered and slightly intimidating. Now she was at least a new friend and maybe more, she still wanted me, and I was just about jumping out of my skin.
In her room she immediately dropped her parka, then turned and leaned her back against the still-open door. I plastered myself against her from top to toe and we shared a passionate kiss, with her moving against my body. I had a raging hard-on, which she humped hard. I still felt I was in over my head, but the wine helped and at least I knew she was hot for me.
Instructively, she raised her hands above her head and crossed her wrists. I pinned them to the door and explored a breast with my free hand while we kissed. I left her wrists for a moment but when she started to lower them I grabbed them and pressed them back again, tight against the door, breaking liplock for a moment to give her a stern stare. With a grin she left them in place as I moved my hand to her other tit, and used both tits to press her against the door.
I wondered what else I could do to play to her particular interests.
Inspiration struck.
I lowered her arms and pulled the front hem of her mesh blouse up over her head and down behind her back until it encircled only her forearms, trapping them behind her. Then I scooped her up with an arm under her knees, laid her face up on the couch, straddled her, and kneeled on the blouse fabric between her arms and her ribs.
Then I reached for the vibrator behind the pillow.
Her eyes widened. She tried to lift her arms but couldn’t. I turned on the vibrator and reached around behind me. Her short skirt was no obstacle, especially since she had rolled up the top at the restaurant to shorten it. I could feel her swollen lips through the crotchless panties.
Slowly, with ceremony, I moved the vibrator behind me with one hand and applied it to her pussy. At first she tried to sit up and squeeze her legs together, but I got it jammed between her thighs and squeezing only made it more effective. She fell back and opened her legs in surrender. Her eyes closed. She was frowning in concentration and soon she was mouth breathing. I kept the vibrator pressed to her pussy but also put a hand on her throat and waited, squeezing lightly on and off for a couple of minutes. Finally she shuddered for a moment and opened her eyes.
“Godammit,” she said, “That was great. It pays to order ahead… What can I do for you?”
“We have a deal,” I said. “Dinner and a fuck. I’ve been looking forward to it all night.”
“Your fuck is ready,” she said. “But I’m warning you, I’m going to find out where you like to cum.” Apparently I would have to decide.
I decided to reverse positions and have her ride me. I stood her up, took her place, and held my cock upright for her, since her forearms were still trapped behind her back in the sleeves of her blouse. She straddled me and sank down on her knees, but she pushed my cock down on my stomach so she could slide her pussy along it. She was very wet, and I enjoyed watching the head disappear and reappear from her folds. Eventually she rose and slid down my shaft while I held it for her. Then, slowly at first, she started bouncing on her knees. There were those sucking sounds. I held her hips and watched her tits bob up and down. She closed her eyes and frowned in concentration again. She started grunting and her bouncing got wild enough that her tits were swooping around and slapping against her, but she couldn’t restrain them. She was in a frenzy. I thought it was way hot.