Sex on Campus Ch. 01

"It was a lovely early summer day, when he picked her up for a date to visit the Mystic Seaport Museum in eastern Connecticut. She didn't know him that well, but they had a common interest. The drive from north of New York City was very pleasant, discovering that their common interest was stronger than she had expected. They almost held hands when walking around the museum, enjoying telling each other the books they had read about seafaring: Slocum's 'Sailing alone around the World,' Richard Dana's 'Two Years before the Mast,' Kipling's "Captains Courageous, 'Moby Dick.' Did they both glance at each other when that title was mentioned. They certainly did, when he asked with an innocent expression: 'I wonder whom Melville thought "Moby" was?'

"They both chuckled. She wanted to suggest 'mobbly,' then recognizing that she was thinking 'bobbly dick,' feeling her nipples pop out. They still were, when he glanced at her. She hoped he had noticed, wishing she hadn't worn a bra, so that her boobs could bobble."

Reading the paper, I had to wonder if she had a freshman student who wrote so much in her style and with her choice of subject. What made her think that it could be either an A or a D? The story was clearly too interesting to be a D, unless it suddenly fell apart. I read on:

"He wanted to look at all the old sailing ships, and she did too, but surprised herself, suggesting: 'We can come here again. It's such a lovely day. I've never been to Montauk Point.' He hadn't either, just remarking that they wouldn't get back until quite late. She smiled with a nod and replied that she didn't have to get back early. He smiled and they almost hurried back to his car and drove to the ferry to Long Island. Waiting for the next ferry, he said that it could be very late. She nodded with slight smirk and replied that no one was expecting her to be home. He smiled with a nod, agreeing that no one was waiting for him."

I suddenly realized that my Evangeline was telling me how she was anticipating how our weekend should be. I wanted it to be an A, then stifled a snicker; I was sitting in the living room with my wife. Did Evangeline want a D for deprived, depraved? Was she going to tell me everything she wanted to do with me? Clever of her, very clever of her! I surreptitiously adjusted my cock in my jockey shorts and continued to read:

"On the ferry, when their hands brushed, she grasped his, and he squeezed hers. They didn't release them until they had to get back in his car. At Montauk Point, they grasped hands again. She was tempted to say something about lighthouses being phallic symbols, but didn't, not directly, just humming and remarking: 'It's so big and tall, looks stiff enough to stand any storm.' She blushed at what she had said, and was sure this time that he noticed, also her erect nipples. She rubbed an arm over them just to make sure. When he grinned in response, she did, squeezing his hand. He did what she had not dared to do, scratching a finger in her palm.

"'Um-hmm' she nodded, and then did scratch her finger in his palm. They exchanged glances with slightly aroused expressions. His finger scratched again, and hers did. They both hummed with a sigh. She knew that her panties were all moist, pale blue cotton panties, darker where they were wet. She ventured a glance down at his trousers, suppressing a smile at seeing the bulge, especially liking that he didn't wear jockey shorts. She squeezed his hand again and then scratched more than before in his palm. He nodded, just squeezing her hand. She murmured: 'We don't have to go back tonight.' 'If you don't want to,' he replied softly, squeezing her hand again. She shook her head. 'On a first date?' he murmured. 'We could have had enough before,' she replied, squeezing his hand. He nodded. She murmured: 'Motels don't see that we don't have any baggage.'

"They hurried back to the car and found a motel. What they did then is left to the reader's imagination."

My imagination was not what it should have been, sitting in the living room with my wife, especially when she looked up and asked:

"Good paper?"

"Quite. Nice to see how much better some freshmen can write."

"Like our daughters, but they grew up close to the subject."

I nodded with a smile, slipping Evangeline's paper to the back of the folder. That night, my wife really shouldn't have known what I was thinking as I went to sleep, nor some of the following nights, as I recalled the sexual connotations in Evangeline's other stories. The next morning, I attached a note to her paper: 'A for anticipation, D for deprived, depraved.' When we saw each other, she nodded with a grin. We kept out of each other's way, otherwise.

The weekend arrived - our weekend, I had begun to think. We had telephoned very briefly, just time and place to pick her up. I did. We both seemed a little embarrassed, exchanging slightly wry smiles. I murmured:

"You were right, either an A or D."

"Hm-hmm! Hadn't thought of that, just didn't want to give myxself an E."

"For excellence but A and D were better."

"Hm-hmm! And if I had suggested B or C?"

"B and C? Hmm? You want body parts?"

"Oooh! Hadn't thought of that. Hm-hmm! But if you want them?"

I glanced at her breasts, her aroused nipples obviously not restrained by a bra, and replied: "Bobble!"

She shook them, grinning at me, then asking:

"And C?"

"Cheeks."

"Uhn? Which ones?"

"All four of them. ... Or were you thinking of something else?"

"Hmmm! Now that you ask!"

We grinned at each other, she apparently as pleased as I was, that we had so quickly found a way to share implications about why we were together, about how we knew we were going to spend the weekend. She confirmed my understanding, being even more direct:

"Don't make my panties wet too soon."

"The pale blue ones?"

"Um-hmm! Oh, I reserved a room at the motel, my treat; I didn't want you to have any feelings that you had planned this."

"I sure haven't, but I sure like that you finally took the initiative."

"After almost five years? And you never did."

"Don't ask why. Reading your letter, I thought that if I had, it would have become a real affair, you know, not just once."

"Don't know if it wouldn't have. Hmm? Probably wouldn't have wanted it not to be. Oh, we're not going to Mystic Seaport; that was just a diversion."

"Kind of thought so."

"Had to let the couple find each other first, in case the paper got in the wrong hands."

"An A for that. Hm-hmm! Took me a while to understand that it wasn't about them."

"But then you did."

"And how, wanting to know how far the story would go."

"I didn't want to anticipate too much. Oh, I did, but not to put it on paper."

"Won't tell you then what your reader could imagine."

"Mmmm! I hope it was good!"

"It was, just not sure it can all happen."

"Hmmmm, we can try; I told you that I'm good at being bad."

"Hm-hmm, what let me think that maybe I couldn't be good enough at being bad at being good."

We both snickered, then were silent for a mile or two. I had packed an overnight bag with my toilet kit and change of underwear, and she also had a small bag. I suddenly remembered from her story that she didn't like jockey shorts, wanted to see a bulge in my pants. Then she spoke:

"I shouldn't ask, ..." and didn't.

"My being able to get away for a night?"

"Um-hmm."

"We're lucky; she's picking the girls up at their colleges, Holyoke and Wellesley, spending a couple of days in Boston."

"We are lucky."

"I think I would have found an excuse: called to a conference in the City or something."

"That's nice; I was worried that you might find an excuse why we couldn't, shouldn't."

"Hmmm? Should I have? I didn't. Guilty conscience? I talked myself out of it, reading your letter, or maybe better, you talked me into it – not a guilty conscience."

"I'm glad."

"Me too. Funny - a little - while reading it and thinking about those other girls, suddenly the liturgical phrase "meet and right" popped into my head, that it was better and more justified to do it with you than it had been with any of them."

"Mmmm! That's nice too."

"Um-hmm! Hm-hmm! 'It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; ...'"

She laughed, and I did.

"What the 'dickens' made you think of that?" she replied, emphasizing 'dickens' to show that she recognized the closing line of "Tale of Two Cities."

"Seemed just too appropriate."

"But you're not going to your execution."

"I sure hope not, but an 'execution' does not have to be a beheading."

"Hm-hmm! It sure doesn't!"

We laughed again. Then she smiled at me and said:

"This is being a lot more fun than I expected."

"For me, too. Maybe it's a good thing that we didn't find out earlier than it could be."

"Um-hmm, ... but just maybe."

"Um-hmm," I agreed and drove on. As I turned off the highway towards the ferry, she murmured: "I'm going to want to hold your hand, but if you don't want to ..."

"I do too, just hope no one who knows me is around."

"Of course, not then. We can walk around, until you know."

I reached over and grasped the back of her hand, and she closed her fingers around mine. When I released her hand and put it back on the steering wheel, she murmured:

"Just like I hoped, when I was writing my story."

"Too good: an A-plus."

We waited for the ferry, both of us looking to see if we recognized anyone we knew, the backs of our hands brushing, as we softly discussed a reason that could be an excuse for our being seen together. I thought that I could say that I was just taking my grad student for an outing on Long Island as a farewell before her going to Cambridge. She thought that was still suspicious, suggesting that I was just taking her to stay with friend for the weekend. We both chuckled softly, not looking at each other, murmuring that both stories would be true.

We didn't recognize anyone gathering to get on the ferry. When I drove on it, we agreed to separate and walk around to make sure, agreeing that if we happened to see someone we knew, we could be surprised that the other one of us also was there. While I was wandering around the decks, I saw the men's toilet, recalling that it was called the "head" on a ship, then recalling our conversation. I wasn't going to be beheaded, but I had another head in my jockey shorts, and she didn't like them. I ducked in the small men's room, in the toilet stall, and struggled to get one leg out of my pants and shorts and back in my pants, shaking my shorts down my other leg while I used the toilet. I took my shorts off my other foot and stuffed them in my pocket.

As I left the men's room, enjoying feeling my cock and balls moving freely in my pants, it occurred to me that it could be embarrassing if I found her talking to someone she or both of us knew, if my cock suddenly remembered why we were together. Don't think about it, I admonished myself and my cock.

We found each other, both smiling and shaking our heads. We held hands and walked to a railing where we couldn't be easily overheard. When she scratched in my palm, I nodded with an "um-hmm," but murmured:

"Don't do that. I remembered that you don't like jockey shorts and took them off."

"Oooh! Mmmm! Then maybe not, but I like that."

"I do too. Anyone tell you how it feels like that?"

"No, but I like that the first man I wanted to sleep with does."

"Good. At least, that is a first."

"Maybe a little like my boobs feel."

"More sociably acceptable."

"Um-hmm. Girls don't really mind that men can see their nipples."

"Wicked women! I don't want anyone seeing ... but you, of course."

She scratched in my palm again, murmuring:

"And if I want to? No one else can, here."

"Wicked woman."

My cock was pressing against my left pant leg. She glanced down, chuckling softly as she squeeze my hand. I tried to change the subject:

"And what do we do when the ferry lands?"

"Hmmm! A light lunch, maybe a walk around my phallic symbol. Can't check into the motel before two o'clock."

"Uh-ho! And then?"

"Better not ask, since you don't have any shorts on."

Her finger was scratching in my palm again.

"And your panties?"

"Want to be wet."

"Already?"

"Hm-hmm! Give me a double A for already anticipation."

"A double D for deprived, depraved."

"Even better!"

My cock was trying to slide around. I was about to put my hand in my pocket to help it, but then snickered and murmured:

"Even if your panties aren't yet wet ..."

"They are," she interjected.

Both of us were looking out at the sound, as though we were just talking about the view.

"Then you can help me."

She responded with a nod and deep chuckle, releasing my hand and sliding hers around my thigh, chuckling again as her hand slip over my cock, grasping it as best she could, then shoving it up and around, until it was vertical, turning her hand to hold it again, and humming deeply. She murmured:

"They're even wetter."

"Just don't make me want to be."

She nodded and reluctantly removed her hand. I grasped it and murmured:

"I'd better keep you from wanting to do more."

"Um-hmm!" she agreed cheerfully, squeezing my hand. We both chuckled. I wanted to change the subject, but couldn't entirely:

"That lucky guy, when you didn't go to the football game?"

"Hm-hmm! I couldn't tell in the paper everything I did; he couldn't have made me do that. I wasn't sure I wanted to, but ... well, if I was going to do everything I had read about."

"Wanting to feel him thrill?"

"You guessed it. I just had to do. Was he surprised?! Hm-hmm! I washed it down with the rest of my Manhatten."

"Lucky guy!"

"He probably thought I was a slut that had done it before. Maybe I was a little, having read so much about it."

"I never thought you were."

"Why we're here, thanks, but maybe I was. At least, he was willing to do it to me. Hm-hmm! Good guy, very willing, doing what I told him to do."

"Maybe lucky you."

"Hmmm? If you really want to know, almost as good as my roommate the next year could."

"Hmm!"

The daughter, who was reading her father's text, had emptied her wine glass and drunk the rest from the bottle that she poured in it. She smirked to herself, nodding and chuckling. She got up and went to her kitchen, opening the cabinet where the bottles were. She reached for a second bottle of the wine she had been drinking, then took the open bottle of cognac and half filled her wine glass. She returned to her chair and took a sip, picking the text up again, finding again the where she had been reading:

"Hmmm? If you really want to know, almost as good as my roommate the next year could."

"Hmm!"

"Surprised?"

"Just a little, but you had suggested that that had happened your last year in the convent school."

"Oh, we did; you're right! I was a little surprised that my roommate wanted to. Never asked her when she first had, and she didn't ask me."

"Mmmm! Sounds like a challenge, that I have to, too."

"You haven't?"

"Oh yes, but didn't know that I would be competing with what girls did with each other, probably knowing better what the other one was feeling."

"Hm-hmm! You're right, but I want you to."

"I'll try, enjoy trying."

"Can't ask more. ... They're all wet, my panties."

We chuckled. Despite our conversation, my cock had relaxed. We returned to my car and waited till I could drive off the ferry. When I had, seeing a seafood restaurant near the dock, I parked. My Evangeline was surprised, but immediately agreed to my suggestion of lunch. When I order a dozen oysters for each of us, she smirked. We enjoyed them with large glasses of beer, smirking as we dipped them in sauce and ate them, pursing our lips at each other and smiling. Her nipples were evident to anyone who looked. My cock would have been, if someone could have looked under the table.

When I had paid, it was still too early to go to the motel. In the car, she reached over and put her hand in my crotch. My cock responded. I smiled at her, and her fingers slipped around it.

"Your big, stiff phallic symbol," I murmured.

"If we have to."

"We do, even if it gives you false expectations.

"Hm-hmm! This one is just the right size," she replied, squeezing my cock.

Somehow we managed to spend the time till we could go to the motel. Not just somehow; when I put my arm around her waist, and hers slid around mine, my cock sprang up again. We wandered away from other tourists and embraced, both of us enjoying feeling it between us, rocking our hips together. She drew hers back, looking up at me and murmuring:

"Not yet."

"Hope not."

"Didn't know if we would want to kiss, ... of course, then."

"Now," I replied, and we did.

I almost came in my pants, having to pull my hips back to rescue my cock from the arousal of the movement of hers. I hummed and murmured: "Not yet."

She moaned and nodded, but loosened our embrace. We returned to the car, my cock still bulging against my pants. Her hand started to hold it again, but then didn't. At the motel, she had to register, since she had reserved the room, giving my cock a minute or two to relax. I got our bags out of the car and waited to follow her to our room.

As Evangeline had suggested in her letter, the rest should be left to the reader's imagination. The next morning, I was lying in bed with Evangeline's head on my shoulder, her thigh on mine, the way we had fallen asleep a few hours before.

That was the end of the typescript. His daughter gave a disappointed frown and had another sip of her cognac. Then she turned that page up and discovered that there were a several more typed pages between it and the letter from his Evangeline. When she saw that the first page started with their returning to the car and driving to the motel, she grinned to herself and murmured: "Yeah, Daddy, too good just to leave to your imagination." She had a better sip of cognac, settling back to read.

I got our bags out of the car and waited to follow her to our room. When I joined her, she smiled and said: "Didn't have to give your name," and unlocked the door.

I tossed our bags on the chair, expecting that we would immediately embrace again, but she started to take off her skirt with a grin and said: "Before I really wet my pants, want to see?"

She didn't wait to let me look, just letting her skirt fall, kicking off her sandals and turning to the bathroom with a nod for me to follow. I did, fishing my shorts out of my pocket. She flipped the toilet lid up and whipped her panties down and sat down, then grinning at me again. We both looked at the darker blue wet spot in the crotch of her panties, as she slip them past her knees, and I heard the hiss of her going in the toilet. She smiled wryly, nodding when I showed her my jockey shorts. She grinned again and said:

"Show me. Let me see," and reached out and fumbled to find the tab of my zipper. As she did and pulled it down, I murmured:

"Maybe you would have climbed over my desk."

"I doubt it. Haven't done this either."

"I've got to go too," I murmured, undoing the two hooks that fastened the waistband of my pants.

She chuckled and grasped them at my hips, pulling them down. She hummed and murmured:

"The first one I wanted to see."

"Better late than never."

"Hm-hmm! And the kind I like best."

For a moment, I wondered what she meant, if she was just making a compliment, but then remembered that most other American men were circumcised. By then, however, her fingers were shoving my foreskin up on my swelling cock, more shoving it back, as it rose in front of her face. She hummed again, and murmured:

"You'd better go, before I want to do more, right here."