Sex on Campus Ch. 02

As I wrote at the beginning, the situation led to my writing this "random recollection." "Random" is very much the wrong way to describe this recollection, which should be apparent to any reader. It was unforgettable. I had repressed it because of the related incidents, that were too bothersome to let me want to recall them. Where I was now with Evangeline and why and how, was just as reprehensible, but still seemed right, at least, I wanted to think so. For sure, I wasn't going to think otherwise for the next few hours.

How many? Oh, we could spend another night together - at home. No, she had said this wouldn't be repeated, and we had talked about that. It could only be anticlimactic - just the right word after all our climaxes. I waited for her to wake up. So nice, that she was still slumber, lying like that with me. So nice, that I was already awake to enjoying it.

But then I felt why. I raised my head enough to look down and see a bulge in the covers where my cock was; I had to go, sooner or later. "Later" became "sooner," as I waited. I rubbed her back and murmured: "Good morning." She stirred, then stroked my side with her fingers, then nodding on my shoulder and murmured:

"Mmmm, um-hmm, good morning," used my forename again, her hand holding me closer. I rubbed her back again, replying:

"Um-hmm, a very good morning."

"And an even better evening and all day yesterday."

"Why didn't I say that?"

"It was all my idea; had to say it first, thank you."

"Wonderful idea, thank you."

Our hands rubbed again, and her thighs squeezed mine, but I couldn't forget that I had to go. I started to slip away from her, murmuring: "I'll be back."

She let me, but then said: "I have to, too," and followed me to the bathroom. She waited at the door, watching me. I was a little surprised, but figured it wasn't the first time she had seen a man peeing, that these days young couples were less reserved than when I was her age. When she chuckled, I glance around at her and saw that her thighs were twitching, like I remembered my daughters' doing as little girls, when they had to go. She was smirking slightly and nodded. I nodded and said:

"Should have told me. I could have used the washbasin."

"Didn't feel so much that I had to, until I saw you."

We grinned. I was finished and turned to the washbasin and began to wash my cock and balls, remembering then that she had also had them in her mouth, then remembering also to wash my face. She chuckled, smiling at me in the mirror, nodding when she saw me looking at her in it.

"Want me to shave, too," I asked.

"Hm-hmm! If you want to, thinking I would."

"Hmm! Have to sooner or later."

"Then sooner."

We both snickered softly, and I did, exchanging smiles in the mirror. She murmured:

"Maybe a good thing that all my stories never worked like I wanted them to."

"It wouldn't have been as good."

"Or it could have been - troublesome."

"Very, if had been."

"Um-hmm. Funny, how sometimes almost too late something good happens."

"But not too late. Happened before?"

She gave me a wry smile in the mirror, then replying:

"A couple of times, but like now, better; there was no future in it with them, just missed past."

"Maybe for the better, like with us; might not have been as good as imagined - back projection."

"Probably, yeah, I think so."

We exchanged smiles of agreement. As I was washing the soap off my face, I murmured:

"Carpe diem."

I heard her chuckle, softer than before. When I could look up in the mirror again, she smiled, a little differently, maybe bitter-sweet. But then she smiled more cheerfully and began to hum the melody of "Do it to me one more time." When I nodded with a grin that I recognized the tune, she smirked with twinkling eyes, and we both hummed it.

When I moved to let her wash, we smiled at each other warmly, both now with a warm, chuckling hum that confirmed our agreement that we would - one more time. I brushed the back of my fingers over one of her aroused nipples. She flinched slightly, nodding with a smile and murmuring:

"Still a little tender from last night."

"You wanted me to."

"Um-hmmmm! And how!"

She turned to the washbasin and began to wash. Sitting on the lid of the toilet, I watched her, thinking how delightful it was that we could be so compatibly open, but not always so direct, the more charming for our innuendos.

His daughter smiled to herself and murmured: "Daddy, you're in love." She snorted and continued to read, chuckling, nodding emphatically with a hum, when she read the next few lines.

Suddenly, I realized that I was humming another melody, Marlene Dietrich's "Another Spring, another Love." Maybe I only recognized the title when Evangeline started slightly, and I saw her surprised expression in the mirror. No, I only recognized the title, when she asked:

"This spring or next spring?"

Then I started, feeling myself blush. Did she see my cheeks flush? I tried to return her glance with a casual smile, shrugging, but hearing myself reply:

"Better not ask," adding: "next spring for you, or this summer already in Cambridge."

She gave me an understanding smile and nod.

His daughter also nodded, muttering: "Oh, Daddy! Hmm? Can't blame you, if it was that good." Only then did she realize that one of her hands had found her breast, recalling that it had, when she had read about his brushing Evangeline's aroused nipple with his fingers. She snorted and squeezed her breast, shrugging, finding the line again and reading further.

She gave me an understanding smile and nod. I shrugged again, returning her smile as best I could. She hid her face from the mirror, washing it. I rationalized - tried to: why shouldn't I love a little one of my best students, the one who had always wanted to sleep with me, and finally did - so good! I was still questioning my rationalization, when she raised her face from over the washbasin, not high enough to look at me in the mirror, and murmured:

"We don't have to. Yesterday was all that I asked for, ... could ever have hoped for."

God, anyone would have to love a girl who was so understanding, but I was already murmuring: "We wanted to before. I do."

Now she did look at me in the mirror, nodding with an intense expression, replying:

"Only if you really want to. Oh! I do, but we don't have to."

"We do. I really want to. We have to."

I wasn't looking at her, wasn't thinking about sexual arousal, feeling it the way we had when we had been humming our confirmation that we wanted to do it one more time. I guess I was expecting that she would reach for a towel, but she didn't. She turned to me with a soft moan and straddled my legs on the toilet. In a reflex, I draw her hips closer, looking at her in surprise. She smiled, very sweetly, then sniffed with a smirk and said:

"Now it's my turn to say it: anything you want, I'll do anything you want, ... everything!"

We both chuckled, had to, snickering with grins. What else could a man want, think about wanting with a young - a naked young - woman sitting on his lap? One who then repeated her "Anything, everything!" with aroused sounding hum?

"Even if I want to suck and nibble your tender nipples?" I asked, seeing that they were aroused.

"Anything, to make me remember until they aren't so tender."

Her hands offered them to me, as she leaned back so that I could lean forward and suck them. Would she forget, when they weren't tender any more. I wouldn't. I was very gentle, just caressing the first one with my tongue, clasping her hips closer. She moaned softly, her thighs twitching. Then she wanted the other one caressed. My cock was rising. When she felt it, she growled softly, chuckling. When it throbbed in the crease between the cheeks of her ass, she murmured:

"How are we going to get from here to there?"

"Hmm? I'm not going to try to carry you."

"Uhmmm! How did you know that was what I was hoping?"

"At least, I thought about it."

"Hm-hmm! Can't have everything."

"That was your offer, not mine, but anything, everything else I can."

"Mmmm! Is that a promise?!"

"Hm-hmm! Can't be sure, if you ask like that."

"You can, you will. Hm-hmm! I'll make it easy for you."

"As long as I make it hard for you?"

"Oh, I'll make sure of that!"

We snickered, grinning at each other. I thought we might kiss, but she found the floor with her feet and got up, and we hurried back to the bed. She just gestured for me to lie down, grinning at me. I saw her eyes glance down at my cock, now slanting down close to my pubic hair. When she got between my thighs, I moaned in anticipation. She gave me a grin and said:

"Making it easier or harder for you is about the same thing."

"Mmmm! I'll take your word for it."

She couldn't reply, just nodding with my cock already in her mouth, chuckling.

His daughter also chuckled, murmuring: "'Good at being bad'. She sure is, and witty too." She looked back, and saw that she needed to turn the page. She tried to flip it over, but then let go of her breast and turned the page back. As she gathered in it with her other hand, she snorted, shrugging, and let the other one slide under the covers on her lap.

Evangeline was making it easy and hard for me, easy for me, hard for my cock. Anything she wanted, I thought, then remembering to she had said she wanted to do anything I wanted. With her already sucking my cock, I couldn't think what else I could want. I couldn't really think at all; anything she wanted, everything - also her word - we had done the night before? She was also fondling my balls.

When she couldn't move them any more, she raised her head and grinning at me. A "cock-sucking grin" wasn't the expression I wanted to think, but I already had. Was she going to wait until my sack relaxed again? Her fingers were helping it. The melody of "Do it to me one more time" rang in my ears, and I remembered that she had sucked my balls.

But she didn't. She grinned at me again, the same grin. Stop thinking that it's a cock-sucking grin, I admonished myself; it's just the same grin she always had, well, at least since we had been together this weekend. She was moving up, straddling my thighs. She wasn't going to suck it again, but she was still grinning, chuckling with a hum - or humming with chuckle - same thing.

She pulled my cock back. Another humming chuckle, as she rubbed it between her pussy lips, rocking her hips. Of course, she didn't have any trouble finding where she wanted it to be, Her grin faded, and we both moaned as she sank down on it. My cock twitched, and her pussy squeezed it. She relaxed, her hips heavy on mine, just smiling very slightly, when we both felt our organs responding in her. They did again.

When they didn't again, she smiled slightly, and I did, hoping that my slight nod would move our loins. Then she snorted softly and said:

"This is naughty."

"Hmm! Has been for all along." She chuckled, nodding so emphatically, that her body moved a little, making us more aware of my cock in her pussy. She smirked and remarked:

"I mean, what I'm going to do."

"Hmm? Anything you want to, I mean, I want you to do anything."

We both chuckled at my remembering that it was her turn to do "anything" I wanted.

His daughter also chuckled. Her fingers had slid down between her thighs, her hand cupped around her pussy.

"Naughty?" I asked.

"What girls do."

"Hmm? Hm-hmm! When they're sitting on man, like you are?"

"Probably not, but I want to."

"Hmm! Very naughty! Insulting, having to help!" I replied facetiously with a grin: "But if it does, .... And you're just going to sit there?"

"Try to; see what happens.

Her fingers were already sliding through her pubic hair, sliding through mine, and then began to rub. I rocked my hips to remind my cock where it was. She nodded, then glanced down at her breasts. Her nipples weren't aroused, but I understood that she was suggesting I should help her. When my hands reached up, she nodded with an "um-hmm," and I aroused them - gently - remembering that they were still tender from the night before. I rocked my hips again, and she nodding again, this time with humming chuckle.

After that, I didn't have to remind it. She hummed softly, smiling down at me, and her pussy squeezed it. She nodded and murmured: "Like I was hoping." The next time it tightened, my cock twitched, and she nodded with a chuckle and murmured: "Like that too."

His daughter's fingers had unconsciously also started to rub. She continued to read.

"It's working?" I asked. She nodded, her pussy tightening again, replying:

"You have to ask?"

"No, and I'm not insulted any more about your wanting to help."

I didn't have to make my cock twitch; it did in response to her pussy's squeezing it, and several more times. By then, her eyes were half closed, and she was moaning softly, as we both enjoyed the sensations in her pussy from its response to how her fingers were arousing her.

His daughter nodded with an "um-hmm" between her own soft moans.

Then her hips twitched, apparently purely a reflex to her increased arousal, and increasing mine. I murmured: "Oooh! That feels even better."

She nodded with a better moan and seemed to take it as encouragement to move her hips more. We both moaned, as they rocked to and fro on mine. We weren't fucking, but it was feeling just as good, delightfully good, my cock so aware of her pussy's clutching.

We weren't fucking? Only a professor of English could at that moment remember that etymologically the word referred originally to in-and-out motion, or to-and-fro motion. Were her rocking hips "fucking" - to and fro? Were they, when they began to circle, churning on my cock?

His daughter almost laughed, having to mutter: "Whatever, Daddy, you're fucking, at least, she is fucking you." She chuckled at what she had heard herself say, and spent a few seconds just rubbing before she looked back at his text.

If we weren't, if she wasn't, it was going to be just as good! My cock had never been so aware of pussy's arousal; it was trying to milk it. My cock wasn't a cow's teat, but when I gasped and moaned, it felt like it spurted like I had seen one spurt on a dairy farm, again and again, like my cock was. The cow's milk had hissed in the milk bucket, but I was hearing Evangeline's growling moans, desperate ones.

She dropped down on me, demanding: "Fuck me!" Her hips were already beginning to move up and down on my cock. Did she also understand that we hadn't been "fucking"? Not yet? Oh, of course, she hadn't come with me, I realized, only now recognizing that her pussy had not flooded. Fuck! I did, despite the almost painful sensations on my cock, our hips slapping together.

"Fuck her, Daddy!" his daughter demanded softly, letting the papers slide away and finding her wet vagina with her fingers. With both hands, she again sought and found her own orgasm. It took her a minute or two to recover and remember that she had been reading. She snorted with a wry smile and picked up the papers again, having to find where she had been reading.

I was relieved when she came, soon, apparently as good as before, all wet with gasps and pulsing groans and pulsing pussy. I didn't come again, but was still relieved, when she stilled, lying heavy on me. It had been my turn to want to do anything I wanted, but she had; I had only wanted it to be good for her. After we had taken several deep breaths, she extended her legs, and my cock slipped. We both nodded with soft hums.

I waited for her to say something, and waited. Finally, she raised her head, looking down at me with unsettled expression. I frowned questioningly. Then she murmured:

"This has been too good, just so 'too good'."

"Um-hmm."

"Not just what we just did, and did last night - hmm? - and yesterday afternoon."

"But we wanted to, ... I as much as you."

"Too much. ... Better not kiss you again."

I wouldn't have minded, wanted to, too, but nodded. My hands rubbed her back affectionately. I was thinking they were just suggesting my agreement that I agreed with her wanting to kiss, but that it would be better that we didn't kiss. We did.

His daughter nodded with an understanding smile.

We both chuckled softly and agreed that we had had to. She rubbed my shaven cheek and said:

"Weren't we thinking we would do something else?"

"Anything you wanted, but we didn't do that."

"No, and maybe we shouldn't have another shower together."

"Not if you don't want me to think that we should have."

"Hmmm! Better not; we didn't want to kiss."

"But we did."

"Um-hmm. Just a last one, again, to prove that we can keep our tongues in our mouths."

"Mmmmm! Mine in yours?"

"No! In our own mouths."

"Fun to try." We tried, just tried. We took our showers.

His daughter glanced to see that his story ended on the next page and took her own shower. When she then read that they got dressed, she also did. They went to breakfast, and she had hers, reading again.

After all our smiles at breakfast, neither of us speaking, she as well as I apparently afraid that

someone could overhear what we might have said, we returned to our room and gathered up our belongings, also not speaking. In the car, we were also silent. Waiting for the ferry, she murmured:

"In case anyone sees us, like yesterday."

"Not holding hands?"

"Um-hmm, and maybe even then; has to end somehow, somewhere."

I nodded with a fainting feeling; she was right. Back at the college, before she got out of the car, we did hold hands, long enough for too affectionate expressions. She murmured: "Thank you." I replied, emphasizing the second word.

And then she was gone. I guess we both made an effort to keep out of each other's way until she left.

His daughter sniffed, blinking her eyes with a nod, as she flipped back all the pages she had read.

When she met her sister again in his apartment, she handed her the papers, remarking:

"Stayed up too late last night reading."

"Really? And?"

"Better read for yourself."

"But you did, so long: 'Sex on Campus'. He must have with ..." She glanced down and said: "Evangeline."

"He did, not on campus."

"Oooh! Well, it was obvious that he did. So why 'on campus'?"

"He slept with a couple of girls who wanted better grades."

"Oh! Really?"

"Said that they didn't get them for that reason, but some actually then earned better grades."

"Evangeline?"

"She was one of his best students."

"So why with her?"

"You'd better read why for yourself."

"Good?"

"Hmm?! Yeah! They did it good."

"Oh? Oooh! Arousing to read?"

"Did you ever sleep with a professor?" the older one asked.

"Did you?"

"I asked first."

"Hmm? A couple of times, but not for a better grade, didn't need to. Just an assistant professor, 'for fun'."

"Hmm? 'For fun.' Hope it was, was good."

"Good enough. And you? You said you did. At Holyoke?"

"No. Well, yes."

What's that mean?"

"He wasn't one at Holyoke."

"I told you. He wasn't the only one at Wellesley, also a young language instructor. And yours, not from Holyoke?"

"Said too much already."

"Too late, now you have. Tell. Who?"

"Did you ever dream about our father?"

"Like that!? Like you were reading? Did you?! What does he have to do with it? No. I don't think so. Hm-hmm! Sure, dreaming, and the boys our age didn't count, school teachers, I guess, without their faces."

"Anonymized?"

"I wasn't looking at their faces."

"I wouldn't have been either."

The sisters grinned at each other about their agreement. Then the younger one asked:

"Why did you ask if I had dreamt about Dad? Did you?!"

"Forgot, till I was reading."

"Just 'forgot'? Must have been 'too good', your dream, if you knew it was with him; had to 'forget' it, repress it."