The Exchange Student

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Girl on girl loss of innocence at college.
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It was Mid-December of 1983 and I was a freshman at UC Berkeley. I was reveling in my time away from home and family as I was not getting along with my new stepmother and just loved the freedom and independence of college life. I'd chosen to go to art school at CCAC...the California College of Arts and Crafts but my father wanted me educated at the University so a deal was struck. I could take two courses per term at the art school and four per term at CAL.

I needed permission to do this for my course-load was in excess of the eighteen credits permitted, but I was a good student, not very pressed by social distractions, had no boyfriend, and could concentrate on my studies. It was strange how things worked out. Berkeley was a highly prestigious school and it took a high GPD to enter, but my father was an important man, well known to the university. He had come with me in the fall and had demanded to see the Chancellor of the university. We were shown right in and my father's first words after introductions were "I want my daughter to be admitted to the art history department!" The immediate response was "Welcome to CAL." No transcript, no letter of recommendation, no portfolio of accomplishments, team sport or expertise with a tuba. Just a welcome.

As a late arrival I had the good fortune to be given a room in an old Victorian house owned by the school on College Avenue. My room was fit for two but I would be the only resident. There were eight other girls in the house but I decorated the room as if my own and simply had one unused bed. I put up some Beatle posters from Yellow Submarine and my father bought me a little vanity, a cushy chair, and a bookcase at a local thrift shop. I'd brought far too many clothes with me from New York, but one look around town that first day, walking down Telegraph Avenue with my dad, and I knew I'd be needing little beside jeans and tee shirts. The place was the height of dress-down, but I kept some girlie stuff just in case I met a boy I wanted to impress or was invited to parties...that sort of thing. And I kept all my lingerie, underwear and shoes. That I would not part with.

My first term was outstanding. In art class at CCAC I was learning to paint in oils and also to pot. I loved handling the clay and also to make Greek vase shapes like the ones I had helped to excavate all over the Mediterranean with my archaeologist father. Painting them was an added bonus for I took Greek Pottery at CAL with Professor Darryl Amyx, the most prominent scholar on the subject on the West Coast. He would help me choose my subjects and my drive was to make copies of famous originals, right down to aging them and making them into exact likenesses.

On campus I was very noticeable, alternating between cut-offs and tank tops and button-downs and short skirts. I wore make-up and shaved my legs; that alone tended to set me apart from the earthy types at CAL. But what really did the trick was the fact that I was five feet, eleven inches tall, slender yet busty, and heads turned as I roamed the campus. One year earlier I was hiding my figure beneath shapeless tops and baggy jeans but recently I had begun modeling and my self-image had improved. I wasn't a tease. I had no one to tease. Guys stared at me but no one approached me and I just went about my business without many friends although I did have a couple of girlfriends who were study buddies but they were often with boyfriends at mixers on the weekends. That was fine. I enjoyed my own company and usually just retreated to books or took BART to San Francisco to visit the De Young or sit in Golden Gate.

In the second week of December I was asked to come to the Dean's office and had a chat about the need to share my room with an incoming upper-classman from Delhi. She was an exchange student in biology, two years older than me and had never been to the United States. Her father was a doctor in India and evidently had close ties with the university.

"We have a couple of other places we could place her Becca, but we thought you would be the best choice."

"Why do you think that Professor?" I asked.

"Well...your familiarity with other cultures, your outstanding grades, your personal style. We just assumed you could be a great host and help her fit in."

I had no objection and asked if I could write to her and start a conversation before she came. The Dean picked up his phone and dialed an endless number of digits on his trimline, having a word with her father...a Dr. Patel. The phone was handed to me and the most beautiful musical voice answered. Sarika and I spoke for about ten minutes and the Dean kindly left the room to give us our privacy. She would be starting the winter term on January sixth, but would be coming via New York. I suggested she come a few days early so we could meet in the city and come west after the holidays. We agreed to meet at JFK on December 30th and I would be her host and have her stay in a guest room in our Upper West Side brownstone.

The Dean smiled when I told him of my plans and said he knew I would be the best person to help Sarika acclimate.

A week later I was home for the holidays and had my house to myself for several days while my father was in Mexico touring pre-Columbian sites with his new wife. This was the first time I hadn't gone to Rome for Christmas, the break being such a short one. I was on the phone quite a bit with my mom to make up for it. Since my parents' divorce when I was 13, I'd been shipped over to Italy three times a year, every year...summer, Easter and Christmas.

I spent some time researching India and found myself captivated with the ancient culture. So many of my generation and the one before had a fascination with eastern religion. Sarika, however, sounded very polished, very English. I had loved her voice and accent on the telephone. Two years older than me, I thought. I hope she doesn't think me silly and superficial. Where would I take her? I was so excited to show her around New York.

I wondered what she would look like; perhaps short and a little chubby if she was from a wealthy family. I imagined a very conservative woman more than a girl, perhaps veiled, definitely wearing a multi-colored sari, perhaps barefoot...definitely with a third eye painted between her brows. Hmmm...how mystical.

The big day arrived and Papa and I went to the airport and awaited her flight. We could see into the customs arrivals and watch all the passengers pass through passport control. Watching each and every woman who passed, I could not decide which would be my roommate. Then suddenly, there was a tap on my shoulder and I turned around and found a stunning, slender, curvy, dark haired girl with cocoa skin, red lips and wicked eye brows which slanted down. She was nothing like what I had expected. She was exotic, to be sure, but could have been Spanish or Italian, or Lebanese. She wore faded jeans and a button-down shirt She was so beautiful and gave me the most wondrous smile of white teeth, then hugged me tight and whispered in my ear..."I knew you would be beautiful Rebecca...I just knew you would be."

She smelled of heaven and faraway places, her skin warm and her cheek soft. Her hair came in waves of curly fullness and was so dark it was practically blue. I'd wrapped my arms around her and held her to me and could not believe she was so much taller than I'd expected...and wearing heels. Our embrace lasted so long that my father had to interrupt and ask that he too could have a chance to meet my friend. Sari pulled apart and turned to my Papa and held him and brushed her cheeks against his own. She might even have been taller than he was, but my father's look of surprise was what I noticed. His eyes open wide and his handling of her, as if she was a precious jewel made me blush and I felt warm all over. I knew we would be best of friends. I just knew it.

My dad retrieved her bags from the carousel and the two of them walked side by side as I followed behind and I was stunned. Look at how she walks! Oh my God. She swayed, she glided, she floated on air in the most sensuous gait I'd ever seen in a woman. I watched, transfixed, then found myself trying to copy her pattern. How do her hips do that? Wow.

We had an incredible week in New York; restaurants, museums, concerts, Broadway shows. My father made sure she had the total experience. We were approached by guys...some much older than us, and I was stunned at Sarika's ability to playfully handle them. She was in total control and set the agenda, even with the most testosterone packed predators that came our way. She had a power over all around her, but for me, and with me, she had a different face...a kindness and comradery I'd never had with a girlfriend.

We travelled together back to CAL and she was very pleased with her new room in the hundred year old wooden house that we would call home for the semester. Our first night back I took her to the local hang-out, a bar on College Avenue where my study buddies would go with their jock boyfriends. I had a beer and she had a ginger ale. The place was filled with returning students and was loud and rowdy. Suddenly an arm draper over my shoulder and two huge dudes pressed up against me. These were a couple of football players from the CAL Bears, one tall and trim, shoulders spanning the globe, the other...the one with his arm dangling over my shoulder, the size of a refrigerator. I blanched and Sarika immediately took control. She placed an open hand on the taller guy's chest and said, "I am so sorry, but you are not my friend's type so please be a gentleman and leave her alone." His face dropped and he back away a step. Then she lift the other's hand off my shoulder and said "Come here my friend, we need to talk." Leading him to a chair that I doubted would support his weight, Sarika pushed him down into the seat and then, shockingly, sat in his lap. He too was stunned by her willpower.

"Now didn't your mother teach you to be a gentleman around a lady? What makes you think it is acceptable behavior to simply cover her shoulder with your arm? Did she invite you to act in such a manner? If you wish to approach such a wonderful woman, you must do so with your mind first or you will never have a chance to tell her that you are worthy of her company. The next time you see her you should smile and say hello, then introduce yourself, don't you think?"

Other members of the football team had surrounded us and were all smiling ear to ear at this linebacker in the chair, the expression gone from his face, no effort at holding or stroking the total babe in his lap. Sarika looked up and scanned the faces of all those around her and her eyebrows angled down in a frown. All of them, every one of those men...big boys really, suddenly appeared contrite and looked away from her piercing eyes and down to the floor. She rose, took my arm, and said goodbye and we left...a few goodbye's following us out of the bar as we departed. I'd never seen anything like that. I was stunned. We stepped outside and she laughed and laughed and it was contagious. I'd learned a lot of the power of a woman that night. It was fascinating how fearless and strong willed she was. She was my hero.

Sarika had brought little with her to decorate the room, except for a post card sized colored image of the Hindu god Ganesh...a chubby elephant with a crown. The next day we went, at her suggestion, to an army/navy store in Oakland and bought an old parachute. This we hung from the ceiling and draped over the walls and the entirety of the room. She went at it with scissors and made openings for the door and bay windows, making her own tie-backs and a hole in the center for our single center light fixture. We bought lovely textiles and Sari made pillows and bolsters and we removed the bedframes and put our mattresses directly on the floor. Our room was so exotic and we burned incense in our room, the TA's at first assuming we were smoking weed, then realizing we were not. Candles not being permitted, we strung Christmas lights around the room, giving a soft glow and a huge degree of atmosphere. We had the best dorm room ever.

We studied together, ate together, showered together, and were basically inseparable although our classes, being in different disciplines, were at opposite ends of the campus. We tried on each other's clothes, and although she was 5'8", she fit in most of my things. She dressed me up in traditional Indian sari cloth and painted my arms and hands in henna. Showering together the first time, I had noticed she was completely shaven, while I was natural with dark curls below. I had never imagined I'd be as comfortable with nudity as I was with her, but she made nothing of it so neither did I. She practiced yoga on the floor every day in her underwear and taught me to do the same. She taught me flexibility and tranquility and touched me often as she indicated proper positioning. I loved her as my best friend ever and was so sad at the knowledge that two months had already passed of the five we would have together.

In February I caught a cold and stayed in our room, skipping classes. By the evening when Sari returned, I was running a temperature and she gave me tea and some aspirin. I lay in my bed while she slept, shivering through my fever, getting up to use the bathroom and returning with teeth chattering.

"Are you okay Becca? I can hear your teeth chattering, I think." She rose and came to my bedside and stroked my forehead. "Oh dear, you are burning up. I will get you more aspirin." I took the additional two pills and looked up into her face in the shadows of the night and she placed her hand so gently on my forehead again. "Slide over," she said, and she slipped under the covers.

"Roll over," she instructed as she pressed her body against me and spooned her warmth over my shaking frame. Her arms pressed around me and she rubbed them up and down my own, the friction giving a little comfort, but her breath on my neck and the warmth of her torso did the trick and I finally fell asleep in her arms.

I woke and felt the fever had passed, but the glow of being in her arms and spooned by her made me warm all over. She woke too and raised her head a moment to look at me, peering at her over my shoulder. "Feeling better?" She asked.

"I'll say. I've never slept with someone holding me tight before. That was so nice."

Her hands swept down from my hip to my leg, then up again and she ran that hand slowly up my tummy and cupped my breast.

"Sari...what are you doing?" I said with a hesitant smile.

"Oh...let's just say that I've wanted to squeeze you here for a long time. I've never touched another's breast before and you are so warm and delicate." She gave another squeeze and gently pinched my nipple, which immediately grew hard between her fingers.

"You have the best breasts ever Becca, and they are so solid and warm. I love your body. You are a gazelle." She swept her hand up and down my entire body one more time, from my bust to my hip, and then gave me a kiss on the cheek and was up and out of the bed. I lay there, totally transfixed, but not stunned. I had let her into my life in as intimate a way as I could imagine and there was simply nothing other than more closeness to have come my way. I had no problem with her cupping my breast. I loved her closeness, her motherly love in keeping me warm and her sisterly love in sleeping beside me. I could only think of wanting her back.

"Sari."

"Yes Becca."

"Get back in bed please."

"Haha...you still cold my dear?"

"Not really, just want you back, that's all."

She returned to my bed and resumed her position. She was naked, but I had a thick flannel nighty on.

"Hold on." I said, rising up and pulling the nightshirt over my head. "Okay, hold me again please."

"Like this?" She asked while once again cupping my breast.

"Yes...but don't move. Just hold me."

I closed my eyes and concentrated on the skin to skin feeling. She called me a gazelle, but that's exactly what I took her for. Now I moved. I slid my hand down her side behind me and brushed it over her hip. I'd never touched another girl like this but she was behind me and I just had to touch her in some way, if only to give her a signal of sorts that it was okay that she touched me. I loved this woman. She was so feminine yet a powerful force. She was nature and nurture and I felt a thrill to be so near.

She kissed my neck again and held her lips beside my chin and her hand slipped around my breast, circling my erect nipple and again sending an electric shock through me. Then she headed south and glided over my tummy, finally coming to rest over my sex, over my vagina that had not been touched much except by me over my eighteen years. She placed her hand fully over me, cupping me in my entirely and just held still as I took a deep breath and pushed my backside deeper into the curve of her front. I extended a leg to widen the gap between them but she held still, simply pulling my torso up and into her own.

"Turn around Becca."

I turned and she let her hand sweep over my bottom then raised her arm and hand to push my hair from my face. We were inches apart, looking into one another, connecting soul to soul. Oh how I loved her and any thought that this was a woman and I should not be doing this, or that we were lesbians, or that this was taboo simply did not enter my thoughts. This was Sarika...Ari...a part of me. She pushed forward and our lips connected and I parted my own, our tongue tips connecting gently and we probed and kissed all about our faces.

"I love you, you know." I said ever so gently.

"And I worship you Becca...my Rebecca. In case you are wondering, I've not done this before either. This just feels so right. I hope we come closer and not further apart because we do this. I hope you know how deeply I feel...my emotions are all over the place. My desire is only to love you and for you to love me back."

I slid my hand over the side of her face and caressed her, then kissed her forehead and cheeks and eyelids. Sweeping my tongue over her lips, I thought of the kisses I'd received from boys...even my first boyfriend who'd taken my virginity. This felt so different, so gentle and slow, so exploratory and sensitive.

"Kissing you is divine. Why don't you lay flat and I've help you relax."

I rolled onto my chest and felt her gentle touch on my shoulders as she pulled my hair to the side. Climbing out of the blankets and straddling my hips I felt the lovely pressure of hands on my waist, then , shoulders, then neck as she pressed down from above...but what really had my attention was the feel of her thighs on my hips and her sex laying across my ass. I wiggled my way into her, satisfied when I felt a tighter fit between our hips and smiled to myself.

"You naughty girl. She whispered in my ear, bending low over my ear. Her hands swept over my shoulders and she kissed me again at the nape of my neck, parting her lips and sweeping her tongue over me.

"Salty." She smiled and sighed. "I think we should give you a shower and wash away the effects of your fever."

We rose and grabbed a couple of towels, tip-toeing our way into the bathroom. It was very early and there was no one else about. The shower was a tight fit for two and she stood behind me, always in contact, always pressing up against me. The warm water felt like heaven as she massaged the shampoo through my long black hair, threading her fingers and nails over my scalp. Water cascaded down my head and face as I rinsed away the remainder of soap and she shampooed herself. I reached for the soap on a rope hanging from the faucet and lathered up my hands.

"Oh let me do that." She spoke.

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