Violating the Honor Code

Like all the other male university science students I had fallen in love with her. Okay, honor code time: maybe not in love, but strongly in lust. That fall, about 11:15 am on my lucky mornings, she walked alone from the science and engineering buildings across the quad, not stopping to talk to anyone. She had a heart-shaped face, golden blonde hair curling to just past her shoulder, and small, puckered, smiling lips. She often wore jean shorts that would need another inch or so just be called Daisy Dukes. When she walked, her curvy hips swayed on shapely legs. Her waist seemed impossibly narrow. A back pack rested on her shoulder, arching her back slightly which made her perfect breasts seem larger. The most exciting thing? She loved the commotion she caused.

Her appearance was so exciting that I upgraded from my phone video to an advanced zoom lens camera. She would be creeped out if she knew. When I played it back, I fantasized lying on those pillowy thighs while kissing her ample warm breasts. She had that kind of effect.

When we finally met, it seemed like fate. It had been a rotten night and a worse morning. My roommate, a varsity wrestler named Petralski, or "the Troll," slept with the windows open. So I froze all night. When the wake-up alarm sounded, I forced myself out of the warm blankets, onto the icy floor, more to video that sexy blonde than to attend my early physics class. Just my luck, Professor Heinz kept the physics class late, screaming about the theft of his precious purple calculator. Encased like rectangular plum, with his initials etching onto it, it was nothing anyone one would ever want. There had been a raft of thefts in the science and engineering department despite the university's stellar campus police department. The loss of Professor Heinz's gaudy purple calculator sent him into a rage that lasted well past the bell, his bow-tie bobbing at his scrawny throat. When finally dismissed, I raced with my camera, hoping I wasn't too late.

Still inside the hallway, I could hear yells and loud laughter echoing from the quad. Through the glass the doors, the effects of a gusty autumn wind could be seen blowing leaves and papers around, and plastering clothing tightly to the bodies of the students. The hooting became louder as I approached the doors. It had to concern my sexy blonde. I worried that she had teased the mob too far, and they had decided that she should pay for her haughtiness. But no. She had made the mistake of wearing a long woolen skirt that proved too light against the gusty breeze which lifted it high over her head as she walked. She was completely exposed from the waist down. She turned in circles, pushed down with her hands, but to no avail. The wind was winning.

"Look at that ass."

"I saw bush!"

"She's wearing a thong. I'll bet you $20 bucks."

I burst out of the doors, and the wind seemed to push her into my arms. She blushed a bright red, matching our school colors. She struggled in vain to hold down her skirt. She was nearly in tears, trying to protect her modesty. It was empowering to be in control your appearance, and completely unnerving to be at the mercy of the wind and the mob.

"Take this." I offered my new jacket. I'm over 6 feet, and she looked about 8 inches less than that, so the jacket would help hold down the skirt. She didn't resist when I put my jacket around her, but pushed my hands away when I tried to zip it. The gathered onlookers began to boo my gallantry for ending their peep-show.

She wouldn't face me or look up.

"It's okay. Let me help you."

Still nothing.

Her deep brown eyes were tear-filled. Her round cheeks blushed warmly. When she bent her head forward, wind-whipped curls danced around her head. She looked even more lovely in close-up. A small smile eventually came to her lips, until I hefted her back pack. It nearly pulled me over, it was so heavy. She grabbed at it, but I what kind of gentleman would I be to let her carry it?

The jacket covered her lengthwise past her hips, but was very tight over those hips and over her chest. I gulped to see how it firmly it squeezed her, while hanging loose at her waist. It did the trick though, and the wind couldn't lift her skirt higher than those soft rounded thighs. Keeping an eye on her back pack as though I might take off with it, she led the way to her university dorm without a word. Once there, she didn't invite me in, but held out her hand for her pack.

Before giving it to her, I leaned down for my reward kiss. She was surprised, but her pouty lips smiled just a little. She kissed me gently at first, then threw both arms around my neck. The kiss surprised me, and I let her keep kissing me as long as she liked. Her breasts pressed into me. The whistles and cat-calls didn't rattle her; she kissed hungrily for at least a minute.

When we broke the embrace, she looked embarrassed again.

"Keep the jacket until you're inside. You can give it back to me later tonight when we go out." Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

She looked at my lips while I spoke, making me embarrassed when she didn't agree at once. Didn't she get it? I was her knight in shining armor. She reached into the pocket of my jacket, found my phone and dialed. There was no ring, but her phone must have vibrated. She pulled it out of her skirt's waistband, and handed me my phone. I swallowed hard to think where she had felt the phone shimmying. She began to text.

"BUSY 2 NITE. THURS?"

Three days. I could wait I guess. I played her game, and texted back, "OK. U R?"

She watched my face until the message arrived. She looked down, and swept the hair off her brow. For sure a smile played on those tiny lips. She took my phone and created a new contact for me. "IMOGENE."

"Imogene." Saying it out loud kept me from laughing at the quaintness of the name. I liked it, I guess. I would have liked any name she gave. "CALL?"

She thumbed her phone. "TEXT ME."

"Y?"

Her eyes rolled like I was the biggest fool she knew, which I probably was. She texted her answer.

"I'M DEAF."

Now I blushed and apologized. She rubbed my arm, and grabbed again for her back pack. It opened a little and I saw what made it so heavy. Not only did she carry some monster calc and engineering books, she had a slew of calculators in there.

She grabbed the pack from me, looking frightened. She put a delicate finger to her lips, meaning "Shh. Our secret." Then she kissed my cheek and ran into the dorm.

I didn't feel the kiss, because I was too shocked. I had recognized the calculator with the purple case immediately.

The school has an honor code, and all students and faculty swear to uphold it. The university had a zero tolerance for lack of honesty. So, I knew my duty. At the very least, Imogene was in possession of stolen property. She may have swiped them, too. She might be a danger to the university community. If it was later learned that I knew about the calculators and hadn't reported her, I would be expelled.

Then again, my jacket had fit so snugly around her hips and chest.

To be honest, what did I really know? Was there a reason behind Imogene's actions? Maybe I didn't really see what I thought I did in her back pack. I certainly didn't understand it.

For sure, if I reported what I thought I saw, Imogene would never forgive me. No chance of my resting on that curvaceous bod if I ratted. I would be a rat, and someone who didn't trust her.

So, okay. I guess I'll wait until our date on Thursday. She must have a reason.

After all, some women are just worth the risk.

# # #

My room at the frat house was not conducive to thinking things out, or to study for that matter. It was barely conducive to sleeping. I blame my roommate, Petralski, a 5th-year senior nicknamed the Troll. He was a big-time varsity wrestler who turned our fourth floor room into an extension of his gym. Loud music blared. Towels, some clean, some not, drape over desks, chairs and bedposts. There were rings hanging from the ceiling so he could do pull ups, ropes on pulleys from the floor boards, bars on the walls, hand weights to stub my toes if I got up at night, and a medicine ball. He sports muscles on all the surfaces of his body, including his toes. In the past, I've tried to reason with him about such things as closing the windows, cleaning up, and a quiet time for study or sleep. He doesn't do well with reason, or any type of opposition.

When we were first thrown together, the Troll explained the facts of my new life. He worked out religiously at the gym, and he preferred to work out after midnight, where he had the run of the gym. He would return any time between 2 and 3 am, throw open the window, and sleep until noon. I was not to touch any of his stuff, especially two prized items. The first was a troll doll given to him by his hometown honey (whose existence which I doubt); the second was exotic, overpriced, imported hair restorer, which obviously worked everywhere on his body except on his balding head. He hid a medium-sized safe in the corner of his closet, and both treasures were kept there with other unspecified, and likely ungodly, items. Not that I cared.

Other rules: "This room is open to all our frat brothers to visit, got it? Anytime. They just stop in. I protect my stuff so they can't mess with it or use it. I suggest you protect your own stuff." He pointed to my video camera, laptop, and headphones, all sitting on my desk.

I nodded. "Good thing we have locks on the door." It was supposed to be a joke, but he squinted at me and frowned. He stepped outside the room, wearing only a small white towel, which was barely sufficient to cover his little troll.

"Close and lock the door."

I did.

"Padlocked?" he called from the hall.

"Now it is."

"Step back."

He roared, threw his body into the door ripping the locks off their frames. The door burst open. It's been swinging open ever since.

However, I have yet to see any of our fraternal brethren stopping by to visit. We're on the top floor at the back of the house, so I guess it's not that convenient.

The Troll's not around a lot, though. He travels. When he's not wrestling, or checking out other wrestling squads, he's road-tripping to support the university's other teams. He was red-shirted, has most of his courses finished and as a 5th-year senior is a lock to graduate this year with a degree in applied chokeholds. When he is not at the gym, he showers several times a day. He wears only the small white towel and flip-flops between showers.

I rarely stop back between classes. The less time I spend in the room, the better. But I did need something to replace the new jacket that Imogene had. So, I stopped in to get a sweater. The Troll was there, packing.

"Road trip!" He threw several small white towels into his gym bag, a red tee shirt, flip-flops, and a soap on a rope. "You should come. They know how to party in Pocatello!" He squatted near his closet, checked over his shoulder that I wasn't watching, and removed his hometown honey troll and his magical hair goop from the safe. Getting up, he almost lost the white towel barely covering his rock-hard ass.

"You should take a sweatshirt at least. And a belt. It's may freeze soon."

"Good idea. Hey, I mean it. You should come. Really."

"How long would we be gone?"

"I'm thinking a week. Today's Monday, so we'll stay the weekend."

"Ooh, sorry, I have to feed Schrodinger's cat. Next time, okay?"

He's smaller than me, but grabbed me around the neck and pulled my head down just to tousle my hair. "Don't wait too long, little brother. These college years just fly by!"

He left, still only wearing his white towel. Of course, with the amount of hair on his body, it just looked like a small bear going for a walk with a gym bag.

# # #

That Monday night, I intended to go to the library, but found myself outside Imogene's dorm. Even in my sweater, it was cold, but I persisted. Each guy I saw going in might be the one dating her, and it tore me up. I didn't have a plan. I just wanted to see my competition. I forced myself to video scenes of the campus while I waited.

When she came out, Imogene was smiling sweetly. Her brown eyes watched only her date's face. He was only a little taller than she was, but a lot older, pushing early 30s, wearing dark slacks, a blue sports jacket, loafers and a tie. Nobody wears a tie anymore. Geek. He looked like he had been dressed by his butler.

My camera caught his arm snaking around her tiny waist as he led Imogene toward a BMW convertible, top up. He even opened the car door for her. She left nothing to the imagination in a pair of black yoga pants that stretched tightly over her legs and her round bottom. Her heels were high, and gave amazing lift to her shapely calf. She had a golden blouse that was cut low enough that you didn't need to guess how lovely her cleavage was. It takes a lot of confidence to wear something so revealing. Either that, or she knew she wasn't going to be wearing it long.

My stomach clenched when she turned to kiss him before entering the BMW. Her arms were around his neck, her head turned to the side, she rose even higher on her toes, and her breasts squished against his jacket. A memory of the same kiss crashed upon me. The kiss kept on, and when it ended, she slowly moved her head away, watching to see the effect she had on him.

He was breathless. I knew that feeling.

He held her in his arms, and she rose up again. In the tight pants, it was almost obscene the way her ass tightened. I wanted to grab her with both hands and pull her to me.

Her date must have had the same idea. As she turned to enter the Beemer, his paws found their way to her butt, and gave a playful squeeze to each side. My mouth was dry.

Imogene straightened up immediately, and smacked Mr. Mens Warehouse across the face. Twice. Once for each grab. It was loud enough to attract attention. She slammed the car door shut, pushed him back so hard he tripped backwards. She walked determinedly back into the dorm.

Thus endeth date 1.

Not very satisfying for Imogene or her date. I was happy though.

Lesson learned: Don't tap the booty.

I didn't see her the next morning, Tuesday. I texted, but got no reply.

The day dragged slowly through my class assignments. I needed to know if she had a date for that night as well. There was only one way to find out for sure, since she wasn't responding to any texts. I waited outside her dorm again.

Tuesday was warmer, a kind of Indian Summer, with no bugs. I brought the video camera to have something to do if asked why I was hanging around. The camera had a night vision feature, just in case.

Imogene came out wearing a gauzy flowered skirt which in bright sunlight was probably transparent. Even now, there was no question as to the smooth shapeliness of her thighs. She wore flats, a sign that her date was probably short. Her top hugged her curves and her waist. It was some kind of tube top, and she wore no bra. She really didn't need one; her girls perched high and firm. The top ended above her navel, and some jewelry dangled there. She smiled sweetly when she saw her date.

The guy was not much to look at, and dressed like a cowboy to hide it. His levi's looked newly purchased, and his tucked-in madras shirt was partially open to show off some chest hair. He wore a black ten-gallon hat and matching cowboy boots, and a ten-gallon bronze belt buckle on a too-narrow belt. He swept his hat when he met her, and revealed a shaved head.

So far, I was not impressed with Imogene's taste in men.

Imogene ran to meet him, pushing herself into him. Again she raised her arms around this fellow's neck, and kissed him as if no one was watching. She ended slowly again, then pecked a few other kisses on his cheeks, eyes and lips, until he began to laugh and backed away. She was killing me.

"Slow down there, girl. Save some for later."

Imogene groaned and stomped her foot. She put both arms around him as they walked toward his black pick-up truck. When she saw it, she clapped her hands and jumped.

"I'm glad you like it." He walked her to the far side so she could get in. As he walked around, Imogene slid over the bench front seat. Before he had time to close the door behind him, she roped him with her arms again, and pulled him toward her, kissing his lips slowly. She needed to stop that enthusiastic behavior, except with me.

I used my camera to get a little clearer look at them both. I'm glad I did.

She nibbled at his lower lip, and then looked into his eyes to measure the effect. The effect was to make me uncomfortable, and I adjusted my boxers. She was seated on her round hip, and faced him with both barrels. When she inhaled, they tested that stretchy fabric. As she reached to kiss him, she arched her back, which made her breasts just that more inviting.

As if he read my mind, the cowboy's hands moved from her thighs to her waist and then softly cupped each breast, his thumbs searching for a hard nipple. My camera caught it all. They were quite the handful.

Imogene's eyes popped open in alarm. Her arms flew across her chest to protect from his groping. The cowboy's mouth began working, but it was hard saying if any words came out. If they did, they didn't work. Imogene shoved him hard out of the truck, and he got road grime on his new jeans.

She slammed closed her side. As she ran toward the dorm, I swear the camera caught tears coming from her blue eyes.

I would check later on the replay.

Thus endeth date 2.

Lesson learned: Don't pet the puppies.

I hate Wednesdays because all morning is taken up in a physics lab. I'd much rather be under a tree waiting to video Imogene again. I may have to rethink my major here.

I didn't bother texting Imogene since I was tied up all morning. Her face did not leave my mind though, and I replayed the last two evenings, partly for the laughs, partly for the insight.

Wednesday night found me outside Imogene's dorm again. The night was still Indian Summer warm. At about eight o'clock, a woman dressed in a short black cocktail dress, black high heels, and clutching a small purse, walked ever so erectly out of the dorm. Her hair was swept up in a sophisticated coif. Were those diamonds sparkling and dangling from her earlobes and from around her throat? Perfect posture elongated her neck and emphasized her voluptuous hour-glass figure. It was Imogene.

She strode with authority out to the curb. There was no joyful burst of running like other nights. She gracefully controlled her movement, and each step sent ripples to the appropriate body parts. I couldn't tear my eyes off her, and neither could other students who watched. At least one guy got gut-punched by his own date for his wandering eyes.

I was lucky. I could savor her walk all the way to the end of the sidewalk, and capture it on video. I didn't see any cars waiting. Instead, there was a thin, elderly man with a bow tie, a walking stick and a cardigan sweater. I zoomed, and almost dropped the camera when I saw his face.

Professor Heinz.

Stick to the movement of heavenly bodies, Herr Doktor! Leave the earthly bodies to me.

Imogene kissed his cheek, and he smiled thinly. She didn't exhibit the same osculatory exuberance she displayed earlier in the week. Fine by me.

He didn't kiss her back, but offered his arm and they strolled to the University Club. I followed discretely. To my surprise, Professor Heinz could sign, and as quickly as Imogene. I resolved to learn to sign, too.

Inside the Club, there was a very fine restaurant which could be viewed from the bar. I sat where I could see Professor Heinz but not be seen, and ordered the fruitiest drink at the bar to discourage my drinking it too quickly, or at all.