"Guess we aren't making it to class again." [m/f] | 2016

I can’t say for sure when I first met Rachel, only that it was sometime during our freshman year of college, and if I had to guess, probably crammed into some dorm hallway with red cups in our hands. Rachel wasn’t the type of girl that everyone noticed outright, but she did reward watchful eyes. She was short, with a curvy figure she still hid behind the unflattering high school wardrobe she’d brought with her. Still, it couldn’t hide her taut skin that shone with a golden, healthy glow. Or her long, copper hair, that she always styled simply, in order to frame her face.

She was cute, with doe eyes and soft features, but there was something more to her face, some other unseen intrigue that drew me towards her. Maybe it was the way she tilted her head towards me when we spoke, or the way she’d crook her smile when she thought she was saying something funny, or the way she’d look up at me as I was speaking. Together, her air was somewhere between flirty and mocking, like she was laughing at some joke you couldn’t know because it was only told in some language she invented. We’d chat whenever we ran into each other, infrequent on a big campus, and though I was always happy to see her, we never made plans to meet.

It was all the same, as I spent most of the year in an on-again/off-again deal with a beautiful girl who struggled with our relationship because of her religion. When we had sex, it fluctuated between slow, guilt-ridden affairs and slapping, spanking, near-brawls. Which makes a sort of sense, when you think about it.

Between her and a high school girlfriend with body image issues, I’d had a few other brief encounters, but I’d yet to experience a certain kind of sex that I knew I wanted. Something comfortable yet unapologetic, tender yet selfish. Something shared rather than awarded. Something you could write about, years later, on the internet.

After the summer and severing ties completely with my religious girlfriend, I approached sophomore year as an opportunity to find just what I was looking for. I arrived to the dorms before my roommate, and between the humidity and light sweat I’d accrued while moving, I left the door open to invite a draft while I unpacked. Not a couple boxes in, I heard a light rap on my open door and saw Lindsay, a girl I’d known from the year before. Lindsay was appropriately pretty, like the wife of some Republican state senator. It was easy to imagine her in some other life, where she would’ve greeted neighbors with a smile and a Jell-O fruit salad.

“Just sayin’ hi, neighbor,” she said with a fake Southern drawl.

I didn’t like Lindsay, but I found the news interesting if only because she happened to be Rachel’s best friend. Last year, it’d been rare that you saw one out without the other.

“Oh, good to hear,” I said, “You and…?”

“Rachel, of course, silly. But she’s not here yet.”

Then Lindsay and I had the first of what would be many pointless “how was your summer?” conversations that punctuated move-in weekend, the rest of which was spent finding out who got fat, who got fit, who got dumped, and who got their nose done. It was like the first day of middle school with everyone showing off their new clothes, only with copious amounts of drinking. And through it all, I did not run into Rachel.

By the middle of the first week, I’d been to all my classes but one, an afternoon lecture in one of the school’s larger halls. I’d arrived a little early and watched as students filed in, some in large groups, others alone on cell phones, and the brief few with faces of visible anxiety, wondering if they were in the right room. Freshmen, right?

And then Rachel walked in, confidently striding and scanning the room. The summer had been good to her, with her time in the sun evidenced by the highlights in her hair and the stark white lines, ghosts of some bikini, that intersected her collarbone. She saw me as she walked up the stairs of the middle aisle and headed towards me with a wave. I stood to hug her, feeling her curves pressed against me through our clothes, both of us letting the hug linger just a touch too long.

“So I hear we’re dorm buddies,” she said.

“Ya know, I told her not to tell you. I’ve been ducking you. You can’t trust Lindsay with anything,” I said, playing.

“It’s best you learn that now,” she said with a laugh.

We chatted until the professor arrived and started into his lecture. He was a stout, older man with a certain charm, but he spoke with such a thick accent that it made understanding him a serious issue. Rachel and I exchanged nervous glances not a few sentences into his introduction.

The lecture went on, as lectures do, and we spent the time making jokes or daydreaming or checking our phones. At some point, she rested her head on my shoulder. And then, class was over and we were saying bye, headed off our separate ways.

I went to the next couple classes, mostly for her, but Rachel never showed. It made sense since the professor put his lectures online and full comprehension demanded you replay a few lines. I’d see her sometimes, out on her phone in the quad outside our dorm, or in the hallways, always coming and going. I considering knocking on her door a few times just to say hi, but I’ll admit the proximity had thrown me. It felt easier to let things proceed on whatever natural course. By the middle of the semester, I too had taken to skipping our shared class, so our chances for extended time together had diminished. It had probably been a month since I’d last seen her and had mostly put her out of my mind, in light of whatever other typical college opportunities.

It wasn’t until some Saturday night, when I was leaving my room in a rush, headed for a friend’s birthday party I was already late for, when I saw her again. Lindsay stood at the doorway of their place, searching for the right key, with her boyfriend behind her, and Rachel in tow. It was clear that all three were at least a little drunk. Being late, I mostly meant to say hi in passing, but there was a certain drunken openness in Rachel’s greeting that made me want to stay and talk. So I did.

“I haven’t been to that class in so long,” she said with mock guilt.

“I think I had just a little more willpower than you, but not much.”

We laughed and did our best impressions of our professor’s accent, hers always sounding Jamaican. (He wasn’t Jamaican, at all.) In the midst of our talking, we heard the deadbolt to her door thrown shut. “Well,” she said, “guess I’m not going to bed yet.” When she looked at me with those eyes, I knew I couldn’t leave her, so we sat down in the hall and let the conversation carry us where it would. And with the occasional moan or slap of skin coming from her room, it gave the conversation a sexual undercurrent.

Unlike many women I had met up to that point, Rachel had a freedom about her sexuality. She talked of her experiences with fondness and listed her preferences without hesitation or shame. We sat next to each other, our shoulders grazing, heads turning to share looks during particularly steamy recountings. I felt suffocated by lust, as if separated from her by thick, hot air, even as she sat next to me. “Have you ever had one of those times where you wanted sometime so badly, you couldn’t even wait to get all the way inside, you just had to have them against the door?” she asked, in an innocent way that highlighted the lack of innocence in the question. My mind raced as I thought through all the possible doors I could take her up against. Her door was obviously out of the question. Mine happened to be closed behind my roommate and his visiting, long-distance girlfriend. There was a study room door downstairs that probably wouldn’t be used this time of—

Click! The deadbolt to Rachel’s door snapped back open and brought us back to reality: a fluorescent-lit dorm hallway, with dingy, industrial carpet.

“Well,” she said as she started to stand, “that’s my cue. You should get to that party.” I stood too as we lingered in the remnants of that dissipating tension. We said our goodbyes and she put her hand on the knob of the door, primed to enter.

“Oh, we should probably go to class this week,” she said, holding onto the door but leaning towards me.

“I have been feeling a little guilty,” I replied.

“Seriously, come get me before you go. Serious. I might be napping because I have an early class, but seriously, wake me up. I’m serious,” and then she laughed, knowing how she sounded, before adding, “I’m not that drunk. Seriously.”

I had been looking forward to seeing Rachel again when Wednesday came and I found myself in front of her place, knocking for the fourth time, again to no response. She had said she might be napping. And she was adamant about waking her. But she was also drunk, most likely drunker than she let on. I looked at the doorknob. What if Lindsay was in there? Was anyone in there? I turned the knob.

Unlocked.

I took a breath and stepped inside. My eyes adjusted to the soft afternoon light that came through the window and I could start to see all the trappings of a girls’ dorm room: the memory boards and the pastels and the Post-it To-Do lists and the something something Paris. There was one bed, empty and unmade, and in the other slept Rachel, her comforter rising and falling with her breath.

I walked towards her, trying to put all the normal warnings out of my head that were telling me I was being creepy. She asked! She asked, right? I stood over her, her hair mussed half over her face, and gripped the soft skin on her shoulder, just outside the strap of her camisole.

“Rachel,” I said, shaking lightly, “Wake up, we have class.” I braced myself for a bad reaction, a scream or some look of fear, but when she opened her eyes and looked up at me she just smiled, easy as always. She grabbed my arm and curled herself against it, away from the light.

“Five more minutes,” she mumbled, “Please.” I mentioned that we’d probably be late and she just held onto my arm tighter.

“Fine,” I said, removing my bag, “but scoot over.” She shuffled over with her eyes still closed as I laid down next to her. The bed was small and my weight creased it, forcing her to fall into the gap next to me. She grabbed my arm and turned away from me, settling into the groove of my nook.

“Just five minutes, I swear,” she said.

She drifted back to sleep and her breathing became heavy. It wasn’t long until I matched it and our bodies were rising and falling against each other. I closed my eyes too and concentrated on the way she felt against me, the way my arm felt around her waist, the way her ass was positioned against me just so. At times she would shift, grinding herself against me. I could feel that heat rising again between us and the blood rushing to my cock as the shifts felt less and less accidental.

I pulled her tighter against me and positioned my mouth against the back of her neck, so that she could feel the hot air with every breath. I thought I felt her tense against me, before she lifted her ass up, only to bring it down in a slow grind against me. This was enough.

I returned the pressure with weight of my own, gripping her torso, feeling at her through her shirt. She let out a deep breath, and by then my hand had reached a band of exposed skin between her cami and her pajama pants. Her skin was warm yet tight with goosebumps. As I continued exploring, we rubbed against each other in rhythm, her breath getting shorter as my hand reached the soft skin under her breasts.

I put my head over her shoulder and she reached up to drape her arm around it, so I turned to the space on her neck just below her ears and kissed lightly. She gasped, just a little, and tried to turn her face towards mine. But with my arm firmly around her, fingers walking down her towards her waistband, she could only just barely reach my lips. We kissed like this, a little frantically, and my fingers teased at the top of her panties.

With the pretense of spooning now unnecessary, I rolled on top of her, allowing us full access to each other’s lips. We kissed hard, our tongues found each other, and we continued to add to the hot pressure between our legs. Then she was grasping at my belt, fumbling with the buckle and fly of my jeans, until she reached my cock, which now sat bound behind my boxer briefs. I felt her deft fingers wrap around my shaft and rub me through the fabric.

I pulled down my pants before pinning her arms above her head. Now the only thing that separated us was soft cotton. As I ground myself against her, I could feel the contours underneath her clothes, the hardness of her mound, the soft dent of her lips. I began to kiss down her neck, across her collar, and then down the supple flesh just above her nipples, whose hardness were now barely veiled by her shirt. Hands still pinning hers above her head, I kissed and licked in circles until I pushed down the camisole with my mouth and exposed her fully, feeling her nipples grow even harder in my mouth.

I pulled away and slowly tugged her pants down her legs, careful not to break contact with her eyes. Those eyes that had teased me, now so filled with lust. As I exposed her legs completely, I broke the gaze to look on her body in full. Her petite shoulders led down to her full breasts, each capped with a quarter-sized brown nipple. Her waist slimmed, until it exploded again in wide hips, that tapered down into short, toned legs.

It was these legs that I kissed up, stopping for nibbles when the skin felt soft and tight. Her body heaved and it almost felt as though I could see her pulse beating under her simple, faded pink panties. By the time I’d reached her inner thighs, licking at the soft skin just inside her legs, it smelled sweetly of sex. My tongue teased just under the sewn edge of her panties and the fringes of her outer lips. I did this along both sides before teasing at her slit, breathing deep and wet on the whole of it.

Only then did I peel her panties to the side and let myself taste her fully, between the folds of her bare, swollen lips. I teased up her lips and she gasped faster, forming little “ohs” as I approached the top. When my lips first grazed her clit, her tone changed to surprise, making it sound as though the little “ohs” were spoken as questions. Then I grasped her clit between my lips and gently ran my tongue across it and the little sounds turned to longer moans.

She was soaked and my fingers easily parted her lips and found my way inside her. She clenched and lifted her hips up towards me, rocking herself on my fingers. All I could do was help her, bending them deep inside her and dragging along her walls. I found a depth and speed that quickened her moans, which now approached shrieks of pleasure. At times it seemed like she would try to form words, only to have them trail off into breathy mutterings.

I felt her tensing, her core clenching as she lifted herself to meet my fingers. As I held her clit steady in my mouth, I flicked back and forth across it with my tongue, careful not to bite her as she lifted her hips up towards me, practically fucking my face. Each of her little thrusts felt sharper, stuck longer, until finally, all the tension broke and I felt her clench and flood my fingers. With this, I used my hand to fuck her deeper and she pulled the pillow half over her face to let out a long, muffled moan.

As she calmed down, her cries grew softer, until they returned only to deep breath. I kissed softly at her lips, before I left one last peck on her inner thigh. I looked across the contours of her body to catch her glossy eyes. She smiled.

“Come here, come here. Please, come here,” she said, and she motioned me up towards her. I crawled up her body until our faces met and she gave me a few light kisses before pulling my shirt up off my body. She kissed along my chest, toned from a life of sports, before gently pushing me back onto the bed. Then she tugged my pants the rest of the way down, leaving me only in my boxer briefs, straining to be exposed.

She kissed and licked along my covered shaft before pausing to look up at me and readjust her hair tie. I watched the delicate way she tucked her hair behind her ears, with my cock just inches from her lips. When she’d finished, she pulled my waistband down and I sprung out from behind the elastic.

She didn’t waste any time, letting her bare lips kiss along my shaft, circling around the cleft of my head. Quickly and all at once, she took the head inside her mouth and I felt her tongue swirling along the tip. Then she left herself take a little more, before pulling out to the top and leaving my shaft slick with spit. She used this to work her hand up and down, before letting her mouth rejoin her. She did all of this with her eyes locked on mine.

The only time she looked away was when she took me as deep as she could and I could nearly feel her nose press against me. She gagged just slightly before sucking back to the tip, only to take it all again. “Don’t cum,” she asked, gently, “not yet.” Then she took me out of her mouth and climbed up towards me, reaching for the desk drawer beyond my head.

After a few seconds of digging, she pulled out a condom and proceeded to unroll it down my cock all by herself. Then she straddled me, positioning me just so, before she lowered herself onto me with all that hot, slick weight. We moaned together and she let herself get used to being filled before she raised herself again. This time I met her on her way down, lifting my hips to thrust deeper inside her. There we found a rhythm, and she leaned over me, her nipples dangling in my face as she slid along my cock.

I sucked on her waiting nipples and grasped her hips, grinding her clit down onto me and pressing deeper inside her. I helped her back and forth, picking up speed until she cried out and collapsed onto me in pleasure or exhaustion or both.

I rolled on top of her and took one leg over my shoulder to spread her wide. I entered her and watched her lips strain around me. After all this time, I had her where I wanted her: prone and spread and pinned and heaving. Our skin slapped against each other as I tried to get deeper and deeper. And there she was, moaning into the pillow again, well-trained in the art of dorm sex.

From there, I put her on her side, still with one leg over my shoulder, and teased at her clit with the tip of my fingers. She let out a long string of yeses that melted into each other. She looked at me and smiled that smile, only now it was different, like I knew her secret, like I was in on the joke.

I put her on her hands and knees and positioned myself behind her, grasping at the slope where her hips met her waist. I entered her easily, her body jumping forward a touch with me all the way inside. But then she dug her hands into her bed and forced herself back against me, our skin again slapping together loudly. I added to it, spanking her right cheek with an open palm.

We picked up speed and as her moans grew louder, she started to scream into the mattress. From her bed, I could see out her window and noticed a couple of students passing through the quad. I don’t know if it was the skin on skin or Rachel’s muffled moans, but one of them turned back towards her window. Quickly, I gripped her by a handful of her hair and lifted her away from the mattress. Then I fucked her harder so her moans could reach full volume.

Both students now looked back at the window, as Rachel screamed and thrashed under me. I started to moan and grunt with her, feeling the build inside me, feeling Rachel throw her ass back against me, looking down and seeing her pink lips pull on me with thrust, watching her watch. Then she looked up at me, and smiled that smile, and that was it.

I came, gripping her ass and pushing her down into the bed, filling the condom and feeling as though my whole lower half was a tingling blaze. She cooed with each pulse she felt inside her. I collapsed onto her, lost in her mess of sweaty, tangled hair, and let the last few spasms leave me.

When I looked up, the students were gone from the quad and it was only Rachel, below me, content and breathing deeply. She looked back at me and I gave her a couple sloppy, lazy kisses.

“Guess we aren’t making it to class again,” I said, still deep inside her.