A Little Skin to Skin

My two year internship at the University of Rhode Island Public Relations Office paid off. Two weeks prior to graduation the director – Rob Paradin – called me into his office and offered me an entry level job as a writer / editor.

"We really don't have a position, Johnson," he said casually. "But you're such a fine writer we don't want to lose you. And you're already well-liked by half the faculty and newspaper editors in the state."

He handed me a formal letter with the job specifics. I quickly scanned the details until I found the salary. It was a good $3,000 a year less than average and at least $5,000 less than I could command at another college. On the other hand, a job in hand..., and I was young and single, so what the hell?

"I'm sorry it's not more," Rob said. "Best I could do."

He braced for disappointment.

"Thank you," I said, "I'll take it."

Now I've kinda got a Ron Howard thing going on – unkempt bushy red hair, some lingering freckles, a forehead bill-boarding future baldness – so I wasn't much with the ladies during my undergraduate years. I was more of the constantly working, lots of hobbies, intramural sports, going home once a month to play Dungeons and Dragons with my high school buddies kind of guy.

I don't drink but did get "lucky" a couple times after attending frat parties with some of the jocks I befriended by writing glowing profiles about them for the Campus Newspaper. But in general I was just one of the (more than you think) guys who drifted through college without a girlfriend or serious prospects. There had been a string of girlfriends in high school, but that was child's play; we all understand that after we've grown up.

During the second semester of my senior year the Public Relations Office hired a 26 year old graphic designer named Janice Watts. And dang. The other four members of the office have all been there for 15 years or more and were old enough to be my parents. To my amazement Janice spent a lot of time talking to me during the five to six hours a week I was in the office. In hindsight, I'm sure it was the fact that we were the two youngsters in the office and she needed an ally, but at the time, for the life of me, I could not understand why such a goddess was wasting her time talking to "Opie."

I'm 5'5". Janice is 5'9', weighs about 120, and has gorgeous brown hair that hangs straight and ends in a semi-circle just below her shoulders. She is tall and slender but has slightly oversized, round breasts. Her hips are narrow and she has a very small bottom. She wears a collection of single colored dresses that end just above her kneecaps. She goes for practical, not glam in her day to day appearance and accentuates her look with a lot of plastic headbands and hairclips. You could have pulled her from the opening sequence to "That Girl" starring Marlo Thomas. She is quiet and demure at work and an excellent artist. Rob and the other editors in the office rave about her work.

She has a hunky boyfriend named Roger (I have never seen nor met him) and two kittens. Our conversations at work – she does the talking – revolve around 1) problems in the office; 2) Roger; and 3) Milo and Trix, her "kitties". I don't pay much attention to whatever she's talking about but I welcome the opportunity to admire her physical beauty and feel adult when I get to hang out with her.

In the year since she joined the office, Janice has only said one thing that stood out to me. She said when she is nervous or anxious she needs a "little skin to skin" to calm her down. I assume she meant with Roger, but I was not sure exactly what the details were.

By the following spring a healthy competition had developed between us. A story I authored featuring a Child Development Center Director who felt we are teaching children to fear was picked up by the New York Times. A watercolor illustration she painted for the cover of the alumni magazine was featured at a local gallery. And so on. We began to bicker and jockey for position in staff meetings although we maintained our "office friendship" socially.

Rob called us into his office one day in March and read us the riot act.

"We're all on the same team in this office and the rest of the staff and I are tired of your bickering and competitive, negatives spirits. You have separate jobs that are both indispensable to this office and the mission of this University. We're not going to have a conversation like this ever again. Understood?"

We nodded humbly, said "Yes sir," and left the office. Ironically, we hadn't taken five steps before Janice pointed a finger at me, glaring, and said: "That was your fault!"

A week later we were both quiet during the staff meeting. Rob surprised everyone at the end by announcing he had received two all-expense-paid invitations to the annual Arts and Writer Conference sponsored by the Chronicle of Higher Education. The four day conference was slated for late April at the University of Notre Dame in South Bend, Indiana. He was sending Janice and me.

"If they have a session on teamwork, I expect both of you to take it," he called in our direction as the meeting broke up.

This was my first conference and Janice soon confided she had never flown anywhere in her life, so our excitement was mixed with a fair amount of anxiety. Conference week arrived and we flew to South Bend. Janice grabbed my hand when the plane took off and dug her fingernails

in the soft skin between my thumb and first finger for the first twenty minutes of the flight. Despite the pain the geek in me was thinking: "All right, I'm holding her hand."

We landed and took a taxi to our hotel, only to find out the hotel had accidentally given our rooms away. There were none left. The desk clerk spent fifteen minutes trying to find more rooms for us. No luck. In addition to the Arts and Writer Conference and two other conferences, it was the week leading up to the annual Notre Dame Spring Football Game, which for some reason attracts fans and alumni from around the world.

Janice went white. "What are we supposed to do?"

"There's a bed and breakfast down the road I could try. It's a little run down and off the beaten path, but the folks that run it are nice."

"Call them."

Estelle Murphy and her husband Jack have run "The Dickens" B&B for 30 years. They are what cliché-ridden authors would call "salt of the earth people." They're round and old, bright and cheerful, and once they know your name you're basically family.

The desk clerk lifted the phone onto the counter and handed it to Janice. "Hello," she said to Estelle. "No, we need two rooms....Me and another guy from work....All right, hang on."

She turned to me and twisted her finger through the phone cord nervously. "They only have one room available this week. There's a queen bed and a day bed. What do you think Sam?"

I stole a glance at the desk clerk. She nodded.

"I think it's our best shot," I said.

Janice returned to the phone. "Okay Miss Murphy....Err, I mean Estelle, we'll take it. We'll be right over."

The desk clerk hailed a taxi and told the driver where we were going and to charge the fare to the hotel. She wished us well and off we went. Estelle and Jack greeted us and showed us the room. Janice fell in love immediately, of course, because it was one of those traditional overdone B & B rooms that brags of superficial importance. It had stained hardwood floors, a massive white quilt with ruffles, and some kind of subtle theme whirling around the walls. Of course the room had a name, and of course it was the "Oliver" room.

The day bed was actually a small, hard loveseat. I groaned and made a mental note to find a hotel room somewhere else in the morning.

Jack had disappeared and Estelle had Janice by the hand. "Now you two should head over to Tuskadero's for dinner. Get there before six so you get quality service. We'll have a full breakfast for you at 8 o'clock sharp. And listen honey, we have well water and the shower water is only hot for about 15 minutes, so don't dawdle in there. Okay, you two have a sweet evening and just get a hold of me or Jack if you need anything."

Estelle looked me over critically and then fixed a sweet smile on Janice.

"Oh, no," Janice protested. "We're not..."

"Okay honey," Estelle said with a wave and closed the door behind her.

Janice plopped on the bed. "Wow," she muttered, "I'm pretty nervous. I really need a little skin to skin."

"What?"

"Oh nothing, did I say that out loud? Let's get some dinner."

She disappeared into the bathroom and I took the opportunity to change into an oxford shirt. Janice returned in a beautiful knee-length black dress with a white collar. She threw a white shawl around her shoulders.

"I got the impression that restaurant is fancy," she said.

"Me too. Should I put on a tie?"

"No, you're fine Sam. You look great."

She playfully turned my shoulders toward the door. "No let's go. I'm starving."

Dinner at Tuskadero's was wonderful. There was lots of atmosphere in the multi-leveled dining room. The hostess had misinterpreted our relationship and seated us alone in a dimly-lit corner. There was a flicking flame in a small round globe in the middle of our table. The food – we both chose lamb, fresh green and au gratin potatoes – was incredible. Janice was stiff and distant at first, but the food, atmosphere, and two glasses of wine brought about a transformation. Soon she was relaxed and vibrant, leaning across the table, anxiously telling me secrets and snippets of personal information that only seem to slip out in these circumstances. The room was warm and her checks were flushed. Her beautiful, firm face was encased in the glow of the table light. Small shadows flickered around her face and forehead. I was literally overwhelmed by her beauty and the majesty of the moment. I had never experienced anything like it before.

We walked back to The Dickens in silence. My hands were in my pockets and she surprised me by slipping her hand around my arm, escort style.

"Wow," she finally said. "That was some dinner, wasn't it?"

I nodded.

"I'm feeling better," she said unconsciously. "I just need some skin to skin."

We got back to our room and I sat down at the old fashioned wooden desk, popped open my laptop, and began to sort through the day's emails. Janice sat in a Victoria chair in the corner, her long, shapely legs propped up on the wooden chest at the foot of the bed. She watched me toggle through the computer screen and fussed with her long hair. After a few minutes she said:

"I'm going to take a shower and get ready for bed. Thanks for dinner."

"Uh-huh," I muttered, not really listening.

Janice disappeared into the bathroom. It was pitch dark outside our second floor room. I looked out the window, bordered by layered lace curtains. I saw my reflection in the soft light that melted off the window and it suddenly dawned on me that I was sharing a room with this beautiful woman. It felt awkward and the more I thought about it the more uncomfortable it felt. It renewed my determination to find separate housing for us the next day.

The door to the bathroom opened a crack and I suddenly realized the shower was not running. Janice used the door to shield her body but I could see part of her shoulder and hip, enough skin to tell me she was naked.

"Um, did you want to take a shower Sam?"

"What?" I wasn't sure what she meant.

"Because Estelle said there was only about 15 minutes worth of hot water," she said softly.

"No. I'm okay," I stuttered.

"Okay. Well, you can come in and take a shower with me if you want."

She lingered on the door. I saw a piercing brown eye, expressionless, locked on my eyes.

I didn't respond.

She slowly closed the door and I heard the shower come on a few seconds later.

My mind was spinning. Had she just said that? Did she just invite me into the shower with her?

I spent a minute trying to reason it out, then realized how stupid I was being and was out of my clothes and slipping into the bathroom seconds later.

I closed the door loudly. Her flannel pajamas were hanging on a hook on the back of the door.

"Is it still okay to come in the shower?"

"Come on in."

A large shower head hung above the bathtub, inches above a white vinyl shower curtain which swung around the inside of the very large tub. I found the split in the curtain, pushed it aside, and climbed into the tub with much difficulty.

Then I nearly fell over when I saw Janice's naked body. She had her back to me and the view was breath-taking. I had fantasized about her body on a few occasions but the real thing was much more beautiful. She stood directly under the wide shower head. Her hair was slick against her head and stuck to her shoulders. Her shoulders were round and the skin was tight against her shoulder blades. Her waist was thinner than I had imagined. Her ass was sublime. Two small flat lumps curled seductively underneath to her long thin legs. She spun around and my eyes locked on her beautiful breasts. They were big and round and firm and her small brown nipples were set up high. I realized I was staring at them and looked up into her face sheepishly.

"Yes, they are awesome," she said. "Let's see what you've got."

She lingered on my eyes and my face and then began a slow descent, admiring my muscular shoulder and chest. By time her gaze reached my dick it was rock hard and slanted up like a flagpole sticking out of the side of a house.

She tapped my nose with her finger. "A little skin to skin," she said, "but no fooling around. Okay?"

"Of course," I said, breathing hard.

She handed me a tube of body wash and turned her back to me. "Soap me up," she said.

"Ah, where?"

"Everywhere but my, ah, area," she replied.

"Area?"

"Here," she said, tapping her bush embarrassedly.

I went to work, rubbing body wash all her back and shoulders and working up a rich white lather. She moaned.

"Work my shoulders," she whispered.

I become to massage her shoulders and shoulder blades. I had to stoop to reach her because my stiff cock was threatening to drive itself right into her asshole. I put one hand on her shoulder and slipped the other one down her spine to the small of her back. I paused for a second and then began to massage her beautiful ass with soap that I pushed down from her back.

"Yeah, that's good. Use both hands," she said.

I took my hand off her shoulder and became to massage her ass cheeks with both hands. I worked my hands underneath the bottom of her ass as close to her pussy as I could get. I desperately wanted to bend her over and shove my cock deep into her cunt. The water stream was warm and humid and surged in rivers off her head and down her front and back. It splashed off her head and into my face in refreshing bursts.

"Do my legs," she said softly.

I bent down, my nose almost wedged into the crack in her ass, and began to soap and massage her legs. It took every ounce of willpower not to sick my tongue between her legs and begin licking her pussy.

Halfway through the leg washing she turned slowly so I could work on the front of her legs. My face was now inches from her bush. She was an old fashioned girl, with a full complement of curly brown pubic hair. It was neatly trimmed. Although it was April and she was from Rhode Island, she had a beautiful tan, no doubt courtesy of a regiment of trips to a tanning salon or weekend trip to Florida. I washed her legs from her feet up. The water from the shower was cascading off her breasts, running down her flat waist and converging at her pussy. It ran like a stream from a fountain off her closed pussy lips. When I had worked my way up to the middle of her thighs she squeezed her legs together to let me know that was far enough. I stood up and soaped her hips and waist, then massaged her beautiful breasts and the front of her shoulders. I went back to her breasts and enjoyed those beautiful globes and hard small nipples.

She finally grabbed both my hands and pushed them off her breasts.

"That's good," she said and let the water run down her body and drive the soap down the drain.

She smiled, squirted some body wash and her hands, and began to massage it into my shoulders and chest. She spent much less time on my body than I had on hers. Seconds later she reached a soapy hand down south and wrapped it around my bloated cock. She stroked it a few times while looking hard into my eyes then shifted her gaze to my member.

"You and Roger are about the same size," she said casually. "They even look the same."

She rubbed some soap on my swollen ball sack and pulled it to the side to examine it. She pinched the sack just below my balls and stretched it out. Then she dragged me under the shower stream by my sack and watched as the water washed the white soap off my body. She spun me around and soaped up my shoulders and back. She leaned in and wrapped her arms around me from behind. I felt her breasts crush into my shoulder blades and her breath on my neck. She rubbed her face against the back of my neck. With one hand still wrapped around my waist I felt her other hand slide down and begin to massage and explore my ass. She turned her hand sideways and slid it up the length of my crack. I flinched.

"She laughed softly and wrapped her arms around me again. "You have a very nice bottom," she whispered.

I was about to compliment every inch of her body when the heat left the shower stream and the water drifted from hot to lukewarm to chilly in a matter of seconds.

"Youch," Janice said and cut off the water.

I reached through the curtain slit and grabbed a couple of towels and handed the larger one to her.

She climbed out of the tub and began to dry off. I stayed in the shower, cocooned within the curtain, and dried myself off. I was feeling self-conscious and awkward again. I waited until she had left the bathroom, then exited the tub and gathered my clothes. I noticed Janice's pajamas were still hanging on the bathroom door hook.

I wrapped a towel around my waist and sat down on the day bed to figure out the logistics. Janice was in bed, on her side, with her back to me.

"You can sleep in the bed with me," she said. "But nothing's gonna happen. Just a little more skin to skin. If that's okay with you, climb in."

I peeled off the towel and gently slid into the bed behind her. Her body heat had already warmed the bed. I spooned behind her, shoulder to shoulder, being careful to keep distance between my insanely hard cock and her ass. She reached back, grabbed my hand, and wrapped it around her waist. I traced the outline of her belly button and settled in. I tried hard to relax and let the moments pass.

She took a deep breath. I was overwhelmed by her beauty but still felt a rising tide of guilt. I didn't want to spend a night on the day bed but couldn't help myself.

"Do you think Roger's okay with this," I whispered into her neck.

"No I don't," she whispered. "But I need the skin to skin. I'm just not gonna think about it."

I lay stone awake, rock hard, my cock aching. I lay in the darkness and listened to her breathing. It grew progressively deeper and slower. Her body went heavy and rigid at the same time and I knew she was asleep. I waited a few minutes and then reached down and squeezed her ass. There was no reaction. I lifted one side of her ass, slid forward, and folded my cock into the crack. It ran up the length the crack and the head of my cock was pressed against her tailbone. I reached around her waist and cupped my hand against her breast. The nipple grew hard in my palm but she didn't stir. A few seconds later my balls began to twitch, the pump engaged, and I came against the small of her back. It was not an explosive orgasm, but rather an overflowing of the banks. My cum poured from my cock head like a river and I came for a long time.