Meg's Uniform

The insistent sound of the ocean surf outside seemed the perfect accompaniment to her movements now. Passion radiated from her, as she looked down over her firmed breasts into my eyes. I broke the spell by allowing my own eyes to lazily glide from her erect nipples, down over her marching-firmed tummy and thighs, and on to her moisture-shiny curls. She moved toward me, and I saw that she did so in a manner full of certainty, holding her legs slightly apart, sensitive to the swelling energy within herself. She placed one leg to each side of my thighs, and knelt over me.

Later on in our time together we took even more time to pleasure each other (and I came to love the feeling of her response to my touch), but in this moment we were precisely matched in our eagerness. Gone were our worries about my papers or her band drills. Gone were the barriers between us, our adult concerns. Our time together had gone on half-complete for long enough!

As I reached up to cup her breasts, she took me firmly, but gracefully, and held me between the moist lips of her sex. She rose slightly on her knees, grazing her tensioned clitoris over the subtle, velvet ridges of my expanded penis. If it had been possible, I must have grown another centimeter in the thrill of feeling her recording my shape with her most sensitive instrument.

There must have been music in our words to each other, in our sighs and in our murmurs. In memory, I cannot truly tell whose words were which. With each pass over me, she rose higher in her joy! Then without words, the time came to pull my hips back and to take myself into the center of her being. She opened to me with assured eagerness, leaning her head back and tightly closing her eyes as she concentrated on the feeling of my entry.

My own eyes closed as I felt her circle opening around me. She ringed me with beauty as I glided through our mingled streams. As if in flickering cuts of a film, I repeatedly felt her vagina closing to bar my passage, and then as often, I felt her mind take control and open the way again. In either case, the long hours of preparation had given me a seemingly unquenchable flow and I moved steadily within it, enjoying the sense of discovery.

That invincible movement excited Meg even more, and now both our eyes were open again, darting over each other's straining bodies. She brought herself firmly around me, enjoying the motion of my muscles in the roughness of my legs within her thighs. In my excitement, I was lifting her size 10 frame off the bed at times.

"I want to reach to your heart," I gasped, as I stroked her deepest opening with the swollen head of my erection. Sensing my need, she brought her inner circle down, and she took deep pleasure in feeling my pressure against it.

Now her vagina walls fluttered with this new excitement, teasing me, tugging at me. I wanted to go on and on, but having reached this perfect point, that ever-present voyeuress Mother Nature had captured us both. As if she had cast a spell over us, our eyes closed again in a mutual wave of passion.

Meg bent down for more kisses from me on her breasts-- the heat from them told me they were near before I opened my eyes. When I did, I saw that kissing one nipple left the other pouting for her own share. That was my last coherent thought, as the act of bending over had brought Meg's clitoris into loving contact with me again, and the energy that it released became deep, commanding messages to my sex.

Together, we felt my balls lock hard. Unbelievably, I stiffened even harder within her. She moaned deeply, "no, no, yes, NO" to my kisses and caresses of her breasts - suddenly too sensitive to touch. She tossed her head back, and clutched my shoulders with her strong hands, the fingernails pushing deeply into me.

"I... must.... come!" one of us gasped.

She tried to speak, but only succeeded in nodding her head. The sound of the crashing surf was in her now, roaring through both of us. As if she was the beach, I picked her up on my wave, tossing every particle of her being into swirling rearrangement. Then for a moment, I let myself relax, and simply enjoyed swimming with her as one in our most human moment.

Against the seductive tide, I held on for a last wave, and then surrendered my ivory treasure to her. Perhaps she even felt it first, felt the electric surge demanding my balls' response, or felt as it pushed upwards through the precum.

I was deep within her, and when the power of our deferred gratification was released, I reveled in sensing my muscles' response. All sense of place or of personalities was gone. My only thought was to squeeze hard; I flung my semen toward her innermost opening. She gasped sharply, her lungs clutching for oxygen.

A Mona Lisa smile spread across her flushed face, and the motion of her hips changed from a staccato tempo to one of sensuous enjoyment, gathering pleasure as she drew the remaining semen from me. I was pleased to oblige! A feeling beyond teamwork came over us, a feeling of communion with each other, a feeling of not knowing or caring where one of us ended and the other began.

We heard the sound of the surf again, as our excitement waned. Our sexual fire was cooling for the time being-- she felt me slipping from her, the moisture which had made my penetration so smooth now betrayed us, and I dropped out.

I caressed her cooling breasts once more, and then eased her off of me, and to my side. We lay silently looking at the ceiling for a moment, and then simultaneously turned to look at each other. We were different now than we had been, and it showed in our faces. Tenderly, I laid my arm across her smooth waist, and drew her close to me.

Together we snuggled in this way, talking in near-whispers, touching each other in a multitude of ways. Perhaps it was that way because our throats were sore, certainly there was no worry about neighbors hearing over the "shoom, shoom, shoom" of the surf.

When I thought about this time later, as I often did, it occurred to me that it was the same near-whisper as if we had been in a cathedral or a grand historic building. In this celebration of our new love, we felt that we were in the presence of something far beyond our selves.

I cannot say where Time went to after that. Our remaining days, our remaining hours, were spent in a whirl of work, walks on the beach, eating together, and dreamy sex. I gave her my best, so that she would feel the joy, and then peace and contentment that came with my experience.

In my memory are flashes of various scenes: her sitting on the couch in front of the fireplace, smiling down on me, her tongue darting over her lips to moisten them as I made a trail of kisses up her thighs and into her sweet triangle. Her stretching out on a beach blanket, and I with her, as if we were two teenagers, until finally we raced for the beach house and tumbled onto the bed. Her drawing me into the shower, and embracing me as the water streamed over us. I can picture her leaning back against the aquamarine tiles to accept me.

And, always, in between, her at the desk, sometimes with the band jacket tossed over her shoulders, sometimes humming a bit of music, sometimes scribbling madly, and sometimes with her pencil poised expectantly, as if an idea would spurt out of it.

[By this time in my story, Sophia was beginning to wonder, as you may, why it was that Meg and I did not stay together. The answer is simple, and probably sounds familiar to you. Each of us had started on wonderful, fulfilling careers, halfway across the country from each other.]

When we closed the beach house, Meg and I stood and looked at it for a long time without speaking. The waves, as always, roared against the shore, covering our silence. I suppose that even then we knew in the back of our heads that nothing could ever top this special time together.

We enjoyed long telephone calls, and wrote letters, but it was hard to get time to travel back and forth. Between trips to see her, and vice versa, I led a somewhat monastic life. Cindy K. dropped by my office again, as did several of the other coeds, but I maintained an unusually detached demeanor with them. I was probably aided by their seeing Meg with me on the stairs of the Varsity House on one of her visits. Her lipstick was on my collar. Finally, one afternoon, Cindy found me at my desk with tears in my eyes. I was reading a letter from Meg.

"I'm very glad you are in my life. You are someone that I can share absolutely everything with . . . the good, the bad, the sad, the happy, the funny, the SEX! . . . everything," it began.

"Better words than I can think of!" I whispered to myself. The letter went on to describe how her feelings toward me would not change, but it summarized the barriers that remained between us. Even if we were together in the same town, there would be too many obstacles in our respective careers. Certainly, I was at a stage in my academic life when I did not even know where I might be teaching next. I had to admit that everything that Meg said was true. I had not had the courage myself to confront these issues so forthrightly.

Cindy looked at me, and started to excuse herself from my office. She expected me to tell her why I was so teary, and to ask her to stay, but I did not. "Cindy, I need a little time to myself right now. Something has come up." She nodded gravely, and turned to walk away.

Her light step on the way out told me more than had her sympathetic demeanor. She must have guessed then what the letter was about, and now she alone possessed the secret that I might be ready to resume my old naughty habits.

[Sophia's eyes lit up. I suspect that as much as she enjoyed the romance in my story, she rather preferred my tales of recreational sex with the coeds. Those stories were shorter, and perhaps made her feel superior to them.]

Two weeks after the letter, to the day and hour, as if she had marked the calendar, Cindy K. turned up in my office, closing the door behind her. It was cold outside, but inside the steam heat boiled and banged away in my radiator. The valve was screwed down tight, but uncounted BTU's poured out in waves around me. Cindy was wearing a sweater and a short, wool plaid wraparound skirt that fastened with a big brass safety pin. She looked great.

As I spoke with her about her work for another prof, I found myself looking deeply into her eyes. Her face was flush from the heat and lit by the winter sun streaming in through my window. I was excited about the work that she was doing, and I suppose my passion showed.

The attention and the enthusiasm were exciting to Cindy. She leaned forward to me, listening raptly. Her own excitement bubbled out in her answers to my questions, my comments. She leaned back in her chair now. The seasonal change aside, we were suddenly in a repeat of her hot weather visit to me before my time at the beach with Meg. In response to some subconscious command, she was touching her glowing cheeks, brushing some imaginary lint from her sweater, smoothing what there was of her skirt, all as our conversation continued. She crossed and uncrossed her legs, smoothing her skirt once more. Our eyes locked.

My own subconscious must have been at work, because I found myself shifting to make my swelling excitement less uncomfortable. I believe that our conversation continued on an academic plane, but I suppose that a Freudian would have found more in it.

She licked her lips. I began to wonder if she had a bra on. Did that big safety pin really hold her skirt together? Had her nipples shown through the sweater when she came in? I would have remembered that. They did now! I started to reach across the desk to take her hand as she laid it there in front of me. And then I stopped. I hesitated for a moment, and then became acutely aware of the uncoiling energy between my thighs.

"Cindy," I found myself saying. "It's so warm in here, wouldn't you like to take off your sweater?"

"Who was it saying that?" I thought to myself. So cornily provocative, though I said it in a straightforward manner.

She laughed.

"Professor, I would but I don't have anything on under it!" She stretched out the last part of the sentence. "It's one of those days, you know what I mean, where the temperature may warm up later. Look at how bright the sun is on your window already." She squinted theatrically.

I leaned back and pulled the shade.

"Is that better? Oh, and let's not be so formal now. I'm Richard!" I grinned.

"Much better." Her voice dropped an octave, it seemed.

"What's much better, the window shade down or calling me Richard?" I teased her.

"Both. Now, let me come around to your side of the desk, and I can show you these graphs a bit more easily." She shuffled through the papers and delicately picked up one that showed an upwardly curving line.

"I think this is a good example," she murmured.

"It certainly feels strong to me."

"There's a powerful upward movement coming." Her finger hesitated as she pointed to the graph, as though she had something else in mind now.

"And the movement will reach a climax here."

Just one touch and Cindy was on my lap in the big leather chair! My hand slid easily beneath her sweater, and unhindered by any bra, my fingers traced her firming curves and teased the outstretched nipples which awaited me.

[Perhaps, you may think, I was simply ready to return to what my German colleague Professor Markus called "aesthetic sex." That's what I thought, too, but . . . ]

Eager, perky Cindy did not require much conscious thought, I discovered. Accustomed to liaisons with heavy-handed football players, she was enjoying my near-instinctive level of attention. Even when she rose, now topless, to unpin and unwrap her plaid to reveal her attractive French-cut panties, my mind was elsewhere. Perhaps she saw me as slightly dazzled by her attractiveness. Certainly, that must have been her experience before me. I however, was somewhere else.

By some mental quirk, I was in a grand stadium, witnessing a band competition. It was one that Meg had invited me to, on my first trip East after our magic time at the Coast. She told me that there would be a surprise in it for me.

Her band took the field now, marching with precision and pride. The music cut loose with a crash of sound that held together like the surf on the coast. It was one organism in front of me, one which changed shape fluidly, rhythmically, as the band moved back and forth through its drills. I felt ever more excited as the crowd, many of whom were there to root for other bands, began to get into the production.

No one, though, felt it as did I, because I recognized it as the production which Meg had worked on in our beach place. I could hear the ocean in it, and I could feel her excitement flooding over me in this music. I could see it in the movement of the high school band members. The finale, a triumphal crescendo cut through the night air, brought the audience to its feet, cheering, stamping on the stadium decks with the music.

Cindy rocked back on my lap with a sudden cry as she took my climax deep within her and made it her own. I found myself moving easily in her flooded vagina-- moving tenderly, and gently holding each breast to my lips for kisses as I completed my inner exploration of her.

We sat together in the big leather chair for some time, saying sweet little things to each other. Cindy was still breathless, and tried to find a way to tell me that she had never, NEVER, experienced anything like this. It was awkward, because she still wanted to blush and suggest that she really was rather inexperienced, practically a virgin, you know, but she wanted so much to share the joy that she was feeling! Words tumbled over each other.

As for me, I smiled and caressed her and told her how beautiful she was, and how lucky I was to be chosen to truly release her sexuality.

Everything that I said was true, but in my heart the surf and the music still pounded, and my eyes were on a proud figure in a band uniform jacket.

[Sophia smiled as I finished the story.]

["And what are you thinking of now?" she asked me. Laughing heartily, she grabbed the covers and lifted them off to reveal my erection that developed during the storytelling. Confident in her own abilities, in our developing relationship, and excited by my story, she moved her hips sinuously toward me.]

["We'll make our own music now . . . " she said, with a smile.] ------------

Enjoy reading more from the Professor and Sophia in stories to come.