A Case of Natural ChemistrybyJames Cody©
College life had been good to me. Now in my second year, after a titillating affair with a beautiful mature lady in my first year - she taught me in so many ways the nature of woman - I was now surrounded by them.. Most were in their twenties; all of them were extremely intelligent; and some of them actually enjoyed my company.
The truth was that I was studying to be a teacher, and in that year most of the other students were female. Now, I wasn't the only guy in class. Most were taken. Some were single. But I felt like there were enough fish in the sea to satisfy even the most finicky of fishermen.
The class I was now sitting in dealt with pedagogy and psychology (this is the last time I'll use any -ogy terms for a while: I hate'em!). I had turned on the charm from the moment I went to my desk. So there I was: a black turtleneck shirt - sleeves rolled up to my elbows, of course - black cotton slacks, and sandals. No socks, however. My hair was shaved to within a fraction of an inch, and I had a thick, though trimmed, goatee. I scanned the other people in the class, looking for a spark of interest - I had achieved a certain notoriety as a somewhat prolific writer in the English faculty the year before,. I also had something of a feud going on with another writer, but that's a story for another time.
As the class bore on, I realized I was a square peg back at square one. Any newfound confidence I had as a "lady's man" was all in my head, not in my pants. Or maybe it was the other way around. Anyway, it doesn't really matter. All that mattered was that I could only attract a meager glance from the people in the classroom. I suddenly dawned on me that I was just another face in the education crowd. I suddenly felt very self-conscious: the only person dressed in black, the only guy with facial hair. My turtleneck felt way to tight and I wondered if any odors were escaping from between my toes.
I was sure that I came across as some intellectual wannabe who might - or might not - have a toe lint problem. So I kept quiet and to myself as the professor ranted about the how the most difficult thing teens had to deal with was building their self-esteem. When she asked the class about their own teenage self-esteem problems, I wanted to scream that the problems exist even past adolescence.
But I found that I would have time to explore my own insecurities - past and present - as self-esteem, and other teenage angst, would become the subject of the course's term paper.
"All right people," the teacher said. Her name was Ms. Ronofsky, Ph.D. And despite the fact that she looked so old as to have known the Galapagos tortoises when they were young, her voice seemed powerful enough to drown out a Limp Bizkit concert.
"I want you to team up in pairs. After that, I'll pass out to each team a unique case study. Your job is to summarize it, analyze it, find at least two solutions, and write up a scenario for each on how you believe it would play out. You'll find a bibliography of at least ten volumes with each case. And don't worry, we'll be tackling the different aspects of the project as the semester progresses."
Yay, I thought. Even before Ms. Ronofsky had finished giving her instructions, the class was already breaking up into teams. I stood up, kept my hands on my desk, and scanned the room for any lonely souls like mine. After about a minute, I finally noticed a slightly bobbing head right next to me. As she waved up at me, I knew my face was about as red as if I had bobbed for apples in a basin of no-name ketchup.
"Hi," she said, taking a bite from an apple. "Are you looking for a partner?"
"Uh, yeah. Have you been standing there for long? Because if you have, I'm really sorry."
She laughed and tossed her shoulder length brown hair to one side. "That's okay. I'm used to it by now. I'm Karen."
"Jason. So, I guess you're stranded like I am?"
"Mm- I'm the only person here from the History program. I don't know anybody, and they all seem to know each other."
"I'm in the same boat. An English lit. major, and there's not a short story in sight."
Right then, she furrowed her brows, put her books and her apple on my desk and her hands on her hips. "Don't tell me that's a crack about my height."
I paused and looked her up and down. I hadn't noticed, but she was about 5 feet tall at the most. She wore a plaid skirt that stopped about an inch above her knees, and an oversized sweatshirt with a zipper down the front and her faculty logo on its front. The shirt was so large that I couldn't tell anything about what was going on beneath it.
She gave the same up and down look, smiled and took one last crunch from her apple. "Good. So are we partners?"
"That works for me."
And with that, I hoisted my desk over to hers and we got our case study. We both stared at it and sulked: It must have had over 100 photocopied pages. I hadn't noticed that our desk benches opened on opposite sides - when I put them together the openings faced each other; as we both got up to pick up the pages, our heads bumped together, our glasses clinked together, and while I fell on my seat, she fell on my lap.
I slipped an arm around her shoulders to steady her, and I got a wonderful whiff of her very subtle perfume. I also got to look deeply in her eyes: they were this wonderful gray color that seemed almost to shimmer like a kaleidoscope. Even she paused for a second to examine my features more closely. I noticed one of her eyebrows going up before she braced herself on my thigh and my shoulder to slide back in to her seat. While she did so, her ass passed over my crotch and I'm sure she slowed down enough to get the feel for the action that was going down in there. And with the way she slid her chest - which felt ample and firm -- against mine before regaining her seat completely, I had a kegger going on in my pants.
"Sorry," she whispered in my ear. "I can be a klutz. Sometimes."
"My fault," I whispered back. I could feel my face blush and my heartbeat grow quicker, and I was pretty sure she noticed my breathing getting quicker as well. "I'll just move my desk to the other side and we won't have that problem again."
"Don't," she said, putting her arm on mine. "The class is nearly over anyway … and it wasn't that much of a problem."
So we spent the last fifteen minutes going through the pages, our legs pressed together and our heads close enough to tell what we had for breakfast and lunch. Once in awhile I lifted my head and looked around the classroom, only to see the other students - even the teacher - give us disapproving, sometimes envious, glances.
When the class was finally over, we pushed our desks aside before getting up and left the room. She got out before I did and was waiting by the lockers that lined the corridor while I gave Ms. Ronofsky the cash for the photocopies; Karen had already paid for hers. When I slipped my head into the hallway, Karen was leaning up against a locker, listening to a guy who was leaning next to her in "hit-on" mode. When she saw me, she moved around him and headed my way.
I left the classroom, my book satchel by my side, and waited for her to go to the other side. As she slid next to me, I noticed she had pulled the zipper of her sweatshirt partly down, exposing a nice expanse of lightly tanned, soft-looking skin.
As we walked away, we passed the guy that was hitting on her; when we got close enough, she said: "Let's give them something to talk about," and she slipped her arm around mine.
"Keep this up," I said, "and people will think we're dating."
"Shut up. I just don't want that guy getting to close, y'know?"
"Sure. But it's okay if it's me? Isn't that discrimination?"
"You're my partner. And he had bad breath: smelled like a wet ashtray. And I know you smell good."
I suddenly imagined her nuzzling my neck and inhaling deeply while I pulled her shirt zipper all the way down. But the image distracted me and I hadn't realized she'd stopped.
"Earth to Jason," she said while pulling me back. She stood on her toes and knocked on my head. "Anybody in there? I might be a klutz, but you seem kind of ditzy."
"I was… just thinking. About tonight."
"Yeah, so was I. Listen, I have a class starting in ten minutes, but it finishes by seven. If you want to get together and go over the planning for the project …"
"I can't. I live off campus and I have to head back and pick up some books and CDs for my show tonight."
"Wait a minute… I thought you sounded familiar. You've got that show on campus radio. Uh… Nighttimes and Rhymes, right?"
"Yep. Freaky music and even freakier poems, that's me. But I thought only three people had heard it since it started."
"I live on campus. I try to listen to it when it's on."
"Now," I said, tilting my head to one side, "I have to question your taste, if not your sanity."
"You're not that bad. I actually kind of like the sound of your voice. Anyway, I know where the studio is; I'll drop by near the end of the show, 'round ten. We can at least decide when we'll meet next week."
"Cool," I said. And before I could utter another word she was off to her class, casting me one last glance from over her shoulder. I stood there, scratching my head, anxious and excited about what might happen tonight. I definitely felt some chemistry between us, and the way we seemed to get along naturally - it was like we knew each other.
But before I could think more about it, my watch beeped. I was going to be late for the bus to get back to my apartment. Yikes!
I finally arrived to the cramped radio studio: a small work table with two computers, two CD players to one side with the volume controls and the microphone controls on the other, the person who was there before me had already left, leaving a cheap dance compilation on the air. I had about two minutes to air; I rushed to cue my intro, and placed an Alan Parsons Project CD (Tales of Mystery and Imagining, cued to The Raven) in the second CD tray. I managed to hit the play buttons, fade out the volume on the first CD, and fade in my inro with only seconds to spare. After 15 seconds of cheesy macabre music, I played The Raven, and reviewed my playlist for the evening. 30 tracks to play in two and half hours, and 7 different subjects to plug.
Time passed on quietly. This was going to be a very boring night if Karen didn't keep her word. I was a bit anxious at the thought of her showing up, though. I didn't have time to change when I got home… I merely put on a pair of shoes and brushed my teeth; so I hoped she wouldn't be disappointed if she saw me wearing the same clothing as in class.
When there was only fifteen minutes on the clock and Black Sabbath's war pigs was winding down, there was a knock at the studio door. I rushed up, holding a sandwich I'd bought from a nearby vending machine and opened the door. It was Karen. She strolled past me and took the seat next to mine. I took the other and cued another Sabbath song.
"I didn't think you were going to show," I said while munching on the rest of my sandwich. But I suddenly stopped chewing as I realized that my partner had morphed into a vixen.
She turned her seat, displaying a wonderfully shaped set of toned legs that must have been forged by hours of gymnastics. They flowed from under a lovely black loose skirt that ended half-way down her thighs. As she crossed her legs, the skirt slowly ran away to expose more flesh.
"Oh, I wasn't going to miss this," she said with a fiendish grin. She raised her arms and crossed her hands behind her neck and rested her head in her palms; her pale gray wind-breaker spread apart to display a lovely red wrap around mid-drift shirt.
Staring in her eyes, I let my vision follow the natural contours of her neck to what I had been dreaming about a few hours earlier: for Karen's petite size, her tits were huge, proudly displayed by her cleavage bearing shirt. I slid down her lovely crack to discover a sweet looking bellybutton crowned by a lovely ring sporting a glistening black pearl. Opposite to it was a small tattoo of the planet Saturn.
I quietly pondered her tummy and the lifeforms that must have inhabited her Saturn when she leaned over to knock on my head. "Hello? I think your song's about finished."
"Mm? Oh! Damn!" I darted over to the console as I realized there must have been dead air for about a minute - the time I had been drinking in the vision of my lab partner-cum-babe.
I slipped the earphones on and raised the main microphone volume. "Sorry about that folks! I got… distracted by someone that just came into the studio." I glanced over at Karen; she had crossed her arms and tilted her head to one side. Was there a hint of challenge in that beautiful face of hers?
"You see, my children of the night," I melodramatically hissed, "I have the pleasure of the company of Karen, a new disciple to my nighttime rhymes."
Karen glared at me; her lips were pursed while she contemplated her response to my challenge. Pulling the microphone to her side, she slipped on the other pair of earphones. "Well," she started, her eyes intensely focused on mine, "Jason's right. I am a disciple. But I'm here to give the people something to talk about."
Karen leaned back in her seat and took a loooong breath. "Mmm… Jason, you naughty boy. You want to lick every inch of my skin? You want to slowly undress me here? In the studio?"
I wasn't sure where Karen was going with this, but the sound of her voice coming through the earphones, and the way she let her little finger dangle next to her lips as she spoke ensured that there was no way I was going to stop her.
"What?" she asked. "You want to know if my tits are big? Well look. See. They're big enough for you to play with all night.
"You know, I'd even lay down for you, right here, right now. On this floor. You could pull your pants off and show me that big cock of yours. Ohh… it is big. What? You want to tit fuck me? You want me top press them together like this while you move? You want me to lick the tip of your dick when it's near my mouth?
"Yeah. That'd be good Jason, wouldn't it? Wait? You want me to wait. First, you want me to sit here, right here. Then what?
"Oh, you're pushing my skirt up past my little black panties. Can you smell it? My wetness? That's because of you. You make me wet, so wet. Why are you putting your nose there? You're smelling my pussy. Nuzzling up against it. I feel your mouth touching my cunt lips. You're moving them so slowly… Are you talking to them? Singing? No, you're just teasing them through my panties.
"Now you're tearing them off! You're licking me so good… Yes, that's it. Suck my fleshy little cherry. Don't tease me like that, make me come! Now, do it! Suck it! Kiss it! Lick it!
"Yes! Yes! Yes! Don't stop! YES! OOOOOOOHHHHHHH!"
And then, she suddenly stopped. Karen slid the microphone back in front of me. I was sure my face was pulsating between pale fear and red desire; my hands had dug so tightly into the sides of my chair that I realized they were cramping up.
When she saw that I could only breathe heavily in to microphone, she took it back. "Since it's already past ten, I think this pretty much ends the show for tonight. Make sure you listen next time for the second installment of our little porno-drama."
Regaining some of my senses, I reached over for the mike. "I don't know if I'm going to be here next week, Karen. I may need a week off to recover… Until then, goodnight everyone." I switched the microphone off and we were off the air.
"So," she said, putting her hands on her belly . "Do you like my tattoo?"
"Don't change the subject. What the Hell was that?"
"What? Oh. I just thought I could liven your show up a bit."
"By simulating us having sex?"
"Interesting concept. I've gotta admit, it was amazing to listen to you. But I think you might have cost me my show." But even having said that, I realized it was a small price to pay for the spectacle I witnessed. I grinned. "But since your here, that means only 2 people heard the show tonight. I should be safe."
"Not really, I told my friends in my dorm to listen tonight."
"You set me up?"
"No. But the way you were looking at me - I liked it. I thought I'd give you a treat."
"Okay. Now what? I think it's a little late to talk about our project."
"I want to dance."
"Where? At the Blue Zone."
"To start. I want to dance with you. I like you, Jason. I feel I can be myself around you."
"I… like you too. So, shall we go?"
"But of course, sir."
And so we left the studio and headed to the Blue Zone, the local campus bar. It actually had a pretty good dance floor and they played decent music. The path that lead there circled and went through the park that separated the buildings on campus. The Zone was in the basement of the music faculty. As we walked, we remained quiet. I closed my eyes sometimes to listen to the wind blow through the leaves while inhaling Karen's presence. I had the feeling that tonight was going to be memorable. When I looked over at Karen, she had her eyes turned towards the night sky. It was incredibly clear outside, and warm. Since some of the areas of the park weren't lighted, you could make out a whole tapestry of stars. I figured that's where Karen got the idea for her Saturn tattoo. She slipped her arm around mine, and I closed my eyes again. Then I hit a root sticking out of the trail and almost fell flat on my face. Karen held me steady as I regained my footing and we burst out laughing.
By the time we'd giggled each other out we were at the Blue Zone. Inside, the thumping of bass driven techno drew us in with hypnotic rhythms and undulating vocals that swam across our bodies. I stood at the entrance, drinking in the flashing neon lights as they caressed a room full of dancers entranced by their own movements. Although it was early, the place was packed with a swarm of bodies dedicated to the language of sweat and dance. Karen winked at me and merged with the music and surrendered herself to the dancefloor.
As I walked around the room, sometimes saying hi to an acquaintance, scanning for a free table, moving around a huddled couple or a group of friends, I'd cast an eye to the side and catch sight of Karen, smiling in my direction before veering off. When I finally found a place to sit -- a high table with two stools near the edge of the dance floor - a gray jacket came flying in my direction as Karen shed it between dance moves. She stopped near the table and signaled me to join her. I was hesitant; I didn't think I could keep up with her energy and grace. I just winked while she gave me a pout. She danced away, I admired how she could let herself go and be swept away by the impulses of the body. It was hard to believe that this was the same woman who, in class, was wearing a plaid skirt and a sweatshirt; but then, I started to think about the way she lingered near me as we read, and the way she seemed to enjoy causing a stir by slipping her arm around mine when some guy hit on her… I thought it was time for me to give people something to talk about.
So, I stepped onto the dancefloor, and I was immediately swept up by a tide of sweaty bodies. I could feel the vibration of the music through the skin of each person I came in contact with. It was like a strange, intimate connection established by the web of beats and rhythms. I felt that each thread of music was and individual link to each person who danced. I simply followed Karen's thread: a slow, sensual beat that reverberated with my heartbeat.
It wasn't long before I found her; she was dancing with another woman, a statuesque redhead dressed in a sheer white bodysuit. But I wasn't sure about the color as it reflected the neon lights; what I was sure of was that she didn't appear to have anything underneath. But I quickly returned to Karen. She was jumping in place and swiveling her hips in erotically exaggerated circles while holding hands with the redhead. Sometimes, their bodies were so close that they smiled as their breasts brushed up against one another. Watching them, I came to understand my fascination with seeing two women make love together.