A Welcome Surprise

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," she said. Looking up, she saw it was him, and she smiled: just as she had planned. They were in the study room together, they were alone, and they would be alone for the next eighty minutes. This was it, she decided. This was her opportunity.

She had been feeling somewhat peculiar for the past few weeks. She could feel her heart beating; ordinarily she couldn't feel it beating, it would just beat away without making itself felt, but for the past few weeks she could feel it pumping in her chest, could hear the thump-thump in her ears, could feel the blood pulsing through her veins. Sometimes, she noticed her hands trembling, ever so slightly. She felt on-edge, perky and alert, aware and awake; she was having trouble getting to sleep at night, her mind was racing with all manners of strange and alluring thoughts, ideas and fantasies. Confiding in her friends, they came instantly to the same conclusion: she was horny. She was very horny. She was in a seemingly constant state of physical, mental, emotional and sexual arousal.

She had to agree.

"So what can I do?" she asked them. There was the obvious answer, which, in the words of her best friend, "begins with an 'm' and ends with an 'oh, oh, OH, OHHH!!!'" They were all pretty sure that, correctly spelled, the word ended with an 'e', but they laughed because it was funny. She had already tried that, of course, more than once, but to no avail. It had made matters worse, in fact; though she did come to the 'oh', it left her feeling even more aroused and awake. It was as though she was stirring herself up even more instead of releasing whatever it was that had her this way, so she decided to give it a rest before she made herself explode.

Recently it was becoming stronger; her friends told her that her nostrils were flaring, that she looked like she was prowling around, as though she was on the hunt. "Baby," her best friend told her, "you need a man's touch."

That posed a dilemma. She wasn't too fussed with boys; she wasn't a lesbian, not in any measure or fashion, but the boys that she knew were all, well, boys. They were immature, leery, coarse, loud, and pretty well unlikeable. But she didn't have to like them, her friends told her, she just had to fuck one of them before steam started whistling from her ears. "Okay," she relented; "so who should I do?"

It didn't take them long to settle upon him. Yes, he could be as immature and irritating as the rest of them, but at least he was a sure thing. He had what could be called a very strong heterosexual streak; he was a clear and known appreciator of the female form, and he often made as much quite obvious with winks, nods, comments, observations, and lewd suggestions from time to time. Here was a lad in the throws of sexual frustration; despite his appreciation of the female form, he seemed lacking in that certain something that allows a guy to actually land a lady. He was cute, no question, and he had a nice body and quite a shapely rump to boot, but for one reason or another none of them would really consider making a romantic liaison with him, and so far as they knew he was thus far unlucky in love. But his luck was about to change; she needed it, and he was a dead certainty to give it. So she had waited for a decent opportunity to get him alone and in private, and now it was upon her. 'So...' she thought, '...what do I do now?'

She looked him up and down. He seemed preoccupied; he had dumped his backpack and sat down straight away, and appeared to be working on a piece of homework that must have been due soon, for he did not look up from it or make any chit-chat or comment. That was a bit of a set-back for her; she had imagined that, were they to find themselves alone, he would make his customary flattering remarks, and she could use the opportunity to play along demurely yet flirtatiously, to eventually lead to a steamy and satisfying sexual encounter, like it was done in the movies. But for once, perhaps one of the few times she could remember, sex seemed to be far from his mind. It wasn't very far from her mind though; her breathing, heartbeat, and arousal had never been so high. She had to get the ball rolling, and she could think of no quicker way to do so than to be as direct as possible.

"You know something?" she said.

"What's that?" he said, not looking up from whatever it was he was writing.

"I," she said, "am extremely sexually frustrated."

He stopped what he was doing, and looked up. He was seated at a table in the study room; she was perched up on the wide windowsill, sprawled out somewhat languorously. He found her looking him right in the eye, seemingly expectant, waiting for his next move.

He was stunned.

There she was, one of the nicest-looking girls he knew; she was a bit snooty, sure, but very easy on the eye and good for a conversation and a laugh once in a while, so she could be forgiven for her somewhat uppity ways. He had been trying forever, in his own particular way, to get the ball rolling with her; he had argued strongly and at length with her over the joys of getting one's tits out, or posing for a raunchy bout of tasteful photography, or just plain-old-fashioned getting down for a quick and spontaneous shag. But of course, she'd have none of it, just like all the rest of them. But now... she was 'extremely sexually frustrated'? Why would she be telling him that, him of all people? Stunned as he was, he saw that there was only one obvious answer, so in a flash he decided upon a course of action. He was gunna go for it.

"Sexually frustrated, you say?" he answered.

She nodded, unblinkingly. Breathing hard.

He nodded too, wisely and knowingly. "Yep, I'm familiar with that," he said. "I know all about it."

"Do you now?" she smiled, not sounding all that surprised.

"Mmm hmm," he said, smiling too. "And I know just the cure for it." He dropped his pen, and stood, moving to the centre of the small study room. "Come on down from there, I'll show you."

She did so, hopping down from the window sill, and moving to stand in front of him.

"Turn around," he suggested, gently.

She smiled, and turned her back on him, slowly, trustingly, expectantly.

"Okeydoke," he said, and wet his lips nervously. "Just relax..." he added, both for his benefit and hers, and he placed his hands upon her sides, just on her hips "...and I'll see what I can do for you."

Relaxing, she knew, was more or less physically impossible. She couldn't help but breathe in a great big trembling breath, as his hands moved slowly down her sides, down her hips and on to the side of her thighs, and then back upwards again, ever so slowly, ever so gently. His hands felt incredibly good, surprisingly good; her skin tingled at his contact, as though he had an electric touch. She was definitely enjoying this. So was he.

He let his hands move upwards and downwards along that track, down her thighs, and back up to her hips and sides; then he let his fingers spread a little, and cupped his hands a bit wider about her sides, so that his fingers moved over more of her hips and the front of her thighs, while his thumbs and the palms of his hands gently caressed her back and the sides of her buttocks. He definitely liked the feel of her arse, very nice indeed, but he held himself back from grabbing a couple of handfuls; he wanted to take this slowly. He wanted this to last for as long as it could, because he had a feeling that it wasn't going to happen again.

She marvelled at how extremely good such a simple and light touch could feel. His hands swept slowly and oh-so-gently up and down her sides, and gradually they started to move around to her front, up across her stomach, down across the sides of her hips, the front of her thighs, and back up again. She approved of his self-restraint; his hands were skirting very close to what he'd doubtlessly call her "goodies", and though his hands moved close to her breasts and her crotch, they did not make themselves rudely known. Not yet, anyways.

This was good, he decided. He was doing well. Her eyes were closed, her face a picture of sensual pleasure; her head tipped back slightly, to rest on his shoulder, as he held her close and continued with this fairly platonic body massage. He could feel her skin through her clothes: soft in some ways, yet firm; nice and warm, almost hot; not too bony, but not at all flabby. Just right. He was starting to wonder how, or even if he should make things a little less platonic, when she moved backwards, closer to him, and came into contact with his lap.

He froze. She froze too, but just for a split second; she knew instantly what it was that she could feel, protruding somewhat from down there, and he knew she knew. There was no mistaking it for anything else. But to his immense relief, and disbelief, she did not leap away or start yelling or throwing things at him. Instead, she leaned further back into him, further into his arms, and leaned her head back just a little bit further. And she exhaled in a pleasured, contented kind of sigh, which told him that she was very much enjoying herself, and that the state of the contents of his pants caused her no trouble.

Having reassured him and got his hands moving again, she smiled. Now this was a happy turn of events; he had a hard-on. Quite a hard-on; even contained and restrained in his pants, it felt nice and hard, and sizeable too. She was surprised to find that she felt flattered by having aroused him so in such a short period of time, and she hadn't really even done anything. This should prove to be interesting, she decided.

With the reassurance of her not fleeing from his bulging pants, he allowed his hands to become more adventurous. They stopped moving so far down her legs, and started moving ever so slightly a little further up her chest; first brushing lightly against the undersides of her breasts, then a little bit stronger, then a little further up the breasts, until she surprised him again by grabbing his hands and putting them right on her tits, cupping his hands firmly against them.

'Now THAT'S what I'm talking about,' he thought. He let his hands just sit there, relishing the moment: so soft, so warm, so good. Shortly, he gave them a squeeze, and noticed that the action provoked an amused smile from her; he smiled too. He'd been waiting forever to be able to give those breasts a bit of a toot, and they both knew it well.

As he began stroking and caressing her breasts, he noticed her neck: with her head resting back on his shoulder, her neck looked very long and slender, the skin so fair. It all looked rather open and inviting, so he went and kissed her right underneath the corner of her jaw.

That caught her slightly by surprise, but it was a pleasant surprise: his lips were soft, moist and warm, and the contact sent a shiver along her skin right up to the top of her scalp and down to her toes. She had never been kissed there before, and she found herself marvelling yet again at how incredibly good the things he was doing felt; it was as though he had gone straight for the part of the neck that felt the best. What was this guy's story? Were her friends wrong about him? Did he have more experience in these things than they gave him credit for? She decided she didn't care, and she took one of her hands off of his, and reached back to run her fingers through his hair, partly to lend reassurance that he was doing exactly the right things, and partly to press his lips harder against her neck.

He received both messages, loud and clear, and kissed her neck again, a firmer kiss yet no less tender and passionate. And with one of his hands released by hers, he let it drift down her body again, stroking along her side quicker and, again, a bit more firmly. He left his other hand on her breast though, and he busied himself with tracing a finger around and over her nipple, which was firmly erect and standing proudly through both her shirt and bra.

She was feeling incredibly good. Her nipple was tingling with his ministrations; his kisses, moving up and down her neck now, were setting the skin of her neck ablaze with pleasure; and the wanderings of his other hand also felt wonderful as they followed the rises, dips and hollows of her body. She sighed again, and was a little surprised and embarrassed as a very small moan of pleasure escaped with the sigh. They had both been utterly silent through the encounter so far, and she hadn't been meaning to break the silence. But he didn't stop or slow down, he just held her a little closer, and she reciprocated by leaning harder against him, and against the mound in his pants which was, to her delight, still growing.

He was really starting to warm up now. He could feel her heart beating hard and fast, and his own heartbeat was on the rise too. He loved the feel of her skin: so soft and smooth, so much unlike his own, which was rough and a little furry. He yearned to feel more of her skin, so he diverted his wandering hand and let it venture up and under her untucked shirt, his fingers brushing up and around her lower torso, across the skin of her hips and stomach. His venturings brought no protest from her, so he ventured further, tucking his fingers a little way under the brink of her tight-fitting pants and then moving upwards across her stomach. He wanted more, but given his position and angle he could only reach up so far, so he gave himself a few more seconds and then undid a couple of buttons on her shirt.

She grinned, as he stopped at undoing only a couple of buttons so he could get at more of her skin, but not too much more. She knew he was taking his time, being slow and deliberate about it; on one hand, she was champing at the bit to just get down and at it, but she knew that this slow-and-steady approach was a much better way of going about it. He was building them both up, bit by bit; she hadn't believed she could become any more aroused than she already was, but he was definitely building her up to even higher levels of yearning and anticipation. And she was enjoying it, too.

He was becoming braver, now. He tried to slip his hand further into her pants, but her beltline was too tight-fitting, he could only get a couple of fingers in just a little way. Deciding to remedy this situation, he used his wandering hand to undo the clasp of her pants; this loosened her beltline, so that he could get his whole hand in, but he left the zipper mostly done up. He just wanted to do a bit of rummaging around for now, though he had plans to let her pants drop a bit later.

She approved of his bolder moves, and let her hands drop to his sides, holding him closer. His left hand, formerly pinned by her hand to her breast, moved now across her chest, up and around to caress her shoulders and neck, and down to the breasts again, tracing a wide and pleasurable arc. He had stopped kissing her neck, for now at least, and had his cheek pressed lightly against hers, both of their eyes closed in sweet and silent bliss. And his right hand, having found its way into her pants, was still showing admirable restraint; at first it stayed fairly high, moving across the skin of her lower abdomen and hips and moving up above the beltline, but gradually it worked a bit lower, still sweeping across her body, but eventually coming into contact with the upper bounds of her underwear. On the next sweep, the tips of his fingers tucked briefly under the elastic, but they quickly moved up and out again: she could tell he was becoming more eager and impatient, but still he held back, not yet allowing himself to breach the bounds of her underwear.

He held himself briefly in check: he wanted to plunge his hand down into the depths of her underwear, he wanted it bad, but still he held back. There was plenty of time, no reason to rush; they always had this study room to themselves, everyone else had classes or was off doing something else. He didn't stay still for long, though; he let his hand start moving again, sweeping across the upper half of the front of her underwear, appreciating the feel of the material, and sensing the increasing heat of the skin as he gradually, very gradually, swept lower and lower.

She grinned again, savouring every second that passed as he ever-so-slowly swept his way towards the mark. Meanwhile, she noticed his other hand was busying itself with undoing a few more buttons on her shirt; one more, then another one, and she was surprised as it undid yet another one. Her shirt was almost totally open now, just the one button left up towards the top; it was as though he was so preoccupied with making his pants-bound hand behave, that his other hand was quietly and stealthily moving things along while he wasn't looking. It paused in its naughty button-undoing, to trace its fingers along the centreline of her chest and stomach - down to her partially opened pants, and up again along her stomach, skipping lightly over her belly-button, and then up and over the lower edge of her ribs, and up towards her cleavage. The palm of his hand encountered her breast again, resting upon her bra with the shirt almost completely open; he allowed himself to stop briefly, appreciating the feel of both pieces of her underwear. Without warning, both of his hands acted: the upper one quickly undid the last button, opening her shirt wide and exposing her chest to the cool air of the study room, while his lower hand dipped suddenly and cupped against the front of her crotch.

The sudden, unexpected yet eagerly awaited move caught her off-guard, and she breathed in suddenly; the air hung heavy in the room, as they both held still, the seconds passing incredibly slowly as they just stood and enjoyed this new turn of events. As soon as his hand had pressed against her groin, she became immediately aware of how moist her nether regions had become; she felt like she was swimming in herself, and she knew that he most definitely had noticed it too. There was no turning back now, no denying it, no pretending that what they were doing was maybe something other than it was. She could feel his arousal, and he could now feel her arousal. So she did what she had wanted to do for a while now: she spun in his arms, and kissed him.

The instant she started turning, he knew what was coming, and he was kissing her as soon as she was kissing him. They held each other close and tight, her arms wrapped about his head and neck, his lower hand now in the small of her back and his other hand up in her hair. The kiss began with fire and passion, an initial outpouring and recognition of the lust that was driving them; but he let the passion scale down just a trifle, and kissed her more softly, with more caring and tenderness. She was stunned at how good a kisser he was: she had been kissed before, mostly by guys who wanted only to smoosh her lips into her face and crush her in a bear-like embrace, and that's only if they weren't trying to grab all of her goodies at once. But he was doing it differently. He was doing it better. His hands continued their caresses on her back and sides and neck, gentle and tingling and expertly, complementing his kiss: on the lighter side of lip-pressure, and only with the barest hint of tongue, making another welcome change from those who had tried valiantly to have a taste of her tonsils. Though the kiss was light, almost fleeting, it was still sweet, and the burning desire she knew he had for her was transmitted through the restraint he showed in kissing her so, as well as the ever-growing pelvic bulge.

After what may have been a moment or an age - time was becoming difficult to measure - he tore his hands away from their favourite task of caressing, and slipped her shirt back off her shoulders, down her arms, and onto the floor. She took the opportunity to break off the kiss, only momentarily, and quickly undid his shirt; he busied himself by grabbing her breasts with both hands, massaging them and tracing along the line between bra and breast with his fingers. Their eyes met, for the first time since they started; they were both enjoying themselves immensely, and they shared a knowing grin as she slipped his shirt off too. She held back for an extra couple of seconds to appreciate his surprisingly strong upper body, with its squarish shoulders blending very pleasingly into his neck, and his modestly well-developed pectoral region with an acceptable covering of soft hair, which she ran her fingers through.