All The Way In

But I didn't, trying not to think about where the towel had been as I used it, hastily, to swab my balls. I finished up, ran some shit through my hair, slapped on some deodorant, and wrapped the towel tightly around my waist as I headed out.

She was on the hotel phone, sitting with her back against the headboard and her legs stretched across the unmade bed; stockings, no shoes. It sounded like she was talking to Mrs Julian, or possibly Tracey; it was all about meeting times, headcounts, stuff like that. She glanced at me as I passed, but it's not like she stared; she'd seen my chest already, anyhow. I busied myself at my bag, stepping over the wad of blankets on the floor, and then there I was, left with a need to put on my clothes.

Yesterday I'd have headed straight back into the bathroom to change; now, I wasn't sure I wanted to take the time. We were running late. Ms D was still gabbing on the phone, so I just stepped into my boxers and pulled them up underneath the manky towel, unwrapping it as I got the underwear all the way up. I was pretty confident I hadn't shown any crack, but I made especially sure I buttoned up the front hole of the boxers. She'd stopped talking on the phone around the time I stepped into my khakis, and I put my shirt on in silence. When I turned around, still buttoning the front, she was watching me thoughtfully. One of her knees was up, her foot resting on the mattress.

"You know," she said thoughtfully, "it's possible I could get into a lot of trouble, sitting here watching you put your clothes on." She smiled though, teasing lightly. I smiled back.

"Well, I guess I won't tell if you don't," I shrugged. "You deserve to get into trouble though, Ms D." I swallowed, but I couldn't resist. "Towel hog."

She rolled her eyes. "Jesus. Still?" A complicated, convulsive series of body movements got her to the edge of the bed, and then up onto her feet, poised like a dancer. "You've got to get over that, Todd-o."

"It's gross," I pointed out, fixing the last button. "Using a teacher's towel? It's unsanitary."

"Oh, pfft." She blew a raspberry. "Like I'm some kind of diseased hag. You're young and healthy, like you said yesterday." She winked. "You'll get over it. I'll make it up to you tomorrow; you can take the first shower." She grinned. "And use all the towels."

"I'll hold you to that."

* * *

The day was packed with workshops and panels and lunch and then more classes and symposia and expos and other kinds of things like that; we took notes, did skits, smiled a lot, and eventually filed down for the Closing Dance. I'd changed alone, adding a tie and a suit coat, since Ms D had been in a faculty workshop or something. We strolled into the hotel ballroom as a large gaggle, all of us tired after the conference but excited to be at the dance.

Which wasn't much of a dance.

"Obviously, the conference budget went toward too many luxury buses for the fucking Polar Dip, because the DJ sucks." This was the piquant comment by Leah as soon as she walked in, arm-in-arm with Brett on one side and me on the other. She's seldom wrong about such things; Leah is an excellent dancer with a large family, which means many weddings. She knew DJs. "Look at him," she said in disgust. "He doesn't even have a turntable."

"Babe, nobody has a turntable anymore." Brett sounded totally relaxed, like he didn't have a care in the world, and I knew why: everyone but Mrs Julian and Ms Dubinsky knew he and Leah had ditched about half the day's workshops, sneaking back to her hotel room to spend the hours fucking in all sorts of ways. I wasn't surprised she'd taken my arm on the way down; I'd have wanted a break from Brett by then, too. "It's all digital now."

"Well." Leah scowled. "Not in my world." She pressed herself against my arm as Brett took a detour to figure out what table we were at. "I'm fucking sore," she declared, steering me toward the soda bar. "Buy me a fucking Coke."

"Why doesn't Brett do that?" I whined. "Isn't that what goes along with him being your boyfriend?"

"I'm kind of sick of him right now," she admitted. "Too much energy," she went on vaguely. I grabbed a pair of watered-down Cokes in small plastic glasses, and Leah wasted no time getting a little flask out of her pocketbook and adding some rum. "Care for some?"

"Oh! Uh, sure, thanks." We clicked our cups together. "To a fun conference and a safe flight home."

"To sitting down," she snapped back, "and leakage control. Look, there's Brett." We meandered that way, Leah a warm and comfortable presence at my side; I'd always liked her. "So, how's life with your new roommate?" she asked me with elaborate casualness. "Brett says the manager didn't get the room fixed up, so you guys are stuck with the chaperones again tonight."

"Oh?" I hadn't heard. "Fine. She tripped over me last night."

"No!" She glanced up, her eyes dancing. "How the fuck did that happen?"

I shrugged. "Dude, they do like three bed checks per night. So she was coming back in and must have forgotten I was there. She fell right over me."

"Wow." She considered. "That sounds exciting. Did she cop a feel?"

"Leah!" We coasted to a stop at our table, Brett looking a little miffed that we hadn't gotten him a beverage. "You need to relax. Your mind is in the gutter."

She blushed, she and Brett exchanging a very grown-up smile. "Well, you're right about that," Brett pointed out casually. He stood slowly gave her a wink, and stalked off toward the bar. I rolled my eyes.

"You two are disgusting."

"We're not disgusting. We're horny." She sat down, shifting around with an odd look on her face until she got comfortable. "So, yeah. Gutter? Maybe. But trust me, dude, I saw Little Todd at the beach." She giggled. "Big Todd, actually. And I'm not the only one. She was totally checking out your package."

"Leah," I said, pained, "can't we all just have a pleasant evening without having to hear you talk about my penis?"

She giggled again, and with a very feminine smile she left me alone for awhile.

The dancing was not something I was looking forward to. I'm not very social, so I just sat there nursing Leah's over-rummed Coke, messing around on my phone. That's what I was doing when I heard a voice over my shoulder. "'Sup, Todd-o?"

"Toddster." I turned to see Ms D, wearing the same thing she'd been wearing that morning. "Dressed up, did you?"

She made a face. "This isn't a real dance," she observed, glancing around. "DJ sucks." I covered a smile. "I'm not sure I'm going to stay long; old ladies need to get back and change. I've been in these shoes all day." She leaned down against the table. "So, look," she added, after a deep breath, "Mrs Julian spoke to the manager, and you guys are screwed again. I guess the plumber needed to order parts, and your room is still uninhabitable." She looked around the room. "I feel bad, but you're back with me tonight."

"Worst news I've heard all week," I deadpanned; she wasn't sure how to take that, but smiled anyway. "It's not the end of the world."

"I'll take the floor this time."

"You will not." I shook my head vehemently. "Just don't trip over me."

Her smile was warm and bright. "Cross my heart and hope to die." She glanced around again. "Gonna dance tonight, Todd? Any girls you've got an eye on?"

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. "Nah, I'm not much of a dancer. To be honest, I was kind of thinking of an early night, too." I paused, then realized I didn't really have a room to go back to. "That is, I was thinking of that. But you'll want to stay up, so I'll let you have some alone time."

She laughed pleasantly. "Oh, please," she chided. "Don't you dare. I feel bad enough about this whole thing; I'm the one who should be giving you some space." She licked her lips, lizardlike. "I can go kill time somewhere else."

"No, no. Really. I'm fine here."

She stared at me a moment, nodding slightly. "Tell you what, Toddster. I'll say my goodbyes and head up there now. It'll take me about ten minutes to change. Then you come on up and I'll be in the hotel gym." She shrugged. "I feel like a little exercise. You can relax without me messing with you. Sound okay?"

The dance was a boredom factory; half the kids were sitting, a quarter dancing, the rest no doubt out in the parking lot doing drugs. Sounded fine to me. I looked up and met her eyes, soft and brown behind those quirky frames. "Sounds like a plan."

* * *

I did almost forget about her, sitting in the chair with the stupid Steinbeck I had to read for AP English. After awhile, I started to get cramped and stiff; I thought about it a few moments, then decided Ms Dubinsky wouldn't mind if I lay down on the bed, on top of the comforter, with the basketball game on TV providing background noise. And that's where I was, lying on my stomach with the book, wearing boxers and that same dress shirt when in came Ms D.

I smelled her before I saw her, though in fairness I heard her before I smelled her, thanks to the rattly doorlock mechanism. "Wow." I didn't look up. "Did they have the heat cranked up in there or something?"

She tsked. "This is the smell of effort, Todd," she replied primly. "It's hard work keeping my old bones up to speed." I glanced over at her at last; she stood there in her workout clothes, really nothing I hadn't seen when she ran, and certainly more than she'd had on at the Polar Dip. But now she glowed, shining with sweat, her tight tanktop blotchy. "I didn't mean to bother you." She grinned widely, seemingly happy with the whole world her hair high in a ponytail. She dripped on the carpet.

"You're not bothering me, Ms D." I let her see me wrinkle my nose. "The smell is."

She scoffed at me as she tossed her keycard by the TV. "You're fresh!" There was definitely something to her now, something playful; it was in her eyes and her manner. She'd had a good workout, I could tell; I always felt best after a good run. She sauntered across the front of the TV, right in front of me with her tight little body on display. "I'm going to take a shower, as I'm sure you'll agree is a good plan." She was digging around among her stuff, her ass facing me, and I stared unabashed. She was pulling out some clothes. "I'm out of running shorts; I might have to improvise on a sleeping outfit tonight," she mused, still teasing.

"Whatever." I made like I was engrossed in my book, but no; predictably, I was starting to go hard against the mattress. I'd be rolling onto my side the moment she passed into the bathroom. "Careful, though. Remember, you owe me all the towels tomorrow morning. So don't screw any of them up tonight."

"Ah!" She giggled. "What, should I just drip dry?"

"No," I suggested, smiling. "Just use that stupid face towel from this morning."

"Shit," she rolled her eyes. "I could use that to wipe my forehead, but the rest of me would still be soaked." She seemed unaware of the double-entendre, but who could tell? She was not herself... actually, no. She was her best self, all her normal quirky energy combined now with the glow of good health and exercise. She was different, anyway. "I'll leave plenty for you, Todd, don't worry!" She trailed her arm behind her, waving with another giggle, as she passed from sight.

Instantly I was up on one elbow, fishing around inside my boxers as the bathroom fan kicked on. I was hard as a rock, fat and sweaty. I knew already how my plans would go tomorrow: the flight home, a ride back from the airport, and then an epic wankfest the instant I got home. The shower was quick and businesslike, apparently just enough to rinse herself off; she took her time afterward, and when she emerged from the bathroom she was already dressed.

Sort of.

"I left the towel draped over the bar," she hummed, smiling, her hair in damp kinky waves around her neck, but I wasn't really listening: when Bretta Dubinsky improvised pajamas, she didn't appear to feel that coverage was a major requirement. I hadn't seen her bring a bra into the bathroom. Her old t-shirt stopped somewhere about half an inch north of her belly button, while down below she wore nothing but a pair of pink panties, though to be fair they did cover her flat ass. She smiled at me, deeply dimpled, when she saw my reaction. "You shouldn't look at me like that, Todd; I'll start to feel self-conscious."

"Oh, sorry." I wasn't. She was a knockout, every inch of exposed skin driving me insane. "It's just... I mean, sorry." I was in the chair again, having moved back out of her bed, and she cocked her head at me.

"It's okay, I guess," she admitted, and a little shiver passed through her as she stood up straight. "You've looked at me before, anyway."

I had no idea what to say to that, so I didn't; I just replied with a vague nod before diving back into my book.

"Why'd you move?" She sat down on the edge of the mattress and peered across into the mirror. "If you're more comfortable up on the bed, feel free. I can take the chair."

"No, that's fine." I was sideways, my legs over the chair arm. "I like to move around, Ms D. I get restless."

"I remember." She was gathering her hair into a loose ponytail, a damp stain spreading down her back. "You were a wigglebug in class. Always shifting around." She glanced over at me. "I'm the same way. I just can't stay still."

"Yeah." I paused, wondering whether I should bring it up, and she caught my hesitation.

"What?" She was looking at me quizzically, still playful with those bookish eyes shining. "Say it, kiddo."

"Well, I was thinking it would be difficult for you to do your bed checks in... you know." I looked down at her panties, and she followed my gaze.

"Oh, like I shouldn't be barging into students' rooms in my underwear?" She laughed. "I'll probably put on a skirt. Not that it matters; it'll all be girls' rooms. I don't need to check on Mrs Julian and the other boys, and I'll be checking on you, like, all the time." She winked. "Besides, I think the only room I'd really need to check would be Leah Walinki's." She watched my reaction. "You know, to make sure your friend Brett is staying honest."

I opened my mouth, then closed it before I could get Brett into trouble, but she just stared at me. So I shrugged. "You might be too late, Ms D."

"Oh, I know." She nodded briskly. "They were back here all day together. I know all about it." She raised her eyebrows. "What? We're not stupid, Todd. We know exactly what's going through y'all's minds." She snorted. "Not that it's that tough, with those two. Talk about sexual chemistry!"

I stayed silent.

"I thought they'd be screwing in the water during the Polar Dip, but I guess not," she mused.

"That's gross, Ms D."

She looked at me for a long minute, then smiled again, mischievous. Her hair was safely out of the way. "Must have been a little too cold," she reflected. "I know I was cold." She hesitated again, then went ahead and said it. "You knew I was cold, too."

The image hadn't ever really left my mind, the sight of her two nipples pointing at me like accusing fingers, and I felt myself blush. "Ah, yeah." The elephant was in the room now. "I, uh... I mean, it was pretty obvious."

"Wasn't the only thing that was obvious," she sassed back, and I had to have been completely scarlet by that time. "Not to worry though, Toddster," she sang. "I teach biology. I understand how bodies work. You know. Reactions... instincts... all of that." She was leaning back to grab the remote. "Well. Mind if I change the channel?"

"Uh, sure."

"Great." She was back to her cool, confident self, shuttling rapidly through the channels. "Just let me know if it's too loud."

* * *

She tripped over me again when she returned from her bed check just before midnight, and this time I sat up rubbing the face she'd just smashed with her knee. "Aw Christ, Todd, I'm sorry." She reached automatically out to rub my jaw, checking for blood in the dark. "I just forgot again. Look, this is fucking stupid. Just get up into the bed; I'm tired of tripping over you."

Still half-asleep and with my jaw aching, I was in no mood to object. I was hoping this was all a dream, that I could just go back to sleep and forget about the whole thing, and so I hauled myself to my feet and staggered to the bed, stumbling under the cool, clean sheets with a sigh of relief.

I was still half-asleep, my eyes roving around the room in the faint light through the curtains, watching as shadowy Ms Dubinsky stepped back out of the skirt she'd thrown on for the check. She hesitated, then slid silently into the other side of the bed just as I faded into blessed unconsciousness.

* * *

I was very confused when I woke up out of a dream, starting, raising my head from the pillow. I had no clue where I was for a second or two, and I blinked into the night several times before I finally focused on the red digits of the alarm clock on the far side of the bed.

1:47.

With a sigh, I slumped back down onto the pillow. But something was weird, something that wouldn't let me lapse back into unconsciousness. It took a few muddled moments before I figured out what was wrong. I'd come back down onto the pillow only to feel like my head was being shoved into a tumbleweed.

Ms Dubinsky's hair, a forest of still-damp curls all around my face.

Slowly realization dawned: her hair was against my face. That meant her body was against my body: the warm, solid lump pressed against my bare chest was her back. Those sleek things I had my legs stuck to? Those were her legs. And... holy fucking shit!

I guess I shouldn't have been surprised that I had a hard-on, all things considered; vaguely I remembered a throwaway passage in my psychology textbook last year that said you often got an erection while dreaming, and plus I was on edge sleeping in the same room as Ms Dubinsky, and I was just an eighteen-year-old, ready to get hard at the drop of a hat. So it should not have been a big shock. What was a big shock was the horrible, delectable realization that my cock was wedged in Ms Dubinsky's asscrack. Well, not really in the crack; there was some daylight between us down there, maybe half an inch, so my dickhead was actually resting on the inside curve of her lower cheek. The left one.

All this went shooting through my mind in a sort of subconscious analysis, one part of my brain functioning rationally while all the rest was spazzing the fuck out.

After all, I'd never, ever spooned anybody before, and around the time I came fully awake I realized for the first time just what an amazing feeling it was, lying warm and snug in a bed with a woman's body folded against my own. That wasn't all, either; I found I had my hand lying casually across her belly, feeling the warm bare skin there, and I was even pretty sure my thumb was slightly inside her shirt. Even more: a slight pressure on my thigh told me her hand was there, resting comfortably with her fingers curving possessively around toward my butt. My other arm, I soon discovered, was underneath her head, a line of her drool collecting in my elbow pit.

She felt firm and warm and juicy and protected, even loved. It was incredible. She also, as I slowly figured out, felt awake. Because, though I hadn't noticed it at first, the hand on my hip was moving, its fingers stroking lightly along my leg. And her other hand? The one that remained unaccounted for? It rested on top of her belly. Well, that is, it rested on top of my hand. On top of her belly. And those fingers were alive too, gripping mine firmly, intertwining.

So, wait. My brain made the final leap: if I was spooning her, and she was awake, and she was caressing my leg... she must want me to be spooning her!