Aristippus - Nina’s Story

I was absolutely fascinated; I couldn't keep my eyes off of it. I wanted to touch it so bad. Slowly and oh so gently, I placed my fingers on its base. Elio flinched but didn't stop me. Slowly, I ran one finger and then several more up the skinny shaft. It was velvety smooth. It was like nothing I had ever touched before. Though the shaft itself was totally hairless, it felt almost like the fur of a bunny, or the softest animal you had ever petted.

His body tightened as he squeezed my leg hard. I knew I didn't have much time, but I really wanted to suck this kid's dick. Still sitting on the edge of the bed, I leaned over him and holding the base with my fingers, gently closed my lips around his twitching penis head. He jerked as my lips made contact with his skin, and he grabbed my arm, squeezing it tightly. But he didn't say anything, so I continued.

I sucked about half of him into my mouth, and then slowly retreated back up his pole. I paused for a second and then started down again. This time I went a little farther, and paused again, just holding him in my mouth. But as I slowly headed back up - suddenly and without warning - he literally exploded in my mouth.

I immediately raised my head, but it was too late. A white stream of man-cream shot straight up in the air. My little Italian had just erupted like Mount Vesuvius. Realizing it was too late to stop him, I dropped my head back down and sealed my lips tightly around his penile crown to catch as much as possible. But most of it was already lying on his belly, legs, and my tits.

I don't think I had ever been with a guy with such a hair-trigger dick. I would have loved to have sucked him longer, and of course, fucked him. But once Elio had blasted off, his sensitivity did subside, which allowed me to continue gently sucking him and milk him for every drop. I was hoping I could get him hard again for a second round. However, as I gently cradled and massaged his balls in my hand, his once magnificent erection slowly dissolved in my mouth.

Realizing that we were done for the evening, I sat up, pulled the pillow from under his head, and again removed the pillowcase so that I could use it as a towel. Once we were cleaned up and dressed, I kissed him on the lips and sent him on his way, while I stayed to tidy up the room. Stepping into the hall, I carefully looked both ways to ensure no one else was waiting for me. And once I was satisfied that there wasn't, I walked to the bathroom. I retrieved several hand towels and a wet washcloth so that if I had another paying customer, I would be better prepared for after-action housecleaning.

Back down at the party, I grabbed a fresh beer and managed to fill a plate with leftover barbecue. There was still some brisket, a few pieces of smoked chicken, and a large helping of potato salad. Most everything else was gone, but this was still plenty. I looked around for Alice, but she was nowhere to be seen, as was Jeff. I assumed they must have gone off somewhere together, probably to hook up. I admit, Alice was pretty hot - she had much nicer curves than mine. And Jeff was quite a hunk, just not the marrying type, in case that's what Alice was honestly looking for.

I looked around for anyone to sit and chat with, but most everyone had already finished eating, so I eventually found an old tree stump on the edge of the yard and used it as a stool. Just as I finished my plate, I realized someone was standing in front of me. Looking up, it was a tall, muscular guy wearing a Sigma Alpha T-shirt. He was older than most of the other party-goers, at least a junior and probably a senior. But I'd never seen him before. Making eye contact, I said, "Hi."

"I've got sixty friends right here that would like to meet you," he said as he patted his front pocket.

I slowly stood and carefully studied him. I was pretty sure I'd never seen him on campus, but BSU is a big school, so that is possible. However, it's also possible that he was from a Sigma chapter at IU, which is only about a hundred and thirty miles away. Or he could have just bought the shirt at a thrift shop, thinking he could get into the mixer free. However, he did have that typical frat-rat look about him - arrogant, conceited, and generally a textbook narcissist. But, in any event, he said he had sixty friends, and I knew what that meant.

I slowly stood and dropped my plate in a nearby trash can. Then with my lukewarm beer in one hand, I reached out to shake his hand with the other. "What's your name?" I asked.

I'm not really sure what he said. It may have been Brad, or possibly Bart. He reminded me of Bart Simson, so that could be why I thought he said, Bart. Having sex with this guy would have absolutely sealed the deal on my newfound occupation. But neither Kyle nor Elio had even come close to getting me off, and to be honest, I was getting a little horny. And this guy did look like he knew his way around a woman's body.

"Well," I said after we shook hands. "Let's head for the house." Once inside, I led him up to Room 8, and after closing and locking the door, I said, "So where's your sixty friends?"

He immediately reached into the front pocket of his jeans and pulled out a large wad of bills. As I unrolled them, it wasn't the usual three twenties, that Blaine, Kyle, and Elio had paid me with. It was all fives and tens. I counted the wad of currency twice, neatly refolded it, and slipped it into my purse. And while I was busy counting the money, he pulled his shirt off and started to unbuckle his belt.

Well, so much for romance, I thought and pulled my dress up and over my head. Folding my dress neatly and placing it on the chair, I saw Brad or Bart, whatever his name was, had just dropped his clothes to the floor. He was bare-ass naked and had already flopped down on the bed.

This was nothing like my other recent experiences, but I also reasoned that this was probably going to be the fastest sixty bucks I'd ever made. I sat down on the edge of the bed and began stroking his cock. He was already pretty hard, and my manual efforts were quickly bringing him to his full glory. I leaned over to suck him, and it smelled like he had already fucked someone earlier tonight, so I made it quick. If I was going to be his second conquest of the evening, he was going to get the abridged version of full service.

I stood up, dropped my panties to the floor, and reached back into my purse to pull out the card that contained the remaining four condoms. I tore one off, ripped the foil package open with my teeth, and quickly rolled it down his Johnson. As he was on his back, I assumed the fastest way to service this guy would be on top. But this guy apparently had other plans. As I moved to mount him, he quickly slid out from under me, grabbed me by the waist, and tossed me to the bed on all fours.

He apparently preferred the doggy position, which was okay by me - as I didn't have to look at him that way. My only two concerns were, did he still have the condom on? And was he aiming for the proper hole? There was no way I was going to let this guy butt fuck me, condom or no condom. I quickly reached between my legs to guide him to the proper opening, and as I did, I could feel the latex still safely in place. This was the mid-90s, and the AIDS epidemic was at its height. I was safely on birth control, but the proper use of personal protection was the only way to prevent the spread of HIV.

Once he was fully inside me, he began pounding me like a blacksmith pounds his anvil. Not all that fast, but hard and deep. And as he may have already serviced another girl tonight, it took him four or five minutes to complete the act with me. With a bit of manual help of my own, that was plenty of time for me to rub one out. And though it was not a big one, it was enough to get me through the night. As he finished up, so was I.

I offered him the washcloth to clean himself, but he really wasn't all that interested. He just yanked his clothes back on, thanked me for a wonderful experience, and was out the door before I knew it. Probably on his way to fuck some other poor girl. His creed must have been, "Wham, bam, thank you, ma'am."

Feeling finished for the night and satisfied with a full belly of barbecue and a couple of free beers. I cleaned up the room, turned off the lights, and headed down the backstairs to the kitchen. I didn't see Jeff, or anyone else I really knew, so I slipped out the back door and headed back to my dorm. Out of an abundance of caution, again I threw the strap of my purse over my head, and as I walked home, I patted it several times. I could still feel the remaining three condoms, and the neatly folded one hundred and eighty dollars, safely tucked into my purse. That was more than I would have made in three weeks at my Student Work Study job in the Register's Office. And I did it in less than three hours.

I didn't see Jeff, or anyone else from the frat-house over the next several weeks. And I wanted to thank him for the opportunity and to tell him that I might be interested in future events, as long as the conditions were right. I'd been shopping in town, and I was down to only seventy dollars from the one hundred and eighty I'd made that night.

Sitting in my Psychology of Marketing class, I was daydreaming of future business opportunities as the mid-term exams were being handed back out. As my paper hit my desk, I glanced at it and saw that I'd made a C-minus. And written below it, in red ink, was a note that said, "Please come see me." I looked up, and it was actually the class instructor, Dr. Olson, standing over me, looking down. I made eye contact with him, and he lifted his eyebrows, in a look of, "Are you coming to see me, or not."

I nodded my understanding, and he walked on. As I flipped through my paper, I realized that it wasn't very good. I'd only written about three pages, and I know he probably expected six to eight in order to cover all the questions. In fact, I'd only written one sentence to some of the questions. I pulled my backpack into my lap and fished out my spiral notebook for the course. Flipping to the first page, I found the notes I had written the first day of class. "Dr. Brian Olson, Room 301.24, Bryant Hall - office hours Tuesday and Thursday - 3:00 to 5:00."

It was a Wednesday, so I made a mental note to visit him the next day at three. Thursday afternoon, as I got off the elevator, I realized Room 301 was a suite of faculty offices. I walked in and said to the receptionist, "I'd like to see Dr. Olson, please."

She barely looked up, but quickly made eye contact, and then picking up a pencil, said, "Your name?"

"Nina Coffman," I said.

She jotted my name down on her desk calendar and pointed down the hall. Swinging my backpack to my other shoulder, I headed in the direction indicated, down a long corridor with faculty offices on both sides. Some doors were closed, but most were open, and I spotted instructors sitting in maybe half of them. As I approached Dr. Olson's office, his door was wide open, and I could see him sitting at his desk. I knocked lightly on the door and said, "Dr. Olson?"

Looking up, a smile immediately filled his face, and he jumped from his chair to greet me. "Come in," he said as he closed the door behind me and quickly returned to his seat. "I'm glad you're here."

I opened my backpack and pulled out my test paper. Laying it on the desk, I said, "I guess you want to talk about this."

"Yes, Nina, I know you can do much better than this," he said slowly. "I hope you don't mind, but I pulled your transcript, and you were an A and B student your first two years at BSU. What happened?"

"Dr. Olson," I said. "I'm tired. I have no money, I'm hungry most of the time, and mostly I'm just exhausted."

I think this was a more honest answer than he expected. He picked up the test paper and studied it for a minute. "Do you get any support from your family?" he inquired.

"No," I said as I leaned back in my chair. "My dad left when I was about seven. My mom could barely afford to feed and clothe my sister, brother, and me. As soon as I graduated from high school, she gave me five hundred dollars and wished me luck. It was all she had, and I was lucky to get that." I paused as he put my test paper down and reclined back in his chair. "I've supported myself with student loans and working sixteen hours a week at a work study job here on campus."

I wasn't going for sympathy, and I don't think he was offering any. He continued reclining back in his chair for a minute, and then rocking forward, placed both of his arms on the desk. "Nina, you are much too smart to be making grades like this," he said as he glanced down at my paper. "Let me help you. I can tutor you. Would you be willing to let me help you?"

At that moment, I honestly believed there were no ulterior motives. But that instantly changed the second Dr. Olson said, "Will you let me buy you dinner tomorrow night, and we can discuss it?"

A cold shiver went down my spine. In three and a half years at BSU, I had never had an instructor, much less a full professor, proposition me. But that is precisely what he was doing. I had to think fast. Dr. Olson was a nice guy, but he was easily three times my age. He could have literally been my grandfather. But - on the other hand - I needed help, and he certainly was in a position to offer it.

"Yes," I said after a moment of thought. I didn't want to appear too eager, but I also didn't want to seem ungrateful or suspicious. "What time and where?"

I could see that he was clearly pleased. "How about The Neely House, and I'll pick you up around 6:45," he quickly said. Muncie is not known for fine dining restaurants. The Neely House is probably the one exception, as every other decent place in town is an automatic candidate for Guy Fieri's TV show - Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives. Good but not fine dining. So, The Neely House sounded great; I'd never been there, but picking me up might be an issue.

Dr. Olson probably knew that I lived in the dorms, as he had already pulled my transcript. And I didn't want to be seen getting into a professor's car. So, thinking fast, I said, "Six-forty-five sounds fine, but how about the bus stop in front of the Shafer Tower?"

"Perfect," he said. "I'll pick you up in front of the Shafer Tower." And with that, he slid my test paper back toward me, stood up, and held out his hand to shake mine. A little nervous, I quickly stuffed the paper into my backpack, stood and shook hands with him. That seemed a little odd, since he had just successfully propositioned me. But what else was I going to do?

As Friday evening approached, I was as nervous about this as any date I'd ever been on in my life. I wanted to make a good impression, but I didn't want to appear slutty or easy. I had been wondering ever since I left his office, if somehow my activities at the Sigma House had somehow gotten back to him. I couldn't imagine how, but he had never shown any interest in me before. And neither had any other faculty member, for that matter. I was reasonably confident there was no connection, but I could not be sure.

Trying to put any association out of my mind, I stood in my bathrobe, staring at my limited options in my dorm room wardrobe. One dress kept calling my name. It was one that I had had since high school. I had always liked it, though I rarely had a chance to wear it. It was a simple wool-blend knit, A-Frame dress. The top half of the dress was a soft white, but near the waistline, it ever so slowly morphed to pink. It was totally pink at the hem, which was several inches above my knees.

My roommate had already gone home for the weekend, so I had the room to myself. Standing in front of the full-length mirror attached to the back of our door, I stood totally naked, admiring my body. Then one item at a time, I dressed myself. First, a brand new white lace French-cut bikini brief. I really liked the look of it. I put on a lacy push-up bra, but I wasn't sure I needed it. I slipped the dress on over my head and studied the look. Pulling the dress back off, I removed the bra, slipped the dress back on, and compared the two looks. Though there were advantages to both, I finally opted for no bra.

Sitting at my desk, as I had no vanity, I took out my favorite necklace and placed it around my neck. It was my grandmother's and one of the only things I received from her after she passed away. It's three strands of antique silver chain braided into a single strand. Then, there are eleven shorter chains of the same antique silver hanging straight down in the front. The chains are of different lengths, forming a downward pointing chevron. And each chain had a series of white and light blue opal beads. Each bead also had streaks of rose, that complimented the white and pink dress beautifully. The chevron dangled from the necklace and pointed straight to my ample cleavage - perfectly drawing attention to each other.

Fifteen minutes to complete my makeup, a pair of three inch heels, and I was ready to go.

I arrived at the bus stop a few minutes early, and I immediately realized that there were bus stops on each side of the street. Dr. Olson and I hadn't agreed on which side of the street I'd be waiting on, but I parked myself on the southbound bench, as I kept an eye out in both directions. Luckily, I had guessed right, and there he was, heading southbound at 6:45 on the dot. We had not discussed what he would be driving. However, I instantly recognized him when I saw a silver BMW pull up.

Dr. Olson popped the passenger door open from the driver's seat, and I slid in. The Beamer was probably ten years old, or more. But it was in immaculate condition. The exterior was waxed to a deep rich sheen. And the black leather interior looked as if the car was brand new. How someone keeps their car, always speaks volumes to their overall personality. And my impression of Dr. Olson was going up.

There wasn't much conversation as we drove the nine or ten blocks to the restaurant, but once we were seated in the bar, Dr. Olson's love of academia came out as we waited for our table. With a drink in his hand, he quickly fell into an in-depth explanation of the art and science of the psychology of marketing. And as he gently worked the questions of the recent mid-term exam into the discussion, he explained each answer he was looking for without being even the least bit condescending.

The meal following our cocktails was absolutely amazing. Appetizers as we finished our drinks, a salad course and entrée with a bottle of French wine, and then, of course, dessert. It was all marvelous, and I hadn't eaten so well since - well, I don't think I had ever eaten that well in my life. And, except for the dessert, which we shared, we both ordered distinctly different dishes and shared everything. I don't think I have ever done that before, and I loved it. Tonight was clearly going to be an evening of new experiences.

As we left the restaurant and headed back toward campus, Dr. Olson asked, "Nina, would you like to see my house?"

I was assuming this was coming; I just didn't know how he was going to say it. But that certainly seemed more direct than, "Oh look, we've just run out of gas."

"Yes," I said, as I laid my hand on his leg. "I would love to see where you live." And as he signaled a left turn at the next intersection, I realized that I was about to discover if he was married or not. He didn't wear a wedding ring, but that's not a guarantee. However, being invited to his personal residence, and presumably spending the night, would probably put that question to bed once and for all.

After winding our way through the streets of Muncie for about fifteen minutes, we arrived in an older neighborhood of varied homes. Most of them appeared to have been built forty to fifty years ago, but clearly not by a single builder. All were unique in style and age. A nice break from more modern subdivisions of cookie cutter houses. And as we pulled into the driveway, his house was no exception. It was a single story brick home with a low roof. Something they would call a ranch on HGTV. But something I would call a mid-century modern. And though it fit the neighborhood, it was distinctively different from his neighbor's houses.