Freshman Year in the Dorm Pt. 02

The first time I met Julia, she was walking through the dorm hallway on her way to the bathroom wearing the most amazing night outfit. She was wearing a men's athletic shirt. I think they're called A-shirts or tank-tops. (Some people today call them wife-beaters, but that's kind of rude.) Her nipples weren't just sticking out through her shirt—you could actually see their dark shape through the thin fabric. The shirt came down to just below her crotch. I assumed, but wasn't sure, that she had panties underneath. She was, to say the least, uninhibited.

Little did I know...

I should mention that she is Asian, so she has black straight hair and very dark nipples on smallish boobs. (She also has straight black pubic hair, not kinky, but I didn't know that at the time.) Those nipples would shine through white fabric, even if it weren't the sheerest kind. And that shirt was quite thin. It was quite a sight. I worked hard to avert my eyes.

Her outfit wasn't the only remarkable thing about that evening encounter in the dorm the first week of freshman year. More importantly, she gave me the friendliest, most welcoming smile, and the simple word "Hi." That's all it took. I was smitten.

But I was shy. I'd had girlfriends in high school, but I was hardly a chick magnet. I was on the debate team, not the football team. Yes, I was smitten with Julia, but she seemed out of my league, so all I could muster was a small smile, and a return "Hi" and that was the end of it. Or so I thought.

The next day at lunch, I was in the dining hall at a table by myself, and guess who sat down with me? Yep, there was Julia. We introduced ourselves, and even shook hands. She ate her salad and I ate my burrito and we chatted about all the normal stuff - where we were from, what courses we were taking, who our roommates were.

She was, as usual, braless and very perky, and I worked very hard not to look. I kept my eyes on her face, very politely. I am, unfortunately, a "nice guy." As I said, I'm not a chick magnet. I kept my eyes where they belonged.

We ate, we talked, and we said goodbye and went to classes. I was, I think, elated but a bit confused. She was a 10 and I'm a 5, or maybe, on a good day, a 6. It didn't seem right. Maybe she just wanted to be friends.

But it was nice to think about her. Back at the dorm that evening, I told my roommate Dave about it. He gave me a big pat on the back, congratulated me, and said "Go for it man. You can do it." Maybe I had a chance?

It turns out that he was right. I did have a chance. Over the next week or so, she would join me and Dave and the other guys at meals, if we were in the dining hall at the same time. She sometimes brought her roommate Kathryn, who would flirt with Dave. He wasn't interested since he had a girlfriend back home, but he was nice to her.

One evening she even came by my dorm room, just to visit, and sat on my bed. I pulled up my desk chair next to the bed. She put her bare feet on my lap and we chatted away.

I couldn't help but notice her outfits. She was always braless, which I guess was normal since she had small boobs and really didn't need support. But those nipples were hard as rocks, and the tops were skimpy, and it took every ounce of concentration to mind my manners. She always had her eyes on mine, so I didn't even have much of a chance to let my gaze wander.

You may be asking, "She's obviously into you. Why don't you ask her out?" Yeh, I know. I was a dork. Too shy, too insecure, and I still had the lingering feeling that she was out of my league.

Fortunately, she solved the problem. It was a Saturday, with beautiful weather, and she came by my room in the morning, when it was nearing lunch time. "Let's go on a picnic, Conners" she said. (My name is Alan, but she always called me by my last name. I don't know why.)

What a great idea. She didn't have to ask twice. We stopped by a deli and picked up sandwiches and sodas. She'd brought a blanket from her bed, and we went to the quad and set the blanket out and ate. There were other couples and groups around, but not right next to us, so we were mostly alone.

After we'd eaten, we were both quiet for a few minutes, just looking at the trees and the grass, with nothing to say. Then she spoke up. "Lie down," she said.

That was pretty bossy. I looked at her with a question on my face, and she said it again, "Lie down." If I hadn't been a dork, I would have known what was going on, but I was a dork so I didn't. I was puzzled. So she made it clear. "Just do it," she said, pointing to where I should put my head on the blanket. Very directive, very bossy.

So I did what I was told. I laid back and looked at the sky. Then - surprise, surprise— she sat down on top of me, straddling my legs, and she leaned over a bit. She looked at me, holding my gaze for a good long minute.

She was, of course, bra-less. I didn't dare look, but I could see, out of the corner of my eye, down her low-cut loose-fitting shirt with the top two buttons unbuttoned. You could see all the way to Texas. Nearly everything was on display, but I couldn't look. Her eyes were glued to mine, and if I looked down for even a moment, she'd know it immediately. I couldn't do it. Eyes where they belong...

After a good long minute, she spoke. "You're a real gentleman, aren't you?"

I didn't know what she meant. "What?" I asked.

"You want to look down my shirt, but you're too much of a gentleman to do it."

I had no idea what to say, and she continued, with a stern look on her face. "Stop it," she said. Once again, very bossy. Very authoritative. No nonsense.

My heart sank. She and I were having such a great time together. It seemed like we were getting along so well. But I'd blown it. She thought I was a pervert, or at least a pig.

I started to explain or apologize. But she put her finger on my lips to quiet me. Then she gave me a sly expression, half-smile and half-smirk. "I didn't mean you should stop looking," she said. "I meant to stop being a gentleman." Then she corrected herself. "I don't really mean to stop being a gentleman. I like that about you. I mean that I want you to look at me, like you want to."

Now she adjusted the shirt, opened another button, and leaned over just a bit. "What do you see?" she said. I hesitated. This was a test, wasn't it? I was supposed to say, "I'm not going to look down your shirt because that would be treating you as a sex object. I value you for your mind, not your body." Or something like that.

So I didn't look. But she was insistent. She insisted, in her bossy way. "Go ahead. Look, mister gentleman. What do you see?"

My eyes didn't move, so she took her two fingers and moved them from my eyes to her chest, directing my gaze.

If I could have seen to Texas before, now I could see all the way to South America. I stammered a second, then I couldn't help it. I looked. She was absolutely, one hundred percent, totally exposed.

"Well, what do you see?" she asked.

I answer honestly. I took my eyes off of her chest and back up to her face. "The most beautiful breasts I've ever seen," I said.

Her finger beeped me on the nose. "Exactly!" she said. "These boobs are a national treasure. They are designed to be looked at." She was joking, of course. She smiled at me and laughed, and I smiled back, so relieved - not just that I'd finally seen those rock-hard nipples that I'd admired from afar, but that I was not actually on her shit-list. I guess my league was bigger than I thought. She wasn't out of it.

She was leaning over to give me the best view, and I took advantage of it, and she gave me a big smile. "Listen, Conners," she said. "I like to be looked at, so look. All the time, anywhere, anytime. It makes me happy." She beeped me on the nose again. "Look at my boobs. Make me happy."

I could agree to that, so I did.

"You think I'm strange? Like a pervert or something?" she asked.

I stammered, not knowing what to say. That was a trick question.

"I wonder that myself sometimes," she said. "But I can't help it. It gives me a thrill to show off my body and be looked at, especially by a cute guy. Or by some guy I don't know. Or by some girl. Anybody! That's not so strange, is it?"

She meant me! A cute guy!

I certainly wasn't going to disagree with her, not at a time like this. I shook my head. "If you've got it, flaunt it," I said. "Lots of girls like to do that." I really didn't know whether that was true, but it was what she wanted to hear, so I said it.

She nodded, then changed the subject a bit. "Just don't let other people catch you looking. It's no fun if other people know you're looking."

I understood, and nodded.

"Are you hard?" she asked.

I didn't understand right away, so she clarified. "A boner? Erection? Hard-on? Stiffy?" She was giggling.

That made it clear, then I laughed and nodded. "I'm busted. Yeh."

"Good," she said. "That was the goal. See, it's not strange at all. You get to look. I get to be looked at. You get hard. Simple. Everybody comes out ahead."

Then she lifted her head a bit, and her eyes locked to mine. Then she started unbuttoning the remaining buttons on the shirt, one at a time, slowly. Soon, they were all unbuttoned.

"You're not looking," she said. "You're supposed to look." So I did. I did just what I was told.

Then she started moving the fabric with her fingers, opening the gap, little by little. "Let me know when you can see everything," she said.

Was she really opening her shirt all the way in public? I looked around, and there were other people close enough that they'd be able to see. Two girls and three guys. "You can't do that here," I objected. "There are too many other people around," I said. "We can't do that in public. Let's go back to the dorm and I'll look there."

That made sense to me, but not to her.

"What did I just tell you, Conners?" she asked, smirking conspiratorially.

I thought for a moment, then figured out the correct answer. "That you like to be looked at."

She beeped me on the nose again. It seems like every time I answer a question correctly, I get beeped. "Right!" she said. "It's fun. I want them to see."

I turned around to look at the group of guys nearest us. She quickly caught my head and turned it back around, toward her. "No, no, no!" she said. "Never let on what we're doing. Act like nothing is unusual. Don't look at the looker! That gives the game away."

"The game?"

She explained, "If you look at them, they think they're busted and that you'll be pissed at them for looking. They'll stop looking and turn away. Then the game will be over. So never look. Never act like you know they're looking."

I nodded. "Got it," I said. "This is a fun game, isn't it?"

I understood, so she kept moving the fabric, a little bit at a time, until she was completely exposed. Completely. Absolutely, totally exposed to everybody, right there on the quad, with people around. "You're naked," I said. "Anybody can see everything."

That wasn't quite good enough, so she moved the fabric just a little more. Even better. Then she stopped, still looking at me, making sure I had my eyes in the right place - actually the right two places. She was happy. "Good," she said. "Let them look."

I reached out to touch one of those perfect nipples. What else could I do? But she swatted my hand away. "Be a gentleman!" she said.

I objected. "You told me not to be a gentleman," I said.

"I meant you could look, not touch," she said. "No touching."

That was disappointing, but I moved my hand away, back where a gentleman would keep it. Unfortunately.

"You know why I like you?" she asked.

I didn't answer, but she explained it anyway. "You were so polite. When we met that first night in the hallway, you didn't look. Every other guy would have leered, but you were so polite. You looked at my face. It was charming. I liked it."

She let me have a good long look, with me and maybe five other people looking at her beautiful boobs, and neither of us looking at the lookers. We didn't know whether anybody was actually looking, but I guess that was part of the fun. She hoped they were, but we didn't know.

"That's enough for one day," she said abruptly, buttoning a few of the buttons of her shirt. "Time to go." She stood up.

"Already?" I asked. I certainly wanted more.

"Yep, that's all for one day. I can't give you too much in one day, or it wouldn't be a cock-tease, would it?"

I laughed. Yes, she was cock-teasing me.

"Listen, Conners," she said. "Play the game with me and, eventually, you'll get all the goodies. But right now, it's only teasing. It gives you something to look forward to. I've got a lot of practice of this. I'll teach you the rules," she said. "We're going to have a lot of fun together, Conners. I can tell."

I stood up too, and picked up the blanket. I carried it in front of me, and I'm sure she knew why.

"I want to introduce you to somebody," she said. "Are you right-handed or left-handed?"

What did that have to do with anything? But I answered, "Right-handed."

She took my right hand into hers, and bent the fingers over into a fist. "Meet Mr. Fist," she said. "He's your date for the night. You two have fun together." And she gave me a quick, but very nice, kiss on the lips.

She decided she was dressed too conservatively, so she unbuttoned one of the buttons, leaving just one in place. We walked back to the dorm, and she held my hand. When we got to our floor, we each went to our own rooms, "to study." Before we separated, she gave me a little kiss on the cheek and said, "Make me happy, will you?"

Later that night, at bedtime, I told Dave what had happened. I told him everything, including the rules for looking and not looking, the shape of her nipples, and the beeps on the nose. I knew she wouldn't mind. She'd be pleased.

He was, of course, totally jealous, but happy for me. The three of us—him, me and Mr. Fist—did indeed, have fun together. Twice.