Holly Woode

She laughed. I stayed the night and we had two more hard fast fucks. In the morning we showered together in the dorm shower. The brave guys do that these days in the hopes of flashing the shy girls. Holly and I fucked in the shower. Doesn't everyone have at least one college shower fuck story? More danger. After that, she packed a bag of clothes and she and I did our own spring break road trip to the most delightful bed and breakfast on the coast of Maine. Totally out of season. We had the place to ourselves. I knew the owners. We were safe for the week from the prying eyes of the inquisition. Of course, we left the pizza box and empty beast cans in the room so folks might wonder.

***

During the spring of Holly's second year at Holier Than Thou, the high priestess of radical feminist lesbian studies created a delightful new "cultural awakenings" project for her Womyn's Herstory students. By the end of the spring semester, all of the Womyn's Herstory students were required to write an essay about their first sexual experience with a woman. If they had not yet had such an experience, it was expected that they would have one by the end of the semester-or else change majors. Up until that moment, Holly's roomie had been very heterosexual. Actually, "banged more times than a screen door in July" would be the best way to describe her college experience to that point. Without telling Holly, the roomie decided to make Holly "her female experience." The roomie hadn't seen Holly with any boys at Holier Than Thou, so the roomie assumed Holly must be doing one of the girls-the closeted lesbian theory. Step one in this project was Holly's roomie indulging her own insatiable panty fetish. Usually Holly's roomie would masturbate in the morning while sniffing the boxers of whatever guy she had done in the past few days. The roomie decided to change routine and sniff Holly's panties while she diddled herself. The roomie first made this move, we later learned, on a late March weekend when Holly was "visiting her cousin."

Holly has the most delightful aroma-I've been known to take a whiff or two from her panties. The panties the roomie picked, however, were crusted with sperm and anal lube. The panties sat in a pile of clothes waiting to be laundered. The fact that the roomie was stealing Holly's panties so that she could whack herself while sniffing them didn't seem to matter to anyone in authority at the college. The Holier Than Thou faculty and administration seemed to think this panty stealing and sniffing behavior perfectly normal.

Holly's roomie actually vomited when she sniffed then licked the dried crusted sperm. Holly's roomie said that she was revolted at the thought of sperm on Holly's panties and feared for Holly's safety. She apparently licked the panties a few times to be sure it was actually sperm on the panties and it was the anal lube and poop taste that made her wretch. Holier Than Thou ever on the cutting edge of protecting its female students from male predators had two very important rules. A few years back, a midwestern college introduced a rule that required one receive "permission" before doing anything sexual. One had to ask, "may I touch you...." And so on. Holier Than Thou took this a step farther, and created a rule that said one needed permission in writing to do anything sexual. Holier Than Thou produced a set of standard forms and it was expected that both parties to a sexual act would fill in their names and sign the form. Holier Than Thou's second rule was that all sex must be "safe sex." All boys must cum in condoms. The queer studies faculty routinely ignored this rule when they buggered first year boys, but this rule was one of the favorite tools of the feminist inquisition. Dirty panties became evidence of misdeeds. The high priestess of radical feminist lesbian studies encouraged her students who ran across dirty panties to turn in the miscreants so that the bad boys who had failed to use condoms could be found and punished. Holly's roomie took Holly's panties to the Dean and the end of our liaison drew near.

Monday morning the Dean invited Holly to a hearing before "the committee." The high priestess of radical feminist lesbian studies, who chaired the committee, first demanded that Holly produce her signed sexual consent forms, and second the high priestess demanded that Holly reveal the name of the boy whose sperm soiled her panties. Holly refused. The committee voted expulsion. Rhubarb was a member of the committee and sat the whole time with one of those "I know a secret" grins. Holly had worn Obsession to the hearing. The Dean stayed execution for 48 hours so that Holly might have time to reconsider and "do something reasonable" as he put it. Of course the inquisition would have its agents out in force that night.

Holly was quite the levelheaded girl under pressure. She emailed me: "Can't find those articles for you about the Crucible tonight, going to visit my cousin." I read the code and knew where to find her. I threw a few clothes in a bag and hopped in my car for the 150-mile drive to "Holly's cousin's place." At the hotel we embraced. She cried. The first time we had gotten together I had asked her, "Do you want to get my ass fired." She told me no, but now it seemed we were experiencing an ass firing moment.

"They seem to be firing my ass, not yours" Holly said.

"I'll confess and take the hit." I said. It was the honorable thing to do. I didn't let Holly have a choice. There would be no argument. No reason to stain Holly's record with a disciplinary expulsion. The matter was quite simple. As the high priestess of radical feminist lesbian studies had declared that no undergraduate woman possibly could consent to sex with a faculty member, if I confessed that I had coerced Holly, that would excuse Holly's panty crime. She can't be guilty if she is incapable of giving consent.

Holly really didn't want to see me hurt that way, by turning myself in, but there was no other way to keep her record clean. We of course fucked like bunnies that night and we fucked even more eagerly once it dawned on us that the moment I resigned from the college, Holly could move into my house to finish out the semester. I would no longer be on the faculty and there would be no more rules to constrain us. Talk about in your face.

The next morning I turned in my resignation to the Dean along with my "confession." Radical feminist lesbian studies was hoisted on her own petard. Radical feminist lesbian studies, Rhubarb and Chard argued to the Dean that Holly should at least have insisted that I wear a condom and deserved some black mark on her record for that violation. I stuck to Holly's defense, and argued that principle demands that if an undergraduate woman truly could not "consent," then Holly must be held blameless for the entire affair, condoms included, and her record wiped clean. The Dean agreed with my point. I was clearly the type of cad who wouldn't even give Holly the dignity of me wearing a bit of cover on dicky when he went squirt in quim. When that afternoon Holly walked openly into my front door with a pile of suitcases, Chard, Bokchoi, Rhubarb and the high priestess all seethed from across the street on Rhubarb's front porch. They were powerless to act. We grilled steaks in my back yard for dinner.

***

Epilogue: My second book was so well received in academic circles that Hemmings University quickly offered me a job at double my Holier Than Thou salary and they offered early tenure as well. They could not care less about the reason I had resigned from Holier Than Thou; all they cared about was that fact that I was a publishing machine and a rising academic star. Hemmings ranks more than a few steps above Holier Than Thou, so I was pleased. Holly transferred to Hemmings for her third and fourth year of college. Holly moved in with me and we talked of marriage after her graduation. The story, however, has a sad end. Drusilla Chard really did have a crush on me and something snapped when I moved away. Holly ran in the mornings. She was kind of a fitness nut and worked very hard to keep her sculpted dancers body fit to please me. One morning about two weeks before Holly's graduation one of those little environmentally proper Honda hybrid cars eased itself on the street where Holly usually finished her run. As Holly crossed the intersection, the driver floored the accelerator and hit Holly with the throttle full open. Holly never knew what hit her. The hybrid's electric motor was like a silencer on a gun. Chard was arrested, charged with first-degree murder, convicted, and is now serving a life sentence in the maximum-security wing of the state's women's prison. Rumor has it that she has become the piss slave of the cellblock's chief bull dyke. The bull dyke apparently likes Chard's forearms.