Michael & Me

I almost didn't see him. I have this bad habit of walking with my head down – fear of tripping, I guess – so I didn't notice him until I heard his voice. He was talking to Emily, one of the other teaching assistants, about the head of the German department, and as soon as I heard him, my head snapped up. I wasn't expecting to run into him – he was supposed to be in Frankfurt for the summer, but apparently he hadn't left yet.

"Hey!" was the total of my intelligent comment, barely managed through my complete shock. I received a short wave in response, which was enough to freeze my face in a smile all the way to International Politics.

The class was interesting, but I couldn't stop thinking about him. Sad, I know – he had to be at least ten (probably twelve) years older than me, married, a perpetual student with no observable goal in life other than to study forever and teach conversational German to freshman language majors. Why, then, did a casual flip of his hand cause some large part of my soul to swell until I thought I'd burst? Why did I show up to his 8:30 class at 7:50 every morning for an entire semester, desperate to be the first one there, desperate to share a few moments alone with him? Why did I fantasize every night about slipping off his slightly (okay, really) out-of-style pastel polo shirts and yanking down his dark gray trousers to reveal...what? Something amazing, surely....

After class, I had the great fortune of a free afternoon, which I decided to spend on campus in the hopes that I'd run into him again. I set up camp on the green with my textbook and my highlighter, keeping one eye on economic theory and the other on the sidewalks that criss-crossed the grass.

After two hours of reading and looking, I'd gained a slight sunburn and an only marginally better knowledge of politics, and had yet to see him. As much as I wanted to stay there forever, I decided to pack up and walk back to my car, a black Accord parked in the student lot about six blocks away.

As I zipped up the larger compartment of my backpack and opened the smaller one to search for my keys, a sensed a shadow over me. I looked up...and there he was.

"I didn't get a chance to really say hi to you earlier," he explained before I could speak.

"Hi," I half whispered, half said.

"How have you been?" he asked, reaching down to scoop up my Jansport. "Let me get that for you."

"Good...I've been good," I stuttered. Oh my god, he's here! He's actually talking to me outside of class!

"I haven't seen you much since the fall, and I kind of missed having you in class. You were always the most interested in German."

My heart threatened to beat its way through my rib cage and out of my chest. "I missed you, too. Dr. Komzer isn't as good as you... I mean in class; I just don't like the way he teaches."

He smiled. "Thanks, but you shouldn't say that too loudly. Where are you headed?"

"Uh...home, I guess. What about you?"

"Nowhere in particular."

There was a brief pause, during which I looked at everything but him and he looked directly at me.

"I probably shouldn't be asking you this, but do you have a little while to go get a cup of coffee or something?"

I was floored, completely unable to respond or even to do anything but stand there, eyes wide, staring straight at his beautiful face.

"Um..." I swallowed hard. "Uh...what...what'd you have in mind?"

"I was thinking...when Ellen and I split up, I got the espresso machine. I make a pretty good cappuccino, if you don't mind your milk a little scalded and your espresso kinda strong."

I laughed at his humble offer, but then processed all that I'd heard. "You got a divorce?"

It was his turn to avoid eye contact. "Yeah, early last spring...it...uh...."

I interrupted. "You don't have to tell me. But yeah, I'd love a cappuccino. Especially at your place."

Though I hadn't really shown a great capacity with words up to this point, I do have this rare gift of being able to offer sex rather easily.... That is, once I'm positive that a guy's interested in me (assuming I'm also interested in him), I lose almost all of my shyness and turn into Pussy Galore, gaining the ability to insinuate an offer of "more to cum" in practically every sentence. A good quality? Depends on who you are, I guess.

He finally looked at me. "Really?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

"Do you mind walking?" he asked. "I didn't bring my car."

I shook my head. "I don't mind, but I'm parked in the student lot, if you want to talk mine."

"Sure," he shrugged.

When we got to my car, I opened both doors and started in, then got back out. "The sun," I explained. "I like to air it out a little before I get in the oven."

Michael laughed, tossing my backpack in the back and leaning against the hood of the car.

"Holy shit!" he exclaimed, jumping up immediately. "That's really hot!"

It was my turn to laugh. "Told you so," I taunted from a safe distance away from the car.

When the air conditioner finally began to replace the steam inside my car with breathable air, we got in. Michael directed me to his apartment, close to campus but far enough outside the "student ghetto" to be in a pretty nice complex. I parked next to his car, and we walked up two flights of stairs to his place. I was curious to see what the inside would look like. I knew a lot about Michael – he was an ex-high school football coach and English teacher, he loved German as much or more than I did, he was neat, he liked computers (and, as I'd just discovered, cars). I don't think you can really get a sense of a person until you see their house, though.

Michael unlocked the door, letting me in first. "Here it is," he said, closing the door behind us. I took a look around. The living room was carpeted in white, with black leather couches, an expensive-looking sound system and a huge flat-screen TV. Two Ansel Adams prints hung on the wall, to my great pleasure. Across the living room was a well-stocked bar (complete with the aforementioned espresso machine) connected to a kitchen and a small dining room with French doors that opened onto a deck.

"Can I use your bathroom?" I asked.

"Yeah, sure, it's to the left. Want me to make you a cappuccino while you're gone?"

"Is that what you're having?"

"Actually, I think I'll have a rum and coke."

"Do you have any cranberry juice?" I asked.

"Yeah..." Michael looked at me quizzically.

"For a cosmo," I explained.

"You're not 21," he reminded me.

"No, but I am 18." I winked at him, letting him ponder the implications of that as I headed off to the bathroom, which was to my great surprise equipped with a whirlpool.

When I came back into the living room, Michael was sitting on the couch, and a cosmo was waiting on the coffee table. I took a sip. I smirked. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," Michael responded, swallowing the last of his drink. As he got up to make another, my curiosity got the better of me.

"Michael, I'm not trying to be nosy, but you have a really, really nice place. Are your parents doctors or something?"

Michael laughed, almost spilling the Bacardi all over the bar. "I haven't talked to my parents since I split up with Ellen, actually. No, I'm getting a couple of really nice-sized scholarships that more than pay for my tuition. I figure, why live in a shithole if I can have this place?"

He came and sat down next to me. "So you like it?"

I'm not a heavy drinker, and the vodka was starting to loosen my tongue. "Not as much as you." I grinned.

I swear I saw him blush. He looked down at his drink, then over at the TV, then back to his drink. "So, what are you up to this summer?"

I leaned back into the corner of the couch, more than slightly disappointed that we weren't on each other like animals.

"I'm taking a poli sci class in the mornings, and I work most afternoons at the language lab. What about you? Aren't you supposed to be in Germany?"

He sort of shrugged. "Yeah, but after the whole thing with Ellen, I decided I just wanted to be here this summer. The idea of taking a whole bunch of freshman on a two-month-long fieldtrip didn't sound like as much fun as it usually is. No offense, of course. None of them speak as well as you do."

I smiled at the compliment, feeling a little better about the direction of our quasi-date.

"I'm sorry about you and your wife," I lied.

"Ex-wife," he corrected me. "Actually, it's okay. My parents always liked her more than I did, and I wasn't ever sure quite why I married her. I think this is for the best."

I got up to make another drink, not sure how to respond. I was elated that he was no longer attached, but I didn't feel quite right about jumping him and trying to make him forget all his problems. I still couldn't tell if he actually wanted me, or if he was just bored and lonely.

"Let me," he offered, coming over to the bar to help me. He took the cranberry juice out of my hand and began to pour.

"Michael," I began, deciding that knowing was better than wondering. "Can I be honest with you?"

"Shoot," he said, holding the glass up to eye-level and adding a splash of Stoli.

"I don't know why you asked me over here, but I think you should know that I've always sort of had a thing for you...all last fall and even this spring, even though you weren't my TA anymore. I have no idea how you feel about me, but I want you to know that you don't have to worry about me filing a huge sexual harassment suit or anything, because anything you do would be more than welcome."

That said, I stood at the end of the bar, afraid to look at him. I heard two clinks as he set the glass and the bottle down, and then he was standing right up against me, his gray-green eyes looking straight into mine.

"Good."

With that, Michael kissed me, and Jesus, was it good. He wrapped himself around me, fingers twisted in my hair, his warm hands supporting my head and my body melding into his. His lips were soft, his tongue hot and his technique absolutely award-winning. I let my hands roam across his back, feeling the muscles under the seafoam green polo, and then up to his short brown hair, pushing his head even harder against mine.

When the kiss ended, I felt as though I'd just cum, then and there. Michael was staring at me almost fiercely, still less than six inches away from me.

"You have no idea how I've wanted you," he said, his voice lower and more intense than I'd ever heard it before.

"No, just dreamed," I replied.

"Do you want go to my bedroom?" he asked.

"More than ever," I said, the words barely escaping before he was kissing me again, picking me up underneath the arms and lifting me until my legs wrapped around his hips. He carried me to the bedroom and we toppled onto the bed, not breaking the kiss until we bounced slightly on the mattress.

I lay on my back, arms over my head, waiting for him to make the next move. He wasn't my first by any interpretation, but I wanted to see where he'd take it.

He leaned over me, kissing my lips, cheek and neck before coming back to my ear. "Can I touch you?" he whispered. I nodded, my eyes closed, reveling in the tiny goosebumps that trailed from my ear to the base of my neck and down my spine.

His hand came to rest briefly on my stomach, then traveled slowly over the front of my soft cotton shirt to just beneath my left breast. He cupped it, rubbing his thumb over my nipple, which was straining against the thin satin of my bra and ever so sensitive to his touch. He kissed me again, then slid his palm to the other soft mound. When he teased my right nipple, he stiffened.

"No way...." He tilted his head in question.

I giggled. "Yes way," I said, explaining the two metal balls on either side of my nipple.

"Are you serious? How long have you had that done?"

"Almost six months. Want to see it?" I offered.

"Fuck yeah," he replied, pulling up my shirt to gain access to my bra. I arched my back off the bed, letting him unhook the black satin.

"Wow," he whispered, staring at the hoop through the second most sensitive part of my body. "Does it hurt?"

"It did, when I got it done. But no, not anymore. You can touch it, if you want."

His finger lightly traced the metal to its points of entrance and exit.

"How many have seen it?" he asked, teasing my nipple to hardness underneath his finger.

"One or two," I answered, hoping he wouldn't remember the rule of three.

"I like it," he proclaimed. At that point, he took it and my nipple into his mouth, and it didn't really matter what he thought.

Michael tugged gently at the ring with his teeth, then licked a path to my other breast, drawing circles around my nipple until he finally closed his hot lips around it. As he sucked and bit, his hand slid down my stomach to my jeans, unbuttoning all five buttons quickly and easily. As his hand traveled lower, my breath caught in pleasure. Michael immediately froze. "Is this too fast?" he asked, lifting his head to look at my face.

"No, no...keep going," I urged him.

"Are you sure?" he persisted.

"Michael, I know I was the good student and all, but I do know how to have fun. I'm not exactly new at this, and I promise you're not going to hurt me." I took his hand in mine and thrust it into my panties.

I think it took until he felt the smoothness of my shaven pussy for him to realize that he wasn't soiling some pure little schoolgirl. Not that it isn't fun to play like that, but I think he was afraid I'd cry rape in the middle, or something. Once his hand slid between my bare lips and felt how increasingly wet I was, though, I think all his concerns were forgotten.

He kissed me again, even more furiously than before, and began to rub my clit in little circles. One arm slid underneath my back, and he shifted so his chest was pressed against mine as his fingers stroked me with increasing pressure. The excitement of finally being with my TA and the skill with which he touched me brought me to my peak quickly, and my last thought before I exploded in sheer orgasmic bliss was, Well, I've never met Ellen, but she certainly taught him well....

Michael let up slightly as my muscles stopped contracting, but he didn't stop contact with my clit. Instead, he used his other hand to pull off my jeans and panties, and very quickly his mouth was on my bare inner thigh. I know not to stop a good thing when I see it coming – I just lay back and enjoyed it, floating around in post-orgasmic relaxation, letting Michael's tongue dance closer and closer to the wet folds of my pussy.

He kissed slowly up my thigh, taking his sweet, sweet time with the crease between my leg and my cunt. He lapped at my skin, seeming to savor it with all the concentration he put into teaching German – and trust me, that's the highest compliment I could ever give anyone.

When he finally reached the outer lips of my dripping pussy, he held his mouth over my sex and breathed gently onto it. The hot, humid air sent a tingle directly through my clit into the pit of my stomach. Michael took one long, slow lick from the bottom of my opening to the top of my clit, and I knew I was in for a glorious ride.

He began by licking softly in every fold, finding and drinking all of the sweetness of my last orgasm. When he decided he'd gotten it all, he started to circle in towards the single most sensitive part of my body. He alternated between sucking my lips into his mouth and licking between them as he moved closer and closer to the spot I knew would send me off again...

And then he was on it, flicking his tongue both gently and furiously over my clit. My thighs flew apart, my hands coming down to pull them open, to spread myself for his relentless tongue. With each swipe of his tongue, my legs jumped, until he was licking so fast that my whole body was quivering. Until now, I had been mostly silent, but I couldn't hold it in any longer.

"Michael," I breathed. "Oh fuck, don't stop...please, don't stop!" He dutifully obeyed my pleading instructions, and with a few more flicks of his tongue I was coming again.

When I opened my eyes, I noticed that he was still fully clothed, lying on the bed next to me, just staring at me.

"Hey," I whispered. "I think you're a little overdressed." Michael laughed. "Can I help you with that?"

I sat up and kissed him once, then a second time more deeply. Though I had just come twice (that's usually enough to put me asleep), I wanted more of him. I wanted to see him shirtless...naked. I wanted to touch his cock, to hold it in my hand, to stroke it, to suck on it, to feel it inside me.

Michael was naked in less than 10 seconds, his clothes flying across the room as I tore them off of him. When he was finally naked, I dove between his legs and swallowed his cock. He let out a sharp moan, surprised by my energy. Not to brag, but I'm good at a lot of things – and sucking cock is one of my best talents.

I deep-throated Michael a few times, then wrapped my hand around the base of his cock and began flicking my tongue over the head while I played with his balls with my other hand. Every so often, I'd deep throat him again, letting the crown of his cock rest in my throat as I swallowed, making sure he could feel the contractions as my throat strained to accommodate him. When I started to gag, I'd pull off and go back to sucking and licking him, occasionally dipping down to take one of his balls into my mouth.

I could hear Michael's breathing change from slow and labored to quick, short gasps. "Um...you better...." Here he sucked in air. "You better stop." I thrust my mouth onto his cock once more, giving him one more second of throat, and sat up.

"Don't you want to finish?" I asked, doing my best impression of a wide-eyed debutante.

Michael grinned. "Fuck yeah, I do. But not in your mouth. At least, not yet."

"Oh Michael, how dare you!" I giggled at my failed attempt at a prude, and decided to change my tactics.

"You naughty, naughty boy," I growled as I slid my naked skin against his until I was laying on top of him, my legs on either side of his thighs.

Michael merely smiled the self-confident, always blissful smile of a man about to get laid.

"So you actually want to take this–" Here I grabbed his cock in my hand– "and put it in here?" Already straddling him, it was a simple task to rub the head of his cock against my still-dripping pussy.

Michael's eyes closed, and he seemed to melt into the bed.

"Is that what you want?" I repeated. "To...fuck...your student? To slide your cock in and out of her tight little pussy until you can't stand it any more and pull out and jack off all over her breasts and face?"

Michael groaned.

"That's what you want, isn't it?" I slipped the head of his cock into me. "Yeah...." As I slid down onto his thick cock, my taunt became a sigh of gratification. It hadn't exactly been months since my last fuck, but Michael filled me like no other – I'd been wanting him for so long, and finally having him inside me was better than any sex I could remember.

I began to slide back and forth on his stomach, letting his cock press against the different walls of my cunt, alternately rubbing the front and back of my hungry pussy.

Michael opened his eyes and reached for my breasts, cupping them and rubbing his palms over my stiff nipples.

"Fuck, Michael," I moaned as I started to bounce up and down, using my thighs to lift myself off his cock and drop myself back onto it.

His hands traveled down my sides to my waist, lifting me up and down, setting our rhythm. We fucked fast, greedily, thrusting against each other so hard that it almost hurt as we collided. Each time we came together, his pubic hair scraped deliciously against my clit, bringing me closer and closer to another orgasm.

Michael's hands moved to my ass, pulling my cheeks apart in an effort to force me harder and harder onto his cock. Cool air seemed to rush against the tightest of my openings, and that, coupled with his insistent pounding, sent me over the edge.