Maian Philosophy: RosariobyKaryn Gardenia©
Mendelson Hall has only one classroom, but occasionally the 12x20 library room downstairs is utilized for smaller classes. The actual classroom has become known as the Mendelson Machine for a few reasons that non-Philosophy students rarely take the time to wonder about. 1) It's ALWAYS too hot, and 2) Some of the greatest moments of genius on the whole campus are created there as efficiently as a juicer juices. The hot part simply adds to the experience.
I enrolled in Ethics this semester based on major requirements and a keen interest. What I didn't think about was the mass of non-majors who would see this particular class and its convenient placement in the day as a perfect way to knock off their Philosophy Gen-Ed requirement for graduation. "What can be hard about Ethics?" they surely thought to themselves, dreaming of an entire semester in a class where all they'd have to do is share their opinions about controversial issues and be told by the teacher that yes, they are the most ethically minded student in the class. Good work.
It has now been four weeks and we are all in the habit of sitting in the same places every day. My place is at the front left part of the semi-circle nearest the professor's post. It has been my seat in every class I've ever had in the Machine, and it eliminates any small-minded human barriers between me and the young, brilliant Professor. Some of the students have actually opened their eyes to what they are studying and what is expected of them, but there are still a few who answer "That's what the Bible says we should do," to every question. I do my very best to resist looking disgusted, but sometimes I know I must fail miserably. There's a very pretty Colombian girl across the semi-circle who smiles and looks at me conspiratorially every time someone launches into religion mode. I've noticed that looking at her during these pointless rants keeps me from becoming too frustrated.
She has started to meet me at the door after class as we are all leaving. We have walked close together and discussed worthwhile material while the cold bluff winds thrust around corners and through the gaps in the trees. As we talk, I sometimes find myself looking down at her close-fitting boots and imagine the calves and ankles underneath. I wonder how long spring can possibly hold off, and if this Colombian girl has ever daydreamed about me in a summer dress with bare legs falling into a comfortable suntan like her natural one.
Her name is Rosario, but she says the "s" like a "z," as an American would. She has no accent, only a slight clip in her speech that remains from her parents' accents, I'd guess. Her voice is a bit brighter than mine. "I wish I had a dark voice like yours, Maia," she said to me once before we parted ways at her dorm building, "It's really nice to hear you read out loud." I have grown quite fond of her voice just the way it is. I have let myself imagine it, even, as it might sound if she were very close to me in the dark, whispering- "That's it," she might say, "Right there."
Today in class, we worked in separate groups on an Applied Ethics exercise. I had hoped to be working with her, since I knew she had been waiting all afternoon to compliment my form-fitting black leggings. She preferred form-fitting clothing, and she liked my form in them. I liked her to look. I wanted to suggest that she get a pair just like them. I thought I might die on my feet if I ever got to see her thighs and butt being gripped the way mine were being gripped right now. I thanked the fashion gods silently that this kind of thing was in style for winter now.
The class had a pretty heated discussion about the exercise. If 20 people had a deadly disease and you could only cure 10 of them, what criteria would you base your choices on? How would you determine who's life is more valuable than the others? Rosario seemed to be listening to one of her group members with a keen interest. She interrupted him, and then she apologized. They talked some more and shared a laugh. When she turned away, his eyes fell on her cleavage. The white top she wore cradled her generous breasts as if it were literally made of two eager palms. I enjoyed a silent smile as I turned back to my own group. He was wasting his time, but I certainly couldn't blame him for looking.
As soon as we were outside and had turned the corner to the empty sidewalk leading down the hill, she stopped suddenly and looked at me as if she had forgotten something. Her hand slid up my arm to my shoulder as she tried to piece her thoughts together. "Oh," she finally said as her eyes lit up, "I almost forgot. My roommate asked me to go to this stupid party with her out at the Rhino House... and I told her I was going to be out of town, so I probably shouldn't go back to my room tonight."
"No problem," I answered, "My roommate is at her boyfriend's for the night. My home is your home."
She followed me up the stairs, and whistled her appreciation at the view before her. Immediately she apologized, thinking it had been too much. I thought for a half-second, and then I looked up and down the staircase before turning quickly and pressing her gently against the railing. She dropped her bag and it rolled down a few stairs, her black eyes darting after it, but only for a moment. My hands found their target swiftly and I finally got to grip her round ass in both hands. Her body was still warm from the hot classroom, and the hands and arms that slid up and around my neck were no exception. She moaned softly in pleasant surprise when I my lips found hers and my tongue touched hers ever-so-slightly. A door was jerked open a few flights down, and the fear of getting caught startled us out of the embrace. "We should go to your room," she said quietly, but intensely, as if she were saying something more like "We have to get out of here before the bomb goes off." I didn't reply, but picked up her bag for her and didn't waste time in leading the way to the room.
Immediately inside the door, she was kissing me again. Her tongue was back in my mouth before the door even fully clicked shut. She expertly unhooked my necklace while her arms were circling my neck, and let it drop onto the end table behind me. "I wanted to grab your ass so bad," I admitted when I could finally get my mouth free. She giggled through her kiss and pushed me gently back onto my roommate's bed.
"Those pants are amazing on you," she said, looking down on me. "But..."
There was a confident knock on the door.
"Damnit," I whispered under my breath and got up to answer it. Rosario stood back in the space between the door and the bed, turning to distract herself with the artwork on the wall. Her face was flushed like a flower and she had never looked so sexy.
After quickly dispatching the person at the door (Sarah, a girl in another one of my classes who was always bugging me about my interpretation of something or another), I was finally able to turn the lock and leave it locked. I went right back to my spot on my roommate's bed as if nothing had happened, and Rosario smiled down at me pointedly. She bent over me and her fingers trailed down my stomach to the waistband of my leggings, hooking themselves in the fabric and sliding them further down on my hips. She seemed completely entranced when they came down over my thighs and over my bent knees. By the time they were on the floor, her eyes had returned to me and she was soaking up the view. "Damn," she said, appreciatively, and I thought I almost heard a bit of an accent.
I had put on a pair of light blue cheeky panties made of lace that made my skin look tanner and drew attention to the subtle, sexy curve of my stomach. "Are you wearing a matching bra?" she asked. I nodded, and stood up, hooking my own fingers under the hem of my black and white top. It came off slowly, but fluidly, and in one smooth stretch I was standing there in my light blue lingerie, feeling her hot eyes sweeping over me. Before she could make a move, I dropped to my knees and ran both hands up her thighs to her stomach, where I moved her white top just enough to give my tongue access to her belly button. She shuddered on contact, and gasped happily. "Oh my god," she groaned with a smile I could hear in her voice. Her hands fell to my shoulders and gripped there, one of them sliding up the back of my head into my blond hair and pulling my face harder against her. I wanted to go lower and really make her squirm. She pulled me upward instead, wanting to kiss me and give her hands access to my whole body. I could feel the very edges of her carefully filed nails as she ran her hands up and down my back, stopping now and then to grip my upper back and pull me closer to her.
Before long, I gave in to my continuous impulse and finally let my hands glide up to take hold of her round breasts through her stretchy top. "Wait," she said, pulling her mouth from mine and beginning to pull her top off over her head. Before her face was even free of it, I was running my lips smoothly down the front of her neck to her sternum, where her breasts were being pushed together by the thin, white mesh that encircled them. She was hooking the straps off her shoulders with her thumbs, pulling them down to free herself and to eliminate the barrier between my lips and her bare skin.
"Maia," my professor said from across the room, gesturing to the textbook, "would you please read this section out-loud for us, starting at 'I answer that...'?" My brain snapped back into focus, and I quickly scanned the page for those words.
"Mr. Jameson," the pretty Colombian girl interrupted politely, "I had a quick question about what you just said."
By the time she had finished asking a question I knew she didn't really need answered, she had bought me enough time to find the passage, and nearly enough time to drift off into dreamland again. What might have happened next, I guess I'll never know. It's nice to know she's got my back, and if she ever wants the rest- it's hers.