The Relative Advantages of SightbyAlex Finch©
Gary walks past the campus gym. A mundane event, but with little supporting logic; his apartment would be far easier to reach if he'd simply cross the street outside of the Liberal Arts Building. There are, however, far more vital issues for Gary to confront this particular afternoon than subliminal logic.
The gym (or more concretely, The Jason F. Moore Center for Physical Education) is easily the plainest building on the Grover Point University campus. A dull gray concrete encases the structure; it always seems rain-beaten, even under full sunshine, so harsh is the depressing talent of those walls. But there is lightning in even the most introspective storm clouds, Gary knows, and he can already hear the echoes of those legendary, treasured rows of feet.
He can only pass by the side doors once; he would declare himself a pervert or a stalker if he was to pass by even twice. Once is more than enough for him. Those side portals peer straight into the main gym, all lacquered wood and bleachers, and girls. The Grover Point X-Rays varsity cheerleading squad is practicing away. All strong adult women, juniors and seniors only, 34 of them. They cover every major, every focus, each academic pursuit, each specialty, no gaps. Some are on the dean's list. Some are awaiting notices of academic probation. Some are in the student government. Some are already working off their Thursday afternoon buzz, at hardly early evening.
Gary has never quite mastered the art of peering into those open steel jaws without feeling self-conscious, even preemptively 'caught'. He cannot care though, as he strolls by. There is three seconds (rounded up) of sight, of optical contact. Long rows of girls, dyed and natural hair, and flesh. Pale as cream and tanned like rare leather. Sports bras on half of them. Tank-tops on the others. The tiniest, flimsiest shorts imaginable. Sneakers, old and stylish. Some have no socks at all, some shoelaces are untied. They bounce around as a single unit, their breasts heaving into the air and quivering from side to side. If you look close, very close, considering you only have three seconds, you can spot the jiggle of their thighs, and the rippling of the rears underneath their shorts, and the bright, soft panties whose tops you can pray to see if the shorts are a little too old, and can't grip anymore.
At the focus of all this attraction, the rows of stamping legs and glistening skin is one girl alone. At the front. Twenty-one years of age. Red, shoulder length hair. Five feet, five inches. Maybe five pounds overweight, which makes her firm leg muscles a bit bouncy, and so much more attractive. Today she's got on a lemon-drop yellow sports bra, and extra-skimpy, loose gym shorts; in a frank concession to sophistication, the word "Butt" is printed on the posterior. As she always, always does, she wears no shoes or socks, and no toenail polish. She lives in an apartment building on Cray Street. Door number five. No roommate.
Captain of the squad. Led them to the state cheerleading finals last year, when she was just a junior. The girls adore her. Worship her. So does Gary. So must half the guys on campus, he imagines. They do not, of course, not all of them, but such is the mindset of the outside admirer, the boy plus crush. Krista raises her leg, nude up to her thigh. The outline of her panties become clearly visible through the surface of her shorts, despite the logo.
Three seconds gone. Gary is past the door. They start another cheer. The fun is over, he thinks.
There she is. Hustling out the door. Her breasts, squished like ripe peaches under her bra, her belly hanging down very slightly over the lip of her shorts. Drops of sweat glisten at the edges of her red bangs, and fall toward his feet as she approaches him. The heat of her blood can be felt licking his face.
"Oh, Krista. Hey!"
She smirks and pinches his stomach. He tries not to smile too vulgarly.
"Soooooo. You coming over tonight? Watch some tapes?"
"Yeah! You feeling better?"
"Oh shit yeah. Yeah... I'm sorry you couldn't come over sooner but you..."
"I know. Study groups suck."
"Fuck yeah. Fuck. Well, be there at eight! Don't get lost!"
Girls are already peering out the door and giggling. Giggling a bit too much, in fact. Gary sees this as strange, but is too focused on Krista to ponder any fantastic implications.
Of course he won't get lost. He lives across the hall.
She spins around and runs back, the bottoms of her feet moist from the grass, the beautiful, subtle rolls in her pale, freckled skin contracting and expanding like lungs. Gary stares a bit, and turns around and hastily makes his way home. Already five o' clock.
Making his way back across campus, Gary recalls the events leading up to his and Krista's little evening date, in the fetishistic detail available only to those excited to have conjured what they are certain is an unmitigated triumph.
She had knocked on his door exactly one week ago. He opened it, and saw her standing in the portal to his apartment for the first time ever, outside of his frequent midnight imaginings. She was not in the state he often fantasized. Her green eyes were bloodshot and baggy, her nose was running. She wiped the clear liquid onto the sleeves of her "St. David's Key Club Community Bash" t-shirt. She did not seem self-conscious about this, or the fact that her red bra was quite visible under the white fabric. She was wearing sky blue cotton socks, and black wind pants. She tried to smile to him. Her speech was very clumsy, as her nose was stuffed, but Gary remembers her words as eloquently as possible.
"Okay... I don't wanna make you sick," she said.
"No, it's all right."
"I've got the flu."
"Oh, well even better... I've had a flu shot."
"I hate needles. Wish I didn't now. Umm... my car's out of gas. Could you please, please, please buy me some medicine at Matthew's?"
He did not hesitiate.
She handed him a paper with her needs listed on it, along with some cash.
"You're a nice guy. I can tell. I'll be in my room. Just knock."
He all but ran to his car to get to the drug store as quick as possible. He tore the medicine off the shelves, and was home in a flash. He walked up to her door and knocked. She opened the door, blowing her nose into a tissue. Her face was red under her freckles.
"Oh wow, you're quick. C'mon."
He followed her in, and she flopped down on the thick orange comforter that covered her bed. Gary tried not to sweat as he spied her cheerleading outfit hanging on the closet door. Clothes were strewn around her room, including tiny thongs and very lacy panties, balled up near sweatshirts and sneakers.
Gary put the medicine on the table next to her bed. She was lying face down atop her pillow, groaning. He hesitated for a second, then gently patted her fiery hair, all clumped and sweaty.
"Your stuff's on the table."
"Oh shit I'm aching. All fucking over. Thank you so fucking much, I so mean it."
He began to leave. He had to stare a bit more, though. At that instant, he decided he was fully taken with her. Even in this low state, he found her irresistible. He would not let the opportunity pass into waste and infamy in his mind. He hesitantly reached his hand down. Her right foot sluggishly reached up to scratch the back of her left ankle with her socked toes. He concluded that it was the cutest action even taken in all of human endeavor. His hand drew closer, closer.
He softly touched her left foot and stroked it, from the heel to her toes, with the palm of his hand.
She purred loudly from the pillow. He gave her another, firmer rub. She did not purr that time. He took his hand a way and prepared to leave. She looked up quickly, from her rest, and gazed at him, smiling with her runny nose.
"Hey. Keep going."
Gary gasped a bit, and instantly sat down at the foot of her bed and began to massage her feet through her socks, one at a time, with both hands. Her socks were very warm, and a bit moist, which made Gary very happy, and more than slightly aroused. He stroked her feet all over, rubbing her ankles a bit, and squeezing her toes, just a little. Every so often, she'd groan from her pillow, and Gary would repeat the corresponding motion a few times, and return to it at regular intervals. She was very generous with her moaning, as any girl who works on her feet is in such a situation. Finally, figuring she'd not totally notice through her socks, he slowly put his lips to the pale blue cotton of one foot and gave her a kiss, softly. He did the same for the other foot. He got up again to leave.
"Gary," she called from her pillow.
He walked over to her side.
She turned her whole body around, with some effort, and smiled widely at him.
"If I wouldn't get you sick, sweetie, I'd let you kiss my lips, too."
"I did get my flu shot. I told you."
She kept smiling.
He bent down to her face and firmly kissed her lips; they were very moist, considering her state. He pushed back. Her lips curled up into a huge grin. He pressed back down and kissed her very hard, his tongue entering her mouth with zero resistance. Her mouth was very very hot. Her tongue reached up to join his, and they wrestled inside her. He could taste her medicine. She probed her tongue up into his mouth, and he sucked down on her tongue, holding it in his mouth and savoring the elixir's faux grape flavor, as she playfully struggled to escape. He withdrew, some of her snot on his face. They giggled.
"Look. As soon as I'm better, come over. We'll watch some stuff."
That was her offer.
Gary, returning to the present, hurries up the steps to their floor and locks the door to his apartment. He'll have to prepare for their date.
Seven fifty arrives quickly. Having dressed in a fine pair of cargo pants and an attractive long-sleeved shirt, doused himself with cologne, and relieved certain physical needs, Gary strides across the hall to Krista's door. He knocks. Rustling is heard within her place. She opens the door, looking ravishing in a navy blue button down shirt, untucked, a pair of loose and slightly faded jeans, and a pair of old running shoes, which set the rest of the outfit off classically. It takes a few seconds of Gary admiring her to realize the she does not look dressed to watch tapes in her room.
"Come in!" she bellows.
Gary follows her in, smiling like a fool.
"You... you look really nice, Krista."
"Thanks. C'mon in... fun is waiting..."
He steps into her room. It's a very odd tableaux. She has moved her kitchen table over to near her bed. The table is covered with small red plastic cups. Wobbly green gelatin fills each cup.
"Oh wow, you didn't have to..." he starts.
"Oh, I had a lot of extra vodka lying around. Thought I'd make some shots, since I was changing our plans."
"Yeah," she says, rummaging through her closet, "We're not going to watch anything. Nothing at all."
Gary is suddenly fantastically excited.
Krista emerges from her closet with a pair of thick black winter scarves. She smirks.
"We're not going to watch anything. What. So. Ever."
She approaches him. He is nervous, but her smile, very warm underneath her mischief, calms him a bit. She places one of the scarves over his eyes, and ties it around his head soundly. She whispers in his ear:
"Don't cheat. Listen."
He obeys. For a second, he can hear nothing but traffic outside. The world is totally black. He can feel her warmth near him, though. He can feel her breath; it smells sweet, like mints. But he can't hear anything, until:
The soft sound of fingers touching clothing. The slip of plastic passing through fabric. He bends down. She's unbuttoning her shirt.
"Don't touch," she says.
He hears each button release, seven of them, all the way down to her knees. Then the rustling slide against skin. The shirt must be off. He leans a bit closer. He hears a slight snap, of a metal clasp giving way, then a brush of movement in front. He inhales. He feels lace, suddenly, warm, even hot lace against his cheeks. He gasps. He hears her giggle as she rubs her bra against his lips. He curses himself for not seeing the color, then realizes that he should be concerned with her flesh.
"Bend down low," she whispers.
He does, and he hears her sit down on her carpet. He hears the unique whir of shoelaces being untied: left, then right. The hushed jostle of shoes being removed. Then a sharp whoosh to the left, and a whoosh to the right. She must have worn extra loose socks to whip them off like that. He imagines what they looked like, big and pink and floppy. He feels wool slap him sweetly in the face. She giggles loudly. Again. Big wooly pink socks. He has a very serious erection.
"Stand up," she says, still sniggering.
He follows her command, and barely prevents himself from moaning as her hears the sound of unzipping, and the lowering of jeans to the ground. Then, a much quieter, implacable movement of clothing. A quick elastic snap. Then he feels her panties against her face. He breathes deeply and luxuriates in her musky scent. She runs the velvety material all over his cheeks and lips, and he involuntarily kisses it. He imagines the panties to be moist. He's sure it's a thong. He curses himself again for not seeing it.
"Ok," she whispers, "I'm putting on my blindfold."
He hears her tie it around her head.
"Now, don't fall over. Take all your clothes off. Just throw them down."
He quivers, and is thankful she cannot see him. He takes his shoes off first, slipping them away without untying them. He almost does fall as he removes his socks. He pulls his shirt up over his head; a little difficult as he is still wearing the blindfold. He unbuckles his belt. His pants are baggy enough that he can pull them down without unbuttoning. He stands for a second in his briefs, wondering if he looks silly, then realizes that she cannot see him anyway. He pulls off his briefs, dropping them to the floor. His penis is reaching out into the air; it's cool in her room, and he can feel a tiny drop of pre-cum drizzling up from the head.
"Now," she whispers.
He feels her on him all at once, all of her naked flesh on his, as she hugs him: her blindfold on his, her lips on his, her soft breasts on his chest, her shaven, but agonizingly prickly pubic hair on his penis, her toes on his feet. They kiss and she squeezes him like a vice. He hates that he cannot see her naked form, but the feel of her skin is enough. She's hot like the sun, and he cannot see, as if he stared at her too much and lost all vision. Her mouth tastes like it smells: minty, but with the added flavor of blueberry bubblegum. She softly grinds her belly against his, and he kisses her deeper, quicker. His hands slide down the smooth flesh of her back, and down to the top of her ass, which he knows will be awesome, as soon as he can see. She suddenly pulls away.
"Ok," she whispers, "We're going to play a game. The table is by my bed, we can reach around to find it. You'll go first. You take a cup, and squeeze it onto a part of your body. I'll find it, without my hands, and eat it off. Then we switch."
"It's a very fun game. The loser even wins, because the loser is the one who cums first."
"I told you it's fun. Come up on the bed."
Still embraced, they carefully maneuver onto the comforter, and sit in the center, very close to each other. They are tight, as the bed is quite small. Her legs are at rest atop his, her flesh so very tender and moist with sweat. If he leans close, he can feel her tits on his chest; she's very erect too.
"I know you're mad you can't see me Gary," she teases, "But if you win, I'll make it up to you really good. I promise."
"Oh God, Krista, I'm not mad at all."
"Take a cup, spill it on you, and say go."
He reaches to his side, and carefully lifts a plastic cup from the big table beside them. He doesn't want to lose the game quickly, so he crushes the cup just above his right knee. It's ice cold on his skin as the jiggly treat plops out.
He feels her bend down. Her breasts are free and hanging down. He feels a nipple brush against his lower leg, like a taut muscle; the sound of crushing the cup has given him away. She lashes out her tongue on his knee; the boiling moistness of her saliva makes him grit his teeth. She works her lips up his knee, and quickly hits the chilly snack above. She opens her mouth and sucks the gelatin in. She licks in long and rough strokes to clean up any leftover bits and alcoholic glaze. The mix of hot and cold is numbing him but driving him nuts as he hears her slurp and smack her lips. He hears her sit back up and snatch a cup. He hears the crunch of cheap plastic and the drip of the cup's contents.
He draws close to her, sniffing a bit. He bends down lower and grasps her hips for balance. Her skin is so tender even there, and his hands slide down a little with her nakedness. He rubs his cheeks all the way up her tummy, savors her breasts against his clenched mouth. He sniffs lime. He follows the scent to his left, and his nose is cold. She's put the gelatin on her arm. He devours it quickly. His mouth and throat burns; there is far, far too much vodka in the mix, a true college recipe. He leans back, grabs another cup, nearly knocking them all over, lays back, and spreads it right above his navel.
She squeals as she tumbles atop him, smudging her lips around and breathing hotly all over and licking. She finds the prize quickly, and Greg ecstatically enjoys her breasts enveloping his penis, now drenched with pre-cum, as she sucks on his belly to get down every drop. She's back up.
And so on and so on. After twenty minutes, they are very intoxicated and very happy. They squeak and snort as they lick the burning mix off of every place on their bodies. Krista pours some right on her lips, and when Greg finds it half spills into her mouth, and their tongues writhe over the spoils. She spins around and pours some right over the top of her derrière. Greg not only eats the lime concoction, but slowly probes his tongue between her juicy, tender cheeks, just to be sure. She moans in total pleasure as he massages and squishes her ass, soaking her with his mouth. He pours some directly onto the bottom of his shaft, and she pops his testicles into her mouth searching, He feels her tongue wrap itself around his penis and he's sure he's going to cum, but she finishes, she does not move any higher than she needs to.
"GO GO GO GO!" she shrieks.
He almost tackles her. They're totally drunk now. The gelatin is below her navel, but he licks her all the way up to her neck, lapping at her flesh and all but eating her tits. The smell of her body, her sexual scents unlocked through constant oral attention mix with Russian alcohol and endless musk. She's so horny now, so wild and dripping wet. He eats the last of the food and swiftly snakes his tongue down and teases the lips of her pussy. She yelps.
"I'm... I'm gonna cum, Gary! Put it in! I wanna cum with you inside me!"
She grasps all over his body and woozily finds his prick, steaming and sticky. She guides him into her. He groans and envelops her in his arms underneath him. All he can feel now is glistening, scalding wetness against his penis, pressing up into a wall of tight flesh. He grinds his masculinity farther into her and she howls. They begin to fuck vigorously with him on top, alcoholic drool pouring around their lips. He hammers his muscle far into her and she boils with his full length inside her, driving against her clit, swiping at it and giving her charges of pleasure. She pushes him upward and out of her, and they clumsily maneuver into a sitting position.