But fuck me sideways, meeting this girl did something to my brain. Like rewired it. Like reengineered my mechanical systems, disassembled my parts and restarted my engines.
It wasn’t just her tits that got me. But holy smokes, they were something to be revered.
She tried valiantly to cover them up with her sweater, but it was useless. They were eye-popping, in your face breasts that had no reason to be hidden or covered up. My mouth watered with the need to touch, lick, fuck.
Yet it wasn’t just her incredible breasts that drew me to her – she was the entire package. The way she stared at me, with these big, blue-violet-colored doe-eyes, looking right through to my soul. She took my breath away and had my dick jumping in my pants.
There was also the sultry sound of her voice, like burnt-sugar. If sound had a taste, that’s what it was. And her hair – it was long, dark and thick. I wanted to take hold of it in my fist, wrap it around my hand and tug her head back so I could get better access to her lips and neck.
And those goddamn lips. I will be dreaming about those lips tonight.
Which reminds me, I’m out of Kleenex.
I shove my feet over the edge of the bed and sit up, just as Quinn swings open my bedroom door, practically buck-naked.
“Yo, Pres. I’m in a jam.”
I lift a brow, even though this does not surprise me. For being such a smart guy, he’s a total idiot sometimes.
Quinn and I have been friends since freshman year and have roomed together in an off-campus house since last year. He’s also on my hockey team and is a power-forward. The guy has no qualms about walking around naked in the house we share with two other guys, even when there are other people over.
Right now, he does have some kind of bunched-up shirt covering his junk. Thank God for small miracles.
“What’s up?”
He turns his head to look surreptitiously down the hallway toward his room then leans in through the doorway just a little more, whispering his response.
“I’m out of condoms, dude. Can you help a brother out?”
I roll my eyes, indicating my annoyance. This happens every few weeks or so. Jace Quinn is a great guy, good friend and helluva hockey player, but a prepared player, he is not. Or maybe he is and goes through them so fast that he never has time to restock? Who knows. He has a new chick in and out of his bed at least every two days. The dude is a fucking stud.
Me, on the other hand, am a bit reserved on the hookups with puck bunnies and the like. I’m cool with whatever anyone else does, but for me, I need a connection with a girl, not just a pussy.
Opening the drawer of my bedside table, I toss him a string of Trojans, which he catches with ease.
“Thanks, bro. And you best be putting on your headphones, cause it’s gonna be getting loud up here.” He waggles his eyebrows and vanishes from sight down the hall.
I hear the door click and some giggling and laughter before music muffles the noise from the creaking springs of his bed.
With a heavy sigh, I grab my laptop and books and head downstairs to the kitchen. Stoney is on the couch playing video games with a headset and mic on and I give him a nod of my chin as I walk past him. He’s not a hockey player, but a video game nerd and Jace’s brother. His real name is Max, but he has a reputation for toking up all the time, thus the name Stoney.
It’s been a long day and my body is just now feeling the distinct soreness that only a good hockey workout can provide. We have a game coming up this weekend, so I need to be careful to keep myself hydrated and eat well. I make myself some sandwiches and grab an apple before sitting down at the table and opening my Lit book.
I’m not normally a guy who blushes or gets embarrassed easily, but I have to admit, reading about sex in fiction and the literature and poems representing the sexual human condition has me a little heated and well,horny. It certainly didn’t help matters as I sat in the library across the table from a smoking hot tutor whose shirt clung to her boobs, her nipples poking through the see-through blouse, discussing books and poems representing all things sex and relationships.
One of my assignments for this week is to read and provide my analysis of a Tennyson poem, entitledThe Princess. It’s a hard-fucking assignment, too. To make matters worse, I’d asked Brin what her name meant, and wouldn’t you fucking know it, it means “virtuous princess.” Now every time I read a passage or see that word, I automatically picture Brin and her full mouth, blue-marine eyes and captivating cleavage, and wonder if she’s as virtuous as her name suggests.
I groan loudly. Even the prologue of the poem has me wanting to pull my hair out. I have difficulty reading and comprehending even the easiest of verses and passages. But this old English literature shit? Just shoot me now. It’s painful.
Hoping to alleviate my stress, I decide to go for a quick run. I’m already dressed in my nylon jogging shorts, T-shirt and running shoes. Plugging my earbuds into my phone and slipping them in my ears, I head out the door.
Our house is only a few blocks from campus and I usually prefer the quiet neighborhood streets to the crowded walkways around the quad, but something is pulling me toward the school. Specifically, toward frat and sorority row.
Yes, Brin mentioned she’s in the Mi Alpha Alpha sorority house. The big three-story one with the ivy-lattice brick exterior and the cute window boxes decorated in flowers.
My feet move with purpose as I pump my arms and legs, increasing my blood flow as I loosen up with every step closer I take toward the infamous Greek row.
I don’t think I made a conscious effort to run past her sorority, but by the time I get here, I’m stuck.
