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My roommate Lins Gilpin burst through the door of our one room apartment, threw her keys on the small table beside the door and herself onto the couch between our two desks. “I met him tonight, Jags.”
I had swiveled in my desk chair at her noisy entry, “Who?”
She gave me a mischievous smile I hadn’t seen in a long time, “My husband.”
This kind of stunned me: she had never said anything like this before, “How on earth do you know?”
The mischievous smiled stayed as she stood up, kicked off her shoes, put her hands under her skirt, pulled down her pink nylon panties, took them in one hand and, stretching the waist band like a sling shot, she flick them at the door about two feet away; they stuck about mid way up for a few seconds before fluttering limply to the floor. “That’s how I know. I’ve been soaked all night and he didn’t even touch me!”
I laughed at the crude drama, “Who is he?” I had known Lins almost my entire life and had seldom seen her this excited — excited, yes, always, but seldom this excited.
Lins was struggling out of her skirt, “His name is Bill Harmon. I saw him in the cafeteria,” she was undoing her blouse buttons now, “and I just walked up to his table, he was sitting alone, and I asked him if I could join him.” She shook off her blouse and undid the clasp between her breasts and when she threw her bra on the bed she squeezed her breasts, “God, I don’t ever remember being so horny.”
“So, who is he?” I was really intrigued, she had never talked this way before.
Lins looked at the work on my desk, “You finished for the night?”
“Another hour or so …”
“Come on Jags, not tonight. Look at me, I’m a wreck, I have needs.”
I laughed, she was anything but a wreck. Lins is voluptuous; she positively exudes sexual health, in her round, pretty Polish face, in her Rubenesque softness and her heavy chest. But it’s her openness that is so stunningly appealing: Lins conceals nothing; her urges are there for the world to see and tonight, they couldn’t be more obvious. I turned off the lamp on my desk and stood up, stripping off my sweater, “Tell me about him.”
As I changed into the t-shirt I wear to bed she went to the bathroom and quickly brushed her teeth and then hopped into my bed. “He’s in Commerce,” I heard her say as I peed, “fourth year. I think he’s really bright, but really calm, the calmest guy I’ve ever met. And cute, too, in his own way; and serious. He isn’t one of those frat boys you hate. This guy is going places and God, I can’t tell you how much I want to go along for the ride.”
I was watching her from the doorway as I brushed my teeth.
“You should have seen the way he ate his soup today, real deliberately, as if each spoonful was his last, and his eyes never left mine. He’s probably a Buddhist or something like that, really calm and peaceful. I loved being around him.” She laughed, “He made me, ME, feel calm and peaceful, can you imagine that?”
I laughed, no I couldn’t, then, eyeing her panties on the floor, I said, “He made you feel a little more than calm and peaceful.” I took my backpack from my bed and threw it on hers and crawled on, resting my back against the wall. When she settled in beside me I instinctively slipped my arm under her neck and she nestled into me with her cheek against my breast, then she opened her legs, resting her left leg against mine and when she placed her fingers in her pussy she began to tell me all about him: what he looked like; what they had talked about; what he was wearing.
“You look beautiful, Lins,” and she always did as she got close, “He’ll be a lucky man.” I kissed her lightly on the forehead and brought my hand to her large soft breast and massaged it lightly, her hand on mine, “Come on Lins,” I said quietly, while pecking at her forehead, “think about him, make it a good one,” and I squeezed her breast harder.
It was always hard to tell with her. She never bucked at her fingers, never whimpered, never screamed, she just fingered herself until she let out a satisfied sign then, when she was with me, she’d turn into me, the signal for me to turn around and she’d wrapped her arms arm me, carefully placing her hands on my small breasts, nestling into me and drift off. Most nights when we did this, I waited until she was asleep then I’d carefully extricated myself from her and go to her bed.
It wasn’t the worst night of my life but it was one of them. I hate small talk so I hate cocktail parties but I went because Lins insisted on it; she wanted my support. He had invited her.
Bill Harmon looked to me like the perfect guy for Lins, for a lot of reasons but the biggest is that in five years he was going to be crumpled and greying and sagging and entirely indifferent to how he looked. And so would Lins, I felt certain about that.
His brother, John, though was as different from him as I was from Lins. He was made for the cocktail circuit. He was about my age, maybe a little older, athletic, good bahis firmaları looking, taking a graduate degree in marketing and, there is no other word for it, he was suave: he worked the room like a young Carey Grant, flitting from one group to another, leaving laughter, joy and goodwill in his wake.
I loath people like that. Their shallowness comes so effortlessly; their superficiality is rewarded as if it had the weight of gravitas. I felt like cuffing the cretin but for Lins’ sake I didn’t. I accepted the two drinks he delivered and made no effort to respond to his meaningless pleasantries and when he offered to drive me home I waved him off dismissively with a “Thanks, but I’ll take a bus.” Suavity has never worked on me and never will.
Though I hadn’t seen her since Friday night, I wasn’t really worried about Lins and didn’t need to be. When she bounded into the apartment late on Sunday, just as I was getting ready for bed, her smile lit up the room, “Oh, God, Jags, am I ever in love,” and she dove at me and driving me onto the bed with her and hugged the breath right out of me.
Lins and I have been through a lot together since we started rooming together three years ago in second year college. We cared for each other as if we were sisters and my happiness for her joy was honest and unconditional … and soon would be tested.
Once I broke her hold we both quickly got ready for bed and within five minutes I was holding her, like I do and she was telling me her story.
She had had a wonderful time at the cocktail party meeting Bill’s friends. He had made her feel like she was the only woman he had ever cared for — and would ever care for. Later, she went back to his apartment and she didn’t leave it until he drove her home less than half an hour ago.
She recounted in great detail their early hours together in the apartment.
“I had had a few drinks when we got there but that wasn’t it, I wasn’t just horny, I knew I loved the guy and I was pretty sure he was feeling pretty good about me, too. But as soon as the door closed, he changed, he got really nervous, really defensive, really awkward, like he had no idea what he was going to do next. I waited, but nothing, he didn’t pour me a drink, didn’t ask me to sit down, he didn’t do anything, so I just sort of took over.” I had absolutely no difficulty imagining this.
“I went over to him, took him gently by the hand, walked him to the couch and sat him down. He seemed to me like a little kid; I thought if I sat down beside him I’d scare him half to death so I did what I had wanted to do ever since I met the guy,” she nudged me in the ribs and laughed, “I took off my clothes. But I didn’t just rip them off, I took them off really carefully, really slowly, trying to read his thoughts, trying to see what I could do to excite him. But he wasn’t excited, he was scared, he would barely look up at me. But then I took off my blouse and that seemed to awaken something in him.”
She cozied into me, “He had been almost slumping on the couch but when I stripped to my bra he sat up straighter, looked at me more closely and I could see he was getting interested, even a little excited. He was breathing hard now and sweating, too, I could see it on his forehead. He was staring at my breasts as if he had never seen breasts in a bra before. Then I let my skirt fall to the floor. Well, you should have seen him then. He was almost panting and he wasn’t looking at my breasts any more, he was looking at my panties and he was getting really excited. He was leaning forward on the couch, staring at me as if he had never seen a girl in her underwear, either. That’s when I took off my bra and, I don’t know why, I was going to just drop it on the floor, but I didn’t, instead I handed it to him and when I did, I thought he was going to, I don’t know, pass out.”
Lins absently put her fingers on her panties now and lightly caressed her pussy. “Then, with my eyes on his, trying to read his thoughts, I slowly took off my panties and,” she laughed at her boldness, “I handed them to him, too — I just had them in my hand and offered them to him, really tentatively, I couldn’t believe he’s want them, but he seemed to, he seemed fascinated by them, and by the bra, too. But it was the panties that did it. He reached out and almost grabbed them from me then he sat back on the couch with my bra in one hand and my panties in the other — he was like a kid with new toys, the most marvelous toys in the world. He was holding them lightly in his hands; I could see his fingers feeling them and he was bringing them close to his face as if he wanted to smell them. It was unbelievable.”
Lins put her hand inside her panties now and when she did I bent down and kissed her forehead. “What did you do?”
“I knelt down on the couch beside him and put my hand on his and encouraged him to bring the panties to his nose. When he did he just lost it. With my panties pressed to his face he shoved his shoulder into me, kaçak iddaa toppling me onto the couch and he climbed on me and forced my face into the crook of his neck and he almost strangled the life out of me. But I let him, he seemed to have an awful lot of pent-up … something, but eventually he let me go and I struggled out from under him and held him tight for the longest time and when I finally let him go I noticed he still had my underwear in his hands. That’s when I had the bright idea, I mean, he clearly had something going on with my panties and bra. ‘Would you put them on for me?’ It shocked me that I’d say something like that, I mean it’s really weird, right? And it shocked him, too but not in the way I expected.”
She pushed her face into my breast and held it there for a moment before continuing. “‘Can I. Do you really mean it?’ That’s what he said and when I nodded and smiled, he did, like he had waited to do this his entire life. He quickly stripped off his clothes and pulled on my panties and he was moaning when he did, moaning like he was in a sexual place I’ve never been before,” then she laughed, “but I want to get there, Jags, I really want to get there.”
She sat up, pulled off her panties, then settled against me again and continued her slow masturbation and her story. “After he put on my panties he tried on the bra and when it wouldn’t fit he seemed almost crestfallen, so I pulled him down to me again and I started to caress his penis through the panties. Well, it was like having complete control of the Jolly Green Giant. The guy was a little pussy cat, purring and sucking on my shoulder,” she pulled back her t-shirt to show me the mark he had left.
She must have been getting close because her eyes were on her pussy now, as she did when she was getting close, and I could see her fingers working a little harder. “My mind was whirling like one of those video slot machines. I was trying to figure out what his fetish was; was it the underwear or his wearing the underwear? I wanted to find out. So I stroked him for a few minutes then I slowly got off the couch and took him by the hand and we went to his bedroom but before he got on the bed, I sat on the edge of it and took his panties off, slowly while watching for his reaction. It was like taking a sucker from a little kid; he didn’t object but he sure didn’t like it, either. Then I stood up beside him and put them on.” Her fingers were motionless now, as if she wanted to delay her ecstasy until the end of her story. She had a wide smile on her face as she looked up at me, “Have you ever tried to look sexy as you put on your panties?” She laughed, and turned away, “No, of course you haven’t, but I did then, I did while watching him and I could see I was really getting to him: his misery at losing his panties seemed to be turning to joy at me getting them. So I lay down on the bed and waited for his reaction. I mean, what was the guy thinking?”
Lins pulled her fingers out of her and turned into me, snuggling her face into my neck. “It was unbelievable, Jags. He stood beside the bed for a few minutes just looking at me, looking at my panties, then he went to them, really slowly, calmly, like I said, he’s really calm, well, most of the time. He put his face on them and kissed, all over them, for the longest time, maybe half an hour, maybe more, kisses, wet kisses and he was purring like a kitten. I just lay there, propping myself up with pillows, watching him, fascinated, with my fingers in his hair and I got hotter and hotter — all this just mattered to him so much, I mattered to him. I know it sounds nuts but he was loving the panties but he was loving me, too; it seemed to be the way he expressed himself — I’ll tell you more about that in a minute. Anyway, he played with me and my panties for a long time then he asked me, in a really lost voice, he sounded almost like he was in pain, he asked me if he could have them again. I said yes, of course, and he stripped them off me and had them on within a few seconds and he lay down beside me, you know, in a 69 and that’s when I made plans to get him his own because these panties were now soaked from his spit and my juices but in a few minutes I didn’t care because he lost himself in me and I kind of lost myself in him.”
She leaned up and gave me a kiss on the lips, “It was the best sex I’ve ever had, Jags, it was unbelievable. He must have spent an hour down there, exploring every bit of me, opening me up, licking and sucking. He seemed to know when I was about to cum because he’s back off and suck on my belly, he really loves to suck, and then he’d go back at me.” She laughed, “And I went at him, too, through the panties which got even wetter with his pre-cum. And then it just sort of happened. I kneeled over him and he licked me as I rode him and I pulled out his penis and sucked on it and together we just exploded into each other, me, I gushed out a flood that had him choking and him, he shot about 5 years of sperm into me and kaçak bahis it had ME choking, too, so we rolled away from each other, both coughing and fighting for breath and it took a minute or two for us to recover and then there was another few seconds that were really awkward, both of us wondering what the other was thinking, and then we just started laughing — it was about the best moment of my life because I knew then, I knew right at that moment that we had really connected, mentally as well as physically. And, well, the rest of the night was just a dream, the whole weekend was a dream.”
She now snuggled further into me, wrapping her arm around me, pulling me into her. “We talked about it, Jags. He told me he has always fantasized about underwear, about a woman’s bra and panties and he had always wondered if he would ever have a night like we had. But he didn’t think it could happen; he would be too embarrassed. I told him that it didn’t embarrass me at all, that I loved being with him, having sex with him, I told him that it thrilled me that he liked my underwear. You should have seen him, he just melted into me, it was as if he had found the Holy Grail or something.”
I hugged her, really squeezed her, “You’re beautiful, Lins, you’re beautiful and sexy and I love you.”
She climbed onto me now and gave me a muscular kiss on the lips then she rested on me, her cheek beside mine. “You are, too, Jags, you’re really beautiful, too.”
“But not sexy?” I laughed.
She didn’t look at me, “It doesn’t bother you, does it?”
I thought I knew what she meant, “No, why should it?”
She kissed me again, more tenderly this time, “Because we could have had fantastic sex together for one, and for another, where are you going to find a man who is going to be happy with a lifetime of masturbation while you hold him? I’m telling you, Jags, you need help.” She brought her fingers to my panties and teased me with them until I slapped them away.
Next Saturday morning Lins phoned me from Bill’s place telling me to come to dinner that night. I did as directed and when I rang the bell Linds opened the door.
Strangely, she hadn’t mentioned that Bill Cameron lived in a palace, the top floor of a three story mammoth mansion and she hadn’t mentioned that he shared the palace with his younger brother, John, who stood up from what looked like a Louis XIV couch as I entered, the very couch Lins and Bill had first played on just a week before?
It’s a dilemma to me: I don’t like men holding doors open for me and I don’t like them standing when I walk into a room, and I certainly don’t like them taking my hand as if I was the delicate Other Gender, I find that unbelievably condescending. My dilemma is that while I can understand why they do it, traditions die hard, I would much prefer being treated like an un-differentiated equal. But no: John had my hand in a genteel grip moments after I entered the room, then he handed me off to Bill.
The meal … was catered, I kid you not, and Lins, without even a hint of affectation, played her role as an effete aristocrat, like the two brothers, as if she had been born to it. Me? I wanted to hit somebody, I wanted to spill a little gravy on Bill’s ascot or some red wine on Jim’s twill jacket, the one with the leather patches on the elbows as if he had just come from writing a history of 19th century England. God it was all so … civilized, the meal, the drink, the conversation — the people, Lins included. I wanted to scream, but I didn’t, instead I used a cold shoulder to deterred the brothers from further inquiry into how I chose to live my life.
There are people who have a disconnect between how they look and how they act. Lins says I’m one of those. She says that while most women are soft and glowing and look like they could have been painted, I don’t: I look like I’ve been etched. I’m tall and thin and flat, with long brown hair with a slight curl that frames a face of sharp angles: pointed jaw, aquiline nose, thin, severe lips and high, prominent cheekbones. Trouble is, I’m considered classically beautiful — people are naturally drawn to me thinking I’m as appealing as my looks. I’m not. I’m a scientist, an emotionless empiricist who wants nothing more than to be left alone. According to Lins, that’s why I’m completing my Masters in science: to get the solitary lab and the sexless lab coat.
“And what do you want to research?” Jim asked, as if he actually cared.
Lins gilded the lilly, “Jags has worked for the past three summers in a lab. She’s brilliant — she’s on a full scholarship and has already had a ton of job offers.” Then she added something that totally blew me away, “Bill and John’s father owns RPMR.”
It must have been my reaction. RPMR has a fabulous reputation of being a pure research company with none of the excesses of Big Pharma; RPMR’s funding is targeted directly to the lab, not to the boardroom. And not to a mansion like this. With Lins’ news I couldn’t help but look around the opulent mansion, it just seemed so against everything RPMR stood for. I guess my reaction was a little too overt because both men burst out laughing, then Bill said, “We have a mother, too.”
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