By Carmen Russell 


            A couple of weeks ago, I hooked up with my friend Josee at the college she was attending. After she gave me a tour of the sprawling campus, we headed back to her dorm room to get ready for dinner – my treat. I hadn’t seen Josee since high school graduation, as I had elected to attend an out-of-state college, but she hadn’t changed any; she was still the same sleek, dark beauty she had always been. Her breasts were high and firm – not too big, not too small – and her skin was smooth and pale, her delicate face framed by shoulder-length coal-black hair. She was shy and a little awkward, but she had a warm smile and look that said ‘still waters run deep’.

            “So, what do you think, Marie? You going to transfer?” she asked, unlocking the door to her dorm room and letting me inside.

            “Well, I don’t know,” I said, playing it coy. “What’s the after-class atmosphere like around here? You know, the party scene?”

            She blushed, put her keys down on a small wooden desk, and then perched on the edge of one of the two beds in the tiny room. “I thought you said you were finally going to get serious about your studies?”

            I sat on the other bed, facing her. I studied her dark eyes, her full, red lips. She had a pair of faded blue jeans on and a white t-shirt, and I could smell the sweet body spray that she was wearing. “Oh, I intend to get serious,” I told her.

            There followed a long and awkward silence during which I stared openly at her, at her face and body, the burning lust in my eyes sending out flaming tendrils that desperately sought to spark her own desire. I’d known Josee since junior high, but only recently had I realized that my feelings for her had become more than just friendly. An easy-going, big-breasted blonde like myself had no trouble attracting the guys, but it was girl-love I was after, now – with my high school friend.

            I shifted positions, sat down next to her, and placed my left hand on her leg, up around her thigh. Upon contact with her hot body, my nipples instantly grew erect under my thin halter top, and my pussy was consumed with so much heat and moisture that I thought I’d soak my cut-off jeans. “You must get lonely without me around?” I whispered, my voice breaking. I blatantly squeezed her leg, then let my hand drift higher, up around her hip.

            She turned beet-red. She glanced at my hand, swallowed hard, and croaked, “It’s, uh, not so bad. I … have a roommate. She’s supposed to be-”

            I halted her foolish prattle by moving my bold hand over top of her crotch. I began rubbing her there, softly yet urgently rubbing her. I’d waited so long, masturbated so many times to the mental image of her and I ravaging each other with the pent-up fury of secret lovers, and I was determined to make up for lost time.

            I said, “Your roommate doesn’t do this, I bet,” breathing into her innocent face, reaching out with my right hand and touching her neck with my fingers. I caressed the delicate, ivory skin on the side of her throat, then my fingers wandered across her shoulder, down her back, and up and under her t-shirt. I kept rubbing her pussy through the thin fabric of her jeans, as I pulled her shirt out of her pants and slid my hand underneath and began stroking her bare skin.

            “Marie, I’m … not sure …”

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