1 comments/ 23176 views/ 4 favorites Holly Woode By: gushogan I am sure that Holly Woode did not mean to get me fired from Holier Than Thou College when she decided that she had to fuck my brains out. Holly never once complained to the Dean about having to bob her head up and down on my cock for hours on end, or about having to drain every ounce of cum from my body. Holly rather enjoyed sucking cock, swallowing cum, tonguing my asshole with her impossibly long tongue, or bending over my office desk and making me fuck her asshole raw. Unfortunately when you are young, and I was a young faculty member when I had Holly, you get impetuous, incautious and make careless mistakes. Rule Number One when you are a single young male heterosexual faculty member in these times of political correctness: remember, your butt ugly thirty-something feminist just realized no straight man ever will marry or touch me female Ph.D. colleagues will have your ass in a sling when they learn that you are diddling the hot undergraduate chickies. Holly Woode made me her project during the second semester of her first year at Holier Than Thou College. Holly was the star student in my first year honor's aesthetics seminar. I can be obtuse when it comes to women, and it took over a month of Holly's best efforts that spring semester for me to realize that Holly was shamelessly flirting with me every chance she got. Young white single male faculty members cultivate a studied indifference to flirting as a defense against the radical feminist inquisition. As I made no move on Holly-I feared castration at the hands of the inquisition if I broke the "don't touch the students" rule-Holly eventually invited herself to my house one Friday night at the tail end of her freshman year. She took matters into her own hands and gave me no choice but to notice her charms and to have wild sex. *** I think it was T.S. Elliot who wrote, "April is the cruelest month" . . . well it's actually March that is the cruelest for single male faculty members, because that's when it warms up enough for the co-eds to shed their bras and sweatshirts in order to compete to see who can poke the most aggressive nipple through a thin cotton t-shirt. For the male faculty, spring is the "don't look, don't touch, keep your mouth shut" season as the odd leer or overlong glance is sufficient to bring the wrath of the feminist inquisition down on one's head. My first spring at Holier Than Thou, the inquisition flayed poor old Professor Giles Perry for a flippant remark he had made about wanting to be sure he used the college's new "eyeglass" benefit to update his prescription before the spring quad sun-bathing season began. The quad, come March, always filled on sunny days with young lovelies pushing the limits of decency in seemingly ever smaller thongs. I finally took notice of Holly's flirtations with me when during a session of the aesthetics seminar, the then still seventeen-year-old freshman interrupted an argument she was having about heroin chic with Brown Brickfyd, an annoying pimply freshman boy, to ask my opinion about the essence of female beauty. "Isn't Lara Flynn Boyle too thin to be truly beautiful?" her question. "No, she's quite pretty," I answered without thinking too much before opening my mouth. I mean she is pretty. "Maybe not my first choice in actress, but nothing to complain about either. I wouldn't kick her out of bed or anything. Not like I'd stand a chance of getting her there she being a star fucker and all." "Geez that means I'll have to squeeze these into an a-cup," Holly's reply as she squeezed a breast through her thick baggy grey sweatshirt before turning back to Brickfyd to make some deeper point about heroin chic. I think that moment is when I first got Holly's message. A week later Holly dropped by my office during my regular office hours. She wore a dark blue Elise Elise dress. My jaw dropped. I didn't recall her wearing anything but very baggy oversized grey sweats all semester. In the baggy sweats, you would be hard pressed to know Holly was a girl. High fashion agreed with Holly. The dress highlighted her generous breasts, tiny waist, slender hips, tight butt and lots of bare leg. No hose. No panty lines. Legs were shaved and looked quite strong. Shaved legs were not in fashion at Holier Than Thou that season. Holly's hair was down, usually she had it up under a ball cap. She had painted her nails. She sat in the chair next to my desk and crossed her legs giving me a great shot of taught slender thigh. "I'm finished with the class's academic requirements other than attendance when I turn in my seminar paper? No other work due this term?" "Yup," I replied. "That's it. You could'a emailed that question." I flashed one of those why are you taking my time looks that professors use to chase students from their offices. "True, but then you wouldn't get to see the dress." She didn't miss a beat. She stood and did a dainty runway walk around my office. "I think I clean up nice. Essence of female beauty?" Another Holly question couched in rising tone of her voice. And how could I answer without bringing doom on myself from the ever-prying eyes of the inquisition? "And why is that essence so important?" A studied scholarly reply-answer a question with a question-commit to nothing, equivocate about what you meant when pressed later. "To catch your eye of course." She winked, checked her watch, "Ciao. Gotta run babe. Have a class with the lovely Doctor Rhubarb. Oh, and here's the seminar paper. So I'm technically not your student anymore." She dropped the paper on my desk and she was off. Holly became an office hours regular over the next few weeks. She would drop by "just to chat" as she put it. She drank some coffee. I always offered a cup to office guests when I wanted them to stick around. Did I just say I wanted her to stick around? I have to remember to be more careful. Holly would bring the newspaper and talk about articles, or she'd make me help her with the Times' crossword. Occasionally she would drop by with her lunch and eat a sandwich or some yogurt while making me translate whatever it was I was working on from "impenetrable academese" to undergraduate English. Near the very end of the semester, on a Friday, I was working in my office around six to finish up a book chapter when an instant message flashed across my computer screen. "What are you doing?" It was from Holly. She was in a computer lab in the chemistry building safe from the prying eyes of the inquisition. She continued typing, "Saw you on the network. It's Friday and late, why are you still in? Hot smart single boys like you should have dates? Want a cute visitor? I have a little black cocktail dress that's perfect for a Friday night." I hope that some giant computer brain somewhere working for the inquisition did not record all faculty instant message chatter. I always assume the worst about big sister and her prying eyes. "Always like a cute visitor in a black cocktail dress!" Had I said that? Geez, I was getting sloppy careless. "But just now I'm working pretty hard on a book chapter. Won't be heading home 'til later." "Oh I'll leave you alone then . . . I know your book is important...Just wanted to dazzle your eye with some more high fashion. I'll have to do that later I guess," she typed a smiley face and signed off. I finished writing around nine, and emailed a text of the final book chapter to my editor at a prestigious academic press. I lived about 4 blocks from campus in a great old house. High ceilings, hardwood floors, huge screened in porch at the back of the house. I walked home. It was a warm spring night. I enjoyed the quiet walk home. I found Holly letting herself into my screened porch when I got home. I wasn't sure if I should smile. "Thought you might like company when you got home lonely boy. Saw you sign off the network. Figured you might be heading home and decided to drop in," she said. "You did?" I suppressed my smile. "I did, and I brought some wine. Chateaux Margeaux....your favorite, right?" She held up two bottles. I realized that I maybe tell my seminars a bit too much about myself and my good taste. "And how did you buy that?" "With money." Her voice had a sarcastic tone. "Ok, I have good friends with great ID," she said with a huge just don't dare ask me any more questions smile, "and there is something to be said for a good whine." She purred then laughed. I opened the door and we walked into my kitchen. I took two wine glasses from a cabinet and handed them to Holly. I found a corkscrew, opened one of the bottles, and pointed back towards the porch . Holly had other ideas of course. "Bathroom?" "Just down the hall on the left?" She was wearing her little black cocktail dress. Perhaps tiny would be a better word to describe it-shamelessly tiny. She returned from the bathroom and I got the idea that she had just lost all of the scant underwear that had given her tiny shred of a dress its bare bit of decency. In my early twenties, I was good at winning bar bets guessing bra sizes . . . and Holly is a 34 C almost D with "quite aggressive" nipples. We sat on the porch. Savored some wine. "You know you could get my ass fired for doing this?" I opened the negotiation laying out the stakes in her little game. "Only if I told...and why would I do that?" A wicked smile crossed her face. She sipped wine. Admired the glass. Baccarat. "Cause I do something to piss you off? Revenge? Jealously? Act too male. Ignore you too much. Complain about your cooking. Leave my shorts on the floor. Watch football on TV. Look too long at the supermodels in your fashion magazines." "Well what if I piss you off? Gonna fail me? What if I talk with other boys? What if I listen to Rap or Hip Hop music on your stereo? What if I max your credit card at Bloomies? What if I give bad head?" "You still have my ass 'cause you're the child drinking wine on my porch. You got to be twenty-one to drink in this state last I checked." "But not to fuck." She paused, sipped her wine. Recrossed her legs in a way that practically hiked her dress up to her navel. "So how exactly do I get your attention? Do I say fuck me now? Do I strip naked and prove that I'm all girl?" The way the cocktail dress clung to her body she wouldn't have to do much stripping to prove the girl part. "You're seventeen-not old enough to show me what's under that dress unless you think I would enjoy spending my nights for the next twenty years in bed with a cellmate named Bubba." I was holding my ground, barely. "You're wrong." She giggled "I've been waiting to say that all term. Damn. And you gave me my moment. Eighteen dear," she smiled. "I had a birthday about two months ago-which you seemed to ignore by the way-I'm legal and horny." She bent over to scratch her ankle and with the view I got down the front of the dress she may as well have been stripped naked at that point. I wouldn't call our conversation exactly the stuff of classical romance or seduction, clearly more frenzied negotiation. "You're a student." I was fighting against the ache in my testicles. "Touching a student means a death sentence for a single white male heterosexual here at Holier Than Thou. How do I know you're not with the inquisition and that this isn't some kind of trap?" I was being extra careful because you never know what you're getting with undergraduate whack jobs these days "You're taking Rhubarb's Womyn's Herstory class afterall?" "I shave my legs." "Disguise." She lifted her arms. "And my pits." "Deep cover disguise. You sacrificed for the cause." "We could check the bushes for snoops if that would make you feel better-or you could just check my bush. Frisk me to see if I am wearing a wire. Check out what's under my dress." I held my hands up in a mock gesture of surrender. "Don't hurt me." I said in a mocking tone. Holly stood, walked over, grabbed my wrists, pinned them to the chair and gave me a kiss. It was a good kiss, a very good kiss. Holly has very full rich lips and the longest tongue. This is a child who will never need to get a collagen shot to feel beautiful. She took a step back. "Now you can say that I held you down and forced myself on you when we haul you before the inquisition." Holly giggled. I stood and embraced her. Our tongues met and danced. My hands moved down her back and felt her tight butt. Damn firm, not a candidate for early cellulite. I squeezed. My lips moved to her neck, her earlobe, her ear, back to her neck. She cooed. I ran my hands up her back, then I felt her breasts. "I think I feel something dangerous under there. Let's go inside and make sure." I invited. I grabbed her hand and she followed. "I was hoping for the strip search." She giggled. We barely made it to the bedroom. We pawed each other the whole way down the hall. I undid the little buttons at the top back of Holly's dress and it fell away. Ummm. A sight. How to describe a perfect breast? I love a breast long on the top, fat and curved on the bottom, huge aureole, and big nipples. Holly may be the model. Large dark aureole, better than a silver dollar, with thick bulbous nipples. My mouth was on a breast instantly. She is a girl with sensitive breasts. She later told me that she came while I milked her nipples. First little kisses around the bottom of her breast. Then I flicked my tongue around the aureole tasting it all. Then the nipple. First I sucked delicately. Then I bit lightly. Then my tongue teased. Sucked harder. Sucked lighter. Pulled ever so delicately. I paused. "No hidden mikes so far." I said. "But you haven't checked the bush yet," her reply. "It's a forest down there. Who knows what I may have hidden." I worked down her flat tight stomach to what I found to be a very full bush for a girl just turned eighteen. She had thick lips and a gorgeous clit. I licked down her left thigh and back up her right. I then teased her lips. My tongue lapped what seemed gallons of delicious juice coming from her gorgeous slit. Then I went to work on the clit. I licked fast, then slow, then fast, she came. I knew I could tax more from her. I licked gently, very slowly, then faster then very slowly my tongue teasing the edges of her bulging clit. Her hips bucked, her legs clenched, I held my ground and licked harder driving my tongue on her tight bud. She shuddered. She shuddered again. She said, "stop stop...." in a breathy voice. I paused and looked up. I grinned. And I dove back in.... I licked her little butthole and poked in a finger. Then my tongue moved back to her clit and licked hard and fast. She came two more times. I slid up, kissed her, and rolled off to the side. "You passed the cavity search. I guess you're safe." She caught her breath and said, "Now it's your turn babe. Paybacks. And don't think I won't get even for making me cum shamelessly so many damn times." *** We fucked like bunnies for the entire weekend-then kept running our own sexual marathon the last week of Holly's first year at Holier Than Thou. I spent those first days in awe of Holly's beauty. Her usual wear-to-class uniform of grey or blue sweats hid a truly gorgeous body. Years of ballet training had sculpted Holly's figure to near perfection. Were there a flaw in her gamine like body, it would be that while ballet is an a-cup activity, Holly easily was a c or more likely d-cup girl. Holly clearly was aware of her beauty, and she wore sweats to class to keep her charms masked from everyone except from those with whom she wished to share them. Holly was not shy about herself, quite open actually, but she was wary about people whom she did not know or trust. Holly and I spoke about the inquisition that first week, and Holly agreed to be careful for my sake. She did not want me hurt. *** My first semester teaching at Holier Than Thou, Professor of Cultural Studies, John Calvin Taylor, was caught "in flagrante delicto" by Professor Rhubarb, humping a chunky sophomore girl in his office. The campus paper only referred to the hump victim as "Julie X." Neutral observers thought that Professor Taylor was exonerated when Julie X testified before "the committee" that she had seduced Professor Taylor by exposing her incredibly delicious oversized breasts. Notwithstanding this testimony, the inquisition dismissed Professor Taylor. "The committee" noted in its findings that Julie X lived off campus with a bull dyke named "Swatter." The committee found that a committed lesbian living with a woman as desirable as Swatter obviously would not consent to have sex with a man; therefore Julie X must have been coerced to lie about consent with the professor. While Julie X did have very attractive huge breasts, the committee noted in the record, a lesbian obviously would not share such desirable charms with a man, and, in the alternative, the self-evident beauty of such rare monstrously large breasts, even if shamelessly shared with a professor in a moment of intimacy, did not give a professor license to fuck Julie X. Just to make this point clear, the high priestess of radical lesbian feminist studies at Holier Than Thou College decreed, as a matter of campus policy, henceforth no undergraduate woman possibly could consent meaningfully to heterosexual contact with a member of the faculty-the power imbalance made free will or volition impossible (as an aside, if the undergrad slept with a woman faculty member, that was different, as that was something Sapphic and constituted a strike against patriarchal tyranny). In Holly's case, I have to say, the high priestess might be right about the power imbalance, but for the wrong reason. There really was a severe power imbalance. No man with functioning testicles could possibly say no to a determined persistent Holly Woode. I think my balls would have exploded if I had not fucked her after that first kiss. *** "Hey babe," Holly knocked on my office door around five-thirty on the Thursday of finals week and let herself in. "I have my chem. final exam tomorrow morning at nine so can we make this fast tonight? How 'bout you just quickly take my asshole?" What could I say to that invitation but yes? "Sure love," I replied. "Be sure to lock the door just to be safe." Holly was all about business. She locked the door and then casually bent over the desk as she pulled off baggy grey sweat pants. She wasn't wearing any panties. "Just put it in babe," she said. "Oh no wait," she giggled, smiled, pulled off her baseball cap and let her hair flow over her shoulders. "You are not one of those undergrad boys. Maybe you'd enjoy some foreplay first." She stood back up and gave me a huge kiss. She wanted to make sure I was very hard and ready to take her ass. She groped my crotch and stuck her painfully long tongue deep down my throat. She unzipped my khakis, undid my belt and had pants and boxers down to my feet in seconds. She massaged my ball sac and reached under to tease my asshole. She squeezed and pumped my cock as it grew hard. Most times, that would have been the moment when she would squat and poke her tongue into my ass. Tonight she was in a hurry because she had to study chemistry. She took a tube of flavored lubricant from her backpack and she swathed my hard dick in lots of goo. She stroked me a few times and then she bent back over the desk and presented her ass. I stepped behind her, growing ever more familiar with what was becoming our ritual buttfucking drill. We had been practicing for nearly a week to get it right. She pushed as if she was pooping and opened her hole. I shoved myself in and as I entered I felt her strong sphincter muscles grab my penis. She had such incredible muscle control. I pushed in and out and she squeezed, let up, squeezed again. Her ass was tight and smooth. As I pushed in she pushed back to meet my thrusts. In just a week she had learned how to move to touch me the right way. I am most sensitive on the underside of my penis, and she slid and squirmed so that each stroke was met with a long slide down the bottom of my shaft. I pumped a few dozen more times and couldn't take any more. I tried to make it last but her ass squeezed and sucked me over the line. I squirted sperm deep in her butt. Holly Woode "You cumming?" she asked. She obviously felt my first squirt. "Yes," I panted. She pushed me back from her ass. I popped out. She turned quickly, squatted, and swallowed my dick. She made sure to suck every drop of cum from me as I finished and then went soft. She loved the taste of cum, and asshole. "Thanks babe," Holly said as she slid her tongue along her lip catching every last drop of my sperm. Her almost black eyes glowed. She sucked and licked me clean then ran her mouth over my balls to my ass. "Thank you," I replied. I smiled. She found panties from somewhere in her backpack and pulled them on to catch the ooze coming from her asshole. Obviously she would clean that mess up somewhere else. Her licking on my dick had done a nice job of cleaning me up. Holly was quite good about keeping things tidy. She turned and kissed me. I could taste the flavored oil on her lips. Strawberry. I think the flavored lube was more for my benefit in case she hadn't gotten herself totally clean before bopping into the office. "Gotta run," she said. "Bad form if I only passed your class this term." I smiled and she slid quietly from my office, the door making a gentle click as she pulled it closed behind her. Not two minutes later another knock. "Hello? Wheatfield?" a shrill voice. It was the voice of Hortense Rhubarb, assistant professor of Womyn's Herstory. Rhubarb was thirty-eight, about 5'6", sported a perfect 34" 39" 42" inch female scholar's body. Her graying hair hadn't seen a bottle of conditioner in at least ten years. She wore one of those sensible fruitbowl Prince Valiant haircuts. Her dress looked like a purple formless sack and it offered a glimpse of her hairy ankles. "Um, I'm here?" I replied. "Can I come in?" finger nails grating across a chalkboard. I would have felt better about saying yes if my office didn't at that moment smell so much like Holly and sex-of course I was not sure that Rhubarb actually would know what sex smelled like. "Sure come on in," I replied. I knew that it was imperative that I prove on demand to the inspector from the feminist inquisition that my office was empty of undergraduate women-and I realized that my office smelled like anal sex, which I hoped might sew a bit of confusion. If the radical feminist lesbian studies department had its way, the office doors of all the male faculty members would be made of clear glass so that any passer by could make sure that the male faculty were not fucking the undergraduate girls. Heck, maybe better to remove the doors entirely. It was only the fact that the chair of the queer studies program liked to bugger first year boys that kept the thick nearly soundproof doors with their deadbolts shielding male faculty offices from the inquisition's eyes. Ah the angst of the politically correct. We spent over three hours in a turgid faculty meeting one November while the high priestess of radical feminist lesbian studies fought with the chairman of queer studies about office doors. "Wheatfield." "Rhubarb." We exchanged pleasantries. "Wheatfield, what keeps you here so late?" The answer was that I had been buttfucking Holly. "Writing," I said. Actually, that was a perfectly acceptable academic answer. Tenure is all about publish or perish. As a single white heterosexual male, I would not see tenure at any respectable institution unless I pumped out a book a year (and kept my sperm to myself). Rhubarb sniffed the air. I stayed quiet. "Wheatfield, was that Ms. Woode I saw leaving your office?" Rhubarb must have drawn the feminist inquisition's night watch. "Of course it was?" "And what was she doing here so late?" I expected a klieg light to flash on and a rubber hose to appear in Rhubarb's hand. "Rhubarb, 5:30 is not late in the real world. And while I usually think what goes on between professor and student is confidential, I will say Ms. Woode wanted to talk about her seminar paper." Ok, that was the lie, but with all honesty I added. "I've learned this semester that Ms. Woode is quite the perfectionist. She is demanding. She works very hard until she gets exactly the result she wants. How can you not encourage that in a student even if it means working in the office past five o'clock?" As a sop to the inquisition I added, "And I welcome the chance to encourage budding young woman scholars." Rhubarb sniffed the air and I don't think she believed a word I had said. Most of the queer studies department smelled like anal sex, but I taught in aesthetics, and my office usually smelled like coffee and a bagel. Good coffee and a cinnamon raisin bagel in the morning. Rhubarb's nostrils flared. Her too close-set eyes darted back and forth on a mission to find dirt. "Wheatfield, Drusilla Chard and I were going to try the new Canadian organic vegan restaurant for dinner tonight. Care to join us?" A test no doubt. Canadian food? And Drusilla Chard? Drusilla Chard was associate professor of homoerotic images in the department of semiotics. People frequently confused her with Chuckie Tylor, the chair of queer studies, because both wore a buzz cut and sported a wispy moustache. I learned you could tell them apart because queer studies' breasts were larger than Drusilla's. Someone had told me that Drusilla had a crush on me. She was at least ten years older than me, and God, I hoped for mankind's sake, infertile. If you had a hair fetish, Drusilla had great forearms. "I was trying to write," I replied. "I thought you just said that you had been meeting with Holly Woode about a paper. I saw her leave your office, remember, as I was coming to ask you to dinner." Rhubarb was trying to set, or bait, or do something with a trap. "Yes, I was doing that too. They aren't mutually exclusive." It was so frustrating to talk with the plodders from the inquisition. I did not plan my day as a linear sequence of discrete events. I usually worked in the office writing and enjoyed the interruptions when students dropped by. Holly was the most pleasant interruption. Rhubarb sniffed some more. I straightened the tissue box on my desk as a sort of countersign to let her know I saw the sniffing. She harrumphed and left. On her way out the door she said, "...well some other time. I will keep an open eye on your office door to see when you seem free." I got the message. I would be sure to keep an eye on my six. *** Thankfully the semester ended with Friday's exams. Holly's parents were old-her mother 60 and her father 75. Holly was a "surprise" for her parents when her mom was 42. Her parents usually summered on the coast in France at her mother's family's place. Holly usually joined them in France, but this summer had begged off. She told her folks all about me. Her parents approved. Her mother had met me at a college open house and I had the distinct impression that mom had encouraged Holly to chase after me. I was only twelve years older than Holly. Holly's dad was fifteen years older than her mother. The French attitude toward a liaison such as ours is far different than the American attitude-and radically different than the attitude of such folks as those who populated the radical feminist lesbian studies department at Holier Than Thou College. *** Holly and I summered in Wyoming about as far away from Holier Than Thou as you could get. A friend of a friend of my dad's had a small primitive cabin about five miles outside of a small but popular town and was more than willing to lend it to me for the summer. The cabin sat fairly isolated on about 1000 acres of very private land. Holly and I played "little house on the prairie" for the summer. I also wrote. Writing was a challenge as the cabin lacked electricity. I invested in about ten batteries for my laptop computer and in a couple of battery chargers. The woman who ran "The Cowboy Store" (that was its name) agreed to charge batteries for me. Holly or I would drive to town and swap batteries and pick up a newspaper and a few supplies usually every other day. Propane gas fueled the stove and powered the refrigerator. Holly proved to be an adventurous cook and quite domestic in a primitive cabin. Wyoming can be very hot or very cold during the summer. On hot days Holly didn't wear much, and I didn't get much work done. On cold days she said she needed me to keep her warm. How can you keep your hands off the body of a slinky and svelte naked eighteen year old? With time and the privacy of a cabin we explored every bit of each other's bodies. Holly has the most incredibly sensitive nipples-I think I already said that. While she may love to snake her tongue up my ass, I love to feed on her nipples. If I woke before Holly in the morning, and usually I did, I would "wake" her and signal that I wanted wild sex by gently sucking a nipple. Before long her eyes would open. She would moan. In an instant she would be sopping wet. Holly is like Niagara Falls when aroused. Wet would then lead to a leisurely fuck. Then breakfast, then on with the day. After a few hours of writing Holly would find some reason to drag me to a meadow and tongue my ass. Holly had this incredible attraction to analingus. I would find a reason to lick her clit while sitting next to some stream. I guess we are both very oral and drawn to natural images. Of course we would fuck like bunnies. I had to work very hard to stay hydrated. *** The summer ended too quickly and without being quite ready, we returned to Holier Than Thou. I would have been instant burnt toast had Holly moved into my house as she wanted. She had to maintain the pretense of living in the dorm and keeping the proper distance of a student. The night we rolled back into town she exulted because I relented just a bit and said that she could spend the night. She relished the fact that she could soak in my giant claw foot bathtub. While "little house on the prairie" can be fun for three months, indoor plumbing and a giant tub offer pleasures of their own. I think the exact moment Holly got naked in the tub Drusilla Chard knocked on my front door. My house is not my office and I was not amused when members of the feminist inquisition sent prying eyes into what was definitely not college space. "Wheatfield are you home?" Chard shouted through my door as she insistently banged away knocking. I resigned myself to a moment of ugliness. I carefully warned Holly with a shout, "Doctor Chard, I am coming to the door. Hold on." Holly knew what that meant. I was sure I still smelled like Wyoming as I pulled my grungy t-shirt back on and fastened the belt on my cargo shorts. I peaked in on Holly in the tub. I smiled. She smiled back and flashed me a delicious pair of boobs and naughty nipples from beneath a mountain of bubbles. I reached the door. "Chard," I worked my best disappointed low monotone. "Wheatfield," she sounded too perky for being an ugly woman. "I noticed you just got back in town. I am on my way to the semiotics department's new faculty picnic. We are doing a little organic fragrance free vegan cookout to welcome Herbertia Bokchoi, the new assistant professor of distopic feminist poetry. Everyone loves her award-winning poem about her first tampon. And that play she did about the maxipad...And I thought you, in aesthetics and all, might like to join us. It should be a delightful feast!" "You know, I would be right there chowing down with you, but I need to wash a bit of Wyoming off of me...and write a fall course syllabus. Gosh. Maybe next time." All true. I hadn't yet lied too much. I think Drusilla's moustache had filled in a bit over the summer. "Whatever," Chard said. "I have these moments when I wonder about your collegiality. And did I see someone helping you unload your car?" Were she not tenured, I couldn't have cared less about that remark. But it was code. I know the secret handshake. Collegiality, when uttered by a tenured female meant, "you are not fucking the single faculty women...but we think you are doing someone." In literal terms, it was a fucking ultimatum. The fall would be dicey. I wondered if the inquisition had spies in Wyoming. Holly and I would have to be careful about the front door. "Have fun Drusilla. Be sure to make Bokchoi feel as welcome as you all have made me feel." I oozed smarmy and closed the door. I returned to the bath and of course Holly pulled me in. Actually she was kind enough to kneel, seduce my eyes with her breasts, encourage me to lift off my t-shirt, drop my shorts, and then pull me into the tub. The tub, purely by accident, may have been about the only place that Holly and I had not made love in that house during our spring sexual marathon. She sat me between her legs, facing away from her, and did my back. I am not a big "loofa" kinda guy, but whatever sponge she used felt delightful as she worked from my neck on down my back and eased away some of the tension that Professor Chard and knotted into my neck. "Push yourself up out of the tub dear," Holly urged. Holly wanted me kneeling in the tub, hands on the edge, butt in the air aimed at her face. I of course complied. He impossibly long tongue instantly found my asshole. She licked the edges and then plunged in. I pushed out to open for her tongue as I loved the feeling when she could poke deep inside. He tongue licked in a circle around the hole and plunged in. She pistoned away then licked down to my balls. She licked her way back to my puckered poop hole. She licked me clean and invited me to flip myself and sit on the edge of the tub. I obliged. I was rock hard. Holly took the head of my penis in her mouth. She was all about performance so she sucked only the head and let her too long tongue, for too brief a moment, snake down the shaft. I was in agony. Holly encouraged the pain. She stroked my shaft with her left hand and poked the handle of her loofa towards my ass. She swathed the not too thick plastic handle with soap and used the tool to assault my prostate. Her mouth kept working my dick and after what seemed like a day or maybe a month, her mouth moved up and down the length of my shaft. It was not too long before my sperm coated her tonsils and she pulled the loofa handle out of my butt. Holly licked the loofa clean to make a delicious point...for future reference...then sucked my balls. She stood and kissed me full on the lips her tongue sharing a little taste from the loofa with my tongue. It was Holly's turn and I lifted her to sit on the edge of the tub. My little vixen had shaved away her pubic jungle while I had been jousting with Chard. Usually I am a guy who prefers unshorn pubic locks. A woman looks more like a woman with all of her hair. Holly had lots of thick dark pubic hair. I loved the way the hair held her scent and I was always eager to stick my face and tongue deep into Holly's bushy jungle. Shaved turned out to be a delight of a different form. Holly has long thick labia and an aggressive clit. Lips and clit looked all the more pronounced when not tucked under a forest of hair. I eagerly sucked in a lip, then another, then went to work on her clit. Niagara was flowing full stream as Holly moaned. Before long she quivered with orgasm. I kept licking, as I knew Holly could cum like a river. The ever-naughty Holly added another surprise to my night as she gently let go with a stream of pee. The tub was a great place for her golden surprise. I let the warm liquid wash over my face and licked a little harder and faster. Holly came again and then again and then again then a few more agains before I stopped licking. We rested for a few minutes after our bath, and spent most of the night fucking, mostly from regret, as Holly would have to move back into the dorm the next night. *** Holly declared an aesthetics major that fall and I hired her as my research assistant. Both moves gave Holly good reason to spend lots of time in my office should someone from the inquisition raise a question. It would otherwise have been unseemly for me to call Holly at the dorm everyday, and while she could call me once in a while, her roommate would of course wonder what "boy" was taking all of her time on the phone. That question and caller ID would do me in. I peppered the child with constant requests to find articles or to proofread book chapters. Oddly, our little ruse to escape the prying eyes of the radical feminist inquisition made us quite the productive academic team and my second book moved rapidly to completion. Holly was brilliant and soon became a great aesthetics scholar in her own right . *** On a Monday in late October we had a little scare. Holly had just come from the library with a few books on Moliere that I needed to review for my chapter on irony. I had flipped on the office stereo, that old WASP boy college dorm room trick to mask the sex noises, and Holly had begun to help herself to a taste of my rock hard penis. Her impossibly long tongue was tickling my ball sack each as she took in the full length of my penis. She was doing her best to dehydrate me and to finger herself at the same time. A knock at the door. "Wheatfield? Are you in there?" Chalk on a blackboard. It was Rhubarb. "Oh Wheatfield?" My pants were up and zipped in a second. I motioned to Holly to hide under my desk. She grabbed her backpack and pulled it under the desk as well. I reached the door and cracked it open. Rhubarb sniffed. Obsession was in the air. That's what Holly wore at the time. I love the scent. While Rhubarb may be unsure about the smell of sex, she seemed to know Obsession quite well. "Rhubarb, can I help you?" The nostrils flared and she sniffed some more as if to confirm her supposition. "Can I come in and chat? Didn't I see Ms. Woode come in here?" "I would love nothing better, but I was about to leave and grab dinner," I replied. "Oh, that's even better. Herbertia Bokchoi, Drusilla and me were about to go to that new Cuban-Chinese organic vegan bistro-you can join us!" Damn, I was trapped. But I would take one for the team. "Sure," I said, "let me grab my briefcase." I closed the door. Holly's head peeked out from the desk. She knew. She gave me the pouty face, then she smiled a wicked shit-eating grin. I had this feeling she would let herself out of my office and then mystically let herself into my house to nurse my wounds after my vegan dinner with the inquisition. I flipped off the stereo, grabbed the briefcase, made a show of turning off the light, then out the door. As Rhubarb and I walked towards the radical feminist lesbian studies building to pick up Bokchoi, Rhubarb asked, "So have you taken up running? I noticed a pair of grey sweats on your couch?" Shit. The inquisition was at work. Holly and I might have to stop using my office for our sexual exploits. Something told me that Rhubarb's visit was not coincidence. *** Over the next several days every time Holly appeared my office, Rhubarb knocked on the door within about three to five minutes-just enough time for someone to get naked and in trouble. We were being very careful. We left the door unlocked (though closed) and when Rhubarb opened the door she found me behind my desk and Holly fully clothed on the couch sitting next to a pair of my grey sweat pants. Holly had a mug of coffee in hand and always offered to make a cup for Rhubarb. Rhubarb only drinks decaf, so she turned us down. Holly and I decided that on Friday, we would play what we called the "scent of a feminist scorned scam." My seminar didn't meet on Friday's that term. That particular Friday was warm Indian summer day and I strolled into the office wearing baggy gym shorts and a grey sweatshirt. Baggy gym shorts meant easy access to my penis without having to mess with zippers or even without having to pull the shorts down. I made sure that Rhubarb was in her office and then got on my office computer. Holly was ready and waiting online in the chemistry building computer lab. I pulled my dick out and started to masturbate. I sent Holly an IM telling her that I could probably cum anytime with a few powerstrokes so she should hustle over. She headed to my office. As Holly strolled down the hall she popped her head into Rhubarb's office for a quick hello in order to make certain that Rhubarb knew that Holly smelled of nothing more than a little Obsession. Holly knocked on my door and announced herself. I said come in and stroked faster. She closed the door, quickly pulled a xerox from the backpack and laid it on my desk. She tossed her backpack next to the couch, then stepped behind my desk and lifted her sweatshirt exposing her very naked and hot breasts. I was ready to cum and the sight of those breasts sent me over the line. I shot about four or five heavy squirts of sperm on her chest. She rubbed it around her chest and lifted a big glob to her mouth. She took another glob dabbed a bit behind each ear and put the rest in her mouth. She pulled her sweatshirt down and sprawled on the couch. Entry, cumshot and Holly reclined on the couch were complete within less than a minute. She stuck her hand down her sweats and rubbed herself frantically until we heard the door knock. I imagine Niagara was in full flow and Holly dabbed her neck and behind her ears with her pussy perfumed fingers. Holly Woode "Wheatfield," Nails scraping a chalkboard. Sure enough, Rhubarb in exactly three minutes. "Come on in," I said. She entered and nostrils flared as the smell of cum and pussy, and not the usual smell of coffee, assaulted her trained sniffer. Rhubarb stood silent, as the picture didn't fit the smell. I was behind my desk looking over the article and holding a highlight pen. Holly was on the couch and just swallowed what Rhubarb thought was a sip of coffee. Holly held the coffee mug in her hand. But the office reeked of sex. Holly's breath reeked of sperm. "I see you have someone here, I'll come back another time." With that she turned and walked away. Not two minutes later Holly poked her head in Rhubarb's door long enough to make sure Rhubarb would catch the cum smell on her breath, and said "He's free." That episode would torment the inquisition. *** A week or so later Holly told her roommate that she was going to visit a "cousin" out of town. Holly and I had arranged a little plot we could escape the Holier Than Thou grounds for a weekend. We drove separate cars, and she and I met up at a motel seventy-five miles from campus. The inquisition has eyes everywhere in town. We of course spent the weekend naked and fucking with small breaks for fluids and room service. We also plotted sure ways in the future to avoid the inquisition and Rhubarb's surveillance of my office. For "Plan A," we agreed no more office sex for a time. We would find ways to sneak Holly to my house. Holier Than Thou is typical of the small liberal arts college. The problem with any small liberal arts college is what I might call the "neighborhood watch." I lived within walking distance of grounds and so did half the rest of the faculty. It was as easy for the likes of Rhubarb or Chard to spy Holly walking in my front door as it was for them to spy her at my office-and at least at the office we had the excuse of her being my research assistant-we had no such excuse at my home. The new plan was that I would become an early riser, reach the office by seven, write all morning, teach my afternoon aesthetics seminar, and then saunter home by three or four. Holly would "go to the library to study," "go to the gym," "go to the chem. lab to work on a project" (the inquisition types avoid the hard sciences) or something of that ilk that would pass for a "reason to be gone" in the eyes of her roommate. Holly's roomie had been a delightful girl during her first year at Holier Than Thou. But in her second year, Holly's roomie had fallen in with the inquisition and decided to major in Womyn's Herstory. Roomie came under the influence of the high priestess of radical feminist lesbian studies and of folks like Rhubarb, Chard, and Bokchoi. She stopped shaving her legs and armpits. She stopped eating meat. She no longer gave blowjobs, as they were considered demeaning, though she continued to fuck boys as if she were in some contest where she who fucked the most different boys would win. In short, the roomie could no longer be trusted. It would ultimately be the roomie who would do us in, though we didn't know that as we crafted our plans. To avoid the gaze of the neighborhood watch, Holly would let herself in my back door and try to take full advantage of the cover of darkness. Holly had keys to my office, my house, my car . . . so this would work so long as she found her way into her dorm room bed with enough regularity to give adequate face time to her roomie. For "Plan B," we agreed that every third weekend Holly would drive to visit her "cousin." To be safe, we picked a hotel 150 miles from town for our regular rendezvous point. We safely could use the word "cousin" in emails and both of us would know the actual meaning. We thought about every other weekend visits to Holly's cousin, but we didn't want the roomie to get too suspicious about this cousin and ask to see a picture or even come along. *** Had Holly lived in a "single" in the dorm, Plans A and B may have worked perfectly until Holly's graduation. As it was, the fall semester passed without further incident and the plans held up quite well for some time. Holly and I fucked ourselves silly at her parent's home in France during the four-week Christmas break. Holly's father was American by birth, but as his health was failing, the Woodes had moved full time to be near Holly's mom's family in France. Holly's parents encouraged us to be together. Her father made a point of taking me aside and telling me how good I was for his daughter. He told me frankly that she had been a distracted flake in high school-brilliant but unfocused. Since "getting together" with me, she was all A's and happy. His only request was that I always take care of her. *** We did find ways to risk some danger. I think we both thrilled at prospect of imminent discovery. Professor Dante Wagon-Moo ran the drama program at Holier Than Thou. He was a drunken sot whose claim to fame was that he starred for two years in a soap opera and for three weeks in an off off off Broadway production of the long forgotten play "A Wet and Sated Land." For whatever reason, I guess, because people indulge the eccentricity of drama types, Wagon-Moo was able to require his drama workshop students to strip naked and "emote," as he put it, while he called out feelings and moods from his podium. I could never figure out if he was looking at the naked boys, or the naked girls when his workshop students "emoted." Anyway, Wagon-Moo asked me to help with the spring production of a play he had written called "Jack Booted Thugs and Other People I Admire in Austria." He wanted me to play the part of a Third Reich Nazi goon; I demurred, but eventually agreed to run the light booth. That basically meant I sat in a dimly lit room high above the theatre and made sure lights changed on cue. Holly could not resist the opportunity to play out her own little drama while the goons marched about on stage. The night the play went up I heard a quiet tapping on the light booth door during the very first scene of the play. I feared that I had somehow already missed a cue, I didn't know how I could have done that as one of those state-of-the-art computer programs ran most of the lights, but I opened the light booth fearing a dressing down from an overwrought Wagon-Moo. Holly slipped in when I cracked the door. She made no sound but slipped off her grey sweat pants. I relocked the door. I pointed at the light-board and mouthed that I needed to pay attention. She nodded and downed my zipper. She obviously felt I did not need to wear pants to work a light board. I sat in the little low, wheeled chair that I used to work the board and Holly kneeled in front of me. I guess I didn't need to wear shoes either to work a light board, because Holly had my shoes and socks off my feet in seconds. She started to suck my toes. On stage, jackbooted thugs kicked sharply pointed highly polished black jackboots into the unprotected crotches of political criminals to the wild whoops and hollers of a cheering audience. In the lightbooth, Holly's impossibly long tongue slathered itself between my toes. She sucked my toes in the fashion that I used on her bulbous nipples. From time to time she would take my foot from her mouth and rub it through her furry bush. She had let her hair return to full flower after her late August shave. She sucked my little toe, the one next to it, and eventually my big toe. She bobbed up and down as if it were my penis. Her hand fondled my balls and stroked my aching shaft. In quite disciplined fashion, she avoided letting her hand even casually stroke my penis head. I struggled to follow the light cues. Thank God the computer did most of the work. First scene passed into second into third and into the second act. Soon would come intermission and Wagon-Moo would burst into the light booth to "chat" about how the play was going. I wore a headset while I worked the booth and I could hear Wagon-Moo back stage mumbling something to me about slow lights, and encouraging everyone in the cast to give them a great climax before intermission. Perhaps Holly heard that director's command as she stood and planted her very wet sex on my aching penis. She has strong legs and she lifted herself slowly and quietly up and down the whole length of my shaft so as not to move the wheeled chair or to disturb the show unfolding below. As the jackbooted thugs on stage dragged their prisoners to be shot, Holly squeezed her pussy tight around my cock and I erupted deep inside her sopping pussy. Her thick pussy lips tickled my balls and encouraged them to squirt more cum. It was time for the house lights to rise and Holly stood, on cue, donned her sweat pants and quietly exited the booth. I hustled my pants back on. No time for the shoes. Sure enough Wagon-Moo pounded on the door in about a minute. "Great job Wheatfield!" he exclaimed. "You seemed to hold back some of the lights. Not sure why you did it, but it gave my jackbooted thugs an even darker look. You are brilliant man! You captured the pace and mood of tonight's performance perfectly. I guess that's why you teach aesthetics." I had no clue just how many light cues I had missed but whatever I did, it worked for Wagon-Moo. He reeked of scotch, but I think he usually reeked of scotch. He could not smell the sex filling the light booth-or maybe he could. Holly returned for an encore after the intermission. I got the impression that she was very thirsty because she bobbed her head up and down on my penis until it gave her a mouthful of cum. She repeated that up and down motion many more times until my tired balls managed another spoonful of jiz. She repeated her performance every night the play ran. I think it was the last night Holly ran into Drusilla Chard in the theatre lobby. "Ms. Woode, are you in the play? I don't see your name in the program." Drusilla was being a bit too friendly and prattled as usual. "I have an extra ticket if you are just here to watch. I was going to offer my ticket to that Professor Wheatfield but I learned he is running the lights for this show. I am sitting with Professors Rhubarb and Bokchoi if you want to find us." "I'm helping with refreshment for the tech crew," was all Holly said. "Gotta run. Show must go on." She scooted away from them without further incident but seemed to gain a special inspiration that made her suck my penis with just a bit more vigor as if she was in a "just how much can I make him cum" contest. After that night's performance Holly made a point of walking past Chard, Rhubarb and Bokchoi-and pausing a minute to talk-on their way out of the theatre so that they could smell the sex on her breath and body. She had smeared my cum over her chest and behind her ears, to make herself "all the more fragrant," she had whispered to me, "for her public." *** It dawned on Holly that for all of our exuberant fucking, we had never fucked in her dorm room. For that matter, I had never even seen her dorm room. She decided that she would feel a little less than complete were she not to have at least one collegiate sexual experience in her own dorm room. I was the only man she had been with her first year at Holier Than Thou. It was also clear that I was going to be her only man in her second year at Holier Than Thou, so we needed to find a way to do it in her bed and leave some stains on her mattress-what is a college mattress but a collection of several generations of sperm. Of course, her roomie was now in league with the inquisition and couldn't be trusted. And then there was the problem of loose lips. Five rooms on each side of her hall, ten rooms total, two girls in each room, hence 19 pairs of lips who might spill our secret to the inquisition. They may not spill the secret on purpose, that's not the point. All we needed, or didn't need, was someone laughing about the "professor" who boinked their hallmate. The obvious answer was spring break. Most of the dorm would be deserted and Holly's hall itself would be empty. Half the girls were heading to Cancun to get naked on some rock video television network, the other half, including Holly's roomie, were taking in a "famous closeted lesbian painters of Europe" junket that was being lead by the high priestess herself and Herbertia Bokchoi. I wondered if Herbertia collected everyone's used tampons on the trip as inspiration for her poetry. Holly gave me he security code to the dorm and about 9 PM on the first Saturday of spring break I let myself into a very dark dorm lobby. I had walked carefully around the Holier Than Thou grounds in order to avoid running into anyone from campus security. In a few spots I ducked behind a bush to let a security patrol pass by. Security and the custodial staff were used to oddball faculty members who worked late into the night, but my faculty ID card only spelled trouble were I forced to flash it on the steps of a dorm. Holly's room was on the second floor and she had promised to be waiting with a surprise. I crept quietly up the stairs. I didn't know who else was in the dorm so I was careful not to do anything silly to draw attention to me. When I reached the second floor landing, I followed the arrow towards the rooms numbered 201-210. Her room was 205 and a post-it on the door instructed me simply to walk in. I almost died laughing when I walked through the door. Holly was hunched over her desk studying chemistry. Papers were strewn everywhere. She wore gym shorts, a grey sweatshirt, and fuzzy slippers. Her hair was wrapped above her head in a scrungy. A green mud skin-toning mask covered her face. A large pizza, one slice eaten, lay on her roomie's bed. An empty cardboard from a twelve pack of beast beer sat next to her fridge. She wanted a true, late night, college dorm fuck. She popped a Steely Dan CD into a boom box (retro for me) and offered me a slice of pizza and a can of beast. Visions of my first year in college filled my head as I tried to remember how many late night bull sessions were fueled by pizza, beer, and that slight, I have studied too hard and can't sleep rush. I took a slice, popped open a can of beast and sat on the floor my back against her bed. She started to talk about her week. She and I talked constantly. Don't get the idea that we were all about quick sex. We weren't. But this was about her reminding me that she was still just a college girl. I don't think she would change things, she had chased me after all, but maybe she wished the inquisition wasn't clamped down so tight on folks' private affairs. "Daria was at it again this past week," Holly went on about her philosophy professor. "She was explaining to us that there are no such things as objective measures in the world. I guess that in Daria's world a .300 hitter is a .250 hitter is a .195 hitter. You pay them all 20 million and be done with it. And I think her brother is a rocket scientist. Very scary. Hope he doesn't think like she does when he launches the space shuttle. Or maybe he ran that NASA Mars mission where they oopsed the measurements and crashed the probe on the planet." She laughed. She had dorm bullshit down to a science. She was playing a role for me and playing it quite well. She was going to make me work to get into her pants tonight. "You always wear that warpaint around here?" I asked. "It makes me beautiful. And green is my color." She rose and pirouetted. She grabbed a slice of pizza and sat down next to me. I handed her a can of beast. "Thanks, yum." She chugged down half the can in character. "And where is herself?" I inquired about roomie. "On the closeted lesbian tour...and you know they are closeted of course...because they claim to be straight." "Of course? And that I suppose would make you closeted because you are seen in the company of so many Holier Than Thou boys?" "Touché" she said. "Maybe I'll have to do something about my mask so you remember I am a pretty girl. Don't go anywhere." She ran to bathroom on the end of the hall carrying a pail and a towel. In what seemed only seconds Holly reappeared fresh faced and smiling. She made sure the door was bolted and sat back down next to me. She kissed me. A little peck on the cheek. We chatted for a while more and downed a few more beasts. "If you need to pee, its probably safe. I think the only other girl in the dorm is on the third floor and she's a certified vestal." "Wanna show me where to go?" "Sure." We walked down the hall and entered the bathroom at the end of the hall. "Wanna help?" "Sure," she said. She pointed me in a stall. She unzipped, reached in, pulled out my dick, stood behind me, wrapped her arms around me, held on, aimed me, and finally said, "let her rip." I peed. She aimed. She watched the stream. Moved it around some and made quite the mess of the toilet seat...which she had left down. When I reached the end she gave a little waggle, turned me around, squatted down and gave me a lick. "We don't want any odd drips, and I don't know if I have the waggle down," Holly smiled. She stuffed me back in and zipped me up. "All better?" She asked. "Getting there." We walked back to the room me following behind her, arms wrapped around her waist. We kissed when we were in the room. Holly remembered to close and lock the door just in case hostiles walked by. We kissed some more, gentle kisses, the kind of kisses where lips embrace lips. "Hmm, dorm sex," I said. "It's been so long." "I've never had dorm sex." Holly gave me the wide-eyed look. "I don't know if I should let a boy put that nasty long thing in little me." "Oh you must." "But you're a boy." "And you're a girl." "I just held it and it's so big. It might hurt." She mocked innocence. "Its entirely natural." "But what if we make a baby?" "Then your doctor wrote a bad pill 'script." "But would we keep it?" I sensed this question was serious when Holly asked it. "Of course. I love you." I gave a serious answer without missing a beat. She gave me such the passionate kiss. She unzipped my pants, pulled off my boxers, practically tore off my sweatshirt. I was pulling off her shorts and sweatshirt at the same time. It was a contest to see who could get the other naked fastest. As this was to be a night of "dorm sex," beyond a little kissing, the only foreplay was Holly spreading her legs as she laid her back on the bed. I mounted and thrust in. Sad as it may be, I tried very hard to play the role of undergrad boy and I pounded as hard and as fast as I could so that I could cum "before she changed her mind about the whole thing." Holly did her part saying, "No, I'm not sure about this, stop stop. Maybe we shouldn't be doing this? Wait don't stop. Faster. Deeper. Harder Faster. Wait stop. I shouldn't be doing this. You brute. You're hurting me. I'll tattle to the inquisition. Are you wearing a condom? No don't stop. Ok, stop. Maybe stop. Is this safe? Stop. No don't stop. Definitely don't stop. Oh my God if you stop I will kill you." Of course she wasn't going to change her mind, but I had a role to play. She totally got off on the acting, or maybe she got off because the sex was so different from our usual routine. She came before I did (damn), but I managed to fill her with a good load of cum well before the ten-minute mark. I rolled off of her and immediately asked about the pizza. I stood up, pulled on my boxers (it's a dorm, you never know who will drop in) and my t-shirt, grabbed another slice and cracked open another can of beast beer. Holly died laughing. I think cracking open the beer right after sex made her night. She pulled on panties, an oversized t-shirt and her fuzzy slippers. She sat down next to me and popped open her own beer. "I could get used to you you old coot," she said. "Damn, I will have to fuck you all the faster and harder next time."