Her Last Semester

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Tia looked at the woman in the mirror and decided that her hair was the all-too-perfect metaphor for her… her life? Her identity? Not quite tight enough a curl to sustain an afro, and just a bit too kinky for any white girl strategy to work. Her mama would tell her to think of it as both-and, and not a neither-nor. But she couldn’t. She was tired of white boys finding her “exotic,” asking “What are you,” and wanting to touch that hair. Equally tiresome were the black guys who assumed she was “easy” because she was light skinned, like a white girl, and not really black because she was mixed. “Mixed.” It was a category for those without homes, for those who had more than one kind of ancestor. Neither-nor.

She blamed her stupid idealistic parents who seemed to think that race-mixing was the wave of the future. Her father wore a t-shirt with “Race Traitor” on it while her mama’s said “Black Lives Matter.” What a bunch of crap. She felt unwelcome everywhere on campus.

The image in the mirror frowned back at her, an unusual look despite the fact that she was quite a serious person. Her usually upturned lips were full and sensual; her eyes were fierce, dark and intense: deep brown almost, but not quite, black. Her skin tones were golden brown. She was lonely and horny, which, sadly, was not unusual for her.

Her roommate stumbled into the bathroom and the spell was broken. Rasheeda gave her a half-hearted smile and vanished into one of the showers. Tia went back to the room to get dressed for the first day of classes in her final semester of college. The choices were not difficult: baggy pants and a hoodie with doc martins on her feet. Camouflage. Just like most days for the last three years.

Academically, college had been pretty good. Her teachers knew who she was and cared about her learning. She was a smart and reasonably dedicated to her studies. She wouldn’t get honors because grades didn’t matter that much to her, but she would get into a top-ten law school if she decided she wanted to go.

Socially? Not so good. As an attractive and naïve freshman, she had been momentarily dazzled by male attention. It boosted her ego and stoked her libido. That is, she discovered that she had a high sex drive and that fucking very pleasurable. Once she was past a certain point, there was no turning back. Even if a boy changed his mind, she probably would have made him do it. That did not always lead her to good decisions. One boy had secretly taken a picture of her with her eyes rolling back into her head and her lips parted in ecstasy. Fortunately, he was not a jerk and promised he had deleted it. She suspected he had kept a copy, but at least it had not shown up on some porn site, or worse, in her Facebook feed. She became untrusting and protective. Untrusting of herself and untrusting of those who wanted to get into her pants. The next guy might be more malicious.

She had discovered that she loved the sex part, but not the human being part. She craved sex, but realized that she also wanted intimacy, trust, and care first. Males her age were unpleasantly singular in their need to ejaculate inside her (or, apparently inside any female body). She understood it to be evolutionary, but felt invisible as a person beyond the magic of her vagina. By spring semester of her first year, she had sworn off even looking for sex much less romance or a real relationship on campus.

Now that the end was near, she worried that she had missed opportunities for more male companionship and more pleasure. Not that she had been asexual for three years. She had a very active fantasy life. Coming of age with the internet she had no lack of opportunities to explore sexually and some were even appealing. Chat rooms and cam sites proved to be peopled by males similar to her classmates except even more fixated on large breasts and shaved vulvas (neither of which applied to her). Masturbating illegal bahis at her desk in her dorm room was not very sensually appealing either, especially when her roommate might walk in any minute. Porn seemed made almost exclusively for a juvenile male audience. What was arousing about seeing semen dripping down a woman’s face?

She finally settled on erotica. Here again large ninnies (as her grandmother referred to breasts) were all too common as well as shaved “pussies” and all the women appeared to be (or become) eager semen swallowers. Still, she found some authors (mostly other women) whose work aroused her intensely and eventually she started contributing stories of her own.

Much to Tia’s initial surprise, it was writing the stories that turned her on the most. In the long run, she understood that she wrote her most potent fantasies, so of course they turned her on. The other part was “publishing” on erotica sites. She was viscerally aware of having an audience. People liked her stories, wrote to her, told her their fantasies in return. She was also sure, though few had confessed to it, that they were masturbating to her stories. She pictured men unable to keep from getting hard as they read, needing to touch and stroke, and cum. Women, resonating, responding, getting that feeling of fullness in their groins, their labia swelling, their vaginas lubricating just from her words. As she wrote, she thought about them, tied to get inside their desires and discern what would make them want and need to bring themselves to orgasm.

As she typed her tales, she could feel all those things happening to her body too. She had to put in a light-days pad when she was writing, otherwise it got messy. She was driven to shower and masturbate afterward. Each posting left her squirming in expectation of the response. Sometimes comments or messages made her incredibly hot, leaving her short of breath, pressing her thighs together. When the first reader told her that a story of hers had made him cum really hard, she could not wait for the shower. She slid her hand between her thighs and teased herself to climax right there reading it over and over. She pictured him reading and pumping, unable to resist.

That was what turned her on the most: stories about being unable to resist. Her own story, her own fear. She was afraid of her sexual desires, which only seemed to become less controllable. That morning as she sat in Professor Isaiah Benton’s senior seminar on legal ethics, she found herself imagining what his genitals looked like. Did he have a thick cock? Saggy balls? Was his pubic hair going as gray as his temples? She felt a longing, a need for something inside her, something large and alive. That is, his cock. She imagined it penetrating her, slowly spreading her labia, slowly filling her, full. Dildos could be very stimulating, but, as she knew, nothing like a hard, thick cock. Driven by a mans hips and legs, his body thrusting beneath her as she rode it.

Her fantasy gave way as Isaiah looked towards her expectantly, knowing that she certainly disagreed with what a classmate had just said. Her blush was uncontrollable as she did her best to recall the statement, offering an uncharacteristically weak reply. The professor looked at her quizzically, used to her incisive analyses.

After class, he stepped alongside her as they left the room, asking if everything was okay. Last semester Tia had admitted to herself that she found her teacher attractive. In his late 30s, his dark hair and swarthy skin made his ethnicity as ambiguous as her own. He was just a few inches taller than her 5-6 and seemed reasonably fit. She had decided that his face was kind; indeed, he seemed a kind person. He was also one of the department’s stars, teaching only seniors and travelling to conferences, so fall had been her first chance to work with him. He encouraged students to disagree illegal bahis siteleri with him and treated their comments with respect and seriousness. Classmates had told her that he was generous with his time and care. His inquiry seemed genuine, so she took it that way instead of making a polite good-bye.

“This is my last semester here and I am starting to wish for a do-over.”

“What? Why? You are one of the best students in the department. Whatever you want to do, any faculty member who has worked with you will write you a glowing letter of recommendation. And call their friends personally too.” He smiled.

“School has been okay, I guess, but college is supposed to be where I form life-long relationships. Aside from my roommate and a couple of girls from my classes, I haven’t done that,” Tia sighed. “I guess I am not very adventurous.”

“I see,” Isaiah said stopping and turning towards her. “You can take intellectual risks but not social risks?”

They were poised at the door of the building, his gray eyes looking directly into hers, his face serious. His mouth was inches from her own. Suddenly all she could think of was her seminar room fantasy of riding him cowgirl. She stole a quick glance down at his crotch surprised to be disappointed that there was no erection visible. She was melting, breathing shallowly, blushing and in her own universe, she realized. Tia turned away, starting to walk again. “I guess so,” she muttered.

“Listen,” Isaiah called after her, seemingly oblivious to her response. “You know about the Thursday evening gatherings at my place? Seven o’clock.” Students called them “soirées” somewhat mockingly. But most of her seminar classmates were regulars. He had invited all of them at the beginning of last semester. She had been too shy to go. But, as she was realizing, she did find Isaiah kind of hot and maybe she could be more social.

***

Benton lived on campus in an apartment in one of the dorms. The front door was ajar when she arrived at close to 7:30. There was noise bubbling out: laughter, forceful comments, and the clinking of glasses and plates. Isaiah nodded to her when she came in, but seemed deep in conversation with the boy wonder of the class, Harvey. Harvey was about as asocial as she was, so she turned away. Other students said hello and even seemed friendly, but she still found herself alone in the corner of a couch staring into space, a glass of club soda on the arm beside her. She looked over at her teacher and once again found herself fantasizing about him. She considered writing a story about a student who seduced or was seduced by her professor. It seemed pretty cliché and she struggled to figure out how to make it a turn-on for her audience. In these #metoo days, he would never make a move on her (even in fiction) and would likely spurn any advances she made.

That did not keep her from imagining her staying until all the others had gone and confessing her desires to him. Where would they do it? Here in the living room on the couch? Down the hall in his bedroom? Maybe on the kitchen counter? She imagined him bending her over the back of the sofa while he took her from behind, his thick dick plunging in and out. Filling her… his hands gripping her hips as his slapped against her ass…

Suddenly she realized that he was approaching. She could feel her face turning bright red as she looked around and saw that indeed there were only a few guests left. She had been blushing around him lately. “I guess I had better go.” Tia said, a small smile on her face.

Isaiah sat down, a smile playing on his lips. “I invite you to find a social life and you sit by yourself all evening.” He sighed. “One step at a time, I guess.” And his smile broadened. “So how has it been? Getting out and all?”

Tia felt uncomfortable under his patient gaze, her body still heated from her fantasies. canlı bahis siteleri “I guess I let my mind wander too much, I was day dreaming.”

Isaiah looked up as the last two other students approached to say good bye. Tia moved to get up and leave with them; she needed to go as soon as possible, she felt. But even as he walked with the others to the door he gestured to her to stay. So, she did.

Reseated he turned his kind eyes on her again. “And what, might I ask, were you day dreaming about?”

Something came over Tia. Here she was alone with him, just like in her fantasy. He was looking at her with such care and warmth. She could smell his sweet breath and … him, his body, his masculinity. She felt the heat and swelling between her thighs, and it just popped out. “I was day dreaming about you.”

He canted his head in question. “You were?”

Looking up at his eyes again, “Yes, I was imagining that it would feel incredible to have your hard cock inside of me, to make love to you.”

Clearly the words were unexpected. He stood abruptly, turning away. “Oh dear, I am so sorry if I encouraged you in any way. That…, that is not, not…” He turned back to her. “I am flattered. Not only would it be inappropriate, I, uh, don’t take this the wrong way, but I prefer women my own age.” She could see, though, that this time when she looked at this crotch, there was a distinct bulge there. A large bulge. She kept her eyes there, fascinated, guessing what it looked like inside those slacks. Circumcised? Fat? Long?

His eyes followed her gaze. He let out a deep breath. “Look, I am a single healthy heterosexual man. Your, ah, your statement was quite provocative. It’s not often that an attractive woman tells me she is fantasizing about me sexually. Yes, it made me aroused. And, nothing, NOTHING, is going to happen. Not tonight, not ever.”

A sly smile came over Tia’s face. “Are you going to do anything about that after I leave?” she asked, looking hard at the outline of his hard cock in his khakis and then back up into his eyes. “Just to be clear, I was imagining myself bent over this very couch, you fucking me from behind, bringing me to orgasm over and over again.” She paused, still holding his eyes with her own, her tongue lightly tracing the line of her bottom lip.

“I have come to be aware that I have a higher sex drive than most. It’s why I avoid intimacy. I lose perspective, I lose control. I let my desires outweigh my good sense. I feel as if I have got to get fucked and I won’t and can’t stop myself.”

Isaiah pulled himself up straight. She could see his eyes were a bit glazed and the bulge was no smaller. “Fortunately, I am not so impulsive,” he said with a sad smile. “Time for you to get back to the dorm.” He turned towards the door. “Let’s pretend that this conversation never happened.”

You can try pretending that, she thought, but I hope you are not successful. I won’t even try to pretend. Tia was aching for his cock now, even more perhaps knowing it was not to be hers. She slowly moved towards the door, stopping for a moment to pull up the bottom of her hoodie and expose her pert breasts to him. Then she pulled the top back down and walked into the night.

She turned one last time looking at him in the doorway, pressing her right palm into the crotch of her pants, staring at him, seeing his cock still straining at his clothing. “Thanks for inviting me, Professor. I can’t tell you how much I am enjoying it. You would rather not know that would you? But it is true. I want you. And I want you to enjoy it too.” With a wink and a swivel of her hips she walked off across the quad. She actually felt depressed, embarrassed, and foolish, but she was not going to show him any of that. Besides, she didn’t want to shame or worry him; she wanted him to masturbate tonight picturing her ninnies and imagining the possibilities she had offered. She knew in her heart he would not change his mind, he had too much fucking integrity. That thought made her laugh out loud. Whatever he wanted, nothing would keep her from fantasizing about him and probably teasing him until graduation day.

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