I was sweaty and my skirt kept slipping to the side for some reason and I was having to readjust it. If I was a violent person I would feel like punching someone. The only way out of this nightmare was to close myself in my dorm room, and get high as a kite (as the expression goes) on my special stash I still had left from my visit home. A deep indica, it would take me into the purple clouds where I belong.
My catastrophe of an afternoon began when Professor Veith mocked my paper. She had done this little jiggle with a fist on one hip and a shitty look on her face. It was a nasty, malicious look, but I think ‘shitty’ captures it best. Without giving me a chance to explain, she proceeded to misrepresent my thesis, and smacked me down in front of everyone. My face had turned bright red, and my tights and form-fitting cashmere sweater with the turtle neck (which looked super good from all angles in the mirror this morning) began to feel too tight and itchy.
Then I found out I couldn’t register for the English Romantics poetry class I needed as a requirement. It was my own fault for waiting too long. But that didn’t stop me from feeling angry at anyone who made eye contact with me. Now I’d have to squeeze in an extra course in order to graduate on time.
This desire to escape into my sanctuary, to hide and collect myself in the safety of my room partially explains my reaction when I opened the (surprisingly) unlocked door and slipped inside.
I had clearly walked in on a party of some kind. There was a stranger sitting on my bed. My roommate Sheila was seated on her swivel chair at her desk with a cocktail glass in her hand, and Sheila’s friend Annie was on Sheila’s bed, also with a glass of something red in her hand.
I experienced immediate disappointment that my space had been taken over. But at the same time I felt excitement, thus the emotional whiplash. I was awkwardly frozen just inside the door.
The stranger on my bed was a very beautiful and elegant Indian woman, older than the rest of us, probably mid-twenties. She was in an extremely colorful dress with blues and greens in a diamond pattern, and had jewelry on. Her aesthetic was superior. I wanted to look more closely and take in the details of her clothing, bracelets, and necklace, but would have to wait until I could do so without staring. She was sitting with her back against the wall, and had used my two pillows to cushion her hips on both sides. Her bare legs which were crossed in front of her were the most appealing dark brown color.
I could feel my armpits sweating and my heart was beating faster than normal. No one had said anything yet, but the girls were all looking at me, the woman on my bed with curiosity, Annie with a cheerful smile, and Sheila with a mischievous look.
I put my bag on the ground and sat on my wooden desk chair with one leg tucked under me. Sheila introduced the person on my bed as Anjali, a student at Nehru University in New Delhi. Annie, who was atop a mess of Sheila’s pillows and blankets, was hosting Anjali on our campus for a few days. They were connected somehow through Annie’s older sister. I couldn’t pay enough attention to understand the full story, and I also didn’t care. What I did care about was that Anjali was in my room, with her exciting female curves pressed into my cushions, her rear end close to where my head rests at night.
You see, I’m a girl who lives in a state of sexual fantasy and tension. I think all the time about seducing voluptuous ladies. Ideally they should be taller than I am, and more curvy. I like them soft and feminine and with liquid empathy in their eyes. I’m a dirty girl, as we all are if we admit it, and as I was nodding in introduction and pretending to listen to what was being said, I was also imagining that moment of highest eroticism for me, the moment I think about when I make eye contact the right kind of girl, a deeply secret thought.
It’s the moment where the pretty girl is languid and comfortable, her skirt pulled back and her panties on display, so precious, so perfect. And me between her legs with my cute pointy nose just brushing her panty line, getting my first hit of her private girl smell, while I plant little (very tender) kisses on her soft inner thigh. Such little perfect kisses while I’m living in her girl aroma.
Anjali was smiling at me. “I hope you don’t mind me having taken over your bed. I wanted to sit on the chair but Sheila insisted, telling me you wouldn’t mind at all.”
“That’s fine.” My voice sounded hoarse to me. I pulled at the neck of my sweater and tried to calm down, to let myself sink into the situation. I crossed my legs trying to look composed.
The girls were drinking some kind of bourbon cocktail. Anjali had wanted to try bourbon during her visit so they had ended up getting supplies and then decided to get saucy despite it being only about 5pm, with no real plans for later, only to relax after a hot day of exploring campus and town.
I felt like I was watching the four of us from above, marmaris escort looking down at the scene. I myself am pale-skinned with straight brown hair. I’m petite and thin, and have an elegant female shape. I know some might call me vain, but I love picking out my outfits, getting each element just perfect, and trying different postures in front of the mirror, thinking about my own good looks.
Part of the pleasure of being me involves being a petite feminine person who is initially seen as cute and approachable by other girls. Then when I get to know them better, I love the moment when they learn what I’m after, that I ‘date girls’ is the euphemism for my carnal desires. I like their surprise and their pivot to seeing me as someone they might have to fend off, or as someone to wonder about later that evening, after being let down by their loser of a boyfriend named Chad or Skyler.
I want them to fantasize about me, their favorite fantasy of oral sex, but they look down and see an attractive girl between their legs, my hair shiny and brown, pulled back by a bright blue hair band, purple eye shadow expertly applied, my predatory leopardess gaze holding their eyes as my lips and mouth eagerly explore their privates.
All the girls were of Indian origins, although only Anjali was foreign. Sheila and Annie were born and raised in Southern California, just regular red-blooded, filthy American girls. I love my roommate Sheila dearly. We got lucky and were placed together freshman year, and we stayed together all the way to now.
Sheila is extremely thin, and tends to wear very plain clothing, jeans and sweatshirts. She’s a workaholic, does all her reading, and gets nearly perfect grades. She’s an engineering major and an introvert, and is often to be found in her un-stylish black desk chair, coffee mug in hand, charts and diagrams on her screen.
But not today. Now she was wearing her usual jeans, but with a simple and nice-enough blouse on, and little red shoes like ballet slippers. Her posture was the same as always, but instead of a coffee cup, she had her cocktail. And her eyes were teasing me. I was getting the feeling that she had sprung a type of trap on me, or was pulling the strings of some kind of set-up. I crossed my legs the other way, and was aware of dampness, both sweat and a new slicker kind of moisture.
Sheila refilled their drinks and offered me one, but I got myself some water instead. I’m not really a drinker at all. I was beginning to wonder if it would be awkward if I pulled out my pipe and got stoned right now.
“We were having a conversation you might enjoy being part of Heather, just before you walked in,” said Sheila. “In fact, you might be just the right person to weigh in.” I waited for her to continue, while Annie and Anjali glanced at each other with a look I couldn’t figure out.
“I didn’t think you’d mind if I talked about it, but I was telling Annie and Anjali about you, what kind of girl you are.”
I swallowed and shifted in my chair. Annie was looking at me with a friendly expression. She wasn’t dressed up like the other girls, but was wearing soccer shorts (was she on the soccer team?) and had an oversize t-shirt on. I had always found her annoying in the past, someone without interesting things to say. I hadn’t noticed how nice her legs were. As she shifted on the bed I glimpsed up her shorts at a coffee-and-cream stretch of inner thigh and and saw a flash of light blue panties. We made eye contact right after and I thought her eyes were very pretty, deeper than I had remembered. My lips felt thick and sticky. I indulged in the thought of myself on my knees in front of her, her standing against the wall, her flimsy athletic shorts and panties pulled down to her knees, restraining her from moving, me tasting her clit with the tip of my tongue insistent and probing, snaking between her legs in search of the prize.
I felt my face getting red. Could they tell I was thinking lustful thoughts? This could all end up being so embarrassing for me. I couldn’t tell if my inner sense of time was off, or if they were acting shy before bringing up whatever they had been talking about.
“Anjali has never,” here Sheila paused for effect, and then said in a slow, self-consciously sultry voice, “she’s never been licked before.” Then she slowly sipped her drink. I tried not so show my excitement at hearing this term used in front of the attractive stranger. In my world the pretty girl ‘gets licked’. This is what happens, and is the best thing that can possibly happen. “Also, did you know that Anjali means ‘divine offering’ in Sanskrit? Too bad no one has taken that divine offering.” Sheila, that little snot, she said these terribly exciting things on purpose to get me creaming myself. It was working. I was beginning to feel that I might faint, or else wake up from a dream.
“I’ve gotten oral a handful of times, but it was over as fast as fuck,” said Annie. She moved to the edge of the bed, her feet now resting on the floor as she pushed the pillows into an armrest marmaris escort bayan to lean on. “I thought it was the best feeling, super dreamy, but the guys didn’t seem to be fully into it. I want it but I don’t want to have to beg for it.” She twirled the hair by her ear and made a pouty expression with her mouth. Maybe she wasn’t smarter than she looked, but she was sexy and that counts one thousand.
Anjali had now adjusted her position, her legs tucked up under her bum as she watched each of us. She seemed to be buzzing with energy, but also calm and cheerful. “But look at poor Heather, maybe we’re making her uncomfortable with all this sex talk. Look at her face, it’s bright red. Are you even comfortable on that chair sweetheart? You can sit with me if you want, you look like you could use some care. You’ve had a hard day perhaps. Here, come join me.”
Her accent was divine, lilting, adorable in all ways. She had multiple thin gold bracelets on her right arm and they clinked as she shifted. I was breathing in and out, waiting to react.
I could tell Sheila wanted me to yield to this moment, and to snuggle with Anjali on the bed. I reached down and unlaced and pulled off my recently shined black boots. They looked great, classy and bad-ass. “Do you girls mind if I smoke some pot right now?” Without waiting for an answer, I pulled open my desk drawer to get my perfect little piece and the leather box with the weed.
Everyone seemed happy to hang out and sip their drinks as I loaded my pipe and took the hit, the sharp and sweet smoke burning inside me, my perspective about to be changed, my consciousness knocked into the next valence. As I exhaled, I was certain I had made the right move. I was feeling like I could survive the excitement of now, and even join this dreamy foreign lady, now in such an alluring position, her eyes filled with gentleness.
I climbed onto my bed and positioned myself with only a few inches between me and Anjali.
She reached out a hand and rubbed my shoulder. Her touch made me feel wonderful, made me feel valued and cared for. I scooted a bit closer to her so that our shoulders were touching. My hand was on my bedspread, so close to being on her shapely knee. It took a serious act of will not to start stroking her leg.
Sheila got up and went to the door, and locked it. She also turned on our desk lamps, and turned off the overhead. Then she went back to her position at her desk and refilled first the girls’ drinks, then her own. There were three different bottles of spirits that she mixed to make the drinks. One of them had a fancy pattern like ivy on the label and large cursive lettering that wove through the ivy. They were moving through it at a good rate, it seemed to me. The flow of life, the flow of spirits.
Everything felt right. I was aware I was smiling as I looked at Sheila (notable because I’m not a smiley person, and prefer to maintain a mysterious air). Sheila was cool as a cucumber, her legs crossed at the ankles, her drink in one hand, elbows on her armrests. Her feet looked good in her red shoes. To an outsider she would seem inexpressive and neutral at this moment, but I could see from slight cues in body language, and in the look in her eyes, that she was pleased, like the coach of a winning team at half-time, confident in the continued performance of her squad.
Annie on the other hand was bouncing around, clearly energized. She didn’t seem to mind at all that Anjali had draped an arm over my shoulder and that the air had become thick. I pulled myself more upright, and cleared my throat a little and Anjali gently withdrew her arm. “I assume that you were wanting my input because I date girls and so you expect me to have something to say about this.”
Wheels whirred, colored lights flashed, and wild clanging and ringing sounds came from the slot machine as I landed three cherries. The girls were all looking at me. I had their full attention.
“This is the only type of sex in my world, and there is no other. The magical act of cunnilingus.” I said the word with extra focus on the sound of the ‘l’, as in ‘lick’. I was looking between Shiela and Annie as I talked, with Anjali being too close for me to look at comfortably. I hoped she was watching my mouth and lips as I talked (I have an elegant mouth, not because I have very full lips, but because they’re shapely and I use gloss and lipstick to such good effect).
“There are two reasons why I love licking girls between their legs.” I was aware that I was speaking precisely, with clear articulation. “The first is what we all think of, which is for the pleasure of the girl. We know how good it feels to her, how special, and how it can get us to climax more reliably than anything else. Pleasing a girl this way is like playing a musical instrument. Each girl is unique, and you have to find out exactly how to make the music, which flick of the tongue, or use of the lips, or the tip of the nose maybe. And the reward is in her vibrations, her breathing and moaning, the expression escort marmaris on her face, every woman uniquely beautiful during the build up and,” here I searched for the right word, “exquisite during the orgasm itself.” I let out a deep sigh. “Although I always feel sad after the girl comes, my heart breaks that the excitement is over. The real pleasure is in the pursuit, and the build up, and yes, the climax must be a guarantee, but still it’s not the point for me.”
Sheila hadn’t moved at all while I was talking, but her dark eyes were dancing. She sipped her drink then returned it to the desk. Red liquid going in, red shoes on bare feet.
Annie had stopped jiggling on Sheila’s bed (which I’m positive had been perfectly made before she tore up the blankets and nested). She was staring at me, her eyes different from before.
Anjali spoke from just behind my right ear. “Heather, hearing you say this is wonderful. You’re very poetic. I love this metaphor of playing a woman like a musical instrument.”
As I prepared to continue, I put my right hand on Anjali’s leg and moved it back and forth just the smallest bit. I did this without looking at her, while keeping my eyes on Sheila and Annie, pretending that I hadn’t just crossed an intimate boundary. Anjali shifted her thigh slightly towards me, opening her legs a couple inches further. I was thinking about how far up her dress I would have to slip my fingers before they would carry her scent. All the way to her wet core, or maybe just to the line of her panties, that special place. I imagined how elegant my turquoise nails would look against her thigh. A feminine pale hand, turquoise nails, creamy dark skin beneath.
“But it’s this second reason why I love this kind of sex that makes it special, that makes it count. And this is something you won’t hear talked about much, that isn’t featured much in movies and that girls are often embarrassed about.” Again I paused for effect. I was speaking thickly now, as I moved towards sharing my deepest secret.
“The pursuit of the girl’s private smells and tastes. Her most true feminine truth. When I get what I’m after, and the girls panties are pulled aside with the silky texture of their fabric pressing on my cheek, while my mouth is fully over her girlness, in a deep wet and sensual french kiss,” here I paused, and caught my breath again. My heart was beating so fast.
“When this moment has come, and the build up has reached full throttle connection between my mouth and her wet softness, in this moment, no longer of teasing and foreplay, but of deep tonguing and reward, I’m chasing around her delicate private folds with lips and tongue, desperate to find all the pockets of residue and flavor, to know the truth of her, to have her in ways she has never been experienced. It’s this lust for the taste of a girl, the eagerness I have when taking her this way, they way I moan as I get what I most deeply desire, this translates into powerful psychological pleasure for the girl. She feels so wanted, she feels so female, like the treasure she knows she is, even if society doesn’t always make her feel that way.”
Now I was depleted. I had taken my hand off of Anjali’s leg to focus on saying what I wanted to say. I was looking down at the floor. “Did I go too far just now? I know I’m a total perv.”
Anjali whispered in my ear, “Heather, you are a gift to women.” As she said it I knew I would remember the exact sound of her voice in my ear saying this, probably forever. I didn’t turn to make eye contact with her although I could have, and shivered from deep inside.
“That’s a violation of the rules,” said Sheila. “Bad Anjali. I’m the moderator of this party. Please say what you just said aloud so we can all hear it.”
“I said that Heather is a gift to women.” Anjali now had leaned her head against my shoulder. Her hair smelled sweet and I looked down at her. I could see the blue and green beads of her necklace. Blue and green just like the diamond-shaped pattern on her dress. Her breasts were relatively small given her shapely lower body. I could see their size and firmness with her leaning on me like this.
I felt Sheila seeking my attention, and turned my gaze back up. “Heather you are a gift to women, I agree.” At this, feelings of love for Sheila welled up in me. She was on my side. She loved me for who I am. Sheila continued, “And Anjali is indeed a divine offering.”
This next moment seemed inevitable. I was ready to do what we all were waiting for. Sheila was watching me, aware that I was about to make the moment real.
“Annie, how do you feel?” Sheila asked. Are you ready for what comes next? was unspoken but clearly understood.
“Are you kidding, this is so hot. I can’t believe this is happening. I want to watch. Is that okay?”
“Yes Annie. You can make yourself comfortable on my bed. Don’t worry, I can wash my sheets. You have permission.” Annie blinked as she took on the implications of this. She had been sitting with one hand tucked between her thighs, and she now relaxed her legs and let them spread. Her eyes were smokey, like sandalwood incense at the beginning of its burn. I couldn’t have imagined that Annie was capable of a state like this, that she had such sultriness in her.