Startled, I nearly fumbled the copy of Penthouse Letters I had retrieved from the top tier of the magazine rack. A girl with a coy smile, beautiful green eyes, and curly deep-red hair was standing next to me. I pushed at my glasses. She looked extremely familiar. Had she been in one of my classes?

“It’s not so bad,” I replied, struggling to keep my cool. Lame! Think! You can do better than that. “You know; I admire what you just did.”

“What?”

“You went up to a guy looking at dirty magazines and just started talking to him. It takes guts to do that. Which is what I lack. Which is probably why I have a magazine instead of a girlfriend.”

The girl laughed. A positive sign.

I cleared my throat. “I have an idea.” I couldn’t look her in the eye.

“Really.” Her suggestive inflection gave me a little thrill.

“I could buy this. And we could walk over to the UC for a cup of coffee. And take turns reading the letters to each other.”

She stared at me hard for a second. “Let’s do it.” She took me by the hand and propelled me toward the cash register. Was this really happening? Where had that bizarre idea come from? Had she actually said yes? And who the hell was she, anyway?

She held my hand all the way to the University Center. It’s like having a girlfriend AND a magazine, I thought. It occurred to me, extremely late, that introductions would be a good thing.

“By the way, I’m Michael.”

“I know. I remember you from Figure Drawing.”

“You’re an art major?”

“I was one of the models. The time Darcy was sick.”

I stopped dead in my tracks. I had not only seen this girl before; I (and about twelve other students) had seen her completely naked. I had scrutinized her body in detail for nearly an hour, in three or four different poses; and I had drawn her image in pencil as well as I could.

“You remember now,” she said with a laugh. “I’m Marielle.”

“Marielle,” I repeated. “A beautiful name.”

“Thank you.” I held the door for her. There were a lot of people in the snack bar, and lots of conversations going on. Good. If we actually were going to do what I had suggested, some cover would be helpful.

I bought the drinks; coffee with creamer and sugar for me, a Lipton tea bag and cup of hot water for Marielle. “Tea is better for the vocal cords,” she asserted. Shit. She really wanted to do this.

We were lucky to find a table for two near the big east windows. I noticed a tall, gangly guy with headphones, sitting directly behind me, computer printouts heaped on his tiny table. Behind Marielle were two black girls having an animated conversation and laughing a lot. The larger table to my right had two couples who were just hanging out and not saying much. Our potential audience.

Marielle reached out and waggled her fingers. I slipped the copy of Penthouse Letters out of the bookstore shopping bag and handed it over. She paged through to the first letter. “It’s from a guy. You’re up.” Shit again. A deal was a deal. There was no way out. I took a sip of coffee and began to read out loud.

My friend Tom scored three tickets to the AC/DC concert and invited me to come with him and his girlfriend, Lynne, a hot slender blonde with a deep tan. The concert was great, the sound loud, and the crowd really into it. But I only had eyes for Lynne’s gorgeous tits in her white halter top, and her tight little ass in faded jeans….

…Tom took his prick out of Lynne’s throat and, with a loud “fuck!” shot his load all over her pretty face. At the same time, I pulled out of her tight cunt and aimed for her tits. She was soon coated in our gooey come. We all three agreed that we would rock out together again very soon.

Somehow, I managed to get through the whole thing, although my throat was dry and my voice gravelly by the end. Maybe Marielle had been right—tea would have been better.

Marielle had been hanging on every word, lips slightly parted. She put her hands together in silent applause. The black girls were still engrossed in their conversation and paid no attention to us. But the two couples at the larger table had tuned in. The girls laughed silently at the juiciest parts, hands over mouths. Their boyfriends smirked. None of them dared to look at us.

I glanced at the magazine. “The next one’s from a girl. Your turn.”

With a gleam in her eye, Marielle took the magazine back, licked her lips, and plunged in.

Last summer, I was sentenced to community service for a minor possession charge. They assigned me to the community gardens out back of City Hall, where I was supposed to pull weeds (not the kind you smoke) and water the veggies. Not my idea of a good time, when I knew my friends were all partying. After a week, I was about to go insane from the boredom. But then muscular, black Marcus showed up….

…Marcus took his generous cock out after every few strokes and slid it over my clit, driving me even crazier. I knew that people on the top floor of City Hall might be able to see us, which just made the whole scene even hotter. “I need your come, right now!” I gasped. Marcus got on his knees in the dirt and I sucked in as much of his big cock as I could, feeling his sweet load hit the back of my throat as I greedily tried to swallow it all. I guess community service wasn’t so bad, after all.

Marielle’s voice was slutty yet musical, worldly and girlish at the same time. Even if she had been ugly (which was definitely not the case), her voice would have aroused me. It didn’t seem to concern her that others might be listening. The black girls had joined the audience, the one sitting directly behind Marielle turning her chair around so as not to miss a word, her eyes big.

It was an impossible act to follow, and Marielle seemed to sense that. She closed the magazine. “Let’s take our show on the road.” She grabbed my hand again and we stood up. The tall guy behind me had taken his headphones off, and he gave me a thumbs-up sign when Marielle wasn’t looking. Then we were out the door.

Red leaves the same color as Marielle’s curly hair swirled in the autumn wind. “Have you got some time to take a walk with me?” she asked.

“I’ll be happy to take a walk with you, whether I have time or not.”

We started up the hill, under ancient oaks and maples, past the spot where Old Main stood once upon a time. The sexual tension from our little reading game wasn’t gone; it was on pause for the time being. We chatted about basic stuff: hometowns, brothers and sisters. Marielle was an education major who wanted to teach at the elementary level. I was an English major who wanted to be a technical writer. We came down the west side of the hill and went into the Center of the Arts. Marielle led me through the hallways until we stopped at a familiar door: the drawing studio.

She looked up at me, her eyes searching mine. “Michael, will you help me with some unfinished business?”

“Of course,” I said, although I had no idea what she meant.

Marielle dug in a small pocket in her backpack and produced a key. It wasn’t on a key ring; just loose. She used it to open the studio door, turned on the lights, and locked the door behind us. I wondered how an education major happened to have a key to an art classroom, but didn’t ask.

“That time Darcy had the flu, Professor Wayne was in a bind. His backup model was on vacation in Mexico. He knew me from Drawing 101, and called to ask if I might consider being a model that day. He was very professional and apologetic about the whole thing. You know how he is.” She paused. “He had no way of knowing he was making one of my favorite fantasies come true.

“Since I was younger, I’ve thought about being naked in front of a group of people. Men and women. Sometimes, I imagined I was an exotic dancer. Sometimes, I was reading the Song of Solomon in church, without a stitch of clothing on. I would let everyone see everything. I wanted folks in the back row to see pink. I wanted to drive all of the watchers to the point where they could not resist coming forward to see closer, to touch me. All of them.

“And finally, here I was. In this room, on that platform, in the middle of everyone. But I couldn’t behave like a stripper. I was good. I posed demurely, and tried to be still and calm. My body was just an object, but not in the way I really wanted. On the inside, I was screaming to be taken, held down, and used. If you had been close enough, I think you would have smelled my excitement. I think maybe Professor Wayne could tell, but that could have been just my imagination. He is such a soft-spoken gentleman. I wanted to break that. I wanted him to be first. The first to come up and fuck me.

“And then the class was over. And Darcy felt better the next week. And Professor Wayne never had to ask me to model again. So…unfinished business.” As she spoke the last two words, she climbed onto the platform in the exact center of the room and began to slowly remove her clothes.

Once Marielle was naked and slowly dancing, for an actual audience of one and an imagined audience of multitudes, I held my ground as long as I physically could, my cock rigid, my mouth dry, my brain filling to the brim with yearning for the delicious body on display before me. And when she got down on hands and knees and arched her back, the tipping point arrived when I was compelled to go forward and take her. Although I had not smelled her arousal in that drawing class months earlier, I smelled it now: a primal signal conveyed directly to my raging prick. I entered her roughly from behind, jarring loose wordless sounds.

It was not right that I was only one person, after she had waited a lifetime to be possessed by many at once. So I did my best to be more than one. I put two fingers in her mouth as I pounded her sopping pussy. I put a thumb up her ass, and she responded with a combination moan and gasp that made me even harder. With my two hands and one cock, I did whatever I could to represent a whole class of art students.

And as I was close to release, a key turned in the lock. Professor Wayne entered, surprised to find the lights on and a young couple prominently on display, fucking loudly. He beckoned to the students as they filed in behind him with their drawing pads. Marielle finally realized what was happening; that the room was now full of staring, disbelieving eyes all around us. Holy rapture in her face. Culmination at long last! A tsunami washed her away, muscles jerking and mouth open, as my cum spilled into her blazing, clutching cunt.