She was attractive, articulate, sensual, well educated, informed creative, playful, fun to be with, good in bed, and someone you could share a beer or coffee with and discuss all the world’s problems.
I liked her from the first time I saw her. I liked her even more as we got to know each other.
She was also very experienced sexually, even more so than Sarah, an aggressive force in the bedroom, insatiable, excessive, and sexually demanding.
She was the extreme opposite of Jeanine’s submissiveness.
While never actually diagnosed, carol was convinced that she was addicted to sex and had undergone serious counseling regarding her desires and needs.
Good, you say?
Read on.
I met Carol shortly after school started in the fall.
I attended a meeting of students who would be writing dissertations, and Carol was one of the speakers. She was two years older than me, and one year ahead of me in school. She spoke from a student’s point of view, giving her thoughts and experiences about the process of picking a faculty dissertation committee and the task and demands of writing.
Following the meeting, there was a reception for those in attendance. I took the opportunity to seek out Carol and introduce myself.
She was more on the cute side than “drop-dead gorgeous”. She had long, straight, silk-like red hair, parted in the middle, which she wore pinned up to the back of her head.
She didn’t have the dark red, more Irish-like hair. It was a lighter color, but more to the red side of a strawberry blonde.
Even through her navy blue suit, you could tell that she had a nice figure.
Her skin was smooth, clear, and an ivory white, and was accented by her bright red lipstick and nails, blue suit and a red and blue scarf.
She had a beaming smile that made her stand out in a crowd, and deep blue eyes that looked at you softly, warmly, yet with a hint of spirit and playfulness.
No sooner had we shook hands, said hello and introduced ourselves, than a faculty member whisked her away to meet others who were in attendance.
I left the reception a little wiser for her thoughts and suggestions, knowing only her name, and wanting to meet her again.
People seemed to know her. It wasn’t just her beauty. People liked her, her personality, and the way she handled herself. No one, however, seemed to know where she lived or even her academic schedule.
The fact was, she had no schedule. Like many others trying to complete their dissertations, Carol spent most of her time in her apartment writing and editing, and very little time on campus.
While I had the opportunity to meet several women that fall and winter, particularly graduate students and young faculty members, there was no sex for me from the time I last saw Jeanine through the winter and into the spring months.
It wasn’t that I was not trying or didn’t want to get laid. It just wasn’t happening.
For most of that year I worked out, jogged, disciplined myself to read, research and write, and attended the few classes that I had left in my graduate program.
It was just happenstance that on a cold, mid-April afternoon, I spotted Carol as I was heading toward one of my classes and she was walking on a distant sidewalk, in the opposite direction. I hustled across some grass and a few more sidewalks, caught up to her and casually re-introduced myself, as if this were some chance meeting. I was surprised that she remembered me.
She had just finished doing some additional research and was heading to her car. I talked her into having a cup of coffee in the student union and skipped my class.
One cup of coffee led to two cups and over an hour of conversation.
Even without makeup, she had a clean, but sultry, erotic look about her. The way she moved, tilted her head, smiled, and talked gave her this air of confidence.
She gave me her phone number and address and left me sitting at the small table staring at her beautiful ass as she walked away.
Ours was a typical first date. A movie, some dinner after the movie, coffee in a little shop a few blocks from her apartment, a walk to her apartment door and a short goodnight kiss.
I called her a few days later. We met for coffee on campus again. And she agreed to a second date.
The restaurant was a little higher class for the second date. We skipped the movie, opting instead for a long walk, talking about everything from graduate school and each of our interests, to our backgrounds, families, travels and other experiences.
She invited me into her apartment this time, and we had coffee and talked until the early morning hours.
I left her apartment that night wanting to know more about this woman. At least from my point of view, there seemed to be a spark of interest in each other.
There was a weekend off, as Carol had a previous commitment. And another weekend off as she had a date with someone else.
Nonetheless, we managed to meet several times for coffee during the next three weeks.
Then there was graduation.
The little town that was the University became overrun with parents, aunts and uncles, other relations and friends, as thousands received their undergraduate and graduate degrees.
As with most college towns, just as quickly as it was flooded with people for graduation, once the ceremonies had finished, the town and surrounding community emptied. It was as if the town and University had been abandoned.
Carol and I had a third, more casual date, opting for dinner at a restaurant a few towns away, and ending with some good old fashioned “making out” in my car in the parking lot next to her apartment.
We both continued with our writing, she finishing hers and me beginning mine.
Despite our mutual writing schedules, Carol and I were able to fit in several more “dates”, each one a little longer, a little more casual, and a lot more romantic.
Carol’s apartment was in the center of town, behind several storefronts lining the main street.
She lived on the second floor of a two story building, which one accessed by walking up a flight of wood stairs to a long, outdoor, exposed corridor. Her apartment was almost in the middle of the building.
In contrast to my apartment, hers was long and narrow, and easily a third of the cost.
The entrance door was bordered on each side by a window. Just inside the door was a kitchen/living room combination. Along the right side were a stove, oven and refrigerator, with a little table and three chairs by the window. On the left was a sofa bed, with two small sofa chairs at each end, two side tables, two lamps, and a coffee table.
Beyond the kitchen/living room was a full bath on the right, and a walk-in closet on the left.
Beyond the bathroom and closet was the bedroom, with two windows along the back wall, which overlooked the driveway leading to the apartment complex parking lot.
Carol had set up the bedroom in sections: a desk, desk chair, and filing cabinet in one corner; a small table with a large, circular mirror surrounded by light bulbs, in another corner; an armoire; a bureau; and a queen size bed.
Several of our dates ended at her apartment. We would sit on the sofa bed, talk, maybe have a beer or two, and then get to making out.
The kissing had become increasingly passionate and sloppy with a lot of tongue battling.
On the sofa bed, it was no different.
Carol’s lips were soft and sensuous; her hands and long fingers would hold my face or dig into my shoulders and back; her hair would fall all around us and tickle my face and neck; and, her perfume would surround us and make the whole thing seem like a wonderful, erotic dream.
We were always right on the edge.
I would run my hands over her back, sometimes pulling her shirt out of her pants so I could feel her soft, smooth skin. When I could, I would cup her ass with both hands and pull her into me so we could feel each other’s body heat, I could feel her hard nipples, and she could feel the bulge in my pants. Her hair would get messed up, her lips bruised, and she would purr and moan.
Eventually, kissing would not be enough.
Part way through one of our “make-out session”, Carol went to her bedroom to change clothes. She emerged with a University sweater, faded jeans and a pair of silver, flat shoes.
We resumed our kissing, although in more of a reclined position than before.
To say that I was horny and turned on would be an understatement.
There was that moment when I thought I could not take any more of the kissing, playing and teasing, and wanted to make a move.
I hesitated.
I wanted to touch her, feel her, make her feel wonderful, but that kind of boldness might ruin what was developing between us.
I really liked this lady. I thought she liked me. It would be tragic to ruin it all with a negative reaction from her.
On the other hand, she had moved in closer to me, had not hesitated to thrash her tongue around inside my mouth, and, it seemed, that her moaning and purring with each long kiss was an invitation to do more.
I cupped my hand around her breast and squeezed, feeling her nipple in the palm of my hand.
She said nothing and did nothing, except moan louder and stick her tongue down my throat.
“That feels so good.” she told me.
Like two sixteen year olds, I continued to squeeze her breast and she ran the palm of her hand over my hidden erection.
“Is that all you?” she asked between kisses as she grabbed at my swollen member.
“Yes.”
As if we both realized that we were adults, and not sixteen year olds petting in the back seat of a car, we broke the hold we had on each other and interrupted our sloppy kissing.
Carol looked at me for a few seconds, tilting her head a little, and sweeping her hair back behind her ear. She reached out and took my hand in hers.
The next words were unexpected.
“Do you want to fuck me, Michael?” she asked, as if she had posed that question every day and it was nothing out of the ordinary.
Caught off guard by her frankness, several sarcastic, hopefully humorous thoughts passed quickly through my mind.
“Yes.” I said, the adult in me having quickly dismissed any potential childish remarks.
Carol jumped off the sofa bed, opened a draw on one of the side tables, and removed a pack of playing cards.
“Then you’re going to have to earn it.” she said with a laugh and big smile, as she sat back down on the sofa bed.
Carol proposed a game of strip poker.
She removed her shoes, leaving her with four pieces of clothing. I removed my shoes and socks, leaving me with four pieces of clothing.
She shuffled the cards as she sat cross-legged in front of me. We cut the deck to see who would deal.
I had a Jack. She had a three.
It was straight poker. Five cards would be dealt to each of us. After looking at our respective cards, we could throw away as many as we wanted and get as many new cards back, dealt off the top of the deck
I won the first hand.
Rather like Houdini removing a straight jacket, Carol pulled her arms in from the sweatshirt sleeves and somehow managed to remove her bra, tossing it aside.
Carol dealt the second hand.
I won again.
She removed her jeans, pulling the sweatshirt down to cover her panties.
I dealt the third hand.
It was close, and there was some rule interpretation and discussion, but she ultimately acknowledged that I had won again.
Carol carefully removed her panties, stretching her sweatshirt down to cover her now bare ass and pussy.
It was her turn to deal.
“Want to make it interesting?” she asked, as she tried to toss her long hair back with a flip of her head.
Her hair rolled back over her should and hung partly in front of her shoulder and chest, almost to her waist, and partly behind her.
She looked at me for a response, her legs folded under her, and the deck of cards in her hands.
What really got to me was the way she looked at me, the way she nudged and moved as she waited for my response, the little smile on her face, and the air of sexual confidence that surrounded her.
I looked into her blue eyes and she looked directly back.