by Ramona Beth Savage
(07/28/04)

Even though we'd been in some of the same classes, I never really noticed Rhonda Segal until I saw her with Steve Tracy outside the student union. I was too far away to hear Steve's voice, but I saw the tension coiled in his body. It was the way you acted when you got up the nerve to ask some babe for a date. Some sorority queen who peed perfume. But Rhonda was no babe. And even though I couldn't hear Steve, I had no trouble hearing Rhonda's loud voice.

"Get outta here!" she told him, laughing. Then she turned and strode off like she was running cross-country track. Steve stared after her. For one crazy second I thought he was going to cry.

After that, I started paying attention to Rhonda. I wanted to know why a guy like Steve, who was vice-president of the Sigma Chi chapter, wasn't bad looking, and who carried a three-point grade average would have the hots for Rhonda. And why she would blow him off.

Rhonda was tall enough for varsity basketball, but she was no athlete. She walked like she was going down the middle of a railroad track, stepping from tie to tie, only the ties were too far apart. She had nice boobs, but her wild blonde hair usually needed combing, or washing, or both. Her glasses magnified her brown eyes into a slightly crazy look. Rhonda's nose would have been too long for her face, except that it matched her wide mouth. She had big upper teeth that sparkled like new ivory and gave the impression she was nibbling her lower lip. Like she was lost in her own world.

I started saying hi to Rhonda whenever I saw her, and if there was a vacant seat, I'd sit next to her in class. I wasn't planning to put any moves on her. I just wanted to figure out what Steve had seen that I'd missed. I kept track of when she studied in the library, and started dropping by. At first we'd sit in the same section, trading an occasional smile. After a few days we moved to the same table, and by the end of the week, as if there had been some silent agreement, we were sitting side by side.

In Introductory Psych I'd learned that Americans need more personal space than other cultures to feel comfortable. But Rhonda slid her chair close enough for me to feel the heat of her thigh and to inhale her musky scent, not one of those vapid floral fragrances other women wore, but some primal perfume that rose from the secret parts of her body. She'd stretch across the table to retrieve one of her scattered textbooks and tumble her big hair against my face. Sometimes she'd reach into my shirt pocket and help herself to my pen. And when she got up to go to the john -- "Gotta pee," she'd say, with no more embarrassment than if she'd commented on the weather -- she'd casually put her hand on my shoulder and lever herself out of her chair, with no more awareness of our proximity than if I'd been part of the table.

All of it was sexy as hell.

All the other women I'd ever known had always sat with their legs together. But Rhonda made her own rules. Whatever she wore, jeans or a skirt, she sat with her legs apart like a ten-year old tomboy. And sometimes while she was studying, chafing her lower lip with her teeth, one hand would casually drop down until it rested on her crotch. As we studied, I found myself waiting for that hand to slip off the table into her lap, as if it had a will of its own.

No matter what I talked about, Rhonda had little to say. Instead she'd stare at me intently, running her tongue over the edge of her teeth, giving me an occasional "Yeah," or "That's cool," as if she'd slipped off into a private dimension where some weird little fantasy played in her head.

One day Steve Tracy walked by the table where Rhonda and I were studying. I hadn't seen him since the day Rhonda had laughed at him. Then he'd been Mr. Preppy -- Brooks Brothers wardrobe, clean shave, a middle class Republican dad's wet dream. Now he was wearing yesterday's shirt, last week's beard and jeans with holes in the knee. I waited for him to speak. But all Steve did was give me this half-sad, half-envious look.

And I smiled as I listened to his footsteps recede into the stacks, because by now I knew what had turned Steve on. I'd become oblivious to the other women on campus, with their mindless conversation, their phony hairstyles, their anorexic little butts. I wanted Rhonda's silent smile, her tangled mane, her big free-swinging hips. At night when I jerked off, I imagined those hips riding me, her big breasts bouncing in my face. Yeah, I fantasized her whispering after she climaxed. That was cool.

"Hey," I said softly, standing up behind Rhonda and massaging her shoulders. It was the first time I'd ever touched her like that. "It's too nice a day to stay inside. Let's get out of here. Go somewhere together."

She twisted in her chair. "You want to?" she asked. "You wanna go do something?"

"Yeah," I mimicked her. I traced her collarbone with my fingertips. "I wanna do something. With you."

She was silent for a moment chewing her lip as she thought. Then she took off her glasses, gave me a long speculative look. "You wanna fool around?"

My chest tightened as her tongue danced over the edge of her teeth. "Yeah. I wanna fool around."

Rhonda stood up, gave me a big grin, and said, "You gotta feed me first."

Across the street that separated the campus from the city, several blocks had been transformed into a tree-lined pedestrian mall. As Rhonda and I headed for McDonald's, I slipped my arm around Rhonda's waist, enjoying the movement of her flank under my hand as she walked with her big steps. Inside McDonalds we let the throng of customers pushing toward the counter press our bodies together. My thigh pushed against hers. Her shoulder pressed against my chest.

If one of us moved, the other felt it. It was like sharing the same body. I felt her arm move against me as she began doing something -- scratching, or adjusting her purse.

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?" I whispered in Rhonda's ear.

"Get outta here," she whispered back. But I could hear the tightness in her voice.

"Thou are more lovely, and more temperate." I murmured, reaching down to take her hand.

And found Rhonda's hand was gently massaging the crotch of her jeans.

I faltered. I couldn't remember the rest of the sonnet. Her hand still moving, Rhonda closed her eyes.

The crush of bodies masked Rhonda's activity from everyone but me as the line moved forward. Then the couple ahead of us paid for their order and moved away, exposing us to the cashier. But he ignored Rhonda, and I realized that she was shielding her activity from him with her big purse.

When our order was ready, I snatched our food, grabbed Rhonda, who had filled her hands with little packets of ketchup, and shepherded her down the street to a bench under a tree. She sat down and began ripping open ketchup packets with her teeth.

"What the hell was all that about?" I asked.

Rhonda doused her hamburger with ketchup. "What was what about?"

I laughed nervously. "You know. In McDonalds."

Rhonda took a Godzilla-sized bite of her Big Mac. "Oh shit," she sighed. "This is good."

A big glob of ketchup dripped onto her lap.

I handed her a napkin. Maybe I'd misunderstood what I saw. I took a bite of my own burger.

And stopped chewing. Big Mac in one hand, Rhonda's other hand held a napkin and was stroking between her legs where the ketchup had fallen. But there was no longer any ketchup. "Oh yeah," she said softly, taking another bite of hamburger and opening herself wider. "This is so good."

I looked wildly around. The brick paving was filled with walkers, but like the single frame of a film, all they saw as they passed was a glimpse of a woman wiping a spot from her pants. Only I was viewing the complete scene. Even so, it was embarrassing as hell.

And it was giving me an erection.

"We could go someplace more private," I murmured.

Rhonda's teeth tore another hunk out of her hamburger and licked driblets of ketchup from her lips. "This is cool," she said. "Right here."

Mesmerized, I watched Rhonda stroke herself while she devoured her hamburger, then finish her coke with a slurp. When she rose and beckoned, I followed, tossing my uneaten food in a trash barrel. My throat was too tight to swallow.

Half a block from the university Rhonda pulled me into an alley. Straddling my leg, she thrust her tongue into my mouth. She tasted like Big Mac.

"You cool with this?" she breathed between kisses as she rubbed herself against my thigh.

"Let's go to my dorm," I groaned. I pushed my erection against her grinding pelvis and cupped her behind with my hands. "My roommate is never there in--"

Rhonda stopped dry-humping me. "Nah. I like this better." But as we headed back to campus toward the river she grinned and said, "I'll take care of you. But you got to be cool."

By the time we reached the sidewalk along the river, my erection had subsided. A few inquisitive ducks eyed us as we settled on a bench. From her big purse Rhonda produced a newspaper. "You want to read the paper?" I asked.

Scooting close to me, she unfolded the paper and gave me one end, holding up the other end herself. To anyone walking by we were just a couple sharing newspaper. But with her free hand, Rhonda unzipped her jeans. As she slipped her hand beneath the elastic of her flame-red panties, my erection returned with a vengeance.

Rhonda allowed me to kiss her while she touched herself. But when I tried to put my hand inside her unzipped jeans she slapped it away. "Get outta here," she said in a husky voice. "I just want you to watch."

So I watched. I watched her hand work faster. I watched her eyes close, and her mouth open slightly. I watched so intently that I didn't hear the footsteps behind us until they were only a few feet away. I turned and found a girl staring open-mouthed at Rhonda, her eyes wide with disbelief. The sack of popcorn she carried fell to the ground. Face scarlet, the girl rapidly walked away.

In a moment, we were surrounded by ducks quacking in ecstasy as they scooped up the spilled popcorn. Their orgiastic feast turned heads on other benches toward us. Breathing faster, Rhonda opened her legs wider, pushing her panties down. Beneath her furiously working hand, I caught a glimpse of coarse hair.

"Oh, yeah," Rhonda groaned. "This is good. Really good." She threw her head back "Oh yeah...YEAH! YEAH!" Her climax sent a cloud of alarmed ducks flapping into the sky, drew curious stares from the adjoining benches, and nearly made me ejaculate in my pants.

For several moments, the only sound was Rhonda's panting. Gradually her breathing became normal. "Oh shit," she said happily. "That was so cool."

Cautiously I looked around. People had stopped looking at us. I stared at the front of my own pants, amazed that the fabric hadn't split.

"So when is it my turn?" I asked as Rhonda zipped herself up.

"Tomorrow," she said, standing up.

I jumped up. "Tomorrow?" My voice was almost as loud as hers had been a moment earlier. "I can't wait until tomorrow! For God's sake--"

But Rhonda was already striding away. "Meet me in front of the union," she called over her shoulder. "Tomorrow at noon."

The next morning I woke before dawn with a vicious erection. I cut my morning classes, showered, shaved twice, spent an hour choosing my clothes, and by 11:30 AM, an optimistic half-dozen condoms in my pocket, I was nervously pacing back and forth in front of the student union.

Rhonda showed up at a quarter past twelve "Big exam this afternoon," she said. "Gotta go study."

My jaw dropped. "What about us?" I realized I was shouting and lowered my voice. "I thought--"

Rhonda pulled a fat eight by ten envelope from her purse and handed it to me. "Said I'd take care of you."

"Damn it, Rhonda!" I grabbed her arm. "I'll do anything you want. But I have got to make love to you!"

"Get outta here!" Rhonda said, laughing and pulling away. She pointed at the envelope. "Just be cool."

I watched Rhonda walk away across the grassy common. I wanted to scream with frustration. Instead, I opened the envelope she'd given me. Out tumbled the red panties Rhonda had worn the day before. Ignoring the stares of the passing students, I ran my fingers over the sleek material until I felt the stiffness of her dried juices, and caught a faint scent of feral musk.

Inside her panties, Rhonda had left a note. Stuffing them back in the envelope I unfolded the paper and read her large printing: THINK ABOUT ME WHILE U JERK OFF ON THESE.

That Friday I cornered Steve Tracy in this sleazy little bar where his fraternity brothers said he'd lately been spending all his free time.

"She never goes with the same guy twice," Steve said. He signaled the bartender for another beer.

"You don't understand," I told him. "She shared something really special with me." I didn't tell Steve how, since my meeting with Rhonda in front of the union, she'd ignored me.

Steve took a long drink. "She give you the panties yet?"

I stared at him.

"Did you do it?" he asked. "What she says to do with them?"

I didn't answer.

Steve smiled. "Nobody admits it. But everybody does it."

"Everybody?" I asked. Even after four beers, my voice sounded hoarse.

"Three guys from my frat," Steve said. "Maybe more."

From the mirror behind the bar, two unshaven reflections stared at us, ghosts from Rhonda's past. "A guy in my frat saw her at Wal-Mart," Steve said. "Getting more of those red panties. Said she buys them by the dozen."

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