by Eva Vandetuin
(10/31/07)

She wasn't my student, okay? This is not me fraternizing with the students. We did meet in a class I was TAing for, though. She was in one of the other sections, but her TA was gone that day and she came up to me to ask a question. I liked her immediately, an intellectual-looking girl with wire-rimmed glasses, her shock of curly brown hair hurriedly pulled back, blue eyes seemingly too big for her pale face. There was a hunch to her shoulders that suggested too much time spent with books and computers. She was dressed to blend in, but she asked her question assertively enough, and I liked that too. Bet she's an A student, I thought as she walked away.

After that we had a few conversations after class, here and there, and I forgot about her for a while until the following year, when she showed up as a one-year Masters' student in my program. At our first symposium of the year we smiled at each other, then struck up a conversation about modernist literature. We're both fans of Virginia Woolf's novel Orlando, probably the most literary book about a sex change in the English language. And doesn't that say so much right off?

So we go to see a movie, and movies lead to tea, and tea leads to going over to each other's houses for late-night study sessions. She's five years younger than me and I feel a little bit like a mentor towards her still, but the gap is small enough to cross. One night we drink a bottle of wine together and she tells me with a shy drop of her eyes that she's a virgin. I'm a little tipsy and I lay my hand on her arm, tell her, "Honey, there's no shame in that. It's smart to wait for somebody who you know will be good to you." And because the wine makes talking easy I tell her all about my first time, and some of the times after that, and about how I was in my mid-twenties before I admitted I liked girls more than boys, and all sorts of things that are easiest to confess in dim light with a little artificial courage. And maybe because I'm tipsy, I don't notice how carefully she looks at me, how she watches my lips forming the words.

Is she pretty? Not in a purely conventional way, maybe, but she's beautiful to me. She's my height, but more angular, with narrower hips and smaller breasts, a certain lingering athleticism from a more active period of her life giving her lovely lean muscles under a layer of student fat. I am a little bit in love with her and I am doing my best to hide it; I don't even know why. Because I'm older, maybe. Because I want her to feel safe talking to me. Because she's just a little fragile and she brings out my protectiveness.

After that we start to talk about sex much, much more. We trade favorite erotica, send each other links to particularly juicy slash fanfic, shriek with glee over Harry Potter BDSM genderfuck threesomes with Extra Special Sex Magick [TM]. When we're together we don't study anymore, we just eat and watch movies and talk talk talk. But somehow I'm still not expecting it when on another tipsy evening some months later, she puts her hand on my knee and says, "I'm tired of being a virgin. Do you think I'm attractive?"

And I'm so unsure of my own desirability that for a moment I don't know what she means, and so I say, "Of course, yes, of course, I think you're beautiful," and then my mouth drops open as she moves her chair closer, presses her knee into mine, and looks me dead in the eye. And she says to me, "Well, I think you're someone I could trust to be good to me." In a flash I see how hard this is for her: something in the line of her mouth is full of hope and intense fear. Her bravery and her bluntness excite me enormously. An eager, tender smiles moves over my face, and I lean forward and kiss her soft lips, free the wavy mass of her hair from its tie and let it fall over her shoulders.

"Oh my dear," I whisper to her as I find the hardness of her nipple through her shirt, "I would be so honored."

We don't do much that night -- just kiss and stroke each other for a while, give each other long massages, talk in quiet voices. I want so much to do everything right for her, and I tell her so. There's a busy week of classes coming up for us both, and so we continue the flirtation online. I ask her to make a list of everything that turns her on, all the things she'd most like to do, and give her my own list. We shop the Good Vibrations Web Site together, oohing and aahing and occasionally shrieking with intimidated laughter at the dildos that are as thick as our forearms. I even pretend that I'm not a poor grad student, and I spend about $200 on sex toys and lubricant, including the leather harness I've been lusting after since before I could know I wanted to fuck a girl with it. I have everything shipped next-day air, and we make a weekend date. I can barely teach, I am so distracted; I keep thinking I smell her perfume.

Soon it's the appointed night and I'm emptying my closet, trying to find just the right thing to wear. Femme or butch? Is texture more important than the way things look? She likes the smell of leather, should I wear a jacket?

My straight roommate shakes his head in bemusement and tells me, "Sweetie, it doesn't matter that much, you're just going to take it off anyway." I throw a fuzzy red bra at him and tell him he has no conception of the sexual importance of fashion. Then I put on a garter belt, stockings, and a simple brown velvet dress. I feel like me. And I have a bulging bag of sex toys, which is even better. I wave goodbye and my roomie gives me an exaggerated wink. He's teasing me again, but this time I only smile.

I take public transportation to the little flat she shares with another student (who is conveniently out of town for the weekend) and all the way I rehearse scenario after scenario, fantasizing about her pleasure but also reminding myself to make sure she's okay at every step. Does she trust me enough to let me know if she's uncomfortable? The last thing I want to do is hurt her.

I get off the bus and walk the short block to her door. Through the windows I can see the room beyond is dimly lit, flickering a little with candles. A tiny quiver of nervousness skitters across my consciousness, and I push it firmly away, say a prayer to Aphrodite, and knock softly on the door.

She must have been waiting nearby, because she opens the door almost immediately and draws me inside with a shy smile. Seeing her nervous like this, just a little bit schoolgirlish, my own mild attack of nerves melts away. I put down my bag and cup her face in my hand, running my thumb over her cheekbone. Her blue eyes widen behind her glasses as I back her up against the door, lean into her gently, and give her a long, thorough kiss. Her tongue flickers into my mouth and she embraces me, her body relaxing against mine. After a moment I pull back and give her a reassuring smile, which she returns. She's wearing a red silk dress, and I step back and hold her hands out from her body to admire her. "You look terrific," I tell her.

"So do you," she replies, and there's a hint of restrained eagerness in her voice that makes my pulse quicken.

I pick the bag back up and take her arm with a silly wink, trying to shift the mood to something more like our usual, comfortable friendship. We go into the kitchen and get fruit and glasses of water while I ask her about her day, her papers, her cats. It's small talk and we both know it, but soon she's chattering away like her usual self, relaxed and familiar. We take the food to her bedroom and sit on the bed, drawing the little conversation to its natural close.

"Time for show and tell?" I ask, and when she nods I open the bag and start to take out the contents one at a time. I've brought more than I plan to use, and some things I don't think she'll be ready for tonight, but I have to admit, I'm hoping to pique her curiosity enough to make sure this becomes more than a one-night stand. There are silk scarves for blindfolds or for bondage, lengths of rope, feathers, fur, and metal claws for sensation play, my trusty leather cuffs, a vibrator, some condoms, several kinds of lube, a leather flogger. I hand each thing to her as I pull it out, watching her reactions: still eager, still a little nervous, her eyes flickering between my face and the objects in her hands.

Finally, I reach into the bottom of the bag and pull out what I hope will be the main course -- the brand-new leather harness and a slim dildo. She raises the harness to her face to take in the strong scent of leather, closing her eyes, and I wait until she's put it (somewhat reluctantly) aside before I hand her the dildo. "Look, it's even nonrepresentational, for extra political correctness," I tell her, and she giggles, running her hand over the toy's smooth bulges.

After a moment I take the dildo from her and lean in close, sliding a hand under her dress. Her legs are bare and I make my touch light to stir the tiny blond hairs on her unshaven thigh. She shivers, then leans her head against my shoulder, and I smile. I tell her that we can use any of these things tonight, or none, whatever she wants, but that I have something in mind that I think she will like. She assents quietly, and I kiss her ear, her neck, her shoulder. She smells faintly of jasmine, subtle but exotic, and underneath I catch her natural scent, warm and human.

Under her dress, I move my hand up further and run my fingers over the curve of her hip. No panties, how delightful. She cooperates when I lift the dress over her head, then sit back to give her a long, admiring look. A faint blush rises to her face as my eyes drift over her high, small breasts, the graceful bulge of her belly, the triangle of curly hair between her legs. Blushing a little more deeply, she shifts back against the headboard of the bed, letting her thighs fall open and revealing the pink slit of her cunt. I put the dress aside and meet her eyes again, touching her face, her breast, her belly. "You are absolutely lovely," I tell her. "I am so lucky."

I kiss her for a few moments, letting her feel the velvet of my dress against her bare skin, and her hands move under my skirt, tracing the straps on the garter belt and caressing the skin just above where my stockings end. She helps me off with the dress, undoes the clips on the stockings and rolls them down slowly. "Let me look at you too," she says, and so I mirror her, and as my legs part I catch the familiar spicy scent of my juices. She looks vulnerable and I want her terribly, but I am patient; I let her take her time, enjoying being looked at as much as I enjoy looking.

After a few moments, I pick up one of the silk scarves lying beside us on the bed and ask, "May I blindfold you?" She nods with a look of mixed excitement and apprehension, and I take her glasses, then tie the scarf around her eyes and ease her into a position lying on her back. Kneeling, I let my calf rest against her side as I sweep most of the toys back into the bag, leaving the few that I want out on the nightstand. There's a CD queued in the player, some trancy world music that we picked in advance, and I press play and turn the volume down low. Now we begin.

I run my hands over her lightly, pausing to massage the deep knots in her shoulders and neck, then kneading down her arms. She relaxes under my touch, her breathing slows. Good. Leaving one hand resting on her belly, I reach for a feather, letting it brush lightly over one of her nipples. A shiver, a sharp intake of breath. I tickle her ear, her jaw, trace a line between her breasts and over her belly, her waist, her thighs, drawing her attention to the sensations of her skin. Her breathing has quickened a little again, and I feel her tensing slightly. Not nervousness now. Anticipating. Listening.

I take an ice cube from a glass of water and squeeze it until it drips on her nipple, then her lips, then her exposed clit. She shudders deliciously. I tease her with the claws, rake them lightly down her thigh, prick her throat. She whimpers faintly, and I ask her, "Doing all right, sweetheart?" Her voice is husky as she answers, "Oh yes."

I put the claws aside and lean down to warm her ear with my breath and trace the delicate shell with my tongue, and am rewarded with a quiet moan. She is almost ready, I think, but to make sure I start to cover her torso with light kisses, pausing over her nipples to suck and nibble. Her hips lift slightly to meet my body as my breasts brush her belly, and so I move lower to kiss her abdomen and her thighs, which part further at my approach. She is more swollen now, and as she shifts I am surrounded by her scent, jasmine and human and the unique smell of her cunt, crisp and a little acidic like a freshly cut green apple. I breathe in deeply, then open my mouth and exhale hotly on her exposed labia; she shudders again. "You smell wonderful," I tell her quietly. "Is this all right?" I'm stroking her thighs, and perhaps she's gone a bit nonverbal now, because all she manages is "Mmmm-hmmmmmmm."

I take another deep breath to call back the memory of the best oral sex I've ever had and do my best to reproduce it on her body, first tracing her labia with my tongue, then lightly stimulating her clit through its hood. She gasps and I reach up to hold her hand, moving my tongue a little faster, dipping down to stroke her labia more firmly, then moving back to her clit. And oh, she's moaning regularly now, squeezing my hand, moving her head distractedly from side to side, and so I wet a finger with her juices and slide it inside. Her hips press forward, forcing her clit deeper into my mouth, and I suck on it gently as I penetrate her. She thrashes a little, gratifyingly.

She's told me she's orgasmic, but slow, so when I begin to tire I leave my fingers inside her and switch to stroking her clit with my thumb. Carefully, I move to lie down beside her and tell her she can take the blindfold off. Slightly glazed blue eyes emerge and stare into mine, and we smile at each other; she kisses me, tasting her juices on my lips. "And what can I do for you now, beautiful girl?" I ask her, nuzzling her neck playfully. She pushes against my hand again and I move my fingers in and out slowly, producing another shudder. I notice her breasts and the skin on her chest have flushed, giving her a rosy glow. A wave of arousal moves over me. I move closer to her, hooking my leg over her knee and pressing my clit against the bare skin of her thigh.

She sighs, eyes closed, and then turns to me with a look of determination. "I want you to fuck me," she says, and then her resolve wavers slightly. "Um, I think." She blushes a little, embarrassed, and we both chuckle, leaning our heads together. "We can go slow," I tell her, "and stop at any time, if you want to try." She takes a deep breath, and nods.

I remove my fingers from her with some regret and stick them in my mouth, quirking an eyebrow at her as I do; she blushes again, and smiles. "Why don't I give you something to play with while I get ready," I tell her, and dig in the bag until I find the vibrator, a cute little multi-speed device with a pleasantly lumpy head. I switch it on, letting her feel it on the inside of her thigh and her outer labia before touching the tip to her clit. She gasps, and I take her hand and wrap it around the device. "Let me see where it feels the best to you," I tell her, and watch while she changes the angle, rubbing the shaft down her clit and inserting the tip into her vagina. Her eyes close again and her hips lift as pleasure buzzes through her, and I can't resist bending down again to suck on one hard, red nipple. "Don't come without me, sweetheart, I don't want to miss it," I tease her, and she laughs, adjusting the vibrator again.

I've practiced putting on the harness until I'm fairly fast with it, but I'm distracted tonight by watching her masturbate, and I fumble a bit with the buckles. Finally I've strapped it on and I look down at my brand-new cock with a faint sense of surprise. She looks into my face and laughs, resting her free hand on my erect lavender phallus. "Honey, it is so you," she says, her eyes dancing, then glazing a bit with pleasure as she moves the slim vibrator against her clit. She is too far along to blush now, her cunt beautifully open and red, and I roll a condom onto the dildo hastily, eager to get inside her, increasingly desperate to feel her hips grinding against mine. I switch the mini-vibrator in the harness on, leaving the one intended for my clit in the off position -- I want to spend all my attention on her. Then I kneel between her legs and position myself over her, kissing her gently as our faces come close. My tongue slides wetly into her mouth, probing, and when I feel her turn the vibrator in her hand off, I rest the tip of my cock against her opening and look deeply into her eyes. "Ready?" I ask her, and she takes a deep breath, blinks, then nods.

It is so much easier than I expected. The long period of stimulation seems to have done the trick, because as I apply gentle pressure my cock slides into her easily. She groans, her eyes wide, and when I ask her, "Still all right?" she nods her head rapidly and wordlessly. I slide in almost to the hilt, resting the tiny vibrator on her clit, and just stay there for a moment, letting her get used to the sensation of being filled. She is breathing shallowly, her lips parted, and I feel tender as I watch her. I stroke her hair back from her forehead and kiss her jaw as her arms snake around my neck, gripping my shoulders, my hair; our breasts touch lightly. "More," she says.

I start to rock inside her, slowly at first, but she thrusts her hips firmly against me and I meet her rhythm, my cock sliding wetly in and out, the strap of the harness pressing against my vulva. Her eyes open and close as she writhes beneath me, her lips part, soft sounds come from her throat. I watch her with increasing intensity. Gods, she really is beautiful, even more beautiful than I'd thought, her curly hair spread out on the pillow, her pale skin delicately flushed.

I have forgotten the music but it pops suddenly back into my awareness; we're listening to a track with a heavy drum beat and we are moving to the rhythm. My nipples are brushing her sweet, soft flesh and sending pulses of hot fire directly to my clit and she is moaning, clutching at me, clutching at the sheets. Minutes are passing and with each one she seems to grow more splendid, more shiningly glorious. Her skin glows softly in the candlelight; the tendrils of her hair writhe like snakes. She opens her eyes and I am looking into the endless blue of the sky, her pupils are shining voids that I could fall into, forget myself. There's a lump in my throat from looking at her, she is so, so beautiful. I had no idea, I didn't know I would be so moved.

And then, oh goddess, I think she's coming, and I am whispering her name, urging her on. She is leaving teeth marks in my shoulder as she bites down on a scream, her hips are bucking under me and I'm almost there myself just from feeling her, just from watching the pleasure that turned her momentarily into something more than human. My astonishment must show because as she recovers, she looks into my face and laughs; in my peripheral vision I think I see her hair curl sinuously. Her eyes and a red, red mouth seem to take up her entire face. Oh, glory. So beautiful, I didn't know.

And maybe I have fucked all the shyness out of her, because in the next moment she is kissing me, her tongue pushing aggressively into my mouth, and we are both awkwardly releasing the buckles of the harness, tugging at the straps. I pull the dildo out of her gently, but hardly a moment passes before she is taking it out of my hand and tossing it aside, pushing me down on the bed beside her and thrusting her fingers into my wet cunt. She may have been a virgin less than an hour ago, but her fingers are knowing enough and when she lowers her mouth to my nipple I come almost immediately, crying out and tangling my hands in her wild hair. She raises her head and looks at me with a crooked smile I've never seen before. And then she licks her lips.

Some hours later, exhausted and stuffed with fresh strawberries and grapes, I pillow my head on her breasts as she sleeps. It was not what I expected, not at all -- I came to deflower a girl and ended up nearly ravished myself by the person I -- we? -- she brought through. I wonder, in the morning will my timid, blushing friend have returned? And if not, who has been left in her place? I tilt my head to look at her face again, and she shifts in her sleep; her hand moves up to stroke my hair, then tug on it gently. I think she means to keep me. And now I'm the one who feels shy.

Our permanent collection of erotic stories