Girls on Campus

by Sandy Lowe

  “You’ve got the nicest tits,” Sharon said.

  “They’re kind of small. Especially compared to yours.”

  “But I like small. Just a mouthful works for me.”

  Dawn was ready for her to take them in her mouth, but didn’t say anything. The drawing out of things caused a pain that joined with the passion to create a whole new sensation.

  Sharon ran her hands over Dawn’s breasts and teased her nipples for a few minutes.

  “Please,” Dawn finally whispered. “Please suck on me.”

  Sharon smiled a sly smile. “Maybe I’m not ready.”

  “I’m going to come just thinking about you touching me, then.”

  “Oh, where’s the fun in that?”

  “I agree,” Dawn said. “I’d much rather come with your help.”

  Sharon lowered her head and took one of Dawn’s nipples in her mouth.

  “Oh, dear God,” Dawn said. She put her fist in her mouth to keep from saying anything else. She had no idea if anybody else was awake, but she didn’t want to take any chances.

  The white heat flowed through her body and formed a mass in her very core. She needed release in the worst sort of way. Her clit was throbbing. She didn’t think she’d ever been that swollen before.

  Sharon finally slipped her hand down to where Dawn’s legs met. Dawn spread her legs to the best of her ability and welcomed Sharon inside. She was amazed at the ease with which Sharon entered her.

  “You’re so wet,” Sharon whispered.

  “What can I say? You turn me on.”

  “Oh, I like the sound of that.”

  Sharon moved her fingers inside Dawn, running them against all sides of her.

  “Holy shit,” Dawn said. “You’re going to make me come so fast.”

  “Good. Come for me, baby.”

  “Touch my clit, Sharon,” she pleaded.

  “Happily.”

  One touch from Sharon, and Dawn felt the mass inside her start to break loose. She closed her eyes while her whole body quaked as the orgasm tore through her.

  “Oh, my God,” she said when she finally caught her breath. “That was so fucking awesome.”

  “You were so ready for me. That’s what I call hot.”

  “I needed you. That’s for sure.”

  “So now what?” Sharon said.

  “We try to get dressed without getting out of this bag.”

  “No. I mean after. When Hell Week is over. Can we do this again?”

  “I suppose so,” Dawn said. “But we’ll have to be very careful.”

  “Screw ’em. Once we’re initiated, they can’t kick us out.”

  “True. Well, either way, I’d love to continue seeing you.”

  “Good answer,” Sharon said. She kissed Dawn full on the lips. “Very good answer.”

  The Whirlpool

  Stevie Mikayne

  The water looked too deep for a hot tub.

  Swirling streams shot across the surface, making the sunken pool resemble a whitewater rafting expedition more than a relaxing dip. But Zandra was determined to try it. When she’d come away to college, that was her first promise to herself: to get naked in the change room like a normal person.

  Back in the dorm, her prim cousin and her entourage of giggling friends were preening for some dance. She preferred to stay out of their way. There was something about their dyed-blond hair, their long, lacquered nails, and the flawless lines of their shapely eyebrows that made her feel like squirming.

  They knew.

  Or they thought they knew something about her, and they always raked their scowls over her with a faint—almost imperceptible—rolling of the eyes. Tittering. Mentioning a manicure or a trip to the hairdresser, or a boyfriend.

  She didn’t have a nice haircut or a single dress in her closet. Or a boyfriend.

  Zandra eyed the deck from the shelter of her locker door as she peeled off her clothes and drew the thin college-issued towel around her. It tickled her bare skin like rough hands. For a moment, she just stood still, gathering up her nerve.

  She was going to get naked in that whirlpool. She was going to conquer the fear of her imperfect body with imperfect desires. She was going to strip and plunge and dare someone to walk in and see her naked breasts bobbing along the surface.

  Other girls did it all the time. At the pool at the university, girls got out of the water and strode into the change room, stripping off their bathing suits and standing naked in the showers. She’d eyed them discreetly, wondering what gave them the confidence to stand under streaming water, eyes closed, not giving a shit if anyone was looking at their powerful thighs, their heavy breasts. She wanted to be like them. She wanted to reach out and touch them.

  The whirlpool was at the back, set seamlessly into the tile, like a sinkhole. In the dark, you could take three steps off the deck and just fall in.

  Quiet surrounded her. The swim team was doing laps until ten p.m., the rhythmic kicking of their synchronized legs audible even through the cinderblock walls. The change room was deserted.

  Taking a deep breath, Zandra lowered her herself into the water, her nudeness at once obscured by the streaming white jets. It was luscious. Warm streams enveloped her, and she sank lower in the water, just her nose and the top of her ears peeking above the surface. She closed her eyes and basked in the thrill of the warm, loud stream and the thrum of water on all her tensest areas.

  She sighed.

  She was finally one of the girls in the change room…well…not really. They stood stark naked in the shower and she was covered by jets, but she was getting closer. She was nude in a public place. She felt a jet at her thigh, at her foot, at her shoulder. She leaned back against the side and let the water carry her. She floated at the surface of the hot tub, just as she imagined, her small breasts bobbing along the surface, her nipples peeking out on the top.

  When she opened her eyes, someone was standing over her, an amused smirk on her face. Zandra sat up immediately.

  Face inflamed, she clenched her jaw and berated herself for being so stupid. She was lucky it wasn’t one of her cousin’s friends.

  “Do you know what I saw Zandra doing? Floating down in the whirlpool, stark naked. And do you know what? It turns out she isn’t a man after all!”

  But of course it wasn’t one of them. It couldn’t be one of them. They’d ruin their makeup and manicures in this humidity. She lifted her chin almost defiantly.

  The mysterious girl smirked down at her again. Perhaps she was smug because she’d remembered her bathing suit. It was a thong, with triangles of cloth that barely covered her erect nipples—but it was still a bathing suit. Her cascading black curls made Zandra’s own light ponytail look all the more like a drowned rat’s tail, and to top it off, she had naturally kohl-black eyes.

  She swallowed hard and met the young woman’s inky gaze. She knew the water didn’t cover everything—that flashes of nude still shone through the dark jet-streamed water—and yet something about that gaze made her feel less naked. Zandra wondered for a moment if this young woman—probably within a year or two of her own age—could possibly be a gypsy. She looked exactly like the exotic travelers she had always seen in pictures, and she imagined her in a sequined outfit, riding bareback on a tall white horse.

  The stranger was regarding Zandra with equal curiosity, but as if from a distance—another time.

  As the gypsy girl slipped into the water, she put her hands behind her back and pulled the string that held the scant bathing top together. Instantly, the material fell from her round, firm breasts and went skirting across the surface of the whirlpool, sucked under by the jets.

  She leaned back against the side of the pool and let the water carry her, just as Zandra had done, tiny bubbles bursting on her dark nipples.

  Zandra held tightly to the bars at the side of the whirlpool. She tried to avert her gaze from the young woman’s arching breasts, but found that there was nowhere for her eyes to go. And really, t
hat she had no desire to stop looking.

  The dark-haired girl was fascinating.

  After a moment, she righted herself, her deep black eyes meeting Zandra’s.

  “Eva,” she said in a low voice.

  For a second, Zandra wasn’t sure if she was introducing herself or calling her by another woman’s name.

  She slid closer, carried by the jet stream, and now sat directly next to her. Before Zandra could decide whether or not to feel threatened, Eva leaned over and was kissing her on the mouth. Her lips were soft, and her tongue lightly flicked against Zandra’s lips, leaving a sheen of strawberry gloss.

  Just as suddenly as she had come, she pushed herself away, back to the other side of the whirlpool. Zandra blushed and sank under the waves, hiding her colored cheeks. No woman had ever done that to her before.

  Why had she done that?

  When she surfaced again, the gypsy girl was kneeling in front of her. She stared into her eyes, a faint crease in her forehead. Zandra smiled a little and the crease relaxed until her skin was once more a creamy, flawless surface. This time Zandra leaned in to kiss her.

  Eva cupped the back of her head and pressed her full breasts into Zandra’s small, erect nipples. The sensation was shocking.

  They sank neck-deep into the luscious water, caressing and pushing and squeezing and licking until Zandra moaned out loud. The gypsy girl suddenly pushed her away, against the side of the hot tub.

  Zandra was startled.

  Eva was leaning against the other side of the tub, a full body length away.

  Why had she gone so far?

  Zandra was suddenly aware of a strange sensation between her legs. Something was stimulating her firmly and…God.

  Eva’s eyes glinted, dark and sensuous. A dare. And desire. It was her toes, caressing Zandra’s clit.

  Before she could think of what to do, she felt the girl’s other foot on her stomach, gently pushing her back.

  Slowly, Zandra leaned back against the side of the hot tub, letting the girl’s foot guide her. The sensation was amazing. Trying not to think too hard, she let her legs relax. In the dark back corner of the whirlpool, Zandra opened her legs for a stranger’s skilled toes.

  Just like fingers, the girl’s toes pressed and stroked, and pulled Zandra to the brink of orgasm. She moaned, immediately biting her lip to quiet herself. Waves coursed up from her groin to her stomach, and she was breathing hard and fast, gripping the side of the pool to keep herself still. She pressed her cheek into the cool tile as the pulsation between her legs went on, and she thought she would scream.

  And then suddenly, the sensation was gone.

  She opened her eyes to see Eva staring at her curiously, teasingly. Zandra’s clit was throbbing—she had almost come. The stranger’s toes were dangling in the water in front of her, her breasts arcing out of the water as she let the water carry her up. She was beautiful. Mysterious and elegant and serene.

  And waiting. Waiting for an invitation.

  Zandra tilted her head, inviting her back.

  The girl half smiled and reached across the surface of the water, pulling Zandra toward her. Her erect nipples seared Zandra’s back, and she kissed her neck—her teeth biting gently into her pale white skin.

  Zandra felt a cry erupting from her mouth. She turned her head into the stranger’s long, sleek neck and buried her mouth to muffle the sound of her climbing pleasure. Slender fingers reached across her chest and down to where her toes had left off, stroking and circling and caressing. Zandra felt heat wash over her in waves as she arched into the girl’s soft, slippery body, moans echoing off the spa tiles.

  Breaking Rules

  Salome Wilde

  “Kiss me,” Chiaki said, the wind and rain whipping around us in the dark afternoon sky.

  I gripped the umbrella tightly, incapable of moving. At that moment, I couldn’t decide if a storm was truly rushing in on us—me and this beautiful near stranger—or if the thrill inside just made it seem that way. Regardless, I was in the midst of an experience I’d never had or even dreamed of having, and wanting it more than anything in the world.

  *

  It had been a gloomy, overcast Sunday. The sky was full of low rumbling, and I’d found it hard to get my ass out of bed. I managed it around eleven thirty, meaning I’d been working on a midterm paper for my world history class for only about an hour when a flash of lightning, followed by a terrific boom of thunder, knocked the power out. I swore and cursed the weather, but my procrastination was the real culprit. Shit like blackouts only happens when due dates loom. Unwisely yet predictably, I decided to yield to the moment and went in search of food. The fridge was mostly empty, so I settled for leftover fried rice, cold. With a little Chinese mustard, it was not entirely disgusting. Wind rattled the patio doors and whistled through cheap, badly fitted windows. It was just the accompaniment I needed on my full belly to lull me back to sleep. After snapping to after only a few minutes from another long roll of thunder, I decided to make coffee, but of course that wasn’t an option. I couldn’t even heat up the dregs from the previous morning. I showered quickly in the dark, contemplating a full-blown self-pity party. A reprieve came in the form of a knock at the door.

  I wasn’t expecting anyone, and my roommate Gina hadn’t come home the night before. So I’d thrown on a rumpled T-shirt and sweats after the shower, my short damp hair sticking up at odd angles. I considered not answering. Odds were it was some annoying neighbor wanting to know if my power was out too or to borrow a flashlight I didn’t own. It could otherwise be someone for Gina or even a determined door-to-door Christian. I was in the mood for none of the above, though I was even less in the mood for firming up my thesis about the ghetto of medieval Prague without being able to see what I’d typed out so far. When the knock repeated, I ran a hand through my hair with a grimace and answered the door.

  Standing against the dark sky was a stranger. She looked about my age, darker and a little shorter than me, and more than a little windblown. Also cute, really cute. Her quirky smile lit up her face, and I couldn’t help but give her a once-over: brown almond eyes and thick black hair with overgrown bangs; loose, faded jeans, tight gray T-shirt, worn Nikes. And in her slender hands were two Starbucks cups, smelling of espresso and spices.

  “Sorry to bother you,” she said.

  “No problem,” I answered. While I couldn’t entirely rule out a religious salesman or one of Gina’s many lovers, I was hopeful.

  “I’m Chiaki. I live two doors down.” She turned and motioned with a cup. The wind blew her hair into her eyes and she tried to whip it back.

  Two doors down? Why had I never seen her?

  Chiaki’s expression shifted to concern as she looked up at the angry sky.

  I felt like Queen of the Morons. “Oh, sorry,” I muttered. “Come in.” I stepped aside, grateful for the darkness that hid my self-conscious blush and the messy living room. I silently prayed she hadn’t come to use the bathroom.

  Chiaki walked in, still holding the cups. “Want one? Cinnamon dolce latte.”

  “Uh, thanks,” I said, accepting the strange and unexpected gift, though I usually drank my coffee black. And I never spent the pittance I made as a student worker on Starbucks.

  “I was making coffee when the power went out,” Chiaki explained as I walked into the living room, tossed some crap off the sofa onto the junk-covered coffee table, and motioned for her to come over and sit down. “I can’t study on a Sunday without coffee,” she continued, echoing my thoughts precisely. “So I picked up a latte for me and one for Tim, that’s my roommate. He was still asleep when I left, but I figured he’d appreciate it.”

  I nodded with some disappointment, figuring Tim was probably Chiaki’s boyfriend, but also wondering where this story was going and how I’d ended up with his coffee.

  Chiaki obliged. “When I got back, his car was gone and he’d locked the door behind him. The dick! He knows I lost my apartment key.”

&n
bsp; “Ah, so that’s what brought you to my door,” I concluded aloud. I was still unsure about their relationship, but the way she said “dick” had a nice, queer ring to it. I sipped the rich concoction and burned my tongue. “Shit.”

  “Yeah, it’s hot.” Chiaki took the lid off of her cup and blew. She seemed so at ease that I couldn’t help but feel we must have met before. Had to be some reason she chose my place to come in out of the weather.

  A silence that should have been uncomfortable followed. We slowly sipped our scalding drinks as the wind lashed the bushes out front, making them rasp against the double window. Chiaki glanced at my history textbook.

  “Student, huh? Me too. Philosophy. You know, one of those great career-makers.” She rolled her eyes in a geeky way that wooed the nerd in me.

  “Like history,” I said with a laugh.

  “I’ve thought about switching to art,” she mused. “Less reading. Equally annoying to my parents.”

  “You any good at art?” I asked.

  “I doodle.” She pulled another endearing face. “And I like comics.”

  I gave her the eye. “DC or Marvel?”

  She folded her legs and turned to face me directly. “Marvel, duh.”

  I smiled. “X-Men?”

  “Hell, yeah. Fuckin’ Magneto,” Chiaki said.

  “Awesome villain,” I chimed in, though I was a Rogue fan.

  Chiaki frowned at me. “More like hero.”

  I shrugged. “You think?”

  She nodded firmly. “So, Ms. History Major, are your parents as proud of you as mine are of me?”

  I laughed. “Well, I get decent grades. Keep my scholarship. Obey the rules.”

  “I don’t.” She sipped again and eyed me closely over the edge of her cup.

  I got butterflies. Please let her be flirting. Getting picked up by a stranger was one of my biggest and most unlikely fantasies, even if it never involved storms and lattes. “Don’t what? Get good grades?”

  She made a sound of derision that deflated my fantasy bubble fast. “Why history?”