by Red Phoenix
I try to buy her a cup, but she insists on buying it for herself. “I won’t be beholden to any man.”
I chuckle to myself. While I appreciate her conviction, I’m grateful I have no designs on her. I suspect Clark could prove a real heartbreaker.
As we sit, drinking our coffee, I catch her staring at me several times. At one point, she even reaches out to touch my jaw, stating in wonder, “It’s like he’s here.”
I take her hand and set it gently on the table. “I am not him, and as cruel as this may sound, I am not willing to play your brother’s ghost.”
She snatches her hand away, muttering, “Of course not. I should leave…”
I grab her arm as she gets up and guide her back down to the seat. “If we are going to have a class together, we need to address this now so it doesn’t become more awkward for us.”
She nods. “Wise.”
I give her an amused look. “Isn’t that a term used for old men?”
Clark laughs lightly. “What would you prefer…judicious?”
I sit back and nod my approval.
“How do we make this work? What exactly do you want me to do?” she asks with a slight tremble in her voice belying her apprehension.
“It’s simple,” I assure her. “Get to know me the same as you would any other person. Do not put your brother’s attributes on me. If something I do reminds you of him, don’t tell me—keep it to yourself. Continually remind yourself I am not him. Don’t let your mind fool you into thinking any different.”
She takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly, still looking pensive.
“It’s not hard, but it will take constant vigilance on your part.”
Clark narrows her eyes as she stares at me intently, her gaze darting around my face as she takes in every detail. No one has ever scrutinized me like this before, but I take it in stride, knowing she needs to note the differences between us. I hear her whispering to herself, “You are not Joseph…”
I nod my agreement.
I see tears start to form in her eyes, but she closes them. When she opens them again, the tears are gone. Samantha stares at me as she takes a casual sip of coffee.
“We’re good?” I ask her.
“Yes.” Clark glances at her watch and suddenly stands up, grabbing her purse and books. “Hate to run, Davis, but I’ve got one more class today.”
“No rest for the wicked, huh?” I tease.
She turns, her lips curling into a charming smirk. “Never.”
As I watch her leave, I note that she isn’t hunched over her books as severely as before. I hope our little chat has helped, because I have a hunch, based on our short time together, that she would make a good ally.
When I return to the dorm room, I’m still plagued by the smell of incense. Ripping off my clothes, I grab my duffle bag and stuff them in. As much as I like the professor, I could seriously do without the stench following me home.
Slipping on my black sweat pants, I head down to the laundry room in the basement. I’m not surprised to find the laundry room is empty on a Friday afternoon. I start up the washer and open the door to head upstairs, but I unexpectedly crash into a young Asian woman carrying a large basket.
“Whoa…” I exclaim, catching her basket before it falls to the floor. I can’t hide the look of surprise on my face.
Females are not allowed to use the laundry room in our building.
Her cheeks redden as she blurts out a quick explanation. “Normally, no one’s here on Fridays…”
I tilt my head, giving her a stern look and enjoy watching the deepening of her blush as she stammers, “The girls’ laundry is always packed…and I have to wait for hours.”
As she continues her explanation, I look her over. I suspect she’s a few years older than me but she’s tiny in stature, her head barely coming up to my chest. The golden tone of her skin contrasts charmingly with her straight black hair and alluring dark eyes.
“So, I decided to take matters into my own hands, and for the last year I’ve been doing my laundry over here. I don’t see the harm when no one’s here?”
I raise an eyebrow.
“Except you…of course.” I can’t help but smile when I see how disappointed she looks when she turns to leave.
“I have no problem with it.”
The girl looks back at me with a hopeful look. “Really?”
I shrug. “Why would I care when there are plenty of unused washers here.”
The smile returns to her face as she walks over to one of the washers, and fills it with half her basket, then stuffs the rest in the next one. After she has both running, she faces me.
“I always stay to watch over it because I can’t chance someone finding my clothes and kicking me out permanently. I’d be happy to watch over yours, too, handsome stranger.”
I noticed her eyes aren’t leaving my naked chest and smirk. “That would be totally unnecessary but, if you would like some company, I’m not opposed to staying.”
Her eyes slowly travel from my chest up to my face. “Actually…I’ve always fantasized about having sex in this laundry room after spending hours upon hours alone here. Have you?”
“I haven’t—until now.”
The sexual tension in the room instantly rises as she moves closer. Tentatively placing her hands on my chest, she stands on tiptoes and purses her pink lips.
I gladly accept her invitation and lean down to kiss her, feeling gratified when I hear her say, “Oh, God, those lips…”
Needing no further encouragement, I lift her up and set her on the washer. Trailing my tongue lightly over her bottom lip, I hesitate for a moment before kissing her.
She leans forward, parting her lips slightly in anticipation.
I kiss her deeply, evoking a passionate moan from her lips. The sound of her excitement, coupled with the softness of those pink lips, has my cock aching with desire.
But I want her wet and ready for me, so I slip my hands under her shirt and play with her nipples. She leans into my caress and begs softly, “Pinch them.”
Based on prior experience, I know women tend to have sensitive nipples, so I squeeze them lightly as I continue to kiss her.
“Harder,” she begs.
For some unknown reason, her request turns me on and I groan as I roll her hard nipples between my fingers with greater force.
She gasps in pleasure, crying, “Oh, fuck yes!”
Needing to feel her pussy, I grab her ass and pull her to the edge of the washer. She wraps her legs around me so my hard cock is pressed against her, our clothing acting as a sensual barrier as I continue to squeeze and pull on her nipples.
“You’ve got me so hot,” she whimpers, her hands sneaking lower as she pulls at the band of my sweats.
Pulling out my wallet and keys, I place them on the washer beside us before taking off my sweats and briefs and kicking them to the side.
Her eyes remain transfixed as I take the condom out of my wallet and open up the package. “Wait!” she cries just before I slip it on.
Grabbing my cock with her small hand, she stares at it lustfully. “This has got to be the sexiest cock I’ve ever seen.” She looks up and growls, “I need this inside me.”
While I wholeheartedly agree, I take my time. I may only be seventeen, but I’m not some average teenage boy who can’t control himself.
Although this is just a quickie, I plan to surpass her fantasies.
“Show me your pussy,” I tell her as I stroke my cock.
Her eyes light up as she pulls her panties to the side to show off her dark patch of pubic hair and that clit glistening with her excitement.
“I’d like to watch you play with yourself.”
“You’re so naughty,” she purrs as her fingers sensuously begin rubbing her sensitive clit.
I love watching her tease herself, but it doesn’t take long before my libido demands the tight caress of her pussy. I roll the condom down over my cock, needing to take he
r. Ripping off her panties, I cover my sheathed cock in her wetness before positioning it against her tight opening.
She whimpers sweetly in anticipation as I slowly push myself inside her.
Fuck…
There is nothing hotter than watching my cock disappear inside a woman. This girl may have a tiny figure, but her pussy eagerly conforms to my shaft. I pull out for the sheer pleasure of watching it disappear inside her again.
She looks up at me and pleads, “I want you to fuck me hard, so fucking hard I scream.”
Knowing she likes her nipples pinched, I plan to give her exactly what she’s asking for. However, I’d prefer us not getting caught in the act.
Using what I have on hand, I wad her panties into a ball. I can tell by the excitement in her eyes that it turns her on as I stuff those wet panties into her mouth.
My level of control quickly erodes as I start thrusting into her as I listen to her muffled screams of pleasure fill the air. Determined to make it last as long as possible, I fuck her deep, then stop for several seconds before starting up again.
She looks up at me, her dark eyes burning with desire as I begin pounding her harder. Wanting to see how much she can take, I grab onto her hips and thrust even deeper.
Her passionate screams suddenly go silent and her whole body begins shaking. I feel her pussy squeezing my cock hard as a gush of liquid comes out.
I look down in surprise to see a puddle of clear liquid on the floor.
She takes the panties from her mouth and tells me, “I only do that when I get fucked really hard.” Looking down between her legs, she adds, “I don’t know why it happens, but it feels fucking fantastic!”
Although I have no idea what’s going on, I know one thing—she likes it and I don’t want to stop. Grasping her hips again, I tell her, “No holding back.”
Her eyes grow wide as I reposition myself to take her again. She stuffs her mouth with her panties and grabs onto my wrists. Looking as if she’s a cowboy preparing for an intense bull ride, she nods to me, indicating she’s ready for the ride of her life.
I grit my teeth as I begin rolling my hips, taking her as deeply as I can. She begins moaning into her lace panties as she takes the challenge of my cock. When I feel her body starting to relax, I change the rhythm and begin thrusting into her hard.
She moans loudly with wanton desire.
Knowing what she’s waiting for, I grab her waist tighter and begin pumping her like a jackhammer. This time, I have no plans to stop until I’m coming deep inside of her quivering pussy.
I give into the intense sensation as my climax builds. When I feel her body start to shake again, I know she is close. The moment I feel the gush of her wetness, I lose all control.
It takes everything in me not to cry out in passion as I find release. When I pull out, I have to steady myself because of the intensity of the orgasm.
I look down at the floor and see it is covered with more of the clear liquid from her unusual orgasms.
I take the panties from her mouth. “Hard enough for you?”
She throws her head back, her chest flushed from her multiple orgasms and grins. “So fucking hard…”
Comrade
On Monday, I’m ready and waiting for the Russian in Microbiology class. After studying basic phrases, it is my plan to establish a lab routine equitable to both of us. I refuse to carry him through the entire class.
I watch the door, waiting for Durov to appear, expecting the same gregarious entrance as last time, but I am sorely disappointed.
He never shows.
After class, I wait to speak to Dr. Barr and ask if he has dropped the class, but she informs me that he’s still registered.
Annoyed, I throw my Russian dictionary back in my backpack, convinced I have been saddled with a slacker. I walk out of class, trying to reign in my anger, but scream in frustration, “Damn it to hell!” once I make it out of the building.
A group of students walking by elbow each other and laugh as they pass me. Normally not one to lose control like that, I’m resenting the Russian even more.
Needing to divorce myself from my current mood, I pull out the Nikon camera I bought over the weekend and go in search of a subject to photograph. It surprises me how looking at the world through a camera lens makes you see everyday objects in a different light.
Walking around the campus, I am suddenly aware of random sculptures I’ve failed to notice before, as well as the detailed architecture of the older buildings. In trying to get an unusual angle for one of my shots, I inadvertently capture someone in my frame. The person has chosen an extremely secluded spot and curiosity gets the better of me.
Focusing my lens, I take a picture before realizing it’s the Russian. The look of utter devastation on his face turns my blood cold.
I set the camera down, all anger toward him immediately evaporating.
I wonder what’s happened and lift my camera again, watching silently as he stares at a single lit candle he’s brought with him, mumbling words only he knows while tears run down his face.
Although he doesn’t know it yet, I relate to the pain radiating from him even from this distance. It bonds me to the Russian in ways I don’t understand.
I put my camera away and quietly leave him, not wanting to disturb such an extremely private moment.
I’m unsure if I will be able to break through the language barrier between us to discover the nature of the terrible burden he carries, but I am determined to support him in whatever way I can.
No one should be left to suffer alone.
I go to my lab the next day, not expecting to have a partner to work with. I have already decided to do the extra work necessary to keep Durov caught up. Settling in for a long session on my own, I’m surprised when he waltzes through the door, laughing loudly.
I stare at him, unable to reconcile what I’d witnessed yesterday with this carefree attitude he seems to be displaying now.
Still concerned for the guy, I ask if he is okay. “Ty v poryadke?”
He looks surprised, asking in Russian if I know his language.
“Nyet.” I pull out the three language books I’ve been studying over the last week.
He looks them over, his smile growing wider. “Vy izuchayete russkiy yazyk dlya menya?”
I look up the words to find he is asking if I am studying Russian for him. “Da.”
The breath is literally knocked out of me when Durov hits me on the back, shouting, “Otlichno!”
Unfamiliar with the word, I have to flip through the pages of my translation book to discover it means “very good”.
I smirk at him after reading that and suggest, in Russian, that he return the favor by learning my native language.
Durov only laughs.
Picking up the lab notes, he hands them to me with an expectant look. I shake my head as I start reading through them. Even though I’m struggling to translate the notes, and I know I’m going to end up staying longer than my classmates tonight, I’m glad the stubborn Russian is here.
Unfortunately, the long lab hours prevent me from picking up my photos that day, meaning I’ll have to rush to pick them up before Friday’s class.
Not wanting to be late to my photography class, I hoof it the next day and have no time to look over the pictures I’ve taken.
When Professor Brooks asks me to show her my work, I pull out the stack of photos and shuffle through them, trying to find the one I took at an odd angle. I pull it out, setting the others on the desk, and hand it to her.
She looks at the photo critically for several seconds, then frowns slightly. “Is this really the one you wanted to show me, Mr. Davis?”
I see I’ve disappointed her and quickly shuffle though the others in the stack, but I know they aren’t any better.
She sifts through them herself, and selects the candid shot I took of Durov. I never meant for anyone to see it, but I’m unable to snatch it back from her in time.
“
Now this is an excellent example of the profound power photography can have,” she states excitedly, turning to face the class. “Our ability to capture and transfer raw emotion on film is a priceless gift to humanity.”
I glance at the picture of Durov and am struck again by the agony I see reflected in his face. Needing to preserve his privacy, I explain to her, “I didn’t take that picture as part of the class assignment. It’s personal.”
I can see the disappointment on her face when I take the photo from her before she can show it to the other students. Tucking it back into the envelope, I slip it into my breast pocket to protect Durov’s privacy.
Professor Brooks looks down at the initial photo I gave her. “It is a fine photo, Davis, but it lacks originality.” She points to the one in my pocket. “But, that one speaks volumes about the person who snapped it. Only you could have taken that photo. Remember that.”
Walking over to Samantha, she turns back to me for a moment. “Truly powerful, Mr. Davis.”
I see that Samantha has taken a photo of a crushed flower beside a crumpled gum wrapper and a crushed soda can.
“What are you trying to convey with this photo, Miss Clark?”
She frowns slightly as she stares down at her own work. “Originally, I was attempting to contrast the beauty of nature amongst the litter on campus. But, in the midst of getting the shot, a fellow classmate took it upon himself to purposely step on the flower I was photographing. Rather than fight it, I decided it was fitting so I call this one ‘The Destructive Force of Man’.”
Professor Brooks chuckles sadly. “Poignant and resourceful. I want you to harness that artistic spirit.” Looking back at the photo, she says, “I see real potential here.”
Clark smiles to herself after Professor Brooks moves on. She has every right to be proud of herself. I’m impressed by the photo, as well as the story behind it.
“An exceptional photo,” I tell her.
She turns to me and nods stiffly, obviously pleased.