I sat and reread Jessi's last text message: "U R a fascinating man, Mr. W. I would luv to hang out, tlk and fuck. IM free now. Wanna cum over?"
On each reading, I paused briefly at the word "fuck." I kept thinking I must have read it wrong, both the word and the whole message. I had built up a mental construct of Jessi through the course of the semester -- pretty but shy twenty-year-old blonde who was a little socially awkward and who was fairly conservative in her dress and manners. Her text message, the one I was having so much trouble accepting, did not comport with that construct.
I read the message again, still looking for something that showed me my first interpretation was wrong. Not that I wanted it to be wrong – my body had responded the moment I first read the part of Jessi's text message that was the subject of my dilemma: "I would luv to hang out, tlk and fuck." Upon reading the blatant sexual proposition in my now former student's text, my breathing had quickened, my stomach had knotted, and my penis had stiffened.
"You need to answer her," I thought, but I kept starring at the words on my phone's screen. To block them out, I closed my eyes. I breathed deeply, but before I could do anything else, my mind, free from outside visual stimuli, conjured up images of Jessi. I saw her vivid, startling blue eyes staring at me, her shoulder-length blonde hair framing her delicate, elfin face. I saw her in her cat costume from Halloween, the tight black corset pushing her modest bosom up, displaying creamy white skin. I saw her slender but toned legs, almost entirely exposed under the short skirt of the costume, as I watched her stride from the classroom, a long, black tail swaying behind her.
I stiffened even more, my half-erection starting to become uncomfortable under the constraining fabric of underwear and jeans as I remembered Jessi in her cat costume. I groaned then swallowed hard, forcing myself to open my eyes. I took several deep breaths to return my breathing to normal, and quickly typed out a reply.
"I would love to. Where can I meet you?"
I hit send as soon as I had finished typing and before I could lose my nerve. Her reply was almost instantaneous.
"My place," it read, followed by a little yellow emoticon face with a huge grin (or perhaps it was a yellow emoji face – I have to admit I am a little out of me depth with such things).
I was about to ask for her address when a text with it arrived. She lived in apartments near campus, but as I was at home, it would be a twenty to thirty minute drive for me, depending on traffic.
It was already a 5:45 and I wanted to take a shower first, so I texted, "I will be there at 7:00."
"Okay," she replied, again almost instantaneously.
"I b w8tin," followed right after.
"Naked," pinged in seconds later, the words followed by a little red devil face.
For a moment, I forgot to breathe. I blinked and shook my head, once again uncertain whether I was reading her text right. But I knew I could not be mistaken about a one word text, and so did my penis – it was now fully erect and straining against my jeans. I took several more deep breaths and put my phone face-down on the table.
I strode quickly to my bathroom, started a shower, and stripped naked. I did not wait for the water to heat up. I stepped into the shower and shuddered as the cold water hit my flushed skin. Momentarily, the coolness had the chilling effect for which I had hoped – my penis began to soften. But as the shower warmed a bit, my memories, and my fantasies, heated up even more so. As it had in the aftermath of sex with Jessika a few days earlier, my mind wandered into the pleasant preoccupation of imagining what Jessi would look like naked. As I imagined whether her nipples were large or small; whether they were brown or pink; whether her breasts would be firm or soft; whether her ass was as firm and shapely as it looked in tight jeans or yoga pants; whether her most intimate of hair was blonde; whether she shaved or trimmed or let it grow; whether she would be timid and shy or confident and forward; whether she would orgasm easily or require more finesse; and whether I could please a twenty-year-old woman, any softening of my erection brought about by the coolness of the shower was counteracted by my steamy thoughts.
My breathing heavy, I turned up the temperature of the shower until I was enveloped in steam. Grabbing my now fully erect penis, I began to stroke it slowly, wondering how it would feel if Jessi were to touch it.
Realizing how aroused I was, and how close I was, I forced myself to stop masturbating. Part of me wanted to finish, both for the pleasure of it and to make sure I was not overexcited later. However, my evening the week before with Jessika had made me fairly confident I would not erupt at the mere touch of a younger woman, so I turned off the shower and grabbed my towel.
As I dried off, I tried to think about anything other than Jessi waiting naked for me. I somewhat succeeded. By the time I was done brushing my teeth and hair, I was only halfway hard, and when I pulled on fresh underwear and clean jeans, I was soft enough so that the confinement was not unduly uncomfortable.
Socks and a black polo, left untucked, followed my jeans. I looked in the mirror, and I was happy to see that I looked like what I thought would be acceptable. I knew I did not look like a young man, but I thought I was casual enough to put my blonde ingénue at ease when I arrived.
Sitting down at the table to put my shoes on, I turned over my phone. When I awakened the screen from its slumber, I saw Jessi's "naked" text was the last one to come in. I was not sure what I was expecting – she had told me exactly what she had needed to tell me. I finished putting on my shoes, grabbed my keys, and left my house.
