This is a true story, writing it brought back very fond memories. There is more to tell, if people are interested. Feedback will dictate if I post more.
Helen
When I started college I had dreams of parties and women. I was a serious student, too, but I was hoping for some action in college. I am average looking, not particularly athletic or muscular, but I am smart. I was hoping to capitalize on women who might enjoy me for my mind.
I was actually in a long-term relationship at the time. I had been with my girlfriend, Janice, for a couple of years. I know I'm an ass for hoping to get some at college, but she didn't put out, and I had a major case of blue-ball. I didn't plan to leave her, just get some action on the side.
I didn't choose my colleges very well – I went to a very small private Christian college. There didn't seem to be too many women there who were interested in anything beyond just a little kissing, not even touching each other. My blue ball was getting worse, not better.
But then I met Helen. I could tell she was different right away. The way she spoke was different – and I don't just mean her accent. She was from South Africa and had a beautiful, melodic accent on which everyone commented. Beyond that, she was much like me – smart but plain. She was nothing spectacular in the looks department. But the way she spoke – she clearly had a sexual appetite. I had grown up among women who repressed or hid this side of themselves. Helen spoke openly about sex and how she had it with her very long-term boyfriend whenever she made it back to Africa.
So there we were: two college freshmen, involved with distant people and horny as hell. We spent quite a bit of time together, and though we talked about sex and even masturbation, nothing ever happened. In hindsight I can see that we were both waiting for the other to make a move, but at the time I was too chicken to try something. We spent long nights talking, drinking coffee and various booze, smoking, and being "deep" while discussing our various classes. We had most classes in common, even, as we were majoring AND minoring in the same subjects (majors in philosophy and minors in English [good job prospects, don't you think??]). We really saw a lot of each other.
She had a manner about her that I found irresistible. She was comfortable with herself, dressed well for her body type, which was very thin, with tiny breasts and slim hips. Her breasts were small enough that she was entirely flat except for puffy areolas topped by thick, seemingly always hard nipples. I did have many opportunities to see her nipples, as she frequently wore flowing clothing and no bra. Each time I did, I would spend the following nights alone in bed wacking myself while thinking about those beautiful little puffy boobs with strangely large nipples. She had long, flowing blonde hair and very clear, light, delicate skin. She doesn't tan, she just gets pink.
As the year went on we became closer and closer. One evening, around midnight, I heard a tap on my door. Now we both lived in the dorms, but both of our roommates had quit, so both Helen and I had a room to ourselves. That meant that even though it was strictly forbidden, we often had very late-night chats. So this light tapping didn't surprise me at all.
I was, however, surprised when I said "Come in," and Helen came in wearing a huge parka, a thick knitted cap, gloves, scarf, and big boots. She had a very strange gleam in her eye; she actually looked a little maniacal. "What's up?" I asked her.
She just whispered one word: "Snow."
I understood immediately. Being from South Africa she had never seen snow except in pictures and movies. She had been excited about snow for months, and here it was falling. I put away what I was working on without a word and got up and dressed for the outside. I felt like I was overdressing, putting on my gloves and scarf and hat and boots, but I thought Helen might feel silly if I pointed out how over-dressed I thought she was. However, when we got outside, the snow I had expected to be minor had actually clearly been falling hard for a few hours. Everything had a coating of about five inches and looked beautiful. Helen had stopped, and was looking down at her boots standing in the snow. When she looked up she had the excitement of a five year-old on Christmas morning on her face.
I bent down, scooped up some snow, and threw it at her. It was fluffy and just covered her, not hitting her like a snowball would. She laughed in pleasure and returned the favor. Soon we were chasing each other with snow in our hands and laughing and wrestling in the snow. It was sheer delight to watch someone so excited about snow, and I found myself giddy with excitement and pleasure too. When we started to get tired we snuck into the cafeteria and stole some of the over-sized oven trays. It turns out they make excellent sleds! We went to the edge of campus and must have gone down the (very small) hill a hundred times, laughing harder each time as the snow got packed and we went a little faster.
At one point, Helen jumped on me just as I was going to go down the hill, and we went down together on one "sled." The trouble was that when she jumped onto me, her gloved hand landed square on my nuts, and while it was lovely to have her close and holding my crotch, I felt like I was going to throw up she nailed me so hard.
When we got to the bottom of the hill I just sort of rolled off the tray, and she realized at that moment what she had done. Trying not to laugh, and trying to be suitably somber, she apologized a dozen times. We both ended up laughing, and really I was fine.
We were both cold and tired at this point, and I told her that the only suitable finish to an evening like this was hot chocolate; so we went back to my room to make some. I had all the fixings in my dorm room, even a little Baileys to top off the chocolate.
When we got back to my room we started shucking off our wet outer layers. Helen had worn jeans – rookie mistake – and she was clearly wet and uncomfortable. She actually stripped them off and got a pair of my track pants and put them on. I pretended not to look, but I did. I thought she had a lovely butt, though she wore granny panties.
As she sat down I handed her a mug of hot chocolate. "Thanks," she said.
"No prob." I replied.
"Not just for the hot chocolate," she said to me, looking at me, "but for being so excited with me. I felt like a wanker for coming over and telling you it was snowing. I even waited a whole hour after I noticed the snow, but I was just too excited."
We both laughed, and I said, "I'm so glad you came and got me! That was great. It was easy to be excited watching you."
We sipped our hot chocolate, and I told her snow stories: about how my parents house formed a drift every year that reached the roof of the second story, and we always went down the roof onto the drift with a sled once a year; about how the snow in the mountain passes would be over 12 feet by this time, of how it might snow tonight and stay for two or three months. She was easy to talk to about this, she was an eager and appreciative audience.