I walked from the campus, heading towards my car with my backpack slung over one shoulder. It was just around 10 o'clock, and the late night class I had was finally over. When I first signed up for this program, I thought it would be a walk in the park, even an alternative to college I would gladly accept. It turns out if you're this far undercover as a college student, you actually have to BE a college student.
The program started about ten years ago, after the government realized how much was going down in some of the country's larger colleges. They would take an agent-in-training, such as myself, and place them in schools in every problem area, whether it be gangs, drugs, or other miscellaneous mischief. They put me in a house with retired agents posing as parents, gave me a car, wardrobe, and back story, and let me loose to monitor/infiltrate groups and individuals as I deem necessary. I'm 24, posing as a late entry sophomore at the University of Cincinnati. I'm 6'0, with a body formed from weight training, running, and yoga. I have buzzed brown hair and green bedroom eyes, as girls often told me, and the only celebrity I've been told I looked like was Jake Gyllenhaal. Oh, my name might help I suppose. Nicholas Stryker.
Now that you have a little background, I can tell you some of the here and now. I've been dating one of my classmates for a little over four months now. She has no idea what I really do, and I aim to keep it that way. I met Rae at a party about a month after I went under. She was an upper class girl, originally from Chicago, that had all the mannerisms of a girl fresh out of the finest finishing school, but the style of a certain girl with a certain dragon tattoo. Black thick hair with purple and blonde highlights, jade green eyes covered by thin black-framed glasses, and a killer body highlighted by perfect 34D tits and a high and tight ass. This package usually came wrapped in a tight cut off Black Sabbath t-shirt and tight black jeans, complete with two rings going through the right side of her perfect lips. The party where we met was thrown by the current target of my investigation, Jason McClaren. Suspected of being the head of a drug ring that stretched through UC and two other schools nearby, he was an all-around douchebag. A thug originally from the west side of Cincinnati, he had an almost admirable ability to understand the weakness in people around him and prey on it; which, in the drug game, makes for a good businessman. As much as I hated the fact that Rae hung out with people close to his circle, it was a way in. It was also that connection that lead to the party we were headed to tonight, thrown in honor of the finals winding down, leading to a fresh ripple of ecstasy that washed over the whole campus.
I got in my car, a blacked out 2011 Mazda 2, something that blends a youthful look with the ability to not be seen behind the wheel, due to the tinted glass. Satellite radio didn't hurt, either. The red gauges flicked to life at the turn of my key, and the matching red display for the satellite radio mounted over the dash came on as well, filling the car with the end of a Neil Young song, which quickly gave way to "Maggie May" by Rod Stewart. I thought of calling Rae to tell her I was heading over, but it's only a ten minute drive, and I relished the silence after a hectic day.
When I came up the stairs to Rae's apartment, I found the door just barely not closed, an invitation she often left me to avoid the hassle of the security door they had at her complex. I walked in, finding her stretched across her bed in nothing but an old David Bowie t-shirt and a black thong, seemingly having fallen asleep while watching Se7en, which was still playing on the TV at the foot of her bed.
"Rae." No movement. I walked to the edge of the bed and gently slid in next to her, her breathing telling me that she was still asleep. She was on her side and I came behind her, almost spooning her, and ran my fingertips all the way up her smooth leg, coming to rest on her hip. I let them move slowly down across her stomach and over the front of her thong, the silk material allowing easier movement. I felt her stir, just barely, before pressing my hand hard between her thighs, a moan escaping her lips, her legs tightening around my arm, trapping me there.
"What are you, a spy or something? How did you get all the way in bed before I woke up?" she asked.