Josh didn't see, or hear from, Sister Monica the rest of the week, but he actually welcomed the break. He needed time to think, to corral his feelings and desires, his budding love for her. He had hoped it was just something that had mushroomed out of control during the moment, during their night of soft, beautiful lovemaking, and that it would wane and drift away as the days pushed ahead. But it hadn't. If anything, his feelings for her intensified, his longing for her doubling, tripling, in her absence.
"This is crazy," he said to himself on a subzero Saturday night, alone in his dorm room, studying. "How the hell can I be falling in love with my freakin' English professor?" What was worse—how the hell could he fall in love with a nun? She was off-limits, never to be his, never to be anything more than a sexy FWB when the urge hit. That's all he had wanted her to be—more than he'd dared to hope, really. But now, sitting there in the lamplight of the quiet dorm room, it didn't seem nearly enough. He wanted to be with her. Not just in her office having earth-shattering sex. Not just in her classroom, listening to her lecture about Shakespeare. He wanted more than that.
He wanted to hold her hand as they strolled, side by side, along the sidewalk, on their way to see a movie or a concert. He wanted to spend the night with her at a five-star hotel overlooking the sea, and make her feel like the most special woman in the world. He wanted to snuggle up with her at the break of day and talk openly about his fears, his dreams, his plans, for the future. He wanted to be with her. . . . And what did she want? How often had she thought of him this weekend? What would she act like on Monday, during class? If he approached her afterwards, once the other students had left, what would she say?
He closed his book. It was no use. How could he study? All he could do was think of Sister Monica, her lips on his, the fall of her lustrous red hair all around him, the hot, slick wetness of her vaginal walls as she milked his penis, her tongue licking and sucking his balls, her breasts rising and falling, rising and falling, as she panted with arousal.
"Josh, how the hell did you let yourself get sucked in so deep?" he asked the walls. "She probably doesn't even give a shit about you." That was the irony. In the beginning, he was the one who just wanted to have some fun. Now here he was, wanting so much more. For all he knew, his sexy English prof was perfectly content with things as they were—a few afternoon sex-fests, some great orgasms, nothing more. For her, this was all new. He had introduced her to the world of sex. Why should he expect her to want anything more?
"Or maybe she's done with me altogether," he said. Even the sex would stop. She'd stop seeing him, period. He guessed that was the most likely scenario. Given that she was a nun, he figured she was probably spending the weekend on her knees, asking her Lord for forgiveness.
Yeah, he figured. He guessed. That was the hardest part—the not knowing. He had an urge to go across the street, to the sister house, and find her there. But of course he didn't. That would humiliate her—and that was the last thing he wanted to do. Screwing her senseless in her office was one thing. Embarrassing her in front of her colleagues was quite another. No. He would just need to wait until Monday.
In the meantime, he needed to let off some steam. He didn't want to see anyone else but Sister Monica, but he could not just brood the weekend away. Maybe Sharon was available tonight. She was tall, blonde, and had the IQ of a drowned water rat. She was also the easiest girl on campus. If she wasn't already on her back, in some guy's dorm, she would probably jump at the chance for some Saturday-night sex.
"Well, why the hell not?" he said.
He whipped out his cell, called her.
"Hey, Josh," she answered after just one ring. "What's up?"
"Wanna have some fun tonight, sexy?" he asked. No reason to beat around the bush. "My bunkmate'll be out all night, probably. Why don't you come on over, Sharon?"
"Mmm, sounds good," she said. He'd "played" with her a half-dozen times since the fall. They were definitely not a couple. Just playmates. Perfect for a cold, lonely, insomnia-laden night like this one.
"Hope you won't be wearing anything under your coat," he said, and disconnected the call. Sharon always took the bait. She'd be knocking at his door within minutes. . .
♣
"Hey, you look great," he said, as he let Sharon into his room. And she did. She had long, straight blonde hair—a natural blonde, too—blue eyes, a slim, toned body, and a year-round, salon-produced tan. Her breasts were small, but she had a butt even Nicole Kidman would die for.
She smiled, showing off pearly white teeth that Josh figured must have been chemically enhanced at the dentist's on more than one occasion.
He shut and locked the door behind her.
"So," she said, "you're feeling lonely tonight, is that it?"
"Something like that." He approached her, took off her coat. She let it slide to the floor. She wasn't wearing a shirt, or pants. Only a white lace bra and a matching G-string. Damn. She really had stripped off her clothes underneath her coat. He whistled.
"You like?" she said.
"Who wouldn't?" He kissed her, and she responded hungrily. He tried not to think of all the guys she'd been with. At least fifty, probably closer to a hundred. That used to turn him on, thinking how promiscuous she was. Now it made him feel like vomiting. Still, the girl was talented. She knew how to kiss. No one could deny that.
"Hmm, we're getting a little perky, aren't we?" she said, and grabbed his crotch. A good-sized tent had formed there. "Well, no need to keep him all restrained and shackled up, is there?" She unzipped his jeans, yanked them down, then, in one fluid, well-practiced motion, pulled down his briefs.
In a moment, she was on her knees, face-to-face with his nine inches.
"Wow! You look great, Josh," she said, and he suddenly realized. She had never seen him shaved before. He'd shaved the other day, before his last sexual encounter with Sister Monica. "You are sooo kinky. I knew coming here was a good idea." And just like that, she took him in her mouth. One thing he had to say about Sharon. She gave the best blow jobs. She had perfected the art, and in a manner of moments he squirted in her mouth. She winked up at him, and gladly swallowed his load.
"Yum," she said, and then started sucking him again, getting him hard once more.
It didn't take long. But his mind, he realized, was elsewhere. He looked down and saw not Sharon, but Sister Monica. He closed his eyes, shook his head, looked down again, and this time saw the blonde head, bobbing up and down on his shaft. Sharon. Sexy, nineteen years old, horny as a rabbit, and yet—a total turn-off.
He backed away . . . Sharon crawled along on her knees, her mouth gripping onto his penis like a vacuum cleaner. He laughed in spite of himself. The girl wanted it, and bad. But he didn't. Not with her.
He nudged her, gently, gestured for her to stop.
"Hey, I was just gettin' started," she whined, and licked the tip of his dick with a snakelike flick of her tongue.
"And you're awesome, as always," he said. "But . . ."
She tilted her head, looked at him sideways. "You got a girlfriend now, Josh? Is that it? You screwing around behind her back?"
"Well . . ."
"Damn, I thought so!" She stood up, her small, perky breasts bouncing within the constraint of her bra. "You have that look."
"I do?"
"Sure. I knew it right away. But I figured, it won't bother me if it doesn't bother him. You don't want me to leave, do you?" She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him. Again, he found himself thinking of all the guys she had swapped spit with, and broke the kiss.
"I'm sorry, Sharon," he said. "I really thought I wanted to have fun tonight. I guess . . ."
