I met Jackson at the university. I had taken a few years off from school, and was a bit touchy about being back in classes with people several years younger. Thankfully I look about five years younger that my actual age, and I soon figured out that the guys at school either didn't know or didn't care about my age difference. Of course, having an hourglass figure with perky D-cup breasts probably helped quite a bit, too. I'm still pretty sure my breasts are why Jackson first spoke to me, although he denies it.
I was in the hallway outside my first class, waiting for the preceding class to let out and mine to start. I guess I still looked a bit out of place, because as he came out of the class and started to walk past, he asked if I was looking for a certain professor and offered to help. I thanked him but told him I was waiting for the next class. He chatted me up a bit, but I wasn't really paying attention to his words. He was of average build β athletically lean and decently toned, but not overly muscular β with close cut blond hair, a very angular face, and deep set eyes that seemed to change color from grey to hazel (depending on his mood, I would find out later). Unconventional but handsome, was my assessment as I went into my first class.
It took a few months for us to actually become friends, but after a wild night of drinking and a game of strip-poker, we found some common ground. Some of that common ground included strong sexual curiosity and mutual attraction. He confessed that he had some wildly erotic dreams about me, which I found exciting and arousing. I had never encountered anyone so frank and comfortable with sex. Jackson's easy confidence in all circumstances was extremely attractive. As we started talking about our fantasies more frequently, I knew I wouldn't be able to hold out for long before succumbing to my desire.
One night, after too many margaritas, I ended up at his place with plans just to crash out for the night. In true college guy fashion, he had a futon and a couple of chairs, but no other bed or sofa. He said he never slept much and would probably work on a project at his desk for most of the night, and I was welcome to take over the "bed." But suddenly I started thinking of the sexual talk we had shared, and I was no longer tired. I just didn't know where to start. Although I was comfortable with my sexuality, I had always been kind of shy for my first time with any guy. Jackson was sitting at his desk, half turned away and seemingly uninterested. There was a blanket and a couple of pillows on the futon, so I took off my shoes and started to lie down with my clothes on, unsure what to do.
He glanced over at me with a raised eyebrow, "you're really sleeping in your clothes?" he asked with amusement.
I blushed, but realized this was my opening. "I guess not," I replied, standing up.