The Hidden Sides of College Juniors

I remember pulling up to her apartment complex, a run-down set of campus buildings characterized by the yells of Friday night pre-gaming and no free parking spaces. Building eight, the only one with a busted floodlight, A simple text announcing my arrival. Watching the ground floor staircase for eons in anticipation of seeing her again. Blinking twice like the protagonist does in the cheesy rom-coms she loved so much as I shook the disbelief off of me. Dressed in a beautiful black skirt, the thick kind made out of jean-like material, with a light green blouse and shining white shoes. Those chestnut eyes were so big and glowing, hair in a kinetic ponytail, with bright red lipstick to complete the meal.

I stepped out and moved to the passenger side, opening her door for her. "Hi Mariela. You look amazing."

"Thanks! Sorry, I was getting ready when I saw your text."

"It's all good. Did I mention you look great?"

She giggled. I squeezed her hand and shut the passenger door with the largest smile on my face. I should have called Guinness.

Putting the car in reverse, I put my arm behind the passenger head seat. I'd gotten a pump in today at the gym and of course she needed to see that. I may have caught a glimpse and a smirk, but a quick pivot forward right after.

"So," I began, "tell me about your day."

She adjusted her blouse and said, "Mmm, it was all right. I have an anatomy exam on Tuesday so I've been buried in that all afternoon."

Women in STEM and healthcare are my kryptonite. Especially one so cute as this.

"I love that."

"You love anatomy?"

"I love the fact you are taking anatomy."

A pause.

"I mean, it's required for nursing school."

"It's not easy. It says a lot about you."

She giggled. "Like what?"

"Like you don't shy away from challenges. That's a good trait."

I looked over. Another smirk.

"Thanks."

An awkward pause. I usually interrupt these with something pre-saved but the way this girl had me hostage erased my memory bank.

"So Oliver," she asked, "how was work?"

We texted every day for a week after I approached her at the bookstore. It was one of those chance meetings, the rare ones in a man's life, where forces beyond his control compel him to converse with living works of art. I didn't even know the author of the book she was examining in the aisle, but I still told her it was an awesome read and that she should definitely purchase it. A few self-deprecating jokes and some compliments later, and the story continued over text. The age gap did come up briefly, but my fears were soothed when she told me she's dated older guys before. Still, me being 31 and her a junior in college was a little, what? What is the correct word--bothersome? Unethical? Hot?

I didn't know.

"Work sucked. I closed two deals but the air conditioning was out all day."

"Well, at least you got some commission!"

"Yeah," I went on, "and that's why we're going to have a fun night."

"I'm excited."

So was I.

The dinner went by in blurs, as I couldn't concentrate. She'd ask questions and I'd delay my responses because I wasn't there. I was in her eyes. In those beautiful lips, in the gold earrings that dangled and shone in the light, in the smooth hands that cupped her wine glass. They say that quantum physics allows particles to be in simultaneous states at once.

"Will this be on two tickets or one?" asked the waitress.

"Just one, please." I responded.

Ana looked surprised. "Wow. You're paying for my meal?"

I was confused. "Yeah, of course? It's a date."

"No one's done that before."

"Dated some bums, have we?"

"You have no idea."

I paid the check and we got up to leave.

"So," she asked, "where are you taking me now?"

"Do you like to dance?"

"Oh my God, yes!"

"Then you're going to love this."

It was Latin Dance Night at one of the local bars. While it had been awhile since I practiced my bachata, salsa, and merengue moves, Mariela helped me remember. She had mentioned during the first texting night that she loved dancing, and we discussed different music and dancing styles. Both of us loving bachata was the cherry on top, so I had to see what she knew. She didn't disappoint.

Bachata is a sensual dance. A close style, with turns and spins and skin-on-skin contact, bodies slide against each other as the lead guides the follow into the next move. A few songs in and I had her in a spin and decided to go for it--I curled my hands around her forearms and pulled her in close, feeling her lower back as her arms captured my neck. Side to side, back and forth, hips in sync. My right leg between hers, guiding the hip movement. My forehead resting on hers, eyes locked into each other with a certain kind of look reserved for special occasions. I couldn't help but think how this type of connection doesn't occur more than a few times in life.

The song ended and I felt the boldness come over me. All night I had thought about this and the moment felt right.

"Do you want to get out of here?"

A pause as the DJ transitioned into the next song. The salsa beat faded in.

"Yes."

I drove up to my apartment building and opened her door for her, taking her hand in mine and leading her out.

"This is where you live?" she asked. "It's nice."

"I'll give you the tour."

I opened the front door and led her inside.

"Take off your shoes and make yourself comfortable," I said. "Would you like something to drink?"

"Oliver! I had so much at the dance night. Fine, just not tequila."

"Why not?"

"Just...not tequila."

"How's wine?"

"Yes, please. White though, not red."

I remember sitting next to her on the couch, cheers as the glasses clinked together, gulps as the wine went down smoothly. A half hour of conversation passes, discussing all things past, present, and future. Her dreams of working in a children's hospital and becoming a nurse practitioner. My goals of opening my own marketing firm. Our dream vacations and where we'd go together.

"You dance really well," Mariela tells me.

"So you do," I reply. "In fact, it was hard to keep up with you. And I was leading!"

"That just means you're really good. I've been dancing since I was little."

"I can tell."

Silence. A bolder look into her eyes. Her left hand moving over to rest on my leg.

"You know," she says, "I don't like tequila for a reason."

"Why?"

"It makes me horny."

Then she hits me with a hammer.

"I'm going to fuck you," she says, "but you have to promise me one thing."

I was in shock. "Yes?"

"Don't do me dirty."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

I reached behind her head and pulled it into mine. This was the type of kiss you only see in romantic comedies, but only at the end when the protagonists make up after whatever fuckup one of them inevitably set in motion. The passionate, earth-shattering kiss. I inhaled her soul, lips bolted together and tongues sliding against each other. Soft moans and hands over faces. I could have stayed there forever if she didn't take my hand and move it up to her left breast.

A squeeze and it felt like everything I had imagined. Her breasts were perfect but feeling them was something else entirely. Immediately hard, I pull her up from the couch and move both hands down her back. Her hands slide down my stomach to my belt, tongue still in my mouth, my hands now on her ass.

I pull away and say, "In here." I lead her to the bedroom and turn on the light.

I lay her down and pull off the blouse, admiring divine breasts that cause me to do a double-take. She notices my admiration and this turns her on even more. She's a wild animal.

She sits up and quickly pulls off my pants, takes off my shirt, and I reciprocate with the skirt. Her panting quickens as I move my lips to hers--the other pair.

"No," she says as she pulls me up and grabs my hard-on, "just fuck me."

She kisses me again, then pushes my head away from her and squeezes my dick with a fury I hadn't seen before. "You fuck me, and look me in the eyes when you do it. Don't stop."

I kiss her again, position myself and feel her hands rub my shoulder blades as I push my hips into hers.

She moans loudly as I begin. Slow thrusts, back and forth, bachata all over again. Her eyes start off looking into mine, taking my soul as prisoner with a devious grin on her face. She looks at me like a predator sees its prey. This isn't usually how it goes with me--it's always the reverse.

"I can't believe," I pant, "I'm fucking a college girl."

"Yeah?" She asks. "You like fucking this college pussy?"

Between the thrusts and moans and heavy panting and her squeezing my ass, I can vaguely remember asking myself, Where did this person come from?

"I said fuck me," she says. A squeeze on my shoulder blade, a slap on my ass.

Fine.

I power into her hips, thrusting over and over, harder and harder. My lips move to her beautiful neck, sucking on the hazel skin as my own moans become louder.

They say missionary is standard, boring even, but it's traditional for the first time. Truth is, this feels so good that I don't know if I can save room for any other positions.

"Fuck me, daddy!" She's definitely feeling this. "Harder!"

This woman is feral. I squeeze her tits with my left hand as my right positions me upright. Her nipples are hard now and I pinch each one, squeezing gently as her moans get louder.

"Oh fuck," I moan.

It's coming.

"Yes, daddy. Harder! Fuck me!"

"Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes," I pant repeatedly. I can't help myself. She feels too great.

All of this feels too great to handle.

"Oh my God," she moans.

"I'm gonna cum, baby!" I yell.

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, don't stop." She's rubbing her clit, clearly about to orgasm.

I am power driving her now. Hard thrust, push, shove into her, grunting and moaning as her tits keep bouncing up and down below me. She feels my biceps and immediately starts fucking me as her moans increase.

What turns me on is using names. That's the real power of connection.

"MARIELA!" I yell.

"Yes, daddy?" She pants and moans. "OHHHHHHHHHH!"

"Baby," I say, "I'm gonna cum. Where do you want it?"

"Fill me up."

I can't believe she says this.

"Are you on the pill?"

"Shut the fuck up and fill me up."

Would you resist this? Could anyone?

"Oh, God!"

"Fuck, baby."

"Oh fuck, here it comes!"

"FUCK ME, BABY!"

"MARIELA! OH, FUCK! I'M CUMMING!"

"CUM FOR ME, DADDY!"

My Pompeii arrives.I pull out my throbbing dick and listen to her final screams as I cover her stomach, tits, and upper neck in my cum. My vision goes almost blurry as it comes into focus--She looks like a goddess in a Renaissance painting, if sexual depictions were the norm. The cum glistens on her perfect skin, and she looks into my eyes as she takes an index finger, swipes part of it, and licks it.

"Delicious."

I haven't collapsed, but I want to. What's keeping me upright still is looking at this perfect face.

How could I have been this lucky?

"You know what?" She can barely breathe.

"What, baby?"

"I'm so glad I had sex with you."

I laugh.

"Tomorrow. Same time, same place?"

She pauses, looks at the cum and slaps my ass again.

"I could get used to that."