The Underclassman

A Return to Normalcy

On Monday morning, Mick woke up just a few minutes before his alarm was set to rouse him. When it finally did sound, he immediately silenced the noise while jumping up and out of bed. Mick donned his bath robe and slipped his feet into his shower sandals before grabbing his shower caddy and a towel and heading for his lavatory. Not surprisingly, he could not get the thought of Athena out of his head as he stood there stark-naked in his bathroom, carefully removing the gauze bandage swaddling the burn on his thigh. After not having gotten laid once over the holiday break, Mick had been with four different women on three separate occasions over the previous three days. He was looking forward to starting the Spring semester and felt he was already beginning to get back into the swing of things. Bradley Hall was once again teeming with coeds and that thrilled Mick.

Leading off each week during the semester would be Intro to Chemistry, which according to Mick's thoughts on the matter began at a respectful 9:00 a.m. As he strode into the classroom that first Monday morning his attention was immediately captured by a young man who Mick surmised to be another student. He was standing behind the desk at the front of the room motioning Mick to come forward. "Here is your course syllabus, lab schedule, safety rules and requirements," said the young man as he handed Mick several sheets of paper.

Mick thought the distribution of hard copies to be rather odd as he sat down at an empty double-seat desk in the classroom, especially when all the information was posted online. "12-point Arial font only," Mick whispered to himself as he read through the guidelines for submitting weekly lab reports. "Sentences are to be double spaced... single sided pages only... to be stapled three times down left edge, no other clips or fasteners," he read further. It appeared that the teacher required the weekly reports to be printed out instead of submitted electronically. Mick wondered just how much of a stickler the instructor was as he continued reading through the information.

"Good morning everyone," greeted the instructor as he ambled into the room. Mick looked up from his reading material and found that the classroom had mostly filled. As he looked around, Mick found that he distantly recognized only a few of the faces which he surveyed. He watched as the instructor plopped his leather satchel briefcase on the desk which seemed to be stuffed to brim and looking like it had gone through a war. The instructor appeared rather elderly as well. He was bald, dressed in a brown heather woolen three-piece suit with a dark bowtie, and looked as if he should have retired five years ago. The gentleman slid the white marker board over to the side and wrote his name and office room number on the blackboard in chalk.

"I am Professor Arthur Dannenberg," he advised, "and I will be your instructor for the semester... or at least part of it anyway." The professor went on to explain to the students that he was currently working on completing a chapter for a textbook and would be noticeable absent at times due to the deadline. "During any absence I will be entrusting my teaching assistant to carry out my duties," he stated. Professor Dannenberg introduced the student who had handed out the syllabus as Perry Bertrand, one of his PhD candidates. "Mr. Bertrand is putting the finishing touches on his dissertation," stated the professor before further adding, "He is quite capable so seek his assistance if I am not available." Mick studied Perry for a few seconds before turning his attention back to the professor. He could not put his finger on it but there was something about Perry that immediately rubbed Mick the wrong way.

As the professor continued, he discussed his office hours and dislike of email. "If you have difficulty catching me in the office I'd prefer if you leave me a note," he informed the class. "Another pet peeve of mine is knowing your names," said Professor Dannenberg, "so for today only I will take attendance and ask that you correct me if I pronounce your name incorrectly." Not surprisingly he stumbled over a few of the Asian student's names and when he got to Rodgers Michel the request was made to, "Just call me Mick, please." Mick realized that his chemistry teacher was not a hard ass as he had originally considered, he was just a dinosaur. Professor Dannenberg was literally the embodiment of old school.

At five after nine on Tuesday morning, Mick heard a gentle knock on his door. He opened it to find Abby standing there as expected. "Ready to go?" she asked him. Mick answered, "I am," as he took one final sip from his coffee mug before grabbing his backpack.

The only course Abigail and Mick would have together this semester was Calculus II. "Are you ready for this?" Mick asked his friend. "As long as you are willing to tutor me like before," she replied. Mick was more than happy to help Abby and even happier that he would not be needing her help to get through another English Literature class.

The two friends continued to discuss their respective course loads while walking to the lecture hall for calculus. "I don't have any classes with Zoey," stated Abby. "What does she have this semester?" inquired Mick.

Abby ran down her roommate's subjects which included among others, sociology, humanities and interpretive dance.

"Run that last one by me again," Mick requested.

Abby reiterated that Zoe was taking interpretive dance which included two recitals open to the public. Mick asked, "Does your shadow understand that she will be dancing in front of other people?" Abigail's answer came in that tone Mick was familiar with when she was perturbed at him.

"It's taking a lot of courage on her part," shot Abby, "and she'll hear no snarky comments from you about it." To help drive her point home, Abby drove the tip of her index finger into Mick's chest.

"Ouch, okay," he yelped, "I got it."

Wednesday's chemistry lecture was scheduled to start thirty minutes later than Monday's class did. Mick sat down at his desk and unpacked his belongings as his fellow students also trickled into the classroom. As he read through the next chapter in his textbook he heard a voice from over his shoulder ask softly, "Is this seat open?"

Mick turned to find a striking young woman standing there. She had wispy, naturally light blonde hair pulled up into double buns on the top of her head with tassels cascading down the sides of her face. Her left nostril was adorned with a small stud and her eyes were blue like glacial ice. Mick wondered if she was wearing colored contacts as he became transfixed by her eyes.

"Is anyone sitting here?" she again asked, snapping Mick out of his stupor.

"Yes, all yours," he quickly answered.

As the young woman began to set her books down she spotted the highlighter in his right hand. She said to Mick, "Can I ask a huge favor of you?" to which he happily replied, "Sure." The girl asked for them both to switch seats as he appeared to be right-handed and she was a lefty.

"We'll be banging elbows all semester," she told him.

Mick thought to himself, "Well that would be a good start."

After they had both settled into their new seats, Mick turned to the beauty and made sure to introduce himself. "My name is Mick."

"Nice to meet you," she replied, "My name is Katrín."

"That's a really lovely name," he remarked which nearly caused her to blush. Mick could detect the slightest hint of an accent in her voice but he could not place it. Her name did not strike him as being Irish... Scandinavian perhaps?

Mick wanted his curiosity satisfied so he asked his new friend, "Where are you from Katrín?"

"Long Island," she replied. Katrín could tell by the sudden puzzled look on his face that her answer was not what Mick was expecting to hear.

"I'd have lost that bet," he remarked.

"What bet?" she asked him.

"You don't sound like you are from New York," Mick told her.

"Believe it or not, I actually was born on Long Island," she assured him.

Katrín told Mick that both her parents were originally from Iceland and they had met in New York City. "My mother was working as a translator for the consulate at the United Nations and my father had come over for a symposium on sustainable energy," she said to her new classmate. "My parents and I have dual citizenship," stated Katrín, "and we go back to Iceland to visit my parents' families each summer." Mick shook his head as suddenly all the pieces about the fair-haired beauty fell into place for him.

Professor Dannenberg walked into the classroom not more than one minute later. After getting himself situated he announced to the class that there was a student who was transferring in. "Ka... Kuh...," he said, struggling to pronounce the name on the paper he was holding.

"It's pronounced Cat-treen," she advised him, "but I just go by Kat, professor."

"Thank you," responded the instructor, adding, "I won't even think about attempting your last name."

"What's your last name?" asked Mick quietly. Katrín leaned over and wrote on a sheet of Mick's paper "Jökulldóttir." Suddenly, Mick thought his birth name did not seem as bad as it had previously.

When the class ended, Mick turned to Katrín and said, "It was nice to meet you."

She smiled at him and responded, "Likewise," as she got up from their desk.

"See you in 2:00 p.m. chem lab tomorrow?" he asked.

Katrín smiled back at Mick and informed him, "I will be there," before heading for the door.

* * *

Even though Mick had worked late on Saturday night, he could not afford to sleep in too much the following morning. Today was the Super Bowl and Mick had agreed to work later than what he normally would on a Sunday night. The only time he would have for any schoolwork would be for a few hours in the morning and he wanted to read ahead in his chemistry textbook.

The first week of the semester had flown by quickly. He had attended class in each of his subjects for the semester at least once which included technical writing and physics. All his instructors seemed friendly and straightforward and no class appeared that it would be overly difficult. And as he had hoped, Mick was able to chat with Katrín for a few moments during chemistry lab on Thursday.

Around quarter to noon, Mick closed his textbook to begin getting ready for work. He unwrapped the gauze from around his thigh and gave his injury a look. The burn had fortunately healed quickly and except for some minor mottling and peeling around the edges, it was barely noticeable. Mick retrieved his housecoat and threw it over his shoulder, grabbed and old towel and a fresh one, picked up his shower caddy and walked down to his bathroom.

Mick walked into the shower area, took off his robe and hung it and the clean towel up on two hooks. He then returned to the bathroom and placed his razor and shaving cream on the shelf above one of the sinks, the rest of his toiletries on an adjacent shelf and laid the towel across the other sink. Besides the privacy... for the most part, one of the advantages to having his own personal facility was the ability to spread out and never having to wait for a sink or shower.

Every now and then, Mick liked to do a little manscaping south of the equator. Nothing too crazy, but he did prefer to beat back the brush from time to time to reduce sweat and odor. After brushing his teeth and shaving his face, Mick lined the bowl of the handicap accessible sink with the used towel. The sink and mirror were just the right height to where he could see perfectly while pruning the vines and catch all the clippings for appropriate disposal.

Mick retrieved the personal grooming clipper from his kit and went about judiciously trimming his shrubbery. After a good going-over, Mick stood there with his trimmer in one hand and his dick in the other, peering into the mirror to check his work. Without warning, the door suddenly flew open and in walked Bridget McKenna clad in her pink robe. She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Mick standing there on full display and let out one loud, "HA!"

"What are the chances?" said Mick rhetorically, to which Bridget answered, "I know, right?" He inquired, "In need of an available shower I take it?" She explained to Mick that one of the bathrooms had no water and was closed and many of the students were getting ready because they had plans for the Super Bowl.

"To answer your question," said Bridget, "I haven't been in your shower since last time."

"You are welcome to help yourself," Mick told her, "No lines, no waiting."

Bridget walked over to beside Mick and looked down, wrinkled her nose roguishly while nodding approvingly and remarked, "Nice work." Before Mick could respond she continued by saying, "Thanks for the reminder. Would it be okay if I borrowed a little of your shaving cream?"

Mick snatched the can of gel off the shelf and handed it to his visitor instructing her to "Knock yourself out."

"Thanks," she said and advised him he, "Better hurry up before I use all of your hot water."

As nonchalantly as he could, Mick watched over his shoulder as Bridget sashayed into the shower area and disrobed before picking up one of the small wooden benches sitting under the hooks and disappearing out of sight. He did not hesitate to fold up the towel that was laying in the sink and shake it out into the toilet bowl of the closest stall. Mick flung the towel onto the floor underneath the sink then hastily plucked the shampoo and shower gel from his toiletries kit to go join his unexpected visitant.

When Mick rounded the corner, Bridget already had her shower running. She had her right foot up on the wooden seat and was bent over shaving her lower leg. Mick placed the two bottles on the shelf under his shower head, turned the water on and stepped back. As he waited for the water to warm, he stood there admiring the view of Bridget's round ass and fuzzy peach smiling back at him. Bridget knew it was she who was now on display and it made her hot thinking about Mick standing behind her watching, and his dick getting hard just from looking at her. She was correct on all accounts.

Mick adjusted the temperature and stepped into the spray. While he washed his hair and body, he continued to observe Bridget as she shaved her legs and occasionally changed positions. Every now and then, Bridget would steal a glance to see if Mick were still watching her. When their eyes unavoidably met, she smiled and motioned to him with her index finger, telling Mick to, "Come over here." As he stepped over, Bridget sat down on the bench.

Bridget picked up the can of shaving cream and squirted a copious amount of the gel onto the fingers of her left hand, and with her right hand, she held Mick's semi-rigid penis out of the way as she went about spreading foam all over his pubis and scrotum.

"Ha-a-ang on a second," Mick stammered, "I'm not sure about this."

"Have you never been clean shaven before?" Bridget asked, "Or nervous about having a razor on your balls?"

"All of the above," he admitted.

"I promise I won't hurt you," she assured him, "Just relax."

"That's a tall order," Mick retorted.

"Relax," repeated Bridget, in in a soothing, drawn-out manner. She then leaned forward and ever so slowly brought her open mouth down upon Mick's organ.

Back and forth over his top few inches went Bridget... unhurriedly, allowing her lips to just barely brush upon his skin and dragging the tip of her tongue scantly along the underside of his manhood as she went. Her efforts achieved the desired intent as not only was Bridget mollifying Mick as she recognized that his body was becoming less tense, but she could feel his shaft elongating and becoming more rigid within her grasp and in her mouth. With her slippery hand, Bridget commenced to leisurely jerk Mick off, lathering the bottom half of his dick in the process. She continued to gently masturbate and go down on him until she sensed the time had finally come, then she let go of Mick's appendage altogether.

Bridget picked up her razor and placed it just under Mick's waistline, and with short, measure strokes she began to shave down along his groin. After completing the first stretch she extended her arm and placed the head of the razor into the shower's warm, broken stream to rinse out any shaving cream and removed stubble from in between the blades. She continued to make pass after pass repeating the same process until all of the easy parts were complete. With her free hand, Bridget once again took hold of Mick and went about carefully removing the pricklies from the bottom part of his fleshy conduit and from around its base. She then instructed him to place his one foot up on the bench beside her and to hold his crank up against his torso. Bridget then cupped Mick's crown jewels in her palm and gently pulled them towards her.

To Bridget's surprise, she immediately discovered that shaving his balls was considerably more difficult. The contours of his testicles were curved and irregular, and Mick's dark strands were longer and kinky. Wanting to be sure not to nick him, she paused twice to reapply some shaving cream which only made his dangly bits harder to hold on to. Undaunted, Bridget pressed on but prudently so, being sure to take great care and not scalp Mick.

Lastly, Bridget hooked her thumb underneath and behind his scrote then closed her fingers around his nuts, clutching them like someone about to throw a pair of dice down the length of a Craps table. She peeled his gonads up exposing the underside of his sack, then went about shaving what little still remained.

Believing she had satisfactorily completed her undertaking, Bridget directed Mick to go stand in the shower and rinse himself off. He turned around and positioned himself in the cascade as ordered and briskly scrubbed himself with the palm of his hand to facilitate the removal of any remnants from his pruning. As he ran his mitt over his suddenly bald scrotum, Mick was struck by how incredibly soft, almost rubbery it now felt. The closest thing he could think to equate it to was the sensation of touching a newborn's skin.

When Mick returned, Bridget gave him a final once-over and commented, "Not bad for my first time... I think I've impressed myself." He looked down and examined his now denuded self as well but was very unsure what to make of it. "Now do me," instructed Bridget as she held her three-blade cartridge razor up at Mick. He hesitated to accept the offering held aloft in her outstretched hand prompting Bridget to tell him, "Just do like I did, and I'll help you with the tricky parts." Although somewhat reluctant, Mick was certainly intrigued, so he took possession of the instrument from his companion's fingers.

Bridget positioned her ass on the edge of the seat as far forward as she possibly could without slipping off it. Once again she retrieved Mick's can of shaving cream and dispensed a generous amount into her hand, then spread the gel all over her mound and in between her legs covering herself with a thick foam. Mick was not at all crazy about the thought of kneeling down on the shower floor, but there was no other way to go about the task that was literally in front of him. As he got down on his knees, Bridget leaned back and put her head and shoulders awkwardly against the tiled wall, then spread her legs as wide as she possibly could, placing her toes barely upon the ground. Mick immediately found himself vis-à-vis with not only Bridget's pink eye, but her brown eye as well, and the intimate proximity between them certainly did nothing to quell his erection.

Starting at her bikini line and travelling southward down the extent of her hair pie, Mick did his best to emulate Bridget's own handiwork. Once he had made the expanse of her mon veneris suitably barren again, Mick turned his attention to the portion of his task that demanded a greater degree of diligence, but he did not require any instruction from Bridget.