Did your hand just brush against me, accidently...? - A story for somefun
somefun wanted a story involving a spring time seduction of a friend she has fancied for some time - here is the start of my attempt at this - warning, I am aiming to produce a long, slow, moody story, not something that plunges straight into the wildly explicit, I think that is what somefun wants, so that is what I shall try to give her!
Part 1 - Anticipation
The sun was blazing overhead as we headed streamed out of the lecture theatre.
‘What are you planning for this afternoon Sarah?’. Eloise, one of my new class mates, asked. Most of the group were heading into town, to look at the walls, then out for a meal, before going clubbing, ‘checking out the talent’, as they put it. I had no objection to checking out talent, but our ideas of what constituted talent were so different, that these plans held no real excitement for me. True, Eloise herself, was well worth looking at, with her dark red hair, Gothic style and compact, rounded body but my thoughts were elsewhere, as they had been for weeks before I even got to the summer school.
‘I’ve got a bottle of wine, some really nice snacks for lunch and a good book, I’m going to head down to the lake, sit in the shade of the trees and just chill’.
‘You could still come with us’, Amanda put in, still concerned that I was being left out.
‘I’ve done the walls and the caves to death, I mean they are great the first time but not again and I’m not in the mood for clubbing honestly’.
Mollified, they made their way off, giggling over the possibilities offered by the York night life, leaving me alone with my thoughts, my thoughts of Her.
For the past two years she had haunted my summer schools, the scent of her skin, the feel of her body brushing against mine, the sound of her laugh and, once each year, the taste of her lips in the middle of a sexy dance.
When I had met her, three years before, I was an old hand at summer schools, but there, without parents, for the first time. I was doing ‘Vicking York’ that year. Getting off the bus at the edge of the campus, I saw this vision, bags in hand, staring at one of the tiny, useless maps, that the authorities sent out.
‘Are you looking for the bursar’s office?’, I asked her. The smile she gave me as she nodded, nearly stopped my heart. ‘Come on then’, I said with a grin, grabbing one of her three bags, my hands were free, of course, my small store of clothing neatly packed in my rucksac. She followed me then and for the rest of the week, as we laughed, sang, danced and flirted our way through the evenings, nights and early mornings. It was on late on the last night of that week, after the end-of-week dance, and after more wine than was strivtly sensible, that I kissed her for the first time. As I leaned towards her, her eyebrows rose, in a little question, then she closed her eyes and allowed my lips to lock onto hers. I sipped at her lips for the longest time, afraid to press her further. Hers was the mouth that opened first, but mine was the tongue that exploed that warm, wet, sweet tasting cavern, thinking, all the time, of a more secret cavern that I wished to explore. I inhaled the sweet scent of her hair and her skin, closing my eyes, indulging my imagination. I felt the heat rolling off her in waves, as I felt the sweat trickling down between my breasts.
Softly, she pulled away, softly she slipped off the bed, softly she fled and I saw her no more that year.
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