The Hardworking Student

The Hardworking Student

Mike Ledur

All rights reserved.

Four years of hard work in high school had earned me a scholarship in college, and I was determined to keep it and earn high enough grades to be accepted in graduate school afterwards. So unlike most of my fellow students in the dorm, I spent most of my time studying in the library, reading and rereading the textbooks and other related material for my courses.

I wasn't totally unsociable, though, and I got to know a few of the other students. One of them was majoring in English, my least favorite subject, and one day when she saw me in front of a physics book, she asked me how I could stand it. I proposed an arrangement: I could help her with math (I was a chemistry major with lots of math courses behind me), and she could review my themes for my English composition course.

She accepted, and let's call her Charlotte-Marie made lots of changes to my themes in exchange for my explanations of problems in her math book. Even though it was mutually beneficial, we felt a low-level disdain for each other. I wondered how I could respect someone who was so dense about basic math, and I'm sure she wondered how I could make so many sentence mistakes.

That was unspoken, and we seemed to get along. We'd usually meet on Tuesday and Friday evenings in the lounge in the basement of the main library. We were focused and worked hard on our coursework, not just the subjects we were helping each other with.

Sometimes, just before the library closed, Charlotte-Marie would change to a softer tone of voice and tell me things like how happy she was to have me as her special friend. (I wondered whether she had any others. I seldom saw her talking to anybody else.) When she asked me whether I could keep secrets, I assured her I could. She started telling me her secrets, usually little things about about her sister or her hobbies. I acknowledged them but wasn't too impressed. One day she told me that she wrote stories about events in her life.

Telling me those secrets must have made her feel attached to me. And since she was relatively attractive, with fair skin and just a few extra pounds, I began to feel attached to her. One evening as we left the library when it closed at 10:00, I decided to try something. I led her to an area of high bushes alongside the library, put my arms around her waist, and gave her a quick kiss. "That's nice," she said. And the next time, we walked together to the same spot and exchanged several kisses.

The following Tuesday, we kissed even more intensely outside the library. I was sure that she could feel my arousal pressing against her as I felt her breasts through her blouse, but she just kissed me more. Going further would have been impossible, or at least complicated, because of the living arrangements in the dorms, but the following week her secret was that she'd written a story about me. She didn't offer to let me read it.

A week later her secret, which she told me in an even softer voice that usual, was that she wanted to write a "spicy romance" story. When she noticed that I didn't really know what she meant, she explained and, in her softest voice, said she'd need my help, since she didn't think she could write it without my participation. "They say, 'Write what you know,'" she explained.

On Friday evening two weeks later, she announced as her secret that "I and another roommate have agreed to stay out of our room between 9:00 and 11:00 o'clock this evening."

She might have said that because she wanted us to walk around campus for an hour, which we did. But the way she'd said it, kind of proud to make a discovery, told me that maybe she'd learned that negotiation with roommates for such an arrangement was possible.

On Tuesday evening, a week and a half later, she said that she'd agreed with her other two roommates that she could be alone in the room that Friday evening between 9:00 and 11:00. "Can you bring contraceptives?" she asked, a little anxious. "Sure," I answered.

So I went to a drugstore and bought condoms and a small tube of lubrication. I thought about my only similar experience, which had been with a high-paid professional, a gift for my eighteenth birthday, and I wondered how that would compare to an experience with a volunteer, a first-timer at that.

Friday evening's event was on my mind most of the time for the next three days, and I did some research on the topic online. My biggest question concerned the twenty minutes that women apparently needed to warm up beforehand.

By the time I arrived at Charlotte-Marie's room at exactly 9:00 on Friday evening, I was quite anxious. Some of that dissipated as soon as she opened the door. She looked both ways down the corridor, indicated that I should come in, and initiated a serious kiss. On the way to the bed, I noticed her laptop opened to a kind of list, and she quickly checked off a couple of items and looked at the next ones.

She suggested I take off my shoes and socks and then asked me whether I'd brought the supplies. "Sure," I answered. I took them out of my backpack and put them on a little table next to the bed. She opened the box of condoms and then checked the tube of lubrication and then quickly did something on the laptop before inviting me to sit next to her on the bed. I thought I should say something nice, so I told her I was very happy she'd been able to negotiate to have the room to herself. "Please, Mike, promise me you'll never tell anybody." I promised, and we sat down on the bed and started kissing. I wondered whether I really needed to wait for twenty minutes.

In fact, though, I lost track of time. After our kissing became more intense than it had ever been outside the library, we started taking off each others' clothes. I lost myself in the sea of soft skin, which I kissed over and over. She seemed happy to receive my kisses and to have her breasts caressed, but she didn't move very much, in contrast to the professional, who'd been very active and done a lot of things. After a while, with both of us naked and me lying on top of her, I took out one of the condoms and put it on as Charlotte-Marie watched.

Then I slowly put a finger inside her, as the professional had invited me to do, and felt that there was plenty of lubrication. At that point I was pretty much a slave to my body, which dictated every action. When I couldn't hold back anymore, I slowly came inside Charlotte-Marie, who let out a little sigh, which I hoped wasn't from pain. We kissed each other desperately as I moved in and out, trying to go slow and make the moment last, as the professional had suggested. But after about five minutes I felt that I couldn't go on any longer and let go inside her. It was an earth-shattering experience, and suddenly I felt that in spite of her trouble with basic math, I was deeply in love with her and would always be. I tried not to move, wishing the moment could last forever.

But after a few minutes, I knew that I needed to come out. I took off the condom, wet with her lubrication, and leaned my head over hers, stroking her face, which now looked beautiful. I continued like that for several minutes, telling her I loved her.

"Did you like it?" I finally asked.

"Mike, I was so happy to have you with me and be in the bed naked with you. But I don't think I liked it as much as you did. I'm glad you liked it so much. I really am."

Naturally I was disappointed to learn that, but I was glad she was honest. I hoped that we'd be able to use the room again in a week or two, so that I could do it again and so that she'd have another chance to enjoy it as much as I did. Anyway, we stayed there talking for another hour. Our conversation gradually moved to other topics, and near the end of the two hours, we got dressed. We shared a final kiss at 10:55, and as I left, I saw her sit down in front of her laptop and get busy typing. I looked both ways in the hallway, since I knew she didn't want anybody to see me.

At 9:55 the next Friday evening in the library lounge, she changed to her secrets tone and told me she'd published a story about our adventure online, and she told me her screen name and explained how to find it. Outside, she was more passionate than ever and touched my arousal. "I'm so lucky to have you," she said.

When I got back to my room, I looked for the story, half-wondering whether she'd blame me for not having enjoyed our experience more. What I found, though, was a version of the episode that I barely recognized. Instead of blaming me, she described how sexy I was and how much I'd turned her on.

"This void in me was now occupied by the most wonderful, passionate man in the world. I'd waited for years for it to be filled, and now it was, by masculine power and strength. I lost all control and screamed out with pleasure."

Of course it was her story, so she could write what she wanted, and I was glad anyway that she'd told it that way.

Three weeks after our initial encounter, she'd negotiated to have the room again, and when I knocked on her door at 9:00, I was happy to find that she she seemed thrilled to see me. It was as if she were the woman in her story. Her facial expression as we made love was one of ecstasy rather than panic, and she kissed me several times during and after. But, like the first time, she didn't move around or do anything, and she didn't come to a climax. Our conversation, sweet at first, turned to mundane topics before I had to leave.

The next Tuesday evening at 9:55, secrets time, she had some good news.

"I've had lots of comments on my story," she said, "and most of them say that we should have done more things. And especially that I should have done more. I think they're right, so I'll try to negotiate to get the room again."

"What did the readers want you to do?" I asked.

"Too much to tell," she said. "Just look at the comments after the story."

I was very curious, but the announcement that "The library is now closing" came through the speakers, so we had to leave. As we kissed outside, she reached down and touched me.

Back in my room, I quickly found the reader comments. Here are some samples. Many were congratulatory.

"Wow, just wow! It's not every day that we get a convincing first-person account of a first-time sexual experience. Your description of the moment of penetration is memorable. Bravo. Five stars."

"This is totally sincere and totally moving. I hope you'll have many more stories from a woman's point of view."

But some readers complained or had suggestions:

"We all have to start somewhere, I guess, but I get the impression that you left everything up to your partner. Let's hear more about what you did in future stories."

"Two hours, and that's all you did? Do some reading, or watch some movies, and learn what to do. Next time, make the most of the available time and write a story describing the activities and how they made you feel."

"That's fine for the first time, but please let us have more the next time. Reading stories on this site will give you some ideas."

"Assuming it's true that your boyfriend is 19, I was disappointed that he only did it once. Learn about the refractory period and how to get him to do it again. Write another story that includes that."

There seemed to be about a hundred comments, and I stayed up late reading them and wondering whether Charlotte-Marie would take them to heart.

When I saw her on Friday evening, she waited till 9:55 to tell me in her secrets voice: "I've read some of the stories on that site and watched some videos. I really want to try out some new things and write a new story. I'll try to get the room again soon."

And at secrets time on the following Tuesday, she told me, "Mike, there are so many suggestions in the comments, so many things to do, that I'm getting confused. I don't see how I can do it all, and I don't see how I can write a coherent story about it.

"Don't let them pressure you," I said. "Just do what you can. I think the readers will be happy with that."

A week and a half after that, at exactly 9:00 on Friday evening, I was about to knock on the door of Charlotte-Marie's dorm room when she opened it and let me in. She gave me a passionate kiss and took me over to the bed, where she took off my shoes and socks. We sat on the bed and kissed for a while, with Charlotte-Marie holding my head in her hands. That got intense very quickly, and she hastily took off my clothes and then hers. We continued kissing as she had me lie down on the bed with her on top. I found it incredibly exciting to have her moving around on top of me, touching me, kissing me, and putting the condom on me. She put her knees on either side of my hips, awkwardly at first, and then managed to maneuver so that I was inside her. She sighed softly as she sat up, and I sighed as she had me reach up and touch her lovely breasts. Still sitting up, she moved faster and faster, but then she lay next to me on her back and asked me to come on top. When I'd done that the first time, she'd bent her knees a little bit, but this time she used her hands to hold up her shins, which I thought was wonderful. A few minutes after that, she urged me to push in as hard as I could, and the excitement of that meant that I couldn't hold back, and I let go inside her. We both sighed loudly.

As she removed the condom, tying it in a knot, I lay there practically lifeless. She lay alongside me and leaned over me, and said some very sweet things to me in her secrets voice. She continued saying them as she touched me all over, paying special attention to my upper arms and chest. She did that for about half an hour before coming back on top, massaging my face over and over with her lovely breasts, and reaching down to hold me in her hands. About twenty minutes later, to her delight and mine, that had the desired effect, and she opened another condom packet and applied it to me.

She kissed me passionately as I came on top and pushed inside her. She sighed and told me, "Go on forever, Mike. You're incredible."

This time I managed to go on for about ten minutes, at the end of which we both sighed loudly. Having spent my energy, I was immobile, but she continued leaning over me, kissing me, and stroking my face. She told me things like "You're the man I've always dreamed of." We went on like that until she noticed that it was 10:50. We got up and got dressed, and I took the condoms and Kleenexes to dispose of in the hallway trash.

As I returned to my floor, I felt like I was walking on clouds. The next day, I checked the erotic-fiction site, since I was sure she'd write another story describing what we'd done. It wasn't until Monday that I found the story, and sitting there alone in the library, I read it. The reader can imagine that I found it more absorbing than anything I'd ever read in my life. ("Sitting up with him inside me, I looked down to see his face writhing with passion.") Her descriptions of the details of our encounter and her passionate involvement made me long for our next encounter.

On Tuesday afternoon I took a break from my physics homework to read the reader comments.

"This is even more convincing and heartfelt than the first story."

"A brilliant recounting that made me feel like I was there with you. But no doggy style? Please include that next time."

I felt so proud of her story and my role in it as I looked at the reader rating (4.8/5) that I fantasized about kissing her in the middle of the library. At secrets time that evening, I congratulated her on the ratings and the comments.

"Yes, but I still have a long list of things they want me to do," she said.

"You don't have to do them all," I said. "Just pick out a few. The readers love your stories, and if they see that you're responding to their suggestions, they'll keep giving you high ratings."

"Too bad I can't submit them for my creative writing class," she said. "But it's all good practice, and it's nice to get some recognition."

Three weeks after the last encounter, Charlotte-Marie was able to negotiate to have the room again, and she managed to do several of the things the readers had suggested. They were wonderful, and we were both very happy, both with the encounter and with the ratings of the story afterwards. But I was troubled that in spite of it all, she had never come to a climax.

I did some research and found that more women achieved climax through clitoral stimulation than vaginal stimulation. It didn't seem fair, but that was the fact we needed to work with. We were approaching the end of the semester, and I set myself a goal of resolving this problem before the break. How would I feel if I hadn't reached a climax after all that wonderful activity?

It stood to reason that women knew what I'd just discovered and that they knew how to do it on their own. Would they reveal that secret? Was it a teachable skill? With so much at stake, it seemed worth the risk to ask Charlotte-Marie.

At secrets time on the following Tuesday evening, she announced that she'd made a list of the new things she wanted to try the next time the room was available. "I have a secret I want you to tell me," I said. "But I'll wait till our next session."

"I'm so curious," she answered, "and since you've kept all my other secrets, I'll probably tell you."

That was promising. But I wasn't sure she would. Maybe what I was asking was something that no woman would ever tell. But I felt it was worth the risk.

It happened that our next session was scheduled for the second-last week of the semester. Last-minute studying and exam preparation in the last week would mean that other activities had to be postponed or canceled.

When I appeared at her doorway at 9:00 that Friday evening, I found Charlotte-Marie holding her door open for me. Our session was as thrilling as the previous two, with the addition of a few new activities, such as doggy style and coital alignment technique, which were wonderful additions. About halfway through the two hours, as we were engaged in sweet pillow talk, I brought up the subject.

"I wanted to ask you to tell me another secret. Do you remember?" I asked.

"Oh, Mike, yes. I'll almost certainly tell you almost anything you want to know."

"It's about something I want to be able to do for you. I want you to show me how you make yourself happy when you're alone. Wouldn't it be nice if I could do that for you?"

She was quiet for a moment and finally said, "I don't think I could teach you. It's too hard and too complicated."

"That's OK. I want to learn."

"I don't think you could learn, but if you really want to try, I'll try to teach you."

"I do."

"OK. Give me your hand."

I reached my hand over to her, and she said, "Relax it while I show you the shape." She arranged my fingers in a very peculiar position and said, "Keep it like that." Then she moved my hand to where she wanted it and started moving it slowly. "Start off very slow, and I'll tell you when to get faster. It might take a long time."

Fifteen minutes or so later, my hand was getting tired, but I could see that my work was having an effect on her. "Now go just a little faster," she said.

I went a little faster, and my hand got even more tired, but I persisted. About ten minutes later, she had me go a little faster. I did that, but my hand was so tired I could barely move it. I was just about ready to give up when she started tightening up her whole body and sighing. With my hand in pain, I persisted, since I thought she was getting close. Finally, she shouted out, and her whole body seemed to go into a spasm. "Oh, Mike," she said afterwards, out of breath and barely able to speak, "you've done it. You're incredible."

She pleaded with me to do it again, but the second time only took a moment longer. With tears in her eyes, she asked me to come back on top. I was completely ready, since turning her on had turned me on. When I came to a climax, she did too, and after she removed and tied up the condom, she gave me a large number of kisses, getting my face wet with her tears.

It was at that moment that we realized it was 10:50, so we had to quickly get dressed and scoop up the condoms and Kleenexes before the roommates returned. We exchanged final kisses, and I wondered if that was the end.

It was. Preparation for final projects and final exams meant that we wouldn't be meeting at the library again. Her help on my compositions had been very valuable, but that was my only English course, just as the math course I'd helped her with was her only one.

Over the break I got an email from her: "Thanks to you, I got an A in math. Have you read the final story?"

I quickly wrote back: "I got an A in English. Yes, I read it in the library and cried with tears of joy. I agree with the reader ratings: 4.99/5. Congratulations."

At the beginning of the next semester, I got another email from her: "Mike, I owe you so much and will never forget you. But I've found an English major who really understands my stories."

I wrote back: "Charlotte-Marie, I need to focus on my courses this semester. I won't forget you either."

We saw each other occasionally after that but only talked briefly about casual things, no secrets.