Ping Pong

Dear readers,

This story is largely inspired by things that have actually happened. I wrote it for a special person. Throughout the writing process, I sent her parts of it through voice memos, or I read them to her in real life. For that reason, this story is very dear to me. Be kind. I hope you enjoy.

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It was another grey day in the seemingly ever-lasting period between the end of winter and the beginning of spring in Finland. Life had taken on a monotonous rhythm of waking up, coffee, bike ride across the half-ice half-snow, studying in the university-library, lunch in the university café, more studying, perhaps sauna, late dinner and then bed. Rinse and repeat.

Campus was the (only) hub of life in Joensuu. There was Wi-Fi there, which was lacking in the creaky dusty student apartments on the outer rim of Joensuu. Beyond that, there were the cheap student lunches, which would coerce you to get out of house and traverse the still biting cold of mid-April. This meant that as soon as you entered the building, you were met with a choir of hey-hello's, an assault of hugs and the comforting repetition of yesterday's conversation.

"Cold again today, isn't it?"

"Did you finish your water law assignment yet?"

"When will you have lunch?"

"Do you think spring will ever come?"

I was starting to give hope and was looking at things beyond the weather to break the monotony. I needed something to look forward to.

Of course there were little dots of light that broke through the cloud cover already. I had made a friend in the beginning of the semester, and we tried to have lunch together as often as possible. There were two bigger restaurants on campus, and one was decidedly fancier than the other. It was appropriately called Bistro. The food was the same of course -- industrial pasta-bakes or potatoes with some sort of protein, slathered in yoghurt-sauce -- but the bread and spreads assortment and the big windows really gave the place an uplifted air. You could almost imagine yourself with a small glass of red wine. Almost. If only I applied for my master in Italy.

Bistro closed earlier than the main restaurant, so I only ate there when I dragged myself out of bed early enough. Today was such a day. When I was meeting Liv for lunch it was easy to wake up in the morning.

She was standing at the gated entrance, outfit paper-sharp as always. She complained often about the small amount of clothes she had been able to bring from journey. There was a decided lack of slutty tops (her words) and clothes on the more risqué side of the fashion scale. She had decided to bring clothes that were more elegant. In new environments, she didn't feel as free putting on whatever since an old lady in the train in Germany had sourly commented, "A little short isn't it?", on a jean skirt she was wearing. I didn't know much about such things. I think she looked decidedly pretty.

She was wearing dress pants, a sitting a little low, sluttily on the hips (again, her words), a veneer looking white shirt under a light-beige leather jacket. Little sun-shaped golden earrings framed her face. An attempt at manifestation perhaps. She looked a little cold. She chronically underdressed. Her outfit was ever-more important than the daily demands of the weather. I greeted her happily.

As usual, Liv immediately sidestepped standard conversation. "If people had wings, how would they look? I was thinking more on the feathery side, but you would be able to see the muscle underneath. People have to work to fly, it can't come too easily. Otherwise we will get too arrogant."

It was, as always, not something I had considered in-depth before. I was forced too improvise. "I think that is correct, and I think some people would have black feathers and others white. Maybe some people have shades of grey, but there shouldn't be too much colour. I am more concerned about the logistics of it all though. How do the wings fit underneath our clothes? Do we fold them in perfectly like birds, so you wouldn't notice at all? If they were muscular, I don't think it would work."

"No, no. You are thinking about it all wrong. You shouldn't see the wings as an obstacle, but as an opportunity!" She replied. "People will start dressing to show off their wings, like we do by showing a little belly or by wearing something that accentuates their muuscly arms." She said that last part with a cooing tone, mocking me. She squeezed my arm. "You should really work on that, you know."

"The muscles, or the showing off?" I replied.

"I'll leave you to figure that out, you are a smart guy" she said. "Come let's eat."

We opened the door, and the familiar scents of an industrialized kitchen hit us. Slightly stale pasta, and fresh bread. "Getting back to the wing-thing," I said, "Do you think people go to the gym to work out their wings? Maybe people will be doing wing lifts." The image amused me.

She squeezed her eyes a bit, pretend-annoyed. "You are not taking it seriously."

"No, I just think the wings would be really sexy, you know? And if you need to really start flying quickly, you wouldn't have time to take your clothes off. You would just have to rip them. That would be really hot you know? Everyday, people would be ripping off their shirts and unfolding their wings."

She looked at me more and more annoyed, as she put some potatoes on her plate.

Pushing it over the edge I asked, "Do you think people would rub their wings in baby oil to look better?"

"That's it!" She said. "You ruined it. Well done. Now I can't think of wings without seeing oily men in the gym doing grunty wing workouts. Thank you very much. Why do you always sexualize things?"

We showed our student card to the lady behind the register and signed off with a trademark, "kiitos". I drew out the I properly, and the T almost transformed into a D, like I had lived here all my life. It was near the only Finnish word I knew.

We sat down at one of the large windows, framed by wooden constructions of Scandi-architecture. She shifted in her seat to get comfortable and tucked a lock of hair back into her neat bun. Her hair was a bit bushy. Curly at her hair line, thick and brown. She looked up at me. Her eyes were very big, always slightly extra open, looking curiously at the world. Sometimes I felt like the ground fell out from under me when she looked at me like that. In those moments I was lost in the depths. Helpless.

"What are you looking at?" She asked. "Is my hair, okay? If there is something off, you should tell me. It is rude if you don't. Boys never say these things."

It took me a moment to recover. I had been admiring her since I met her. We had never talked about it though. She had something untouchable in a way. I knew at times in the semester people had confessed their crushes to her and she had always kindly but firmly rejected them. Sometime afterwards, she complained to me. "I always think that I am becoming friends with a guy, until they start to have feelings for me. People would say that I should feel flattered, but I don't really. Can't I just be friends with a guy? Now I feel like I am always doubting their intentions. It is hard to get close to someone like that, you know?"

I had resolved to not disappoint her. Still, I couldn't always hide the fact that I felt very attracted to her. In those moments, I tried to fold it neatly into the rest of our bantering conversations. "I was just momentarily captured by your beauty. And I was imagining how you would look with your wings out."

"With my wings out, huh? Didn't you say that people would have to take off their shirts to unfold their wings? Are you imagining me with my shirt off?"

Trying to sidestep her comment I responded, "this would be the beauty of my wing society you see. Because everybody would always be taking their shirts off, it wouldn't be special. It would be very normal to see someone with their chest out. Boobs wouldn't be sexualized so much. It is just another way of freeing the nipple. It is quite feminist of me, really."

She wasn't so easily distracted though. "Aha, I see," she said. "You objectify people first, and then try to escape into feminism. Is this how you get all your girls? I don't understand why that works so well for you. At least I see you for the little pig you are." Her words were harsh, but here tone wasn't adversarial. We were just having our usual kind of interaction.

"Maybe they know something about me you don't," I responded.

"I can't imagine what that would be," she said, giving me an odd little look.

I realized that we had ventured into the domain of flirting. Her look felt like a way of telling me 'till here and no further'. I averted my gaze, taking an acute interest in the assortment of leaves and legumes that made up today's salad. I tried to get a good mix of greens, beans and sauce on my fork as I tried to think of a new topic of conversation.

"Do you want to play the game?" She asked, shifting the conversation onto more comfortable terrain.

"Hmm," I said, pretending to think about it. Then I grinned, "do you want to lose?"

Once, I had said that she looked like a person who was bad at ball sports. I still don't quite know why I said it, but something about her ever so put together appearance, her red rosebud mouth, her untouchability, had made me want to provoke her. This comment had resulted in two things. Firstly, she categorically refused to play any sort of ball-sport with me. Second of all, she had to show me that she was better than me at all things. And she often was. Her competitiveness was one of the things I liked most about her.

We played a card game together that I know as 'cambio'. It revolves around 4 closed cards in front of the player. At the beginning of the game you see the bottom two, and then through exchanging them with cards from the pile, you try to get the cumulative score of your cards to 4 of below. When you do, you call it. You note the score of both players and proceed to play the following round. She was desperately trying to beat me.

"What will you ask for if you win this time," I asked as I shuffled the deck.

She thought for a second. "I want that you do a David Attenborough voice over of a daily occurrence. For three minutes. Like if a mother and her kid are doing groceries. We would follow them around secretly, and you would have to do the voice over."

On the scale of things that she had asked me to do before, this was about medium-strange. "Easy. Done," I said, accepting the terms of the game.

"What do you want?" She asked me.

"I want that you play Ping-Pong with me after lunch." I had found out about a ping-pong table in Educa, one of the university buildings, from a Belgium friend the day before. It was exactly what I had been looking for. It might not seem like much, but in that winterspring it was enough. It reminded me of playing ping-pong on an Italian lakeshore two summers ago and playing ping-pong on the campsite at the famous French climbing cliff the Spring before. I just needed someone to play with. With her competitive spirit, she was perfect.

"Ah, do think you think you are ready for me to show you how good I am with balls?" She responded.

I gave her a smirk, and said, "oh, I never doubted you were good with balls. Just the sports aspect."

She gave me a glare, catching her own double entendre. "You fucker," she said. And after a short silence," I will play ping-pong with you, but only if you win with more than thirty points. Because you insulted me. And if you lose you have to buy me a coffee and do the voice over."

"Deal," I said, as I turned to look at by bottom two cards.

When we called last game, it wasn't looking good for me. I was only two points ahead, and my bottom two cards were a Queen and a Jack, already a total of 23 points. I was going to have to buy her coffee, and I was going to have to brush up on my nature-documentary skills. When she called it after only a few rounds it was final. I was going to lose.

When she turned her cards however, they added up to 5 points in total. She had forgotten to count the Ace, and called it too early. This meant she incurred an extra 25 points as punishment. I was left with only a 4 and a 3, so after tallying the points, the difference was exactly 30. I was saved. Somehow.

"Scheisse," was all she said.

After bringing our dishes to the washing station, putting our leftovers into the garbage can that said exactly how many calories we had wasted, and stealing some extra focaccia from the bread counter, we exited bistro into some nice mid-April sleet. As we started walking towards to Educa she asked me, "Do you think I am a boring person?"

The question caught me off guard. Answering was not so straightforward. I knew that just denying wouldn't make her feel better. Her insecurity was coming from somewhere.

Instead of answering directly I asked her, "Where does that question come from?"

"I don't know," she said. She paused for a moment. "I just have this feeling that people look at me and see this demure, shy person. Because I don't say much in groups. Or because I don't go around kissing every new French boy or girl that goes to the club with us. I am more interested in making friends here. Who is going to ask you how you are doing in a year? The person you made out with? That boy you fucked a couple of times?"

The word 'fuck' sounded almost vulgar coming from her cute lips. I was a bit taken aback by the intensity in her voice.

"I want to invest time into people who won't just disappear at the end of the semester. But that doesn't mean I am this innocent little bunny."

The words left her mouth quickly. She flushed a bit when she realized what she had said.

"I don't think you are an innocent little bunny," I said.

"Oh yeah? And what do you know?" She said sharply.

"I guess not much," I replied carefully. There was a short silence as I thought about how to save the interaction. "At least I have never felt bored with you," I finally said, answering her original question. "It is exciting to be around you."

"What is exciting about being around me then?" She asked, softening a bit.

"Well, first of all I get to beat your ass at games," I said as I opened the door to the Educa building. "And I never expect what you are going to say next. You are very surprising in that way. And I think you are open to doing a lot of new things. I think that is very unboring too."

"Hmm, you say nice things," she said in a doubting tone. "How do I know you are not just sweet-talking me?'"

"You don't have to believe me," I responded. "But just look at the evidence. I hang out with you often, and I ask you to do new things with me. Like today," I said as we navigated a maze of staircases and hallways.

"Would I do that if I found you boring?" The question hung in the air, unanswered.

We had gotten to the Ping-Pong table. It was hidden from the rest of university life, away from the 'what-are-those-two-doing-together?' and 'oh-sounds-fun-I-will-invite-myself'. It was a grey, low ceilinged room, with unpleasant bright lighting. There were two pianos along one of the walls, and further a door opened into a side room with a bed and a guitar (The bed sounds unbelievable, I know. But it was there I swear. Perhaps it was for people to take a rest for rigorous studying. I believe that part of the Educa building was a music conservatory. Still, it was weirdly out of place).

She didn't bat an eye. "Oh, that's perfect," she said. "You can play me a ballad while I take a rest from winning so much. In fact, I think that is what I will ask for as my prize."

"Oohh that is what that room is for! I had different ideas altogether," I said in a mock-surprised tone."

"Yes, you see," she responded. "If the room was just for fucking, why would the guitar be there, dumb-dumb? You are just sexualizing again." She said it as if explaining to a child, smiling.

Again, when she said the word 'fucking' it felt unexpected coming from her sweet smiling face - but that made it all the more enticing. I thought back of what she said about not being an 'innocent little bunny'. It was almost like she was trying to prove something with her language.

"Okay," I said. "If I win, I want you to tell me something that is not boring about yourself."

She thought about it. "It depends on what you consider boring. I find it very exciting to see how many birds from the Koli-bird cards I can spot from my window. But I think other people would disagree."

"I want to know something that makes you, in your words, 'not an innocent little bunny'," I clarified.

She was silent, then flushed red. She considered something for a while, doubtlessly running through her archive of secrets to tell me something that was interesting enough, but also safe to share with me. There was a slight sour taste in the back of my mouth, as I considered what she must be thinking about. Would she tell me about sexual things she had done? I didn't even know if she had ever been with somebody. Did she masturbate? Images flashed through my mind.

"Okay, I got something." She finally said. "Let's play."

We took a while to warm up, and then got into a first game until 21 points. The rhythmic tac-tac of the ball hitting the table absorbed us. She was better than I expected -- I say, fully aware of how patronizing that sounds. It was just that I had spent a month in France a spring before that. We were climbing for a month at the mountain Ceüse, and every day after climbing, in our exhaustion, we played ping-pong. On our rest days, or when it was raining, we played ping-pong. We were dedicated. We hosted tournaments with big prizes of honour on the line, and the loser cried for hours after. So I beat her 21-5.

"Bastard!" She exclaimed when it was over. "You could have told me that you were good at this."

"Ah yes," I said. "But that wouldn't be as much fun as seeing you slowly lose hope."

"So tell me," I said, demanding my prize.

She looked me straight in the eyes, hesitated for a second, then said, "there are naked pictures of me online."

It took a moment for her confession to move through the layers of skin and bone into my brain. When it did, it was a lightning strike in late summer. My thoughts spread like wildfire, possible contexts, environments, poses, bodyparts flashing through my mind. Where did she post them? Would I be able to find them? Never of course. Where would I even begin? Would I even want to see if she didn't want me to? Why? The last thought stuck in my mind. The thought of her sexuality, a real thing that existed, alive, driving her to do things, felt heavy in my mind. I wanted to grasp it. My tongue felt thick in my mouth.

The barrage of thoughts eventually formed into monosyllables, "Wait what? Why? where?"

She shrugged, bashful, "I don't know. Just one of these online forums you know. People say nice things about your body. The thought of random people looking at me, and maybe getting horny... I like it. Sometimes they comment that they thought about my boobs while doing stuff. Or about other things..."

Other things. The word 'pussy' imprinted itself slowly in my brain with hot searing letters. Images flashed through my mind.

I realized that my heart was beating faster than regularly. I needed to calm down a bit. I didn't want to freak her out. I needed to make sure she didn't feel ashamed.

"Yeah no, I get that," I said as neutrally as possible. "I have thought about it before too. But I didn't have the courage. I don't think anybody would actually be interested in seeing me like that."

"Hmm," she said. "It is true that it's mostly girls doing it. Which is a bit fucked really, catering to men like that. But what can you do. But I wouldn't be so sure. With your... body type. I am sure people would like that." She coloured slightly when she said it.

"What do you mean my body type?" I asked innocently.

"You know what I mean... Do you really need me to say it?" She responded.

"Of course I need you to say it."

"Well like... come on! You practically are the male beauty standard. Like yes, I wouldn't, I mean people wouldn't be interested in seeing any old guy with flabby ass-cheeks, but you are just all muscle..."

"All mu-" I started, asking for elaboration, but she cut me off immediately.

"Shut. Shut it." She gave me a serious look. "Just take the compliment. Let's play the next game."

I suspected I had expended her threshold for whatever it was we were doing, flirting maybe, again. If I would go on now, she would retreat behind the barrier of untouchability once more, with walls thick. I didn't want that. "Okay, okay," I said. "But we need new prizes. What do you want this time?"

"I just gave you a big piece of my private life," she said. "If I win you need to answer any question that I have. And I have two follow up questions if I want to know more." She was smart. If I would have done the same last round, would have been safer for her to elaborate. Then, it would have been the game demanding the answers, not me.

"Okay," I said. "I want two follow-up questions too. And you have to answer truthfully."

She started protesting. "But you are just going to win again! You are better than I am. Who knows what I will have to tell you." She looked a bit frightened at the prospect.

I felt like I was trapped by the concept of her naked body. When I tried to climb out of the dungeon, my mind kept sliding downwards. Could I ask her what her pictures looked like? Could I ask her if posting the pictures made her horny? What did she do if it did? My mind reeled at the possibilities.

"Hmm, to make it more fair we can play in such a way that you only have to get 11 points to win," I said. "I would still have to get to 21."

"That would work. I think I have a chance. But you only get one follow up question," she said.

"Easy. Done," I replied with our standard phrase of acceptance.

And so the ball bounced back and forth. A concentrated silence, broken by bat-ball, ball-table, bat-ball, ball-table. A hollow drum. Touching her untouchability with every beat. Maybe it was the same for her. The game a freedom. Stretching the boundaries of our friendship. Not us doing it but iron rules. Forcing us to act. No better than puppets. Go with the flow. Go with the rhythm. Lose yourself in the motion. Who wins?

My breath was shallow as the ball passed by me. She had scored her 11th point. I was only at 18. The concentrated silence slowly evaporated now the ball wasn't bouncing any more. Her face split into a grin. There were small patches of sweat at her armpits, staining her white shirt grey.

"I got you, you little fucker," She said.

She considered for a moment. "How many people have you slept with?" She asked. She seemed a bit afraid asking the question. But there was an eagerness too.

It did not have to do too much counting. "3," I said.

Her surprise was visible, eyes widening, eyebrows raised for just a second. "Wait what?" She said. "Only three? I thought you were this big player man. You always talk about how close you were with girls back home. And you hang around with so many different people here too. I thought you were fucking them."

Fucking. Vulgar this time. Like it repulsed her a little bit. But she couldn't help thinking about it.

"Yeah," I replied. "People think this. But I just have a lot of female friends. It makes me a bit annoyed at times. Like, is the only reason I would be around women because I would want to sleep with them? Maybe I just feel comfortable."

"Yeah, I thought about that," she said in a careful tone. "But I know boys. Most of the time that is exactly it."

"What about this then, huh?" I waved my arms, including her and me in the gesture. "We are just friends." Somehow it sounded a bit ridiculous when I said it out loud.

"Yeah... that is true." was all she answered.

There was a short silence. "What is your follow-up question, then," I asked.

"What... do you like most about having sex?" She asked. She flushed red but didn't look away from me.

I had to think about it for a second. "When somebody cums. I don't know. The writhing."

Images played in my mind as I told her. Liv's back arching, core muscles showing.

I said, "The vulnerability, the fact that you are doing something that is making them lose control."

The image that played in my mind was Liv's face, turned away. red. Helpless. A little frown. Not wanting to show, unable not to.

I said, "Feeling the other so intimately."

The image. Liv's pussy around my finger. A wave of wet, muscles contracting. A feeling of the inside of the mouth but warmer. The slight acidic sweet taste on the back of my tongue.

I looked at her as I finished speaking. I felt a bit embarrassed, but she seemed captivated. "Wow yeah, I get that," she said. My face was flushed, and I felt a wet patch on my underwear.

I don't know if she meant that she had felt the same, seen the same. Or that she understood from my description.

"I haven't actually..." She hesitated. "I didn't actually cum with anybody else before."

"Not that it wasn't good, she continued, "But I just didn't feel comfortable enough, I think. I couldn't let go."

"Yeah, I have that too. I find it hard to completely relax too sometimes," I said absent mindedly. She had slept with someone. That made my stomach do a weird twist. Half arousal, half a specific sort of jealousy. And she masturbated. How often? Would she lose herself in it? Did she think about specific things? Her sexuality became more defined. I could touch it almost. I wanted to. I took a step closer.

She looked at me with her big green eyes. They widened a bit, but not in alarm I thought. She was about one arm's length from me. I could faintly smell her sweat. It was heady. It reminded me of the smell you sometimes get in the days of spring when all he branches are heavy with blossoms. And a bit spicy. Citrusy too. Like freshly roasted peppercorns.

"Last question," she said. Softer but not soft. "Are you horny now?"

"Yes," I said. The sound half silent as if I hadn't spoken for a while.

"Aha... Interesting." She took a step back. "Do you want to tell me why? Is it just talking about sex, or something else?"

I wasn't sure if I wanted to tell. "You are out of questions, if I counted correctly."

"Then that is what I want if I win next. I want you to tell me why you are aroused. In detail."

I knew what I wanted in return. I didn't know if I dared to ask until the words left my mouth. "I want to see you. One of the pictures I mean. Only if you want of course."

She didn't think about it as long as I thought she would. "Okay. If random people can see me, I guess you can too."

My mouth watered at the prospect. My blood was pumping, making me grow. I hoped it would wear off as we played.

The game was not as close at the previous one had been. She seemed less concentrated. I had won before I knew it.

She looked up at me with a nervous expression, and an odd, crooked little smile. "Now don't start thinking that I lost on purpose. This actually makes me feel a little bit nauseous," she said.

I felt strangely lightheaded. Blood that had gone to other places during the game started flowing downwards again. Luckily, I was wearing jeans that put my hard-on securely against my body. It didn't show too much. I tried to put her at ease, "you don't ha-"

She cut me off. "Shut up. Don't act like this isn't what you dream of at night. I will show you. I won't start breaking the rules of our game now."

"Alright," was all I could think to say. I wasn't sure if she meant that I had been dreaming of her, specifically or just the scenario in general. She took her phone from the top of one of the piano's and scrolled for a second. I didn't want to come closer, for fear of appearing too eager. Instead I fiddled with my hands a bit.

"I have one. Come," she said. I walked over to the other side of the table, heart pounding. I came to stand next to her. There was only about a hand's distance between us. I could see the individual fibres of her shirt. The outlines of her nipples against the fabric showed clearly. What would they look like? Pink or darker? Would her areolas be big or smaller? I would see within seconds, probably. Her scent was clear, standing so close. It clouded my mind, making it hard to form words.

She leaned. Her shoulder touched my chest. Her eyes darted to the sides, touching mine. Big and green. "You cannot make fun of me. I will not be your friend if you do." Her voice trembled ever so slightly. She was actually very nervous. She showed me her phone.

The image she showed was a girl standing shin-deep in a lake. Her face was turned away, only her jawline showing. The rest of her body was showing though. She was completely naked. I realized that this was in Finland. The picture had been made here. Somehow that made it feel more real.

The first thing that caught my eyes was her bush. It was dark brown and a bit wild. Her outer labia were obscured, but their outline was visible. Pronounced. Her legs were quite pale, but looked strong. Flexed as she kept balance on the rocks. The image of her pussy, barely veiled, went straight through my body. My heart pumped vigorously, making me face feel hot. I was very hard now, I realized. It would be showing. She breathed audibly next to me.

My attention shifted to her stomach. It too was pale, but gorgeous. Her sides dipped inwards, from her but. Hour-glass. She looked like a Greek statue a bit. Not too skinny, a little muscular. There was a line of three mosquito bites above her right hip. Making her look more real.

Then I looked at her boobs. They werelike her stomach. Greek-ish. Not obscenely big. I could lick them fully, with one movement of my tongue. One boob had three birthmarks. One on the top of her cleavage, two on the outside. One bigger, one smaller. The other boob was completely unmarked. The contrast was aesthetic somehow. Each breast a distinct personality. Her nipples were small and rosypink. Hard. From the cold water I assumed.

Her shoulders were unexpectedly muscular. She had told me she had a corona workout-phase, but I hadn't seen it as much before. Her arms were toned. Them I knew, but they were in context now. Her whole body was. A full picture.

"You are beautiful," I said simply.

"You are just saying that because you have to," she said neutrally.

"I... I..." I stumbled. There was no sense in arguing. "Do you know what you are doing to me?" The way I said it a desperate little cry.

That caught her attention. "What am I doing to you?" She asked quietly.

"I don't know," I continued. The words falling from my lips. A cascade. "I feel hot. Sweaty. I feel like there is too much blood in my body. Not enough blood. In my brain. I-"

"Does looking at me make you horny?" Still quiet. A bit like a cat. Purring. Her body seemed tense, like she needed to stretch it desperately.

"... Yeah," I said, letting out a sigh.

She glanced downwards. "Really? It doesn't show so much you know." She said it in a peculiar voice. I looked too. It wasn't to clear, but there was definitely a bump visible. A slight strain on the denim. She was teasing me now, I realized.

"What?" I responded. I was following her lead. "Do you want to confirm?"

"How?" She asked.

"Feel it," I said.

She stepped closer to me. Her forehead was at my nose and she looked up at me. There was a little bit of innocent schoolgirl in her eyes. They were just so big. Her pupils were dilated, pools of blackness. She put her hand on my crotch, fingers down, palm up. She didn't grab, she just pressed.

"Hmmm," a purr again. "So that is because of me?"

Something occurred to me then. "I didn't actually see your face in the picture. It could have been anyone. I can't answer your question honestly." I said it softly, because she was so close. There was a smile in my words.

She was silent for a second. She made a slight movement with her thumb, and I groaned. "Do you want to see it in real life?"

"More than anything," I answered, tortured.

"Win then," she said with a grin. She scampered back to her side of the table. As her hand left my crotch I felt cold. Suddenly, I was in mid-air, falling uncontrollably. She was in control of the situation. I had shown her part of my desire and she had held it in her hands. She could crush me if she wanted to. But there was no going back.

"What do you want then?" I asked. The exchange was just a façade at that point. Foreplay maybe.

"You are horny for me, you said. I want you to tell me what you would want to do with me. Just your fantasy mind you. Don't get your hopes up."

Maybe she didn't want me. Maybe she was just playing with me. Still, my brain was overflowing. I saw her on her back, legs opened, even her bush not able to hide what was underneath. Her labia folded open. Wet. For me. Dripping slowly to her asshole.

And there was more. Way more. It was too much. Shameful, some of it. But I couldn't get lost in it now.

I tried to calm myself again. "Okay," I said.

She continued. "It can't just be that you want to fuck me either. I want more. I want to know what you really want. In detail."

Fuck. The word with new meaning this time, because it was about her. Did she want it? Would I tell her what I really wanted? Could I bear too? Would she judge me?

"Fine," I said. "Let's play."

Our game was bad this time. We were unconcentrated, the ball gliding past after every serve. There was no sense in it anymore. After five rounds I said. "I can't. I can't play anymore."

She looked disappointed. She started to say something, but I continued. "Maybe... Maybe we can both win this time?"

She didn't consider long. "Okay," she answered.

There was a silence then. Both of us hesitant to start.

"Who goes first?" She asked.

Silence again. Somewhere in the building I heard footsteps. I couldn't tell her. The words just wouldn't leave my mouth.

"Ill do it." She finally said.

"Where?" I asked.

"Where do you think?" She answered fatefully. "You are a dumb guy sometimes." She walked around the table and grabbed my hand. Her hand felt delicate in mine, but she held it with force.

"Maybe you can sing me a ballad after," she said as we entered the room with the bed and the guitar. She locked the door behind us.

She turned to face me. "Don't say anything until I say you can. You might ruin the moment otherwise." I felt the weight of it then. We had crossed the border out of the zone of friendship a while ago, but it only became apparent in that moment. Which land we had entered instead, I didn't know. She started unfastening her belt.

Her pants dropped to the floor, and she stepped out of the pile of blue and grey. Her legs were pale as they had been on the picture. She didn't shave her legs, and her hair became a bit more visible and darker the lower it went. A contrast with the marble of her skin.

I could see her underwear. Her pubic hair was visible on the sides. There was a big wet stain colouring the blue panties a shade darker. When she saw me look, she blushed. "I am so wet, Eli." When she said my name, my knees almost gave away.

"It is a bit uncomfortable in a way," She continued. "It almost feels like it is running along my legs. Maybe it was. Everything is engorged. It rubs together and gives me shivers. I couldn't play anymore either."

"Look at my eyes," she said, commanding. I did. She removed her glasses. They had such a strength that they made her eyes appear smaller than they actually were. The whites where whiter than any I had seen before. They had all the colours of a forest. The outsides were the dark green of the underbrush and the insides the colour of spring-leaves. I could wander in them for an eternity. Lost.

She took off her shirt, peeling it inside out hiding her eyes. My gaze shifted downwards immediately. Her boobs. They were round. I felt a bit caveman in my thinking. Only able to process shapes and sizes. But they were beautifully round. And pale. And her nipples that poked through her tops most days were perfectly proportioned. They were so suckable. They looked delicious.

Her stomach. The way she stood with her back arched, her stomach a bit round. A little tense. Stomach muscles showing.

She lowered her arms to her sides, shirt dropping on to the floor. Her eyes fixed on mine again. "Do you like them? You can say something. Just one thing."

"Of course," I answered.

She smiled a confident smile. "Good," she said. "I am going to get naked for you now Eli. Do you like that?"

"Yes," was all I could offer. A sigh in the back of my throat.

"Good," she said again. Then, she hooked her thumbs under the thing layer of fabric that rounded her hips. She bent over, shimmied it down. Her breasts became teardrops as gravity shifted them. She pushed her underwear away with her foot. When she came up again, she was naked.

Her pubic hair. I found it incredibly attractive. It was a triangle. The hair formed a natural wavy pattern on both sides that moved to the middle. It was thicker there, curly. It moved down to her labia. I could see her outer lips clearly. A bit of her inner lips poked through further back, but they were obscured.

And she was wet. Some grool showed in the curly hairs. I wanted to lick it. I wanted to see more. Spread her. Put things between her legs. Myself. Anything.

She looked at my. A mix of bashfulness and eagerness showed on her face now. "Now you tell me what you would want to do with me," she said.

I groaned. I was uncomfortably hard now. "I...," I hesitated. "I want to say things to you."

"What things?" Her tone was encouraging. She wanted me to tell her things that were on my mind. Dirty things I had only dreamed of saying. They were things I could only have said to her in that moment, because she seemed desperate for it. Desperate for something beyond the normal.

"I want to tell you that you have been such a good girl for me."

At the words good girl she made a low 'ah' sound. Nasal. It seemed involuntary.

"Really?" She asked.

"Yes. But I know inside you are a little slut inside. I know you want me. Isn't that right?"

"Yeah..." She answered. A high weak little sound.

"You can have me," I said. "But you have to do what I say. Exactly what I say."

"But that is okay. I know that is what you want."

"It is," she said softly. Her eyes were round and wide. I knew that she had led me to this situation. If anyone had been in control of the situation, it had been her. But now she was giving it up. She was giving herself over to the situation. She was giving herself to me. For me to use. That is what she wanted. That more than anything, turned me on. It bolstered me in my desires. It made me feel powerful and courageous.

"I want you to get on the bed and spread your legs for me," I said.

Liv looked vulnerable in the harsh bright lights of the room. And small. She was fully naked and I was still fully dressed. "Eli..." She said. She looked up at the lamp, which illuminated every last corner of the room. "No one has ever seen me this wet."

"Does it make you feel embarrassed?" I asked.

She blushed. "A little." She shifted. Her legs crossed.

"But you still want me to see, don't you?" I said.

"Uuh," she groaned. Her gaze shifted downwards. "Yeah."

"Then be a good girl and get on the bed for me."

Again those words seemed to trigger something in her. She obeyed immediately. She sat down on the bed, shifted backwards and looked me in the eyes for a second. A final resistance. Then she looked away and opened her legs.

Her pussy unfolded before me like ripe fruit. Everything glistened. Her lips were a pinkish red and looked full of hot blood. Like I had seen in my imagination, a line of moisture trickled down to her asshole.

I let her sit there for one second, two seconds, three... until she started to move, uncomfortable.

"El-" she started saying, but I cut her off. "You need to be patient."

Again she groaned.

Again I waited. She remained silent. Her pussy was shiny in the light. Every hair was visible.

I moved closer. I got onto my knees before the bed. Her pussy was right in front of me. I could smell her arousal. The smell was thick, I could almost touch it. Lick it. I moved closer still. My face was now centimetres from her folds. "You are beautiful," I said breathing out.

She could feel the hot air from my mouth. It made her shudder.

"Eli I need... I need you to touch me. I want you on my clit. I want you inside me." She was desperate.

I put a finger on the inside of her thigh, near her knee, as softly as I could. "You need to be patient for me Liv," I said. I traced my finger downward my fingertip glided over her skin. She moaned softly.

When I came near her pussy I lifted my finger. She moaned again, lower. I moved higher, brushing her pubic hair and landing on her belly. I traced higher still, around her breasts, along her sides. I repeated the journey, gliding over her skin. Occasionally her hips would rock, desperate for contacts. Her moans became louder, more desperate.

Her face was still turned away. Her cheeks were an almost bright red. Her eyes were closed. Parts shame, parts desire, parts pleasure. I called her name. "Liv."

She looked at me.

"I need you to look at me now."

"Okay," she murmured.

Her green eyes fixed on mine expectantly. I put my fingers in my mouth, middle and ring finger, slowly. Still with our eyes locked, I lowered my hand. I touched her pussy then. Low, near her entrance. I slid along her slit, gathering moisture. Then her clit.

Her eyes closed reflexively. She moaned high. "Uuhp." I warned. "Liv."

Her eyes shot open again. "Sorry," she said.

"Be good now," I said commandingly.

Slowly I went down again. And then finding my way between her folds, I moved my fingers inside her. She made high noises, "Ah, ah, ah." Three in a row. Here eyes still on mine. "Do you like that?" I asked. I moved slowly, in and out, curling my finger.

"Yes... please, please, please. Eli, please."

"Please what?" I asked.

"Please..." she groaned. Her eyes were still on mine, desperately clinging to something. "Please make me cum."

"Maybe. If you behave," I said.

Her sounds came tortured, from deep inside. Guttural. "Uugh... what do I need to do for you? Please. Tell me."

"I want you to touch yourself," I said. "Touch yourself how you would if you are alone. Masturbate for me. Tell me how it feels. Tell me what you think about."

Her breath hitched. "Okay," She replied unsteadily. Then in a weak voice. "It makes me feel so exposed. No one has ever seen me like that. And the things I think about..." Her eyes fluttered away, left to right.

"Liv," I said, recapturing her gaze. "That is the point." I withdrew my fingers from her. She squeezed, as if she was trying to keep my fingers inside of her. When my fingers left her, she shuddered.

She breathed hard. "Okay, okay... I'll be good. I promise."

I took a step back. I looked at her expectantly. "You can look away from me if you want."

She turned her face, pressed it into her own shoulder. Her hips were making small little rocking motions, desperate for something that wasn't there. With one hand she grabbed her breast and squeezed hard. She moaned high. Her other hand trailed down her belly.

Softly she started talking, almost as if to herself. "I really am embarrassed to talk about these things. Because I am really a little slut inside. I think about sex... All. The. Time"

She was trailing two fingers over her outer labia. Her hips continued in a slow rhythmic motion, like she needed the movement to express the energy contained inside her.

"When I meet a new person," She continued, hoarse. "The first thing I think about is sex. How do they look naked. What does his dick look like? Does she shave or not?" She was circling her clit then. A small luxurious movement, occasionally dipping downward to collect moisture. "How would it feel to have his dick in the back of my throat? Or to have him slide inside me?"

My body was tingling looking at her. I felt uncomfortable in my clothes. The sensations were too much. I took off my shirt. She looked up at me, but continued. "At night. I think of people fucking me. I use my vibrator, but it is almost not enough. I feel insatiable. I need more. I want forbidden things."

Again the word 'fucking'. It felt wild this time. Almost out of control. I unfastened my belt and slipped off my pants and underwear. I was completely erect. My foreskin was slightly pulled back from the arousal. My gland was shiny with precum. Her eyes dipped downward from my face, and she put two fingers inside herself, hard. Her midriff shuddered and she made a sound that was most similar to a growl. '

"I fantasize about my professors, fucking me after class. I imagine I go on my knees for them after class. I imagine they pull on my hair, almost painful, shoving their dick deeper inside my throat. They are grateful they can use a little student like me. Their eyes wild. It's better because I look so innocent and small." Her movements were not rhythmic anymore, but frantic.

The uncomfortable feeling in my body only became worse with her words. It all concentrated on my dick. I needed to touch myself. I grabbed and pulled my foreskin down, but almost buckled. I couldn't. I would cum too quickly.

"But sometimes that isn't even enough," she said. "I need more. Sometimes people are watching. Students. Friends. They call me a whore. And I know they are right. I want to have them in my mouth while I am being fucked from behind. I want to be filled until I explode." She was fucking herself with her fingers then. Moving in and out fast. Her pussy was shiny and made little slurping sounds. The movements of her body jagged. Dangerously close.

"Liv," I said. "You can't cum yet."

She gasped, and she withdrew her hand abruptly. Her vagina was open and convulsed, like it was gasping for air. She looked at me almost pathetically. Her voice then was a whisper, "Will you please, please, fuck me."

Fuck. She wanted me to fuck her. I stepped closer. She turned on the bed and rolled over. She pressed her face in the bed groaning, lifting her hips a little. She wanted me to take her from behind. She needed it. I put my knee on the bed and slid over her.

My body aligned with hers. It felt warm and sweaty. She smelled like sex. My dick rested between her ass cheeks, and I started to make small motions. My face was close to her mouth. "What about pro-," I started.

She whimpered, "please just..." It was so soft. Like it was all she had left in her. That was it. I couldn't think straight. I felt animalistic. I needed to have her, take her, use her. I moved back and forth and she lifted her hips. I went in almost automatically.

It was warm, wet, hot. A world of its own. Soft and buoyant. Billowing. Thick red drapes with endless space behind. Moving outwards thickly. Resistant. Giving way easily. almost no resistance.

She grunted as I moved. It was not elegant or pretty. Not girly. It was primal. Womenly. From a deep deep place. It was so sexy, I almost came immediately. My own breath was ragged as well, panting. I pulled her hair. Maybe too hard. Maybe not hard enough. With one hand she grabbed the matrass, knuckles white. With her other hand she grabbed my ass, demanding. Pushing me deeper inside.

It couldn't last long like this. I wanted to feel her contract around me. I needed to be quick. I slid my other hand between her body and the mattress, downward, looking for her clit. Cupping her. Her pubic hair pressed into my palm. My finger found their way between her lips. There was no subtlety. I wasn't capable. Just pressure and some movement.

Moments passed. She grunted with every thrust. Me too, but not as aware. Then she came.

Her abdomen clenched hard, and I felt her vaginal walls contract around me. Then she bucked, staccato movements, one wave, a second, I lost count. Somewhere I had the wherewithal to pull out. I kept her surrounded with my body tightly, my hand still on her pussy, keeping pressure. It went on for a while. Her face moved from side to side pressed in the mattress. Then finally, she breathed out, long, and went still.

We lay there for a bit. Warm where we pressed together. My body was sweaty, my back my ass wet.

Then, soft but forcefully, she said, "I want your cum on me."

She pushed with one arm and turned around. Her eyes had a deeper colour, still wild and hungry. I kissed her. My mouth was filled with too much spit. Hers too. Still animalistic. It was more tongue than lips. As deep as possible. Out mouths and tongues hard and pushing. She grabbed my dick tightly, and started moving. It was immediately too much. "I will cum if you go on like that," I said.

She didn't stop. I moved back a bit so I could see her eyes. "Cum for me," she whispered.

All I could see was green. I was completely defenceless. I came. Thick spurts of cum on her belly, her boobs, her neck, one wave touched her lips. It was so much. How couldn't it be. I had been so aroused, for so long.

She smiled a sweet smile and licked the cum that touched her lips.

We were like that for a bit. Me over her. Her body covered with my cum. Looking into each other's eyes.

"That was beautiful," she finally said.