Chapter 27: Andre

Chapter Cast:

Carrie Minberg, Female, 22
- Narrator, Bitterwood graduate
- Beige, freckled skin, 5'6, 130lbs, curly back-length dark-red hair
Lacy, Female, 22
- Junior at UC-Santa Cruz, sister of Donnie
- Rich-tanned beige skin, 5'7, 145lbs, back-length bleached-blonde hair
Harrison, Male, late-30s
- Post-Grad at UC-Santa Cruz, Lacy's boyfriend
- Pale skin, 5'4, 155lbs, short medium-brown hair
Andre Williamstone, Male, early-40s
- Professor at UC-Santa Cruz
- Dark-brown skin, 6'1, 215lbs, shaved bald head

Lacy and Harrison were spending the day on the beach, and I planned to join them after I went to a doctor's appointment. When I'd let Donnie cum in me, I knew in the back of my mind that I was not protected. I don't know what I'd have done if I'd become pregnant. Thankfully, it had happened just a couple of days before my period, so my fertility was at its lowest. I knew that it was just a matter of time before I wanted that feeling again, and I didn't want to take the chance of becoming pregnant.

My doctor gave me a Depo-Provera shot and told me that it would be effective within a week. I practically skipped out the door and caught a bus down to the waterfront, soon joining Lacy and Harrison to soak up the sun.

I spent the next couple of weeks working a lot and hanging out on the beach near the pier. I turned 22 and Lacy had taken me out for a night on the town. She had not invited me again into their relationship, and that was okay. Even if we never had a threesome again, it was clear it had only made them grow closer, and I was thrilled to have been the one to share that night with them. I cared about Lacy greatly, and not just because I enjoyed sharing a bed with her. I wanted her to be happy, and so far, Harrison had been a great boyfriend.

I talked to a few people through the rest of July and into August. I wasn't looking to jump into bed with anyone, though there were a couple of nights where I considered it. The timing was off, and it didn't happen, but I was content to wait and pick my next partner.

I'd been invited, along with Lacy and Harrison, to a beach party happening somewhere south of Monterrey on a Friday night during the first week of August. People I'd met near the pier had mentioned it casually, then asked me to come. They were an attractive group of men and women in their late-30s or early-40s, and there were several who showed a polite interest in me. They'd said to bring any friends I cared to, and I'd invited Lacy and Harrison a few days before they left for Vancouver.

The party was raging by the time we arrived. A couple of fire pits were roaring on the sand in front of a groovy house with steps running down onto the beach. We'd brought chairs and mixers, and quickly settled in around one of the fires and poured cosmos for anyone who wanted one.

I chatted with a woman and her husband who were clearly drunk and clearly interested in doing more than chatting. I wore a summer skirt in the warm August evening, and I couldn't help that it regularly rose up with the breeze blowing in off the surf. The woman's eyes were drawn to my briefly-exposed underwear as often as were her husband's.

But I wasn't really there to get picked up, though I knew another drink or two might change my mind. Mostly, I was enjoying the company of Lacy and Harrison since they would leave for Canada in a few days and be gone for two weeks. I knew I would miss Lacy's friendship. She and I had bonded really well that year, and she'd been a really understanding friend when I was a mess.

I thought again about whether I was interested in a threesome with husband and wife who were clearly flirting with me. I was aroused, as always, but it wasn't what I wanted. I politely ignored the woman's comment that my panties "didn't cover much, and why should they!" She was attractive, to be sure, but I didn't feel like being led off to play with them so early in the night. I excused myself and walked down to the surf, cosmo in hand as I felt my buzz growing.

A tall black man was nearby. I'd seen him before near the pier in Santa Cruz. I couldn't recall his name, but he was well built, probably early-40s, and carried himself with a casual ease that suggested he was both confident and easy to approach. He smiled at me a moment, then strode off down the beach away from me.

In the darkness, I hadn't realized he was pissing until I saw his silhouette turn towards the surf well down the sand from where I was. While I couldn't see anything detailed, it was obvious he was urinating into the surf.

I found myself surprisingly turned on to watch. He finished quickly and I saw him run his hands into the water a moment before walking slowly back in my direction. I found myself needing to go suddenly, and as my buzz got a bit stronger, I found myself approaching him with a question.

"So ... is that where the ladies go, too?"

He stopped and looked a bit embarrassed. "Oh? Uh, I suppose. Sorry, didn't know you could see me..."

I waved my hand to dismiss his concerns. "Didn't see a thing. Just realized I need to do the same."

It was the strangest conversation starter I'd tried to that point in my life.

He chuckled, his voice deep and smooth. "Gotcha. Be sure to flush."

I laughed, said, "I'm Carrie. Think we've met a time or two at the pier."

"Of course. Carrie. I remember you. Andre. Nice to see you again."

I was squirming by then, said, "I'll ... be right back," and rushed down the beach to where I thought he wouldn't see me drop down and lower my panties, quickly urinating along the edge of the surf. I felt greatly relieved to see that he had walked back up to the party instead of watching me piss, although part of me kinda wished he'd stayed to watch my dark silhouette doing something naughty.

I let my urine drip as best I could and pulled up my panties, wishing I had some tissue with me. I righted my skirt and picked up my drink, returning to the fire.

I spotted Andre nearby and I thought he looked very handsome. His skin was even and dark-brown. His head was shaved bald and he wore a thin beard and mustache on his face. I was reminded briefly of my high school boyfriend Michael, and stopped myself before I started reliving old memories again.

I chatted with Lacy, Harrison, and a group of people I had met earlier for a time, my eyes regularly drawn to where Andre spoke with a few others. His glass was empty, and mine was as well.

I grabbed the liquor and mixers and headed over to him.

"Andre, hey." I said, trying not to seem overly eager. "Noticed you were dry, care for a cosmo?"

He smiled and turned towards me, his broad shoulders obvious in better light. "I'd love one." His body language suggested he was open to a conversation about more than pissing.

"So what do you do, Andre?" I asked as I handed him a glass.

"I teach Literature at UCSC."

"Literature ... that was my major..." I stopped before I started rattling off the usual excuses I gave for dropping out of school. "What specifically?"

"Undergrads mostly, so it is a mix. Victorian, French works, some Russian classics." Andre sipped from his glass. "You studied Literature?"

"Yes. I had courses which included Victorian and Russian. I especially enjoyed Nabokov and Radishchev. At Bitterwood, they encouraged us to be widely read, so I took in a lot from all over."

"You're a Bitterwood graduate, then? Few better places in the world to prepare for university. My son is attending the Amsterdam campus in a couple of years. Did you go there? Did you study under Jonn Magisun, by chance?"

I nearly choked on my drink. I'd spent one night with Jonn outside of courses where we shared more than just a love for literature. "Ah ... yes. Professor Magisun was one of my favorites. It's where I learned to love Russian works."

"And are you now in school?"

"I..." It was hard to admit to this beautiful, intellectual man that I was not. "No ... not currently." He stared at me a moment, waiting for me to continue. "It's complicated. I went to Harvard for a while, but some things happened ... in my family ... I don't want to talk about it."

He nodded his head. "Of course. You must be quite talented in your field. Bitterwood and Harvard. That's world class, Carrie. Will you return to study? I hope you don't let that all be wasted."

"I will. I want to go back. I came out here to get away from ... things." I came to California to run away from the damage I'd done to Elise and to my academic standing, but I told Andre none of that truth. "My friend Donnie is a grad student at Berkley, he's a Lit major as well. He wants me to go there when I'm ready."

"Berkley is a fine place, but as you might expect, I have to suggest you consider Santa Cruz, as well. A world-class university in its own right. We're more known for the Physics and Astronomy department, but, if you don't mind me saying, we have some of the best and brightest professors you'll find anywhere. At least consider it. When you are ready to return."

I was already considering it. I had unconsciously taken a step forward. I'd noticed the man wore no ring on his left hand, and I couldn't help being stimulated by a man so perfect in so many ways.

There was a brief lull in our conversation, and I tried to fill it quickly. "Do you think Nabokov was writing a love story?" We'd had that discussion both in and out of class at Bitterwood, and it was something I hoped I could sound half-way intelligent about.

Andre smiled and I melted a little. I'd hit on something he enjoyed talking about. "Walk with me, let's discuss Nabokov."

He excused himself from the group and we slowly strolled to the water as he shared his thoughts on the famous book about a man narrating memories of his obsessive relationship with a twelve-year old girl. I couldn't help feeling a young girl myself as the older man talking with me made me tingle and grow excited by his presence. My puss was becoming very wet.

We moved from Nabokov to Radishchev and eventually back to my college career. He showed a real interest in my life, and though I didn't share most of the details with him, I tried to be honest when I could.

"If you do decide to return to your studies, I can help you at UCSC. I'd love for you to come study with me. You have a sharp mind, Carrie, and I suspect that, in the right situation, you can be an exceptional student. I'd love to have you," there was just the briefest of pauses, "in my class."

He stopped walking and I felt my heart skip as he turned towards me. I thought he was going to kiss me. Instead, he said, "I should go back, I ... I don't want you to think this is anything more than a shared interest in great authors. You're a lovely young woman, Carrie, and I'm ... more intoxicated than is usual for me. I'm sorry if I've said or done anything untoward."

I was crushed, but I didn't let it show. "Oh, no. Not at all. I really enjoyed this. I don't have many chances to talk to someone with such knowledge of Nabokov and Tolstoy. I miss that a lot."

He stared at me just a second, then nodded. "Good. Well ... shall we?"

Andre led the way back to the party and I felt disappointment grow that he'd cut off so abruptly what might have been growing between us.

I shared a tent with Lacy and Harrison that night, the two of them passed out near me long before I felt myself begin to relax. Andre was perfect in so many ways, and it was more than just his beautiful brown skin and tall frame that drew me to him. He was experienced, knowledgeable about literature, and he spoke to me in a way that made me feel like my interest in that subject was something which made me special. I wanted him very strongly in those moments.

The young woman in me struggled to be okay with that. Despite my ability to hold back from being drawn into other intimate relationships that night, I found that I wanted badly to kiss Andre and show him just how much I'd enjoyed our conversation. I'd already been fantasizing about spending a couple of weeks with the man while Lacy and Harrison were away. I knew it was silly, that he had his work, and I had nothing but a relatively brief interaction with him, but I'd started to dream again, and I couldn't help that I latched hard onto something which had so many things right, at least on the surface.

"There was a message for you earlier," Lacy told me when I got home from work the night before she and Harrison were to leave for Vancouver. "I left the details by the phone."

I thought nothing of it immediately and went upstairs to take a shower and change clothes. Back down in the kitchen, I took the note and read it. Lacy's handwriting was delicate and easy to read.

"Andre Williamstone – for Carrie – phone number..."

I stood still a moment before I let it sink in that Andre wanted me to call him back. I felt giddy a second before I realized it might have less to do with a personal connection and likely meant he wanted to sell me again on going to UCSC. I shrugged, the moments days before in his company had faded a bit, though I certainly had not let go completely the man's charm.

I called the number and he answered immediately, "hello?"

"Mr. Willi-- uh ... Andre. Hi. It's Carrie."

"Carrie. Wonderful to hear from you. Look, I'm sorry I called without asking first. I got your number from your friend Donovan. It turns out that he has been in a shared course of which I am one of the professors, and I asked him if he knew you. Again, I'm sorry for being so forward."

"Donovan? Oh, Donnie. Not a problem, Andre. How are you?"

He went right to his reason for calling. "UCSC is hosting a reading from the works of Alexander Pushkin. Do you know his work?"

"The poet? I've heard of him, but I don't know that I've read him."

"He's one of the very best Russian poets, well, really, one of the best poets period. One of my favorites. I thought you might enjoy attending?" It was a question rather than a statement, and Carrie wondered which level of their relationship this represented.

"When?"

"Tomorrow night, 8pm. It's on campus. Closed to the public, but you can attend as my guest, if you wish."

"Sure. I'd love to. Uh..." I had no car but I had gotten to know the bus schedule quite well. "I'll have to catch a bus down to campus. Where can I meet you?"

"If it isn't too forward ... perhaps I can pick you up? Save us time trying to find each other later."

I smiled to myself. "That would be great. Thanks for thinking of me, Andre. Sounds fun."

"Fantastic. I'll need your address." I gave him my location in Boulder Creek. "Ah," he said, "I am only a couple of miles south of you. I'll see you around 7:30, then?"

"I'll be ready. Thanks again."

"My pleasure. Take care, Carrie."

"You too."

I raced outside to where Lacy was sipping tea and swinging on the porch swing. "I called Andre, we have a date tomorrow." It sounded rather silly as I said it. Nothing we'd spoken about suggested it was really a date.

"That's great! Andre ... Andre..."

"I met him at the beach party in Monterrey. Tall black guy, professor at Santa Cruz."

Her eyes sparkled as she said, "oh, I remember him. Very distinguished in his collared shirt and slacks at a beach party ... so ... first date?"

I shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe it's not a date. I'm not sure. He invited me to a poetry recital. He knows I love Russian lit and he thought of me. I dunno, Lacy. I thought we were connecting that night, but he did kinda shut it down at one point. I think maybe it's not a date."

Lacy tilted her head and looked at me like I was a sad puppy. "Think you kinda like him, though. Don't get your heart broken Carrie. I'll have to go kick him in the nuts if he does that to you."

I laughed, replied, "oh, I know. I know. I just ... I do like him, but I barely know him. We just kinda ... connected, I dunno. He's beautiful, don't you think?"

Lacy pursed her lips, then nodded.

"And he a Lit professor who loves Russian authors, which you know are my favorites."