Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, Heterosexual, Oral Sex, Masturbation, Sex Toys, Slow, School,
Desc: Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Just over 27,000 people live in Laramie, Wyoming, for some reason. Michael is pretty sure he shouldn't be one of them. But then he met Debbie.
If you have a map of the United States of America find New York City (it's on the East Coast.) Now find Los Angeles (its on the West Coast.) Find a spot halfway between the two.
You're close to Laramie, Wyoming.
Now objectively speaking, there is nothing wrong with Laramie, Wyoming. Hell, Laramie is known as the Gem City of the Plains. No. Really.
If you've never been there (or if you work for the Chamber of Commerce) you might even believe that. Hell. I'll bet some people do.
There are five thousand six hundred and eleven families in Laramie. The newest of those is my family. Well, Mom and me.
Mom, god bless (help) her, got a job teaching at the University of Wyoming. The New York Times named the University of Wyoming as one of the best education buys in the nation. That's got to tell you something.
When she announced she was taking the job, Dad looked at mom, then he looked at me, then he looked at a picture of his sloop. Without another word he packed his bags.
I think he's living on or in or with that damn boat.
I came west with mom.
Like I had a choice.
Moving from a real place to a Laramie-like place is 'interesting.' When mom missed our turn and ran out of the 'city' I knew it was trouble. "You've got to be kidding."
"Population 27,297," the sign said.
"Hush!" she said. "You'll like it here."
For two thousand and seven miles she'd been saying that. A tumbleweed blew by the car as we turned around. I kid you not.
You may have gathered that I was not excited about Laramie, Wyoming. You have gathered right. Even before we left Boston I knew it would suck. I was right. "Mom? You know why it's so windy here?"
"Hmm?" she asked.
"Because Laramie sucks."
If she hadn't laughed she'd have been pissed.
And I get a free education here. "Would you like to super size that, ma'am," I began practicing.
"Would you like to order a special value meal today?"
"Here we are," Mom said.
"You looked at this place before we bought it, right mom?"
"Grab my suitcase, too." Maybe two thousand and seven miles of my frustration was playing on her a bit. She seemed happy to be here. That was one of us.
For at least the next four years I was supposed to call this dump home. Shit.
Why would anybody live here? Answer? Because it's fifty miles from Cheyenne. No. Really. Look it up.
We had a couple of weeks to get settled before I had to register and Mom had to start teaching. Mom and I explored a bit... but really, a city with twenty seven thousand people fifty miles from anything doesn't take much exploring.
Mom and I found an old Jeep for me to drive to school. That was kind of cool. One neighbor lady waved a mom the third day. I wrote about it in my diary. Excitement. I could feel my brains curdling.
Surprisingly, the house was nicer inside than out. It was old, but still. My room was pretty big and mom set up the spare room as an office for us. I'd study on one side and she'd grade papers (or whatever) on the other.
We got phones and cable and high-speed Internet and pretty soon it was almost like a home. Except, of course, that Laramie, Wyoming, was right outside the door.
I thought about calling dad and seeing if he needed any crew at least once a day. Sometimes twice.
There are a couple of important facts about the University of Wyoming that you need to know. The first is that the student residence is the highest density living in the entire state. Really. The other thing is there is a pasture on campus where it is still okay to graze your horse. Again, really. I hadn't seen a horse there yet, but still. Oh. And the twelve-story dorm is the tallest residential building in the entire state. And they admit it.
So pretty soon it was time to enroll in this institute of higher learning. To give up all dreams of prestigious matriculation. To become a Cowpoke.
I'm not saying that I could have got in to MIT... but that's where I wanted to go. Not a land grant university (the only university) in the least populated state in the nation.
There were a bunch of us new freshmen milling around when I got to registration. I got into the right lines, filled out the right papers, turned in the right forms, and eventually got to a table with a real live person behind it.
"Hi, sit down!" She said. She smiled. "I'm Barb Alexander, your faculty advisor."
I smiled. "Thanks... uh, Michael," I said. I passed her my packet of paperwork. "Michael Wilson."
"So. Michael. A math major?" She looked at me. A challenge?
She sorted through the paperwork, found my transcripts.
My ACT and SAT scores. I was proud of them.
"Are you living on campus?" she asked.
"No. My mom's new over in Anthropology. Toni Wilson? I'm living with her."
She looked down at my papers again and the up at me and smiled. "I met her. She's nice."
"Well... you're certainly prepared. Minor?"
"I don't know," I said.
"Good enough. It's not that important as a freshman. Hang on." She pulled out a cell phone and dialed a number. After a brief conversation she hung up and explained. "I've got somebody coming to meet you." She scribbled on a form, clicked some keys on her laptop, asked a couple of questions and handed me a proposed schedule. "This is what I'd recommend..."
I glanced at it; it was pretty much what I'd figured from talking with mom. "Looks good to me," I said.
"Then we'll do it." She clicked a few more keys. The printer beside her clicked and buzzed and out popped my schedule for the first semester of college. "And here comes Debbie."
I looked around and didn't see anybody heading our way at first. Then I did. I looked back at Barb Alexander and then back at the person I hoped was Debbie.
It is absolutely amazing what a pair of cowgirl boots and a tight pair of Wranglers can do to a tall blonde.
Wyoming had at least one redeeming feature. I stood up.
"Hi Debbie, this is Michael Wilson. He's a math major and here's his schedule," Barb said. She handed it to the lovely creature.
"Michael, this is Debbie Alexander, she's a Math major, too. A junior. She's your student advisor."
I looked from Debbie to Barb. "Alexander?"
"And she's my daughter," Barb said.
"Hello Michael," Debbie said. She didn't quite sound bored.
"Hi," I said (brilliantly.)
She rolled her eyes and then looked at her mom. "I guess I'll take him to The Gardens and get to know him..."
Barb Alexander laughed. "You do that."
"Well. Come on Mike," she said.
"Right. This way."
I picked up my stuff, thanked Debbie's mom, and sort of followed and sort of walked with her over to the Wyoming Union and then followed her down stairs and over to a little coffee shop called "The Garden." Following Debbie was not a chore.
We ordered lattes and picked a small table to sit down. Debbie paid.
I didn't really know how to talk to her. I was in awe of her beauty. She was older than me (and when you're just eighteen, a twenty or twenty-one-year old seems a lot older.) And, from her expression, she didn't seem to like me much. "So..." I started.
She looked at me, waiting for me to go on. Then she laughed. Jesus. She lit up when she smiled. I was wrong. She was only pretty before. Now she was beautiful. "Sorry," she said, still almost giggling. "I'm supposed to be making you feel at ease, not the other way around."
"That's my job, uh, Student Advisor?"
Right. I smiled. "I'm not sure I can feel at ease... with you." Shit. Did I just say that?
Debbie arched her eyebrows. "Are you flirting with me?"
"Well." In for a penny, in for a pound. "Maybe."
She laughed again. That was worth any embarrassment.
"I have a boyfriend. A big boyfriend."
Shit. "Good for you?"
She took a sip of her coffee. "Tell me what you want to get out of the University."
"A ticket to MIT?"
Again she laughed.
"No. Really," I said. "My mom got a job here so we moved... but I wanted to go to MIT."
"Are you good enough?" she asked.
"I don't know..."
"Well. Let's concentrate on what we do know. You're here. What can I do to make things here easier for you?"
A half formed vision of her and me... Uh. Don't go there. "Well. I don't know. What kind of problems will I face?"
And so she told me. We talked about classes, rules, instructors, social life, clubs she liked and clubs she avoided. We talked for three hours. It was fantastic.
But, finally, she had to go.
"Look, Michael. My job is to be here for you if you have any problems. You know?" She handed me a card with her cell number, her home number and her email address on it. "But I like you. If you want to just talk, give me a call, okay?"
"Thanks Debbie. I like you too." And that was no lie.
That night, showering the dust from the wind off I couldn't get Debbie's face, her green eyes, and her tight-fitting Wranglers our of my mind. I couldn't get them off my mind twice.
At least I felt better.
School started. For the most part, my classes were a breeze.
Calculus was my only 2000 level course and it was more difficult than I had thought. The instructor just droned on and on, doing examples with the input of half a dozen students... but he pretty much ignored the rest of us.
I'm pretty smart and I get math. But I wasn't getting him. After a low seventies on the first quiz I had to do something...
"Hi Debbie, it's Michael," I said. It had been almost three weeks since we'd had coffee.
"Hey Michael, what's up?"
So I told her about Calculus.
"Yeah. He's tough. I had him for matrixes and thought I'd become homicidal."
We exchanged views on the instructor's (obvious) lack of skill for a few minutes. At least I wasn't alone.
"Hey," Debbie finally said. "This bitching isn't solving your problem. Why don't you come over and we'll go over the course work and see if we can't get this behind you."
I stumbled. "To your house?"
Debbie laughed and I could visualize her face. "Well, I'd invite you to my office, but they haven't assigned me one yet."
"Where do you live?"
Not that far away. We set a time for the next afternoon and I hung up with a smile. I had a date with Debbie. Of course, she didn't know that...
"Who was that?" Mom asked.
"Debbie Alexander," I said with a big smile.
"Barb Alexander's daughter?" Mom asked, impressed.
"Doesn't she have a boyfriend?"
Shit. "Well..." My smile slipped.
Mom laughed. "Good luck Romeo."
Early the next afternoon I got the Jeep washed and got myself showered and shaved. Two minutes early, I rang Debbie's doorbell.
"Hey," I said when she answered the door. God she's beautiful.
"Come in." She looked out and saw my Jeep. "Nice."
"Yeah, thanks," I said like I hadn't just spent two hours detailing it. "Where do you want me?"
We settled into the kitchen and I pulled out my book, my notebook, and a list I'd spent some time working on that listed what I knew I didn't know. "Of course, I don't know what I may have missed. That's sort of the problem."
So Debbie and I went over the first three weeks of Calculus in about three hours. She knew her stuff and she knew how to explain it. I felt much better about where I was when we were done.
"So," I said as I was putting my books away, "thanks. You wouldn't like to go get something to eat, would you?" Now Laramie is not known as a center for epicurean delights. In fact, the restaurant guide for the city gives space to the Subway sandwich shop.
"What did you have in mind, Mr. Freshman Michael?" Debbie said with a raised eyebrow.
"You'll remember the conversation where I told you I had a boyfriend?"
"So I can't say 'thank you' for your help?"
"That depends," she said with a small smile.
"On where you're thinking of going."
"That restaurant over by K-Mart?"
She laughed. God I love that laugh. "Sherry's?"
"Well. At least you aren't trying to buy my affection." She paused. "Okay. Let's go. But its just dinner, nothing else."
"You don't want dessert?" I asked innocently.
Another laugh. "Just dinner."
I was happy I'd spent the time cleaning the jeep. Debbie noticed. She didn't say anything, but she noticed.
The drive to the restaurant wasn't too long... I mean, this is Laramie, right? We were early for dinner and pretty much had the place to ourselves.
"So tell me about yourself," I asked her after our iced tea arrived.
And she did. She was from California, originally, but her mom had moved to Laramie when she was three or four. She told me about growing up there. About what kids do in Laramie — pretty much what they do anywhere. She told me about high school and being on the track team (which explained the nice view from the back.) She told me a lot.
In exchange, I told her about Boston and taking the train and dad's sloop and playing baseball and swimming and how utterly cut off from the world I felt in Laramie.
When I told her that, she reached over and put her hand on top of mine. Just for a moment but we both blushed. It was great.
"Uh..." she said.
"I'll never wash that hand again," I said solemnly.
"Eeew!" she laughed. And it was okay.
Dinner was pretty good. I certainly couldn't complain... and the company was great. We got around to talking about movies and music and all sorts of things.
Eventually though dinner was over. Bummer.
I paid, left the tip and held the door for Debbie.
"This was not a date," she told me as I held the Jeep's door for her.
Yes it was! "Okay," I said.
"I have a boyfriend."
"Mmm hmm. May I call you tomorrow?"
"You're going to make this hard, aren't you?"
"You're too young for me."
"Debbie," I said, holding up my hands for peace before starting the Jeep. "For right now I'll settle for having you as a friend. I like you Debbie. I'm not trying to make things hard on you..."
I laughed again.
"Shit, shit, shit."
We were almost to her house. "Since we're friends, can I have a friendly kiss?" I asked.
"How about an unfriendly kiss?"
"How about I kiss you and you pretend you don't want me to?"
"This situation is impossible. Behave." But she was smiling.
"How about I call you tomorrow and you can tell me how impossible it is again then?" I asked. I pulled up in front of her house.
"Are you always so forward?" Debbie asked.
I smiled. "No. Let me get your door."
I climbed out, walked around and opened the door for Debbie. "I had a great time this afternoon and this evening," I said. "Thank you for going to dinner with me."
She stepped out. "Thank you for inviting me." She bit her lip. "Talk to you tomorrow?"
Yes! "You're on. About four?"
"Good night," I said.
"Night." And she walked up to her door, waved, and went in.
I did call her the next afternoon... and the next... and the one after that.
It became a habit. I'd come home, study for two hours, call Debbie, study for another hour, have dinner, watch TV and daydream about Debbie, review what I'd studied and go to bed. Calculus was much easier.
In early November I was sitting by myself, again, in the Union having an early lunch when, quite unexpectedly, Debbie sad down across from me.
"Hey you!" she said.
"Wow, you look great!" I said because she did. "What are you doing here slumming with the freshmen?"
She smiled. "I'm not slumming, I'm here with you, aren't I?"
Something had changed. "Yeah," I said. "Hey. I just got back that test," a big one in Calculus.
"How'd you do?"
"Hundred percent, thanks to you."
We chatted a bit but Debbie had a class coming up so she had to run. "Call me tonight?"
As usual? "Of course," I said. "Thanks for stopping by."
She smiled and was gone. What had changed?
I had well over an hour to kill before my next class. I headed for the library. At least it was out of the wind.