Phil Young’s academic life was starting to hit a high note. His first year of grad school had been general physics, with only one course in Quantum Mechanics. He’d taken Group Theory, too, which -- however necessary for QM -- wasn’t even physics. Now, he was taking courses in what he wanted to understand.

His social life, on the other hand, wasn’t going so great. Amy, who had so brightened the previous year, had graduated. She was somewhere in Nebraska teaching school. He was teaching a discussion session of Physics 101. Marguerite, pretty and easily the brightest girl in the section, was underage. He’d looked her up -- as quasi-faculty, he could do so -- and she wouldn’t 18 until early December. Besides, his faculty adviser had warned him against “fraternizing” with anybody in his section.

The classes he was taking were hopeless as hunting grounds. There were more men than there were women in his classes. There were probably more Pakistani men than there were tits in his classes. And every one of those few women was taken, two by each other.

He’d go dancing. At least the clubs in Rollo would keep the underage girls out. He’d see a lot of shaking tits there, though he probably wouldn’t get to touch any. Anyway, it was Friday night, and he was tired of thinking.

The Bouncer at The Blood Orchid seemed to be doing his job. At least he turned a guy and a girl away while Phil was waiting in line. Phil showed his picture student ID and got in immediately. The dance floor was crowded, and he found a partner for the first dance that started after he got there. She was well-built, but she had no moves. If they’d been standing still, he would have kept looking at her. As it was, he moved on.

The prettiest girl on the floor looked to be just that, a girl. Shit! his younger sister had been that tall before she entered high school. On the other hand, she was there, and those tits sure looked like a woman’s. And they moved like they were real.

Her partner moved off, and Phil moved in. She accepted him, and they danced two dances. He offered her a drink, and she said she wanted a Manhattan. When she got it, though, she sipped it.

He gave her his names, both names as a hint. She didn’t take the hint, or -- more likely -- rejected it. She identified herself as Tanya. Well, if he wasn’t going to get a last name, he wasn’t going to get a phone number, either. Still she wasn’t looking around for another partner, and she talked intelligently. If she pulled the draw-the-male-out stunt, he enjoyed talking about himself. He’d be glad to talk about anything, though, if he could do it while looking at her.

Back on the dance floor, looking at her was even better. When she moved, her tits moved, though not quite in the same direction. Then, too, he could see them while looking into her face when they were standing up. He’d been hassled about looking at girls’ tits rather than their faces since high school, and he didn’t want to offend this one.

“How tall are you, anyway?” she asked him. The record was over, and they could hear each other. She might have been reading his mind about looking down.

“Six-three, and you?”

“A little less.” She sounded ashamed. Didn’t Tanya know she was a prefect doll? “Almost five feet.” That made her sound so young! He could remember spending ten months as ‘almost 16’ once.

Still, it was the club’s business to screen the underage. What he would really like, was to take her somewhere and get in some serious time with her. If she wouldn’t give him her last name, she wasn’t likely to give him that. A shame, though. Her lips looked so pretty that he wanted to see how they tasted. Well, still he could sit with her some more.

“Want another drink?” he asked.

“Not really,” she said. “I like to keep a clear head.” A clear head for what? He’d danced stoned out of his skull. Liquor was different, but she’d had one Manhattan.

“Well,” he said. “We could get Cokes.” Why did she need a clear head? had she driven? He could stop worrying about her age, though. Nobody who had gone to the trouble of getting a fake ID had done so to drink one cocktail. “Or we could keep dancing.” Could it be a clear head for what he hoped? Did she want a clear head to fuck? Of course, she might want a clear head to be sure she could avoid fucking. Still, that sounded like she was prepared to do some serious making out. Well, give it a try. “Or...” She could ignore it if she just wanted to keep dancing.

“Or?” She sounded curious, not flirtatious, but not suspicious, either.

“How would you like to go for a walk?” Now it was out there. She could take it. Of course, she could walk away from him, too, but that was already a risk. Better that she left him because she didn’t want as much interaction as she would get with him than because she wanted more than she thought she could get with him.

“With you? I’d like that.” She’d said yes! Since it was Indian summer, they didn’t have any coats. They just walked out. He took her hand and led her in the general direction of his apartment. As there were plenty of leaves on the trees, the lawn side was in deep shadow. He passed two opportunities just talking, but when they came to a tree shaded from its house as well as the sidewalk, she followed him into the shadow willingly.

Her lips tasted as good as he’d hoped. Her tongue tasted even better. Her tits were quite real, soft against his chest. He held her head off the trunk of the tree and drank her mouth. He loved her taste, her feel. He wanted more. Well, this wasn’t the place. For one thing, his knees were getting tired of the bending. He led her to the apartment.

In the entryway, with her up three steps and him still on the sidewalk, the kiss was even better. Her tits were soft but firm, alive under his hands. Her mouth tasted even sweeter. Her ass was round and firm. When she tensed it, it was firmer still. He wanted to stroke all of her without these clothes, but they were still on the street.