Chapter 1

It was a Friday afternoon - about 3. As if I could forget the first time I saw Crystal. I was just sitting there in the UNLV library, re-re-studying my advanced calculus notes, when she sat down at the same table.

She propped open a copy of the current Harvard MBA Journal and began taking notes. She wore loose jeans and a sloppy sweatshirt. Her hair was cornsilk blonde and she wore it in a soft, loose roll at her neck. Probably she could feel my eyes boring into her, because she looked up. When she looked up, there was a "oh no, not another one" look in her eyes. They were a startling dark gray-blue.

She cocked her head to the side: "Hi." It was a short, dismissive remark, and then she bent back to the MBA Journal.

My mouth was dry. I'd hardly even spoken to a girl before. Well I HAD spoken to them, but this was not a girl, exactly. First of all, she looked like a wet-dream come true. OK, I couldn't even see her body with the sloppy sweatshirt, but her face was perfect, and I imagined the rest would be, too. So I thought of her as a Woman. Capital "W".

And she'd actually spoken to me. Probably she just wanted me to stop staring at her. Her eyes had gone back to the Journal before I could raise enough spit in my mouth to re-activate my vocal chords.

"Uh ... MBA Journal, huh?" What a fucking brilliant thing to say!

She didn't raise her head, but she did cut her eyes at me, and a smile crossed her face. Shiny, pale pink lipstick, I noticed immediately. "Uh huh." she said, and went back to taking notes.

It's a good thing I'm a genius, because the vast capability of my mind was working overtime. I was a 17 yr old geek: math, statistics, computer science -- I'd be finished with my undergraduate degree in 2 more semesters. She was an MBA student. Probably in her mid-20s at least. So she was maybe 8 years older than I was.

See? I told you I was a math genius. Over in another part of my brain, the inter-personal control center to be exact, I fashioned another remark. "I'm studying calculus."

OH GOD! Did I say that?!

She looked up, crossed her hands on the table in front of her and smiled again. This time her little pink tongue was just barely visible when she talked. I developed such an immediate, violent hardon that I thought it might move the table.

"I'll tell you what," she said in an overly polite voice. "If you let me finish reading this article, I'll let you finish your calculus... 'K?"

"Uh ... Right." Shot down, and I never even got my engine started. But I WAS still hard.

I looked back at the calculus notes. B-O-R-I-N-G. I watched her move her pencil. WHAMMO! I could see that she was copying down an equation. Even upside-down, I could see the Sigma. Now Greek letters in equations were my thing. I got bold (not to mention stupid) again. "Maybe I could help with some of that."

With an audible sigh, she looked up, put her pencil behind her ear, and stacked her notebook, the journal and her other books with one arm, grabbed the bag at her feet and then stood. "I don't have time for this." She muttered. My blonde (surely by now she was "MINE"!) picked up her stuff and walked away. She stumbled on the carpet and went sprawling ... books and notes everywhere.

I stumbled quickly to my feet, and hurried to help her pick up all her materials. "No look ... REALLY..." I stammered, "Statistics is my thing, and I saw what you were writing and maybe I CAN help. I don't have to be a jerk trying to pick up a gorgeous woman like you. If you want I can just help a little with the math parts. Then I can stop being a jerk, and you can still be gorgeous."

I bent over to help with the picking-up and smelled her faint floral perfume. God but I was in lust! I wound up standing with her notebook in front of the tent in my pants, afraid to give it back and have her notice.

She looked at me again, appraisingly. I was not THAT much of a geek, I knew -- well sorta knew. I worked out at the gym, wasn't coordinated enough to be good at any sports but I pushed stupid metal weights around, and I swam. Somewhere back in my brief time in High School, an older girl had told me if I ever wanted to get laid, I'd have to spend some time away from a PC, and weights and swimming were something I could do on my own. I definitely DID want to get laid -- eventually -- so I took her advice.

And I wasn't a short, zit-faced, guy with tape on his glasses. OK. I wore glasses, but my mother said I looked handsome in them. Plus I looked older than I was -- at least when I wasn't drooling on myself. The only reason I was a geek is that I had this thing about understanding mathematics. And also because I couldn't talk to -- let alone figure out how to get permission to touch -- a girl. Now I was inches from a capital "W" Woman who was beautiful and wearing soft perfume.

"All right," said the Woman of my sudden, lustful intentions, "if you can get me to understand this Six Sigma Quality Control stuff in the next... " she checked her watch " ... hour and a half, I'll buy you a coffee and you can try your best pick up lines on me. They won't work, but you need the practice. Obviously." She smiled. Bright white teeth; and her smile made her eyes crinkle up.

She turned back to the table where we'd been sitting. "I'm Crys." Then she reached over and recovered her notebook. Her hand accidentally touched mine, and when she took the notebook, my excitement was too obvious to miss. She did not miss it. Her eyes drifted up to my quickly reddening face. "And you're hard."

OH MY GOD AGAIN! She was talking about my woody! My virgin cock.

She smiled again, reached out and touched me, the back of her hand brushing my bulge. She looked around quickly and slid quietly to her knees. With a toss of her head, her teeth grabbed the tab of my zipper and in a moment my hard maleness was slapping her lips. She engulfed me quickly. I reached down, grasping her golden hair. My hips began to pump and...

I blinked and saw her staring at me. Guess this was not going to happen like my instant fantasy. Too bad life is not one of those erotic stories on the internet, where she'd be under the table sucking me off in about a minute.

The expression on her face told me that THAT wasn't going to happen. "Are you going to be able to concentrate on math?" Crys asked.

"Oh yes. Absolutely. No problemo. I can do math with one hand." I was babbling.

"Just make sure your OTHER hand is not playing pocket pool," she said softly. "Um ... Do you have a name?"

"Yup. Sure do. Yes siree. I'm ... uh..." --blank-- my mind was blank. My ears felt hot, and I'm sure I was redder than the head of my ... well ... really red anyhow.

Crys laughed. A soft, tinkling laugh. She snapped her fingers in front of my eyes. "CONCENTRATE! Your mother used to call you SOMETHING. Think of your mother."

My erection disappeared. "Yeah. My name is Jimmy. Jim actually."

"Good." She sat down. "James," There was a definite emphasis on the name. "Can you explain this statistical QC stuff, please."

"Yes. Right away." She called me James! Nobody calls me James. Why did she do that? My eighth grade teacher had called me James. She was a redhead. I once calculated the volume of her breasts. "Statistics. Right." I sat next to her and leaned across her notebook to the Journal article. I scanned it quickly. Basic stuff. Elementary statistical analysis applied to a business situation.

I began to explain it to her. I found it was easy to talk about something I knew about, and it was several seconds before I thought about her as 'Woman'. I didn't even get hard. Well ... not REAL hard anyway.

She asked intelligent questions ... Intelligent for someone who didn't know what she was talking about, at least. I worked out the timing later: it was about 40 minutes before her cell phone chirped at her. I was writing in her notebook and she put her hand on mine to stop me while she answered the phone.

She listened for a bit, asked some questions in Spanish. Obviously didn't like the answers. I understood nothing except that she was touching my hand. It felt red-hot. I got hard again. I wondered if I went to the men's room and jacked-off, would she still be here when I got back.

I moved my hand and stroked the back of hers softly. She tucked the phone under her ear and tilted her head toward me. There was that smile again. Her free hand took mine and held it to her breast. Her nipple firmed immediately, her voice moaned softly...

"Fuck and Double Fuck," she cursed quietly. I blinked again and fought to bring reality back into focus. I looked again at my hand on the notebook, where it had been all along. When she bent to put her phone back into the bag beside her chair, a 2" wide strip of golden-tan skin came into view between her sweatshirt and jeans. My palms got sweaty.

"What... ?" My throat was dry and my voice nearly cracked. "What's wrong Crys?"

"THAT was my sitter. I have to go to work tonite, and she claims she's sick. AGAIN. That leaves me about 2 hours to find a replacement or start looking for another job. She's been doing this about every other week ... I don't need this shit."

She was packing her books quickly into her bag. I was no longer an element in her life.

She stood, preparing to leave. "Sorry ... maybe we can practice your lines next time. I was starting to understand it, too." This time she smiled AT me. I felt like I was staring into the noonday sun. Her face really lit up and she zoomed past "beautiful" to "goddess" in my mind.

"Wait! Uh ... I could sit for a few hours. I mean, I'm not doing anything, and ... uh... " ANYTHING to not lose track of her now.

"No, I don't think so. I don't even know you. And I've got a little girl." She continued to pack up her things.

QUICK! DO SOMETHING -- A message from my desperate libido. "Wait. I'm harmless. I'm a geek. I do math." How is this going to help, nimrod? Another helpful message from my libido. I fumbled with my wallet, handing her a couple of ID cards. "See? James Starzck. That's my home address in Chicago. Call my mother. LOOK! Advanced Calculus ... Do perverts study advanced calculus? No they do not."

She turned and looked at me again. Appraisingly again. I felt like a bug under a microscope. Then at the ID cards. "This one says you're 21 and in the Air Force"

Oh Shit! "Well I can explain that, see. You have to be 21 to get into the casinos. I umm ... kinda make some spare money by playing blackjack. I understand the percentages, see? And if you can control your emotions..."

She waved her had at me while she was pushing buttons on the cell. "Damn. No answer." She looked up. "My neighbor's out I guess. You mind if I do a quick check on you? I know somebody."

I reached over for the fake military ID. "The rest are real. This one's just for the casino," I tried to explain even as she was listening to her cell phone ring.

She pulled the ID back from me. "Sealy? Can you do me a quick check?" She read off the numbers from my Illinois license and then the fake military ID. I was finished. She was some sort of fucking cop and I'd never even be able to play blackjack anymore. Regular people don't know somebody who can do 'a quick check.' Worse than finished. I was fucked straight in the ass, and there was no lube.

"All right. You check out so far. This one is fake and this one isn't ... just like you said." She handed my stuff back with that smile again. "I work tables at one of the clubs downtown, and I've got a friend who can check things quick. Anyway I'm desperate. So ... if you're serious, I'll take a chance. I won't be back until late ... maybe 3 or 4 am. I've got a 6 year old. She'll be asleep mostly. Are you a pervert? And how old ARE you?"

"Um ... NO, I'm not a pervert. I'm 17. I guess ... I'm not more of a pervert than any 17 year old wants to be." At least that got one of the megawatt smiles from her. "You can trust me with your daughter. She IS your daughter, right? I mean you don't look old enough to have a daughter."

She shook her head and smiled again. "Now see? THAT is a decent line ... I am old enough, believe me." She paused again. "OK. It's a deal. I'll do dinner for all of us, and pay you, umm, $10 an hour. Is that ok? And if you mess with my little girl in ANY way, I have friends who will mash your balls into mush and then feed them to you."

It didn't sound like a promising start to our relationship. RELATIONSHIP? Who the hell was I kidding?

"Fine. But I'll need a ride back to the dorm. I don't have a car. I don't mess with girls - not little ones, not big ones. Not any kind. Honest."

She motioned me to follow her and I scurried to pick up my books. "You'll have to sleep on the couch. I can't leave Tess alone at 4am. But I'll get you back in the morning." She laughed. "AND I'll promise that your reputation will go up at the dorm, too."

What did that mean?

Well, I won't bore you with the details of the next couple of hours. She dropped me off at the dorm, where I changed into my cleanest jeans. [HEY! I was 17. I didn't have clean clothes, just degrees of used/dirty. Probably because I never went out with anybody who cared.] Then I decided to take a shower and get re-dressed. By the time she was back to pick me up, I had my calc notes and a clean t-shirt [OK! I borrowed it].

I was standing at the entrance when she pulled up in a beat up Chevette hatchback. I began to walk toward the car, but she hopped out and came around to the passenger side. I stared and nearly began to drool agian. She was wearing skin-tight denims and a man's shirt tied under her breasts, revealing a firm, well-tanned abdomen. She waited by the car, gave me a quick hug. I stood nearly rigid while her breasts pressed against my chest. She was a bit taller than I was, so that made her about 5'10" or so. She put the keys in my hand and got in the passenger side.

Like I said before, good thing I'm a genius. All by myself I figured out that she wanted me to drive. So I walked around the car, trying to use all that brain power to keep my erection from being TOO obvious. I was never sure how, but I got into the car without tangling my enormous erection in the steering wheel.

When I got in, I put the key in the ignition and turned toward her with a confused expression.

"I TOLD you I'd help your reputation with your friends." She smiled. "I assume SOME of them just saw you get a hug and then get in the car with a good looking blonde in tight jeans." There was an amused grin on her face.

"Well, uh ... sure, I suppose. But you didn't have to ... uh ... you know. I'm not doing anything tonite anyway."

"Think of it as advance payment for helping me out. And you ARE doing something tonite." She turned in the seat, and for the first time I noticed the little girl in the car seat buckled down in the back seat. "Tess, this is James. He's going to stay home with you tonite while I go to work."

Tess turned her eyes on me. "Do you know how to make popcorn, James? You're the first guy that's going to stay with me. Do you know how to take care of a girl? You look awfully young." She was a younger version of her mother: soft honey-blonde hair, gray-blue eyes, same smile.

"Hello, Tess." I was more at ease talking with her than with her mother. "Yes I can make popcorn. I am an expert babysitter, both boys and girls, and I am old enough to be in college. Is that old enough?"

Chapter 2 »