Chapter 10

Next day was Monday, a college day. I got up, showered and dressed without any of my usual morning lethargy and joined a surprised mum for breakfast. I had a renewed vigour, a lust for life, and a lust for women; too many women, not enough time, was the saying I think. "My, you're up early Jen."

"Yeah, can't be doing with all that rushing about."

"You'll have time for a proper breakfast then?"

I ate everything my mother threw at me, toast, cereal and two cups of decaf coffee. By eight-fifteen, I was ready for the twenty-minute walk to the college; I'd be well early for the nine o'clock start. I kissed mum goodbye and trotted off with my rucksack of books and stuff, slung over my shoulder. As it was just college, I had dressed down, choosing a pair of cream chinos and a baggy red Betty Boop sweatshirt. Nevertheless, I checked myself in several shop windows and concluded that I was still looking good. That impression was borne out by a carload of young men, who whistled, and shouted at me from their car. I got the impression that they wanted me to go for a ride with them, and one asked me to show him my tits; I declined both requests.

But, it did put a spring in my step; if young men fancied me, then like-minded women might do too.

When I got to college, I joined a stream of young people entering the building, and I found myself observing the women from a new perspective. Was she gay, could she be a lesbian, what about her, a dyke surely. I remembered what Maggie told me about the number of gay women in society being something like four or five per cent. With all these young women in front of me, there must be some who were gay; the law of averages said so. The real problem for me, and all gay people, was spotting them. Making a mistake had more serious consequences than say, getting someone's politics or religion wrong.

Asking a Muslim to go for a drink is not as bad as sticking your hand up a heterosexual girls skirt. The Muslim might just say, "I'm sorry, my religion forbids me to drink alcohol." But the straight girl might scream, "What the fuck are you doing?"

I don't believe in 'gaydar' as a dependable tool in gauging whether a woman is queer or not. I didn't know about it then, and I don't have much faith in it now. Sure, some women are openly gay and do little to conceal the fact, but it is so easy to make a move on a supposed 'cert' and get in to a lot of trouble.

I would have to take my time and scope out the likely candidates, after all, there were definitely some dykes here, and it was just a case of finding them.

I wandered down the hallway towards my first class, English Literature; several of my classmates joined me and I started to wonder, which ones, which ones would like to feel my tits, which ones would like my hand down their knickers.

I could drive myself mad, trying to 'guess the gay'.

The lesson passed remarkably, without incident, I didn't leap on Rebecca Hollins, though I would have loved to, and I somehow managed to keep my hands off Sally Laithwaite. But it was a tough ordeal; Sonya Woods had an immodestly short skirt, and I found it hard not to spend the whole lesson trying to get a glimpse of her panties. She was no Maggie Wilmott, that was clear. Frustration mounted as a tingle began to form in my crotch and I squirmed uncomfortably on my seat. Mercifully, the lesson eventually ended and I was able to rush to the toilets to relieve the ache between my legs. As I was hurrying along the corridor, a flyer on the notice board caught my eye; it bore the name, 'Ruth Sanderson' and it stopped me dead in my tracks. The notice went on to say that Ruth Sanderson would be giving a music tutorial/recital this lunchtime and all were welcome. How had she wangled that? Here of all places. Then it dawned on me, she'd probably been coming here for years (a good hunting ground obviously) but I'd never had reason to notice her name before; now I had every reason.

I was immediately excited, even more than before. But dashing off to the toilets for a much-needed wank, suddenly seemed redundant. I might as well wait until lunchtime and have Ruth fuck me instead. But then, I suddenly thought of Sonya's legs and her short skirt, and Sally's huge tits. I could do both, get myself off in the toilets and by lunchtime, I'd be ready and willing to be shagged by Ruth; seemed like a plan. I hurried in to the toilets and pulled down my chinos and panties. Instead of sitting on the loo, I squatted down in front of the pan and supported myself on my hands so that my pussy was at the edge of the seat. All manner of women had sat on this very seat, their arses and cunts in contact with the white plastic. I began to rub my clit against the seat edge; it felt good; I imagined Sonya sitting here, her legs spread wide for me, letting me rub my cunt against hers. It was nice; I rubbed my clit against the hard edge with increasing force; the pleasant sensations rippled through me and I groaned quietly as a modest orgasm erupted inside me. I had no idea if any of the other stalls were occupied, I hadn't bothered to check.

I slid to my knees on the paper-strewn floor; the climax had taken the edge off my craving, but I was still feeling horny; just the sight of Ruth's name had my juices flowing. A wank wasn't going to be enough; I needed proper shag.

The next class was Medieval Literature, I knew what the subject matter was going to be, we'd been studying Beowulf for over a week and I was bored stiff.

The usual suspects were in the class again, Sonya, Becca and Sally, and so I did myself a favour and sat at the back so that I wouldn't distract myself so much.

I needed to know this stuff if I was to get through this module.

However, best laid plans and all that, I found myself sitting next to a goddess.

A new face joined the class a little late, she was very apologetic and came and sat at the desk next to me; inwardly I groaned. It was hard enough to concentrate on the mind-numbing Nowell Codex as it was, and now I had this vision of beauty just an arms reach away.