Chapter 12

Having managed to kiss off the amorous advances of Mr. Harris, I was left to eat my spaghetti in peace. Two o' clock was time for the Romantic Poets. This was my favourite module. I so loved the works of Keats, Wordsworth and Byron. And the women poets turned out some beautiful stuff too. The poems of Mary Shelley, Hannah More and Joanna Baillie enthralled me.

A wonderful Irishman named Colin Doyle taught this class; he had a perfect voice for poetry, his Irish lilt lent a lyrical tone to the fabulous words. I loved listening to him.

Entranced as I was, I still noticed the heavenly creature that was Angela Chang sitting nearby in the class, her green skirt tightly hugging her shapely thighs.

But the liaison I'd just had with Katie had sufficiently dampened my ardour so that I was able to concentrate on what Mr Doyle was saying and not keep staring at her lovely arse. For once, in a long time, there wasn't a persistent tingle in my crotch.

When the poetry class finally ended, I mingled with the shuffling horde on my way out the door. Just out of sheer devilment, I manoeuvred myself behind Angela Chang and managed a sly touch of her arse followed by a quick hump with my crotch. She turned and smiled; if it had been a guy behind her, I'm sure she would have reacted differently, but as it was just another girl, she clearly saw it as an innocent accident. I could go around doing this all day.

The last class of the day, was half an hour of grammar, not a subject I particular enjoyed nor excelled in.

I sauntered along the corridor on level two, heading for the lift to take me to the fifth floor where the last class of the day is held. The lift was crammed as usual, but I managed to squeeze in to one side. I was vaguely aware that one of the black cleaning ladies was wedged in the corner behind me. As the lift ascended, I felt the unmistakeable touch of a hand on my arse. It was as if fate was paying me back for groping Angela Chang. I turned and looked at the cleaner who grinned at me with a smile of white and gold teeth. I gave her a half smile back and got another, deliberate grope as my reward. Her hand was lodged between my legs, pressing firmly against my pussy. I squirmed a bit, but in the tight confines of the lift, I had nowhere to go. The lift stopped on the third, and the fourth floors with more people piling in. I found myself pushed right up against the cleaning lady. I could feel her breath on my neck and her hand was still between my legs.

It was like I was in a parallel universe, where lesbians seemed to appear from just about anywhere; I didn't remember falling down a rabbit hole.

Why had this woman, a total stranger, picked on me. I understood that I was attractive to some, maybe most lesbians, but why did this one think that she could molest me with impunity?

The fifth floor arrived and everyone shuffled out, including my molester. I looked behind me and she was smiling, her gold tooth glinting.

I made for the classroom and she followed and tapped me on the shoulder; we were suddenly alone in the corridor. I felt rather intimidated; she was a large woman, in her late thirties and powerful looking. She was wearing the typical cleaner's dark blue overall under which she wore a black, knee-length skirt. Her top was loose fitting T-shirt with red and green ethnic pattern.

"What do you want?" was all I could manage.

Her grin widened and her eyes roamed my body in the most depraved manner.

She whispered, more like a hiss than speech. "I want your young white pussy, I like young white pussy." I looked around me, we were alone and I felt very vulnerable, but then another sensation began to register. I was feeling excited, not so much by her appearance, but by the sheer boldness of her approach, the way she made it perfectly clear that she wanted me.

"Why me?" The excitement grew inside me as I, almost reluctantly, weighed her up as a sexual partner. She wasn't taller than me, but she was a lot wider, with an enormous bum and boobs to match.

"She told me, she told me you like it." Again there was the hiss.

"Who told you?" Her hand reached out and brushed my boob, and I recoiled, but only slightly. When she reached out again, I let her squeeze my tits.

Someone appeared at he far end of the corridor and she lowered her hand.

"Ruth, she told me you like it." She pronounced the name Ruth, like root.