Psych Credit

This is a complete, rather odd story about a student’s search for marks. It was a hell of a lot of fun to write; I have no idea how much fun it will be to read. Tell me, the few who will persist, I’d appreciate it.

Gail Smithers is standing in a store considering her options, and they are vast. But she isn’t looking for the deluxe, the racy, or even, really, the seductive, just something a little different, something that might change, however slightly, not her view of herself so much as her view of the subject, sex. So she chooses the yellowish white ones, silky and slightly lower cut than the cottons she purchases in packages, 3 for $15.00. And, when she arrives back to her room in the house she shares with nine other women, a room so small she thinks of it as a monastic cell, a cell because it’s so small, monastic because she lives in it, she throws the small bag on her bed and sits down at her computer. She has an hour before dinner and has a lot of work to do.

I like Gail Smithers, she isn’t terribly pretty but she sure isn’t plain, either. She has a longish narrow face, and a long, narrow nose but her lips are sensual above a strong pointed chin and it’s all framed by medium length, rather straight, brown hair with a nice lustre to it, as if the shampoo she uses really makes a difference. If that description makes Gail’s face appear rather sharp, I’m misleading you because I have yet to mention her most prominent facial feature: the eyes. They’re beauties, big, round, brown and intelligent, but if a single word must describe them it must be ‘innocent,’ and why not, Gail has lived a highly sheltered life: she is the only sister to three brothers whose sole purpose in life has been, and by all accounts, still is, an eager search for promiscuous fun and pleasure. The consequence of this to Gail? She has been militantly guarded by this randy trio against the very things they so avidly seek.

She didn’t understand this, of course, and wouldn’t have minded if she did: study, and particularly mathematics, are her passion, and her brothers’ gift to her, the blinkers fixed so tight to her lovely eyes, allowed Gail to more closely focus on what she cares about most, achieving a top flight education. And achieve she has, at a university that has been home for two and a half years.

But it’s not her studies that interest us, well, not all of her studies. Our interest is in the journey she has so recently been forced to take, a journey that really should have, but for the brothers, begun some years before. But back to the eyes for a moment, they are innocent, yes, but curious, too, leading us to believe that if eyes really are windows to the soul, then Gail Smithers will be a very interesting person for us to get to know, as Agnes, a housemate, knows very well, that’s why she’s knocking on Gail’s door now and entering the cell and our story.

Agnes is a pleasant enough looking woman, 22 like Gail, but that’s about all they share in common. In looks, Agnes has none of Gail’s angularity or thinness. She is pleasant looking, even provocatively attractive, slightly over weight, big breasted, a bit frumpish, interested in the welfare of others, yes, but in herself, too. She’s a nurturer, and, in stark contrast to Gail’s no-nonsense sense of self, Agnes has a genuine outgoing cheerfulness that many find contagious, Gail among them and that’s why she turns away from her computer and waves Agnes into the only other chair in the room.

Now, dear reader, this will be a somewhat odd story, this story of discovery, so necessarily, it has a rather odd beginning.

“I needed a break, am I disturbing you?”

Gail could sense Agnes has something on her mind and tells her ‘no,’ she was just killing time before dinner.

What is on Agnes’ mind is this: her life’s story. Her mother is coming to town in a few days and that got her to thinking about her family and her life, she got caught up in her trip down memory lane and realized that she was getting depressed and needed a change of scenery, so she left the lane for the cell.

Depressed? Why?

The story tumbled out over time, dinner was forgotten. Ags, for that is what Agnes demands to be called, hating with a passion, and our Ags knows passion, her given name, Agnes.

Ags grew up in a farming community, (I note the pun, too) the only child of a farm machine salesman and his wife. She had a happy enough childhood, if, as she confessed to Gail, a significantly promiscuous one, adding, it was a farming community. Her almost three years in this city, however, haven’t been particularly happy. For one, the competition for men has been too fierce for an only slightly attractive, uncompetitive farm girl, so she’s yet to have a date, and, to make a long story short, she has so much pent up sexual energy that she thought she might explode.

When Gail said it, she knew her solution was simplistic, but she said it anyway, better that then exploring the countless and complex alternatives facing Ags, which she knew nothing about anyway, and dinner was still a possibility. Why not masturbate?

“Oh, God, Gail, thanks.”

And she saw her friend, really more of an acquaintance, stand up, pull down her pants and panties, almost lie on the chair in front of her and begin the process.

Now, it really is possible to be more fascinated then shocked, and we have an example of that right here, but shock was there, too, you could see it cloud Gail’s innocent eyes and she is about to take action when she checks herself — hadn’t she, for the first time in her life, just purchased a pair of flimsies? No, the journey had already begun and she knew she’d better get her experiences where she could find them, so even though the word ‘why?’ lies foremost in her mind, she struggles for composure by suggesting to Ags she may be more comfortable on the bed.

Ags agrees and moves the three steps to sit with her back against the wall, her heels by her cheeks and her legs opened wide. And that’s when Ags spots the red bag with the yellow lettering, ‘Undergarment Shoppe.’ “Do you mind?”

Gail shakes her head and notes that the fingers so recently caressing, are now dipping into the bag and pulling out the yellowish white contents, holding them up for inspection before looking at her audience, “Funny, I figured you for a cotton briefs girl.”

“They’re a reminder,” Gail explains cryptically, and when she notes the inquiring look says ‘nothing important’ and asks the question in the forefront of her mind, “Why are you doing this?”

Now, I think there’s something to the notion that children who grow up among rutting, sniffing, snorting, fucking, pissing, shitting farm animals have a different sense of self then you and I more accustomed to the essence of urban life, cars, potted plants, boutiques and gourmet restaurants. In a word, farm kids can be immeasurably more uninhibited, more likely to accept bodily functions as de rigeur. But this? Even Ags knew this was over the top so she explains herself, explains herself as she gently, oh so gently, caresses her pussy, seemingly oblivious that she is doing so.

Ags had known Gail for almost three years now, noticed that Gail, like herself, never seemed to have dates and wondered if Gail is a lesbian or wanted to be one. Why this particular act to find out? Ags had done this once before, with success, so why not? Is Gail offended? Surprised and shocked and fascinated, yes, but no longer offended, (although Gail can’t understand why she isn’t).

But you’re saying that’s too simply an explanation, surely there’s more to it than that? True. “I’ve wanted to do this for you for over a year, it’s one of my fantasies when I do this in my room.” Is it working for you Ags? Yes, but for one thing: “You have fantastic tits, Gail. I’d love to see them.”

Two hours ago, Ags would have long since been in the hall with her ass severely kicked, but when Gail pulls her sweater over her head she does so knowing that the journey is already underway, it had begun, really, in the Undergarment Shoppe.

“Can you stop there for a minute? You look delicious. Give me a few minutes before unveiling.”

Time enough to fill you in on why Ag’s ass is on the bed with the panties, not in the hall with a footprint.

Gail’s journey is framed by an academic challenge. Could it be otherwise? This is a very serious girl, with little humour and grace, and she is focused, my goodness she is focused. To explain the academic challenge I’ll use the words of her professor in her Psych 345 class of 120: “You will be paired randomly, mutually choose a subject from this box, you and your partner will meet twice weekly for discussion and you will each, separately, write a report worth 35% of your term mark, on what you have learned, how you have learned and what significant observations, I stress significant observations you can make about any and all insights. Remember, ladies and gentlemen, this is a psychology course so the ‘how’ is the raison d’ete, so the deeper you go, the better. Got it? And, oh, by the way. Your topics? Keep them to yourself, I don’t want a bunch of complainers bitching that he got an easier topic than her.”

So, beyond sitting across from a pleasant girl with three fingers in her pussy, now glistening Gail notes, that’s where things stand (and sit). It was a just a day before that she found that her topic, shared with a man she only just then met, was to be the three letter word, s-e-x. Now sex was something that Gail knew absolutely nothing about and had no interest in and that’s why we found our protagonist, Gail, in the elegant Undergarment Shoppe: she was looking for a prop, a prop she could use to get herself thinking about this subject so foreign to her. Now panties as a prop may seem a bit limp and, in fact, she had first thought of a dildo, but she couldn’t image driving one of those things into her, and, besides, the focus isn’t supposed to be on pleasure, but understanding, so the silken, yellow white panties she selected, so different from her cottons, were meant, not to wear, but as iconography to remind herself to think about her own sexuality, and the purchase was her first tiny step on that journey.