Then he explains to her that most men, as far as he knew, found women’s panties and women’s bras really sexy, really stimulating, not on every woman, he looks around the coffee house and in doing so makes his point, but that even the plainest woman can be made more attractive, more interesting to men even if they only hint that they wear sexy panties. Men didn’t actually have to see them, just knowing they’re there is a turn on.
“And knowing what I’m wearing is a turn off?”
No, he explains, not a turn off per se, but, in truth, he would think of her differently if she was trying to be just a bit provocative, if she thought of herself as being sensual and sexy enough for Victoria’s Secret. “I mean, it’s all about messages.”
“But if I didn’t tell you about what I’m wearing, how would you know?”
“It’s all about messages, Gail,” he repeats what he thinks is an aphorism, then adds, “they’re the default brand, send another message and let my imagination do the rest.”
When she gets home, she studies herself in the small mirror in the shared bathroom. She looks for something that would send out a message, the message that ‘I am an intelligent, sexual, exciting woman and I want you to know that.’ But it isn’t there, she can’t find it so she takes off her sweater and she takes off her pants and though she can’t see herself in the small mirror, only her face, she does feel more exposed and she thinks she can detect that in her eyes, and when she lightly touches her nipple through the tight material of her white jog bra she thinks she can see a little spark in her eyes, and then her fingers find her panties and she walks them along the thin cotton, letting them travel to places they had never been before and she watches her eyes, her large innocent eyes for any glimmer of understanding that they are travelling in a forbidden zone, a naughty zone, a desirable zone and she thinks that yes, the exploration is just a little bit exciting and just a little bit illegal and that’s when Nancy hammers on the door, “I’ve got to pee!”
So she quickly pulls on her pants and sweater, unlocks the adjoining door, saying “its all yours,” and she retires to her room, but not to her desk, to her bed, a cot really, against the wall, and she takes off her pants, wondering why she had put them on again (but this is new territory for our girl Gail and walking a few steps partially unclothed would have heretofore been unthinkable). She is on her bed now, with her back against the wall and with her knees tight to her chest. She is hugging them, squeezing them, thinking, and then she jumps from the bed, taking off her jog bra in the process and rummages through a drawer before finding it, one that is noticeably smaller, whiter, softer, and flimsier. She puts it on and lets her hands cup the material, then she gets back onto the bed, back into the same position and she holds that position for a few minutes, then she opens her legs, slowly, she has a plan and she wants to tease herself, tantalize herself as if it isn’t her eyes that are fixed on her mound, which she has never really notice before but thought rather pretty, but some unseen eyes, desperate for a peek, perhaps Ag’s eyes.
Then as her fingers massage the mound through the thin film of the panties they catch on the hint of moisture on the material but in a few minutes they begin to pick up speed slipping along on the slickness and then her panties become somewhat translucent so an area of her thick black bush emerges and even the outlines of her lips, her outer labia, she would later learn.
Hair tuft from the sides of her panties, along her smooth very white thighs so she plucks at some, noticing it for the first time and then she let her fingers trace the wet spot again, trace all around it, making the spot grow. ‘Touch, taste, smell,’ he had said, so she puts her fingers under her panties and caresses the slippery walls of her cunt, exploring its complexity before bringing her fingers to her nose, from a distance at first and then, as she grow more accustomed to the unfamiliar scent, closer and more closely and then her tongue emerges, hesitantly, for a taste, just a touch, barely a contact. She doesn’t like it and dilutes the pungent taste with the saliva in her mouth.
But to business now. She lifts her ass from the bed and slips her panties off, bringing them up to her nose and fingering the wet spot before dropping them to the floor and then she settles back, spreads her legs, looks at the ceiling and lets her fingers do whatever they could to help her get her grade.
How did we know all this? She didn’t, after all, invite us in and she certainly wouldn’t tell us about it, not straight-laced Gail Smithers, but she did tell Bill, she told him every step of her journey, not using our words, the words we’ve used, but employing her own excellent vocabulary, her unsurpassed observatory skills and her dispassionate researcher voice, which caused Bill to comment, “You make it sound so clinical.” But wasn’t that the point? Well, no, not if the journey is one of discovery and, to make his point, Bill tells his story.
Now as I’ve said, Gail Smithers is an excellent student with a major in mathematic, but, in truth, she isn’t terribly imaginative and so, perhaps understandably, she thinks Tom’s words a tad excessive: blowing, eating, probing, licking, slurping, sucking and in no more than a minute, two at the outside? “See what I mean?” he says, showing a little pride, “See the difference? I think adverb, you think noun.” But she doesn’t see the difference, she thinks she has said the same thing, more or less, with different words.
But later that evening when she enters her monastic cell, now a little less monastic, the scope of her challenge has come more clearly into focus. The problem, or more accurately the challenge, is for her to become considerably more emotionally involved in her subject, to go much deeper, to become more imaginative and creative. She needs to break out of the straight jacket that has shut her down from youth, so she turns around and leaves.
But she’s back now, sitting on her computer chair, but swiveled around, swiveled around to face Ags. “You’ve got to promise me, Ags, you’ve got to swear on whatever you need to swear on, that you won’t tell anyone, you won’t tell a soul.”
Ags nods, but that isn’t good enough for Gail and her insistent eyes encourage Ags to say, “I promise, Gail, honest, I won’t.”
“OK, I trust you. Flemming from Psych?” Ags knows she refers to the Psych 345 professor, “He made us promise not to tell anyone about our research topic, right?” Ags nods. “Mine is sex.”
“Sex! shit!” Ags explodes, “You got sex? I got Mars,” she blurts out the words, then realizing she, too, has broken the professor’s taboo, clamps a hand over her mouth.
‘Mars?’ thinks Gail, now that’s an interesting subject, “I won’t tell.”
But Ags isn’t ready to move on from the injustice, “Jesus Christ, how did you get sex? Sex, for chrissake and I got fucking Mars. It’s just not fucking fair.”
Gail lets Ags vent for a few minutes but, no, she wont tell her the name of her partner, and then Ags laughs at the irony and injustice and Gail gets to her point. “I need a tutor.” And she explains why, her abysmal lack of knowledge, her indifference, the fast-approaching timeline, the need to participate, to pull her share of the load (that gets Ags’ eyebrows up but Gail doesn’t notice) …. So Gail needs help and when she asks for Ag’s, she makes it sound like she is seeking help in a biology experiment. But never mind how she asks, Ags is in.
So lets linger in the cell and watch, but let’s stick mainly with the action, the words, after all, only inspire them, but we’ll need some words, like these:
“So the point is for you to help me actually enjoy my sexuality, that’s what I’m missing. I mean I know how to drag a finger on me, it’s just that that doesn’t do much for me. I don’t actually get it.” Then she added the caveat that took the glow right off Ag’s cheeks. “I want you to show me, not touch me, I want to be able to do this myself.”
So Ags sighs and adjusts her strategy, drastically adjusts her strategy and they both stripped down to their bra and panties and sit on the bed.
Now I want to be clear about something, our Gail, as I have said, is an interesting woman who really thinks she might like to be an interesting, sexual woman, and not just for marks, either, for her own fulfillment, too, it’s just that she has never gotten around to getting it together. But this Psych Credit demanded her attention to the subject and if nothing else, Gail is a very good student and you don’t get to be a very good student unless you not only work hard, but work hard with enthusiasm, so, it’s fair to say that, sitting on the bed, Gail is eager and excited, but eager and excited like a student taking her first tennis lesson, and Ags tells her so.
They are at opposite ends of the bed now, Gail against the wall and Ags propped up on pillows but both with their legs open and their hands between them. Gail follows every one of Ag’s movements, the delicate caressing of the thighs and the panty covered pussy, the other fingers sometimes at the breast, pinching and massaging, sometimes on the stomach, caressing, teasing, sometimes with their twins, rubbing, prodding, sometimes in the mouth, sucking, exploring. And it’s working, you can see it in the wet spot that is growing perceptibly on the panties, but on Ag’s panties, only on Ag’s panties.
They are naked now and following the same routine and Ags is always talking, encouraging, instructing and now she is teaching Gail to use the brain, to send the mind into the dirtiest reaches of the imagination, to explore ideas, not for their value but to make the pussy hotter, the fingers wetter, and then the dirty talk, the dirty, filthy talk, the audible taboo, but it can release, Ags explains, as it seems to be releasing for her.
Now Ags expertly shows her partner how to dip her fingers into her cunt, how to spring the ass forward in a bucking motion to fuck the fingers, to fuck and fuck and fuck … but Ags isn’t talking now, she is bucking, mesmerized by the spectacular tits that bounces so cheerfully, so enticingly, so invitingly, so unbelievable erotically within a few feet of her mouth, her lips, her tongue and then it hit her and though she wants to, oh God how she wants to, she doesn’t have the strength, even if she had permission, which she doesn’t, to take those unbelievably fabulous tits in her mouth.
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