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Febe Starts Pledge Week
Professor Harper’s office door was closed when I arrived. I knocked hard on it and he called to me almost instantly.
“Come!” he said simply.
Suddenly I felt as if I’d been summoned with his one-word command.
Once I was inside he said, “Shut it, please. My colleagues on either side of my office prefer that I keep my door closed. Sometimes it gets noisy when I have students or . . . councilors such as yourself, in to discuss grades.”
Professor Harper was a smallish man with beady eyes, a sharp nose and a receding hairline. Weasel was the best word I could think of to describe him. He was dressed in a nice suit and tie, however and I did appreciate that.
Like the entire faculty, his office was tiny. The very next things I noticed were the two photos on either corner of his desk. Harper was gay! One photo was of a rather handsome fellow slightly younger than the professor and the other photo was of the two of them posing in what appeared to be a traditional husband and wife attitude. Beneath the picture were their first names and a date, presumably of their wedding.
My plans had just been shot all to hell. I might as well be selling porterhouse steaks to a vegan, I moaned to myself. He didn’t even glance at my legs as I sat and crossed them and my hard nipples never drew so much as a glance.
“Hello, Professor Harper! It’s so nice to meet you after so many emails and phone conversations,” I was forcing myself to be polite. At the same time I was scrambling to come up with a ‘Plan B.’ No amount of lip-licking, hair-tossing or suggestive glances would work for me now.
Well, I thought at last, when all else fails, use reason.
“Professor Harper,” I began after pause, “I know we have debated this subject in emails and over the phone already, but explain to me again why it is that you do not give A’s.”
In person, Professor Harper turned out not to be such a so-and-so. Our debate was civil, though heated, and in the end I was forced to concede that while I still did not agree with him, his reasoning was sound. For Professor Harper, an A represented perfection. Unless Peter could write perfect essays and one absolutely flawless research paper exceeding all of the requirements for grammar, rhetoric and logic as set forth by the English Department, he would only receive a B+.
We debated the matter politely at length. Harper was a man of conviction. Harper was also still a prick in my book – only maybe not such a big prick. I had earnestly tried to intervene on Peter’s behalf and had hit a brick wall. As I was gathering up my things and politely thanking him for his time, Professor Harper did reluctantly admit to me that had Peter submitted the same quality of work to any one of his colleagues in the English Department they would most certainly have given him an A. I took some consolation in that.
Standing on the sidewalk outside the faculty offices in the hot sun, I mulled over the morning’s events. I had made a valiant effort and I had failed. I thought about Peter and how his lovely cock glistened when I licked it and spit on it and smeared my saliva up and down its length with both hands and decided Peter was getting an A in my book in spite of anything Harper had to say.
The heat of the late morning, along with the lingering bit of anger I still harbored for Professor So-and-so sort of bubbled and tingled inside me like some kind of splinter festering and stinging in my finger. This was my first outing on campus since becoming Housemother. Sure, I’d been to the grocery on an almost daily basis but this was my first outing without a shopping list in one hand and an urgent ‘to-do’ list filling my head. My Row Boats had been doing much of the cooking, shopping and cleaning for more than a week now. The summer term was virtually over and most of my young A students had already completed their assignments and taken their tests. We were all simply slogging onward toward either a final exam or submission of that final paper in the next two days.
It suddenly occurred to me that I had time for myself right now. For the rest of this lovely summer afternoon I could do anything my heart desired. I lingered there on the sidewalk in the heat of this lovely summer day and relished the possibilities.
Suddenly I felt hot and it was definitely not the heat of the summer day I was feeling. I stood squinting in the bright sun and felt the beads of sweat forming on my forehead and noticed the insides of my thighs above my stockings were damp with perspiration. My pussy was beginning to tingle slightly.
I suddenly realized with a shock that I was aroused and horny in a way that shocked me! It’s pretty understandable to be aroused when there is a handsome young frat boy waving his stiff cock in your face but this hit me out of the blue. I could only guess that getting all primed to tease and distract Professor Harper, only to have the whole Beylikdüzü escort thing evaporate right in front of me had something to do with it. The air around me was hot and humid and yet the breeze that stirred and rose up between my legs felt cool on my unprotected pussy. My knees grew a little wobbly and I swiftly decided I’d better find a cool place to sit or I might start peeling my clothes off right here on the sidewalk. I needed to find a place where I could sit quietly, curse Professor Harper and stroke the wounds Harper and his gayness had inflicted on my pride.
Four blocks behind me was Rho Rho Beta House. One half-block ahead was one of those chain coffee shops that had sprouted up on every other street corner in recent years. I scurried as gracefully as a sexually aroused grandma in a short, tight skirt and four-inch heels could toward the coffee shop. My boobs bounced up and down and swayed from side to side in my lacy bra as I scampered toward the cool salvation of the coffee shop. The motion caused my nipples to stiffen. Once inside I wondered if they sold iced tea but decided I’d better sit for a minute first to regain my composure.
I was a naughty little mess by now. My nipples were tingling and hard with the friction against my bra, I was a little feverish from the heat and for some reason I could not explain, my pussy was humming like I had a vibrator set on ‘stun’ buried in it. To make my predicament even worse, I quickly discovered that the coffee shop was filled with handsome, virile young college men – and most of them were now openly looking me over. I silently prayed that none of them would come near me right now.
I had plopped myself quite ungracefully into the first chair I could find, gasped and then sprawled out like a bundle of sticks that had been dropped a little too hard and come untied. I probably didn’t help matters by slouching in my chair just as I landed. My skirt was pushed up high on my legs, the tops of my stockings were showing, my legs had fallen open and for all I knew, my sleek little honey-pocket was down there smiling right back at all these sweet young college boys while they gawked at me. I had made one hell of an entrance. For the first time in almost five weeks I almost regretted going commando.
A young lady leaving the counter passed by me, fresh coffee in hand. She looked down at me, paused and said, “This place is self-serve.” Then, with a toss of her head in the direction of the counter and the couple placing their order she added, “Back there.”
“Thanks, but I’m just trying to catch my breath. I’m hot,” I mumbled.
She looked me over slowly from head to toe and smirked, “You’re hot alright but you still gotta order at the counter.”
The young lady continued on then, leaving me to take slow, deep, calming breaths. My legs may have been spread and my little slice of sunshine may have been on display for all these young men to see but it certainly felt good to have cool air drifting up between my thighs and tickling my ‘warm spot.’ I was content just to sit and catch my breath for the time being.
As I regained my composure I began to wonder what had come over me. The heat had been a part of it but I had been horny, hornier even than on that first night with Trent at the dance when I had discovered how attracted young college men were to me and how much I had been missing out on in the past ten years. Until a few minutes ago when I almost passed out right there on the sidewalk, I felt pretty certain I had made up for all ten years of that lost time with all the lovely young studs in Rho Rho Beta. Actually, I thought with a wicked smile and a little shudder that ran slowly down my spine, I might be ahead on that score.
It must have been more than a minute longer before I was calm enough to pull myself together. The instant I drew my knees together and tugged the hem of my skirt back to its proper position, the coffee shop seemed to come back to life. The barista coughed and turned nervously toward the coffee-making machinery behind the bar. Several young men quickly ducked their heads down behind their laptops. I even heard the rustle and shuffle of a newspaper or two somewhere at the back of the shop. Apparently my entrance had been . . . um . . . noticed.
In another moment I felt strong enough to be on my feet so I made my way to the counter and ordered iced tea. I never knew there were so many choices to be made to get a simple iced tea! While I waited, another young man entered and fell into line behind me. He had a motorcycle helmet tucked under his arm and was dressed rather fashionably for a motorcyclist. You know me and how big a sucker I am for a well-dressed young man. He was wearing a lightweight sport coat and dressed well enough that I would have let him dine with my Row Boats any night.
“You’re dressed awfully well for someone riding a motorcycle,” I told him.
Goodness but he was young-looking! At first Beylikdüzü escort glance I wasn’t sure he was even old enough to be in college.
“W-well,” he began, flushing a bit.
“It’s okay!” I said with a smile, “I happen to think young people ought to dress more like you’re dressed. Ballcaps, T-shirts and sandals are highly overrated.”
“You live what you preach, I see,” he replied after giving my appearance a quick once-over.
“I’m Febe,” I announced and threw my hand out for him to shake.
“Shawn, um Shawn,” he replied, nervously shifting his helmet to his left hand in order to shake hands.
“So . . .,” I began, “Do you always dress this nicely when you ride a motorcycle?”
“I rode down to meet with my guidance counselor,” he beamed, then added proudly, “Freshman orientation starts next week and I wanted to come down and make sure everything was all set.”
“And you have your own motorcycle?” I asked.
“Graduation gift – and it is the bomb!” he said proudly.
Well, our conversation seemed to ignite at that. My iced tea arrived and we talked as he waited for his order. Before long we were able to find a table to sit at and continue our talk. I truly was interested in his motorcycle. In all my sixty-one years I had never ridden one. I’d seen Matilde on the back of one those huge, rumbling monstrosities and it didn’t appeal to me. I was sure a smaller, lighter motorcycle would be more my speed. I somehow I thought they would be more elegant for a grandmother like me.
As we drank and chatted, Shawn excitedly told me all about its weight and horsepower and all the places he intended to go on it before the Fall semester began and even how he planned to store it while he was away at school in a few weeks.
“I don’t suppose you’d consider giving an old woman like me a little ride on it, would you? I could use a ride back to the Row Boats’ House,” I finally asked.
“Old woman? What old woman?” he asked in surprise.
“Why me, Shawn! I am the old woman,” I chided him. “How old do you think I am?”
Shawn stared at me for a long second. I could tell I had thrown him a curve ball. Perhaps he truly hadn’t considered my age.
“How old?” I pushed, expecting I would surprise him.
“Thirty- five? Forty, maybe?” he answered tentatively.
He was either trying to flatter me or he was very, very inexperienced.
“I have a granddaughter who will be a sophomore here,” I announced.
Shawn’s jaw dropped and I flashed him a playful grin.
“That really is your gray hair there above your ears!” Shawn gushed.
I may have a lovely, full head of raven dark hair but I still take pride in those silver streaks at my temples and wouldn’t color them for the world. I’ve earned them.
“Do you think a grandmother can handle a ride behind you? I promise to hold on tight, Shawn. I promise you won’t be able to shake me off,” I told him. I was taunting him now.
“Sure,” he told me with a glint in his eye.
“Say the word, Shawn. I’d love to wrap my arms around you any ol’ time!”
We both rose at the same time and made our way to the door. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking but I knew right away I hadn’t frightened him. I was positive my grandmother status had come as a shock to him. Outside, he handed me the helmet, helped me tuck as much of my hair up inside it as I could and then showed me how to lace the chin strap and tighten it.
His bike was red, gleamed with new chrome and looked much as I expected it would. I could already imagine myself on the backseat, my legs straddling Shawn’s young, slender waist, my hands thrown around his chest, the engine pulsing upward through my bottom and making the lips of my pussy shudder with all that lean, elegant power. I wasn’t certain in that instant if I was describing the motorcycle or Shawn but I honestly found them both exciting. Putting the two together made me weak in the knees.
“Let me get on and start it, then you can climb on behind me.”
He gave me these instructions, then folded a rod down on either side for my feet before climbing on and starting it. It wasn’t until that very moment, with the motor making a throaty, insistent hum and the whole machine and its young rider already beginning to throb with power that I realized I would need to throw my leg over a seat that was slightly higher than my waist. For the second time today I almost regretted my commando status. I also wondered if I could manage this ride in four-inch heels. I realized with a shock that I would be riding through town with my skirt hiked up almost to my waist and the tops of my stockings in full view.
I was too eager and – yes, aroused by the prospect of this ride and strapping my hands around this attractive young rider now to back out. I stood at Shawn’s side, threw the strap to my laptop across my shoulder, raised my skirt almost to my hips, put my hand on Shawn’s shoulder Escort Beylikdüzü and threw my leg over the seat behind him. I was up behind Shawn and in a comfortable position in a flash. So far, so good I thought and silently gave myself a pat on the back.
“Febe!” Shawn called out in alarm, “I never thought about the way you’re dressed. Are you still sure you want to do this?”
I leaned forward and whispered in his ear, “You have no idea how much I want this!”
Shawn’s hands fidgeted with things on the handlebars and I heard a ‘thunk’ sound somewhere beneath me and we were off with a lurch. I tugged at his slender young chest to compensate for the motion, pressed my thighs tighter about his waist and let out an excited little “E-e-e-h!”
One block down the street we stopped at a traffic light and I leaned over his shoulder and asked, “I’ve got a few minutes before I have to be back at the House. Could you take me for a little ride, Shawn? I’d love to see what you can do with this thing, sweetie.”
He called back over his shoulder to me, “Your wish is my command, Febe! Just let me know if anything is too much for you.”
I glanced down at my skirt pushed up to my hips, noted the lovely coffee-stained tan of my thighs visible above my thigh high stocking, wriggled my smooth-shaven pussy lips against the sun-warmed seat of his motorcycle and grinned. Right now, in this moment, I was probably prepared for a lot more than my young stud was.
The sights, sounds and sensations were simply overwhelming. We accelerated rapidly from the light and I found myself pressing my boobs tightly into Shawn’s back. Wind rushed over my arms and up my skirt. There was a little rise in the seat where I sat that placed my hips a few inches above Shawn’s hips. I could look over his shoulder to see the street screaming toward us in an amazing way I had never experienced. He had the motorcycle performing at a high-pitched whine by now and the pulsing vibrations rose up through the entire machine and shook me until every nerve ending from my toes to my ears tingled with the electricity of it all. By pulling myself tightly against him and drawing my knees up tightly about his waist, my commando pussy was pressing into the small of his back. That’s not quite where I would have liked to press my pussy, but lordy – it was enough for now! I hastily prayed that I didn’t leave a damp spot on his jacket and resumed enjoying my thrill ride.
Shawn quickly had us outside of town and screaming our way down a country road. It had a few sharp curves in it and I leaned forward to warn him.
“Lean with me,” he told me quickly as he slowed for the first curve.
Negotiating the curves left me breathless and a little bonkers with the thrill of it. The roadway rose up so close beside us as we leaned into the turns. We dipped so far down that I was sure I could have reached out and touched the pavement – if I hadn’t been so busy clinging to my young stud for dear life. This was darn near as much fun as sex – and a lot more wicked. I was going to have to make this a habit, I decided.
Shawn proved to be a good rider from all I could tell. He was definitely considerate, even turning to ask a few times if I felt comfortable. We turned around finally and began to make our way back into town. I gradually began to regain some of my composure. As I sat enjoying the wind rushing past us, still clinging to Shawn with both hands, I realized with a shock that my knees were lifted up and clasped tightly underneath his arms. My hips were rolling slowly, sensually against the small of his back. With all the hard braking for the turns I had been flattened tightly against his back. My stocking-clad legs, from ankles to ass were just out there for the entire world to see.
I should have been shocked or, at the very least, ashamed of myself for displaying my body with such abandon and for humping Shawn but I wasn’t. I let my hips do what they wanted and they wanted to grind away, drawing my little commando pussy up and down doggedly over my innocent young motorcyclist. As I squirmed away with complete disregard for how wanton this all was, I began to feel the lips of my pussy coming into contact with bare flesh. It was a wonderful feeling and exactly what my pussy needed.
My curiosity got the better of me. I glanced down between us and discovered the rushing wind and the steady roll of my hips had inched Shawn’s sport coat and shirttail up, baring just a bit of his back. I decided his sport coat and shirt needed a little help from me. We were on a straight stretch of road and I felt comfortable holding onto Shawn with one hand for a moment so I slipped my right hand down between us and gently eased a bit more of his shirt up. I wriggled my pussy against all this newly bared skin and decided this was much, much better.
I rolled my hips slowly against him for another minute or two until we neared the outskirts of town. I toned my pussy-grinding down a bit, though I really missed the pleasure from all that lovely wear and tear on my clit.
I began giving directions to the frat house as we neared campus and had Shawn pull well up into the driveway when we arrived.
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