Summer's Warmth: A Winter Encounter

As I lay on my bed, enveloped in the darkness of my tiny college bedroom, snow flurries gently tapped on my window. My computer's screen saver cast a palette of shifting colors on me. My hands trembled as I held my cell phone; a scrap of notebook paper rested on my unstable leg.

Three days—I had allowed three days to pass since the laundry room encounter. I figured that was the standard, polite amount of time to wait before calling a girl. Any less and I'd be an overeager creep. Or maybe I was overthinking it. Perhaps this was the kind of girl who didn't follow 'the rules,' if there really were any.

After all, she did say she had no shame.

I took a deep breath and flipped the phone's hatch open. Next would be the hard part; it always was. I dialed the area code, and then the three numbers that followed. I stopped when my nerves escaped my body. I reached out, snatched them back, crammed them into place, and dialed the last four digits.

The phone rang once before it was answered... not by the girl, though. Instead, a prerecorded female voice apologized and informed me that "the number you've dialed is no longer in service. Please check the number and try your call again."

Figuring I'd misdialed in my nervousness, I tried again, manually entering the numbers instead of hitting 'redial.' I took another deep breath.

Okay, round two.

The phone rang once.

"I'm sorry, but the number..."

I closed the hatch and slammed my phone down on the mattress. Son of a bitch! Another bridge collapsed, another door closed. Anger flared up in me.

Was my disappointment justified? After all, these false leads and dead ends had been occurring my whole life, to the point where here I was, Leon Rollins, 20 years old, a college Junior... and a virgin.

Three days ago, I'd been sitting in my building's laundry room, waiting on my clothes to finish washing. I was reading a library copy of The Godfather, squinting in confusion over a particular subplot twist that I didn't feel there was a purpose for in a Mafia story. Beside me sat a pretty girl. She had long, slick black hair, and a cute little nose. Other than noticing her attractiveness, I didn't pay her much attention, and we weren't talking. My specialty was waiting for a stranger to talk to me first before I said anything. I was preoccupied with the book.

Movement and footsteps caught my attention, and when I looked up, I couldn't help but stare. A gorgeous brunette had walked into the room. I'm not good with numbers, but I knew she was at least a couple inches taller than my 5'7. What struck me more than anything was what she was wearing: practically nothing.

She was clad only in a white cotton bathrobe, and its neckline was low enough to expose a teasing hint of voluptuous tit cleavage. Her long, freshly shaved legs were totally bare, ending in a pair of fuzzy pink slippers.

The black-haired girl looked up; her face contorted.

"Why the hell aren't you dressed?" she protested. I figured these two knew each other.

"I ran out of clothes," Bathrobe Girl explained.

"Girl, you seriously have procrastination issues," the friend remarked with a half-smile.

My eyes followed Bathrobe Girl as she put a basketful of clothes in one of the available washers. I tried dividing my gaze between her body and my book, but it was difficult not to stare.

Bathrobe Girl loaded her clothes and approached her friend. "I still have that essay final to write," she said. "Is it okay if I wait with you?"

I smelled the scent of Bathrobe Girl's shampoo. Pert Plus. I recognized it as Pert Plus because that's what I used to jerk off with before I noticed it left my dick ashy and irritated. The shampoo scent brought back a flood of old jerk off memories.

The friend recoiled from Bathrobe Girl, putting her hands up. "Ugh, no! You're naked! Besides, I gotta do that essay too."

Bathrobe Girl groaned; her arms fell to her sides. "Well who's gonna watch my clothes!? If somebody comes in and steals them then I won't have shit to wear."

"Shoulda thought of that earlier," the friend chided.

Then both girls noticed me.

"Hey, um, will you watch my clothes for me?" Bathrobe Girl asked, as she stepped over to me. My eyes locked onto that plunging neckline. Her tits were fairly large and jiggled with each of her movements. If only I could reach out...

"He's probably got stuff to do," the friend said.

Bathrobe Girl shot her friend an irritated look, and then turned back to me. "I know it'll probably take a lotta your time, but I'll pay you."

The offer sounded good; I could always use extra cash. But then another thought crossed my mind. This was an opportunity. Images rushed through my head, and as one might guess, they were images of how Bathrobe Girl looked sans-robe. I wondered about the size, shape, firmness and color of those sweet looking tits. How did Bathrobe Girl keep her pussy groomed? Was it shaved bare? Oldschool jungle? Or did she keep a little landing strip? Did her hair color match what she wore under the robe? And how did that nether hair, if there actually was any, look when she was aroused? How big was her clit? All these questions started giving me a serious boner.

I couldn't resist. I went for it. "Alright, I'll watch your clothes. If you... i-if you... s-show me.." I swallowed. "Show me something."

"You want to see my boobs?" Bathrobe Girl asked, lightly touching her jutting rack with her right hand.

She followed with a quick nod. "Alright, that's fair."

"You sure that's alright?" I asked, feeling a bit guilty now.

"Oh yeah," she said sincerely, "it's totally fine. Totally. I'll show you everything. I have no shame."

"She really doesn't," the friend clarified.

I chuckled. "Sounds good!" I gave Bathrobe Girl a light handshake.

"Good, good. See you when I get back." With that, Bathrobe Girl and her friend exited, leaving me alone with my clothes, her clothes, and my book.

Two hours passed; I spent it reading. Eventually my own clothes finished washing and drying and I put them not-so-neatly in my laundry basket. I waited for Bathrobe Girl's return.

Bathrobe Girl did return, but so did everybody else in the building who needed fresh clothes. I looked around, taking in the noise and confusion. Obviously this wasn't the ideal place to close the deal I'd made with Bathrobe Girl.

So I asked for her number. She tore off a piece of paper and jotted it down.

Now it was Friday night, and my dreams of an intimate tryst with Bathrobe Girl were squandered.

The Fall semester was over, and the students were preparing to go home for Christmas break, if they hadn't left already. Others were taking the opportunity to party it up before departing.

Matt, one of my roommates, had actually invited me to such a party tonight. Matt was blond, tall, and built like he meant it. Judging by the number of girls who'd cycled through our housing suite during the semester, he was also quite the ladies man. He'd probably sank his dick into more twat than I ever would in my lifetime. I might have learned something from him, if I bothered to ask.

The gathering was at a house off-campus. I'd declined Matt's invite, mostly because I was saving room for a meet-up with Bathrobe Girl, but also because of my chronic fear of strangers. Now that my potential plans had been shot in the face and buried, I stewed in the dark.

"Ugh, fuck it," I growled. With my legs still on the bed, I leaned over the edge and pulled out a plastic Rubbermaid container from underneath. I blindly fumbled around until I drew out a DVD case.

I looked at it. A fresh-faced, naïve, nervous looking, blonde 18-year-old co-ed was in the center of the cover photo, with curious eyes and a finger in her mouth. Her hair was done in schoolgirl pigtails. She was surrounded by either scantily clad or topless women. The title of the DVD was Forbidden Sorority Initiations 3.

If I wasn't going to spend an evening with Bathrobe Girl, then at least I could masturbate and imagine what might have happened.

My PC was no more than four feet across from my bed in this tiny room. I got up to put Forbidden Sorority Initiations 3 in the computer's DVD drive. My favorite video player always skipped right to the menus, bypassing the FBI warning and 2257 Compliance Statement screens. I started the DVD and laid back.

On the screen, a young co-ed (the same nervous looking blonde from the cover) was being given a tour of a sorority house by a sexy looking redhead. The blonde was looking to join the 'Et Mi Pi' sorority. She liked the house. The redhead suddenly revealed that there was an initiation involved in joining.

"What kind of initiation?" the naïve co-ed piped happily. "Oh, I'll do anything!"

"Really?" the redhead replied with hungry eyes. "Anything?" Another girl, taller, with black hair (worn down, similar to Bathrobe Girl's friend) walked into frame. She was shirtless, with smaller tits than the other two girls.

The redhead slipped a hand up the blonde's white blouse. The dark-haired one started planting slow, sensuous kisses on her neck.

Typical of these movies, the blonde dropped her inhibitions in a heartbeat and was immediately into the action. I unsnapped and unzipped my jeans and reached into my boxers. I grabbed my stiffening prick. The redhead now had the blonde's miniskirt down and was sloppily licking and sucking her shaved pussy. To my delight, the blonde's clit was pierced.

I squeezed my cock a couple of times... then stopped. I looked at the screen, where the blonde was now on the floor, with the redhead tonguing her twat as the blonde helped herself to mouthfuls of the dark-haired girl's small nipples. I froze for a moment.

I leaned my head against the backboard and closed my eyes. I took my hand out of my jeans and zipped them up. I got out of bed and clicked out of the porn.

"Why the fuck not?" I said out loud to no one. I grabbed my leather jacket, which was lazily thrown over the desk chair.

* * * *

Looking back, I'm not sure exactly what made me decide to go to the party. Normally my social anxiety would have prevented me from even considering such an idea, but now I was leaving my own room, exiting the four-bedroom suite, walking down the hall toward the lobby, and stepping out into the bitter cold... and I wasn't stopping.

Outside, a rare snowfall fluttered about in small amounts. It was chilly as a she-demon's tits and the cold burned my ears something awful. My car was parked close to the front door; Matt had given me directions to the party in case I changed my mind.

I started toward my car, but again, decided otherwise. Instead, I started casually walking down the street, running through Matt's directions from memory. It would be a long walk, especially in this weather, but I didn't give a damn. If I got sick later, I had the luxury of two weeks without any classes.

The campus streets were empty and quiet. Occasionally a car whizzed by me, going faster than it needed to and throwing an unpleasant breeze my way. But for the most part, the school was abandoned.

Jeans, a long-sleeved (thin) polo shirt, shoes and a leather jacket were hardly appropriate attire for such a journey. As I continued following Matt's directions, the cold and falling snow were constant reminders of how stupid and careless I was being. By the time I realized I needed my car for real, it was too late; there was too much distance between me and my cozy little clunker. Water vapor escaped with every exhaled breath of mine; my chest burned. Yep, my family was going to be real happy about the coughing fits I'd be having during Christmas dinner.

Eventually, my destination came into view: a two-story brick house surrounded by vehicles. Every window in that ancient place was brightly lit. No one stood in the yard. From outside, I heard muffled bass beats.

For the first time since I'd left my room, I questioned what the hell I was doing here. Nevertheless, I put all doubt aside and went inside.

I was taken aback by the ginormous crowd standing inside the house, and briefly considered retreating to safety. But it was too late to go back; I'd walked too damn far in too shit weather to change my mind now.

Unseen speakers blasted "Gold Digger" by Kanye West, and the music was only slightly louder than the colliding conversations. Almost everyone, of age or otherwise, had a drink in their hand. There were several pretty girls standing around, some of whom I categorized as 'deliciously hot.' But I wouldn't be talking to them. Oh no, not Leon Rollins. At the same time, there were guys broken off into small groups as well; I didn't want to talk to them either.

I was here though, and thus resigned to my fate. I looked around. In the large living room I stood in, a large orange drink dispenser sat on a small table. I shrugged, and filled a red plastic cup with what I assumed was a strong mixed drink. I plopped down on a big white sofa, determined to spend enough time at the party to justify the long trip it took to get there—and maybe get hammered while I was at it!

I sipped my drink. It was fruity and only slightly bitter, the type of concoction that could knock a person off their ass because of how easy it was on the taste buds. I've never been great at holding my alcohol, and from that one sip my cheeks tingled. Maybe instead of measuring this party' worth by time, I could do it in drinks. If I put away three of this things, I'd leave without feeling too guilty, I decided.

I surveyed the room. It was dimly lit by a few lamps, giving the space a somber atmosphere. I watched guys laughing with guys, and other guys hitting on girls. I wondered, with dismay, how life would be if I actually had the ability to talk to and interact with strangers.

I raised the plastic cup to my mouth again.

"You look kinda lost."

A voice—a female voice—had addressed me from out of nowhere. It was so startling that I jumped a little, nearly spilling my drink on my jeans. The voice came from my left, and after exhaling sharply, I looked for its source.

Sitting beside me on the couch, like an interdimensional traveler who had just teleported into my reality, was a girl. Again, my numbers are bad, but she was a few inches shorter than me. She had shoulder-length, dirty-blonde hair, and she was armed for winter with an open white puffer coat worn over an off-white thermal shirt. For bottoms she had on jeans and winter boots; her hands were covered with plaid cotton mittens.

I was still overcoming my shock at her sudden appearance when my attention was drawn elsewhere: her eyes. They were green, almost teal in color, and there was something about them I couldn't place. Something... intriguing. She'd accented them with carefully applied eyeliner.

She was beautiful, and a girl with physical attributes of this caliber was guaranteed to freeze my tongue. But this time it was different. I didn't feel nervous or struck with a lack of confidence. My words came naturally.

"Lost? Nah. I was just looking for a change of scenery tonight."

The girl smiled and nodded. "I know what you mean. Oh, and I'm Summer. Summer Madison."

"Name's Leon Rollins." Again, this ease of words was uncanny.

I glanced down. Summer also held a drink, but it wasn't a red cup like everyone else's. It was glass and filled with ice. I'm just as bad with drinks as I am with numbers, but it appeared she was drinking only plain water.

"Do you know the people who live here?" I asked.

Summer shook her head. "Nope. I hardly know anybody in this crowd... never been here, either. Nah, I mostly stay cooped up. Trying to keep my GPA decent, you know."

As she spoke, my eyes scanned her over some more. The shirt beneath her coat was small for her, and from my angle I noticed that it emphasized a pair of tits that were moderately sized but appropriate for her body and height. As with Bathrobe Girl, the mystery of what lay beneath entered my mind. There was a twinge in my boxers.

"What are you majoring in?" I asked her.

"Anthropology," she replied.

"What year are you?"

"Sophomore."

My eyes returned to those teal irises of hers. This time they evoked a stronger feeling, like I was being drawn in, hypnotized.

And that tight shirt really did shape out her tits. After another dirty thought passed, a sillier one crossed my mind.

Strange girl appears out of nowhere. Is mysterious and instantly appealing. Makes me feel like I'm falling under a spell.

Was Summer a vampire? I did my best to hide my amusement, but I'd seen enough movies and TV shows where circumstances unfolded exactly this way and the story ended with a poor guy discovered by the cops in a dark alley, drained of his blood.

I shook off my idiot mindset. "Are you from around here?"

Summer shook her head a second time. "Nope. Out of state. This is nowhere near where I'm from... but I was determined to go to college, no matter where it was."

Her eyes narrowed, and she glanced at the floor. "See, my family... well, a lot of us get left behind."

I could have pressed for further details but this conversation seemed to be darkening Summer's mood. I switched subjects.

"Why Anthropology?"

She smiled and looked at me again. "Hard to explain. I like learning about people... about how people react to each other in different cultures and societies."

Summer leaned her head against the couch. "And yeah, I know not a lot of companies out there are looking for Anthropology majors. But I like to think of college as... something other than a nice thing for a resume. It should be about learning,not just what it can get you after you're done."

It made perfect sense. I knew my major probably wouldn't help me much either, but I, too, was a knowledge seeker.

Suddenly, I remembered the drink I was still holding. Impulse told me to take another sip, but I looked at Summer, and then back at the cup.

I didn't feel like drinking anymore. The need for it had left me as soon as I began talking to Summer. I set the cup down on the floor.

"So what are you majoring in?" Summer asked.

"English," I said.

Summer chuckled. "The study of your primary language, huh?"

I laughed a little too. "No, I... I want to be a writer."

"Yeah? What kinda stuff do you write?"

Those eyes. Damn, what was it about those eyes!?

"Mostly genre stuff, for now. I'm into sci-fi/fantasy kinda work. Orcs and lasers and big bastard swords, those things. That kind of stuff my Fiction Workshop professor really looked down on... because literature is better." I emphasized 'literature' with mockery.

"That's cool. Why that, though?"

Summer was genuinely interested in my words, as far as I knew. But like numbers and drinks, body language wasn't my strongest suit either.

"To tell you the truth," I answered, "it's because sometimes I think it's better than reality. Because the real world... when I stop and look around sometimes, I think the real world just... it kinda sucks. So I write about stuff that's not real and couldn't be real, and I escape into it."

I flashed a smile. "Sorry to sound like a glass-half-empty type guy."

"No, no, I get it," Summer replied. "I see where you're coming from. I know about rough times... darkness. But at the same time... from my experience, the world's what you make of it."

"You think so?"

I almost said "you sound like my mom" instead, but I didn't want to come off rude. Summer was probably right.

I turned over her words in my mind. I know about rough times... darkness. What did she mean? Did she have a rough background? I preferred not to crash land our conversation by being nosy.