Half this story is vaguely true...
-------
Case Western Reserve University is a high-priced private re-
search school in Cleveland. In many ways, being over half en-
gineering and science oriented, it's a meat grinding hell hole.
Classes are horrible, and the social opportunities are worse. Three
men for every two women students, counting the much better balanced
medical, law, and mostly female nursing schools. The average
science guy rarely has any contact with any of them.
Being a physicist, I had it worse than most. At Case there are
a number of women chemists and chemical engineers, and the bio-
logical science classes are probably about 50/50. But in the rare-
fied air of the advanced physics classes one finds at most four
women out of a couple dozen students. At least one of those is
often a married graduate student who doesn't speak english. Given
that and the prodigious loads of homework, getting out isn't usually
an option and a healthy, horny male faces forbidding odds.
I came back after nine months away from school to a different
set of classmates than before. The physics curriculum is pretty
linear so one stays with much the same group of people all the way
through. Unless one is in danger of flunking out and has to take
some time off in order to get his mind right. *ahem*
I wandered into the first day of PHYS 311, Classical Mechanics
and saw the typical class of junior Case physics students. Eighteen
men, three women. One of them was chatting along with the geekiest
group of guys and really didn't look or sound much different from
them. Another had a _huge_ diamond on her left hand, and was not
exacly 1995 Playmate of the Year Jenny McCarthy anyway. But over
toward the corner sat a tall, Irish-looking red haired woman who
looked alienated from the others and especially alienated from the
smarmy french guy next to her. Evidently the sneer is not a widely
used facial expression in France or he might have realized that he
was laying it on just a little thick.
I sat down next to her, but I couldn't think of a thing to say.
Then I noticed she was trying to read from a paper called "Beni-
ficence and Self-Love: A Kantian Perspective." The lady had other
interests than Newtonian physics.
"What do you think of the Categorical Imperitive?" I cocked my
thumb at her reading material.
Her nostrils widened a little and she scowled, "the whole idea
of universal morals is bogus crap. What's right for some guy in the
1700s can't possibly be what's right for me."
I made a good call and decided she'd like an argument. I picked
on her for being an ethical relativist for the few minutes before
the lecture started. Julie seemed to genuinely prefer that I be
confrontational--she certainly was.
It turned out that I'd known her boyfriend for some time, though
our previous friendship had faded. The boy was one of only a hand-
full of people I've known who're more arrogant than me. I couldn't
imagine what she saw in him, apart from that he knew how to dress
himself and always had lots of booze and cigarettes.
We became friends and began to meet and work on problem sets and
study for exams. Jules was in another of my classes, Quantum Mech-
anics, a badly taught excercise in higher math, so there were a lot
of late nights in the close quarters of my little single dorm room.
I knew she was attracted to me; she dropped subtle clues, profes-
sing admiration of my well-devolped social skills and smiling at me
at times for no apparent reason.
I was attracted to her as well. She was tall, with glowing
auburn-red hair (turned out that she dyed it, but it looked very
good on her). She had fair skin and a mysterious deep scar on the
back of her left hand and never wore jewelery that wasn't silver.
Her taste in clothes ran to nouveau punk, with little hints that she
might have a penchant for rough bedroom games.
We were nearly through with a tricky energy well problem one
night around 2:00 when I came back from the bathroom to find her
leaning back in my swivel chair, feet propped on my desk, trying to
relax a little. Our relationship had never lost that edge that
we'd given it by starting with an argument, and we'd been having a
testy, but not mean-spirited, exchange over the way to approach the
problem. Deciding to call a truce, I approached her from behind and
set my hands to work on her shoulders.
I found some knots in the muscles and went to work. She hummed,
almost purring, as some of the tension melted. "Is that good?" I
asked, knowing damn well it was.
"Mmmmm-hmmm," she stretched it out, making it sound as if she
were enjoying something chocolate.
I began to work my way down her back and said, "these long
muscles down the sides of your spine are pretty tight, but they're
stretched and hard for me to work on. Why don't you lie down for
me." I turned and patted my bed (I said it was close quarters,
didn't I?) invitingly.
I straddled her and sat on her butt. Julie was solidly built,
strong but soft. A big girl at about 5 foot 7 or 8. My knees snug
against her sides, I got down to business. The muscles at the top
of her back were bunched up and tense.
She smelled a little of perfume and tobacco. I don't smoke but
it didn't put me off. My CD changer switched to Orb's latest work,
Orbvs Terrarvm, a classic make-out disc of ambient music with super-
low gentle bass that washes through you like ocean waves.
After 20 or 30 minutes, I bent down close to her neck and made a
decision. My index finger snuck up the nape of her neck and very
lightly played with the wispy hairs there. I was rewarded with a
gasp as her buttocks clenched beneath my thighs and her hips
squirmed a little. I played there awhile, knowing what a turn-on
that ticklish little spot can be, then I moved my hands to her
trapezius and then to her deltoids, kneading the hard muscles under
her soft skin. I breathed softly on the back of her neck. My
fingers roamed around to the front of her shoulders and pressed
into her pectorals near their attatchments.
....
To Be Continued
(damn 10k post limit...)
-------
Case Western Reserve University is a high-priced private re-
search school in Cleveland. In many ways, being over half en-
gineering and science oriented, it's a meat grinding hell hole.
Classes are horrible, and the social opportunities are worse. Three
men for every two women students, counting the much better balanced
medical, law, and mostly female nursing schools. The average
science guy rarely has any contact with any of them.
Being a physicist, I had it worse than most. At Case there are
a number of women chemists and chemical engineers, and the bio-
logical science classes are probably about 50/50. But in the rare-
fied air of the advanced physics classes one finds at most four
women out of a couple dozen students. At least one of those is
often a married graduate student who doesn't speak english. Given
that and the prodigious loads of homework, getting out isn't usually
an option and a healthy, horny male faces forbidding odds.
I came back after nine months away from school to a different
set of classmates than before. The physics curriculum is pretty
linear so one stays with much the same group of people all the way
through. Unless one is in danger of flunking out and has to take
some time off in order to get his mind right. *ahem*
I wandered into the first day of PHYS 311, Classical Mechanics
and saw the typical class of junior Case physics students. Eighteen
men, three women. One of them was chatting along with the geekiest
group of guys and really didn't look or sound much different from
them. Another had a _huge_ diamond on her left hand, and was not
exacly 1995 Playmate of the Year Jenny McCarthy anyway. But over
toward the corner sat a tall, Irish-looking red haired woman who
looked alienated from the others and especially alienated from the
smarmy french guy next to her. Evidently the sneer is not a widely
used facial expression in France or he might have realized that he
was laying it on just a little thick.
I sat down next to her, but I couldn't think of a thing to say.
Then I noticed she was trying to read from a paper called "Beni-
ficence and Self-Love: A Kantian Perspective." The lady had other
interests than Newtonian physics.
"What do you think of the Categorical Imperitive?" I cocked my
thumb at her reading material.
Her nostrils widened a little and she scowled, "the whole idea
of universal morals is bogus crap. What's right for some guy in the
1700s can't possibly be what's right for me."
I made a good call and decided she'd like an argument. I picked
on her for being an ethical relativist for the few minutes before
the lecture started. Julie seemed to genuinely prefer that I be
confrontational--she certainly was.
It turned out that I'd known her boyfriend for some time, though
our previous friendship had faded. The boy was one of only a hand-
full of people I've known who're more arrogant than me. I couldn't
imagine what she saw in him, apart from that he knew how to dress
himself and always had lots of booze and cigarettes.
We became friends and began to meet and work on problem sets and
study for exams. Jules was in another of my classes, Quantum Mech-
anics, a badly taught excercise in higher math, so there were a lot
of late nights in the close quarters of my little single dorm room.
I knew she was attracted to me; she dropped subtle clues, profes-
sing admiration of my well-devolped social skills and smiling at me
at times for no apparent reason.
I was attracted to her as well. She was tall, with glowing
auburn-red hair (turned out that she dyed it, but it looked very
good on her). She had fair skin and a mysterious deep scar on the
back of her left hand and never wore jewelery that wasn't silver.
Her taste in clothes ran to nouveau punk, with little hints that she
might have a penchant for rough bedroom games.
We were nearly through with a tricky energy well problem one
night around 2:00 when I came back from the bathroom to find her
leaning back in my swivel chair, feet propped on my desk, trying to
relax a little. Our relationship had never lost that edge that
we'd given it by starting with an argument, and we'd been having a
testy, but not mean-spirited, exchange over the way to approach the
problem. Deciding to call a truce, I approached her from behind and
set my hands to work on her shoulders.
I found some knots in the muscles and went to work. She hummed,
almost purring, as some of the tension melted. "Is that good?" I
asked, knowing damn well it was.
"Mmmmm-hmmm," she stretched it out, making it sound as if she
were enjoying something chocolate.
I began to work my way down her back and said, "these long
muscles down the sides of your spine are pretty tight, but they're
stretched and hard for me to work on. Why don't you lie down for
me." I turned and patted my bed (I said it was close quarters,
didn't I?) invitingly.
I straddled her and sat on her butt. Julie was solidly built,
strong but soft. A big girl at about 5 foot 7 or 8. My knees snug
against her sides, I got down to business. The muscles at the top
of her back were bunched up and tense.
She smelled a little of perfume and tobacco. I don't smoke but
it didn't put me off. My CD changer switched to Orb's latest work,
Orbvs Terrarvm, a classic make-out disc of ambient music with super-
low gentle bass that washes through you like ocean waves.
After 20 or 30 minutes, I bent down close to her neck and made a
decision. My index finger snuck up the nape of her neck and very
lightly played with the wispy hairs there. I was rewarded with a
gasp as her buttocks clenched beneath my thighs and her hips
squirmed a little. I played there awhile, knowing what a turn-on
that ticklish little spot can be, then I moved my hands to her
trapezius and then to her deltoids, kneading the hard muscles under
her soft skin. I breathed softly on the back of her neck. My
fingers roamed around to the front of her shoulders and pressed
into her pectorals near their attatchments.
....
To Be Continued
(damn 10k post limit...)
