I sat down on the recently cleared couch and Maisy plopped down close next to me. She poured two shots and handed one to me. “What should we toast ...irst?” she asked? “To my favorite student!” I offered. “I’ll drink to that,” Maisy agreed, and we did. We went through four or five shots each in short order, toasting each other, the college, the mascot and even Ed Douglas and his underaged wives. On the next shot, Maisy was feeling the effects a bit more than me and missed her mouth, pouring. She'd never had a boyfriend, never even let any man touch her there, on her most secret place of places. That evening, while soaking in a tub of scented hot water, she rubbed between her legs to try to ease that ache but nothing she did seemed to help. It felt almost like something should be there. Something that was needed to be there to ease that ache she was feeling.She just had no idea what that something would be, and that really bothered her.As she got out of the draining tub and began to. Every time I felt her leg touch mine it was electric. Her eyes bore into mine, her confidence so consuming I felt powerless to do anything other than wait for her command. She finished her champagne, tossed the glass over her shoulder, it landed with barely a noise on the thick woollen carpet and then reaching round she undid her skirt and it fell to the floor. I lay back transfixed confronted by her legs encased in sheer nylon stockings held up by pale blue suspenders and a matching pair of. The parking lot was deserted except for a Winnebago, a pickup truck with stickers that screamed redneck, and a bright yellow Z-28 Camaro. Chad pulled in at the end of the lot, just past the coffee and soda machines. The streetlight cast a soft shadow that would make it comfortable to sleep, yet left enough dim light to see by. He crawled out of the car, stretched, and headed toward the rest room. Chad's nose quickly adapted to the mild odor of male urine floating just above that of.