A Fistful Of Sand Book 1Chapter 10: Of Mice, Of Man free porn video

It was early in the morning, the blanket of night was dissolving and the first birds were singing the sun's welcome. It wasn't the rising sun or the chirping birds that had awoken Gregg. He had been awake for some time, lying in Heather's bed, staring at her sleeping form. The fresh scent of her sheets mingled with the musky odor sex. She was curled against his side, resting her head on his shoulder, her leg and arm draped across his form. Mumbling something unintelligible in her sleep, Heather rolled onto her back, her head pinning Gregg's arm to the bed. Unfortunately for Gregg, her motion also deprived him of his share of the covers in the cool, air-conditioned bedroom. On the plus side, her motion also exposed her naked breasts to the cool air, the nipples already stiff. Heather liked keeping her apartment cool — in part it was because she preferred sleeping snug in her covers, but also because her nightly bedroom workout with Gregg always left her hot and sweaty. Her naked body was a sight Gregg still never got tired of seeing over the past two weeks. Even after a night of sex, he marveled that she could still look so ... so perfect. Even though he thought he was of an age where perhaps his libido should be waning, he was sure his sex-drive was cranked higher than a hormonally-overcharged teenager ... not that Heather was complaining.

Since his return and subsequent reunion with Heather, Gregg had been spending much of his days (and nights) like a deer caught in headlights — unable to fully believe that he was actually with this beautiful woman. Having given up on the idea of a woman in his life (or anybody in general) a long time ago, the series of events that led his being in bed with this goddess of a woman seemed, in his mind, unreal. Gregg may once have been "El Professor" to her and to the "the boys," but now HE was the student. It was just another thing that made him marvel: that she patiently put up with his lack of knowledge of pretty basic things. The day she had him spend practicing unhooking her bra instantly brought a smile to his face. When he complained in his frustration that the device must have been invented by NASA, she calmly told him that nothing could ruin a romantic moment more than a guy fumbling behind a girl's back. So they practiced, and practiced, and practiced. After a couple hours (Heather liked taking breaks and "rewarding" his hard work), Gregg could unhook her bra with one hand on the first try nine times out of ten. When he protested that he really didn't need to be that adept at this skill, she just gave him a wry smile, patted him on the cheek, looked him up and down, and sighed, shaking her head. "I have no doubt," she calmly explained, "that THIS is a skill you'll find useful ... hopefully soon." Gregg's attempts to get her to explain further were deflected.

Loathe as he was to disturb her sleep, Gregg carefully extracted his arm from beneath her head and sat up against the headboard. Heather's lips compressed tightly in her sleep and Gregg could see her eyes moving rapidly beneath the lids. Unable to help his curiosity, he closed his eyes and delved into her mind. Gregg was finding it easier and easier to hear people's thoughts, especially Heather's. Was it because he was getting stronger in this strange power? Did it have something to do with the amount of time he spent with Heather? Both? Gregg didn't know. But "listening" to a dream, even Heather's dreams, took much more effort than just listening to conscious thoughts. It was like digging through soft, dry sand. As he dug deeper, the hole kept caving in on itself. But soon enough, he dug deep enough, and the sights and sounds of her subconscious entered his mind...

Heather sat on the park bench watching the children play on the playground equipment. She was dressed in a very conservative pink dress-suit with black trim and a pill box hat. It was her favorite outfit, one she usually wore to church on Sundays. The First Lady, Jackie Kennedy, had once worn a similar outfit.

'No, wait — that's not right. I don't go to church, and I certainly wouldn't ever wear something like this!' Heather thought to herself. 'When this was in style, my mom would have been just a child. Where am-'

Heather's thought was derailed as she heard a child sniffling to her right. Turning her head, she saw a sobbing boy sitting beside her on the bench. His shirt was torn and there were grass stains on the front. His glasses lay crooked across his face, one of the metal arms bent at an odd angle.

"Where's your mommy little boy?" Heather asked, looking around. Surely this boy's mother would be there to comfort him.

"She's not here."

"Oh. Well, is your daddy here?"

"No. They're never here." He slumped forward and started to sob. Heather's heart was pouring out to this child. She wanted desperately to put her arm around him and hold him close. Not sure what else to do, she put her hand on his back, giving him a reassuring pat. "Shh. It's okay. Those bullies are gone now."

The boy's sobs lessened and he sat up straight, trying to be brave.

"Do you have anywhere to go?" she asked, rummaging in her purse with lace gloves, looking for a handkerchief.

Sniffling, the boy pulled his glasses off and tried to clean the thick lenses with his dirty shirt, but he only managed to smudge them even more. "The library closed a while ago and Mom and Dad won't be home until later. I just wanted to sit under that tree and read, but those big guys threw my book into the pond." He sighed dejectedly. It was said so matter-of-factly that Heather knew this was not the first time this had happened.

Pulling on the bent arm of his glasses, the boy tried to straighten it out. With an audible snap, the metal gave way and he held part of his glasses in one hand and the broken arm in the other. Giving a heaving sigh, the boy looked up into Heather's face with eyes filled with both innocence and sadness. "Do you mind if I just wait here with you until my parents get home?"

"Of course not honey. You look like you've had a rough day. Here — use this to dry your eyes," she said, finally finding a handkerchief to give him.

The boy used his fingers to comb some unruly sandy brown hair out of his eyes. Heather could see the tears welling up in them, filled with silent thanks for just a little company and a little bit of kindness.

"What's your name?" she asked, fingering the hole in his shirt with her hand.

"Gregg."

Heather pulled the torn bit of shirt away from the Gregg's shoulder and saw a large white scar on his skin. Instantly she was aware again that she was dreaming. She remembered who she was and who the boy was. 'The dream is different ... there's no black room... '

"You're pretty," Gregg said, looking at the ground between his feet.

"Thank you," Heather said, moving her hand from his torn shirt to the boy's hair. 'Why do I always have to dream of Gregg as a little boy? I know he's a man. I have the sore muscles to prove it!' "And I think you're very handsome. Tell me, do you have a girlfriend?"

Gregg blushed. It was the kind of question adults always asked little boys in an effort to make them blush. "Nooo," he said shyly, turning his face away from her, swinging his leg beneath the bench.

"Why not? I'm sure there must be a special girl in your class that you like."

"Not really. None of the girls in my class even talk to me."

"Why not?"

Gregg was silent. His leg stopped swinging, and his shy blush was slowly being overtaken by a sad frown.

"Gregg honey? Why not? You're smart, good looking..."

"Because no sixteen year-old girl wants to talk with a ten-year-old boy who's smarter than they are!" He practically shouted as he buried his face in his hands and started sobbing again.

Heather tried to soothe him, rubbing his back gently. "Gregg. Shh. It's okay. I'm sorry, I didn't know. It's okay honey. Don't worry. One day you'll meet someone very special. Any girl would be a fool not to like you."

"Do you like me?" he asked in between sniffles.

"Yes Gregg. I do. I like you a lot."

"Would you be my girlfriend?"

"That's sweet." Heather looked down sadly at the little boy. "But I'm sorry ... you're just too young..."

The sad look of rejection on Gregg's face would have made the most cold-hearted person melt...

Gregg woke and quickly got out of bed. He was getting accustomed to waking up in a sweat, thinking he was dead — but never wishing he was dead. He stood by the bed, running his hand through his unruly bed-hair, trying to get a grip on his thoughts. Feeling suddenly ill, he ran into the bathroom, tripping on a shoe in his path along the way. Biting back a curse, he limped into the bathroom, closed the door, and turned on the light. His stomach roiled and he waited for something to come up, but it had been many hours since he had food. Resting his weight on outstretched arms to either side of the sink, he closed his eyes, and leaned forward until his forehead pressed against the cool glass of the mirror.

Gregg remembered that day in the park. He remembered his classmates throwing his library book into the pond and his parents having to buy a new one, punishing him for being so clumsy. He told them that it fell in, not wanting them to know the hell he went through on a daily basis being only ten years old in high school. He remembered the kind old lady sitting on the bench who offered him a handkerchief and a butterscotch candy. What Heather was doing in her place, or how she was even dreaming of HIS memories in the first place were a puzzle — a very frustrating puzzle. That was one of Gregg's most private thoughts — a part of his memory he would have liked to forget, if possible — definitely not one he wanted to share with Heather.

But her dream was a little different from his memory of that day — it was not quite what he remembered. For one thing, he would definitely have remembered if that lady looked as good as Heather ... but she didn't. Most octogenarians don't look that good. Another difference was him calling her pretty. He didn't remember ever actually talking to that woman ... but then again, Gregg had to remind himself that it was Heather's dream. It was Heather's dream, but it involved his memory!

Is that how she saw him? As a child? It was that thought, more than any other that made him want to sick up. Heather was the greatest thing that had ever happened in his life. He knew he had her up on a pedestal ... it seemed to him no less than she deserved — so beautiful, so kind, so patient, so sexy... 'What is she, a queen!, doing with a schlub like me?'

Gregg's self-deprecation came to an abrupt halt with a knock on the door. "Gregg? Gregg, are you okay?"

Gregg turned on the faucet and splashed some cold water on his face. "Uh, yeah. Just ... just give me a minute."

Heather either didn't hear or chose not to listen. The door opened a few inches and she stuck her head in, a concerned look across her face. "Gregg, I was worried ... the way you bolted out of bed..."

"Huh? Oh. Uh, bad dream. I ... uh ... I don't really remember most of it now anyway," he lied.

Heather opened the bathroom door fully, stepping into the light. Gregg was immediately aware of his own nudity by the mere presence of hers. He turned his head back to the mirror, trying to ignore the excitement that was growing — literally — because of a single glance. She stood beside him, pressed against his back, her cheek resting against his shoulder blade. "Are you sure? Do you want to talk about it?"

Gregg looked at the reflection of the two of them in the mirror. He still barely recognized his own body. Heather's arms circled around his waist, running lightly across his defined musculature. His eyes caught hers and her motion stopped.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked, trying to get him to open up.

"You're so beautiful," he blurted out, not even thinking to censure himself. "You're so incredibly beautiful." A soft smile appeared on Heather's face. "You could have any man in the world ... why are you with me?"

The soft smile on Heather's face turned to a frown and she backed away from him, turning him so they were facing each other. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath as if preparing a response. Before he even saw it coming, Heather's fist smacked loudly and painfully into his chest. Gregg grabbed her arms before she could throw another punch.

"What the fuck was that for?" he yelled, tightening his grip on her wrists as she tried to break free.

"Oh, so there IS some fight in you after all! For a minute I thought you had turned into Jell-o"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"O come on, Gregg. We've been together long enough for you to cut that shit out! Look in the mirror. Let go of my arms, I won't hit you again, I promise. Now turn around and look in the mirror."

Gregg did as she asked, reluctantly letting go, half-expecting another punch.

"What do you see?"

Gregg's eyes moved over his body, trying to figure out what it was she was asking.

"I don't know. Me?"

"That's right. You! I see you. A man. An amazing man. I'm not 'settling' for you. I CHOOSE to be with you ... at least for as long as you'll have me." Gregg tried to interrupt, but Heather didn't let him. "Don't you think I ask myself the same question every night? You could have any woman in the world — and don't try to deny it. What are YOU doing with me?"

"Are you kidding? Look at you, you're —"

"And you're the same," she cut in. "Do I need to remind you of Emily? Jenny? Brenda? Do I need to remind you of a certain pair of panties with 'Amy' written on them? I see how women look at you. If you only realized your potential, you could be having a different woman every night."

"If you're jealous, then why did you practically command me to sleep with another woman?"

"I'm not jealous. Far from it. I just don't want you to feel guilty for being who and what you are. That lightening bolt woke you up ... or something. You went from being someone I barely noticed to someone I can't get out of my thoughts." Gregg gulped nervously, thinking there was more truth in her words than she knew! "I don't want you missing out on all you can have because of some misplaced feelings for me ... You'll just be miserable and frustrated."

"But if I CAN'T be with you, THEN I'll be miserable and frustrated."

The room was filled with a deafening awkward silence. Heather looked up into his eyes, the fury that was there moments ago was replaced with disbelief. "You mean it? You'd really be miserable without me?"

"Yes," Gregg said, pulling her in closer for a hug. He winced slightly as her head rested on the growing bruise where she punched him. "I can't explain it, but the moment I woke up in that hospital and saw your face, I knew there was no one else."

Heather squeezed him harder, sniffling as a tear ran down her cheek. She stepped back, wiping a wet cheek with her hand. "Listen. I know men. And I know what men want. I know there will be other women. No, don't interrupt. It's okay. Just promise me: no secrets."

If Gregg had words, they failed him. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. While he stood there, mouth fumbling, Heather continued. "Promise me that if ... when you find yourself some pretty little conquest, you don't hide it from me. Just promise me that, and I'll not only accept your ... experimentations ... maybe I'll even join in sometimes." Heather punctuated her offer with an evil smile, and a gentle squeeze of his now-growing cock trapped between them.

"I ... I promise." Saying it felt right. He was not sure there was a down side to this deal. She had just given him carte-blanche to explore his budding sexuality. If she was doubtful of her offer, she gave no sign.

"Good. Now, we still have an hour or so before I have to get up for work ... so what do you say we seal the deal? I don't want you to forget all the reasons you should keep coming back for more..."

Two slightly exhausted hours later, Gregg was back in his campus office continuing to prepare his lesson plans for the coming semester. As much as he tried, there was no way to avoid having to give lectures. That meant standing in front of a large room filled with barely-interested freshmen and sophomores. In a way he wished he was born fifty years earlier when he could just stand in front of the lecture hall with his well-worn, yellowed notes and just read for 50 minutes and then leave it for a grad assistant to run discussions and administer tests. Unfortunately, the progressive movements had taken hold and it didn't look like they'd let go anytime soon. Even though his tenure portfolio was based primarily on research and funding, teaching and student learning were a small, but sizable part of that equation.

'Perhaps it's for the better, ' he thought to himself, as he reviewed the powerpoint presentation he'd loaded up for week three of Intro to Anthropology. 'After all, they are paying money for an education ... the least I can do is my best to help them learn... '

But sifting through notes, photos from historical digs, and planning lectures and discussion points just wasn't engaging enough to break through what was currently on his mind. As Gregg continued to stare blankly at the computer monitor at the corner of his desk, his thoughts kept flashing back to the surreal conversation he had with Heather that morning. Any doubts that she was joking were dismissed by enthusiastic workout she gave him before going to work. He and Heather had made love nearly as passionately as that first night by Emily's pool. In a rare occurrence, she left HIM exhausted and breathless on the bed when the alarm finally went off — and if not for that alarm, he was sure they never would have left bed! After she left, he showered, shaved, and headed over to his office. Since he'd been spending so much time at her place, she convinced him to leave a few changes of clothes in case he couldn't make it back to his apartment. Yet what was still puzzling

him most, was that despite the "deal" being clearly in his favor, she seemed rather satisfied with herself for brokering it. He was raised to believe that when a man was with a woman, there should be no one else, and yet here she was not only predicting that he'd have sex with other women — she was encouraging it!

"Excuse me, are you Dr. Walters?"

Gregg practically jumped a foot in the air by sudden intrusion to his thoughts.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," a young woman wearing black jeans, a black Iron Maiden t-shirt, black boots, a black studded bracelet, a wallet chain, and holding a small binder in his doorway. "It's just that I'm from computer services and I'm supposed to upgrade your computer today," she said apologetically. "All the computers on campus are being upgraded from Windows 2000 to XP, and I was told that you weren't going to be here until later this summer."

Getting control of his racing heart, Gregg waved away her apologies. "No, no, it's okay," he laughed. "I was just lost in thought. You're right, I'm not really supposed to be here, but my plans sort of ... changed. Uh, let me just log off here and you can get to work."

"Oh, I can come back later if you're busy — I don't want to intrude."

"No, it's okay ... I'm not really getting anything done here at the moment anyway ... my mind seems to be elsewhere." While logging off, he remembered who he was thinking of and checked to make sure nothing had risen to the occasion before standing. The last thing he wanted to do was freak out this young woman by standing and revealing a massive bulge in his pants! Thankfully, everything was situated properly and needed no awkward adjusting.

Gregg got up and took a seat at the small table in the corner. He opened up a textbook he was considering using and took out his yellow legal pad. Meanwhile, the computer gal moved to sit behind his desk, pulling a checklist and a packet of CDs out from her binder. While she worked quickly yet methodically, Gregg looked her over, pretending to be taking notes. If he had to think of a single word that described her, it would be "mousy" but that still seemed off given that she wasn't tiny, as the name would imply. She had a slightly round face, full lips, and a nose that was just a bit too large ... of course, it was difficult to tell because half her face was blocked by long, straight black hair that completely covered the left side of her face — the side closest to him. He really couldn't tell anything about her body since the clothes she was wearing were all black and baggy.

It wasn't her physical appearance that inspired the mousy-reference. It was her attitude — it was like she was hiding within herself. That is, she hid her face behind a curtain of hair, she hid her body in loose black clothes. She reminded him of a mouse trying to avoid notice and ready to run if seen. She reminded him a lot of himself ... once.

The girl looked up from the monitor and saw that Gregg was looking at her. Her pale skin turned a deep crimson and her eyes quickly dropped back to her checklist, trying to stay focused on her work.

Gregg realized he was making the girl uncomfortable, so he decided to try conversation — not one of his more developed interpersonal skills. "Uh, so, what's your name?"

Turning an even brighter shade of red, the girl smiled and pulled a few loose strands of hair behind her right ear, leaving her right eye uncovered, but her left still hidden behind her shiny black mask. Her arm crossed her stomach and she appeared to be folding in on herself, as if she could disappear behind her curtain of black hair. "Ch ... Cheryl," she squeaked. "But everyone calls me Charli."

Gregg could see she wasn't comfortable talking, but there was something familiar and intriguing about this girl and he wanted to know her a little better. "Why 'Charli'?"

Cheryl, or Charli rather, looked trapped. She was being forced into a conversation and it looked like she had no choice but to try to be sociable. "My ... My dad ... well, it's just a nickname. I think it's because he really wanted a son, but..." Charli blushed even more and before she could continue, the computer beeped, signaling it was time to change discs.

'Hmm ... saved by the beep, I guess, ' thought Gregg. While she worked on the computer, he took the few moments of silence to peer into her thoughts. 'When was the first time he called you Charli?' he sent to her mind.

Flash Cheryl, maybe five or six years old playing in her living room while her father watches TV.

Flash Cheryl holding her finger like a gun, running around shooting and posing.

Flash Her father picking her up and twirling her, "So, you want to be a cop like your old man? You're my little Charlie's Angel! Aren't you? You're my little Charli!"

Flash A procession of blue-uniformed police officers marching down the street behind a flag-draped casket.

Gregg pulled back. Charli closed her eyes and shook her head, not sure why her mind drifted back to her father. Gregg covered, wanting to move away from what was a powerful memory. "Uh, so, which do you prefer? Cheryl or Charli?"

She seemed to consider him for a minute before she said, "Charli. You can call me Charli." The smile on her face for the first time appeared to be genuine rather than nervous.

"Good, I guess you can now lump me in with 'everybody, '" he said, trying to get her to smile. But it had the opposite effect. She did smile, but it was obviously forced.

"Well, to be honest, 'everybody' is not exactly a lot of people."

Desperate to get her onto a more positive path, Gregg tried again. "So Charli, what do you do for fun?"

"Well, I listen to music, play computer games, hang out with friends in chat rooms. I pretty much live in front of my computer ... uh, what about you?"

"Books mostly. Well, until recently. I just got back from a semester abroad and I have to admit, it really changed my life..."

Now that the ice was broken, Gregg and Charlie continued to chat while she continued swapping out discs and restarting his computer multiple times. After about twenty minutes they had a pretty good banter going about nothing in particular — favorite restaurants in the area, Cubs vs. Sox, deep dish vs. thin crust pizza, where the best punk bands could be heard, and the best lines from the movie the Blues Brothers (which, to Charli's amused astonishment, Gregg hadn't seen).

"How could you live in Chicago and not see this mov — " beep "Oh, well, looks like everything is done. I guess I should move on to Dr. Harrison's office. I don't see the point really — I hear he's never even turned it on! Imagine, a $1,000 paper weight. Then again, his is probably the only computer on campus that doesn't have any viruses!"

Gregg laughed, happy that she was finally comfortable enough to crack a joke. "Well, I should probably get back to work myself. Listen Charli, don't be a stranger, okay? You're like the first student I've met since coming back, and it's pretty lonely down here on this corner of the floor."

"Thanks Dr. Walters." Her smile was big enough to begin showing some teeth.

"Gregg. You can call me Gregg ... that is unless you sign up for one of my classes."

She blushed again, and stood up and shook his outstretched hand. It must have been her imagination, but she could swear she felt a tiny electric shock go through her body at his touch. Pulling the rest of her hair behind her left ear, Gregg got a glimpse of her entire face for a moment before she headed out of his office and down the hall. 'She may be mousy, but she's cute.'

Gregg stood in his doorway watching her go around the corner. Coming the opposite way toward his office were a pair of leggy blonde girls each wearing tight blue shorts and yellow t-shirts with the Greek letters "Omega Xi" printed on them. They both had their straight blonde hair in ponytails and could almost have been twins, except for the slight difference in height and the fact that the taller one also appeared more tan. The shorter one had her shirt tucked into her shorts and the other had it tied up so it exposed her flat stomach. As Charli passed them, one turned to her near-clone and said something he couldn't make out, but they both started laughing. The other responded and they laughed again. Charli's form slumped and she quickened her pace around the corner. When she was out of sight, they laughed even harder, giving each other a high-five and continuing toward the elevator and, coincidentally, Gregg's office.

As they approached the elevator, they couldn't help but notice a very upset person standing in his office door staring at them with contempt. Their smiles vanished instantly.

"And where are you two coming from?" Gregg asked, not even trying to mask his irritation. Unknowingly, his anger was being transmitted by more than the look on his face. Both girls felt icy chills running down their spines and any thoughts of playing games or being cute were not even a consideration.

The one on the left piped up first, "I ... we ... we were just checking our grades on Dr. Harrison's office door ... he doesn't post them online."

"I see. And that girl that just passed you, what did you say to her?"

"It ... it was nothing ... just a stupid joke ... sir..."

"I like jokes ... I'm a really funny guy. Tell me what you said. I could use a chuckle."

The girl on the left was turning pale trying to keep tight-lipped, but the girl on the right cracked first. "I said, 'I didn't realize vampires were allowed out during the day ... you know, because of all the ... the black ... and then Laura said 'they shouldn't be let out at all... '" Her voice trailed off to a whisper under Gregg's intense stare.

"Why don't you two come in here for a minute and have a seat. I'd like have a word with you."

Both girls looked at each other resignedly and then took seats on either side of the small table in the corner. Neither even considered not obeying. BANG They both jumped when Gregg let the heavy office door slam shut. The fear in their eyes gave him a rush of power. The taller of the two did her best to mask her fear by assuming a sexy pose, showing a lot of leg and keeping her exposed stomach flat and taut. The shorter kept glancing at her partner, trying to mimic her apparent calm.

These two had forgotten what it was to be afraid — something he and Charli had been most of their adolescent years. Today, however, they were going to feel what he and his new friend felt like almost every day of their lives. That knowledge filled him with confidence ... and another all-too-familiar stirring...

Sitting on the corner of his desk, facing them, he began, "That girl you decided to make fun of is my friend." It felt right saying that. "But more importantly for you, she is also a computer expert ... a computer expert with access to the student record system." Gregg didn't know if that was technically true, but they seemed to be eating up his story anyway. "Are you two really stupid enough to tease someone who, with a few simple key strokes, could cause you no end of trouble? How easy would it be to give you 'F's and notes of plagiarism on your record? Do you think you could successfully defend against that?"