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The steamy water from the shower was really helping to wash away some of the tension of the last three months. Jamey expected when she took this undercover assignment that it would be the most challenging she had ever attempted. She also knew that it could be the piece that would jumpstart her career as a writer. She dared to dream of more money, better assignments, maybe even a book deal. Jamey wanted it all. But right now all she wanted was to enjoy the massaging power of the shower jet on the back of her neck.
She had happened upon this seldom used shower almost by accident. Jamey had been snooping around the catacombs under the old theater looking for a room, or a closet even, where she could hideout each day and just be herself. She craved some personal time where she could have a few minutes when she didn’t have to pretend to be someone and something that she wasn’t. When she discovered the shower facility she nearly cried. It was perfect. After several days of scouting out and cleaning the area, and taking precautions to ensure that she would not be disturbed, Jamey finally took her first tentative shower. She had quickly washed off and dressed so as not to be discovered. Now, after a couple of months of uninterrupted excursions, she felt that she could truly relax and “let her hair down” so to speak.
Of course, the hair was the first to go. Her auburn, shoulder length hair had always been one of her best features. It had hung naturally, framing her expressive green eyes and Mediterranean complexion. Jamey allowed herself a moment of regret, missing the feel of her thick mane as she scrubbed shampoo into her now close cropped hair. When parted on the side it looked boyish, as of course was the intention, and would probably have come off as a cute look on her if she hadn’t also had to flatten her chest to the point of pain and wear those form-disguising Wrangler jeans and loosing-fitting sweatshirts. Jamey questioned the overall look at first, doubting that anyone would be fooled into believing that this twenty-two year old journalism graduate could possibly be a male college student, but the last three months were evidence that the disguise had worked. She was living, as a guy, in a men’s dorm. She was playing poker in the common room and ogling the cheerleaders at the basketball game, just like one of the boys. And the insight she was gaining writing about a college guy’s life from a girl’s perspective was immeasurable. Jamey’s editor had loved her preliminary observations and encouraged her to continue her undercover research.
With her time almost up, Jamey rinsed her body one last time. She couldn’t help lingering a little as her hands brushed over her breasts. No, not “breasts” she reminded herself. That was her word; at least it used to be. The guys at the gym usually said “tits” or “rack” or insert stupid made-up name here (guys had a thousand names for body parts and body functions and she had really enjoyed making a game out of trying to incorporate as many of them as she could into her thinking and speech). Jamey’s hands cupped and gently squeezed her tits. Her boobs had always been her most erogenous area and her stiff, thimble-sized nipples were so sensitive that she occasionally reached orgasm just by having them sucked on.
Jamey’s nipples seemed twice as sensitive after being freed from the constant
strap-down they were subjected to all day long. She pinched each one gently and
she knew that the lubricated feeling she was getting between her legs was much
more than soap and water. Absently, she slid one hand down her flat stomach,
letting her fingers meet the carefully trimmed hairs below. Although she hadn’t
shaved under her arms or her legs for months, she paid thoughtful attention to
her pussy. It was one of the few things that allowed her to still feel like a
woman.
As a finger slipped easily into her slit, Jamey’s mind wondered to her roommate, Kip. Kendrick Ian Pollard came from big money; old money. Five generations of lawyers, investment bankers and CEOs had made Kip the beneficiary of a large trust fund and endless opportunities. Expensive private schooling and extensive traveling had given him an unparalleled education. Genetics and a disciplined workout routine had blessed him with his 6’ 3”, 200 pound sculptured athletic body.
It would be easy for him to have grown up spoiled, conceited and pretentious. For all he had though, Kip was amazingly down to earth. His laid back nature belied his sharp wit. Liked by everyone she knew, Kip seemed as at ease talking with a group of stoners at a keg party as he was with a group of professors at a banquet. He had continued to surprise, and charm, her even though his mother and father were apparently displeased. His parents wanted him to “follow in the footsteps” but Kip had other plans. He was majoring in Art History, beautiful girls, and frat parties, not necessarily in that order. He told Jamey that his family blames his Uncle Jake for giving him all of his rebel tendencies.
Jamey imagined Kip’s naked body as both her breathing and her finger quickened their pace. She had to imagine Kip naked because even though they had shared a room for the past three months, she had yet to see him totally naked. She had found this a little unexpected but, of course, Kip had never seen her naked either so maybe it was normal. Jamey was left to let her imagination build upon her memories of living with this incredible guy for the last few months; his bare chest as he pealed off his sweaty t-shirt after basketball practice, his rock-hard abs and defined triceps as he did his nightly sit ups and push ups, the tan line just above his boxers when he reached for his deodorant from the top shelf, the more-than-evident bulge that even thick denim jeans could do little to conceal. Yes, Kip was hot. And Jamey was hot for him. And in just a few seconds she was going to cum while imagining that the two fingers pumping in and out of her cunt were actually Kip’s obviously enormous cock. She was only a stroke or two away when she heard a voice from the theater above.
In a panic, and thoroughly sexually frustrated, Jamey jumped dripping from the shower and quickly dried off. She then reluctantly began the process of concealing her curves; tape quickly applied to hold down her protruding nipples, an ace wrap pulled tightly to squeeze her from a B-cup to an A-cup, and a tight-as-a-corset, sleeveless Under Armour tee -shirt she wiggled into to smooth out the womanly shape. The result was a chest that was perhaps small for a college boy but gave her the appearance of having slightly developed pecs. She finished dressing in a frenzy, swiftly stepping into the jock strap that held the rolled up sock and pulling her loose fitting jeans to her waist. Within five minutes of hearing the noise from above, the sexy young woman was once again clad in the fashion statement she called “modern gym rat” and ready to resume her deception.
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