A Peasant Girl Chapter 12
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I went abroad for college for the same reason some people join the Military, to piss off my dad.
That’s not to say that my father was against the idea of furthering my education. He fully supported each of his six children when the time came for us to start finding our way in the world. He just had certain, expectations, as to just where we’d go and what we’d study. And so it was no surprise that he was more than a little shocked to find that I’d not only applied to a college all the way over in America, but had actually been accepted. It may have helped if it had been somewhere a little more prestigious than a small, local college, but it was one of the few places that was running the course that I wanted, and my grades from the local Sixth Form had been good enough to get me a full scholarship. And that’s how the middle son of a Lancashire cab-driver ended up in the small town of Evergreen Lake, northern California, my ears still ringing with my father’s warning of the strange, unusual happening he’d read about in the papers. Even my pointing out just how far away the college was from places like Los Angeles or San Francisco on Google Maps hadn’t helped, but home was a long way away, and my parents were relegated to voices on the other end of a telephone.
The first couple of weeks were a blur of orientation and settling in. I was assigned a room mate, but he never turned up, apparently deciding that his future lay in acting down in Los Angeles, and they never got around to finding me a replacement. This meant that I had more space to myself then would be considered the norm, something I would be thankful for much later. My classes were predominantly maths and English based, something I was thankfully good at, and I soon got use to being singled out as ‘that English dude with the funny accent’ by my classmates. I even managed to find work as a tutor for some of the other students, earning a little extra cash to spend on non-essentials. I’ve never been a big drinker, and thankfully the college wasn’t home to the sorts of wild parties you see in films and TV, so I was able to keep my head above water academically.
I first saw her in the library, half hidden behind a pile of text books that looked big enough to break the table. She was dressed in a burgundy sweater and a black skirt, but it was her deep soulful eyes looking out from under her shoulder-length light brown hair that captured me. They spoke of someone who’d seen more than their fair share of pain and suffering in such a short life. I did a little bit of digging, asked a few questions, and discovered that she was the mysterious Dr Abigail Van Pelt that I had heard off. Some kind of child prodigy, she had been accepted into MIT at fourteen, graduated with a double doctorate in physics and engineering two years later. Much had been expected of her, but she had apparently suffered dome kind of emotional breakdown and turned down all the research grants and corporate positions she had been offered. Instead she had disappeared for the better part of four years, only to suddenly apply for the then vacant position as assistant physics professor here at Evergreen Lake. She had a reputation for being a total Ice Queen who didn’t talk to anyone unless it was work-related. There were stories that she was a lesbian, or a transvestite, but that was just the rumour mill trying to make up for what little information there was about her. Everyone knew she lived off campus, but no one seemed to know just where. Nor did they know if she had anything approaching a social life, even in a town as small as Evergreen Lake. I put her out of my mind, given that she worked in a different department to the courses I was taking, and got on with my studies.
Given the cost of flying back home, my parents understood that I wouldn’t be coming home any time soon, and that I’d be forced to spend most of my holidays in America to try and save money. As such I was one of the handful of non-local students still on campus over the Christmas holidays, a somewhat depressing prospect that I did my best to ignore by spending as much time as I could in the library, getting a head start on the work I’d face in the New Year. It was there that I had my first direct contact with Abigail. I had tracked down a hard to find text book amid the furthest recesses of the labyrinthine stacks, and sat at a nearby table reading it when I felt the presence of someone else. Looking up, I was surprised to see her standing over me, a perplexed expression on her face.
‘Can I help you, Dr Van Pelt?’ I asked, somewhat surprised to see her of all people.
‘You are Mark Scott?’ She asked, her hesitant voice like oil on silk to my ears, and I nodded, ‘Dr Long informs me that you’re one of his better students.’
‘That’s nice of him to say.’ I smiled weakly, still unsure what was going on.
‘He also said that you were looking for a chance to earn some extra money.’ She seemed more confident now that introductions were over, but still somewhat distant, ‘I have a research project that I need some assistance on, I need someone to run some complex maths equations for me, and none of my students are up to the task. I mentioned this to Dr Long, and he suggested that you might be able to help. I can’t pay you much, my research grant only goes so far, but I can pay you more that you’re currently earning helping Lacrosse players avoid dropping out.’
There was a slight edge to her tone, and I fully understood why. The college had one of the better Lacrosse teams in the state, something that generated a lot of prestige and money from sponsors and other benefactors. The downside was that there was a certain, expectation, that those students here on a sports scholarship would be given extra leeway when it came to attendance and grades. I never saw anything that suggested anything illegal, but the line came close on occasions.
‘I’m interested.’ I nodded in agreement, deciding that, at the very least, it would make a change.
‘Good.’ She nodded, visibly relived that our conversation had reached a speedy and satisfactory conclusion, ‘I will drop the contract off at your dorm room tomorrow.’
With that, she turned and walked away, giving me my first view of her pert, heart-shaped rear.
Sure enough, an envelope containing a pretty standard work agreement had been pushed under my door by the time I’d finished showering in the morning, and I signed the contract before dropping it off at the physics department. The first few equations over the internal email system: I had no idea what they were about, but the maths was fairly strait forward, and I suspected that she was simply testing me to make sure I was as good as she had been told. I ran them thorough three times before sending the results back the same way, figuring that a notoriously reserved and retiring academic like Abigail would want to keep her distance from the hired help.
You can probably guess by my use of her first name, that situation changed.
The New Year saw an increase in the workload she sent me, and I was forced to give up on all my tutoring work just to keep on top of my own studies. While most of the correspondence was purely files being sent back and forth, Abigail would occasionally send a message asking me to explain some of my working out in greater detail, or to re-run the same formula with different variables. It’s the sort of work a better funded science department would have used a super-computer for, but Evergreen Lake didn’t have that kind of cash to spare, so they were stuck with the purely biological computer that is the human brain. But then one day she turned up at my door, asking to see just how I worked out the problems. We sat down at my desk and I ran through two of the formulas, explaining what I was doing every step of the way. She asked a few questions, made a few observations, and I soon realised that she was far better at mathematics then I would ever be, and it was only out of efficiency that she had even appro
ached an outsider for assistance. That said her method was far more clinical and logical than my almost intuitive style, making me slightly faster.
Our conversation continued as I worked over more of the data she had brought, and I began to realise just how lonely and isolated she felt. I managed to piece together, from little bits she let slip, that her intelligence had been noticed at an early age, and that her parents and teachers had pushed her to concentrate purely on her studies, which left her totally unprepared for the world that awaited her after she left collage. Terrified by something she didn’t understand, she had retreated inside, only emerging when she saw the job at Evergreen Lake. She could talk with total authority and confidence about her work and area of expertise, but felt lost when it came to politics or popular culture. The last non-text book she had read had been The Hobbit, and the last film she seen had been Contact, and only then because she was such a fan of Carl Sagan’s work.
I wasn’t overly surprised when she turned up again the next day, even through it was a Saturday, and stayed while I ran through the latest batch of equations. We chatted about nothing in particular while she examined my meagre collection of books and CD’s. I was a little surprised when I heard the opening notes of Moonlight Serenade by the Glenn Miller Band, my grandmother had been a devoted fan, and I’d bought the CD because it reminded me of her. I looked over my shoulder and was shocked to see Abigail standing with her eyes closed and arms wrapped around her slender frame, swaying side to side slowly. It was obvious she didn’t realise what she was doing, or that I was watching her, she was just caught up in the music. Eventually the song ended, and Abigail actually blushed when she realised what she had been doing, and that I had seen her. I did my best to play it down, but it was clear that she was embarrassed and she quickly left.
Two days passed before I saw her again, this time in the neutral territory that was the library. She fumbled through an apology, and I again reassured her that there was nothing wrong. Our working relationship continued, but she was much more guarded about what she said and how she acted around me. I missed the openness, but I respected her enough as both a person and even a friend by that point to not push things. Some of my friends among the other students joked about how the Ice Queen was working me like a dog, but the truth was I didn’t really mind all that much. I liked spending time with Abigail, even if it was just going over mathematical formulae, and by the time Spring Break came around, she was starting to open up to me once again.
More and more of our time together was taken up with just talking rather than anything approaching work, but I made sure to keep on top of the assignments she gave me, more out of a desire to not let her down than anything else. I became aware of just how sheltered her upbringing had been the Friday she asked to try some of the whisky I had acquired. Having turned 18 before I left England, I had experienced alcohol legally, and had been unwilling to let the backwards American laws stand in the way of the odd drop or two of the good stuff when I felt he need, or the occasional beer with friends. I wasn’t as heavy a drinker as some of my fellow students, having gotten that phase out of my system back home, and I never got into any trouble due to an over indulgence.
Maybe there’s something to be said for a Lancashire upbringing after all?
I tried to warn Abigail just what she was getting herself into, but she swallowed down the half measure I had poured into her glass before I had a chance. Her face turned a funny shade of green as her eyes went wide, no doubt caused by the burning sensation that had shot down her throat into her stomach. I was worried that she was going to throw up all over my desk, but she managed to keep it down, hasping slightly as her eyes started to water. I asked her if she was okay, and she nodded slowly, admitting that she’d never touched a drop of alcohol before in her entire life, but that it was something she’d always wondered about. I made a joke about there being a first time for everything, and she looked at me slightly oddly for a moment, before agreeing.
It was my turn to act shocked when she lent over and kissed me softly. Her touch was so soft that I was almost unsure if our lips had even made contact, but then she kissed me again, more forcefully. What she lacked in experience and technique she made up for in enthusiasm, sliding across to sit on my lap as she hesitantly broke contact. Her eyes were those of a deer trapped in headlights, trying to decide if she should stay or run. Evidently the latter option won out and she kissed me again, holding my head between her hands. I responded by putting my right hand around to the small of her back to keep her steady while my left hand made it’s way up and down the soft silk of her blouse, then I tentatively slipped it inside, feeling the flawless expanse of skin for the first time. She responded by moaning into my mouth, pressing her body against mine as my hand moved up until it found the strap of her bra. A quick flick of my thumb and forefinger was all it took to undo the catch, a trick I had picked up while still at high school.
What followed was a period of mutual fumbling and a little laughter as I work on undoing the buttons on her blouse while Abigail worked to rid me of my shirt. I’m not some Adonis with a perfectly formed six-pack, but I keep in good shape and I’ve never had any complaints. Likewise, Abigail is not the most naturally endowed woman I have ever met, but she had a set of perky 32B breasts that stood out proudly. She had enough curves in the right places to make things interesting, but was neither over nor under weight. I cupped her breasts, marvelling at how they were a perfect fit for my hands, pinching her nipples between thumb and finger to entice a deep moan from between her lips. Taking this as permission to continue, I pulled her to me and kissed her large, puffy nipples, sucking on first one then the other. Abigail grabbed the back of my head and held it in place, rubbing her crotch against mine so hard I was worried that I’m mess my best pair of 501’s.
I reluctantly pulled away and, taking hold of her perfect ass, lifted her bodily and carrier her over to the bed. She pulled me down on top of herself, kissing me with renewed passion as we struggled to free ourselves of our remaining clothes. While unshaven, her bush was neat just a slightly lighter shade of mousy brown then her hair, and I slipped a hand down to explore further. She was as wet as I was hard, her clit standing out proudly from under its hood. I rubbed it with my thumb while two fingers slipped carefully between her neither lips and I tried a little trick I’d picked up from an ex. I felt around until I was sure I’d found her G-spot, then with my thumb firmly against her clit, I started to rub them like I was signalling for money. The result was instantaneous and astounding: where as up until then Abigail had responded with soft moaning and groaning, she suddenly started panting deeply, emitting a soft mewing noise before she went totally ridged. A few surprised gasps escaped her lips as her eyes rolled back in their sockets, and she drenched my hand in her nectar.
Abigail lay still for a while, slowly coming down from what she later admitted was her first orgasm, and for a while I was worried that she had passed out. But eventual her eyes fluttered, and she looked up at me with a contented smile. Pulling me down for a kiss, she reached down between my legs with her other hand and started to slowly stroke me.
Now this is the part where I’m supposed to claim that I’m hung like a horse, with amazing staying power and flawless technique. Well, I hate to burst your bubble, but I’m a little over 7′ and reasonably thick around. I’d also lost my hair-trigger a few years before, mainly due to a massive amo
unt of masturbation when I was younger.
Looking down, I asked Abigail if she was sure that this was what she wanted. She just smiled and kissed me again, so I carefully lined up and slipped into her. I’d been with enough women by that point to realise that Abigail was exceptionally tight, yet I met no resistance as I slowly pushed deeper into her as she buried her face in my neck, her legs wrapping around me to pull me closer. Our hips met and I found myself fully embraced in a hot, tight velvet tube as Abigail let out a long, deep moan. Time seemed to stop as we just lay there, entwined together in a shared sense of euphoria, before I slowly started to rock my hips, moving in and out of her gently as our lips once again found each other. The feel of her hard nipples moving against my skin was amazing, but nothing compared to the heaven that I felt between her legs. Before long we were moving in a steady rhythm, her body rising up to meet my downward thrusts as our hands fully explored each-others bodies. All too soon I felt the familiar tightening that heralded my own orgasm, so I redoubled my efforts to bring Abigail to her orgasm first.
Don’t know if I succeeded or not, all I know is that her body jerked against mine as I felt her clamp down upon me as I unleashed inside her.
We lay there afterwards in each others arms, basking in the afterglow of our shared experience. Abigail admitted that it had been her first time, and thanked me for making it an enjoyable experience. I stumbled through something about being honoured that she had chosen me, but she silenced me with a deep kiss that ended with our second shared orgasm of the night.
Worn out, we slept through the night, woke early and took a shower together. We never even considered trying to have sex in the cramped little cubical, but we took our time washing each others bodies and exploring the bits we hadn’t gotten round to the night before until the hot water ran out. We towelled each other off, culminating in an impromptu 69 on the bathroom floor. Abigail’s technique was more enthusiasm then skill, while I found her bush slightly difficult to deal with, but our mutual laughter only seemed to add to the experience. We spent the rest of the day naked, talking about whatever came to mind, watching a few of my meagre DVD’s (I refused to re-buy movies I had at home in England) and when the mood took us, screwing like rabbits. Abigail stayed the night again, and I had the joy of waking up with her head on my chest, her right arm draped across me. Sunday went the same as Saturday, aside from the time I had to dress to answer the door when the delivery boy arrived with the Chinese food we had ordered. But I was naked again soon after, and we enjoyed one last, slow and passionate time together before Abigail had to leave.
I’m not going to tell you we fell in love that weekend, but it certainly changed the dynamic of our relationship. Abigail would still arrive at my door with some more work for me, but we’d fall into bed together before I’d even had a chance to look them over. After we were done, I’d sit naked at my desk while Abigail listened to music or read a book. Normally I’d be hard again by the time I’d finished the last equation, and we’d go at it again before she left. While college rules allowed for a relationship between faculty and students so long as there we no academic relationship, we both felt it was best to avoid going public, at least for the time being. Evidently she missed actually sleeping together as much as I did, as mid way through the semester, she invited me back to her place for the weekend. It turned out that she owned a cabin half way up one of the hills that overlooked the lake the town and college took their name from. It came with a reasonably sized chunk of land that gave her the privacy she had been looking for, and also allowed us to be together away from prying eyes. The only down side was she wasn’t feeling too well and felt a little bloated, something we both put down to one of the bugs that was always doing the rounds at the college. So many people living and working in close proximity meant that if someone got a cold, it was only a matter of time before pretty much everyone else had it.
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