"Definitely not at this time of night," I mumbled.Sure enough, the next day was pure Hell for me. I was nearly tempted to call her around noon, but thought better of it. That would probably be worse than calling her as soon as I got the invitation. So I waited. Every now and then, I'd glance at the clock in the back of my classroom, seeing how much longer I'd have to wait and suffer. The hands moved slowly, excruciatingly slowly. And even though it felt like the day would never end, with each passing hour, every minute that slipped by, I knew I was that much closer to home, the phone, and my new friend.It wasn't until 4:30pm that I finally cast off the shackles and jumped in the car and sped home. By 5pm, I was standing in the kitchen debating whether or not to call. I looked over at the clock, my new tormentor, and bit my lower lip. Shaking my head, I forced myself to walk away."Too soon," I muttered. "Might not be home."What about calling her at six?I shook my head again. No. That. And the noise grew louder, over the sounds of kissing. She remembered this sound, not unlike a wet kiss...Sophia could feel her legs pressing together, and the sensation building between them. Light and airy, like a tickle and an itch in one. Her long brown hair fell on the tops of her breasts as she stared down at her feet, struggling to make out more of the sound.At 24 she had not been with many men, or at least with as many as she wished. To make up for this she became an expert in the details of her own body. She didn't like to think of it as masturbation, the word being too scientific and cold. What she did was unlike either of those.More than once she had been caught down in the basement, exploring the many books on sex. She had found some in particular, big picture books from foreign and cutting edge cultures like New York and Paris. In them were one, two, or even more men and women touching themselves and each other in the way she had taught herself. Some were by famous.
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