Perilous Pauline

Setting my books on the desk I dropped into a seat. Not in the very back of the room; too obvious. How do those students in the very back not know the back row is generally known to be trying to be invisible which, naturally, accomplishes the reverse? Nope. Two rows up with five more in front of me. Neutral territory. Hopefully it would keep the teacher from paying me much mind. College so far hadn’t been all I had hoped, and this class was just to fill a requirement.

Around me other students wandered in, chatting and laughing. Choosing desks by their friends. There goes another one into the back row. Sucker. Hope he likes being called on. Opening my notebook I pulled out my phone and set it on it. At least I could read something interesting or look through Facebook while another boring professor droned on about … what was this again? … Oh, yeah … History of Science. Sheesh, not even actual Science. Oh well, I had to get that last couple of credits and this was better than Quantum Physics with 72 year old Professor No-Hair and his nasally, monotone twang. Professor One-Note we called him in study sessions. That or Chihuahua… as in Mexican hairless, I thought with a smirk.

Opening my phone I pressed the silent option and popped into vocal.media to check my latest posts for comments. Hopefully someone at least liked my latest haiku. “Excuse me,” a voice, very near my ear, whispered breathily.

Fumbling my phone, I turned and glanced to the person who had, mostly unnoticed in my reverie, sat in the desk next to me. My eyes met and dove into an ocean of swirling, vibrant brown almost hidden beneath long, luscious, dark lashes. Lips just barely brushed with a shade of crimson that immediately made me think of heartache and passion hovered near my flaming cheek. My every intelligent thought fled to the nether regions of my jeans as I took in a maroon skirt that fell several interesting inches above a nice set of creamy, muscular thighs. Sitting there, leaning toward me, her long, tanned legs straddling her seat with one in front and one on the side, I caught a glimpse of lacy silken panties. When she bent over to retrieve my phone her wet tee pulled up over the small of her back. The view down her back was spectacular. The panties were a filmy pink.

‘Holy crap!’ How could I have not noticed those legs sway in? “Uh…., yes?” I stammered as my eyes, rising to her face, struggled not to linger on the displayed cleavage leaning so near my right arm. As she set my phone in my grasping hand I couldn’t help but notice her wet tee-shirt displayed a sheer black bra with tatted edges. Mahogany hair cascaded down, a silken waterfall framing a heart-shaped face with a small beauty mark under one eye. Her mascara, rain washed, had spread around it like a ruby in coal. Setting my phone back down, I jolted upright. My chair wobbled backward, legs emitting a squeal of protest.

A bead of water dripped from her hair onto my notebook, a small stain spreading on the paper. I hoped that stain wasn’t a mirror of the front of my pants. Pulling my thoughts back from the precipice I, hopefully suavely, replied, “Guess it’s raining out, huh?” I grimaced. Lame.

“Sorry,” she said, pulling back. “Guess I’m a bit wet.”

“Yeah, so I see. It’s a good look.” I grinned and winked. “Your mascara is a tad … thinned.” I wasn’t sorry at all. The immediate thought of this vision of loveliness lying spread eagled… wet, willing, beckoning … Mahogany waves of cascading hair framing her heart shaped face …, I shook the picture from my frontal lobe and swallowed. “That’s okay. Can I help you? I don’t have a towel handy, but I do have a napkin.” Reaching into my front pocket, taking the opportunity to surreptitiously adjust my package, I pulled out a couple of slightly wadded napkins from the cafeteria and passed them to her.

She grinned: The crinkle of laugh lines raising the corners of her eyes. “No sweat. I like being wet.” She gave a small chuckle. “I just heard myself. Wow. What a line.” Dimples formed in her cheeks as she smiled dazzlingly.

“It definitely has possibilities,” I said. My Adam’s apple bobbed as I swallowed, making an effort to curb my lewdly rampant thoughts. Angel in Damp’s cheeks flushed an attractive shade of pink. I laughed.

“Hmm. I guess it does at that,” she replied, meeting my eyes boldly. Winking, she ran just the tip of her pink tongue out as she dabbed at her mascara. My jeans twitched in response, causing me to squirm. “I’m Veronesia Pauline MacKnight. Please forget the Pauline. That was my grandmother’s idea.” Veronesia set the mascara blackened napkins on her desk, turning back to me.

“I like it. A great damsel in distress name. The Perils of Pauline.”

“Exactly.” She laughed throatily. “Apparently Mom’s favorite show back in the day. Or maybe her mom’s.”

“You MUST pay the rent,” I intoned in my best Snidely Whiplash voice and was rewarded with another laugh. “So, Veronesia Pauline McKnight, what can I do you for?”

“Maybe a steak dinner with champagne and a night of dancing at the club. Time will tell. I’ll warn you though, I’m not a cheap date. And call me Ver. Nice to meet you …”

“Romulus Tiberius Matthews. Please, call me Romy.”

“Ah. Roman Star Trek. Nice. Guess your parents were original rather than Next Generation. Well, Romy. Pleased to meet you. could I borrow a couple sheets of paper? My notebook got wet along with my hair.” Nodding downward, she grimaced. “And my shirt.”

Tearing my gaze from her chest where her cold inspired nipples were poking up to say hello, I blinked. “Of course.” Moving my notebook onto my lap, covering my prominent erection in the process, I ripped out three sheets and handed them to her. Her fingertips brushed my hand as she took them. I felt a jolt of electricity shoot straight south. I was pretty sure it would shoot out the tip of my dick. My eyes widened as my pupils dilated.

Pauline, no.., Ver…, glancing at my notebook where it sat in my lap, smiled and winked. “Thanks,” she said, turning back to the front just as the teacher walked in.

Concentration was difficult to muster as the forty-something year old teacher - Professor Phillips as he wrote on the chalkboard - droned for the next hour about Copernicus and Galileo or some such. As the clock clicked toward the end of the longest and shortest hour of my life I was much more occupied with wondering how to get that date Ver, aka Perilous Pauline, had hinted at arranged. My dick was definitely paying attention… Just not to the lecture up front.

I did think she had been flirting with me. I just hoped it was real. Did she have a boyfriend? How could she not? Lord, please don’t let her have a boyfriend, I prayed silently. Then again, there were ten or so empty desks and she had sat next to me… I grinned foolishly.

As we stood to go, my notebook and textbook artfully blocking my groin, I turned to her only to find her standing there gazing at me with a knowing, mischievous look. “Uhm,” I said smoothly.

Ver chuckled. “Here’s my number,” she said, passing me a scrap of paper. “I may need a study buddy some night. Or a classic t.v. night.”

“Happy to,” I said through my puppy dog fog. “Any time.” I watched very closely as Perilous Pauline gathered her stuff and walked out. After all, who knew what type of dangerous situations she may need rescuing from? Where were those railroad tracks and rope? Besides, she really did have a spectacular rear. Yep. It would be an interesting semester. Now, where was the nearest Men’s Room? I needed some relief. Maybe a change of underwear. Then I could check on that haiku.

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For chapter 2 check the link; https://shopping-feedback.today/fiction/perilous-pauline-chp-2%3C/p%3E%3Cstyle data-emotion-css="14azzlx-P">.css-14azzlx-P{font-family:Droid Serif,Georgia,Times New Roman,Times,serif;font-size:1.1875rem;-webkit-letter-spacing:0.01em;-moz-letter-spacing:0.01em;-ms-letter-spacing:0.01em;letter-spacing:0.01em;line-height:1.6;color:#1A1A1A;margin-top:32px;}

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I met my wife of now 38 years when I was attending college in Florida (1985) . Emily was not a college student. But, prior to that blessed day, I recall a young Honduran lady who was in a couple of my classes that made me react similarly. Let me know if you like this. Response dictates continue or not. Or not. 😎😂😎. My wife still makes me feel this way.🍷💕🥰

https://www.amazon.com/stores/Andrew-C-McDonald/author/B005MXG90K?ref=ap_rdr&store_ref=ap_rdr&isDramIntegrated=true&shoppingPortalEnabled=true

https://www.amazon.com/Killing-Keys-Andrew-C-McDonald-ebook/dp/B07VM843XL/ref=sr_1_8?crid=4J0POWZXENTG&keywords=Killing+Keys&qid=1700049862&s=digital-text&sprefix=killing+keys%2Cdigital-text%2C104&sr=1-8