"Budding Sensuality"( MF pett F-solo part )[1/1]

Unclothed, and shivering slightly as the fan directed outside air to
caress her skin, Oriana stood determinedly beside her bed.  Muscles
rippled along her narrow frame as she unconsciously clenched her fists
and tightened her shoulders.  Painful knots worsened, and tension began
to accumulate in a crescent along her brow.  

The beginnings of a headache finally awakening her to her own
self-torture, Oriana strode to the corner of her small dormitory room
and unrolled a pale green yoga mat.  She stepped onto its slightly
sticky surface and faced the mirror before her.

A mass of dark auburn hair encircled a freckled, strong-boned face, pale
and serious.  A graceful, lean neck led to wiry shoulders and a gently
protruding collar bone.  Small breasts with nipples erect from the
room's chill jutted out proudly above a smooth belly and narrow waist.
And here the mirror's range reached its lower boundary.

Oriana stared into a reflection of her own stark blue eyes, tired and a
bit vacant due to the stresses of exam week.  Damn her timing!  She had
finally persuaded Cory to stop by her room and talk for a while.  
He had comfortably sprawled across her bed, green eyes sparking as he
animatedly debated the accuracy and origin of Anaximander's
philosophical views, arguing for a very generous interpretation of the
few intact fragments of his writing.  

She had felt intellectual and physical energy surge within her this
evening for the first time in who knows how long, and had played devil's
advocate to Cory's stance until his factual base overcame her knowledge
of the subject. Declaring a truce until such time that she could run
over to the library to read up on Anaximander's supposed theory of
evolution, Oriana grinned and clasped Cory's hand in laughing formality.

Such beautiful hands he had.  Long, straight fingers, shiny nails,
neatly trimmed.  And a firm handshake, too; strong but considerate.  Her
inner self gasped, but Oriana limited that expression to her mind. 

Regretfully removing her hand from his, Oriana turned to her computer to
hide whatever silly expression may have formed on her face.  After
maximizing her Netscape window she typed in the URL for the university
library, under the guise of searching for an appropriate information
source with which to frame a rebuttal to his arguments.

Cory stood and stepped behind her chair, resting his hands upon her
shoulders as he gazed at the screen.  Once again Oriana had to restrain
herself from audibly expelling her breath, and she slapped her thoughts,
directing them by brute force to the task at hand.  

Entering an author search, she answered the query, "Anaximander," and
pressed return.  As the browser connected to the library server and
paused while waiting for a reply, Cory began to gently knead her
shoulders.  Oriana gave up her resistance as useless and urged him to
continue, relaxing into the careful motions of his hands.

"You can press harder, you know."

"Tough girl, eh?" he teased.  "You're amazingly tense.  It might take
more pressure to get you comfortable and relaxed.  Willing to put up
with a little pain for best results?"

Oriana flushed a bit and muttered in reply, "Sure, try me."

Obligingly his hands increased their therapeutic pressure, thumbs
seeking out knots and tense areas.  She sighed in thanks, and slipped
once more into appreciative silence and concentration.  His hands were
evoking odd sensations from her body, ones she was intently enjoying. 

She imagined his fingertips wandering to her neck, tracing an imaginary
line from behind her ear to her shoulder, lingering upon her breast, her
navel, circling lazily before diving under the waistline of her
restrictive jeans...

"Cory!" shouted a voice from the hall.  "Are you in there?"

Cory cursed under his breath before calling out, "Yeah, Jamie, I'm
here."  His hands paused on her shoulders as he explained in his normal,
quiet voice, "I promised to help Jamie with her linear algebra homework
tonight.  Sorry, I'd forgotten until now.  Dan probably told her where I
was when she arrived at our room."

At this point Oriana, generally one to abstain from swearing, was ready
to curse at both Jamie and Dan, Cory's roommate.  She had been startled
from semi-imagined ecstasy into the unpleasantly real dormitory world at
the sound of her friend's voice.  Not a fun transition.  But she
composed her expression into a small and authentic smile, and turned in
her chair, facing up at Cory.

"How about promising to finish this massage to make up for the
interruption?" she requested wryly.  "After mid-terms are over, of
course.  I'll probably need it even more by then!"

"Gladly.  I'll even see if I can find my massage book.  I took a class
in it a few semesters ago, but have forgotten most of the strokes.  You
look up philosophy, and I'll research massage technique.  Bargain?" he
asked.

"Bargain."  Oriana stood, shook Cory's hand once again, and watched
silently as he slung his bookbag over his shoulder and left the room.

After he closed the door behind him she waited for a few minutes.  She
then looked out the peek hole before exploding, "Damn, damn, damn, damn,
damn!  I've been trying every night for the past several months to reach
an orgasm, and the mere touch of Cory's hands managed to accomplish more
than the diligent efforts of my fingers during all that time.  It felt
so damn good!  And man, imagination plus sensation, what a pair!"  

She gloried for a moment in the recollection of the feeling of his
fingers grazing her neck and kneading her shoulders.  "But then Jamie
had to interrupt, with her lousy linear algebra.  Nasty stuff.  Why does
Cory have to be so brilliant and helpful all of the time?"  Of course
that was part of his allure, her thoughts replied, mocking her one-sided
conversation.

Switching back into impatience mode, Oriana roughly stripped herself of
clothing, shoving T-shirt, jeans, and undergarments into the laundry bag
in the closet.  She then strode to her bed, and stared at it
impatiently.  Home to her many unsuccessful attempts as self pleasure.

Her reflection upon the events of the evening thus brought her back to
her reflection in the mirror.  Slightly quieted through their
repetition, she shifted into mountain pose.  Bare feet shoulder-width
apart, arms resting at her sides, body in easy balance, she closed her
eyes and began to count her breaths, working to establish a steady calm
before once again attempting to create an erotic storm...