ExplicitNovels

Christian College Sex Comedy: Part 1

Listen Later
Christian College Sex Comedy: Part 1
When Glen Zane Braxton is accidentally accepted into a fundamentalist
women s college.

In 30 parts, By FinalStand. Listen to the

podcast at Explicit
Novels.



Leading up to the first day of college.

Every old trick was invented by someone once upon a time.

A Little Background:

Hi. My name is Glenn Zane Braxton but everyone calls me

Zane. I'm a good-looking (or so I'm told) athletic kid just over six feet tall
and just under two hundred pounds. I get my Nordic looks from my Mom who hails
from Norway. I apparently get my optimistic attitude and loose moral structure
from my Dad, though I was to learn that Mom was a bit freaky too.

My parents were killed in a rock climbing accident when I

was fifteen so I was sent to live with my Uncle Tim (Dad's younger brother) and
Aunt Jill. Unfortunately for me, while my parents had been rich hedonists, Tim
and Jill were fundamentalist Christians doing missionary work in northern
Thailand. I spent the next two-and-a-half years in a place where a paved road
was a luxury.

I have nothing against Christianity; I consider myself a

decent Christian but I believe my faith stops at the next person's 'I'm not
interested'. My aunt and uncle were a very different breed. They believed that
it was every Christian's duty to convert our little brown brothers and sisters
(no shit, this is what Tim told me) whether they wanted it or not.

Needless to say, I witnessed them busting their

self-righteous heads against the faith and traditions of these ancient people
they'd come to 'help enlighten,' while I learned all about Thai culture,
cuisine, and kick-boxing. I learned that spending time with Thai women was a
hell of a way to get another kind of education too. On the down side, Tim beat
me whenever he found out about the women. To get back at him, I spent time with
Buddhist monks - score one for the Zen!

Three months ago there was an incredibly brutal monsoon and

something possessed Tim to go down to the river to save people. Since every
sane individual was running away from the river, I pleaded that we go with the
people that actually knew what was going on. Instead, I ended up with my Aunt
and Uncle hip deep in the muddy water when an uprooted tree hit Tim and Jill.

Like a fool I jumped into the flood waters after them. I got

to Jill - Tim was a goner. Afterwards, when I realized that no Tim meant a
return to the States, I was not crying tears of joy - that would have been
cruel.

After they gave up the search for Tim, Jill and I returned

to Western Civilization. Jill surprised me by actually having a college degree
that was useful and she got a job in Virginia working as an insurance adjuster
for a nice sized company. I had completed my high school credits online back in
Thailand and passed my college entrance exam so I was looking forward to
partying it up somewhere far away from Jill.

Fate has a funny way of laughing at me, though. For some

byzantine reason, Dad set up my trust fund so that I would get a fraction of my
inheritance when I turned eighteen, as long as I was in an institution of
higher learning approved of by Tim and Jill - now just Jill. Otherwise, I had
to wait until I was twenty-one. I wanted to go to the University of Hawaii Jill
found a nice little place close to what she called home, real close.

Speaking of home; our living arrangements were courtesy of

Tim's generous insurance policy and his own little share of Dad's family's
money. She bought us an expansive two-story spread with nice large yards, front
and back, right where the countryside hits the suburbs. I wished we had a pool
and even offered to dip into my own funds to have one put in but since pools
were 'cesspits of depravity' Jill nixed the notion.

Getting a car was also an interesting discussion. Jill said

'no way' and wouldn't budge until we noticed that our neighbors were two nice
looking ladies in their twenties (I guessed). On the day we moved in I went
over to talk (I'm drawn to women like a comet to the Sun) and spent over an
hour getting to know them. There were two big pluses about their place; one was
the large pool in back, which the girls (there turned out to be more than two)
promised I could use whenever I wanted, real nice of them. The other one was,

When I got home I told Jill not to worry about the car; the

cute lesbian couple offered to pick me up from school whenever I needed a ride.
"Are they atheists?" Jill gasped. Apparently them being homosexuals
wasn't enough? "Nah, they are Wiccans," I lied again with a smile. We
went car shopping the next day. I figured I would tell Jill we lived next to a
sorority house (to the other university in town) at some later date.

What Not to Wear

Moving in turned out to be half the battle for my life at

the new house. Next came the clothing war. Personally, I think I look great
naked and do wonderful with people of the female persuasion but in Virginia
they arrest you for this. Since I only have a twenty percent chance of being
taken in by a female police officer (or the five percent of the male officers
who are out and-out homosexuals), I'm going to go to jail if I go around nude.

My solution was to look around the local teenage hangouts,

websites, and social networks to get me a style that would be both
individualistic yet fit in. Aunt Jill was of the opinion that my school uniform
(see below) would be my normal look. When I told her I'd use my own money to
get what I wanted she threatened to throw them out because I was still living
under her roof.

I got pissed off and since my outlet options were pretty

limited, I stupidly went to my room and did what every teenage boy should never
do when their female guardian is at home - maybe I have malaria and the fever
was clouding my thought processes. In Thailand I would simply go out into the
jungle Jill never went out into the wilderness if she could help it.

There was no jungle and Jill knew right where my room was,

and since it was her house, she barged right in. Half way through giving me a
piece of her mind Jill noticed me, the Vaseline, the box of Kleenex, and what
my hand was pumping. I yanked the comforter on my bed, trying to cover myself,
which resulted in my flipping off the bed (I was sitting on the comforter) and
rolling to Jill's feet.

Jill stood there with her mouth wide open, eyes glued to my

cock. I stopped pumping but my rod wouldn't go down despite my shame, not of my
erection but because I didn't like sexually taunting a recent widow.
"That's, that's disgusting," she gasped while still fixated on my
erection.

I wiggled around so that I could pull up my underwear and

slacks. Once my cock was under cover Jill started harping on me. "You vile
pervert," she seethed. "What is the meaning of you showing your,
thing to me? You are filthy. Wash your sheets then wash your hands then never do
this again."

"Um, Jill, Aunt Jill, I'm an eighteen-year-old male. I

need to masturbate," I informed her. "Not in this house," she
said shrilly. I grabbed the tissues and Vaseline, then headed for the door.
"Where are you going?" she worried. "Into the woods out
back," I answered as I tried to move past her. "I kind of need to
finish this."

"You will do no such thing," Jill gasped as she

grabbed my arm, "you might be seen, and it's wrong." First priority
for Jill was social appearances while my spiritual well-being was somewhat less
important at that moment. "Jill," I cautioned her, "I really
need to knock one out. I'm stressed."

Jill grabbed the Vaseline and tissues from my hands, not

because she was stronger but because in my own twisted way, I still acknowledged
Jill as my authority figure; not much of one, but one nonetheless. Ripping them
away from her wasn't an option so, "Jill, you are my only parent now. I
need to come to you about, things sexual," I suggested.

"No," Jill responded with some shock. "There

will be no sex in this house. You will have sex when you are married and not
before, ever. Even then, sex is only for procreation." "Jill, I'm not
a virgin," I informed her. Her jaw dropped but I'm not sure if it was
shock, horror, or something else.

"You've had sex with a girl?" she whispered.

"Aunt Jill, I had twenty girlfriends back at the mission," I related.
"Did, Did Tim know? How did it happen? When did you do it?" she
stammered. "Tim knew; that is why he kept beating my ass. "It
happened simply enough; we would be bathing down at the river and if we liked
what we'd seen and if things clicked, we'd go fool around. Sometimes we'd kiss
and touch and sometimes we'd have sex; you know, blowjobs, cunnilingus, vaginal
and anal sex," I continued. "Gack, ah, oh, God preserve me,"
Jill sputtered. "As for when, the best time was right after Bible study
when you and Tim were preoccupied with the parents and us kids could sneak off
to a house and fool around in the common room, and then couples would pair up
and have sex in the bedrooms," I finished. "Oh, poor Tim," Jill
moaned as she slumped against the door sill. "Can I have my stuff and go
now?" I asked softly. "No," she snapped. We kind of stood there
for a minute before she asked, "Were you sneaking peeks of me at the
river?" "Umm," I half turned away, "yeah, I did." Jill
looked offended.

"You are very sexy, Jill," I attempted to mollify

her. It didn't work. "You pervert, you freak, that's incest. It is against
God's Laws!" she screamed at me. "Jill, we are not blood related, and
I never said I actually wanted to sleep with you, only that you have a very
nice body," I countered calmly.

"Shut up! Stop talking," she shouted, before

storming off, leaving me even more frustrated. An hour later Jill sent me out
to get some pizza but when I got back she wasn't in the house, though her car
was still in the garage. I smelled smoke and followed the scent out into the
backyard. I saw what Jill was doing; she didn't need to tell me what she was up
to but she did it anyway.

"I think we need to put your misspent time in Thailand

behind you," she announced, "so I've decided it is best to get rid of
all the clothes, books, and statues you brought back." "You should
have asked me," I stated. Of course, this meant War. "You are awash
in sin, Zane," she answered in this twisted, loving tone. I turned and
went in the house.

What had that monk said to me when I'd discussed my

relationship with Tim and Jill? One does not build a house of stone out of
grass Which he suggested meant petty payback satisfies little and is soon gone,
but real revenge comes from working permanent change on your opponent. Over the
next four days I ordered a secure chest online, withdrew my bank limit each
day, and started taking a pitcher of grape juice to my room at bedtime (it will
make sense in a moment). I decided to start my plan Sunday night.

Stage One: after Jill has gone to bed, fill her car up with

gas and report all her credit cards and bank card stolen. We have plenty of
food in the kitchen and Jill takes her lunch to work so with the car full of
gas she won't immediately notice her cards are useless tomorrow. Also withdraw
yet another five hundred dollars with my bank card, which is the daily limit.

Stage Two: Once Jill has gone to work, I put three of her

Sunday's Best into the steel chest, to which I have the only combination. Burn
every piece of ultra-conservative matronly-wear, from underwear to bathrobes to
jackets. Now that mid-morning has come, I head over to the Sorority House and
enlist the aid of my two new friends, Leigh and Corrie. We go clothes shopping
with the money I've saved up.

Each 'sister' gets one thing (for services rendered) and the

rest of the money we dump on getting Jill everything a sexually confident and
active twenty-something would wear (Jill's only thirty) as well as getting me
some normal clothes. I'm not going to attempt to make Jill dress like a hooker;
that would never work. Jill's been warped by her narrow-minded environment for
all of her three decades so making her more tolerant is going to take time.

Stage Three: As we are heading to the bedrooms that evening

I 'accidently' bump into Jill and soak her with a pitcher of grape juice she
now knows I'm taking to my room on a regular basis. Grape juice doesn't come
out and a pitcher will soak her down to her underwear and bra. "Sorry,
Aunt Jill," I blathered.

"Oh, Zane, this dress is totally ruined. I should make

you pay to replace it," she sounded cross. "Consider it done," I
offered. Technically, I'd already bought her a new one. Jill went into the
bathroom muttering Leviticus before tossing me a roll of paper towels to clean
up the spilled juice. "Zane?" Jill called from the bathroom with a
hint of concern.

"Yes?" I responded from the hallway. "Where

is my bathrobe?" she inquired. "In the laundry," I lied. I hear
her putter around for a few seconds, then, "Go to your room and shut the
door," she ordered me. I got up and made a point of noisily shutting my
door. Half a minute later the bathroom door squeaked open and I heard Jill pad
quietly to her room and shut the door. I opened my door and sprinted to the
bathroom. I retrieved her clothes from the hamper and tossed them in the sink,
got the carefully secreted lighter fluid from underneath, doused them, and
tossed in a lit match.

At the same time as I'm doing this, I heard Jill slamming

dresser drawers open and shut. "ZANE!" Boy, what have you done?"
Jill shouted from her room. I raced out of the bathroom (on purpose) at the
same time Jill burst out of her room so we were basically five feet apart when
Jill remembered that she was naked; I was barefoot in pajama bottoms.

Jill's look was priceless as she realized that the number of

men who'd seen her totally naked since she hit puberty had just doubled. She spun
around and bolted into her room, door slamming shut once more. It took her a
few moments to form a plan. "Zane, go to your room and shut the
door," she growled with a tad more control.

"Sure thing." I grinned as I walked to my room,

shut the door, and leaned against it waiting for what I knew would unfold next.
Sure enough, Jill raced to the bathroom. "Zane, where is my dress?"
"In the sink," I told her. Three, two, one. "ZANE! What have you
done!" she screamed once more. "My bra, my underwear, my hose, she
sobbed. "Jane, you have a robe in your closet. If you want, put it on and
come to my room so we can talk this over," I suggested.

I didn't hear anything for fifteen minutes as I waited on my

bed. Finally, the door swung open slowly and Jill took a half step into my
room. Her eyes were downcast in shame but her voice was full of hurt and anger.
In her mind there was no possible reason for me to have done this. She was
pulling off the Hurt Little Girl bit really well with her mid-thigh crimson
satin robe and her wavy, deep-red hair flowing loosely over her shoulders and
down her back.

"I can't believe you picked this out for me to wear,

Zane. Now where are my clothes?" she ground out. "Jill, you look good
in that, really good, but I didn't pick it out for you. I had our next-door
neighbors do that because you are all beautiful young women," I explained.
"If you tell me what color you are wearing, I'll tell you where your
clothes are." Jill stood stock still as she worked out that I was talking
about her panties. "Blue, the deep blue ones, with the black, lace,"
she whispered.

"Not the white?" I had to ask since I would have

guessed this was the first pair of non-white panties she'd ever worn. Her
constricted mind had expanded a tiny bit. "The white ones were nearly
see-through," she answered after a second. I had to agree with that.
"I put your clothes exactly where you put all the stuff I brought back
from Thailand," I answered. It took a moment for that to sink in. Her
burning green eyes popped up in shock. "What am I going to wear to work
tomorrow?" she wailed.

"I'll tell you if you agree to one request I have for

you," I replied with compassion. "Fine," she hiccupped. She was
so body conscious that she wasn't really thinking about the implications of what
she was saying but I believed she would still honor her word. "I want you
to wear your hair down all day tomorrow, or in a ponytail, but that's it,"
I ordered. Jill looked at me truly confused; she always wore it in a bun.

"But why?" she questioned. "I don't

understand." "Your hair is beautiful when it is down, Aunt Jill. I
figure it wouldn't kill you to try a new look," I answered. Again, she
didn't understand but I was okay with that, and getting her clothes out of the
closet was part of the deal. I pulled out bag after bag and set them on the
bed.

Jill stepped up during the process and pulled various

articles of clothing out, utterly flummoxed with what she was discovering. This
wasn't slut-wear but it would definitely show more of her curves and skin than
she would have ever normally considered. When I finished bringing bags out she
looked past me, expecting more. "I can't wear any of this," she
declared. "Please tell me you didn't really destroy my clothes."
"Jill, I did burn up most of your clothes and you can wear what I bought
you. You are thirty, not sixty-five. When I jumped into that river, God decided
that I rescued you and not Tim, and I can't believe I saved you so you could go
right back to the same life you had before," I interpreted what might have
been true, God doesn't talk to me. "What did I do to deserve this,
Zane?" she pleaded. "You burned up all my stuff from Thailand, Jill.
And while you might think of this as revenge, it's not. You may not see it this
way now but one day, I hope you will understand that I love you," I told
her. "Zane, I don't understand. What you did was evil, despicable, and
wicked and I won't tolerate it. We should pray to God, me for guidance and you
for forgiveness," she pouted. She made to kneel down at my bedside so I
followed out of long practice. We clasped our hands in prayer and while Jill
closed her eyes, mine remained open.

Now, my bed is not even at knee level so when Jill knelt

down to pray, leaning forward until her elbows were on the mattress, she inadvertently
thrust her ass backwards, yes, Jill was doggy style on my bed. I had abstractly
known Jill was attractive but the thought of having sex with her had never come
up.

What was now 'coming up' was suddenly a problem, as were my

attempts to keep up with exactly what Jill was asking God for, but the gist of
it seemed to involve the Almighty taking steel wool to my corrupt soul, the
harder and more painful the scrubbing, the better. "Amen," we said in
unison as the thirty-seven minute ordeal came to an end and Jill stood up.

"Jesus has told me that I only have to put up with your

dementia until morning. I'd rather get new clothes instead of showing up to
work, as some strumpet," she proclaimed. "Um, where did you come up
with the word 'strumpet' and who ever said it was a sin to be good
looking?" I asked. "Nothing I got for you suggests sexuality, no
push-up bras, crop tops, or slit skirts. They're clothes, nothing more."

"It doesn't matter what you think," Jill

countered. "Whatever madness you thought you were accomplishing won't
work. I really should call the pastor." "And tell him what, that I
burned your clothes and bought you, normal clothes? Why don't we call everyone
on the church roster?" I warned her. Jill balked at the prospect of having
our family feud exposed.

Jill sniffed, spun, and started to leave the room when she

recalled the clothes I'd bought for her. She huffed and came back for them,
looking at me very indignantly. When I went to help, she warned me off with a
hateful glare. An hour later, as I began to despair over my actions, I heard
Jill's bedroom door open and a crinkly crunch in the hall. Upon examination, I
found one of the bags I'd purchased clothes in outside her door. Inside, folded
up, were the other bags. Jill had put my clothes away in her drawers and
closet. I counted that to be a small victory.

At breakfast the next morning I endeavored to be very

correct and polite as I complimented Jill on how nice she looked. She returned
my platitudes with an angry glare and she left for work without saying a word.
In her favor, when she learned her credit cards were toast she didn't break
down and scream at me over the phone or miss work. That evening she did still
slam the door to the garage loud enough to rattle windows on the other side of
the house when she got home from work.

"ZANE!" she screamed, "What did you do to my

credit cards?" "Your replacements should be here by Saturday or
Monday at the latest," I replied soothingly as she stormed up to me.
"So," I went on, "did anyone compliment you on your looks
today?"

"What, I, that's not important," she muttered,

then she changed tact. She came over to the sofa where I was reclining, knelt
down, and took my hand. "Zane, you are falling into lust, degeneration,
and degradation, sins of the flesh. You have to stop this."

'Stop what?' I wasn't precisely sure. "What you want me

to do? Should we pray further on the matter? Last night I felt, something, but
I still feel empty," I suggested. Jill's face lit up so I slipped past her
and knelt beside her. Jill was unwittingly sexy as she sashayed forward on her
knees to rest against the sofa. I reached out to her and she took my hand, then
the praying began.

What followed was a repetitive litany of me falling into

lust and dark desires (clothes buying?). Dear departed Uncle Tim didn't even
get an honorable mention which would have been surprising if he hadn't been
such a total bastard to me. Jill's neglect I didn't quite understand. She'd
always been loyal, dutiful, and supportive. It then occurred to me that I'd
never seen him exert an ounce of human compassion toward Jill. I got up and ran
to my bedroom, ending up on the bed. Jill padded along behind me after a
minute.

"Zane?" she wondered. "When is the last time

you had sex with Uncle Tim?" I whispered so quietly that Jill struggled to
understand me. "But, no, don't do this, Zane, don't fall into
apostasy," Jill simpered.

"I have a gift for you. It is something you want but I

need you to answer the question," I offered. "What is the gift?"
she asked, guardedly intrigued. "I can promise you no regrets," I
countered. Jill weighed her options, turned, and left.

"Dinner," Jill called to me an hour later. I

dutifully went downstairs to the dining room to enjoy a mediocre meal in
silence. We barely exchanged a single glance. As I got up to clean the table,
cleaning was my chore, Jill spoke. "Seven years."

I was pretty proud that I didn't fall over in shock. First

off, in my teenage, hormone-addled mind, how could anyone go without sex for
seven years? Next, how could someone with Jill as a wife not want to have sex
at least once every seven hours? Finally, what was Tim doing in the lady-boy
section of Bangkok when he found me that one time? I really feel like an idiot
on occasion.

"I saved your three favorite Sunday dresses," I

rewarded her. Jill's eyes showed a glimmer of hope. "Which ones? I mean,
how did you know which ones were my favorites?" she pondered. "You
told me, Aunt Jill. I do listen to you, ya know," I responded. She gave me
the oddest look, as if I had just explained to her how Ruth slew Goliath, not
David.

"Thank you," she whispered. The first battle of

the Witch, the Brat, and the Wardrobe was over. The war would go on. The next
time we went grocery shopping (Jill decided that the less time I was left
alone, the slower I would plummet to my eventual fiery demise) I caught her
noticing guys giving her the once over and she liked it, of that I'm sure. How
do I know this? She let me talk to the cute stock girl for fifteen seconds
before reeling me in, which was long enough for her to write her number on the
palm of my hand. I called her and asked if she wanted to go to a sorority party
when the semester began. She informed me she was a rising senior in high school
so I gave her my number and told her to call me on her eighteenth birthday if
she was still interested. You can't win them all, immediately.

FFU

           

Birds are made beautiful by their plumage but
divine by their flight       

Now to the college I was attending; Freedom Fellowship

University (yes, that is F-FU if you stutter) is the Christian college in my
new hometown. Jill read about them in online chat rooms and by communicating
with some of her Christian social network gal pals. She heard they had a dress
code and without checking on the specifics, she bought me a dozen sets of black
slacks and white shirts guaranteed to mark me as a social leper.

She signed me up for my classes. I opted for Pre-Med; she

insisted I should go Pre-Law until I revealed my secret sinful desire to work
for the ACLU, at which point she relented. She wanted me to play some sports, I
suspect because she wanted me to have a safe hormonal outlet that didn't
involve me touching women. I could have told her that dressed as I was, getting
women (short of kidnapping) would be nearly impossible.

The problem was, they didn't offer any of the traditional

sports except for soccer and track and field. I felt that was odd but I decided
to sign up for soccer tryouts anyway. I also signed up for Karate, though I had
no idea what a Christian school would be teaching that for, plus Archery (I've
never used a bow before), Marksmanship (I've never fired a gun either), and
Orienteering (because everyone gets lost in suburban Virginia and has to
subsist on squirrel and road kill, right?). I downright refused to have
anything to do with the Competitive Bible Study Team.

By the end of the admissions process I was beginning to

think this was a school for some kind of uber-religious survivalists. Still,
they accepted me on short notice and except for a tiny quirk in the online
admissions form, I was sadly ready to go to college. It would be that tiny
quirk that would change my life forever.

There Must Be a Church!

Before I could attend college there was one quibble to deal

with and that was which church Jill and I would attend. I claimed to be partial
to the Unitarians, mainly to watch Jill's face go from normal to pale to an
angry beet red. Sometimes razzing her is too easy. Jill chose the First
Anointed Free-willed Fellowship of Christ after carefully weighing,
considering, and then utterly disregarding my input. I guess I had to be happy
they weren't snake handlers.

On that first Sunday it was raining. I ended up having to

run back into the house as Jill backed the car out of the garage and I took a
header into a mud puddle in the lawn. Seeing how soaked I was, Jill allowed me
to miss out on Sunday school. When I tried to get to the normal service my car
wouldn't start (she'd insisted on buying me a used car, which I was now allowed
to return for a new one).

The second Sunday was a comedy of errors. The garage door

opened halfway, then got stuck, and Jill gave the wrong address to the church
family she desperately called to come pick us up. On the third Sunday I was
sick, so sick that I missed the Sci-Fi movie classic of the week-(end) Saturday
night, Vampire Zombie Overlords II. Jill normally lets me watch it because I
told her it shows science in a bad light. I would like to point out that Jill
isn't stupid but she does tend to believe that which is most convenient to her
world view, in this case, Science = Bad.

The fourth and final college-free Sunday, Buddy Jesus

informed me that I had to go because no Act of God showed up to save me. It
turned out that the First Anointed Free-willed Fellowship of Christ was huge,
one of those mega-churches and by the number of luxury cars in the parking lot,
not one populated by the unwashed masses. Everyone was very, very friendly to
the point where I refused to drink or eat anything they tried to force on me,
fearing that I would become a drugged-out zombie filled with unconditional love
and happiness toward the world. The one other weird thing was that there didn't
seem to be any kids my age in the congregation. I had no Sunday school that
day. I later learned this was the weekend of their Pre-College/High School
Youth Retreat. Apparently everyone in this place acted as a herd.

Before we left I met with Pastor William Penny, chief

shepherd of this flock, and he wanted to be my pal. Jill was enraptured with
the guy but somehow he came across as creepy to me. Will, Jill, and a few
well-meaning parishioners ended up steering me to the Pastor's office (which
was as big as Jill's huge kitchen). There my new buddy wanted me to sign some
paperwork.

Jill urged me to hurry up and get it over with and promised

to take me to a nice steak house we'd seen but never been in, as if I was a
small child easily pleased. Maybe I should have gone for pre-law because I
ignored Jill and did read what they wanted me to sign. They wanted me to tithe,
and not on my income, of which I had none, but on my net worth.

Everyone around me looked hopeful and I couldn't help but

smile as I picked up the pen and started laughing. When they began looking
confused I laughed harder, and that made them displeased. I didn't pick up the
pen to write; I picked it up so I could stab the first one to rush me.
"Listen up, Pastor Bill, can I call you Pastor Bill?" I didn't wait
on his reply. "I don't know you or anyone but Aunt Jill in this
room," I chuckled, "and I imagine you are all terribly nice folks,
but it will be a cold day in Hell before I give millions of dollars to people I
know nothing about."

"We are doing God's work," Pastor Bill assured me,

"and please call me Pastor William." "Please," Jill
pleaded, "this is what your Uncle Tim would want." For Jill's sake I
didn't laugh out loud once again. Tim gave me billions of mosquito bites,
outdoor plumbing, and ass-whooping s on a regular basis so all I felt I owed
good ol' Tim was putting a heavy stone on his grave so that he didn't rise up
from the dead when the End Times came.

In retrospect, Tim did me one favor; he taught me the

ability to be verbally evasive when needed. "Aunt Jill, as Uncle Tim told
me, being a Christian is a matter of Faith working through the mind and hands.
It is my Christian duty to make sure that his legacy (really my Mom and Dad's)
is placed where God wants it. Uncle Tim would make me pray deeply to the
Almighty before taking such a momentous step, so pray I shall." Pastor
Bill looked disappointed in me, which was a poor mask for his unsatisfied
greed. Jill and the rest of the flock seem to have bought my act and that was
the victory I needed to win right then. On the way back home Jill was pleased
as punch. I'd expressed to her new friends what a wise saint good ol' Uncle Tim
had been. This was the day I had to move into my dorm room on FFU's campus so I
didn't have much time to dwell on everything that had happened.

Barbie Lynn Masters, Dorm Mother

To say that I was pretty depressed when I began moving into

college would have been an understatement. I met some nice girls who were also
moving into my dorm but I wasn't much in the mood for talking. I found my room
but they had my name wrong. Not only was I not Zane they even got Glenn wrong;
they misspelled it as Glenda. I hadn't been unpacking fifteen minutes before
this hottie breezed in asking if I was Glenda's brother. "Sure," I
joked, "I'm Zane." "Can I see some ID? I'm the Dorm Mother,"
she asked pleasantly. I showed her my driver's license which read 'G. Zane
Braxton'. "And you are?" I inquired. "Barbie Lynn Masters. Do
you live close by?" she prodded. I looked around my room (which I shared
with an as-of-yet unseen roomie), shrugged, and replied, "Yes. I live
about a mile and a half away, just inside city limits," I played along.
Couldn't she see that it was my name on the luggage in my room and I'd already
unpacked?

"Can we count on seeing a lot more of you?" she

purred, stepping up into my personal space. With her four-inch pumps, she was
an inch taller than me, so I had to tilt my head up slightly to meet her gaze.
"Unless you have a girlfriend, of course," she demurred. "I
don't have a girlfriend but I'm looking for one," I grinned back. I wasn't
really lying; I was looking for lots of girlfriends. "So, do you have a
boyfriend?"

"Oh, no," she assured me. "I took a Purity

Pledge and I have a fianc so I can't be in a causal relationship with a boy,
though being a 'friend' of a student I'm responsible for is fine." She
licked her lips. My understanding of her convoluted reasoning was
short-circuited by her D plus cleavage, perfect teeth, long light-golden hair,
soft bedroom blue eyes, and blemish free, tanned skin.

I've never considered myself terribly bashful. I hadn't been

with a welcoming and available female in two months; she was right there in my
face, so I grabbed Barbie's ass subtly, pulled her close, and began kissing
her. At first Barbie seemed to be all talk and no action, but that lasted all of
five seconds before she was all over me with our tongues intertwining and our
hands going over each other's backs and asses.

In a flash I had my hands up her pleated skirt, inside her

plain white panties, and was massaging each muscular ass cheek separately and
vigorously while my lips left hers and migrated to her neck and ear with kisses
and bites, all of which seemed to really excite Barbie Lynn. She was moaning
and grinding against me like a teenager coming down from a forty-eight hour
unresolved porno binge.

Her left hand slid around to the front of my jeans and

touched my crotch where I was rapidly coming to the fullness of life. "Oh,
God!" she whispered as she began stroking me up and down. "Tell me
that's not a rolled up sock." "Huh? What? No, that is all me. Why do
you ask?" I mumbled between licks and kisses.

"Oh, some boys can be very dishonest," she sighed

from past experience. "Does it hurt?" "No, it feels fine,"
I assured her. "Are you sure it doesn't hurt just a little bit?" she persisted
as she groped my bulge. Something clued me in.

"Actually, it does hurt a little bit," I guessed.

Barbie Lynn broke our embrace, padded silently over to the door, took a quick
look out, then shut it. She was back in my arms in record time. "In that
case, let me see it," she grinned. "How does a blowjob jive with your
Purity Pledge?" I stupidly wondered out loud.

"Oh," she beamed an angelic radiance up at me as

she slid down my body and unzipped my pants, our eyes locked together, "a
blow job is sinful and done out of lust but relieving your pain is blessed and
done out of love." "I feel myself getting closer to spiritual
fulfillment every second I'm with you," I breathed huskily as she pulled
down my pants and boxers, unleashing my manhood.

Barbie tentatively, with a bit of fear showing, licked the

tip of my cock. I let her get used to me before resting a hand on her head. She
responded by slowly engulfing my cockhead, which felt freaking awesome after my
long dry spell (please remember I had virtually non-stop sex for two and a half
years). She bobbed slightly while pumping my shaft rapidly with one hand and
tickling my balls with the other. I tried to push a little bit but Barbie
gagged. I guessed she wasn't too skilled at this but hey, everyone starts
somewhere.

After five minutes she was taking more than half of my

length in and doing so hungrily. "I hope you are not close to
coming," she mumbled between mouthfuls. "Actually, I'm feeling
greedy," I responded. She looked up at me, head still bobbing. "I can
sense your pain and feel I should do something about it," I explained.

Now she looked confused so I backed up, pulled Barbie up by

her waist and kissed her once more. I gracefully walked my hand down her waist
and hip to her crotch. With a sharp intake of breath by Barbie, she melted into
me and bit my shoulder. Next I spun us around and pushed her back on the bed at
the corner, splaying her out for me as her bosom bounced sensually and
enticingly. "What's on your mind?" Barbie asked with wide eyes.
"I want a taste," I grinned evilly, which only turned her on more.

I fell between her outstretched knees. I made eye contact

with her as she propped up on her elbows and my hands went to her panty
waistband. I grinned, she blushed, and the panties came flying off. Barbie
squeaked then slammed a hand over her mouth to muffle the noise. "Use my
pillows to prop up your back," I directed Barbie Lynn since she clearly
wanted to watch. I maneuvered Barbie into a suitable position so that I was
kneeling on the floor with Barbie's silky smooth legs spread to either side.
Barbie Lynn was propped up so that she could watch me work. I got the feeling
she was used to some level of stimulation, just not from a guy. I could deal
with that.

"Maybe we shouldn't do this now, or go back to my place

where it is safer?" she asked. "I'm too hungry for you right now;
your scent is intoxicating," I finished up saying, and then I went in. I
didn't rush things because every first time should be special. My right hand
traced the line along the sides and rear of Barbie Lynn's thighs. My left hand
traced the line over her pubic area to her stomach that finally ended with her
left breast.

"Hurry," she panted. I knew she had somewhere to

be but I was aware she could use some stress relief too. Barbie reached down
with a hand to control my left hand and head but I was obeying my instincts. By
the time she made up her mind to stop me, I overwhelmed Barbie with a
pleasurable, mind warping first orgasm. The noise brought a few students sneaking
in to take a peak.

Once I had a semblance of control over her, I began a series

of actions to excite her whole body. On the second orgasm she wrapped her legs
around my head and nearly crushed it. While I lapped up her juices, I decided
to follow that up by kissing Barbie and giving her some of her own fluids to
taste, a trick new to her.

I kept my cock sheathed, though all three of Barbie's holes

looked delightful. I figured she wasn't ready yet but I did manage to take off
her shirt in the process and fondling and suckling at her magnificent breasts.
After the third and fourth orgasms, Barbie passed out, and when she woke up,
she whispered to me that she wanted my cock in her mouth and cunt. Purity
Pledge? What Purity Pledge?

Barbie Lynn confided in me that she'd sucked cock before and

thought she was quite good at it, and that a few men had temped her cunt and
ass with real penetration but all she had done so far was pleasure herself with
toys and with the aid of other (female) students here at school. She was still
technically a virgin (no boy parts had penetrated her cunt) but she'd done
'everything else.' Was she or was she not an anal virgin? My money was on
virginity.

Barbie was pleased that I was going to her church (it was

highly popular at the college, she told me), almost as pleased as I was to find
her so receptive and hungry for more sex. I told her she needed sexier
underwear and that I would gladly go shopping with her for some in case she
wanted to model any (yes, I know they don't let you model underwear). While we
talked I helped her get dressed, though we couldn't find her panties.

We slipped out after that, Barbie to tend to her girls and

me to go to my Aunt's. I told her I'd see her tomorrow. Barbie laughed as if
she didn't believe me. As I left, I began to appreciate the guy: girl ratio of
this place because it was looking very good in my favor. My evening with Jill
passed uneventfully; we stayed up late as Jill suddenly realized she was going
to be alone for the first time in years so I didn't end up sneaking quietly
into my dorm room until well past midnight.

The Journey Begins.

Day One, It's a What?

My first day of college began with a six a.m. wake-up alarm

in our room. Both my roommate and I sat up at the same time. We looked at each
other and the sheets failed to conceal we apparently both slept shirtless.

"Hi. You are a girl," I got off first.

"And you are a guy," she replied indignantly.

"What are you doing in my room? I mean, why did they

give me a female roommate?" I countered.

"Ah, are you joking?" she asked incredulously.

Clearly I wasn't, and that realization made her grin mischievously.

"Where is Glenda?" she inquired next.

"Ugh," I sighed. "When I was registered their

system misspelled my name. My first name is Glenn, thus the Glenda, but I go by
Zane, my middle name. What about you?"

"Whoops. I'm Rio Talon and this is going to be

wicked," she giggled. "I have to admit I never thought I'd meet
someone like you at FFU."

"You don't see quite the hardcore

fundamentalist/survivalist type either," I responded.

"Ha!" she grunted. "You got me. It was either

this or three years at a minimum security prison in Arizona," she
confessed. She didn't volunteer what she would have done time for and it was
really none of my business.

"I need to shower," I changed the subject.

"I'll go with you," Rio volunteered as she slipped

out of bed, and yes, she was naked, and cleverly and artfully shaved with
several delicate chevrons pointing down. She also had a black tattoo of the
name Lilith going from the right hip along the bikini line, definitely not
Church issue.

I went to the closet, got a robe, towel, and bathroom kit.

Rio brazenly watched me move around.

"Body-conscious much?" she chuckled.

"Rio, I spent the last two years bathing down at the river

with two hundred of my closest neighbors. Trying to cover up gets old really
fast," I grinned back at her. "Does my body disgust you?"

"'Disgust' isn't the word I was going to use," Rio

said as she licked her lips and also got ready for the bathroom. "Now,
let's get you shaved before, the bathroom gets flooded with people. By the
way," she tossed me Barbie's missing undies, "are these yours?"

"Booty from my panty raid; please don't turn me

in," I chuckled, as I caught them, then stashed them in my backpack,
hopefully to return to Barbie Lynn later. Rio laughed again.

As I suspected, not only did I get assigned a female

roommate but I was on a female floor, which earned me more than a few shocked
looks. Since Rio stuck close to me, she earned her own share of looks, but
these were more scornful; Rio ate it up. I still couldn't decide whether I'd
miss Rio or not when I got my new room assignment.

The two girls in the showers ignored Rio and I when we came

in so I was able to shave in peace and get under a steamy shower without the
expected shrieks. Only when they dressed in their robes and put on their
glasses did things change. Their looks were best expressed as 'a boy saw me
naked!' followed by 'A boy saw me naked, ' and ended up with, 'A boy saw me naked
and he liked what he saw.' I get hard when the wind blows, anywhere around the
globe. They fled in a fit of giggles and I safely exited the bathroom before
another girl entered.

It was hardly unforeseen that my attire made Rio laugh but

when she suggested black horn-rimmed glasses would really complete the
nerd-look, I had to laugh too. I noted her regulation skirt appeared to be a
bit higher above the knee than was prudent with a pronounced lack of underwear.
Rio confessed that her parents tossed all her 'stripper' wear when they shipped
her off and she wasn't going to wear the 'granny' panties they had put in place
of her G-strings.

The trek cross-campus to the Dining Hall would have been

more enlightening if Rio had not lured me into an engrossing conversation.
Remember now, I had been isolated from mainstream Western pop culture for over
two years and had a lot of catching up to do. We grabbed some trays of
breakfast; then, at Rio's insistence, we headed outside to eat pretty much by
ourselves, or so we hoped.

"Professor, inquired this cute brunette with pig

tails, dimples, and into pushing her tits in my face; I barely noticed she was
backed up by three other girls.

"Huh?" I questioned.

"Braxton," Rio spoke over me.

"Could you tell me, where the, um, Clegger Science

Building is, Professor Braxton?" She lied pathetically.

My first thoughts were, 'why is she wearing such a thin

white blouse two-sizes too small?' and wondering 'when is this thread holding
that central button in place going to give up on its hopeless struggle and let
her boobs pop out?' Then I became curious why she called me 'professor'.

"It is right over there," I said, as I stood up,

put my hand on the small of her back, and pointed the way with my other hand.
The location of the building was blindingly obvious since this is not a huge
campus.

If things weren't awkward enough, Ms. Brunette twisted,

rubbed her hardening nipples against my chest, and asked,

"There?"

"No," I corrected by whispering into her ear,

causing her to wiggle against me. I took her forearm, lingering my touch on the
pulse of her wrist before directing it to the proper angle.

"I would walk you there," I added, "but we

have to go to the auditorium soon."

"Thank you, Professor Braxton." She wiggled a

third time. "It is really a pity I don't have any of your classes. What do
you teach?"

"He's a Biblical Archeologist," Rio interrupted,

"specializing in Early Christian Erotic Art and Rituals."

I felt Ms. Brunette have a micro-orgasm over that piece of

fantastical news.

"Are you still taking on students?" Brunette

panted to me. Rio jumped up.

"Whoops! Look at the time!" exclaimed Rio,

"Professor, you have to go, Right Now!" With that, she dragged me
away from Ms. Brunette and her girl posse and across campus.

"What the hell was that about and why did she call me

Professor?" I hissed to Rio as we came to the auditorium for our first
assembly.

"Oh, it must be some Southern thing, sort of like the

English calling men 'Governor'," she lied convincingly. How do I now know
she lied? It will become obvious.

 

I took a seat with Rio amongst the sea of students and it

was just my luck that we were surrounded by girls once more. I really wasn't in
the mood to have them gawk at me so I slumped down and kept a low profile. The
auditorium sounded full-up and there was a magnitude of teachers and such on
the stage.

When a stately, attractive, yet demanding and stern tall

woman with long grey hair worked up in a bun stepped up to the podium, the hall
grew silent. First she led us in prayer, which I found odd because normally at
this level of fundamentalism, women couldn't lead men in prayer, but I could
have cared less. She welcomed the rising seniors first, then worked down the
list until she recognized the new class of freshmen, reminding them of their
'Handmaiden Duties,' whatever that was.

I looked to Rio who was stifling to suppress some dark glee,

undoubtedly at my expense. The Chancellor of FFU worked us through some of what
I assumed was normal school crap plus a reminder to review with diligence their
code of moral and ethical behaviors and the names of their spiritual guidance
counselors in case they felt wickedness overcoming them. Considering the thin
white blouses and the short, pleated plaid skirts, yours truly and the other
men on campus were going to be scoring like mad, morals and ethics be damned.

A closing prayer ended the meeting and we dispersed like

good little sheep heading for our first class of the semester. Rio and I both had
English Literature but in different rooms so she was kind/sadistic enough to
drop me by my room before heading her own way. I walked in and took a middle
seat. Once again all the girls looked at me funny when they came in and I
couldn't miss the fact that in a classroom size of twenty, we had nineteen
girls and only one guy, me.

I was mulling this over (I'm actually a smart guy but I

admit, I hadn't been showing it too much recently) when our teacher came in.
Her name was Ms. Goodswell (no lie) and she was a gorgeous brunette with
breasts of greater proportions than Barbie Lynn's, and the rest just got
lusher.

Ms.  Goodswell leaned against the front of her large

wooden writing desk and used her tablet to scroll down the roll call. I was
number three.

"Braxton," her sugary sweet voice drawled out.

"Glenda Braxton." I shifted in my seat.

"Here," I said in a clear masculine voice,

"but I go by Zane."

Ms.  Goodswell looked up over her reading glasses,

expecting something other than me. As she looked at me her eyes grew larger,
and she looked, and she looked.

"What are you wearing?" she asked crisply.

"What my Aunt told me was proper school attire, Ms.

Goodswell," I replied tentatively.

"Proper attire is clearly outlined, white blouse and a

pleated blue and gold tartan skirt with white knee sox and black shoes. Men
wear pants; women wear skirts," she clarified. I imagine my jaw dropped
open at that one. Finally, I stood up so she could get a good look at me.

"I'm dressed correctly, then I'm a guy," I

insisted. Ms. Goodswell had looked annoyed but now she looked pissed. She
strode boldly toward me, heels clicking against the marble floor.

"So you insist that you are a man, do you?" she

snapped. Before I could do anything but nod she slapped a cupped hand against my
crotch. I coughed in pain.

I became aroused despite the mild discomfort because I was

now gazing down into Ms. Goodswell's ample bosom. Her eyes went from angry to
utter shock.

"You are a man," she whispered in horror.

"What are you doing in my class?" I reached into my book bag and got
my schedule, letting her gaze on it. I noticed her hand stayed on my crotch.

"Nine a.m., English Lit. 101 in room 204, Denning Hall

V. Goodswell," I read out loud. Ms. Goodswell read it over while she
massaged my growing shaft; subconsciously or not, I wasn't sure.

"Very well," she said decisively. She turned back

and returned to the roll. As I sat down I had that creepy feeling that everyone
else was staring at me, or more precisely, my Goodswell-inspired hard on.

After that little bit of drama the actual class was okay.

Ms. Goodswell was pretty bright and made our upcoming journey into the works of
a bunch of old dead British guys sound fun. When the bell rang we got up and
started to file out but Ms. Goodswell motioned me to wait for the others to
leave us alone. It didn't work out that way; the other girls hovered right
outside the door.

"Okay, Mr. Braxton, what are you trying to prove?"

she accused me with some real heat.

"Please, Ms. Goodswell, believe me; I haven't a clue

what is going on here. I woke up with a girl in my room this morning, I began.

"You had a girl in your room this morning? That didn't

take you long," she said bitterly.

"No, wait; it was my assigned roommate, Rio Talon, and

she was on her side of the room. It is okay because they accidently stuck me on
a girl's floor in the dorm because there were girls in the showers too," I
continued.

"Didn't you thing that was a bit odd?" she asked

suspiciously.

"Not really, ma'am. I've spent the last two years with

missionaries in rural Thailand; I'm used to bathing with naked women all the
time. Initially, I figured this was some sort of bureaucratic snafu but after
doing my own quick census of your class, I think I've missed something
crucial," I explained.

"Mr. Braxton, Zane, this is an all-girls school; men

are not allowed. We can't even employ a man under the age of forty-five,"
she informed me while studying my expression. While my cock would have done
summersaults of joy, my brain was looking at my access to my trust fund going
down the toilet.

"I apologize. I'm pretty sure my Aunt Jill didn't know

and I assure you, I was ignorant of this fact. What do we do now?" I
sighed.

"I believe you, Mr., .Zane. No one would use this as an

excuse after going through all the trouble to sneak in here. For now, you
continue to your classes and I'll inform your other instructors of this,
extraordinary event. Expect to spend lunch with the Chancellor so that we can
extricate you from this situation. Can I rely on you to be good in the
interim?"

"I'll do my best," I promised. She dismissed me

and began using her phone. When I slipped out of the room, my classmates made
room enough for me to make my way down the hall.

"Zane!" a young female voice called out. I turned

around to see Ms. Brunette. "Is it true you are a freshman here?" I
was sure she would be pissed for the whole 'Professor' gag Rio had played and
I'd unwittingly gone along with.

"Yes," I confessed. She'd assumed I was a teacher

because I was male and I hadn't corrected her.

"Kiss me!" she beamed hungrily. That was not what

I expected but I reacted quickly and gave her a chaste kiss on the lips. Ms.
Brunette looked upset. "You can do better than that," she commanded.
Again, not what I expected; I put my book bag down, took hers off her shoulder
and placed it next to mine.

I started off with a repeat of the last kiss but instead of

that being the ending point, I used it as a foundation to build upon. I slowly drew
her in; she pulled her arms up between us and cupped my face as I dipped her
with enough tongue action to make our steamy embrace a thermographic
exploration of lust. We kissed for over a minute before I brought her up and
let her go.

"Better?" I murmured to her. Ms. Brunette nodded

dreamily. As I retrieved my book bag from the floor I realized I was adrift in
a sea of lonely young women. I could now empathize with that lost baby seal who
found itself surrounded by a pod of killer whales.

"Kiss me!" insisted a blonde.

"No, me; I was here first."

"I'm a senior; I go first," demanded a

breathtaking black woman. I didn't know what was going on and I had no idea how
to deal with this bizarre situation but all that was taken out of my hands by
the next noise I heard.

"Get off me, bitch," I heard Rio shout out,

followed by a slap and her scream. Rio was hardly my friend, in fact, she had
used me for her own personal amusement for the entire time I'd known her, but
she was my roommate, an outsider, and I was sure no one else would come to her
aid. I shouldered my way in the directions of her screams and sobs, parting the
last few girls separating us.

Rio was on her stomach on the floor with three girls

gathered over her. Closest to me was one with thick, wavy black hair and dark
skin who had her foot pushing down on Rio's ass. The second one, who appeared
to be the leader, was a black girl with shiny black hair in an intricate weave
and was bouncing on Rio's back, yanking her hair back painfully, and was taunting
Rio, saying she was supposed to be a good little beast of burden as well as
mocking her as a 'felon'. The last tormentor was the only one facing me, though
she was preoccupied with holding Rio's arms forward so she couldn't reach back
to scratch the ringleader.

It wasn't hard for me to figure out what to do. When Weave

started bouncing up, I swept the legs out from under the other wavy-haired
girl, sending her toppling backwards. I then put a boot to the black girl's
ass, propelling her into the spectators on the far side of us. I didn't even
bother with girl number three.

I grabbed Rio by the arm and yanked her up and swung her

behind me. It turned out to be a good choice because when the black girl
back-flipped up in one fluid move, she landed in a martial arts fighting
stance. I had a fight on my hands, or would have if the bell hadn't rung. As it
was, the black girl looked both outraged and shocked when she took in my gender
and my counter-stance.

A flood of girls suddenly separated us. Rio took the opportunity

to grab her book bag, then my hand, and together we bolted to our next class
which was, oddly enough, Biblical Archeology but without the procreation parts.
Our professor, Mrs. Carradine, treated me a bit coldly but the attention
directed my way by the student body was anything but.

I had barely pulled out my book when the girl behind me

tapped my shoulder and slipped me a note.

You will take my book bag to lunch and eat lunch with me.

Dove Foster

I furrowed my brow and showed the note to Rio who was

sitting next to me. She smiled and whispered, "Handmaiden's Duty," in
a condescending tone. "Didn't you read your handbook?" Any further
conversation was cut short by Mrs. Carradine's blistering glare.

For some reason, Buddy Jesus kept me safe from anymore

female attention until the class ended and I began to make my way out. I took
some comfort that Rio stayed close to my side.

My Social Secretary

"Zane. Zane Braxton, do you mind if I call you

Zane?" babbled a shorter, slender girl with shoulder length black hair and
glasses as she grabbed my elbow in a death grip from behind.

"You can't ask him to do anything until he steps out of

class," Rio cautioned the newcomer. Now I had to decide whether or not I'd
be a slave to Dove for an hour because technically she appeared to be in
violation of the rules, which I knew nothing about.

"No! I want to help," she pleaded. "Besides,

I'm a freshman like Zane so I can't ask him to perform, I mean do something to
me, gack, for me," she blushed.

"What is your name and how can you help?" I

questioned. I gently rubbed her shoulder and upper left arm to calm her down.
She rewarded me with a deep breath and a warm smile.

"I'm Iona Becket. Well, I figure you don't have a

web-spot or a schedule manager for your Handmaiden Duties and I could help with
that. What do you think?" I was still mulling it over when Rio thrust me
back into the flames of Hell.

"Iona, if you could do that for Zane, I'm sure he'd

give you a naked full-body oil massage," she teased her fellow freshman. I
was sure Iona was blushing furiously down to the soles of her sock covered
feet.

"Great; I'll put out my digits and create your

calendar, so if you give me your number, I'll get to work," she bubbled. I
did as requested and Iona skipped off, through the mob of women waiting
outside. I hoped they were waiting for me because if Rio had pissed off that
many ladies, she was on her own.

"How did you know that I've been taught massage?"

I whispered out of the side of my mouth to Rio.

"You were in Thailand for two years and you are both

not too stupid and are really good looking so I figure some back alley lady-boy
showed you a thing or two," she answered.

"It was two lady-boys, but I don't think we can go into

this right now." I glanced to the crowd.

"Zane, I'm going to miss you when these Christian

bitches fuck you to death; you are not a total asshole," Rio sighed as we
headed out. I had to figure that was the nicest thing she was ever going to say
to me. I stepped out with the certainty that I would be torn apart by
well-meaning jackals.

"Come with me," said this imperious voice over the

din. A woman (clearly a dominant senior) who had a stunning resemblance to the
love child of Angie Harmon and Tyra Banks motioned me forward. Since she had
some frightened freshman already lugging around her gear, I was a little
uncertain as to what she wanted me for in the fifteen (now ten) minutes between
classes.

I trailed after the Super Smoking Hot Chick, or (SSHC), in

the general direction of the Dickens Life Sciences building, mostly watching
her ass move underneath that skirt.

"So, do you have a name?" I finally asked. The

other freshman stumbled and gasped at my ignorance.
"You really are clueless," laughed the SSHC. "I'm Christina
Buchannan, Senior Class President and Captain of the Soccer and Bible Study
Teams. I'm also the granddaughter of Clarence Ingersoll, one of the twenty-five
richest men in America. So, do you like watching my ass or are you more of a
tit man?"

"That's not really fair," I replied after some consideration.

"Your ass is divine but your breasts are so perfect that I really feel the
only way to tell is with a hands-on inspection." She stopped, turned, and
regarded me with renewed interest.

"You don't lack ambition, M, Zane. Some day we may just

have to see about letting you decide which is better," Christina grinned
in a decidedly non-Christian schoolgirl way before resuming our journey.

Never one to resist the chance to throw myself into the

rapids in pursuit of a woman, I asked her,

"So, do you have a boyfriend?" Of course, this

girl is three years older than me and a princess to boot but you never know
unless you try.

"You know better than that, Zane," she playfully

scolded me. "You have already had that talk with Barbie Lynn so you know
about the Purity Pledge we, we girls take when we come here."

I chuckled which earned me a slightly harsher look.

"Sorry. It is,  I know this one student here who I

can't imagine taking that pledge unless a gun was put to her head," I
responded. "Not everything revolves around you, ya know?"

"Touch , Zane," she acknowledged. "You are

referring to your roommate. I don't imagine the felon will be keeping to it.
Her father is on the board of directors to a sister church in Phoenix but she's
been nothing but sinful and shameful."

"Wow," I told her as my humor faded, "you

went from beautiful to ugly in a breath-taking fifteen seconds. Have you spoken
more than ten words to Rio, ever?"

"Please accept the fact that you are still a young man

who has a lot to learn about the world and Our Lord's plan for us in it,"
Christina said with gravitas. After a few seconds of walking in silence, her
poor enslaved freshman huffing along, she added.

"You have known her how long, Zane?"

"Five hours," I confessed.

"If you weren't about to be tossed out of here I would

take offense with your attitude but since we will probably not see each other
after today, I choose to find your act of chivalry toward Rio to be
quaint," she condescended to say.

"Okay," I responded, "you seem like a nice, intelligent

woman so I'm going to allow you to apologize to Rio for calling her a felon
when you see her next, or by the end of the week if your paths don't cross, no
matter what."

"If I don't," Christina taunted me, "what can

you possibly do to me?"

"I'll make you apologize anyway and you'll regret

making me force you," I promised her evenly. Christina knew all about the
balance, or in this case imbalance of power; everything appeared to be in her
favor. I was an insect and she was right in that I would probably be gone from
Freedom Fellowship University after lunch.

At this point it might be good to mention that I was with my

parents when they died. Mom was in the lead when a whole rock face separated
from the mountain and dragged her down to the valley below. Dad was blown
loose, and two of my three pitons snapped. Mom was gone and Dad was badly
broken, but he was together enough to know he was about to pull me down to my
death with him.

I didn't know what Dad was reaching for and he didn't say

anything, but when he started sawing away at his connection to me, I cried out
for him to stop. He didn't. I watched him fall while I screamed his name. I
spent all night on that mountain wedged under the cliff where I had secured
myself using the survival skills my parents had taught me until help arrived.

I was hardly going to let some immature, self-important,

rich, religious snob get the better of me. I like to believe I appreciated my
parents' lesson of living each moment to its fullest. Rio deserved the chance to
live each moment too and not have her past thrown in her face; this place was
bad enough just dealing with our present circumstance.

"I'll pick you up here when class lets out,"

Christina ordered as she dropped me off at Biology.

"Sorry, but I've already been enslaved for the noon

hour," I countered.

"That wasn't a request, Mr. Braxton," she stated

with a serene gaze. "I'm to take you to the Chancellor's office at
noon."

"Am I not trusted to find my way there on my own?"

I questioned.

"Mr. Braxton, you are a boy who lied his way into an

all-girls Christian college so trusting you doesn't seem to be the wise course
of action," she smugly informed me.

"Is it because I have a cock or that this place is a

super-nova of female sexual repression?" I asked next. The accompanying
freshman pack mule gulped.

"I'll see you in forty-five minutes," Christina

informed me as she sauntered off. I gave her vagabond a wink and she winked
back.

Before I got in the room I got a message from Iona; all my

free time was booked through nine tonight. Since I was almost late to class
there were only four chairs open for me: three in the back and one in the midst
of them. I chose to be polite.

My Biology professor was Doctor Burns who looked old enough

to have been around during the Scopes Monkey Trial and his thinking was about
as conservative. It wasn't cutting edge science. Hell, I could barely see the
Scientific Method from our Ivory Tower of Religious Intolerance. The girl to my
left kept raising the hemline of her skirt until I verified she was wearing
pink French cut panties and that kept me awake through this scholastic
nightmare.

To be continued in part 2, By FinalStand for Literotica.

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