Read Online Journal Of A Timid Temptress by Deirdre O'Dare - Free Book Online
Authors: Deirdre O'Dare
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Chapter 1
Jan 12
Of all the aggravations! Instead of getting my next poli-sci course with one of the established senior profs like I wanted, I'm stuck with some unknown. Apparently he's new because no one seems to know a thing about him. He's not even "doctor" yet, would you believe? Well, I suppose I just have to make the best of it. I need the course since I can't move on to the upper division classes in my major until I have it.
I'm also disappointed in other ways.
Here it is, my fourth semester of college and nothing has changed. Frat boys are just that...still boys. For them, foreplay is little more than saying, "Get in the back seat, babe, and let's do it." I'm no closer to fulfillment than I was the night of the senior prom, playing slap and tickle with Jared Johnston in the back of his old Ford Fairlane.
Sheesh.
Oh, I'm not technically a virgin, but it makes little difference. I might just as well be if the only way I can really get off is with the help of my trusty b.o.b. I came to college to get an education, leaving the stuffy humdrum atmosphere of Small Town, Bible Belt, U.S.A. as far behind me as I could! I might as well have stayed home on the farm. I learned as much about sex from the livestock as I have here.
There has to be more to life than this!
* * * *
Jan 15
Oh, my gods and little kittens! I've been to Mr. Reynard's class...twice now in fact. I have a shivery feeling inside and get wet just thinking about him. What a man like that is doing at this podunk state institution is a question I won't even ask. He is here and fate put me in his class. Now here's a man I can learn from. I just know it. The trick, of course, is to emerge from the morass of faceless names in his grade book and nameless faces tipped up to him in awe as he paces and gestures and lectures with such passion that I am utterly sure it has to run into other areas of his life as well. His first name is Philippe--I love the spelling and the French sound of it. So much sexier than just plain Phillip, you know? I will devise a plan. I will. I must.
* * * *
Jan 21
He is just too gorgeous for words. I can't think about anything else. It's agony to be in class and watch him, unable to touch or tell him how I feel. But I am making progress. I was sitting on the stairs today when he came in for class and he almost tripped over me. Am I invisible? Finally, as if recalled from a distant planet, he did look down with a bit of a smile.
"Oh, hello. Sorry. I'm afraid I wasn't watching my step. You're in my class, aren't you?"
I leaped to my feet, as graceful as a week-old calf I fear, and tried to smile back, while I replied nonchalantly, "Oh yes, I am. I just love it, too. Political Science is the most fascinating subject. I'm sure the way to change the world lies in its discipline, don't you agree?"
He might have looked just a bit startled then, but he recovered quickly. "Miss Wilcox, isn't it?"
I nodded, trying not to appear too awfully eager. "Yes, that's me. But please call me Geri, okay?"
He nodded as gravely as if I had said something utterly profound. "Geri it is, at least when we're just chatting, like now. Was there something you wanted?"
I started, my mind straying to many things I wanted, but was not sure how to ask for.
I tugged at the hem of my top, which wanted to ride up. Big boobs may be considered sexy, but they're hell on clothes. I searched frantically for some cool response and finally had to settle on the mundane. "Not really. I just had a few minutes to fill before class and came in out of the weather. It's really windy today." I smoothed desperately at my hair, which on good days was as untamed as the copper wire it resembled--charged.
"Don't fuss, Geri. Your hair is gorgeous just as it is, so alive and vivid. And dishabille suits you, you know. You're very earthy, natural, the essential female. I hope you don't feel insulted by that. I have a hell of a time being politically correct these
Jan 12
Of all the aggravations! Instead of getting my next poli-sci course with one of the established senior profs like I wanted, I'm stuck with some unknown. Apparently he's new because no one seems to know a thing about him. He's not even "doctor" yet, would you believe? Well, I suppose I just have to make the best of it. I need the course since I can't move on to the upper division classes in my major until I have it.
I'm also disappointed in other ways.
Here it is, my fourth semester of college and nothing has changed. Frat boys are just that...still boys. For them, foreplay is little more than saying, "Get in the back seat, babe, and let's do it." I'm no closer to fulfillment than I was the night of the senior prom, playing slap and tickle with Jared Johnston in the back of his old Ford Fairlane.
Sheesh.
Oh, I'm not technically a virgin, but it makes little difference. I might just as well be if the only way I can really get off is with the help of my trusty b.o.b. I came to college to get an education, leaving the stuffy humdrum atmosphere of Small Town, Bible Belt, U.S.A. as far behind me as I could! I might as well have stayed home on the farm. I learned as much about sex from the livestock as I have here.
There has to be more to life than this!
* * * *
Jan 15
Oh, my gods and little kittens! I've been to Mr. Reynard's class...twice now in fact. I have a shivery feeling inside and get wet just thinking about him. What a man like that is doing at this podunk state institution is a question I won't even ask. He is here and fate put me in his class. Now here's a man I can learn from. I just know it. The trick, of course, is to emerge from the morass of faceless names in his grade book and nameless faces tipped up to him in awe as he paces and gestures and lectures with such passion that I am utterly sure it has to run into other areas of his life as well. His first name is Philippe--I love the spelling and the French sound of it. So much sexier than just plain Phillip, you know? I will devise a plan. I will. I must.
* * * *
Jan 21
He is just too gorgeous for words. I can't think about anything else. It's agony to be in class and watch him, unable to touch or tell him how I feel. But I am making progress. I was sitting on the stairs today when he came in for class and he almost tripped over me. Am I invisible? Finally, as if recalled from a distant planet, he did look down with a bit of a smile.
"Oh, hello. Sorry. I'm afraid I wasn't watching my step. You're in my class, aren't you?"
I leaped to my feet, as graceful as a week-old calf I fear, and tried to smile back, while I replied nonchalantly, "Oh yes, I am. I just love it, too. Political Science is the most fascinating subject. I'm sure the way to change the world lies in its discipline, don't you agree?"
He might have looked just a bit startled then, but he recovered quickly. "Miss Wilcox, isn't it?"
I nodded, trying not to appear too awfully eager. "Yes, that's me. But please call me Geri, okay?"
He nodded as gravely as if I had said something utterly profound. "Geri it is, at least when we're just chatting, like now. Was there something you wanted?"
I started, my mind straying to many things I wanted, but was not sure how to ask for.
I tugged at the hem of my top, which wanted to ride up. Big boobs may be considered sexy, but they're hell on clothes. I searched frantically for some cool response and finally had to settle on the mundane. "Not really. I just had a few minutes to fill before class and came in out of the weather. It's really windy today." I smoothed desperately at my hair, which on good days was as untamed as the copper wire it resembled--charged.
"Don't fuss, Geri. Your hair is gorgeous just as it is, so alive and vivid. And dishabille suits you, you know. You're very earthy, natural, the essential female. I hope you don't feel insulted by that. I have a hell of a time being politically correct these
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