Archive-name: SpecMome/castdie.txt
Archive-author: Brian Colby
Archive-title: Fantasy 01: Casting my Die


Disclaimer: This story contains names of people who are real, but
otherwise fictitious.  It also contains scenes not appropriate for
some groups.  You know what to do....

Casting my Die

     10 years ago, I sat under the hot sun of Regis College to receive
a piece of paper (entirely in Latin) that said I satisfactorily
graduated from school.  Now, as I stand in the sea of ex-football
players, social butterflies, and other people, I wish I had spent my
$75 on something a little more useful.

     One of my friends from Roslindale, Laura Forcucci, was the first
persons I met.  She once was the cutest person around, but four years
of UMass Lowell's nursing program hardened her naivete well beyond
bursting.  But to me she was alawys nice, and over a couple of
Guinesses we had a nice bitch session about graduate school, among
other things.  Laura's eyes lit up like a Christmas tree when I
mentioned that I had just received my doctorate from BU.  "You get to
shuffle around papers while I shuffle around EEG charts," she
snickered.

     Jen Conley, who constantly made my school days interesting and
harrowing at the same time, tried to zoo on me, but that was quickly
squelched when I said, "Now dear, don't call this Doctor of Philosophy
in Mathematics a geek."  (I didn't see her for the rest of the night.)
Laura Gorman also got the acid tongue when she asked me why I didn't
dye my hair..."because that's what you would do when your top got
blonder than your bottom."

     I sat at the table with Robert McCormick, Karen Sullivan, and
Nadine Cater as the usual pleasantries were transmitted over the PA
system.  People danced to the cheesiest songs while I sat out every
song, preferring to be at the Rathskeller, riding the crowd during
Sleep Chamber or SlapShot.

     I went up to the bar and ordered a odd concoction of rum and
orange juice, and I noticed someone who I had a crush on the entire
six years.  Michelle Doherty sat at the bar, nursing a drink at the
bar, looking very forlorn.

     "Hi, Michelle," I said as she looked at me with shock.  Michelle
was wearing a nearly-illegally short dress, with her hair cut short.
"Brian Colby, how have you been?" She wrapped her arms around me and
hugged for about three minutes.  To lighten the situation, I said,
"$64,000 in debt and all for a crummy doctorate degree."

     For the next thirty minutes, we caught each other up to date, and
we agreed on two things: that the class of 1990 really is for the
birds and speed metal ruled.  Michelle was a disk jockey for Emerson
College's "Metal Drain" show, and she remarked that "between modeling
and being a aerobics instructor, I would not give up spinning disks
for anybody."

     We went outside for a few minutes to get some fresh Cambridge
air, as the Red Line trains crossed the Charles to our left.
We began to walk down Memorial Drive towards the trains, arguing about
the finer points of Ramones lyrics.  By the time we reached Kendall
Station, we turned around and walked back.

     "Confession time, Shel," I said with a hint of reserve.  "I have
had the biggest crush on you for six years."  Michelle was taken
aback, but we continued walking.  By the time we got back to the
reunion, we had not said anything.

     "Are you angry with me?" I asked Michelle as we arrived at the
front door of the Marriott.  Her reply was to take my face into her
hands and give me a deep French kiss.  I was stunned to the point of
saying "eh?" when she said, "Does that answer your question?" with a
giant grin.

     I collected my coat and walked towards Kendall when Michelle
honked her horn.  "B, want a ride back home?"  I obliged and told her
to drop me off at my apartment in Newton.

     Along Commonwealth Ave. we continued to talk, and Michelle had
put in another tape.  "I like Minor Threat because they get right to
the point," Michelle opined, looking at me sideways.  "Where is your
apartment, anyway?"

     I said, "570 Commonwealth Ave."  (We were on the Boston side,
around 2033 Comm Ave., so we were about ten minutes away.)

     When we got there, I offered Michelle a cup of coffee and a place to
stay...it was already 11:30pm.  "Sure, if you don't have anything else
in mind," she said with a sly wink.  We went into the apartments, and I reached
in for my mail.  Phone bill, gas bill, water bill, and another blasted
message from Ed McMahon and Publisher's Clearinghouse.

     I set up the coffee pot as Michelle looked at all of the
mathematics books I had.  She looked at the papers I had on my
desk (my Linear Algebra text that would be ready next January),
and finally sat down on the futon.

"Coffee will be done in ten minutes...sit tight!"  Michelle kicked off
her shoes and propped them under her thighs.

     "B, how long is your masterpiece going to be?" Michelle said as I
poured the coffee into two Houghton Mifflin mugs.  "I expect 492
pages, not counting thanking every Linear Algebra professor known to
man."  I cautiously brought the coffee into the room, and handed it to
her.  "Cream and sugar for the madam," I said in the best effected
British accent.  Michelle accepted, and sipped the coffee.

    We continued talking and leaking out more things that happened in
Montreal junior year.  I then rose from my chair and said, "I have to
get you blankets and a couple of pillows.  I'll be right back."

I left her for a few minutes and grabbed some blankets and
pillows from the closet.  I entered the room with blankets and pillows
crooked under my elbows.  "I hope you enjoy nice thick blankets,
because..." I started to say, but when Michelle had divested herself
of her dress, she stood in black lace panties, a black garter belt,
and gossamer mesh hose in the black - with the tops of the hose shiny.
Her figure was elegant and stunning; her breasts were full,
but not extremely large, and her nipples and aureolae were dusty brown.
My reaction?  I dropped everything onto the floor.

    Coyly, she covered herself and said, "Brian...you're not supposed
to see a woman undressing!"  But she placed her nylon-clad foot on the
futon, and unsnapped the garters.  Slowly and teasingly she rolled the
nylon down her legs, using both hands.  When she was done, she lifted
the hose in the air, waving it like a flag, then placing it neatly on the
chair.

    "By the way, Brian, I like to sleep in the nude..." as she placed her
other leg on the futon and ran her hands up and down the length of her
leg.  "No restraints, mind you...", unhooking the clasps of her garter
belt.  "Do you really like my legs, B?" she said as the other nylon rolled
down the extent of her leg and reached the ankle.  "Come here, Brian..." and
I went to her quickly.  She placed her soft hand on my crotch, feeling my
erection.  She tsked and said, "We're going to have to fix that..."

    Michelle released the other stocking from her leg, undid the garter
belt, and brought her panties down her legs.  She was completely nude,
and her mons glistened with dew.  Then she walked over to me, undid my
dress pants, and brought them down to my ankles.  Again her touch
wandered to my erection, which sent electric sparks throughout my
body.  After she unbuttoned my shirt, the last thing she approached
was my boxer shorts.  Inch by inch, she exposed skin and kissed each
part, and a fiercely bulbous Mr. Happy made his entrance to
the world by springing out with a pearl on his head.

    Michelle kissed my penis, and sweetly licked the pearl from the
head.  She continuously kissed it and then began to fellatiate (sp?)
me, inch by inch at first, then taking my entire length and suckling
on me warmly.  "You taste sooooo good..."  she moaned, looking at me
with bedroom eyes.  She built up a rhythm, alternately stroking and
fellating, until I was ready to come.  But when I almost did, she
grasped the head and squeezed gently.  I moaned in frustration,
wanting to climax very badly, but I decided it would be best to wait.

    I lowered myself down to her waiting Venus mound and found that
she was liberally coated with juices.  I placed my tongue inside,
flicking the clitoris back and forth, and lazily licked her labia.
She too nearly came, but I stopped a little before.

    "Please...I want to feel you inside me..." Michelle whimpered.  I
adjusted myself into a regular position, and I practiced a technique
called "Slow In."  I inserted only an inch of my penis into her mound,
and I went back and forth until she moaned, "OOhhh....don't do this to
me..."  I inserted more and more of my penis into her until she had
the entire length of it in her.  I continued to thrust gently, until
Michelle said, "A little harder..."

    Instead I suckled on her nipples, and she again moaned in
frustration.  I didn't thrust again until Michelle reached for my hair
and turned me around to my back.  Michelle then mounted me, licking my
body as she thrusted herself on my penis.  "Ohmigod, I'm about to
coooommmee...." as she continued to place herself on my erect penis,
and soon I felt her contractions.  I counted two body-wracking orgasms
before she stopped.  I had not yet climaxed either, but Michelle took
me into her mouth and fellatiated me again.  I couldn't hold back
either, as hot ejaculate streamed onto her cheeks and lips, dribbling
down her chin.  I continued having large orgasms until I was spent.
Michelle scooped up the mess on her face, and sensuously licked it
from her long fingers.

    In the afterglow that followed, we kissed and snuggled up to one
another.  I then whispered into her ear a variation of Caesar's
proclamation at the Rubicon, "Alea iacta erat" (The die has been
cast).  Michelle and I then parted ways in the morning after she
cooked a wonderful breakfast...eaten entirely in the nude.  The next
day, I sent her 12 long stem roses, with the note that "I guess
reunions have a special magic about them...You're special to me, and
even though last night was a little hurried, it was one of the best
times I've had.  Thanks for Montreal, last night, and everything."
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