Sandra, part 2

One Tuesday night during the week of mid-terms, my girlfriend, Rena, and I were taking advantage of my roommate being stuck in a long evening lab session to enjoy a nice, leisurely fuck. Rena was on her hands and knees on my bed, her head down in my pillow, while I moved in and out of her from behind in a slow doggy-style. I was getting close to coming, and had just started to pick up my pace, when someone knocked on my door. I froze for a moment, but Rena reached back for me and moaned into the pillow, “Tom, don’t stop. Fuck me, baby.” I held still for another moment, but then went back to paying attention to her pussy. Just as I started pushing my cock deeper into her again, the knock at the door came again, a little louder and faster this time.

Through the door, I heard Sandra’s voice, almost sobbing. “Tom,” she half-cried, half-moaned, “are you in there? I really need to talk!”

Even through the door, I could tell that something was wrong, and I pulled my cock out of Rena and turned toward the door. I started grabbing for my sweats and called out, “Yeah, Sandra, hang on just a sec!”

Rena sat up and spun around on the bed, suddenly furious. “Who’s Sandra?!?” she shouted. “Doesn’t matter. Tell the bitch to go away!” I was a little shocked at how suddenly she had changed moods again, but as I pulled on my sweats and tucked my still-hard cock inside, she changed her tone yet again. “You know, it doesn’t matter. You go to your little bitch if she’s so important. I’m done!” And before I knew it, Rena had pulled on her pants and a sweatshirt, stormed to the door, and pushed past Sandra. I stood there in the middle of the room, wearing nothing but a loose fitting pair of sweat pants and a shocked expression, with my friend crying in my doorway, and pretty sure that I’d just lost my girlfriend.

As the sound of Rena’s footsteps faded down the hallway, I became aware again of Sandra’s now somewhat subdued crying. I turned to her, still a little stunned by Rena’s blow-up, and said, “Sandra, I’m sorry, I—”

“No, I’m sorry, Tom,” she cut me off. “I didn’t know what I was interrupting.”

“Nah, it’s okay,” I lied, badly, “we were just studying.”

Then Sandra’s crying turned to a half-laugh, half-giggle. She pointed at my still-persistent hard-on tenting my sweats and said, “Yeah, I can see that.” That pretty much killed the hard-on, and my cock quickly deflated.

“Okay,” I said, “yeah, we were, um, busy. But it’s okay. Come on in, what’s wrong?”

That snapped Sandra back to the reality that had brought her, crying, to my door in the first place. “Tom,” she said as she walked in, “I’m screwed. I’m flunking two of my classes, and I blew my first three midterms this week, and if I can’t get my grades up they’re gonna kick me out and I have to go home!”

I wasn’t sure what to say beyond a trite “it’ll be okay,” so I just put a hand on her shoulder and listened.

She explained that she’d been falling behind in her linguistics and literature classes, and both those and her algebra midterm exams had gone rather poorly. On top of that, she had also been called into her academic advisor’s office the week before for a “pre-probationary” chat, and she’d let the whole thing slip to her sister, who of course passed the information along to their parents. So all in all, Sandra was in a bit of a jam. It was pretty obvious she needed some tutoring help along with a shoulder to cry on, too.

I took advantage of a pause in her unloading to jump in. “You know, I get it. And I want to help. But not here.” Sandra looked back at me, not sure what I was suggesting. Then I asked, “Would you let me buy you a cup of coffee over at the coffee shop over on G street?”

She started to object, but I stopped her. “I know we need to take care of your classes, but right now I think you just need to get away from here. When was the last time you got off campus?”

“About three weeks,” she answered.

“Then why don’t I get dressed, and we’ll walk over to the coffee shop. It’s a warm night, perfect for a walk. And I think you need a little break.”

“Okay,” she said, a little hesitantly.

“Okay, great. But, um, I need you to turn around.” I grinned at her with my thumbs hooked in the waist band of my sweats.

“Oh, sure,” she said, and quickly turned her back.

I grabbed some jeans and a shirt, slipped them on quickly, then stuffed my wallet into my back pocket and said, “Okay, let’s go.” I opened the door again and took Sandra by the hand, leading her out into the hallway.

When we got to the coffee shop, we sat down at a table and just started talking. Sandra told me more about the trouble’s she’d been having with her classes. I told her that I’d been having a bit of a hard time this semester too, but that it was probably self-inflicted due to my being more preoccupied with my relationship with Rena. I admitted that when she’d come knocking on my door, she had interrupted us “in the act,” but said it was okay, because it was probably only a matter of time before Rena found another reason to break things off with me anyway. Sandra told me about some problems her mom and dad had been having for a couple years, and that her sister probably told them about her academic troubles to deflect some of the anger away from her. The coffee kept coming, but was really secondary to the conversation. We just sat and talked until almost midnight, when even the coffee wasn’t working too well to keep our eyes open. Finally, I paid our small check and left a decent tip for taking up a table for so long, and we started walking back to campus.

Just like we’d done at the beginning of the semester, I walked Sandra back to her room. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but we held hands the whole way back. I told Sandra I had a midterm in the morning, but that I’d stop by before lunch to start helping her with some catch-up studying.