Teaching Carol, Ch.3

The next time I saw Carol was at lunchtime the next day. We were both heading from different directions towards the entrance to the dining-hall next to her dormitory. I had been thinking about something else and so looked right past her at first. She saw me, however, and thought I was ignoring her, and that she was the victim of a one-night stand.

I noticed her just as her face turned sad and she began to walk away from me with her head down. I understood immediately what she was thinking and called out to her. When she turned back to me I ran up and gave her a quick hug and a kiss on the side of the head, and asked her how she was doing, whether she’d slept all right, and so forth. She brightened immediately, and we walked into the building with our arms around each other’s waists.

We sat together and ate and talked, but made no mention of the night before. We parted without making any plans to see each other, but we both knew it would be soon.

I arrived at her room in the later part of the evening that night, when I figured she would be done with her schoolwork (she was a student teacher). When she let me in, we hugged for a while. I used it as an excuse to massage her spine, starting at the top and working my way down. She relaxed against me and purred. When I reached the bottom of her spine I allowed my hands to continue on to her behind, massaging her cheeks with the palms of my hands. She was wearing light corduroy pants, and the texture of the fabric was pleasing to touch.

After some time we broke off and went to sit on her bed. We sat cross-legged, facing each other, and she immediately began talking about how she thought we shouldn’t be physically involved because we weren’t in a serious relationship. I thought, sure…but listened and nodded in the right places. I was sure she believed what she was saying. But I was equally sure she would do what I wanted.

When she finished, I kissed her lightly on the lips, and said, “I understand. I’ll try to keep my hands to myself.” She smiled at my acquiescence, and I continued, “It won’t be easy, of course, ’cause as I told you last night, I just love touching you.” I kissed her again. “But I also love just looking at you. Is that alright?”

She blushed a little and looked down and made a small laugh, looking up from under her eyebrows at me. “Oh, of course,” she said.

“Do you like it when I look at you?”

“Well…” She wasn’t sure how to respond.

I made a teasing face and said, “Come on, admit it….”

Her blush deepened and she looked down again before saying, quietly, “…Yes.”

“‘Yes’, what?”

“You know.”

“Yes, but I want to hear you say it.”

“Oh, you…alright. I like it when you look at me.”

“Good. Does it make you feel pretty?”

“Well…yes.”

“What?”

“Ohhh…yes, it makes me feel pretty.” She gave the last word a self-deprecating twist.

“…And sexy?”

“Well, I don’t know…yes, it…it makes me feel…attractive.”

“Sexy.”

“Okay, okay…sexy!” She made a face at my insistence on the word.

“You really like it?”

“Yes!”

“Alright then—stand up and let me look at you.”

“Oh, Jonathan…”

“Come on, stand up. I mean it.” I took her by one shoulder and nudged her toward the edge of the bed.

“Oh, all right…” She unfolded her legs and stood, facing me, looking very self-conscious. She was wearing a light green sweater over her tan corduroys and tan socks on her feet.

At first I only looked at her eyes—they were dark brown, and at the moment a little distrustful. I said, “You really are very pretty…” She allowed herself to smile. After a moment, I continued, “You have a cute figure, too—it’s alright if I look at it?” She blushed again and looked down without replying, so I added, “Put your hands behind your head, if you would, and look at me.”

She hesitated for a moment, then did what I’d asked. Her eyes met mine, though timidly. I could tell she was feeling vulnerable, and said, “Oh, that’s nice—that really shows off your figure.” I let her watch me as I deliberately allowed my gaze to drop to her small breasts and boyish hips, and linger there long enough for her to feel it. Then I looked back up and smiled at her and said, “But I can’t really see you like this.”

She looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”

I held her gaze as I said, “Well, for instance, I’m pretty sure you have nice legs, but I can’t see them. Would you pull down your pants, please?”

She thought I was kidding, and guffawed. I said, “Seriously…pull down your pants.”

She was incredulous. “Oh jeez, Jonathan! No.”

“Carol, I promised I wouldn’t touch you, and I won’t. But I want to look at you. You like having me look at you, right”

“Yes, but…”

“Alright then.” She started to say something else, but I held up my hand to forestall her, and held her in my gaze as I said, “Carol, I want to look at you. Pull…down…your pants.”

She couldn’t take my gaze for long. She looked down. I heard her mumble “Oh, jeez…” to herself. Although her short black hair curtained her face somewhat I could still see that it was beet-red. I held my breath. This was the turning point. Finally, she took a sharp breath, hooked her thumbs into the elastic waistband of her pants, and pulled them quickly down around her ankles. Then she straightened up again, but wouldn’t look at me.

“There, that didn’t hurt a bit, did it,” I said lightly. “Come on, hands behind your head. Look up.” She did so, still not looking at me, her face still red. I smiled and said, “C’mon, Carol, don’t be embarrassed. I want you to enjoy this too. Stop thinking about it so much—just watch me looking at you—enjoy how sexy you are. Look at me.”

She finally raised her eyes to mine. I said, “That’s better. Mmmmm… I really like that. Do you feel sexy like that, with me looking at you?”

Her knit her brows together as she looked at me, her expression perturbed. Finally she said, doubtfully, “Well….kind of…but I…”

“Good,” I jumped right in. I think you just need to reassure yourself that it’s okay.” She looked unsure, but nodded, hesitantly. “All right,” I said, with a playful smile, “Repeat after me: ‘I like having you look at me.'”

Her expression was doubtful, but she went along. “I like having you look at me.”

“Good,” I replied. “Now let’s take it a little farther: ‘I’m not ashamed of my body.'”

“I’m…not ashamed of my body. But Jonathan…”

“Nope. Let’s keep going with what you just did: ‘I like pulling my pants down for you.”

“Jonathan…!”

“Say it.”

She hesitated, looked down.

“Nope. Keep looking at me…”

She returned her gaze to me. “I like…” her gaze wavered, looked away, came back to mine. She blushed furiously and quickly gabbled out the rest: “…pulling my pants down for you.” She gasped slightly. Her eyes kept darting away, then returning to mine.

I tried to soothe her. “Well, it’s true, I think. The problem is that you don’t think it should be true—am I right?” She nodded. “You think it makes you a bad person, somehow.” Again, she nodded. “Well, it doesn’t. It doesn’t hurt anyone, least of all yourself, and we both enjoy it—how is that a bad thing?” She still looked unconvinced, but possibly less so, so I went on. “Alright, let’s try it again. But only repeat what I say if it’s really true for you, okay?” She nodded and said, “Alright.”

I stood up and got close to her, looking deeply into her eyes, and repeated, “I like pulling my pants down for you.”

I was so close that she couldn’t look away. She stood there, hands still locked behind her head, looking up at me. I felt her resistance melt away. She said, as if hypnotized, “I like pulling my pants down for you.”

I continued, ” I like having you look at me like this.”

“I like having you look at me like this.”

“I like being sexy for you.”

“I like being…sexy…for you.”

I sat down again, still holding her gaze. “Good. Now, stand with you feet apart and let me look at you.” Without taking her eyes from mine she moved her feet as far apart as the pants around her ankles would allow.

I sat back down on the bed and looked at her for a while in silence. Her face still had a worried expression, as if she had no idea how she’d gotten into such a situation, but she stayed in her position. I stayed quiet a little longer to let her get used to being looked at. Then I said, “I like your panties.”

She looked down at them. They were pink and embroidered in front with lots of flowers in lighter and darker shades of pink. She looked back up at me and smiled hesitantly, not sure if I was serious.

“Really. They’re very pretty,” I reassured her. Then I added, “Is your bra the same?”

She thought a moment, then nodded. And of course I immediately said, “Show me.”

She made an outraged face, and said, in a tone meant to convey that I’d gone too far, “Jon-athan…!” But she stayed in her position. I mocked her facial expression and her voice, saying, “Ca-rol…!”.

Unable to help herself, she laughed. I said, “Carol, we just went through this: You like having me look at you—remember?”

“Ye-ess…”

“And you like being sexy for me, right?”

“Well…”

“Carol…is it true or not?”

She looked down and said, a little sadly, “Yes.” Then, knowing what I was about to say, she looked back up at me and said, reluctantly, “I like being sexy for you.”

“Good. Take off your sweater.”

She did. She held it in her hands for a moment as if reluctant to let it go, then draped it over a nearby chair. Then she quickly smoothed down her hair, and without waiting to be told, replaced her hands behind her head. Her bra did indeed match her panties.

“Ooo, Carol—you are so pretty!’ I exclaimed. “I don’t think you have any idea how sexy you are. Look…” I stood up. “See what you do to me?” I gestured toward my zipper, where my erection was obvious. She stared down at it, half-fearful, half-fascinated. “Don’t you love being able to do that?”

Unable to take her eyes off it, she nodded once, slowly. Then started to speak. “But Jonathan, you promised you wouldn’t…”

“And I won’t,” I finished for her, sitting back down. I looked at her for a little while, then asked, “How are you doing? Do you feel good? Do you feel sexy?” She nodded, reluctantly, and I sensed she was just agreeing because I wanted her to. I said, “I think you do, but I also think you’re still feeling like you’re not supposed to. Am I right?”

She nodded.

“Okay, put everything back on.” She looked surprised and, I thought, maybe even a little disappointed–though she’d never admit it. I wait until she was dressed, then pulled her over to sit in my lap. I gave her a hug and said, “Alright, maybe this will help—were you ever in a play?”

“Yes, in high school.