Marcia

“Hi, I’m Marcia Logan. I don’t know if you remember me, but we live in the same dorm. I thought you said something about taking English I this semester, and I can’t find my schedule. Could you tell me the room number?"

Marcia is a returning student, after having been away from school for about five years, if you recall from your short discussion as you walked up the stairs of the dormitory. It was a long story, and you only half listened to it, but she seemed to appreciate your interest.

“How old are you again?” you ask, and instantly regret the question.

Marcia smirks and shakes her head slowly. “Twenty six. Everybody will think I’m a graduate student.”

Marcia is a tan blonde, with blonde hair the color of wheat. Her eyes are a pale blue, and she has an engaging smile. She is dressed in a faded denim jacket with a tin blue cotton t-shirt under it, and matching jeans that fit like a second skin. She has curves in all the right places, and a killer smile besides. As she stands beside you, you reach into your backpack, and pull out a printout of your class schedule with the room numbers listed alongside the class descriptions.

“431 Truman Hall” you say looking up at the older blonde.

“Thanks babe, you’re a life saver. Maybe I can make it up to you somehow”

You feel your sex shift in your pants. Was that a proposition? Setting your bag back down on the floor beside your chair, you notice that her feet are perfectly manicured. The nails polished to a high gloss , in a light pastel pink shade. A thin gold chain is clasped around one narrow ankle, and a slim band of gold has been placed around the fourth toe of her right foot.

“That sounds intriguing", you say. "Have anything in mind?”

Marcia raises an eyebrow, a thin smile on her lips. Clearing her throat, she replies to your question in a whisper as she lowers her lips to your ear.