No, let it go.

The thought of Vivian, who isn't unattractive in her own right, taking pictures of a scantly clad, or at least that his how you envision it, Sandra is certainly tempting in the ****, you deem it wise to let the matter pass, less you look too suspicious. After wishing Brian a good night you get back to work. For next few hours you try to focus on a project due next week, though your labors are less than productive. You finally succumb and go to social media to creep on the shapely cleric in your game.

Of course none of your friends use facebook, preferring snapchat and instagram. Not even bothering with David's deviantart page you go to Sandra's instagram. You know of her page because the first day you met her you immediately went to Vivian's personal page and then linked over to her big brown eyed roommate. Unlike, David and Saul, you haven't had the nerve to follow her, instead you just skim through the pictures of her public life; mostly cell photos of acquaintances, her sewing projects and landscape pics. It greatly impresses you that a woman with a body of an instagram model has no personal selfies on her page. The few pictures of her are with friends or family, and she is always, at least by college standards, conservatively attired. This makes Sandra even more attractive in your eyes, though tonight you did wish you could find at least one bikini picture.

Going over to Vivian's other instagram page for her photography proves to be even less fruitful. Giving up on your quest you head off to bed. In order to get to sleep, however, you have to employ several sheets of kleenex, thickly stacked together, to “relieve” yourself of the tension that is still coursing through your body. You dream of the groaning naked Sandra writhing beneath you, ending with you having one of the most intense orgasms of your life, far more explosive than any thing you experienced from having real sex with either of your ex girlfriends.

The next morning you go for your daily run and then off to class, though your thoughts are constantly on your scheduled private gaming session with the curvy cleric. Arriving at the Student Union a good thirty minutes early you find a private set of lounge chairs with a small table off it the corner by themselves. Vainly you try to read one of your text books on your laptop, but more often than not, you find yourself peering over the screen trying to see if Sandra has arrived.