An open invitation

I was brought to the attention of Carrie halfway through the first semester of my fresman year. I had a knack for fixing computers, and, though it was boring, I had gained a handful of friends and acquaintances merely through this skill, which, at that time, was in relatively short supply. I was the go-to guy for computer problems, and even though it basically pegged me as a nerd, it also allowed me to meet a lot of people I probably would not have hung out with, otherwise.

One Thursday afternoon I heard a knock on my dorm room door. I turned around to behold the spectacle that was Carrie. It appeared that she had not yet had a class that day; she was wearing a set of flannel pajamas, and her hair was mussed in a way that suggested she had been sleeping up until not too terribly long ago. This was not particularly surprising, since I knew that she, along with many of the other freshman in the corridor, did not have any Thursday classes, and that she was probably up until all hours of the morning drinking and partying. She looked quite sexy; she had just gotten out of bed, and it looked like was about to get back in it.

I motioned for her to come in the room. She did so, and asked in her typical and breezy manner, "Can you ... help me with my computer?" From what little time I had spent in her presence at dorm corridor functions, I knew that Carrie had an absent-minded, almost airheaded way of speaking. Her sentences were frequently punctuated with pauses that didn't really make sense, almost as if she routinely forgot what she was saying halfway through saying it. I considered her request, and nodded. She turned on her heels and headed towards her room.

I followed her to her room, and sat down at the desk she indicated. She stepped up behind me, and through a combination of pointing and the occasional murmur, directed me to the problem she was having. It was a minor problem, and after five minutes of tinkering, I had restored her computer to its full functionality. I turned around to tell her her computer was fixed, and found myself face to face with her chest. Her pajama top was a button-up, and though it seemed to be the right size for her stomach and shoulders, it was far too small to accommodate her larger-than-normal breasts. The flannel fabric was fully stretched out around her tits, and though the buttons of the shirt seemed to be holding stitched on admirably, the shirt gapped between each of the buttons. Clearly, Carrie was not wearing any sort of bra; this thought was reinforced by the two small bumps of her nipples poking out the fabric.

As soon as I realized that I was staring at her chest, I snapped my eyes up to Carrie's face. She was grinning down at me, and I realized that it was not just the fact that she was standing directly behind me, but also that she was jutting her chest out, that had caused her mammaries to be so prominent in my view. I was not sure how long I had been staring at her chest, but I suspected that my eyes had lingered there long enough for it to be readily apparent. "Not too bad ... are they?" Carrie asked, reaching up with both hands and lightly squeezing her breasts. I ignored what she said, and quietly stated, "Your computer is fixed."

Carrie smiled widely. "Thanks. If you have any problems ... any at all ... I can fix them. Any time." I noticed that she was not looking me in the eye, and mentally followed her gaze, to realize that she was looking at my groin, and that I was currently sporting an erection. I thought about standing up to leave, but realized that the erection would just be more pronounced if I did so. She continued. "You're cute. Any time. Anywhere. Any problem."

Carrie slowly dropped her hands from her tits, walked over to her bed, and climbed in to it, facing away from me. I took the opportunity to make my way out of the room, adjusting my erection to be less obvious before I scurried through the doorway.

It wasn't long before my next encounter with her.