Serious students: These were the female equivalent of the nerd. These had a similar lack of fashion sense, and narrow range of conversation topics. On one afternoon, when I wasn’t at the bar, I had one brief, if one afternoon could be described as brief in an era where one night stands constituted a long term relationship, close encounter with a member of the opposite gender. It was my senior year and I had taken to tutoring freshman students as a way of gaining some form of social contact outside my close circle of friend (read room-mate). She had all of the appearances and attitudes of someone who lived in the late sixties or early seventies and the unlikely name of Serendipity Sorenson to go with her appearance. She wore a long skirt over which she wore something that was a cross between a huge knitted sweater and a short knitted dress. Its main purpose in life, I thought, was to conceal from the public gaze the shape of the body beneath. Her hair was long and, despite the Nordic. As if awaking from a dream he suddenly looked flustered as his eyes moved from her chest to her eyes. He looked away quickly, clearly embarrassed as a blush rose above his collar ever upwards, then moved to go past her and outside into the rain. Tiffany smirked at his obvious discomfort and stepped past him instead, towards her car, brushing past him, ensuring she confirmed that hard-on with the back of her hand as she passed. Deeper into the shadow she went chuckling in anticipation as the mans footfalls stopped, paused, then followed along behind like the poor baited prey he had now become.Her car stood facing the wall half way down the filled floor. Reaching it she placed the bags upon the floor and opened the boot. Tiffany glanced over her shoulder coyly to ensure her quarry was still with her. His pace had slowed but he closed upon her thinking himself the hunter of this scene. She placed her shopping within the car, bending over as she did so, the black pencil skirt pulled taut.
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