Physical Co-education Ch. 02

Faulty wiring. What do you do when someone shares a secret with you as personal as that? Do you just keep it to yourself, never telling anyone, never bringing it up, but always knowing that you know and knowing that she knows that you know? Or does the fact that she told you and the fact that you listened somehow now make you parts of each other's lives in a deeper way that won't ever be able to be undone?

- - -

The next morning when I woke up Gretchen was in the alcove, fiddling with the coffee maker. She was still nude. She was facing away from me, looking so sexy with her curvy split bottom and her graceful naked back. I snuck up behind her and gave her a little kiss at the base of her neck. She bent her head to give me a little caress. I put my arms around her and drew up against her, letting her feel that my cock was waking up too.

We looked at each other in the mirror, our heads side by side, her perfect breasts, her attentive nipples, her taut tummy enclasped in my arms.

"Do you drink coffee?" she asked.

"Only when I stay in fancy hotels."

She gave a little laugh. "Me too," she admitted. She rested her hands on mine and looked back at us in the mirror.

"What's on the schedule for today?" she asked. "Do you remember?"

"Shopping. The miracle mile."

"Wouldn't want to miss that."

"Breakfast first, though," I said. "We'll have to go down pretty soon."

"Let's order room service instead. Want to?"

I didn't have much experience with room service. "Wouldn't that be extra?"

She leaned back against me. "So we pay extra."

- - -

The bellboy who rolled in our breakfast cart was a bellgirl, actually, wearing a bellboy's trousers and with her hair in a tight bun. She could tell that Gretchen and I didn't have anything else on under our bathrobes. But she just smiled, not condescendingly or judgmentally, just friendlily, as if she'd slept naked in hotel rooms a few times before herself.

- - -

"So whose turn is it to pick what we do next?" I asked after we'd eaten.

"I picked room service," she said. "So I guess it's your turn now."

"So how about this? What if we trim our shopping down to a miracle half mile and just hang around here a bit more?"

She shrugged. "Even just a quarter mile would be all right with me."

"So listen," I said. "So here's what I've been thinking. Wiring problems are kind of tricky, kind of hard to troubleshoot. There are a lot of things that can go wrong. But maybe I could give you a little inspection. You know, take a little look to see if there's anything I can see."

"You want to troubleshoot my wiring?"

"Just take a little look. With wiring problems, if you just sort of work your way from connection to connection you can usually at least figure out where the problem is." I tried to sound like I knew what I was talking about.

For whatever reason, she was willing to play along. "So what do you want me to do?"

I reached toward her sash. She unfastened it, and I helped her out of her robe. I smoothed the tumbled sheets and she lay down on the bed. God! Her curvy split bottom, her graceful back. I put my hands right where her hips started to flare, right at the skinniest part of her waist. I wasn't really sure how to proceed. I glided my hands reverently along her sides.

"Mercedes-Benz," I noted. "CLS class. One of the finest automobiles ever built." My hands were spread wide, half hovering, half caressing. "Not stodgy at all. Sleek. Sexy. Guys get hard ons just leafing through Car and Driver."

I touched my hands to the subtle dimples on either side of her tailbone. "An automobile fit for a princess, that's for sure. A modern day, real-life princess, of course. In a pillbox hat, motoring down a Parisian boulevard."

I ran my fingers lightly up the dimple of her spine, feeling the subtle modulation of her vertebrae, trying to sense the electrical pulses zinging up and down. "Mm-hmm," I noted.

I traced the paths that the nerves must take as they branched out at every level. I tried to feel the complex web of muscles under her skin—muscles for arching, for shrugging, for wiggling. I tried to make out where they were anchored and which way they ran. Down onto her pelvis. Up into her neck. Out to her shoulders and arms.

I tried to visualize the intricate lacework of fibers that must connect to every square inch of her skin, the fibers through which she was feeling the figures I was tracing. And were some of them 'special' fibers, specially woven in to light up and glow to the tingle of a lover's caress?

I had an idea. There was one little piece of anatomy that, even in our mixed gym class, had always remained somewhat private. One little patch that Ms Latimer and Mr Palmer never talked about, but just left us to believe was personal and meant to be left alone.

I wet a washcloth with hot, hot water, wrung it out, and wiped it across the soap. I touched it to the cleft of her bottom. She tensed. "Shhh," I whispered. "Shhh." I gently cleaned the full length and depth of her crevasse, the way her mother must have done when she was little. Then I gently spread her cheeks.

Her anus was daintier than I would have thought, more just a pucker than a real opening. The hole itself was just a shy, pink pinprick. You could see little creases where the skin tucked down inside. I traced a gentle spiral. There were supposed to be lots of nerve endings there, 'special' ones even. I stroked lightly around and across, using the pad of my finger and the back of my nail. She clenched slightly, gently squeezing my finger between her cheeks.

"Just like that," I told her. "Wherever I touch you, you let me know just like that."

It was like a testing setup for wiring inspection, my one finger docked to her private data port, my other hand a moveable sensor. I brought the palm of my sensor over the knob of her shoulder blade. Her data port quivered. I touched gently down. Her data port gently squeezed. "Mm-hmm," I noted. "Mm-hmm."

I brushed the tip of her shoulder with my fingernail. She clenched again. I brushed the margin of her side, her bottommost rib, the meaty pillow of her buttock. She clenched each time, repeating back to my finger the sequence I had played with my hand. "Mm-hmm," I assured her. "Mm-hmm."

I traced my sensor slowly up her butt crack. She was confused at first, but then contracted, hesitantly. She was learning to do it more subtly now, not so much squeezing my finger as just kissing it with her pink pinprick. I traced my sensor up her spine. She reported back the modulation pattern of each vertebrae. "Mm-hmm. Mm-hmm."

She had her head to the side, her eyes wide open, her look directed off into the distance. Whatever it was we were doing, she was involved. I felt a wave of tenderness for her, my pretty classmate, her pennies always so brightly polished, her wiring always so artfully concealed. I kissed her softly, on the nape of her neck, right at the fringe of her hair, imagining I could taste her zinging pulses, wishing that my kiss could resolder her faulty connections. She registered the contact with a gentle kiss of her own.

- - -

"So let's have a look at the other side."

She turned over, a bit embarrassed to be lying there nude on the bed in front of me. But if I was going to keep on playing doctor, she was going to keep on playing patient.

She also couldn't help but notice that my cock was sticking straight out through the opening in my bathrobe. What I wanted to do was to just keep on kissing her, all over, to carefully resolder every one of her connections, to be the Prince Charming to awaken her sleeping passion. Ha! Me a prince. But I had another idea.

"Let's put you up on the lift."

I shed my robe and lay down beside her. She wasn't exactly sure what I had in mind. I directed her to slide up on top of me as if I were a lumpy examination table. She arranged herself there with her back on my chest and her legs on my top of mine, my cock poking up between them. It was good to feel her weight on me. Our heads were side by side. I pulled the other pillow over to give hers a bit more support.

"So now you just mirror what I do," I told her. Manual reprogramming; that's a thing, isn't it?

I brought my right hand up and laid it on her stomach. She brought her left hand up and laid it opposite mine. "That's it," I told her. "Just like that."

I started to explore her body, moving my hand diagonally down from her stomach, across the subtle ridge of her pelvis, then down the long, broad curvature of her thigh. She mirrored my movement with her own hand on her other side. Since she was lying right on top of me it felt to my hand like it was my own body I was exploring. There was my leg, right where it should be. But the skin was softer, silkier, and, strangely, my leg seemed to have gone numb somehow. It couldn't feel my hand at all. I glided my hand back up to her stomach and nuzzled the indentation of her belly button. She brought her own hand back and nuzzled her fingers over mine.

I explored downward. There was her pubic hair, right where mine should have been, but wirier, more carefully groomed. And then, miracle of miracles, her soft open meadow, somehow now magically transplanted right where my cock should have been. And there was the exciting gully, already opening, already moist and slippery. I ran my fingers down inside it and felt her fingers slip in alongside them. So this was what it was like to reach down and find a vagina instead of a cock.

Aha! There was my cock after all! Why had I never realized before that between the two of us we had the full set? The moist, yielding vagina above, the firm, stalklike cock below. She was exploring too, and she seemed to be finding our shared double organ as wonderful as I did. I pressed the stiff circumference of the stalk more firmly against the silky softness of the gully. The cock, at least, was not numb. It could feel itself being played with, and by more fingers than mine alone. It could feel itself being nestled against the soft lips of her gully. She must be feeling all this too, though differently, though somehow just the same.

I brought my other hand up from the bed to play with my nipple, but I found her breast instead. It was lovely, soft, palpable. I'd never felt a girl's breast from this perspective. It felt as if it were projecting from my own chest, the way it projected from hers whenever she sat at her desk or stood at the board or walked down the hallway. I fondled it the way I could only imagine she must fondle it herself.

Her nipple was firming up even as I ran my thumb across it. It was so much plumper than mine. Surely its 'special' feelings must be plumper too. But why couldn't I feel them? My own nipples ached with envy. Were her nipples aching with envy too?

I brought my hand up to her face. I traced my fingers lightly over her forehead and nose. She brought her own hand up and traced my features as well. It was hard not to feel that the face I was exploring was my own face, and that the fingers I was feeling were my own fingers. Was it the same for her? Was she having the same trouble keeping track of which of us was which?

I found her lips and gently traced their outline. Her fingers found my lips as well. I opened my mouth and sucked one in. She sucked in one of mine. The illusion was even stronger now that it was my own finger I was sucking. And then she put a second finger in, and my tongue conformed to it so naturally, and . . . my God! . . . I remembered so clearly the direction my bed had faced in the old house, the window right there, the big kids' voices drifting in from the yard, the coziness of my little nest under the covers, the comfort of fingers in my mouth.

I blushed in shame. Was Gretchen aware what I was doing? Sucking my fingers—her fingers—like a little boy? But she was lost in feelings of her own. I hesitantly extended my second finger into her mouth. She welcomed it in. Had her little nest been as warm and as comfy as mine?

My cock twitched and she must have felt it. She reached down curiously to grasp it. The 'special' feelings were coming on. Could she feel them too? Another house, another room, the bed facing this way instead of that way, the darkness much more palpable, much more velvety. I put my hand over hers to fine-tune the pressure and the trajectory. Had her bedroom faced the same way mine had? Had she lain there on those same velvety nights, with one hand between her legs and one hand on her breast, trying to conjure up the magic she knew was supposed to be there? Had she dreamt of lying in someone's arms the way I'd dreamt of holding someone in mine? Had she dreamt of skin on skin, of cheek to cheek, of everything laid bare, of nothing held back?

This was what the magic felt like. Fiery sparks against the velvety darkness. Molten droplets shooting blissfully up from our shared pussy cock, shooting wetly up through our interwoven fingers.

- - -

I don't know. You get these ideas in the middle of the night, and they seem so brilliant at the time, but they end up not even making much sense. The truth is that we didn't really know anything more about Gretchen's wiring problems after the inspection than we did before it.

We took a shower together to clean up. That was fun at least. We horsed around, rubbing our soapy chests together and washing each other's backs and bottoms. So maybe the morning wasn't a total waste. I thought we might still have time for a quickie when we got out. But when we looked at the clock we had to hurry to make the bus.

- - -

Nobody sat with their partners on the way home. Girls sat with girls and guys sat with guys, just like we had on the way up. There was quite a bit of giggling, though, and quite a few glances and teases across the aisle. Our co-education program is pretty good at getting us to see each other naked, but it doesn't really encourage us to pair up into boyfriends and girlfriends. It's just kind of awkward when you never know who your next gym partner is going to be.

When we got back to the parking lot, though, I went over to say goodbye.

"I had a really good time," I told her.

She was squinting slightly into the sun. "Me too."

I wanted to say more, but I didn't quite know what. "So, I'll see you tomorrow, I guess."

But she put out her hand to detain me. "Can I ask you a favor?"

"Sure," I said. "Anything." I'd have given her the moon if that's what she wanted.

She was holding both my hands now. "Will you give some more thought to your plans for next year?"

I was taken aback. I just looked at her. That was not the type of thing you asked someone. What about the plans I'd already made? Just because she was a National Merit Semifinalist she could decide my future better than I could? I must have been glaring, but she didn't flinch. She just held my hands and waited for my answer.

She wasn't looking at me like a National Merit Semifinalist, though. Not even like the classmate I thought I knew. She was looking at me like my bohemian lover from the Rue de Barres, the girl who'd slept naked in my arms, the girl whose life had somehow gotten inextricably intertwined with mine.

And what she was asking was for me to take my future as seriously as she was taking her own. Was that too much to ask? From someone whose future was perhaps now somehow inextricably interwoven with mine?

"OK," I mumbled. I would. I'd give some more thought to my plans. Just because she was asking me to.

She leaned in and kissed me, right on the lips. Then she ran off to her car, like the girl with the new penny loafers who maybe kind of liked me. Like the girl from the cowslip's bell.