He sat in front of me in class on Friday. Three hours to stare at nape of his neck and a bit of arm. It was a good arm. Young. Muscled. Hard. And the nape? Pinkish as if he’d been rubbing it, and tanned. He always had a slightly tousled look to him, as if he kept late hours. His hair permanently askew in a natural way.

He annoyed me the only other time he’d chosen the seat in front of me. He kept leaning further back into my space forcing me to retreat. Seemingly without care for the boundaries of those around him, he leaned practically into my books without regard for my thoughts on the matter. I kept pulling back my own table, childishly hoping it would throw him off balance so he would get the hint and keep a smaller bubble.

However, that instance forced me to notice him. He was silent in class – no regard for participation marks, he rarely joined in with discussions, though I could see him listening to what others’ had to say. He was definitely worth fantasizing about. Far too young for my sensibilities of course (I far prefer an older man) but a part of me wondered what he looked like without the baggy jeans and form-fitting shirts.

But Friday? He was inches away from me. Driving me to distraction. It was only by sheer effort of will and propriety that prevented me from stroking that naked nape. A nape just begging to be blown on and licked. A forearm that cried out to be stroked and fondled. Those tiny inches of skin far more alluring than any more obvious show of nudity could ever be.

He still invaded into my space to the annoyance of my table mate. I found that I suddenly didn’t mind. Yes, please, move further back. Come to me. Encroach on my boundaries. Let me run my fingers through your hair and kiss that neck.

I felt an absurd urge to suck on the neck and give it a hickey. Something I’ve never actually done as I find them to be ridiculously immature signs of sexual idiocy. As if one feels the need to show off one’s – what? Sucking abilities? The fact that there is someone out there who is either willing to do the sucking, or allowing their precious flesh to be inscribed by your mouth? Silly.

And yet, I felt an insane craving to do precisely that. It amused me into my senses though, and I returned my focus to the class at hand.

But the lights went down and the professor put on a film. An educational one, but featuring moments in various popular films. And of course? Sex scenes. Proving a point of course, but still titillating.

He was angled in front of me so I could see his lap. As Demi Moore straddled Michael Douglas I glanced down at his crotch. Damn baggy jeans. Was he aroused? Indifferent? Paying attention at all? What would I feel if I reached over to check?

An outraged jump of shock no doubt. And possibly a failing grade and a polite request to rescind my acceptance from this Fall’s Masters program.

Le sigh. Probably best that I kept my hands to myself. Though the sight of that neck came up again a few hours later as I gave myself permission to touch my own body. Imagining all the things I would like to be doing with that unsuspecting student.

I wonder what his tongue is like? Would he stimulate my cunt with quick little kitty licks? With hard thrusting motions? Would he spell out the alphabet on my clit as they advise in the movies?

Would he remain perpetually silent as I bent over one of those tables and he thrust into me? Or would that be the enticement he needed to break through that laconic exterior?

Only two more classes. Let’s hope that blonde girl who normally sits in front of me comes late for the next couple days.