Kindness Of Emily

There's nothing worse than getting sick at university. Especially when you're living in shared student Halls of Accommodation. Students tend to make a lot of noise, which is fine when you're making it too. But when you're sick and laid up in bed, its the last thing you want to hear. Loud rock music, sudden shrieks of laughter -suddenly your bedroom back home seems inviting, with your Mom fussing around and taking too much care of you. This is how I was feeling one morning a few years ago, laid up sick in my private dorm room, during the first semester of my fresher year at Thames University.

To be honest, it was probably the overindulgence of the night before that was responsible for my illness on this ocassion. In short, I was hungover. Perhaps I had a mild cold virus too. Viruses love hanging out in college dorm blocks. They infect each student one by one, before mutating and coming back to infect them all over again. On this particular morning I hadn't gone to any lectures and had asked Emily - one of the girls who lived on the floor above and who was taking the same History class as me - if she wouldn't mind letting me have a copy of her notes when the lesson was over. I went up to her room before the class and knocked on her door to ask. She seemed delighted to be able to help.

Emily was that rare breed of student who actually spends considerable time being studious. She was a very attractive girl if a bit of a geek; she was petite and a little skinny, but not boyish, and wore rather serious looking spectacles. She had one of those faces that could be truly beautiful if she gave a little more thought to what her hair and make-up were doing. Don't get me wrong, she was clean and smart, but her wardrobe looked like it had been chosen on a shopping trip with her mother, and her appearance was exceedingly conservative. She was only 18 and living away from home for the first time so maybe this was responsible for her seeming a little shy and serious. She was clearly quite a homely girl and looking back, I imagine the social side of university life was quite difficult for her. Maybe this was the real reason she threw herself so hard into her study and earned the reputation for being a lovely girl, if one who was rather 'proper' and fastidious. To make matters worse, she had a boyfriend back home and I imagine she must have really missed him. It was a childhood sweetheart thing. They had been together since they were both 13 - puppy love. I saw the guy a couple of times, when he came to stay with her in Halls. He seemed a quiet, fastidious type himself.

On the day in question, it must have been about 3 o'clock in the afternoon. The history lecture had been finished for a couple of hours and, although I hadn't specifically asked Emily to bring me her notes at a certain time, I wasn't too surprised when I heard her knock on the door of my room and announce that she had brought them.

"Come in", I called out, and she opened the door and stepped inside. She was wearing (as ever) her studious looking spectacles and had on a white shirt and long black skirt. She looked rather cute in retrospect, although at the time such a thing was unlikely to have entered my mind.
"How are you feeling", she asked, closing the door behind her. She asked in the formal way that nurses tend to do.
"Much better thanks".
"Can I get you anything?"
"Could you just switch that kettle on for me?"
She smiled. "I can probably manage that". She took the electric kettle from the table by the sink and filled it with fresh water. Although rooms in Hall did not have their own private toilet, they did each have a small sink in an alcove with a mirror above it. This set-up is typically used by female students for brushing their teeth and applying make-up, and by men for urinating in, in the middle of the night, when they can't be bothered to walk down the corridor to the men's toilets.

Emily placed the kettle back on the stand so that its red light was activated. I thanked her. "How was the lecture?", I asked.
She suddenly grew more at ease as she answered this question and grinning, began to tell me an amusing incident involving our cranky History lecturer and a dispute he had had with one of the students in today's class. I laughed in all the right places and when she had finished, I watched her take a red file from her backpack which contained three photo-copied sheets of the painfully neat lecture notes she had made.

"How neat are these notes?" I laughed, taking the pieces of paper from her hand. "I should get you to write them for me every time!"
I was only joking with the suggestion but she surprised me by replying, "I wouldn't mind". She made it sound like I would be doing her the favour. This was the first indication I had from Emily that she rather liked me. Or at least, the first time I had properly noted the fact.
"Do you want to stay and have a cup of tea?" I asked.
"OK" she said, "I'll make it for us".

I suddenly remembered there were only two mugs in the room and that although the mug closest to her was clean, the one nearby on the window ledge had a rather nasty-looking green mould around the inside of it. I had been mentally washing it up for days, every time I saw it, but had still not physically done so. It worried me that seeing this mug, Emily might get a bad impression of me, so I leapt out from under the sheets and picked it up from the window ledge. "No, you're the guest", I announced, "you can't possibly make the tea. I'll do it".
"Are you sure you're well enough?"
"Yeah. I'm really not that bad. It was more a hangover. You sit down and I'll sort it". I indicated that she could sit down at the foot-end of my bed and went over to the alcove to wash up the mugs. The kettle came to a boil and I busied myself with making us both a cup of tea.

Something which had occured to me at the moment I leapt out of bed to retrieve the dirty mug, was that I wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts. Emily seemed a little surprised by this at first, but she didn't act as though it phased her in any way. In fact, while I was washing up at in the sink, I turned back at one point and caught her looking at my body.

I finished making the tea, handed her a cup, and climbed back into bed with my own.
"Sorry" she said, beginning to sit up as she felt my feet stretch out beneath the sheets.
"No you're alright", I replied and moved my legs closer to the wall to show her I could comfortably lie back and still leave room for her to perch on the end of the bed.

I can't recall exactly what we talked about over our cup of tea, but I remember Emily laughed a lot at the things I said, only a few of which actually merited laughter. She seemed prettier than I had ever noticed her before, particularly when she was laughing. I liked the almost ceramic-looking paleness of her skin, and the little stray wisps of blond hair that escaped from a hair-clip and curled around her neck.

When we had finished the tea, she took the cups to the sink to wash up and said that she had to be going. She was going to take some of her clothes that needed washing down to the laundry block. She asked me if I wanted her to take any of my clothes too. I was about to politely decline when she saw the dust-bin liner full of dirty clothes in the corner of my room. "I'll take those for you", she said. Perhaps she had spotted the clothes before even making the announcement about laundry and simply wanted to do something else to help me. Either way, it was clear she was eager to be kind to me in some way so I didn't argue. "OK, thanks. Take some of those coins from beside the TV".
"Anything else that needs to be washed?" she asked as she gathered up the bag of clothes and picked up her backpack.
It was at this point that I did something I found myself quite surprised to be doing. "There is one other thing", I said, "just hang on...". From underneath the covers, and with little ceremony, I proceeded to remove the boxer shorts I was wearing and produce them with an outstretched arm. I apologised a little bashfully - I was faking this - and she opened up the laundry bag as I threw the shorts in.

In all honesty, this gesture had been intended as a harmless piece of flirting on my part. I quite fancied Emily and now felt that she fancied me a bit, although I doubted anything was likely to happen. I didn't attach any big significance to removing my shorts, and acted as though it were an innocently genuine desire to have her take them to the laundry. She responded in an equally innocent way, seeming unembarassed and allowing me to toss them into the laundry bag. And yet I must admit I did feel a buzz of excitement that I had just made myself naked under the sheets in front of this very 'proper' young lady.

The feeling of excitement appeared to occur to her too, because something in her demeanour changed. It wasn't that she became any more confident or suggestive, but she suddenly seemed more reluctant to leave the room. She hesitated.
"Have you taken all your clothes off?" she asked, giggling. The question was asked innocently enough but it struck me as provocative because she knew very well that I had. I felt she was asking the question as an excuse to delay the moment before she had to leave the room. This was rather a delicious revelation. Was she excited about the fact that I was naked in the bed?

It was I who now took the opportunity to try and delay her departure. "Are you going to ask me to prove it?", I asked. This was not spoken in a sleazy way but in the same innocently-amused manner that she had asked me whether I had taken off all my clothes.
Emily paused for a second and let the laundry bag drop sharply to her feet. As she did so, her backpack slipped down her shoulder and she let this too drop to the floor. "Go on then".

I now hesitated in exactly the same way that she had done. She had not issued the challenge in an overtly sexual way but there was a little more seriousness about it this time, even though she was still smiling. She had rather cleverly called my bluff, I thought. There was me getting a little turned on from placing her in an erotically embarassing position, and now here she was quite confidently returning the favour. But could she really be getting off on it too? Emily? The timid and a-bit nerdy girl from the floor upstairs? Surely not. It seemed so surreal that I couldn't think of what was happening as being more than a game. Sure, it felt exciting but it seemed too unlikely to be going anywhere to feel especially arousing. In a funny way, this was perhaps what gave me the boldness to do what I did next. With my right arm I took hold of the sheets from the outside and pulled them down to reveal my upper torso in the bed. "There you go", I said.
Emily stood watching me, rooted to the spot, her eyes alight with the sudden illicit nature of the moment.
"Further...", she challenged me.
I pulled the sheet down a little further to expose my navel.
"Further..."
I let it fall to reveal a glimpse of my lower abdomen. "Come on", I said, still playing the game, "you must believe me by now"
"Further..."
I pulled the sheet even further down, this time to display the beginnings of my pelvis and a few strands of pubic hair.
"Further". This time she said it in a quieter and more anxious tone, as though she felt guilty issuing the challenge but simply couldn't help herself. Her gaze was fixed on my half naked body. My gaze was fixded on her. We were each of us caught up in the increasing suspense of this childish game and the charge of energy in the room was overwhelming. I was nervous but only hesitated for a moment before pushing the bed covers right down to my knees and revealing my cock to her. It was big and thick but still flaccid and curled up against my leg.

Emily let out a little shriek that temporarily broke the seriousness of the mood. It was not a shriek of fear or alarm, but more one of the I-can't-believe-you-just-did-that variety. I continued to lie with my naked body exposed from the knees up. I could have returned the atmosphere in the room to a more casual nature had I chosen to cover myself up again. I could have made some joke about the fact that she now had proof of my nudity, and the whole affair would probably have ended in a reasonably benign fashion. But I had no desire by now to cover myself up. Quite the contrary. It was as though the bold gesture of exposing myself had broken through a confidence barrier and there was nothing left for me to feel but excitement at exposing myself to this normally timid girl. In fact I was beginning to develop a rather large erection in front of her. And it was this that prompted the next exchange of conversation.
"Is it getting bigger?", she asked. This was not a statement of naivety and wonderment at the transitional potential of the male anatomy but rather another question along the lines of "have you taken all your clothes off"?. She had been a clear witness to both events, and I presumed she was asking the question again to provoke me, or at least to play her part in ensuring the continuation of proceedings.
"Its getting really big", I replied. This sounded a bit cheap and rubbish and I regretted it the moment I had said it, but she didn't appear to be bothered. And it was after all very true. Sticking up proudly in front of me now was the biggest and stiffest erection I had probably ever managed to provide.