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  CAMPUS CRAZE

  © 2012 By Cheri Crystal. All rights reserved.

  THIS ELECTRONIC ORIGINAL SHORT STORY CONTAINS EROTIC CONTENT AND ADULT THEMES. READERS MUST BE OVER 18 TO PURCHASE.

  PUBLISH DATE: JUNE 2012

  THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. NAMES, CHARACTERS, PLACES, AND INCIDENTS ARE THE PRODUCT OF THE AUTHOR’S IMAGINATION OR ARE USED FICTITIOUSLY. ANY RESEMBLANCE TO ACTUAL PERSONS, LIVING OR DEAD, BUISINESS ESTABLISHMENTS, EVENTS, OR LOCALES IS ENTIRELY COINCIDENTAL.

  SCANNING, UPLOADING AND/OR DISTRIBUTION OF THIS BOOK VIA THE INTERNET, PRINT, AUDIO RECORDINGS OR ANY OTHER MEANS WITHOUT THE PERMISSION OF THE AUTHOR/PUBLISHER IS ILLEGAL AND WILL BE PROSECUTED TO THE FULLEST EXTENT OF THE LAW.

  FIND CHERI CRYSTAL ON THE WEB AT www.chericrystal.com

  CAMPUS CRAZE

  BY

  CHERI CRYSTAL

  I knocked on my son’s door, pounded actually, and silence. “Steven, wake up.” I raised my voice despite wasting my breath. Using a thumb nail, I unlocked the knob, thankful for installing a safety lock against his strong protests. If he wanted to be treated like a responsible adult, then let him damn well act like it. Something jammed the door from opening all the way, but I managed to wriggle my way in, although petroleum jelly would help. It’s a good thing I wasn’t any wider or I wouldn’t have had a prayer of fitting between the door and frame.

  “Steven Joshua Tanner!” His room stank of feet and Cheetos. I crinkled my nose thinking it was a good thing I didn’t have an appetite to lose.

  “What the fuck?” he snorted.

  “Get up! And watch your mouth. I’m not waiting.” It was time I stopped enabling him to drag his feet, but he was all I had, and quite frankly, I thrived on being needed; it afforded a

  small measure of comfort against loneliness.

  “What time is it?” He shook his mop head, cracking vertebra along his spine, which rattled my nerves. “What day is this?”

  “The day your mother goes back to school.” I kicked at the boxers beneath my Keen-clad foot and the blue suede leather-tipped shoe got stuck in the waistband. Despite a small measure of guilt from subjecting my son to me being edgy, but unable to stop myself, I added, “God help me, but I’m not being late. And God help you, if you’re not ready A-S-A-P.”

  “Oh, right, Mama Bear is going to further her education.” He threw off the comforter exposing a hard body that hadn’t been snatched up yet by some unsuspecting girl.

  The morning was easy after he rose and got ready. If only I knew what I wanted to be when I grew up, I mused, I would be all set.

  I swerved my cranky old Fiat onto campus and drove towards commuter parking in search of a spot before slamming the breaks to a screeching halt. One among other unemployed insurance adjusters, I had little choice but to downsize living quarters, sell the extra car and switch careers. Finding work in the current job market was tough enough without a college degree. At fifty-two I never thought I’d be a single mom, enrolled in the same university as my kid, and envious of his youth. Steven, a twenty-four-year-old student trying for the sixth year in a row to find himself, had offered to drive. I declined, hoping for some semblance of control in my frenetic life.

  “Mom, chill, you’ll give us both a heart attack,” Steven warned while twisting his lean torso in order to reach in back for his satchel.

  I adjusted the rearview mirror to search for smudges of mascara. The bags under my eyes grew somewhat less noticeable as the morning progressed. “How do I look?”

  “Like you’re about to pop an artery.”

  “Gee, thanks. That’s helpful.”

  “You look good. You hardly qualify as prehistoric.”

  “Oh, great!” I let out a huge sigh. “What a relief.”

  “You’ll be awesome, Mom, really. I bet you have more brains than most crack heads.”

  “You’re right. If only I had half your faith in me.” I looked up toward heaven for strength.

  “F-Y-I, and listen up.” Steven’s determination to protect me against the world was endearing and he frequently switched roles on me, but it could be annoying too.

  “You listening?” he asked.

  I nodded, albeit a bit preoccupied to pay close attention.

  “This is crucial.” He counted off each point. “Don’t talk to psychos. Don’t drink the Student Union coffee, especially during finals week—it’s often spiked. And most critical, do not go to anyone’s dorm room, even if she’s hot, unless you want to get high or get fucked.” He corrected himself after a stern glance from me. Years of conditioning wasn’t foolproof I supposed. “Sorry. Laid. Chicks are only interested in one thing and that’s hooking up. It’s different than when you were young. They don’t care who they do it with either, even a-holes and douche bags, not that you’re either, but remember these rules and you’ll do fine.”

  “Good advice. I’ll keep it in mind.” I swung the door wide open and a cold autumn breeze swooshed into the car, cooling my flushed cheeks. I had to stop dwelling on the fact that it had been thirty-four years since I had been in a classroom and there was a good chance I’d be older than most of my professors.

  All I really wanted to do was crawl into the backseat, curl up in a cozy fetal position and take a nap. Why couldn’t I be this tired at two a.m. instead of surfing current events on the net with all its horrible news? I refused to buy into the Mayan theory the world would end in cataclysmic disaster, despite all the recent tsunamis, earthquakes and tornadoes. Optimistically, I believed the economic condition would recover too. All revved up against the most pessimistic members of society, I grabbed my backpack and flung it over my shoulder debating whether to take my blazer or not; I finally decided it’s better to be safe than sorry and draped it in the crook of my arm. Kids didn’t wear Oxford shirts these days, certainly not from the LL Bean collection, but I wasn’t wasting money on a new wardrobe.

  “Text me when you’re done and we’ll drive home together,” I said. He sure needed a haircut and could pass for a tall thin girl from the back.

  “I’ll probably catch a ride, don’t worry. Just have fun.” Steven gave me a one-armed hug and walked off, the ragged cuffs of his worn out baggy jeans sweeping dirt off the asphalt. “Be good,” he said, over his shoulder.

  “That’s my line,” I said, but his earphones were already in place.

  It took me twenty minutes to find the right classroom. The professor, a renowned feminist, activist and author, had even rated guest appearances on late night TV and talk radio. It was a fluke that I wasn’t closed out of her class. My luck increased along with my comfort level when there were a number of like-minded women in my midst. I strode toward the last remaining seat.

  A striking red head looked up with a dimpled grin and winked. I tried not to show surprise when she whispered, “I saved this prime seat just for you.” Maybe Steven was right about his generation and I had been out of touch for far too long. Her gaze trained on me as she removed her bag from the chair. I mouthed a thank you and was rewarded with a view of her perfectly aligned dazzling white teeth. I adored a winning smile. To her credit, she had meticulously applied deep purple eyeliner, which made her sky blue eyes appear significantly larger and memorable. I enjoyed the twinkle in her eyes, like sapphires, making it hard to avert my gaze, but then, her thick rosebud lips and tiny diamond-studded nose were nothing to sneeze at and suited her pleasingly round face. She looked good enough to eat. I inwardly sighed as I sat. If only I were thirty years younger, she’d be just my type.

  It took supreme effort to focus my attention at the lectern because a certain classmate, giving off ‘fuck me vibes’ and sitting close enough to catch her earthy scent, had me all wound up. She brought me back to all those nights I had frequented lesbian ba
rs in hopes of having a good time–long before I felt compelled to be a mother and used a sperm donor to get pregnant. Nine months shy of twenty-five years felt like a millennium ago, but I still knew when a woman was interested in more than sharing notes. I did not enroll in school to find a babe, but please tell my body that!

  Thank God I caught the tail end of what the professor said. “Name as many pioneers of women’s literature as you can. There’ll be no phone searches, People. Please put all electronic devices away.” Dr. Shapiro was more imposing in person than on the jacket cover of her books. “Write them down. The team with the most names will each receive a signed copy of my latest book before it hits the shelves.”

  It was natural that the beauty eyeing me the whole time and I paired up. She pulled her chair over so that we could share my desk.

  Dr. Shapiro glanced at her pocket watch. “Ten minutes. Go!”

  We got down to work without hesitation. It was going to be an easy task. I was quickly introduced to how enticing and fresh she looked and how positively flawless her skin was up close. I could drown in her intoxicating scent. I wanted to run my fingers along her skin to test its fine texture. Countless times I had to pull my concentration away from her cleavage.

  “Simone de Beauvoir,” she wrote, her handwriting was impeccable even at warp speed.

  “Betty Friedan, Harriet Beecher Stowe,” I wrote in cursive while she leaned in closer to get a better view of our shared sheet of loose leaf paper. “Gloria Steinem, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Ann Bannon, Jane Rule.”

  “Radclyffe Hall,” she exclaimed, barely above a whisper. The room was buzzing so loud it didn’t matter if she shouted; everyone wanted to win badly enough to mind their own papers.

  “Virginia Wolff, Katherine Forrest, Jacqueline Susann, Emily Bronte, Susan B. Anthony, Louisa May Alcott, Sylvia Plath,” I said, not taking a breath, adding at least ten more names.

  “Sylvia Plath? Jacqueline Susann?” She giggled, but wrote their names down too. “You’re amazing at this!”

  “Sarah Aldridge, and oh wait, Maya Angelou.”

  “Time’s up, People! Pens down. What’ve we got?” If I were susceptible to a most handsome butch, this professor would have owned my libido, but she was outranked by the pretty femme close enough to cuddle.

  “We nailed it,” my partner shouted, leaping out of her seat like she had won the lottery.

  “Okay, you with the red hair, what’ve you got?” Dr. Shapiro pointed our way. I nodded for my partner to do the honors.

  “Thirty names, impressive. Does anyone have more than that?” Our professor looked around, we all did. Nobody budged. “Good work, ladies. Come up front.”

  If I felt out of place earlier, the feeling was gone now. It helped to be well read; a favorite past time, and the added wisdom afforded me by my age factored in too. Priding myself on being pretty smart for a woman without a degree, I tried not to gloat. And I hoped I wasn’t being a show-off. It sure was nice impressing the teacher on the first day.

  “How do you want your books signed, ladies?” she asked, opening a pristine hardcover edition, sitting on a pile on her desk.

  “Stacey Tanner,” I said, and received a firm handshake I wouldn’t soon forget. “Stacey is fine.”

  “Kristen,” my classmate said, with a wink and a smile. “Please, feel free to write something naughty.” She blatantly flirted with our teacher. I didn’t know how I felt about that.

  After class I followed Kristen out of the classroom and all but offered to carry her books while trying to think of something witty to say. Humor an older woman: want to come over to my place and see my DVD collection? I stifled a chuckle and asked instead, “Where are you headed?”

  “I’m going to grab some food. Want to celebrate?”

  “Sure.” I didn’t have to look at my schedule to know I had a two-hour break before my next class. “I’m Stacey, by the way.” I quickly put out my hand; she lingered over our greeting until I worried my palms would melt.

  “You said.”

  “Right.” My face heated up.

  “You’re quite knowledgeable about women, Stacey Tanner.”

  “And not just authors.” I became transfixed on the delicious hint of a smile playing at her lips. “I’ve been around.”

  “What’s your major?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure yet,” and I wasn’t, up until then, “but either Women’s Studies with a minor in psychology or the other way around. You?”

  “Engineering.”

  “I see, not only pretty, but bright as well.”

  “I find intellect very sexy. What about you?” She moved up closer, nudging my arm with her shoulder and giving off a strong current. If I didn’t want to be led to temptation, I’d have some fight. As it was, she had me at ‘you’re quite knowledgeable.’

  We strolled out of the building and into the sunshine. The center of campus was teaming with an infectious vibrancy; it was hard not to get caught up in the excitement. She sure was perky, her sing-song voice with emphasis on the end of her sentences and the spring in her step were contagious too. She wasn’t shy. I enjoyed the carefree flow of her conversation as though we had known each other more than the length of one class and a few minutes and were destined to be great friends.

  “I’m surprised we’ve never crossed paths before,” she said, watching me more than where she was going.

  “This is my first day.” I debated about revealing too much, but figured I had nothing to lose. “I’m a freshman.”

  “Then you’ll have to let me show you around.” She hugged her knapsack to her chest, squashing her boobs, which were nicely showcased beneath a knit camel-colored crop top. The shirt lifted just enough to bare her midriff; she had a jeweled ring in her navel. A cool gust of wind blew past us. Her nipples puckered in response. I averted my gaze seconds before she caught me drooling over the sight of her classic torso, as if I hadn’t seen nice tits, a slender waist, curvy hips and a firm bottom in ages. Okay, so I hadn’t been looking lately, but I sure as hell was looking now.

  When her skin prickled, I draped my blazer over her shoulders and concentrated on the highlights in her windblown hair, a cascade of golden auburn waves, and bit back an appreciative sigh. Gone were defeatist thoughts like I could be her mother. Speaking of motherhood, I heeded Steven’s earlier advice but wondered if Kristen lived on campus and if her dorm room was as welcoming as her body language conveyed.

  “Thanks for the jacket. It smells nice, just like you.” She slipped her arms into the sleeves. “The best coffee in town is a bit of a hike through the woods, but it’s so worth it. Do you have enough time?”

  “Yes, lead the way.”

  “Great!”

  “What year are you in?” I asked, trying to keep the conversation light and possibly get a handle on her age, not that I was robbing the cradle or anything, but still, it would be good to know.

  “This should be my last year but I’ve switched majors. I’m probably looking at another year or so unless I take required courses online during winter break.”

  “You hardly look old enough to be a senior in high school let alone college.”

  “Looks could fool you. I’ll bet you a latte that I’m older than you think.”

  “Come on, do you really want to buy me coffee?”

  “Yes,” she smiled; her blue eyes shimmered while searching mine. It was suddenly steamy under my shirt even without the blazer.

  “I’m not a great judge of age, but you can’t be a day over twenty-two. You gave it away when you said you’re a senior. My son is past that—” I bit my tongue the moment the mere mention of having offspring left my lips.

  “You have a kid in college?” The shock embossed her fine features.

  “Yes, actually, he’s a student here.”

  “You married?” she asked. “Do Tell.”

  “Nope, never married, and well, there’s not much to tell. Steven…my son…” she nodded and I continued, “He�
��s switched from psych to history and now he’s talking political science. I sure hope he graduates before I do.”

  She laughed. “Well, first, you owe me a latte but I’m in a generous mood, I’ll give you one more chance if you throw in a bagel and cream cheese.”

  “You’re on.” I thought for a second. She had not one gray hair, and I would put money on it being one hundred percent natural because even the best colorist would be hard pressed to get all the highlights just right. There weren’t any wear lines on her face either and her body, well, she had killer abs, a dynamic butt, bouncy but not saggy breasts… I deduced her whole package couldn’t have graced this earth for more than a quarter of a century. Seriously, she didn’t stand a chance of getting a free breakfast from me.

  “Well?” she asked, tapping her foot, clad in heeled boots, putting us at about the same height, five-foot-six. Her low-rise, skin-hugging stretchy jeans with a zipper in back showed off her awesome thighs. “What’s your guess?”

  “Twenty-five. And that’s my final answer.”

  From deep within her throat, she mimicked the kind of buzzer used when contestants answer incorrectly on game shows. The harsh sound was completely contrary, comical actually, to her smooth surface. “I knew I should have bet you a dinner as well. I’m thirty-three and proud of it too.”

  “No way! You said you were a senior. Are you prepared to take a lie detector test?”

  “I worked for years to save enough money.”

  “I still don’t believe it.”

  “I’ll show I.D. when we sit. Come now; stop pretending you’re a relic.”

  “My son used the word ‘pre-historic’ I believe,” I grinned, “but relic could work.”

  “He’s yanking your chain.” She looped her arm through mine. Walking with her by my side elevated my status to that of a strapping young stud.

  Along the way, she pointed to alternate routes extolling the benefits of each one. I was busy wondering what else she was going to show me when she said, “We’re halfway there.” She was terrific company. And college life was getting off to a great start.