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Stephanie Fahey was by far the cutest girl in my college biology class. We were freshmen, both away from home for the first time, and we happened together by the chance of our last names being similar.
Lab partners we were, and over time friends outside of the class room and lab as well.
But that was it: friends.
The lovely, long-brown haired girl was a picture of perfection, a recently turned 19 with a fantastic body that looked great in a snug pair of jeans. Her baggy shirts belied the bountiful breasts she hid, but on the rare occasions when I dropped of class work to her dorm room and she met me wearing a tee shirt and sweat pants — the ones with “Pink” written across the behind, I was in utter awe.
I had a crush on the girl, but it seems so did everyone in the college. Stephanie seemingly dated a different boy every weekend. Week nights were not for dating, she was a relentless studier, and we’d spend one or two nights a week as study partners in math as well as biology.
The more time I spent with her, the more my crush expanded. Whatever the reason, though, I knew we wouldn’t get together. She never looked at me like she looked at other guys. She’d comment on their looks, brains and sports prowess, adoring from afar. And one of “those” guys asked her out she’d date them. Never anything serious, she enjoyed her popularity but she confided she really enjoyed her freedom.
Nothing was going to tie her down before she wanted to be in a relationship. And I clearly wasn’t on her list…I was a friend, lab partner and Boy Friday, running to the store on and errand for her, judge of her outfits while shopping, you name it. But there was nothing between us in the romance department.
We’d cut up on each other in lab class as we were cutting into dead critters. She’d joke about my hair (to this day I have a hard time keeping it with a kept look) or lack of muscle, while I’d joke about her being fat (yes, if two ounces past perfect was fat) or the strange twang she had from her southern upbringing.
When I learned she was actually born in West Virginia before moving to Maryland, I’d remind her of every faux pas she might make that “It figures, coming from a backwater state where cousins are more than family, their boyfriend or girlfriends.” Okay, so maybe she didn’t sleep with a cousin, it sounded like a good a dig.
We’d share coffee at the student union or downtown at The Talented Bean, the local coffee shop. On a few occasions we’d visit the “TB” as we called it after a round of studying and listen to local artists do their acoustic thing. I’d think of these occasions as a sort of date, while Stephanie, I’m sure, thought of it as time with a friend. Even the peck on the cheek she’d give me when I walked her back to her dorm was brother like.
Still I was on cloud nine when spied by others walking side-by-side with the pretty girl.
Stephanie had a superb body, one that I used when I made love to my hand late nights when my roommate was asleep. It’s funny, when I’d masturbate thinking of other girls I’d think of banging them hard in unusual places, like in the woods or at a park or office. But when I did myself thinking of Stephanie she’d always be very loving as we gently made love with each other in a comfy, cozy bedroom.
Maybe it was that I thought of her as pure, maybe it was because I couldn’t imagine her doing naughty things even behind closed doors. Whatever, I’d blast my stuff all over my bedspread when thinking of that perfect girl.
Every once in a while Stephanie would mention a guy she was seeing while we were together, and it was like a dagger in the back. Oh, obviously we weren’t in that kind of a relationship where I should be jealous, still it hurt when she talks about the guys she was seeing. I knew sooner or later she’d fall for someone and a romance would blossom.