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Story Notes:

This story starts slowly. I intend to introduce the characters and the setting solidly before the action starts. So I hope you have the patience to read though it until things really evolve - and maybe even enjoy it!

Author's Chapter Notes:

Let's get things started!

• 1 •

 I step before the mirror. I pose, my gaze wanders up and down, critical, brutally honest. But I like what I see. A life full of sports laid a solid foundation. The last two years I perfected my shape with focused workout in a studio. Bodybuilding in its true meaning. No bodybuilding with raw bulk in mind, but careful shaping. I’m a sculptor and my statue at once and I want me to be my masterpiece.

I am stunningly beautiful. That sounds vain, but what sense does false humility make, when it’s the plain truth? Self-confidence only looks like arrogance from below.

“I wish I had a build like you.” Crissie. Her voice reveals admiration and some envy as well.

I turn towards her and strike another pose.

“You like what you see?” I ask grinning. Fishing for compliments in friendly competition.

Crissie turns to her side on the sun lounger, rests her head on her propped up arm and eyes me up.

“You look gorgeous!” she says. She isn’t an ugly duckling beside me, far from it. She is a ravishing beauty herself, but she’s my exact opposite. Where my skin is a dark ebon, hers is a smooth, light tan, my hair is raven black while she is a blonde. I stand proud 6 feet 1 tall, Crissie barely surmounts 5 feet. Not long ago, another friend told me that I appear like a Panther on the prowl; Crissie is a sweet cutie who triggers the protective instinct in men.

I dive headlong into the pool. I stay submerged as I pull myself through the water with powerful strokes, reach the opposite side, turn and make another full lane before I surface again. Then I backstroke another two lengths. At this time, only few people stay in the poolhouse, but I clearly feel every single pair of eyes on me. Incited, I start to crawl stroke, my favourite discipline. I race four lengths at full speed through the pool. At the pool’s edge I stroke back my hair and notice a guy standing before me.

“Very impressive!” he says and offers me his outstretched hand. I accept his help to get out of the pool. He’s a bit shorter than me, not very athletic, but no fatty either.

“Will you fetch my towel?” Just a hint of a smile in my otherwise friendly, but neutral expression is enough to make him rush. He not only delivers my towel like a holy artefact, he also conceives to bring my flip-flops. He doesn’t drop them carelessly to the floor, but bows down and places them before my feet. His shares just have risen in value; advertence is such an attractive trait.

“Thank you.” My voice is barely more than a whisper. The effect of this tone is known to me, in fact I carefully rehearsed it. I walk to my lounger beside Crissie’s. My admirer hesitates for a moment, then he follows. I ignore him behind me. Let’s rise the tension.

“May I treat you ladies to a drink?” His voice is so exerted casual, I can feel his nervousness like a wave.

“No.” I turn around. Just before disappointment strikes, I hold up a banknote. “We can pay for ourselves, but it would be kind if you fetch us two glasses of water with a dash of lemon.”

Take the drive from them and stir up new exaltation the next moment. That’s how this game is played, freshman.

“He’s not exactly your type of quarry, is he?” There is playful mock and honest wonder in Crissie’s voice.

“What is my pattern, then?”

Crissie shrugs and I lie down with a chuckle. A moment later, my new attender appears with the drinks. He asks politely for permission to sit down with us and soon we’re amidst a brisk chat. Marc is kind of nerdy, but funny and likeable. Once his nervousness is gone and he no longer tries to impress me, he proves to be pretty smart.

“What are you two doing in the club – I mean aside from swimming and relaxing?” Marc asks and I’m not sure if that’s phrasemongering. Time to see what he’s made of.

“Crissie did some Yoga, I attended the Jiu Jitsu class.” I know the common reaction to this, the mock announcement to be careful, the question how many men I’ve already clobbered. I hate it.

“Jiu Jitsu? That’s cool!” Marc just says.

What? No more statements? Is that real appreciation and if so – why?

“Why’s that cool?” I dig deeper and notice Crissie’s smug grin.

“Martial arts are a pretty balanced and holistic workout, I read. Why Jiu Jitsu?” That sounds completely honest. Man, you chose one of the very few acceptable answers. Not bad at all!

“I know that punching and kicking are elemental for fighting, but I’m much more appealed to throws, joint locks and holds. My legs scissor is infamous!” Marc smiles and nods.

“What are you doing in real life?” he asks.

“I attend the university. Literature and visual arts.”

“…and physics, math, history, philosophy, sports…” Crissie adds with an annoying giggle. Anyway, Marc seems more impressed than quizzical.

“Really?” he asks and his admiration appears to be out of place.

“Yah, I’m not certain by now.” I emphasize my words with a nod and a shrug. It’s not wrong to be indecisive at 20, right?

“I’m also not sure yet. I study electronics engineering, but there are so many more options to choose from.” Marc explains. Another student, hm? Let’s take the next step, then.

“Do you live on the campus?” His eyes visibly lighten up at this question and I feel my own smile widen. Be glad that you sincerely draw my interest; by now I could easily make you grovel before me with a plain look.

“Well, yes! House 4-2 West. Do you, too?” I can hear his voice quiver oh so slightly.

“Indeed!” I affirm and the subsequent silence elevating the tension. What an enchanting dance this game of philandering is – especially when I’m totally in control!

“South Campus, that is.” I discharge the tension, but not so much as to reveal everything. The way Marc releases his held breath is nonetheless a confession of his emotional roller coaster ride. I chuckle.

“Be that as it may, we need to leave now.” I get up lissom while Marc seems unwilling to break the spell I put on him. Time for some cinderella’in. While stepping into my sandal, I ‘accidentally’ kick it under Marc’s seat. He immediately retrieves it. I hold my foot up, just a little above the floor. As expected, my admirer bows down deep and slides the flip-flop on my foot, gentle, almost anxious he could break it. The shy smile I endow him is enough to make him blush. Good boy!

“Bye!” I purr and turn to leave.

“Can I have your number, please?” I cast a glance over my shoulder, both calculating and alluring – I know its effect all too well. Fear, hope and desire almost palpable, Marc stares at me.

“Sure!” You may call me frisky or impish, but not heartless. 

“Wait, I don’t have a pen…” He hectically looks around, as if writing utensils were the most common of things in a poolhouse. He’s really cute.

“I guess, if it’s really important to you, you won’t forget it, right?” I muster all my persuasiveness and lock my gaze with his, then I slowly tell him my phone number. When I finally blink, Marc winces.

“I look forward to your call.” I walk away and don’t look back once.

In the locker room, Crissie stems her fists into her hips and cocks her head, grinning wide.

“You nasty witch! I knew your cruel streak, but I never expected you to crush some poor nerd’s heart under your heel that merciless!”

“Oh? What makes you think I did that?” Surprisingly, I sincerely feel treated unjust. Then I shrug.

“When he calls and doesn’t talk himself into trouble, I’ll make a date with him.”

 

 

 

 

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