Paul Gable: The coed_s wild ass

Lydia Merrick hurried along the uneven dirt path winding through the dense grove of elms. A warm breeze made the bright orange and red leaves rustle above the young blonde's head as she walked quickly toward the covered bridge. A good number of people still were wandering through Sturbridge Village even though it was only thirty minutes before closing time.

Shading her eyes with her hand, Lydia stopped some twenty feet from the bridge and scanned the moving throng of people for her friend Tina. She was so absorbed in the problem of finding her friend that Lydia was unaware of the lustful glances she was getting from many passing men.

"How'd you like to slip something hot into her?" one tall, fat dark-haired man said softly to his buddy as the two of them stood in front of the Mill Pond.

"Spread them legs apart, peel back them labes and start fuckin'," the other man said obscenely.

Lydia jerked with a start having heard the last few words. Only now was she aware of the two men standing close by. The young blonde dropped her hand and started walking toward the bridge. She couldn't deny that her silky flaxen hair tumbling over her slender shoulders, her soft blue eyes, her full pouting and sensuous lips and unblemished pink complexion were distractions for most males. But what was she to do? Splash acid on her face and eat Twinkies until she was stretch mark queen? Most men made their advances less crudely. But occasionally Lydia found herself contending with a Neanderthal as she was this time. The best defense, she had learned, from experience, was simply to ignore the comment and pass on by.

"Mmmm, hot pussy," the first man said sucking in his fat lower lip and biting down hard in frustration. His small black eyes glittered and danced like those of a hungry rat as Lydia brushed past the men and stepped onto the wood floor of the large covered bridge. She felt her skin crawl when she heard the first man moan. The blonde knew well what was on his mind.

I shouldn't have worn this sweater, Lydia thought to herself as she moved toward the middle of the darkened bridge. For the first time she was conscious of her full figure revealingly displayed by her outfit. The blonde's full, high-riding titties jiggled teasingly back and forth with every step she took. The hard, dark red nipples poked against the soft white cotton material, inviting stares from the curious and the lustful. Unconsciously Lydia knew she was displaying her womanhood, telling other women to beware of her alluring femininity, while advertising to all men her desperate physical needs and availability. Consciously, however, the story was something different.

Having recently turned twenty, Lydia Merrick was a junior at Amherst College in north central Massachusetts. Serious about her study of French medieval art, Lydia had little time for boys – or so she thought. She rarely went on dates, and even more rarely did she ever allow a boy to score a home run in her pussy. Although a child born in the sexual revolution, Lydia had managed her sexual experiences down.

"Hey baby, lemme suck your cunt!"

Lydia felt her face flush hot with shame and indignation. Her slender fingers clenched the blonde stopped and wheeled around, her eyes flashing with outrage. But the two men had fled after shouting out the obscene insult. The few people around her either sniggered or looked the other way as Lydia continued standing in middle of the bridge.

"Lydia, Lydia," the blonde heard a voice calling out faintly from the other side of the Mill Pond.

"Tina!" Lydia shouted back, sighing with relief and breaking into a run. Finally she'd be able to leave and get back to her dorm room. It was getting late and she had several hours of studying left to do yet.

"Isn't this fascinating?" Tina asked, lifting her chin and looking around at the thick forest of elms and maples surrounding them. Already long shadows, stretched across the path, announced the end of the day.

"Let's go," Lydia said. The more she thought of those two men and the more she considered her opened books sitting on the table in her room the more Lydia wanted to leave Sturbridge quickly.

"Just think! All this shows us how people lived back in 1720 or so," Tina bubbled out, turning and running behind her friend.

"I've had a good time, Tina, but I want to go back."

Lydia and Tina had decided to visit Sturbridge Village, a recreated New England town of the early eighteenth century. It was two days before the beginning of the fall semester and their last fling before settling down to their studies. Tina didn't notice Lydia's gloomy attitude as she strolled behind her friend and peered up at the tall, arching elms on either side of the path.

Nestled in the woods were restoration school houses, elegant town homes, taverns, copper smiths, general stores, and even a complete New England farm stretching out to a winding brook at the far end of the compound.

"Oh, let's stop here," Tina said, reaching forward and grabbing hold of Lydia's arm. They were in front of the shoemaker's shop. A young man in his early twenties squatted on an uneven wooden stool and carved a pattern on a sheet of leather.

"Tina…" Lydia was about to protest. But her dark-haired friend had already disappeared into the small shop and was chatting busily with the artisan. Lydia sighed, then turned around and found herself staring across a neatly manicured square. Across the tiny well-kept gardens and paths the blonde spotted a small home next to the church.

Checking behind her once more and seeing Tina was going to be tied up with the shoemaker for a while, Lydia brushed her hair back and quickly crossed the square to the home. Might as well do something until she's through Lydia thought, glancing down at her wristwatch and seeing Tina had only twenty more minutes before the compound closed.

"Hello?" Lydia called out as she stepped into the small building. Immediately the stale odor that always hung in the air in these buildings assaulted her nostrils. No one was in sight as she stepped cautiously into the dark interior.

The low ceiling, large wall fireplace in the living room, hard wood creaking floors, austere high-backed chairs surrounding a plain oaken table suggested this home was once owned by a middle class merchant hundreds of years ago. Lydia walked slowly through the living room, trailing her fingertips softly across the blue flower wallpaper barely visible in the growing darkness. Passing round one corner of the fireplace, the blonde reached a narrow winding stairway leading, she supposed, to the upstairs bedroom. Suddenly finding herself enjoying this excursion, Lydia mounted the stairs, holding on to a creaking railing with one hand.

She reached the top and turned to the right, poking her head into what she guessed was the master bedroom. A small fireplace seemed carved into the wall nearest her with a bed warmer leaning against one side. Two Bentwood rockers stood at either end of the room, while in the middle a canopied bed occupied most of the space. But what Lydia found startling was some shape sprawled across the puffy mattress.

"Oh!" she cried out involuntarily, realizing only now it was a man. Her little cry woke the young man from his dozing. Her jerked up, rubbed his eyes and stared blankly at the blonde.

"I'm sorry," Lydia giggled nervously. She felt she should turn around and leave the house. Yet there was something in her that told her to stand still and wait for… for what she wondered.

"No, I should be apologizing," the young man said, throwing his legs over the right side of the bed. He was dressed in the blue knickers and high white socks most of the attendants of the official exhibits wore. He had taken off his white powdered wig, revealing a full head of black curly hair. His drawstring white cotton shirt was fully opened to the waist, allowing Lydia to view his muscular hairy chest. "I thought nobody else would be coming in. It's almost closing time isn't it?"