“Was it rape?”
“I don’t know.”
“Tell me what happened.”
Jenny sits back and stares at the man in front of her. Does she want to tell him about something that happened so long ago? She has come to him for different reasons, not to talk about her personal life and surely not about her student years. She wants help in her professional life and her personal life should stay out of it. Her thoughts drift off to the shocking stories that have popped up in the media because of the worldwide #metoo campaign. Her story was nothing like that. It was just a stupid student party and they both had too much to drink, right?
“I don’t see how it is relevant for my career,” Jenny says.
“It might not be, but I can only assess that once you have told me. But, if you don’t want to…”
His voice trails off and immediately Jenny feels like a fool not wanting to tell him. She understands that this is one of his methods as a psychologist to get her to talk, but also that if she insists not to tell, he will not push her.
It was no big deal, anyway, she thinks as she wonders where to start. Jenny shifts around in her chair, finds a comfortable position and fixes her eyes on a spot on the wall behind him.
Then she starts to talk…
I was eighteen, mother of an eighteen-month-old and in my second year at university. On one of the notice boards I saw a call for people to join several charity trips down to the south of the country. The church organized it and the groups would bring clothes and toys to orphans around the country on a round trip that would take me away from home for one week. I knew this was something I wanted to do. Two days later I attended the information meeting and signed up for one the trip. Another week later I attended another meeting, this time for the introductions to the people with whom I would travel. There was an instant click between me and the trip leader – Rick. To be honest, he evoked warm, fuzzy feelings inside me.
During the month leading up to the trip, I got to know him better. There were frequent meetings, but I also visited Rick between those meetings. He lived in a house with five other students. The sphere there was always relaxed and playful, flirty and sexy. I liked that. When I was there, I wasn’t a mom, but a student. A woman. And if I could believe the things he told me, a sexy woman.
The morning that our trip started I kissed my daughter and my mom, who would be looking after the little one while I was away. From the moment I had told mom about the trip, she had encouraged me to go. I waved at them from the minibus when we drove off. We picked up two more people before the nose of the bus finally turned south, ready for our trip down to the ocean, some 1500 kilometers onward.
Every day we visited an orphanage. It was so beautiful and special to see the happy faces of the children. That first day I noticed Rick’s eyes on me almost constantly. When he saw me looking at him, he winked and smiled. By that evening I was a horny mess. I wanted nothing more than him touching me and kissing me and maybe more, but there were other students around who we had to take into account. Rick had other plans. That night, for the first time, I spent in his bed. He was a good lover, attentive, kind and gentle. His ways were that of a man, not of a boy.
Our kissing soon led to more. He sucked my nipple, kissed my belly and moved his face to my crotch. A cold hand gripped my heart when I realized that he wanted to lick my pussy. What if I smell? What if I taste awful?
To be continued… No Big Deal (2)
© Rebel’s Notes