Sexy Marlene

A few years ago, I met Marlene. I had noticed her in a seminar at the university that we both attended. On the day I first saw her and approached her, she was wearing tight jeans and a red T-shirt with a low back neckline. At first glance, I knew why she was wearing this T-shirt: she had a sunburn on her back, and any other T-shirt would have rubbed too much over the maltreated skin.

Marlene sat in front of me, a little diagonally on the chair with her legs crossed. She wore short blonde hair and when she turned her face she had little funny freckles. But to be honest, I stared more at her ass, which you could see very well in those jeans. You can't say that she had a big ass. Rather it was a full, round, very feminine ass, and when the T-shirt slipped up with a turn of her back, you could see a good piece between the shirt and jeans into the crack between her cheeks. I decided to always sit behind her from that day on.

After the seminar session I went to her and asked her hypocritically how she had gotten this incredible sunburn. I stood behind her and was able to see her décolleté from above — but also from the front into the T-shirt. And also what I saw there I liked extraordinarily well. Probably because the T-shirt was cut out so low at the back she didn't wear a bra. And with a quick look into her neckline I could see that she was at least size C, maybe D and the bells were rocking freely. I felt the juice in my eggs bubbling at the sight.

She grinned at me and said that she had been swimming with her boyfriend on the weekend at a quarry pond. She emphasized “Bagger” so much that you could hardly miss it. I was close to giving up hope: if one of them already refers directly to her boyfriend during the first conversation, I thought, and also says “excavator” like that, I can probably forget it right away. But she kept grinning and asked if I wanted to have a cup of coffee with her. Of course I didn't say no.

Shortly afterwards we stood with our coffee cups in the university hall and didn't really know where to go. Everywhere people flooded around us and there was a hell of a noise in the hall, because once again a samba group had a performance, which the AStA had organized. Meanwhile I had found out that her name was Marlene and that she drank coffee with milk and sugar. “How funny,” I had said, “my name is Erik.”