Living With The Good Girl

Today I finally arrived at my new university in Texas after a super long flight from Mexico City. The whole way here I couldn’t stop imagining what real college life would be like. In American movies it always looked amazing: parties, fraternities, sharing an apartment with someone, and ending up playing football in the yard or watching games until sunrise. I figured my roommate would be some regular American guy — chill, easy to get along with, maybe even become good friends. But the second I slid the key into the apartment door and pushed it open, that whole fantasy went straight out the window. The kitchen light was on. And there she was, with her back to me, swaying gently to a quiet song playing from her phone. Natural blonde, straight shiny hair falling all the way to the middle of her back. She was wearing an oversized university t-shirt that had slipped off her right shoulder, revealing sun-kissed skin and the dangerous, sensual curve of one of her big, full breasts. Her denim shorts were tiny — so short they hugged her wide hips and perfectly outlined that big, round, heart-shaped ass that bounced softly with every step. Her long, toned legs glowed under the light with that classic Texas tan. She turned around when she heard the door and froze for a second. Her huge blue eyes widened and her cheeks turned bright red instantly. “H-hi…” she stammered, quickly trying to fix her shirt but not really succeeding. “You must be my new roommate. I’m Ashley… but you can call me Ash if you want.” I smiled, still holding my backpack and suitcase. “Nice to meet you, Ash. I’m…” I didn’t get to finish because she was already nervously talking nonstop, like she had to fill the silence. She told me she had just come back from a run, decided to make dinner to stay busy, and that she was a little anxious because she had never lived with a guy who wasn’t family. While she talked, she moved around the kitchen, and every single movement was pure torture. She bent down to open the bottom drawer for some utensils. Her shorts rode up so high I caught a glimpse of the underside of that perfect heart-shaped ass, the fabric stretched tight against her smooth skin. She straightened up fast, glanced at me sideways, and blushed even harder, but said nothing. A minute later she reached up for the salt on the top shelf. The t-shirt lifted, showing her slim waist and the soft underside of her breasts. No matter how much she stretched or jumped, she couldn’t reach it. Finally she went up on her tiptoes, arching her whole body. “Need some help?” I asked, stepping closer. “Y-yes… please,” she murmured, biting her lip. I moved right behind her, almost touching. When I reached up to hand her the jar, my chest brushed against her back and I felt her tense for a second… then she leaned back just a little more. Her hair smelled like vanilla and coconut. As I lowered my arms, my hand grazed her hip. She didn’t pull away. She stayed there a moment longer than necessary, breathing a little faster. We ate sitting across from each other at the kitchen counter. The conversation started normal — classes, my flight, how weird it felt being away from home for the first time. But every time she leaned forward to grab something or laughed, her big breasts pressed against the counter and her cleavage got deeper. I’d catch her looking at me from the corner of her eye. She’d look down, blushing, then glance back up with that shy, flirty little smile that told me she didn’t mind me staring at all. “Nobody’s ever looked at me like that before,” she said suddenly, almost in a whisper. “Back home everyone saw me as the good church girl… but here? I don’t know. I kind of like it. New place, new university, new roommate… it feels like the right time to try things I’d never do back in my town. Things you only do in college, you know?” The air got thick. I just nodded. She kept playing with her fork, looking nervous, like she’d said too much.