Sitting in the back of the lecture hall, I tried to focus on the professor’s words, but my mind kept wandering. A soft buzz from my phone jolted me back to reality. Sliding the device out of my bag, I saw a message notification.
It was him. “Hey there, what are you up to?” he texted.
“Stuck in a boring lecture,” I typed back, attaching a sneaky selfie that captured my restless expression and a hint of my skirt and top, ensuring he’d notice my attire for the day.
His reply came swiftly. “That skirt looks tempting. What would you do if I were there, sitting next to you?”
The image he painted with words was enticing, and I decided to play along, biting my lip as I responded, “Well, I might ‘accidentally’ let my hand brush against your thigh, teasing you as the professor drones on.”
“Mmm, naughty girl,” he texted back. “I’d retaliate by letting my fingers lightly trace the hem of your skirt, creeping upwards, slowly… ever so slowly.”
The sensation of his imagined touch sent a shiver down my spine, making me acutely aware of how my skirt clung to my thighs. “Oh? Then, I’d press my leg against yours, feeling the warmth through our clothes, while trying to keep a straight face.”
