1st Year Students HomeMade

A chill wind blew across the rough ground, picking up bits of sand and weed. Women pulled their shawls tightly over their shoulders and held their coat collars closed; men blinked as swirls of grit flew into their faces. They pulled their wide-brim hats down over their foreheads. Ragged fragments of cloud raced across a dull, lifeless sky in the early spring gloom. Snow lingered in patches on the low hills surrounding Nespelem, an Indian community on the Colville reservation, site of the Chief Joseph Cemetery.Despite the fame of the great chief interred there, poverty and neglect made the cemetery site a rough and barren scene. Slender white wooden crosses, many tilted or fallen, marked untended graves. Some graves were marked with carved headstones; many more were unmarked and forgotten. This was a severely impoverished area, scorned by whites and mourned by the natives. One could hardly stand for more than a moment on that sacred cemetery ground without feeling a terrible. ’I twist a strand of my hair around my finger, trying to compose my thoughts enough to think of a suitable reply.For once, I am thankful for our situation.Thankful that he is not in the same room as me and that I can blame my lust-induced hesitancy on the strength of the internet connection, the amount of other people using the app right now or on some other technical aspect.A wave of mischief washes over me.‘You forget,’ I begin to type. ‘That I am a married woman. What do you think my husband would have to say about this?!?’“Hmmm, I think that it is you who forgets,” he replies, without missing a beat. ‘That this is not my problem. Now, let’s get back to the matter in my hand. What are you going to do about that?’He knows how much it turns me on, hearing how hard he gets just thinking about me. He knows that it will make me wet, that my panties will be soaked and that I will eventually have to play with myself to release all of the sexual tension that builds up between us every time.
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