During my junior year of college at North Dakota State, I applied to coach basketball at a high school summer camp in L.A.

It was late winter, a couple days after yet another blizzard, and I decided sunny California would be a nice change from Fargo. The weeklong skills program was taking place at UCLA in Westwood, not far from Sunset Boulevard and the Santa Monica Mountains. I flew Fargo to Denver, Denver to LAX. But high winds delayed my connecting flight, and that, plus the fact that an accident on the 405 freeway meant it took 90 minutes to go ten miles, had me rushing to Pauley Pavilion. It was nearly 5 o’clock as I approached a registration table. I’d been in touch by text with the other junior camp instructors — all of us college basketball players — and they had all headed to Venice Beach to play pickup on the legendary courts.

The student who signed me in was a friendly blonde in a UCLA tank top, her tits forming cleavage that tugged at my eyes. Damn, I thought as I signed some university waivers and other forms, is this how they make them in California?

After handing her the paperwork, I walked off with a dorm key card, an info packet, and a bottle of water from the snack table. Using a campus map, I double-checked the location of my Sunset Village dorm. Then I heard a voice say, “Hey, I can show you.”

It was the blonde staffer from the sign-in table.

“I’m in Sunset, too. Dorm next to yours. I’m Kristen, by the way.”

I almost told her my name, then remembered she already knew it. Her shift was over. I happily accepted her offer, and we walked across campus, a 15-minute trek that I wished had been longer, as Kristen was great company. She wasn’t bad to look at either, with long, lightly tanned legs in nylon running shorts and that amazing chest.

She was a communication major from San Diego, she said. She played volleyball in high school. In August she was flying to Paris to spend her junior year abroad and she was taking summer classes in advanced French and French literature. She asked me about playing for NDSU. I explained that I was a walk-on and didn’t see the court much, though I didn’t really see a need to use terms like “benchwarmer” and “garbage time.”

I was glad I’d been late getting to Westwood. Or at least this sexy sophomore made me think less about missing out on the Venice hoop action. Three weeks earlier my girlfriend since freshman year had uttered those four dreaded words: We need to talk. Kristen was a needed reminder that maybe there really were other fish in the sea.

When we got to Sunset Village, I decided on a nothing ventured, nothing gained approach. “Hey,” I said, “I’ve got a meet-and-greet dinner at seven, but I’m free after that. Any interest in grabbing a drink?”

“Oh, I can’t!” she said. “It’s my birthday tomorrow and my girlfriends are taking me out tonight.” Kristin went on to explain that she had to jam for a French presentation the next night, hence the early celebration.

But then she held up an index finger, a little comically, as if inspiration had struck. “I have an idea. You doing anything right now?” I said no. “I’ve got Coronas in the fridge,” she said. “How about I come by and we start my birthday now?”

Ten minutes later she arrived with five Coronas smuggled in a backpack, plus an opener. I opened two bottles and we toasted. Then she sat in an easy chair and I sat in a desk chair and we drank beer. I had some music playing on my iPhone. I was glad I’d paid a little extra to have my own room. It was a double, but I didn’t have to share it.

We split the last Corona, passing it back and forth, sitting on the edge of a bed. “I’m buzzed,” she said. “Such a lightweight.” She finished the beer, set the bottle down, turned her face to mine, and kissed me. Just like that. I’d had no idea what was going to happen when she arrived, but now I was really glad I wasn’t in Venice with the others.

Her tiny button of an asshole tempted me, but instead I held her flared hips and slid my hard cock inside her pussy.

We were out of our clothes in two minutes. I watched her sapphire-blue thong drop to the floor. She stood there a moment and I nearly said, “Wow,” but managed to suppress my inner geek. Instead I guided her to a bed and onto her back.

I got between her legs and began to tongue her clit, sliding one and then two fingers inside her wet pussy. I kept at it until her back suddenly arched and her hips lifted and she made a soft mewling sound, her pussy tightening on my fingers as she came.

“Be right back,” I whispered a short time later. I grabbed a couple condoms from my bathroom kit, put one on, and slid my cock inside her. I fucked her gently at first and then harder. It was heaven, looking into her beautiful face, thrusting into her tight pussy, her breasts full and round beneath me. She wrapped her legs around me, staring into my eyes, and then her eyes closed. A minute later my body shuddered and I came.

After I removed the condom, Kristen whispered, “I like doggie, too.”

The thought alone made my cock stiffen. I stood up and she took my dick in her mouth and got me rock-hard within seconds. She got on all fours on the bed, her ass high, an arched gap between the tops of her inner thighs where they ended at her crotch. Her tiny button of an asshole tempted me, but instead I slipped on the second condom, held her flared hips, and slid my hard cock deep inside her pussy. We fucked hard, her ass slapping against my stomach, her hips swiveling up and down a little, which drove me crazy.

I reached both hands around and cupped her huge tits, their size and feel bringing me closer to the edge. I brought my hands back along her smooth sides, settling them on her tiny waist, her hips rearing against me, and then I came again.

We kind of collapsed on the bed. After a luscious few seconds, our warm bodies sealed together, I rolled to one side and she lay there on her back and we looked at one another in the sunlit dorm room. She smiled, strands of blonde hair trailing across her flushed face.

“I’m glad you came to my table,” she said. “And I’m glad we’re neighbors this week.”

I wished I knew some French. I would have tried to say something clever, something besides “Oui.” Instead I just held her gaze, a smile on my face, too.

Check out the Full Gallery