A Tail Of Two Mascots, Part II
Written by Bwog Staff
We know that you’ve all been waiting anxiously for the sequel to the love story of our two star-crossed mascots, and four years seemed as good a time as any. Or, this time frame is eerily similar to how a Bwog staffer once spaced out her erotic Fan Fics back in the day and has decided to reach back in to her 10-year old angsty soul to bring you what you’ve been staying tuned for all these years.
Millie, with senior thesis completed and post-graduate job on lock, has found it hard recently not to reflect on the four years behind her; all the early college nights staying up giggling in Brooks, all the Barnard/Columbia Blue Books scribbled with semi-correct answers, all the Broadway sludge her paws have trekked through by virtue of her concrete wildlife. Memories come and go in waves, some more obscure than others. When she scrolls far enough down on her Facebook, she sees herself pictured with random females she must have been close with freshman year and then who knows what happened. How has she avoided them on this insular Broadway campus, and should she reach out to them again before this new flock of Barnard Bears all dissipate into the real world?
But one picture grabs certain attention. It doesn’t match the flow of “artsy” solemn faces with accompanying “ironic” peace signs with fellow self-searching Barnard Bears. Instead, she’s giggling in a relatively blurry photo with a different furry species — a male Lion.
She stared curiously at her screen. Who could this guy be? He’s certainly cute. Did we…?
And then she knows. Hell yeah we did! Freshman year, back when I waited for guys to make the next move. Oh, how I waited for a text while I was studying, mind half invested in my readings, half distracted by the possibility for my phone to light up with a text from…what was his name? She screen shots the picture of them together, the only souvenir of their shared late night experience, and sends it on to her friend. “Do you remember this guy?”
Instantly her friend responds with an “LOL” and that smug smirking emoji. “Roaree, duh!!!!”
“Holy shit you’re totally right,” is what she finds her fingers typing back to her friend. Roaree…she searches her phone, convinced she must still have his number. Her search is successful, and with her fuck-it-I-am-graduating-in-100-days attitude in tow, decides to compensate for her freshman timidity and shoot him a text.
Roaree, after just getting off the phone with another finance company telling him they’ve hired too many Columbia kids already, is a little too uppity upon hearing his phone buzz. Luckily it’s not from his mom asking if he’s heard from JP Morgan yet, but he doesn’t immediately recognize the name on the screen. Millie?
He then traces back to freshman year and remembers a hazy March night that began at Mel’s and ended in his room in Carman. Everyone had just gotten back from spring break, it basically felt like summer outside, and he got lucky. But what could she want now? He’d never gathered the guts to see what she was up to ever again, and here they were, in the home stretch before forever parting ways.
“Hey dude! I know it’s been awhile but I am just trying to cover bases before I graduate. How have you been! We should meet up and see what we’re both off to come May,” is what he finds beyond his passcode.
He’s a little put off by her random assertion back into his life, but he figures it can’t hurt. Maybe she’s also struggling to find something to do after Columbia. He texts her back and they agree to meet up on Thursday for coffee.
The coffee date goes like so many had gone before; worthless small talk and short-timed sips of that bad Starbucks brew. “Why did we meet up at 1 pm? Am I up for an afternoon delight?” ponders Millie as Roaree uses big words to avoid bluntly saying “I haven’t been hired yet.” She knew what her intentions were with seeing him again; “cover bases” was basically code for getting it where she knew she could before leaving the gates.
She becomes impatient, and cuts off his pitiful speech about job hunting for a Econ major by putting her paw on his. “We should get out of here. This is stuffy and staged.” She starts to gather her things and a struck and quiet Roaree follows suit. She guides them to her single in 616, and considers the reverse birthright this is as she signs him in, recalling leaving her ID in Carman that night four years ago and getting it back the next day without spotting Roaree again.
They haven’t spoken much since the impromptu Starbucks leave, and the elevator ride up to her room isn’t much different. He made some unconfident crack about not being in 616 for a long time, and she wondered if he was referring to another girl he might’ve slept with one time. It didn’t totally faze her.
They arrive to her sun-filled single and the awkwardness makes it feel just as stuffy and staged as Starbucks. Millie starts to doubt herself and her proactivity, but is still determined to fulfill some long lost freshman dream of hers. She decides to break the silence by assuring him with a stroke and twirl of his fur that it’s okay that he isn’t totally sure what next year looks like, he’s a Columbia grad and he will go far. He meets her gaze and takes this as a time to put his energy worrying about the future elsewhere. He places his paw over her gentle paw, guiding her strokes and ultimately lacing his with hers. He leans in for a kiss that she meets 80-20. A feeling of success drives Millie’s reciprocation.
It’s not long before they’ve retreated to her twin bed, with hands re-familiarizing themselves with a body once held, and kisses originating at the mouth and traveling down the neck and torso. They’ve both matured in their intimate experiences since the Carman one night wonder, Roaree Lion proving his last name as the jungle king and Millie much more confident in prompting oral activity. Her soft, reserved grunts have grown into truthful thrusts of pleasure, and Roaree responds with intensified pelvic movements, more sophisticated after nights of trial and error.
Both amazed at their sudden encounter, they left no reservations. All of the hairs on Millie’s toned figure stood tall with enticement, and Roaree’s sporadic utters of “oh my god” were not dishonest feeding tools when Millie focused her mouth action around his ears. Her aggressiveness in having them meet again made him question which wild animal is truly the beholder of courage, and her moves in bed only aligned with her open desires.
He finished with a sense of accomplishment, and one that he felt she shared as well. She sultrily looked down at him and said “thanks, Roaree,” accompanied with a soft kiss on the cheek. She threw on clothes acceptable for the sign out desk, and they traveled once again in silence down the elevator.