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The summer evening air almost crackles with the sense of excitement and possibility as I step onto the manicured lawns of the college front quad, my heels sinking slightly into the grass that’s still warm from the day’s sunshine.
The first notes of the jazz quartet playing for the welcome drinks float across from the centre, fairy lights twinkling like a million stars against the ancient stone walls.
I can’t help but smile because this is it… you only get one of these in your time as an undergraduate, your own college’s ball is one night that bookends the academic year and above all else makes those brutal weeks of study and revision and exams and all-nighters worth it.
It’s the moment, more than any other, when Oxford transforms itself into something magical, where you and your friends feel like you’re at the centre of the Universe, the night that makes you truly understand why people fall so desperately in love with this place that they never quite leave it behind.
The silk of my formal dress slips against my skin, feeling reassuringly expensive and classy, as I walk with my friends towards the music and the welcome drinks reception.
I pass couples locked deep in conversation, missing each other already before the long Summer vacation has even quite started, and groups of friends clutching glasses of Pimm’s, laughing at jokes that will seem less funny tomorrow but tonight feel like the wittiest things ever spoken.
That’s when I see her… Camilla, standing near the string quartet with a glass of something sparkling in her hand. Her dark hair catches the light in a way that makes my breath catch. She’s always been beautiful but tonight she looks luminous, untouchable, like she’s stepped out of a painting in the Ashmolean and decided to grace us mere mortals with her presence.
I shouldn’t stare but I can’t help myself. I watch the way she tilts her head when she laughs at something her friend Sarah is saying, the way her dress, a deep shade of orange and perfectly cut, moves when she gestures.
I’m remembering those afternoons we’ve spent together since exams ended, sitting by the river with books we’re pretending to read, talking about everything and nothing… the surprising bond that’s formed between us, her in her final year, me in my first, formed from sitting opposite each other in the college library for revision and discovering a shared love of specific herbal teas, spending more and more of our revision breaks together.
Those moments when our hands almost touched reaching for the same strawberry, when she looked at me just a beat too long after I made some joke about Byron being a romantic disaster. I thought maybe, just maybe, but then convinced myself I was imagining things because girls, no, women like Camilla don’t notice girls like me, do they?
But she’s noticed me now.
Her face lights up with genuine pleasure as she waves me over. Suddenly I’m walking towards her through the crowd like I’m being pulled by invisible strings, my heart doing something irregular against my ribs. When I reach her she leans in to kiss my cheek and I catch the scent of her perfume, something expensive and Italian that makes me realise yet again how untouchable she seems, how mature, how damned grown up.
“You look absolutely stunning,” she says, her eyes moving over my dress in a way that brings colour to my cheeks. Her voice has that slight accent I’ve never been able to place, something continental and sophisticated that makes even the most mundane of observations sound like poetry. I want to say something clever back but all that comes out is “So do you,” which feels inadequate but makes her smile anyway. That slow smile that starts at the corners of her mouth and spreads like a beautiful sunrise.
As the evening unfolds I keep catching glimpses of Camilla… there she is by the chocolate fountain, laughing with a group karaman escort of fellow finalists that I recognise but don’t really know… her real friends, I think, not like me, the random first year she’s befriended.
There she is near the cocktail bar, the bartender clearly charmed by whatever she’s saying as he hands her something garnished with mint and a paper umbrella.
There she is playing a retro video game with another of her finalist friends, an ex-boyfriend unless I’m mistaken, clearly still on good terms, the two of them laughing at whatever mishap has befallen them on screen.
Each time our eyes meet she smiles at me like we share some delicious secret, like there’s an invisible thread connecting us through the maze of other people and conversations and the growing excitement as everyone’s anticipation builds for the main act.
By eleven the headline band has taken the stage and the entire college seems to pulse to their music. Hundreds of bodies dance together under stars that seem impossibly bright tonight.
I’m dancing with Sophie and Emma from my year, letting the music wash over me, feeling free and young and alive in that way you can only feel when you’re nineteen and the long summer stretches ahead like an unwritten story. But even as I lose myself in the beat I’m aware of Camilla somewhere in the crowd, dancing with her friends, her body moving with a natural rhythm that makes everyone around her look clumsy by comparison.
The hours slip by marked by different songs, different conversations, a few too many drinks… the sense of possibility is intoxicating.
It’s sometime in the early hours that I find myself in the dance tent, pressed close along with dozens of other students, dancing to one of the anthemic dance tunes of the summer.
That’s when I feel a hand slip into mine… warm fingers intertwining with my own. I don’t need to look to know it’s Camilla but I do anyway, turning to see her face flushed with dancing, her hair slightly mussed, her eyes bright with excitement, a wild excitement that matches the racing of my pulse.
She leans close, her lips almost touching my ear as she shouts over the music. “Want to get some fresh air?”
Her breath sends shivers down my spine.
I nod without thinking because yes, yes I do, I want whatever she’s offering. She’s leading me through the crowd, our fingers still linked, past couples kissing against walls and groups of friends taking selfies and someone who’s definitely had too much champagne being sick behind a bush.
I follow her blindly because I’d follow her anywhere right now… this woman who’s finishing her final year while I still have two more stretching ahead, this woman who’s always seemed to exist in some rarefied atmosphere I could never quite reach.
We walk through archways I’ve passed hundreds of times but which look different tonight, mysterious and romantic in the way familiar places can when you’re seeing them in the dark and out of their usual context.
She leads me down a cloister I barely remember existing, ancient stones cool under our high heeled shoes, the sound of the music fading to a distant throb that might be music or might be my heartbeat… I can’t tell anymore.
When we stop walking we’re alone, completely alone, with nothing but moonlight and shadow and the weight of everything unspoken hanging between us like morning mist.
She turns to face me and in the half-light her face looks different, softer somehow but also more serious, like she’s making some internal calculation I’m not privy to.
I realise with sudden clarity that this is it… this is the moment. Whatever has been building between us over these past weeks of casual friendship and almost-touches and loaded glances is about to crystallise into something real, something I can’t take back or pretend didn’t happen. kars escort I should be terrified but instead I feel exhilarated, alive in every nerve ending.
“It’s my last night,” she says quietly, and her voice sounds strange without the need to shout over music, intimate and slightly rough from having to shout so much earlier. “I fly tomorrow, back to Milan… the real world again.” There’s something in her eyes that looks almost sad but also determined, like she’s already decided something important and is just now letting me in on the secret.
I want to say something about how she’ll miss Oxford, about how strange it will be not to see her reading under that oak tree by the library, about how I’ll miss our cups of tea talking about nothing important, about how I wish I’d got to know her sooner than exam time.
But before I can form words she’s stepping closer, close enough that I can see deep into her dark eyes, close enough that I can count her eyelashes if I wanted to, close enough that when she reaches up to touch my face her fingers feel like electricity against my skin.
“I’ve been ticking off everything that I wanted to do before I stopped being a student,” she whispers. “I’ve got down to one last thing…”
Her thumb traces across my cheekbone while her other hand finds the back of my neck, fingers slipping through my hair. I’m drowning in the scent of her perfume, in the way the moonlight catches on her lips, in the sudden understanding that this beautiful, sophisticated woman has been thinking about me the same way I’ve been thinking about her. That all those almost-moments were real after all.
When she kisses me it’s like everything I’ve ever read about kisses but never quite experienced. Soft at first and then deeper, more urgent, like she’s trying to memorise the taste of me.
I kiss her back with months worth of wondering and wanting coming to the fore, with the desperation of knowing this might be my only chance, with the sudden fierce desire to make this moment last forever even though I know it can’t.
Even though I know she’s leaving and I’m staying and this is probably just her way of saying goodbye to Oxford, of ticking something off some invisible bucket list of life experiences she wants to have before real life begins.
But I don’t care about any of that right now, not when her hands are in my hair and her body is pressed against mine and she tastes like champagne and promises.
Not when she pulls back just far enough to look at me with eyes that hold entire galaxies. Not when she smiles that slow, devastating smile and asks in a voice with that intoxicating accent, “Your place or mine?”
“My room’s closer…” I whisper back, but really it’s just the thought of having her, the stunning Camilla, the woman in college that’s desired more than any other, wake up in my bed in the morning.
She says nothing but intertwines her fingers with mine again, leading the way as we make the short walk through the dark back to my staircase. We pass a few other students that we both know along the way, draw a startled look, but I don’t care, I simply want her so badly, and she doesn’t seem to care either.
Into my room and she pushes me back against the wall, her lips on my lips again, her tongue flicking against mine, our lips parted and the kiss deepening, all of our mutual longing and desire pouring out.
“Bed…” she whispers and we fall onto it, kicking off our high heels, kissing again, hands all over each other, touching and teasing, my mind scarcely able to believe that this, something I’ve dreamed of for months, is really, truly happening.
Her hand slips under the hem of my dress and then glides gently along my thigh, making me gasp in anticipation, and I part my legs, giving her room… Camilla gets the hint, her fingers skirting higher, and then she’s touching kıbrıs escort me, really touching me, making my body tense and making me gasp into our kiss.
“You too,” she whispers and I slip my hand between her legs, feeling how wet she is, realising that Camilla, THE Camilla, wants me… she could have her choice of anyone, but it’s me that she’s chosen, and as I start to touch her she moans, and I can’t believe that it’s Camilla moaning at my touch.
We take our time, both realising without saying anything that this is special, that we don’t want or need to rush. I feel like a spring is coiling tighter and tighter within me, and from the way that Camilla is responding I feel like she’s the same, and then I want more… I need more.
I sit up and undo my dress, standing to slip out of it, Camilla lying back on the bed, a look of amused desire on her face, and then I remove my bra and underwear too, leaving me naked, stood in front of her.
She stands and turns with her back to me. “Would you?” she asks, looking back over her shoulder at me, and I undo the zip on her dress, slipping it off her shoulders and kissing her neck as the dress slips down. Her bra comes off next, and then I slide down her underwear and she turns to face me again.
“Where were we?” she asks with a smile.
I climb back onto the single bed and she joins me, pressed up close. Our hands start again, the spring coiling ever tighter, our kissing getting sloppier as our arousal builds, and we push up closer still, her breasts soft against mine, until she pulls her hand away and moves it to my hip.
“Let’s try something,” she whispers. “It’s fun.” Her legs intertwine with mine, and then our centres are pushed up against each other, her trimmed pubic hair against mine, and she pushes me onto my back so that I’m under her, my hands on her hips as she starts to grind into me.
The feeling is heavenly, coiling that spring ever tighter but deliciously slowly, and we’re soon grinding into each other in what feels like perfect synchronicity, our gasps and moans getting louder, and then her hands reach for mine, and I feel the spring tighten impossibly…
It uncoils, the waves of pleasure rolling through me, my body tensing, my hands tight on hers, my moans mixing with hers as she hits the heights at the same time, the two of us furiously chasing our orgasms against each other, dragging them out, Camilla bringing me to another peak just as I feel like I could never feel like pleasure again.
It’s incredible, better than I could have ever hoped, and then we’re smiling, breathless, kissing and caressing each other gently.
“Another thing ticked off?” I whisper.
“Not just yet,” she replies with a grin, and to prove it she kisses my neck and then slowly, ever so slowly, works her way down my body, until she’s lying between my legs. I don’t think I could possibly have anything else in me, not after that climax, but she’s about to prove me wrong…
…I wake up late, sun streaming in through the gap in my curtains. The clock says 11am, and I glance over and the bed is empty… just me, my dress on the floor where I left it, and no Camilla.
I lie back and smile, unable to quite believe how my ball finished up… it could not have been better, and it comes back to me in flashes, Camilla slowly bringing me with her tongue to a second climax that I never thought I had in me, me returning the favour, her thighs pressed against my head as her climax peaked, and then us falling asleep in each other’s arms, drifting off as we held each other, content, happy.
Camilla though… she’s gone. Finished. Next term won’t be the same without her. A moment of sadness, and then I see the note:
Last night was amazing. I’m really happy I got to end it with you. I left you sleeping, you looked so peaceful.
If you’re free at all over the summer, Milan is lovely this time of year… C xx
I lie back down and smile to myself, feeling like I’m floating on a cloud. Camilla chose me, out of everyone she could have had last night, everyone she could have spent her last night as a student with, she chose me. And she wants to see me again.
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