The dorm RA has settled in, fallen for Slut, regularly satisfies GG so Butch can get some peace. Hippie finds her place. Kitty has a panic attack. Preppy honors her bargain.
Hippie had called. We talked for an hour. Mostly about life the universe and everything. She just needed somebody safe to talk to, non-judgmental and yes, sympathetic.
It’s hard being young and idealistic and inexperienced. So much to clash about, hard to separate the important from the academic; the enduring from the ephemeral.
Especially when you felt strongly emotional about it all. All the sex and truth and knowledge and relationships and sex.
She ended with something like an apology, couched in her psychological mindset.
“I wasn’t wrong to want something for myself; a space I could explore and inhabit and enjoy. But it was selfish not to share it; to push the others away, make me right and them wrong.
Better to have drawn them in, drawn my circle larger to include them, instead of small and mean to keep them out.
I did like them; I do like them. I’m not sure I can make any of that work again.
I’m the wrong person for Meta Mu. Not forgiving enough; not accepting enough. Not smart enough.
Tell them… tell them I’m doing fine. If they care. And missing them.”
We signed off. I told Alani later about the call, during pillow talk where we share absolutely everything. She just sighed, glad to know but still not right about it.
I didn’t know how to help her. Maybe not my place to ‘fix things’ for her. It’s my geek nature to want to solve problems, for me and everyone. I’m learning to control that.
Life at the house had become normal! I mean, I knew what the landscape was, what was expected and routine. I ate pizza on Wednesday, brought my own takeout on Thursday, made supper on Friday, Saturday was date night, called my sister on Sunday, masturbated to a slasher movie with the others.
Made love to Alani most nights. Still banged Slut sometimes but more for fun now, and not on a schedule, just when she showed up, always fast and furious and oh so gratifying.
Slut still went out for it when she absolutely needed it, mostly to not disappoint her side-dick, keep her reputation intact among the bio nerds. She had her pride! All cool with me, she was in charge of her own needs.
I gave GG what she wanted, when she wanted it. I was ok with it. Part of my my brief as RA, health and safety and academic progress. And sex with GG was smoking hot!
Slut was ok with it; Alani very much ok, snuggled me afterward and called me her hero.
Alani loved unreservedly, and so adored that I was helping GG and Butch. Even if it meant shagging her friend on the regular.
Butch and I were definitely buds now, went for beer at least a night a week, shoot some pool.
Never bet on pool with Butch; I learned that to my detriment. Butch had an innate grasp of geometry, could ‘see all the angles’ like they say, could complete astonishing shots.
I guess that feeds into her physio studies – seeing bones and muscles and joints with some profound insight I could only use a computer to model.
And the motorcycle stunts too! Come to think of it. All started fitting together.
Preppy had been pressuring me about the curfew pass, and the double. She wanted more room. For what I don’t know, just more for her to keep organized but hey it’s her life.
She’d curiously quit talking about exchanging her chores for a Saturday butt-fuck. Her words, not mine.
She seemed to get into the chore thing now. Maybe she was changing, bonding more with the house?
That was ok with me. My kink had never been bent that way – definitely into tits and cunts and hips and lips and tongues; not so much assholes. Or dicks; hadn’t taken Adam up on his subtle invitation.
I made a point of pitching in with chores where I could. As an example. To make chores something we all did, without any fuss.
Now that everybody was pulling together on that, I’d find something undone because reasons (late study session or whatever) I’d just do it, easier than carping about it. Get a ‘Thanks!’ later, smile and nod.
I still did my trash rounds on Friday with Preppy. It was helpful, and I learned something about house life from what the house threw away.
Not really snooping or perving, the way I saw it. Just part of my job, monitoring the house for any issues that could disrupt the success of the University’s prize students.
I also had put my laundry basket in the hall upstairs outside the bathroom door. There wasn’t room in the bathroom for it. The women would throw in whatever panties they’d found too foul to wash. Usually because of sex messes.
It all got lovingly hand-washed using my lab setup on the third floor. Saturday morning after breakfast I’d collect the basket, run the silkies through my chemical process, have them sweet-smelling and sparkling clean, delivered to their rooms.
Preppy still kidded me about my panty perv issue, but I think it was more out of camaraderie Ankara Rus Escort than anything. She liked to sniff the occasional panty, I’d witnessed that. So I played along, smiled at her innuendo, all good fun.
So Monday breakfast, Preppy in full regalia (Brooks’ Brothers, silk, perfect hair and makeup, pumps).
Kitty had relaxed after mid-terms. And some other deadline she passed; I’m not sure how media studies schedules worked.
Maybe some semester project? Anyway she had spent a lot of days in the ‘studio’ but now not so much.
The costumes had toned down. She still dressed like an underdeveloped 12-year-old sex-kitten but less posing and teasing.
Today was playground togs – rompers, the usually hello-kitty shirt, shorty socks, patent leather flats, bow in her hair, hot-pink lips, ruddy cheeks. She looked real cute.
“I’m gonna be at an Experiential Business meeting late, doing mock funding interviews. Nobody wait up for me. I can usually find a ride after, so I’m not out on the street after curfew.”
I alerted like a hound dog. “Preppy! You want a curfew extension pass for Business School stuff? Why didn’t you say so!”
I took a note pad from the kitchen drawer, scrounged up a pen. In a moment I’d written a curfew extension slip, dated for the rest of the semester, signed it.
Handing it to her with the pen, “Just write in your name, good to go.” I didn’t actually know her ‘true name’, just her house name, which wouldn’t fly on a curfew slip.
She looked floored. She’d wanted this all semester, had bargained hard to get me to issue one. Had offered me daily breakfast-blowjobs for this.
Now it fell in her lap, no negotiation necessary. She looked consternated, frustrated. I wondered why. Shouldn’t this please her?
Then it hit me. She hadn’t given anything in return, and give-and-take was her life. Something-for-nothing she didn’t trust.
“We can talk later if you have concerns.” I didn’t want to say “If you feel you have to suck my cock to deserve this” in front of everybody.
She relaxed, on more certain ground now. I knew this might come back to bite me. But that’s what I was here for; to work things out so everybody felt secure and deserving.
Kitty was listening-but-not-listening, cutting half a banana into her bowl of corn flakes. She knew what had just gone down, but was keeping quiet. Smart woman, impressed me every day.
Preppy breezed out with her zip lock of muesli, the slip tucked into her bag, all business.
Slut had left early; Butch had grabbed her banana-and-beer and was long gone. GG got up late Mondays. Just the two of us now.
Kitty poured a half-cup of milk, got her child’s hello-kitty melamine spoon from the drawer, sat in the kitchen chair with her bowl in her lap.
“She’s gonna need to give you something for that.”
I nodded. “She offered blowjobs earlier. I said I’d think about it.”
Kitty quirked a smile, took a bite. Around chewing, “Sounds like her. Always making a deal.”
“Getting better! She does chores just-because now, doing her part for the house.”
Kitty nodded, took another spoonful, chewed thoughtfully.
“Blowjobs would be a problem? What with all your other… duties.”
I made a wry face. “Much as I’d love to take her up on it. It’s more than I can, uh, sustain. And morally questionable.”
Kitty shrugged at that. “Things work different here. We make our own rules.”
She was right about that! Fucking my bud’s girlfriend while Butch waited in the hall; Sunday night movie-masturbation-mayhem; RA bunking with a house member. We’d pretty much rewritten the whole rulebook.
I’d take a bribe in a hot second, if I thought it helped Preppy deal with the world in her particular way. No, the bribe angle was all about not causing a rift in the house.
But daily blowjobs? Come breakfast time, I was pretty much fucked-out. Slut/Alani every night; GG a couple times a week, always a full-stop emergency kind of thing, hot and heavy.
Speaking morally, from a Meta Mu viewpoint, could I in good conscience deny Preppy while satisfying GG and Slut’s needs? I didn’t think I could do that and respect myself.
Kitty said out loud what I was conflicted about. “You can’t play favorites, right?”
Nodded, “You’re right.” Thinking. “Maybe I can turn it around. Make it so I satisfy Preppy, instead of her satisfying me? Part of this ‘panty perv’ thing she believes I have.”
Kitty looked at me, mouth open, cereal forgotten. Cute as shit. Brightened.
“You are smarter than you look!” Stashed her bowl on the counter, made a hasty exit, giggling.
I dumped her bowl in the trash, washed such dishes are were there, went back to my room to set up for my day, thinking.
If I was doing Preppy, say getting her off once a day or so, sucking her clit or tonguing her. Folks wouldn’t think it was a bribe for the pass, would they?
Something to ponder.
Checking the mail by rote (there was never, Yenimahalle Escort ever anything in the box by the street) I found a twine-wrapped parcel! Hard to say who it was from, the return address was torn beyond recognition.
Went back inside, propped it on the mantle over the fireplace. Good a place as any; it’d never come up where mail should go. I would have to remember tonight, ask around who was expecting something.
My lab run was nearing it’s end. And it was looking good. My attitude had increased daily as my reaction runs produced more-or-less what I’d hoped they would. Until all 50 runs were complete I couldn’t get too excited, but maybe a little excited.
It helped that Slut got excited for me. Each night when I reported progress, she celebrated by sexing me up. Which she would have anyway but the psychological connection was fun!
Today’s run was just ticking over the final minute when I arrived. My prof was hovering, ready to mess with my setup.
“Excuse me? Can I help you?”
He startled, saw me there, got shy.
“Just reviewing your experimental method. Looks good!”
This is something a thorough professor-adviser would have done the first day, not the 48th. But sure, thanks for the feedback!
He dithered, then left. Probably wanted me to explain what it was all about, to justify his position as first author on whatever papers I produced. But he wanted enlightenment, he could read my proposal, bone up on the subject.
Be actually useful, you know? I had resigned my self to being on my own last year, so no angst.
Midterms were long over, papers marked, grades assigned and reported. All on my own as usual, the life of a researcher/assistant/post-doc.
That left me with the occasional quiz to prepare, the lectures to attend, the inevitable confusions to clear up during section. All of which took time but not mental effort.
And today I had a tutoring session arranged with a Junior. She needed a good grade in this class to get into her Senior year classes so she could graduate. Like dominoes, one falls and they all fall, your graduation is at risk.
So I tolerated a lot of panicky Juniors wanting time and attention. My brief was essentially to make sure the graduation rate stayed high. I read that as, make sure they know the material.
I know some assistants promote Juniors regardless of whether they grok the subject. I find that reprehensible, not a service to the student nor the college. But hey! I’m just one guy.
I have a hole in the wall office on the top floor, above my lab in an un-air-conditioned closet-sized space, originally a ‘box room’ back in the day when students arrived by train with steamer trunks, they’d store them empty in the ‘box room’.
At least it had a window, which I opened during the fall. It was cooler outside than in, as heat in this old building tended to collect on the top floor.
On the dot, a knock on my door. I hollered “It’s open” and the door swung wide.
Revealing a 20-something chemistry major, clearly at the peak of her reproductive fitness, good ‘breeding hips’, all round curves and dressed to show skin. A halter top; micro-shorts, sandals. Blond hair down and flowing around her shoulders, face like a healthy midwestern girl.
She could be a porn-poster of the farmer’s daughter.
I invited her to sit – I had an old iron desk, a broken swivel chair for me, a wooden guest chair for her. She plonked her notebook on my desk, turned the chair, straddled it and lay over the back, arms folded across the top.
“So what is giving you trouble?”
She bit her lip, looked at me silently with those sweet brown eyes, took a deep breath, her robust cleavage threatening the knot on her halter top.
“I’m just struggling to understand calorimetry! When we balance redox, energy is supposed to be conserved in the reaction. But it’s not adding up!”
That was a common issue. As soon as we started combining concepts, students struggled to understand the cross-products in equations.
“Show me an example.” She brightened at that, stood, pulled out her notebook, dropped it on the floor.
Leaning over, nearly jack-knifed with her micro-skirt riding up around her hips, I was faced with her panty-clad rear.
She flexed her butt, shifting from foot to foot as she took far too long to retrieve her notes. Wearing just a thong, and not too carefully trimmed, she had a liberal amount of fur lining the leg-hole of her underpants.
She was a natural blond.
She turned the chair, laid out her book, sat again, leaning over to show me her cleavage, heaving in that six inches of tit-sling she called a top. The fabric was stretchy, which helped contain her breasts but also showed her nipples in perfect relief. Sweet small perky nipples.
I came around the desk, stood by her to see her the problem giving her trouble. She leaned into me, her arm pressing into my leg. Looked up at me, wetting her lips, pointed lazily at a problem on the page.
I scanned it, conscious of her still staring at me, batting her eyes, shoulders back to show off her charms.
“Here. The cross-terms don’t cancel. That’s a common misconception. The conservation is for the total, not for individual substances.”
She waited until I looked down at her face, then turned her head to see what I was pointing at. She studied it for a moment, meaning I think to make a show of understanding.
But real understanding happened instead. I saw the moment, when her shoulders relaxed, her posture resumed a more natural one. She studied the equation, and I saw it balance in her head.
She wasn’t my worst student. She could easily pass this semester if she’d spend the time with her books. But it’s college, there’s distractions everywhere you look, and she was one of them.
Remembering why she was there, she tried to continue her seduction.
“Maybe if you came to my room tonight we could go over it again?” She had one hand at her cleavage now, the other on the small of my back, just holding that pose for a beat.
“If you have any further questions, please ask them now? I don’t meet with students outside office hours or appointments.”
She was clearly disappointed. Decided to cut to the chase.
“I need this grade, to get the schedule I need to graduate. If you help me, I’m willing to help you. With anything you need.”
I nodded. “I have 25 students, 12 of them in the same situation. I don’t have the bandwidth to spend time with each of them; there aren’t hours in the day.
You want to get a passing grade, you’ll have to put in around 25 more hours of study this semester. In a group of students, or on your own.
I also don’t have energy to have a sexual relationship with all of them. Even ignoring the fact, I have a very satisfying relationship with a certain botanist, known for her prodigious appetites.”
Her face fell; she knew who I was talking about. She saw her gambit collapsing, no competition for the legendary Slut. Or not willing to make that heroic effort in any case.
To her credit, she didn’t make a fuss. “I guess I’ll just have to hit the books. It’ll cut into my social life…which sucks. “
“You don’t really need to make excuses. You have a find mind; if you apply it, this will all fall into place.”
She gathered her papers, rose to leave.
One last effort: “If later you find the time or energy, I’m sure I can… fit you in. To my social calendar. “
I smiled, held the door for her, watched her backside as she walked to the elevator. A fine backside, barely concealed by that flirty skirt.
That would have been a lot of fun, to spend time in the sack with her. But morals aside, I was already fully subscribed in that department.
Anyway she surely already had one or more partners, which would have created drama I didn’t need. Not every dorm ran like Meta Mu!
That night I was home early. Nobody had signed up for Monday night dinner. That made it four days a week we were on our own for grub.
If the Dean would only send us another student! One who could cook would be nice.
I had an ordinary deli sandwich in a bag; nothing exciting, but cheap. Sitting on the couch with a beer, I bit and chewed contentedly, resigned to be on my own.
Maybe a movie? If I could figure out the setup. It seemed like to much trouble. Usually Kitty sorted that out. It was her forte.
A bang at the front door, and Preppy breezed in. She seemed surprised to find me.
“Forget something? I remember you’ll be late tonight.”
She seemed distracted. “Yeah I just need some notes.”
She disappeared up the stairs, and I heard her door bang open. Moments later it banged shut, and reappeared almost immediately, notes in hand.
“About that pass…”
I nodded. “I know; we have to come to some kind of accommodation. I’ve got no trouble with supplying you what you need, but I understand you are uncomfortable being beholden to anyone.”
She relaxed, on familiar ground.
“Our deal was simple: a blow-job a day, at least the days I need the pass.”
I put on a furtive look, said “Allow me to suggest an alternative solution?”
She perked up. “What do you propose?”
I looked around, like I didn’t want to be overheard. “Would you be comfortable with, ahum, allowing me to, um, pleasure you with my tongue? Perhaps in the evenings before supper?”
She looked sly. “I get it; you have a thing for panties, and that’s your way of getting up close and personal. Yes I think we can deal. But not every day.”
I managed to look concerned. She took that as leverage.
“See, you get my panties anyway, as part of the laundry setup you arranged. So it’d be a double-indemnity thing, a twofer on my part. It would be fairer if, say, you got to tongue-fuck me just twice a week.”
I pretended to consider it, looking disappointed, but nodded in the end. She stuck out her hand; I shook it.
Looking at the door, clearly in a hurry to depart, she said “Starting tomorrow night! I’ve got to run!” and she was off with a grin, having pulled one over on me.
Well, that went better than I’d hoped. My dick was saved from further wear and tear; I was down to two nights a week pussy-licking duty. Which I definitely didn’t mind, to be honest.