FILTHY: A Steamy Romance Collection

by Brent, Amy

  Tom was three months out of a bad divorce and my best friend on campus. He was about my age, a little shorter and heavier, and was the head of the Marketing Department.

  We became drinking buddies the night he showed up at Goldie’s to get drunk after walking in on his wife getting fucked in the ass in his bed by a very large, black, Golden State football player by the name of Desean Golf.

  I’ll never forget the first-time Tom told the tale. “I opened the door and the kid just looked at me and said, ‘Hey, man. Wassup?’. He never stopped fucking her and she didn’t say a word. I mean, who does that?”

  I remembered giving him a sympathetic look and saying something stupid like, “Kids these days. Go figure. Come on, let’s get drunk.”

  That’s what I was doing the night Tom came in, getting drunk, because that’s what I do.

  I teach.

  I fuck.

  I drink.

  Rinse and repeat.

  It’s a pretty routine life.

  It was Friday night and Goldie’s lot was full. There were kids milling around the parking lot, sitting on the hoods of cars, drinking and smoking pot, even though the cops cruised by every few minutes. The cops liked the money that came from having a state university in their little city, so unless the kids were wreaking havoc or gangbanging hookers on the sidewalk, the cops always gave them a pass.

  I smiled when I saw Tom’s puke green Prius parked near the front door. That meant he’d been there drinking most of the night. He’d be good and drunk and buying drinks for coeds he wanted to fuck, but never would. Me, I could probably fuck a different coed every day if I didn’t have my strict “no coed fucking” rule, but Tom wasn’t me. He was dumpy and sad and pathetic. Even the ugly chicks stayed away from him. Maybe someday I’d take him under my wing and get him laid. It was the least that I could do given the amount of alcohol he’d bought me over the last few months.

  I parked my bike at the end of the line and pushed my way through the front door. The place was dark, smoky, loud, and stank of cigarettes and old beer. I fucking loved it. I stood at the door for a moment, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness. I saw Tom sitting at one end of the bar, a beer mug and a shot glass in front of him. He waved when he saw me. His face lit up like a Christmas tree. His wingman had arrived.

  “Hey, I didn’t think I’d see you tonight,” Tom said, his words slurring. He wrapped his arms around my neck and slobbered a kiss on my cheek. He waved down the bartender and ordered a round of beer and whiskey shots for us both.

  “I’d never miss a chance to drink on your tab,” I said, sliding onto the stool next to him. I glanced over my shoulder. There was a bad four-piece band on a homemade stage in the corner, murdering a Bob Segar song. The small dance floor was shoulder-to-shoulder with kids writhing and sweating like pigs. Every table was taken and the bar was backed up three-deep on the other end. Just another night at Goldie’s.

  "So, how is Dean Warner,” he asked with a sly smile. “I saw you two leave the faculty dinner together.”

  “She’s actually pretty fucking good,” I said, nodding with the shot glass at my lips. “In fact, she asked about you tonight. I think she’s on the hunt for fresh blood.”

  Tom blinked at me, then scowled. “Fuck you, she did not.”

  “She did, too,” I said, grinning through the lie. “I said ‘Martha, you should fuck my good pal, Tom’. And she said, ‘Tell him to make a fucking appointment’, no pun intended.”

  “You’re an asshole,” he said, shooting back the whiskey and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

  “You should fuck her, Tommy boy,” I said, seriously now, licking the whiskey from my lips. “You would not be disappointed. It would do you a world of good to get a little fresh stink on your dick.”

  “She doesn’t want to fuck me,” he slurred, rolling his eyes. “Does she?”

  “She might,” I said, giving him a shrug with my eyes. “I’d be happy to hook you up.”

  “I don’t know,” he said. His eyes were red and his head wobbled a little. “I’m still…”

  “I know, you’re still pining away over your football-player-fucking ex-wife,” I said, shaking my head at him. “But Jesus, Tom, it’s time to let go. She’s gone. She’s moved on. She already has another man.”

  “I know, I know,” he said sadly, turning his head so I couldn’t see him wipe his eyes. “I’ll get back in the saddle someday.”

  “I think Martha Warner might actually have a saddle.” I took a long pull from the beer mug and smacked my lips at him. “I know for a fact she likes being rode hard.”

  “You’d better be careful, my friend,” Tom said, shaking his head. “You’ve slept with half the women on the faculty. Someday that legendary cock of yours is going to land you in serious trouble.”

  I leaned an elbow on the bar and snorted a laugh. “There are rules against fucking students,” I said, flexing my eyebrows. “There are no such rules about fucking the esteemed female members of the faculty.”

  “There may not be rules,” he said, waving his empty shot glass at the bartender. “But when you’re fucking a bunch of women who work together and eat lunch in the cafeteria together every day, once they start comparing notes and figure out that you’re screwing them all… then they go to report you to the dean and find out you’re fucking her, too?” He drained the mug and shook his head. “You’ll be lucky to get a job teaching at an online college in the middle of fucking Idaho.”

  I clutched my hands to my chest like an innocent man accused of horrible crimes. “I am but a vessel serving a hungry audience, Tom,” I said. “You’re a marketing professor. You should understand market supply and demand.”

  “I understand that most of the women you’re fucking also have husbands who will cut your balls off if they catch you,” he said. “And when that happens, don’t come running to me because I’ll just say I told you so.”

  “Can you run with your balls cut off?” I asked with a grin.

  “I wouldn’t know,” he said with a sigh. “My ex got my balls in the settlement. I think she keeps them in a cigar box under her bed so she and whomever she is fucking at that moment can make fun of me.”

  “Jesus, man, you have to move on,” I said.

  “I’m trying,” he said quietly. The bartender delivered another round and I picked up the shot glass and held it out to him.

  “Here’s to your ex, Tom,” I toasted, tapping my glass to his. “May her pussy rot away and her tits fall off.”

  “That’s awful,” he said with a smirk.

  “I know. Bottoms up, motherfucker.”

  We both shot back the whiskey and sighed. I put a hand on his shoulder and gave it a shake. “Come on, let’s get you laid.”

  I leaned back with my elbows braced on the bar so I could survey the crowd. Tom and I were old enough to have fathered most of the kids there. I narrowed my eyes to scan the room, hoping to spot a table of older females who had stumbled in for a girl’s night out and might be open to having their pipes cleaned by me and my pitiful friend.

  There were probably a hundred kids in the club: drinking, dancing, acting like fools. They were young and good looking and having the time of their life. They didn’t have a care in the world. They had their whole lives ahead of them. And I hated them all because they had the one thing I no longer had: a future full of promise and potential.

  With enough drive and determination, they could do anything their hearts desired at this point in their lives, but most of them were too stupid to realize it and would squander their lives away.

  Many of them would graduate soon and move onto grad school or mundane jobs where they’d labor for the next forty or fifty years and pray they would have enough money to live on once they retired.

  They’d get married to someone they would grow to hate; have kids who would grow to hate them, and would spend their days working their asses off to build a life rather than living life.

  I knew all thi
s because I had done it.

  They say youth is wasted on the young.

  I say youth is wasted on the ignorant.

  If I knew twenty-five years ago what I know today, I wouldn’t be standing in a dive bar in a shit college town, getting shitfaced drunk with a whiny bastard who will probably end up blowing his brains out some day, fucking my way through the aging female faculty of a second-rate state university.

  I was a forty-two-year-old, twice divorced, borderline alcoholic who live in a one bedroom shithole on a salary that was less than I made when I came out of grad school twenty years ago. I lived for the booze and the pussy. At this point in my life, little else mattered.

  Logan

  “Why the long face?” I heard a chipper, female voice say. I shook away the darkness of my thoughts and turned to see a beautiful girl with fiery red hair cascading over her shoulders and blue eyes standing next to me at the bar. There was an empty beer mug on the bar in front of her. She was glancing sideways at me, smiling, waiting for the bartender to bring her a fresh mug of beer.

  “Do I have a long face?” I asked, arching my eyebrows.

  “Well, not anymore,” she said, smiling with her eyes.

  I turned to look at her as the bartender slid a full mug between her hands. I let my eyes drift down her body. She was wearing a tight tank-top that strained against her big tits and stopped an inch above her belly button. She was wearing denim cutoffs and sandals. She had a nice round ass; a bubble butt, the kids called it. The shorts were low cut on her hips. I could see the top of a red thong and the hint of dimples above her luscious ass cheeks. She caught me looking and smiled again.

  “See anything you like?” she asked.

  I glanced around at Tom, who was staring back at me with a look of fear in his wide eyes, slowly shaking his head. He leaned in and whispered, “She’s a student. She’s off limits.”

  I whispered back. “I know. I’m gonna see if her mom is here. I told you I was gonna get you laid.”

  “You’re such a fucking asshole,” he said, picking up a napkin to wipe the foam off his lips. He wadded up the napkin and threw it at the bar. “I’m gonna take a leak. Order us another round.”

  “Roger that,” I said like a good wingman. I watched him stumble through the crowd for a moment, then turned back to the hot redhead with the big tits. She had her elbows and tits resting on the bar. She was casually sipping her beer and watching ESPN on the TV behind the bar.

  Was she waiting for me to hit on her, I wondered. If so, she was going to have a long wait. I didn’t fuck students. No matter how incredibly hot and seductive they were. I needed this job too much. It was all that I had left. No pussy was worth risking it. Even one that I was sure would taste as sweet as hers.

  I picked up my beer and leaned my elbows on the bar like her. I pretended to watch TV, but couldn’t resist checking her out from the corner of my eye. She looked familiar. It took a moment, but I recognized her from my advanced accounting class. Candy something or other… No, Courtney… Courtney Shaw…

  She was probably the smartest girl in the class.

  Definitely, the hottest.

  She usually kept her mane of red hair pulled back into a tight ponytail and never wore makeup because, well, why would she? She always sat three rows back in the center, and sometimes asked questions that she probably already knew the answers to. I’d been teaching hot coeds long enough to know all their tricks. She wanted me to notice her, which just made me ignore her all the more. I’m a man of willpower, but a girl like her could probably wear me down if given the chance. I knew she’d probably be amazing in bed and my cock did a little twitch at the thought of it, but I had my hands full juggling the five or six mature women I was fucking. I didn’t need to complicate things by working my way through the hot girls in my class.

  “I’ve seen you here before,” she said, talking to me, but keeping her eyes on the television. “Always with your sad friend, Professor Brooks.”

  “How do you know my friend is sad?” I asked.

  “The whole school knows that he walked in on his wife getting banged in the ass by that football player,” she said, letting her bare shoulders go up and down. “He comes in here every night and starts drinking early, then you show up after whatever it is you do to drive him home.” She turned to face me with one elbow on the bar and the mug of beer in her hand. “My question has always been, what is it that you do before you arrive here, Professor Clark? Always with your shirt misbuttoned and your hair all a mess.”

  I frowned as I glanced down at the front of my shirt. It was not misbuttoned. “My shirts not…”

  She smiled and tapped a fingernail to my chin. “No, but I made you look,” she said.

  She took a long pull from the mug and licked the foam from her lips. My eyes followed the trail her tongue left on her lips. She slid in a step closer. Her fingers toyed with a button on my shirt.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, staring into her eyes. I didn’t step back. I should have, but I didn’t. My brain was screaming at me to move, but my cock was telling my feet to stand their ground.

  She leaned in and whispered in my ear.

  “I want to suck your cock, Professor Clark. And no one would ever have to know.”

  She stepped back, drank the last of her beer, and set the mug on the bar. Before she walked away, she gave me a dreamy look and licked her lips.

  “I’m going to pee,” she said. “Why don’t you join me.”

  Courtney

  I saw Logan Clark the moment he came through Goldie’s front door. I’d been sitting at the corner table with my roommate Mindy and a few other friends for nearly two hours, sipping slowly on a Diet Coke to stay sober while hoping he’d show up.

  I had spotted Professor Brooks at the bar when I came in. He was already slumped on his usual stool, drowning his sorrows in beer and whiskey shots.

  Poor guy.

  Everyone knew that he’d caught his wife banging a football player a few months back and still wasn’t over it. Since then, he was in Goldie’s every night, always at the end of the bar, always drunk and sad and whining to anyone who would listen.

  If my sights hadn’t been set on nailing Logan Clark, I might have tossed poor Professor Brooks a pity-fuck, just to let him know what a young pussy felt like, and to let him know that he would be okay and could move on. There were lots of desperate old ladies on eHarmony that would have snapped him up.

  Oh well, maybe Professor Clark would hook him up with one of the old bitches he was regularly banging once we started fucking. There was no doubt in my mind: once Logan Clark got a taste of what I had between my legs, he’d never want to fuck those old ladies again.

  Golden State is a big school, but talk and innuendo run rampant like a small-town rumor mill. It was common knowledge that Logan Clark was fucking half the female faculty and would probably fuck the other half before all was said and done.

  He seemed to be working his way through the entire academic staff. Rumor was that he was even fucking old Dean Martha Warner. If so, I bet he had to brush away the cobwebs and blow away the dust off her old cooch before shoving his big cock into her. Christ, it had to be like fucking a dry hole. I had no idea what he was thinking. Why is he screwing those old bags when he could have his pick of hot, young coeds… like me.

  Maybe he was just afraid of losing his job. There were strict rules prohibiting fraternization, i.e. sex of any kind, between professors and students, but I guess the professors and administrators could fuck each other till the cows came home.

  I couldn’t think of any other reason a man like Logan Clark, who could pass for thirty any day of the week, would want to shove his sweet cock into the dusty old bungholes of the faculty women.

  The only woman he was fucking that was halfway decent was Sheila Denning, the head of the math department. She was probably my mom’s age and was holding up pretty well. She had a cute face, good tits, and a decent ass that the male students always co
mmented on. I’m sorry, the other women Logan was screwing were just old skanks.

  Hmmm, maybe that was his thing.

  I had a daddy complex.

  Maybe Logan Clark had an old skank complex.

  If so… ew!!

  Logan finally came in after midnight and went straight to the bar to hang with Professor Brooks, who was so drunk by then he could barely stand. I gave Logan time to get a couple of shots in him, then picked up an empty beer mug from the table and pushed my way to the bar.

  I bellied up to the bar next to Logan, expecting him to notice me right off the bat. I had on a super-tight crop top and a pair of short denims that showed off my tan, toned legs. Logan was oblivious. He was staring off into space with a sour look on his face, like he was thinking about something he didn’t like.

  I waited for a second, then cleared my throat and said, “Why the long face?” When he looked at me and smiled I almost creamed my cut-offs.

  Ten minutes later, I told him I wanted to suck his cock and strolled off toward the women’s restroom. Now here I was, standing at the bathroom sink, glancing at my makeup in the mirror to kill time, waiting to hear him knock on the door.

  Another two minutes went by.

  Several girls knocked on the door and yelled that they had to pee, but I barked at them that the restroom was occupied.

  I washed my hands and took my time drying them off.

  Still, no Logan Clark.

  Well, fuck.

  So much for that idea.

  Maybe I was too young and hot for him.

  Maybe I didn’t have enough wrinkles on my face or rust on my cunt.

  Maybe my boobs were too young and firm for his tastes.

  Maybe I’d been wrong to set my sights on Logan Clark.

  Maybe I should drag Professor Brooks back to my place and work out my frustrations on him. He wasn’t nearly as hot as Professor Clark, but he’d do in a horny pinch. He would be so grateful I bet he’d even let me use a strap-on on him.