The Learning Hours

by Sara Ney

  Alex: Are you in bed?

  Me: Yes. Lying in the dark.

  Alex: I just turned my light off and climbed under the covers.

  Oh shit.

  Alex: What does your bed look like?

  Me: It’s a queen. Blue quilt and pillows, green sheets. Yours?

  Alex: Everything is white, including my pale skin, from my head down to my toes. Toenails are a pretty shade of apple green, in case you were interested.

  Me: Alex, are you trying to…sext me?

  I hold my breath, lying still as stone on my bed. Everything is stiff, including my cock. It’s rock hard, pitching a tent inside my boxer briefs, uncomfortably straining against the black fabric.

  I’m dying to touch it. Stroke it. Relieve it.

  Alex: Don’t you want to?

  Do I want to sext?

  Me: Is this some kind of pity fuck? I know you’ve seen my picture, so you obviously know I’m not good-looking, which means you’re not attractive yourself, or you’re trying to get the ugly guy off.

  Alex: I thought after our phone call the other night we kind of hit it off. Was I wrong???? Tell me I’m wrong.

  Me: You’re not just jerking me around?

  Alex: I promise you I’m not.

  Me: You won’t even show me your boobs, yet you’re going to fuck me with words?

  Alex: You’re starting to sound like a prude, and it’s making me feel loose, LOL. I’m not going to beg a guy to flirt with me.

  Me: Whatever.

  This erection is making me irritable. I have to get rid of it. Want to toss the phone on the bed then toss myself with the palm of my right hand.

  Alex: I’m not kidding; all I have to do is step out of the house and guys fall at my feet. I could screw anyone I wanted, any time of day.

  Me: Holy shit. You sound like the assholes I hang out with.

  Alex: Well COME ON! Give me SOMETHING here. What warm-blooded male doesn’t want to flirt a little??? You don’t want to see my boobs any more than I want to show them to you, and you don’t want to sext. Are you gay???

  Me: I’m not gay, and I NEVER said I didn’t want to see your boobs.

  Alex: Fine then, are you human? Or does cold blood run through your veins?

  Me: Trust me, I’m warm-blooded.

  Alex: Oh yeah? How warm are you? Tell me, Rhett.

  Jesus, I can’t take it anymore. Her nagging to get what she wants has me turned the fuck on. Throbbing, hot, stiff, hard—take your pick.

  Me: I’m hard as a fucking rock right now.

  Alex: Is it big?

  Me: My cock?

  Alex: Yes.

  Me: Yeah, I guess.

  Alex: How big?

  Jesus Christ, I don’t know if I can do this. I’m from a small town in the middle of nowhere, population two thousand twenty-nine. Graduating class of two hundred thirteen. An hour and fifteen minutes to the closest supercenter.

  Seconds pass before my hand leaves the touchpad of my cell and snakes down the front of my tight boxers, rubbing the hard length between my legs through the well-worn cotton.

  Squeeze.

  Groan.

  Fuckkkkkkk.

  Alex: Hello? Say something, I’m so hot right now.

  Mouth falling open, I stroke myself up and down, not giving a fuck if my dick is chafing through the material. Not taking the time to lift the waistband and stroke it properly.

  Alex: You’re touching yourself, aren’t you? Tell me.

  Me: Yes.

  Alex: Stroking it up and down?

  Me: Yes.

  Alex: What does it feel like?

  Me: Hard. Good.

  Alex: Really good?

  Me: I mean—it’s my hand, so how good could it actually feel.

  Even aroused, I attempt a joke.

  Alex: My hands are smooth and stroking my thigh, all the way up my flat belly.

  Me: Are your legs spread, Alex?

  Alex: Are yours?

  Me: They are now.

  Me: What are your fingers doing?

  Alex: They’re in the waistband of my panties.

  Me: What color?

  Alex: Baby blue, see-through—you can see it all through the lace.

  Me: Fuck that sounds sexy.

  Alex: So sexy. What color are yours?

  Me: Black. Sometimes I don’t wear any.

  Alex: You free ball? Isn’t that what guys call it?

  Me: Yeah—how do you know that, Alex?

  Alex: I have a brother. He’s a pig.

  Me: Would he approve of his little sister getting off with some stranger?

  Alex: Could you do me a favor and stop calling me Alex?

  Me: Uh, okay.

  Alex: My brother would want to beat you up.

  Me: He could only try to kick my ass.

  Alex: Are you a big boy?

  Me: Fuck yes. All fucking over.

  Jesus, is this seriously me talking right now? I’ve never said anything that sexual in my entire damn life.

  Alex: God I love hearing you talk like that. You sound so sexy Rhett.

  My name flashing across the screen has me digging into the elastic waistband of my underwear. Pushing down the fabric and sliding my hand inside to free my throbbing dick.

  Groaning from the excruciating pain of my need, my want.

  Fuck.

  Lifting my hips, I push the boxers down my thighs. Toss my phone to the comforter, spit in my palm, stroke up and down.

  My phone softly pings twice and I turn my head, eyes seeking the message preview on the tiny screen. I grab the phone again and with one hand, hold the phone, letting my thumb tap out a reply while the other strokes my cock.

  If I close my eyes and pretend, I can almost imagine the hand is hers.

  Alex: Say something Rhett, say something. Christ, I’m begging you. Please, this is making me feel so good.

  Me: Jesus Alex, my balls are tight.

  Alex: I’m so…hot for you.

  Me: I’m gonna come.

  Alex: Mmm, I can picture you touching yourself.

  Me: Don’t stop talking.

  Alex: Are your boxers down around your hips?

  Me: Are your fingers in your pussy?

  Alex: Yessssss…

  Me: You alone in your apartment?

  Alex: No. Someone is in the next room.

  Me: Are you moaning?

  Alex: Yes, I can’t help myself.

  Me: Make it loud, let them hear you.

  Alex: Yesss

  I rest my head against the headboard, letting my one clenched fist do all the work, working up and down the base of my cock. I close my eyes and try to visualize what Alex looks like: long black hair sweeping across her bare breasts and pale skin. Big, bare breasts with dark nipples. Legs spread. Fingers playing with her clit while she thinks about me stroking myself.

  With a groan, my balls tighten painfully, pleasure starting at the base of my dick and working its way to the head. As the pre-come slickens the tip, my teeth bite down on my tongue.

  I hiss.

  Grip the base, jerking it hard and fast. Stroke after firm stroke until I’m coming in the palm of my hand.

  My hips twitch. My dick throbs. My vision blurs.

  I look down at my phone in a daze.

  Alex: Babe, did you come?

  Babe. No one has ever called me that before.

  I blush at the sight of the word, knowing she wouldn’t say it if she got a good, hard look at me.

  Me: Yes. All over my stomach.

  Alex: I want to see.

  Me: LOL. I’m not sending you a dick pic.

  Alex: Not even if I beg for it?

  Me: No fucking way.

  Alex: I’m so hot for you right now, please Rhett, I’m so close to coming.

  Me: Sorry, still no dick pic.

  Alex: Oh shit. God, just the word dick is making me come. What would you do to me if you were here?

  Me: I’d get on my knees and go down on you. Lick between your leg
s.

  Would I? Would I have a clue how to do it if I had the chance?

  Alex: Oh God, yes.

  Me: I’d suck you off until you came on my face.

  Me: I wouldn’t even take your panties off. I’d suck right through the lace.

  Alex: How hard would you give it to me?

  Me: However hard you want it, baby. However hard you fucking want it…

  .

  Rhett

  “Someone remind me why we’re here when we have to be checked in for curfew tonight?”

  We’re standing in the living room of a massive fraternity house on Greek Row, shoulder to shoulder with half the student population. The theme, it appears, is Revenge of the Nerds meets Animal House, with half the partygoers dressed like a nerd in one form or another—white collared dress shirts tied off above the belly button, black glasses with tape in the middle, short plaid skirts, thigh-high socks—and the other half in togas. Several dudes walk around with sweatshirts that say College in white block letters.

  I’m pretty sure we were supposed to have paid at the door, but somehow we slipped through without paying the cover.

  The music is deafening but the brotherhood game is strong.

  And, for the first time since living with Gunderson and Eric, I’m the one who wanted to party. It didn’t take much convincing—just the promise of cold beer—but they’re both skeptical about the reason I suddenly wanted to go out. This isn’t my scene and we all know it.

  Still, neither says no the opportunity to get drunk or laid.

  “Tell us again why we’re at a frat party?”

  “To drink free beer?”

  They exchange glances. “You’re the one who fights us on going out every week.”

  “I know, but I had a burr in my ass this morning. Maybe I’m sick of sittin’ home when everyone goes out during the week.”

  Gunderson commiserates. “That’s true. Zeke and Ozzy are out tonight. Oz’s girlfriend James posted some shit on Insta about being at some wine bar, or maybe it’s one of those wine tasting places.”

  “That’s the same thing as a wine bar, idiot.” Eric can’t contain his disdain.

  “Shut the fuck up, Johnson.”

  “Guys, Jesus, keep it down.”

  We walk farther into the room, into the party, and my roommates immediately find people they know, girls they’ve fucked or fooled around with.

  “This music sucks,” one of my roommates complains.

  “Who cares—we’re not here for the music.” The other one raises his beer in the air, happy to be out on a weekday. “We’re here for the puss-aaaa.”

  Embarrassed, I deck him the arm. “Don’t ever say shit like that again.”

  “Ow dude, that fucking hurt.” Gunderson rubs his arm, grumbling. “I just want both of you fuckers to know that tonight I’m getting laid. My dick will shrivel off if I don’t, so forgive me in advance for bringing some chick home.”

  He glances around the room, fingers steepled. “Who’s the lucky girl going to be, who’s it going to be…”

  “You are not bringing anyone home tonight.” I scowl. “Not tonight. No.”

  “Fate will decide.” Gunderson throws his hands up in mock defeat. “I’m not going to beat anyone off with a stick if they want to fuck me later, that’s all I’m saying.”

  Johnson scowls. “You’re the one who wanted to come out. Do we need to start calling you New Guy Buzz Kill?”

  “Or Boner Killer.”

  “Cock Blocker?” They take a liking to that one.

  “Yeah, good one—I like that. Cock Blocker.”

  “Let’s leave Cock Block to drown his sorrows in the bottle. We’re wasting our time standing here in this corner—it smells like sexual repression and nocturnal admissions.”

  The word is emissions—nocturnal emissions.

  God, what a couyon.

  Johnson throws up deuces. “Later bro. Don’t leave early without us.”

  “Don’t piss me off and I won’t.”

  They offer their knuckles before sauntering off, parting the crowd and wading through like they own the place, leaving me at the edge of the room alone.

  Alone to fend for myself in a room packed full of people dressed like nerds and Greeks.

  Great.

  Easing farther toward the far side of the room, I plant myself against the wall, eyes scanning every face among the crowd, searching for long black hair in a sea of blonde and brown, and some neon colors like blue and pink.

  Uneasy, I pick at the label on my beer bottle.

  Breaking the rules to come out tonight doesn’t sit right with me, and coming to meet Alex only increases the anxiety building in my stomach. I want to fucking vomit.

  This was such a shitty idea; I’m not equipped to handle this. Have no idea what I’m fucking doing. What I’m going to do when I finally find her and meet her face to face.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  Panic sets in, my mind in overdrive, palms sweating.

  I fiddle with the collar of my navy t-shirt. The logo of a popular Nantucket company sits on the left breast pocket, the only decent, clean shirt I had on the floor of my closet that wasn’t wrinkled, dirty, or too dressy and didn’t have a wrestling logo from the wrong college.

  I feel like a fucking dope.

  A bright flash of red across the room catches my eye, and whatever curse graces the tip of my tongue dies in my throat.

  There she is, standing in a corner with her friends, laughing. Head thrown back, long pale neck exposed. Long red hair the color of fucking fire. Flawless white skin. Dark burgundy lips. Tall.

  She’s not Alex, but she’s beautiful.

  No, not beautiful.

  Elle est mieux. She’s better.

  More.

  Stunning.

  Jesus, is she human? She’s gorgeous and I need to shut the fuck up about it already.

  I stare—of course I do—and Christ, I feel pathetic with the beer in my hand suspended halfway to my mouth, gaping foolishly from across the overcrowded party.

  Black, long-sleeved polka dot midriff top with an expanse of white belly showing, she’s not dressed like anyone at the party.

  High-waisted shorts with two rows of silver buttons down the sides. Pale legs that go on for miles.

  When she raises her eyes and scans the room, I duck my head, face flaming hot. Turn my back and chug. Chug the entire bottle of beer down for liquid courage—I need it just to be standing in the same room with her.

  How messed up is that?

  I don’t know how long I stand facing the wall, but it’s long enough that I finish off the tepid amber liquid in my bottle.

  Choke it down my throat like I’m chugging warm piss.

  Give the ceiling an eye roll and pivot to face the room.

  Turn to find the redhead studying me.

  Head tilted as her friends talk and laugh next to her, she doesn’t pay them one bit of attention; all her focus is on me. She nods absently to the girl beside her, never taking that gaze off my flaming hot face.

  A sly smile plays with one corner of her perfectly shaped mouth, the bold, dark lips pursing for a split second.

  Honestly, she’s so pretty I don’t know where to look first.

  Do I look directly at her? Or do I avert my eyes?

  I find a nearby table and set my empty bottle there, wiping my sweaty palms down my pant legs so I can dig the phone out of my back pocket and shoot off a note to Alex.

  Where is she?

  She’s texted me a few times since we jerked off to each other, each message short and sweet, amusing. I continue building her up in my mind, romanticizing what she could mean to me. I see her as perky, outgoing, kind of an airhead at times, but fun.

  Me: Hey. You coming out tonight?

  Alex: I was going to, but I changed my mind. Don’t think I’ll make it, sorry.

  Me: Why didn’t you tell me you were going to stand me up?

  Alex: I’m sorry! I wanted to s
tay home instead.

  Me: You could have texted to let me know.

  Alex: LOL, I didn’t think I had to.

  Me: You know, I’m only allowed to go out one night a week, and this ISN’T that night. I’m breaking the rules to meet you and you didn’t bother showing up.

  Alex: Your roommates don’t seem to mind breaking the rules.

  Me: Huh?

  Alex: Wild guess that you’re out with your roommates? Did you end up at that party?

  Me: Yes, but I’m going to bounce. Too crowded.

  Alex: And you don’t like that?

  Me: No, not when I should have stayed home tonight, too.

  Alex: So you’re heading home?

  Me: Yeah.

  Alex: K.

  K? What the fuck? Irritated, I start toward the door, pissed that Alex didn’t bother telling me she was staying home then acted nonchalant about it, like it doesn’t matter to her one bit that I came out.

  Fucking rude and disrespectful; I should have known she was going to stand me up.

  I know so little about women and the head games they play, but I should have known this was going to happen. God, I’m so fucking dumb.

  Determined to leave, head bent, I push through the crowd toward the door. Stop on the porch to send Gunderson and Johnson a text, knowing they won’t give a shit that I’m already leaving.

  Pocket my phone and start the descent down the steps of the frat house, out the way I came in. I can’t get out of here fast enough—

  “Hey,” a voice calls from behind me. “Where are you going?”

  Pausing at the bottom of the wide porch steps, I hesitate before turning on my heel toward the house.

  She’s standing there, hip against the massive white column on the porch, flaming red hair and dark red lips scorching under the lights, glossy. Staring down at me, mouth curved into a sly little smile.

  She can’t possibly be talking to me.

  With a shake of my head, I gather my senses, pivot, and keep walking.

  Her voice stops me again. “I’m talking to you.”