by Amy Brent
Wow, who was this girl and where had she been all my life?
Oh yeah, she’s been in middle school.
I tucked my cock, still damp with her spit, back into my pants, then reached down to lift her up. She was momentarily in my arms. She pressed herself against me. Her lips were close enough to mine that I could smell my cum on her breath.
I fought to resist the urge to kiss her, to grab her ass and pull her into me. Thankfully, Tom pounded on the door, interrupting what might have been a very bad decision on my part.
“Hey, Logan, you in there?” he called, words slurring. He slapped a palm on the door. “Come on, man, it’s time to go home.”
“I have to go,” I said, gazing into her eyes.
“I know,” she said, dragging a fingernail down my chin. She pulled away from me and smiled. “I’ll see you in class.”
CHAPTER EIGHT: Courtney
“So, I gave him the best blowjob of his life, then he casually tucked his cock back into his jeans and ducked out the door like it was no big deal. I mean, seriously? Is that how he acts when old Martha Warner is blowing him in the restroom at Ruby Tuesdays?”
Mindy was sitting cross-legged on the foot of my bed, digging into the tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream sitting between us and listening to me rant about my encounter with Logan Clark in Goldie’s restroom. She held the spoon between her lips and gawked at me.
“What? Dean Warner gave him a blowjob in the restroom at Ruby Tuesdays? No fucking way.”
“Way,” I said, dipping my spoon into the tub.
“Wait, how do you know that?”
I rolled my eyes with the spoon at my mouth. Licking ice cream from my lips, I said, “Let’s just say that a certain professor that has a crush on me told me about it. It was after a faculty dinner or something. He said Warner was drunk and practically dragged Logan into the women’s restroom, gave him a blowjob, then fucked him in the back of her car.”
“No fucking way,” Mindy said again. It was her favorite saying. “Honestly, Courtney, I don’t understand why you’re so hot for this guy. I mean, he’s a total pussy hound and seems more interested in old ladies than young girls. You could fuck any other professor on staff. Why are you so hung up on Logan Clark?”
“There’s just something about him that makes my blood boil,” I said, licking ice cream off the spoon. “Like tonight, I’m on my knees in the fucking restroom with his cock in my mouth, and all I could think about was how happy I was making him. I kept looking up at his face and it just made me want to do anything to please him.”
“Oh my god, Courtney,” she said, eyes wide. “This isn’t just another old guy you want to fuck. You’ve got a major crush on him.”
“No, I don’t,” I argued. “And he’s not an old guy.”
“Yes you do and yes he is,” she said, shaking the spoon at me. “I’ve known you for three years and I know how you operate.”
I frowned at her. “What does that mean?”
“It means you’re a borderline nympho with a major daddy complex,” she said, trying to be all serious and analytical through the haze of alcohol, pot, and ice cream that was running through her system. “You’ve fucked a lot of guys, but you’ve never had that dreamy look in your eye when you talked about them.”
“What dreamy look,” I said, struggling to put on a blank face. “I’m just drunk.”
“Bullshit,” she snorted. “You nursed a Diet Coke all fucking night and you watched the door like a fucking sniper, waiting for him to come in.”
“What, are you monitoring me now?” I asked, seriously getting a little pissed.
“No, I’m just telling you what I saw.” She dug out another spoonful of ice cream and put it between her lips. With the ice cream melting on her tongue, she said, “I think you might have a thing for Logan Clark that goes beyond your usual infatuation.”
I thought about it for a moment, then stuck my spoon into the ice cream and gave her a little shrug. “So, what if I do?”
“You tell me,” she said, picking up the tub of ice cream and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. “What if you do?”
* * *
I waited until Mindy left and closed my door, then I leaned down to reach beneath my bed and bring up my Magic Toy Box.
My Magic Toy Box was what I called the shoe box that held my personal collection of toys: dildos, vibrators, ben-wa balls, butt plugs, and other goodies I had collected over the years of my sexual misadventures. Sucking Logan’s cock had left me hot and horny. There was no way I was going to be able to sleep until I gave myself a little satisfaction.
I chose the aptly-named Vibrating Egg; a small vibrator the shape and size of an egg, designed to be turned on and shoved deep inside the cunt. I swear, you can feel the damn thing vibrating your pussy walls all the way into your throat.
Then I chose a twelve-inch rubber dildo that felt incredibly like the real thing. I tugged my nightshirt over my head and tossed it aside. I never wore panties when I slept.
I set the Magic Toy Box on the floor and turned off the light, then lay back and spread my legs.
I turned on the Vibrating Egg. My pussy flushed at the sound of it. I inserted it into my cunt and pushed it in as far as it would go. My entire body began to tingle as it was vibrated from the inside out.
I didn’t have to lube up the dildo because my pussy had been gushing since the moment Logan came across my lips. I exhaled as I slid the dildo into my pussy. When the head of the dildo hit the Vibrating Egg, the vibrations went thru the dildo and into my clit. I held it there for a moment, shuddering, then began sliding the dildo in and out, in and out.
I reached down with my left hand to dip my fingers into my pussy, coating them with my own juicy lube. I rolled the fingers over my clit and moaned at the sensation. My nipples plumped like thimbles on my breasts. My mouth was suddenly dry. I licked my lips and closed my eyes.
Logan Clark magically appeared in my mind’s eye.
He was on top of me, all blond hair and thick muscles, his long cock buried deep inside me.
He leaned down to gently kiss my lips.
Now, here is where it pays to be dexterous, like being able to pat your head and rub your belly at the same time.
As the Vibrating Egg sent quaking shivers through my pussy walls and into my body, I fucked myself hard with the dildo while rubbing my clit. Someday I’ll have to video the scene because I probably looked like a circus act, but I didn’t care. If I’d had nipple clamps, all of my bases would have been covered.
Note to self: buy nipple clamps…
I could feel the orgasm coming on. My muscles tensed. I could feel the vibrations from the Egg in my throat. My pussy lips clung to the slick dildo as it pummeled into me. My clit was swollen and raw. I curled my toes and bit my lip.
When the orgasm erupted, I shoved the dildo in as far as it would go and clenched my pussy muscles around it. In my imagination, it was Logan Clark’ cock deep inside me. It was his fingers on my clit. His tongue on my nipples and in my mouth.
I came so hard my body literally spasmed for a full minute afterward, as if it was having to throw itself back into sync after being vibrated to another dimension.
I blew out a long breath and let the dildo and Egg slide out of my cunt on their own.
I switched off the Egg and put it back into my Magic Toy Box along with the dildo. I’d clean them both off tomorrow.
My pussy and ass were drenched. The aroma of my tangy juices hung in the air. There was a huge wet spot on the sheet beneath me. I picked up the nightshirt to dry myself off, then rolled over with Logan Clark still on my mind.
Tomorrow was a new day.
I was not giving up on him yet.
I had two weeks before the end of the semester.
That was plenty of time to make my fantasies come true.
CHAPTER NINE: Logan
Monday morning; I was standing at the blackboard, writing out the formula for determining the ded
uctibility of a business expense for my next class, when Tom Brooks stuck his head in the door.
He looked like shit. His eyes were bloodshot, his clothes disheveled, his hair a mess. The only good thing about him was that he was carrying two tall cups of Starbucks coffee.
“Wow, Tom, you look like shit,” I said, dusting chalk off my hands to accept the cup of coffee. “Are you okay?” I pried off the lid and took the coffee to my desk. I sat down and motioned him to a seat.
“Thanks, buddy,” he said, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand. “I went back to Goldie’s last night to watch the football game. Got a little drunk.”
“Man, you have got to ease off on the booze,” I said seriously. I swept my eyes around his face for a moment. His bloodshot eyes and slack jaw reminded me of a bloodhound. I could see tiny blood vessels mapping the skin beneath his eyes and across his nose. Tom was getting the marks of a drunk, all because his fucking wife cheated on him and left him.
“I’m fine,” he said, prying the lid off his cup and blowing into the steaming coffee before taking a careful sip. “I thought I’d see you there last night. Where were you?”
I shook my head. “I needed a weekend getaway,” I said. “I rode my motorcycle into the mountains for the day. Didn’t get back until late last night.”
“Wow, that sounds nice,” he said with a wistful sigh. “Wendy never would let me have a motorcycle.”
“Wendy’s fucking gone, Tom,” I said, huffing at him. “Go buy yourself a bike. Next time I go on a day trek, you can come with me.”
He made a sour face and let his round shoulders go up and down. “Nah, I’d just kill myself.”
“Like you’re killing yourself with the booze?” I asked.
He scoffed and shook his head. “What? I’m not killing myself with the booze. Where is this coming from? I thought you understood.”
“Understood what?” I arched my eyebrows over the cup, waiting for him to answer.
“That I’m in pain,” he snapped, blinking back tears. He wiggled a finger at me. “You don’t understand, Logan. You don’t know what it’s like to have your heart ripped out and stomped into the ground by someone you love.”
“Don’t I?” I took a deep breath and shook my head slowly. “Tom, I’ve been married and divorced twice. Do you think I wanted to get divorced either of those times?”
“Well, I just assumed… I mean… You’re so good with women…”
“My first wife was named Darby,” I said. “Beautiful girl, blonde hair, blue eyes, killer body, great sense of humor. We dated three years and got married right out of college. It took her less six months to find a guy she loved more than me. I came home one day to our ratty little apartment and she was just gone. She left me a note that said that I didn’t make her happy, so she was moving on. I didn’t make her happy, like that was my job or something.”
“At least you didn’t walk in on her having anal sex with a three-hundred-pound black kid,” he said.
“There is that,” I said, nodding.
“What about wife number two?”
“That would be Tracy, who came along a few years later. She was a knockout brunette, younger than me, big tits, nice ass, could suck the fuzz off a tennis ball. She was my teaching assistant at NYU. We got married in June and she kicked me to the curb in September. Seems she just woke up one day and realized that I wasn’t the guy she wanted me to be. When I came home that day, she’d packed all my shit in boxes and left it on the front lawn.”
“Jesus, Logan, I had no idea…” He gave me a pitiful look. “Did you love them? Were you devastated?”
I shrugged. “I thought I did and I probably was. I started drinking, feeling sorry for myself, staying out all night, missing work, fucking any woman who would let me between her legs. I became a sad drunk, Tom, just like you.”
He blinked at the insult, but didn’t say a word.
“I drank at night, I drank at lunch, I drank in class, I drank before class... One day my students found me passed out at my desk at ten in the morning. They called the dean and she called 911. I had almost killed myself. Alcohol poisoning. I’d been drinking for three days straight. They took me to a detox center and dried me out for thirty days.”
“Damn,” he said, staring down into his coffee cup. I hoped he understood that he was headed down the same dark path I had been on. I hated it for him. He was too good a guy to ruin his life because his wife was a cunt. He was a much better guy than I was. I could only hope that he realized that before it was too late.
“Anyway, I decided that I had to get out of New York City, so I managed to land this job four years ago. And if I don’t fuck things up, I’ll be eligible for tenure in the three months.”
He nodded as he listened. Quietly, he said, “So, when your wives left you, did you think it was your fault?”
“For a long time, I did,” I said with a long sigh. “They both blamed me, said I wasn’t the man they thought I was. I thought about that long and hard while I was in detox.”
“And what conclusion did you reach?” he asked.
“That I was just me,” I said, smiling through a long sigh. “I had always been just me, but they wanted me to be someone else, someone that they could change and mold to fit their needs.”
“So it wasn’t your fault that they left?” he asked hopefully, as if looking for validation for the demise of his own shitty marriage.
“Oh, I’m sure it was my fault to some degree,” I said with a shrug. “I was no saint, but I think they left because they couldn’t change me into the man they wanted me to be. Once I understood that, I also understood that it was their fault as much as mine because they had both married a guy they thought they could change to fit their idea of what the perfect man was. Leaving me was them accepting the fact that they had fucked up, not me.” I cut him a grin. “At least that’s what a psyche professor I slept with told me.”
“Wendy said she fucked that football player because I no longer satisfied her,” he said, a faraway look in his eye. “She said it was all my fault.”
“Tom, Wendy was a selfish cunt who fucked a football player because she wanted to, not because you drove her to it,” I said, putting a hand on his shoulder and giving him a little shake. “Rather than wallow in pity and booze, you should thank the good lord that she’s gone. Now you can find a woman who will appreciate you for you.”
“You really think so,” he said, rubbing a knuckle under his eyes. “I mean, find a good woman who will appreciate me for me?”
“I really do,” I said with a nod. “But you have to dry out, man, because your body is going to start craving the booze, and when that happens, it’s a lot harder to move on. You’re heading down a very dark road that is a bitch to come back from. Trust me, I know.”
“But you still drink,” he said, narrowing his eyes at me. “Aren’t you afraid that you’ll fall off the wagon and head down that dark road again yourself?”
It was a good question without an easy answer. I didn’t have time to explain the fucked-up, inner workings of my mind, so I just said, “It’s all about moderation for me. When’s the last time you saw me really drunk?”
His forehead furrowed in thought. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you really drunk.”
“And you never will,” I said. “I have a strict three drink rule. I take it as a personal challenge never to break my rule.”
I was lying through my teeth to him, but it was a white lie told for his own good. I had fallen off the wagon so many times I couldn’t count. I couldn’t tell you how many times I’d gotten shitfaced and woke up in my car in a parking lot or in some stranger’s bed. Or in my own bed with no idea how I made it home. Those were my demons to fight, not Tom’s. He didn’t need to hear the sordid details of my reality. He needed to deal with his own.
“So, you test yourself? You drink three drinks, then cut yourself off. You do it to prove to yourself that you can do it. That you’re in control.”
“Something like that,” I said.
“Kind of like your rule about not fucking coeds,” he said with a smile.
“Something like that.”
“You have lots of rules, Logan.”
I smiled. “I know. I’ve been told.”
He shook his head and blew out his cheeks. “I’m not sure I have your willpower.”
“Of course, you do,” I said. “And you have me to help you.”
“What does that mean?” He had a hopeful look in his eye.
“I want you to dry out for a week,” I said. “No booze of any kind. And get back into the gym, start running again, concentrate on you and not Wendy.”
“Okay, I can do that,” he said, trying to smile. He gazed up from beneath his eyebrows. “And maybe I’ll start dating again.”
I chuckled and gave him a nod. “My friend, you go a week without booze and get some color back in your cheeks, and we will get you laid.”
He smiled. “You promise.”
“Scouts honor,” I said, holding up three fingers. “Now get out of here. I have young minds to corrupt.”
As he left the room, I glanced up at the clock. Students for my next class would be filtering in soon. Including Courtney Shaw, who had not left my thoughts since our restroom encounter two nights before.