Schooled (Taboo 101 #1)

by Havana Scott

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 by Havana Scott. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  ALIENHEAD PRESS, LLC

  Miami, Florida, USA

  Havana Scott Books is an imprint of Alienhead Press, LLC

  Visit our website at www.HavanaScottBooks.com.

  Edited by Gaby Triana

  Cover design by Curtis Sponsler

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition - April 2017

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  Alienhead Press

  SCHOOLED

  A Taboo 101 Novel

  Havana Scott

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Copyright

  Title Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Author Links

  Coming Soon

  1

  SABINE

  I’ve never had an orgasm.

  Not with a bad boy. Not with a good guy.

  Not on a train. Not in the rain.

  Not with a pillow, blanket, shower massager, pocket rocket, extra-large, extra-veined dildo, Ben-Wa balls, rabbit thruster, diamond glider, bionic bullet, remote control vibrating panties—nothing.

  So, when I chose Human Sexuality as my last course elective this sophomore year, it was with the hope that I might discover what I’ve been doing wrong. I was expecting a new-age sex guru to present me with All The Secrets in a velvet-lined box, or at least to tell me there’s no hope. If it were a medical issue, I could accept it and move on with my life. Instead, I got Mr. Quackenbush.

  Not even kidding. QUACKENBUSH.

  The old professor is always late. He’s probably in his office right now, jerking off to secret pics of his female students, unaware that class has started. Mr. Quackenbush has been stuck on the chapter of erectile dysfunction for two weeks now. I’m starting to lose hope. We haven’t gotten to the female orgasm yet, and it’s six weeks into the semester. Never again will I enroll in a class based on its “interesting” course description on the university website. It always ends up being the worst class with the most boring teacher ever.

  Other students are happy Quack is fifteen minutes late. It means they can leave without penalty, since the tardiness is his fault.

  To pass the time, I open my notebook and begin writing affirmation notes. The Law of Attraction states if you put your dreams out there, write them, visualize them, they will happen. Your thoughts will actually attract them. I don’t know if it works, but it can’t hurt. I draw a fiery explosion with a salivating happy face in the middle and write:

  I JUST WANT TO EXPERIENCE A BIG FUCKING

  ORGASM FOR ONCE IN MY LIFE!!!!!!!!

  There. How’s that for putting it out there?

  Mr. Quack is still late, and three more students take off. Tanelle Evans, bless her heart, stays. Normally, Miss DD Boobs is the first to leave, but I know she needs an A in this class or risks losing a whole semester.

  I close my notebook and check the time. Maybe I should head to the library and have an extended study snack before history class. But damn it, I just know that if I leave, today will be the day Quack finally decides to cover the chapter I’ve been waiting for. I’ll miss the whole thing. I’ll never know the complete secrets of the human vagina. Fifty-year-old Quackenbush will be privy to that info, yet I, a twenty-year-old actual human with an actual vagina, will not.

  I sigh, pull out my banana, and wait.

  Finally, the door opens, just as another wave of students gets up to leave. Those of us who are still here look up from our phones expecting to see Quackenbush. A collective gasp hushes the room. It is not Mr. Quackenbush.

  Holy balls of hotness.

  Who is this man? He’s the total opposite of pudgy Quackenbush. So opposite, in fact, that for a moment, I wonder if I’ve been sitting in the wrong classroom this whole time. This is 17B, right?

  He strolls in over six feet tall—sweater vest, tie, fitted pants that highlight his tight ass, folded-up sleeves, a wide chest, light-colored eyes, a sexy, trimmed beard, and Clark Kent glasses. I feel a tug low in my belly that surprises me. Whoever he is, I hope he’ll sit next to me, become my new study buddy. Or, maybe he can do absolutely nothing. Just sit down, while I stare at him.

  Instead, Superman walks to the front of the class, sets down his briefcase, and turns to uncap a blue marker. He writes on the whiteboard:

  Dr. MacKenzie

  Welcome to Human Sexuality 101

  Capping the marker, he turns around and smiles. A flamethrower torches my loins, and from the looks of it, every other girls’ and a couple of guys’ in the class as well. Dr. MacKenzie? This stunning man has earned himself a PhD? Of what? Melting mere mortals with his rugged handsomeness?

  “Mr. Quackenbush can’t make it, folks. You’ll be sorry to hear he’s had a minor myocardial infarction—a heart attack.” As if we’re dumb and don’t know what a myocardial infarction is. Fine, most of my classmates probably don’t.

  The room breaks out into murmurs.

  “Oh, my God! Is he okay?” I ask.

  The professor’s eyes fall on me. Only me. Blue-gray. Steel. “Yes, Quack is a tough guy. He’s going to be okay.” Then, he’s addressing the class as a whole again. “Call me Dr. Mac, MacKenzie, or Professor is fine. I’ll be subbing his course until end of May. Any questions?”

  You would think that fifty-five hands would simultaneously shoot into the air, that my classmates would want to know how things might change now that a new instructor is at the helm, but no one moves. Everyone is too stunned for words. I look around and see most girls staring at the new professor with mouths open. A few rows up, Tanelle runs her tongue across her lower lip then bites it. Suddenly, I know how she’ll earn her A.

  “Fine, then.” Professor MacKenzie turns on Quack’s projector and inserts a flash drive. The Female Orgasm appears as the title of his PowerPoint presentation. “Ah, my favorite subject. Shall we get started?” He beams again.

  I almost stop breathing.

  In the two years I’ve attended Crofton Cliffs University here in Hendersonville, South Carolina, I’ve never loved college more. I’ve never sat on the edge of my seat, opened my notebook so quickly, or turned to a fresh page all ears and ready.

  Teach me, Professor. I’m listening.

  2

  LIAM

  She’s hard to miss.

  She’s the long-haired brunette sitting alone in the front row of the round auditorium-style classroom while everyone else sits at the top like typical, underachieving undergrads. She’s also the only one who asked if Quackenbush was okay. Ready for class, pen in hand, peeled banana in the other, she watches me intently with innocent, sexy eyes. I can’t tell you what that does to my brain. I’ve never slept with an undergrad, and I’m not about to start.

/>   But damn. Those cherry red lips.

  And that banana just an inch away.

  Holy fuck.

  I clear my throat. “Normally, you’ll find me down the hall, teaching career counseling to graduate students. But, so you know, I have taught this class before and can tell you that everyone loves the chapter on the female orgasm.”

  Everyone finally chuckles and begins loosening up. The room is filled with gorgeous young adults reluctantly settling into the next hour’s lesson, but I still admire the way Cherry Lips is ready from the get-go. She’s going to go far in life. I’m about to begin the lecture by saying that the female orgasm is an elusive thing, a different experience for everyone, when guess whose hand goes up, proving me right?

  “Professor?” Cherry Lips’ voice rings sweet and a little husky, like Emma Stone after screaming my name over and over.

  “Yes? You have a question?”

  “Are you going to cover the whole chapter today, or will you take a while covering it?” Cherry asks, still holding up her uneaten banana. Adorable. I want to go over there and put it down for her.

  “Considering we only have six weeks left to cover ten weeks’ worth of material, I’m going to squeeze as much into today as I can. Does that work for you?”

  Cherry Lips nods slowly, still staring at me. I can tell she’s star-struck, which happens a lot, unfortunately, a fact which makes my job exponentially harder. I try to downplay my appearance by wearing sweater vests, jackets, and glasses instead of my contact lenses, but for many students, that only has the opposite effect. They want me even more.

  I call this the “Professor Indiana Jones Response.”

  Doesn’t matter. Nothing will come of it.

  I’m here for several reasons—to help out Dean Albert Perkins over at Undergrad Studies after Quackenbush got sick. Also, for the extra money if I want to move to Cambridge later this year. Also, because I love a good challenge. I’ll need it if I want my nomination for Professor of the Year. If I win, I’ll apply for a teaching position in the Career Counseling Graduate Program at Harvard later this year, and getting accepted will never happen if I entertain the idea of having sex with any students.

  “So, back to the female orgasm. Historically, there have been two types—clitoral and vaginal, but Masters and Johnson…”

  Cherry Lips raises her hand again. This time, she puts down her banana. A few students moan while others roll their eyes. I’m guessing Cherry is that one student who delays the professor’s lecture to ask questions. One in every class.

  “Yes, um…”

  “Sabine.”

  “Sabine.” I smile politely. Sabine is a fucking sexy name, a thought that needs to vacate my mind ASAP. “You have another question?”

  “Since the book explains about clitoral and vaginal stimulation, I was wondering if you could skip ahead and tell us what most women find to be the easiest way to achieve orgasm. Uh, for research’s sake, I mean.” She blushes and sinks into her seat while a couple chuckles secretively in the back row.

  Sabine ignores them. I give them a warning look to play nice.

  I skip a few frames ahead in my presentation. We have to get through the material quickly anyway. “Of course. What other sake would it be for?” Students chuckle again. I can tell it’s them against Sabine, which makes me feel sorry for her as an outsider but want to have a cup of coffee with her at the same time.

  Landing on the slide about methods to achieve orgasm, I turn my attention to the screen. Because if I keep looking at Sabine’s innocent doll face while on this topic, my cock’s going to tent my pants in front of her and everybody.

  “Clitoral stimulation is key,” I explain, thinking unsexy thoughts—ice cubes, ice cubes in my pants… “We hear about the G-spot and vaginal orgasms, but most doctors now believe that the G-spot is a myth, that it’s merely an extension of the clitoris.” I pause to gauge my class’s interest level. I see that some, like Sabine, are on the edge of enlightenment. She probably comes like a freight train every night and doesn’t need any of this. But others aren’t taking notes. “You know what? Let’s forget this for a second.”

  I turn off the slideshow and come around to sit at the front of the desk.

  Everyone seems to lean forward a little.

  “Let’s be real for a moment. This…this is all bullshit. You guys don’t need me regurgitating what you can read in the textbook. Let’s talk about what the textbook doesn’t say.” I see Sabine’s pretty eyes widen for a moment, as she stares at me, hinged on my every word. “The truth is, the female orgasm—hell, any orgasm—is highly personal. Some people need tons of stimulation while others need no stimulation at all.”

  For some reason, the blonde a few rows above Sabine nabs my attention with the way she keeps biting her lip.

  I go on. “For some people, it’s purely physical. For others, it’s a brain fuck. Excuse my language.” The young women in the class stare at me, mouths agape. Guys sit back with their knees apart, shit-eating grins plastered on their faces, enjoying the new direction I’ve taken. “They need the right thoughts to make it happen. In my experience, it’s twenty percent technique and eighty percent what’s in here.” I tap my head. “And let’s not forget that, for some, trust is a big issue.”

  Sabine’s hand shoots up again. “Professor?”

  “Go ahead.” I love the way she says my name. Even though I hear “professor” every day of my life, it sounds better coming from a beautiful girl with long, dark hair in skinny jeans with her lips wrapped around a banana.

  “What about anorgasmia?”

  Nice. I’m impressed she even knows that word. Most girls here would probably need to Google it. “The inability to achieve orgasm is highly rare,” I tell her.

  “Yes, but what causes it? I’ve heard different things. Medication, thyroid issues…”

  “Your boyfriend,” some asshole heckles from the back of the room.

  Quicker than I can defend her, she whips her head around to address him with rapid-fire precision. “Or maybe yours.”

  Ouch! Sabine’s got backtalk game, and I just stiffened a bit over it. She slowly turns back around, annoyance all over her face, and I wish I could applaud her. Instead, I give her a congratulatory smile.

  “Alright, let’s keep it respectful, guys.” I shoot the dude up top a serious look. For some reason, I want to go up there and smash his face in. If there’s anything I hate, it’s assholes giving women a hard time. I look at Sabine again and continue. “To answer your excellent question, let’s see…lack of arousal, religious upbringing, guilt, any number of reasons. They would need extensive therapy to uncover the root of the issue, but I find that most women simply haven’t found that special ingredient yet. Sometimes, it’s just…inexperience.”

  The young women watch me closely. They’re probably trying to imagine how I know these things. Undergrads are so easy to impress.

  Sabine’s eyes take on an even more inquisitive tone, as she processes my answer. I wonder if she’s talking about herself or if she’s really just this interested in the topic. Could Sabine be after the Holy Grail, the Mother of all Os? Because I’ve made a lot of women come in my lifetime, but I’ve never encountered one who couldn’t. Then again, she’s young with her whole life ahead of her.

  I’ll admit the thought does pique my interest.

  Sabine taps her plump lips with her pen. I watch her a little too closely and have to look away. Instead, I’m drawn to Blondie again, sucking on the edge of her pinky as she watches me. I nod at her and try to find a student who’s not mentally undressing me with her eyes. Maybe I wasn’t the right one to take over this class.

  My attention returns to Sabine.

  At least she’s genuinely interested in the topic from an academic standpoint. “Anyway, you can read a hundred books on the topic, but it’s all subjective. There’s no easy answer. And that’s why women will always be the most mysterious creature known to mankind,” I say to chuckles around
the room.

  Sabine looks away and finally bites slowly into that banana.

  Fuck, yes…

  After class, a line forms at my desk comprised almost entirely of young women. Each and every one wants to tell me how great my lecture was and how happy they are that I’ll be teaching from now on, how boring Quackenbush was, and can they give me their number “so I have it on hand?”

  Um, no thanks. Email is good.

  I have to admit it feels nice to hear the compliments. It’s the reason I want that Professor of the Year nomination. I truly love teaching and making students interested in the subjects. There’s a palpable energy in the room after a good lecture. No one tries to escape as quickly as they can. Everyone feels good about having learned something, and I know I’ve done my job right.

  How many of these students really mean the nice words, though, and how many are buttering me up? As the next girl talks to me, the blonde in the upper rows whose succulent boobs were hard not to stare at, I scan the room for Sabine thinking it ironic that she left when she was the most interested participant of them all. But then I see her—at the end of the line, waiting her turn.

  I’m surprised by how excited that makes me. I want to give one-word answers to everyone ahead of her just so she can reach me faster. What will she say? I do have to get to my office to finish some work before my next class, but I’m willing to wait just to see her up close.

  Finally, the class has mostly cleared out except for a few kids crowded around a YouTube video, giggling like fools. Sabine steps up, clutching her books tightly. She’s even more beautiful up close with that shiny brown hair, light brown eyes, and an ass that would bounce if I ever pounded into her.

  No, Liam. There will not be any pounding of any undergrad ass here today.

  First of all, I only date women out of diapers. Women my age—thirty or older. But I’ve been known to entertain a few younger ones once they’re out of my graduate program and the university altogether. Sabine can’t be more than what—twenty? Twenty-one? Definitely not a good candidate.