I unconsciously started to move to his rhythm.
“That’s right baby. Ride me,” he crooned encouragingly.
I pumped a little harder and was rewarded by an entirely new set of sensations. Now his penis hit the bundles of nerves inside my vagina—a sensitive bundle I didn’t even know existed before.
Once again, the tension started to build.
David
I’ve still got the moves. I managed to flip her to the top without unseating myself. I have never witnessed a more profound look of betrayal than the one B.D. gave me when I stopped. Good thing I managed to make up for it with the flip, but I had to stop. I was on the verge of coming apart, and if I hadn’t stopped, I would have come before she finished. Plus now that she’s on top, I can watch her breasts bounce while I pound her. Honestly I could come just by watching her breasts bob with every thrust. Her breasts bouncing might be the most erotic vision I’ve ever witnessed. So even with the break, in a few minutes I can feel myself on the verge of climax--again. As my balls draw up against my body, I reach over and flick B.D.’s clit and that was all she needed. She came apart, screaming my name, just as I started jetting into the condom. My balls pumped semen to the sound of my name from her flushed lips and the feel of her vagina milking me relentlessly. I was in the throes of the most sexually satisfying experience of my life.
It took a few minutes to come back down, but eventually as always, my heartbeat slowed, my breathing grew regular, and my penis started to contract.
“I’ll be right back,” I told her as I rolled her onto the bed, covered her with the comforter, and slipped into the bathroom to dispose of the condom. Then I climbed back under the comforter to spoon her languid body. I kissed the back of her head. “Good night,” I mumbled and drifted off to sleep.
Sometime in the night she jostled me as she tried to climb over.
“I need to hit the head,” she explained. While she was in the bathroom, I took the opportunity to rearrange the pillows and pull back the sheets completely. We had been sleeping just under the comforter which we needed despite having daytime temps that still reached the high nineties; the air-conditioning made a comforter mandatory. It seemed wasteful, but I wasn’t controlling the thermostat.
When B.D. came back to bed, she dipped her head and asked in an embarrassed tone. “Should I go back to my room?”
I immediately and much to my surprise almost shouted, “No, no, no you should stay here until morning. It’s Saturday. You don’t have anything to do, do you? We could have breakfast together.”
“Sure I don’t have anything to do until noon. Someone scheduled me to staff the tutoring center.”
“That was a favor to you. No one will come in, and you can spend the time to get some reading done. If it were up to me, we wouldn’t be open at all, but Sonya insists that we have a few Saturday hours.”
“Sure, sure if you say so,” she replied.
I motioned her back into bed. For some reason, I wanted her on the inside of the bed against the wall. I wanted to be between the door and her so that I could protect her. It was a ridiculous thought. No one was going to break into some random dorm room on the 14th floor. Still, I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep unless I knew she was safe.
B.D. crawled back into bed, and I spooned behind her and quickly fell asleep.
Chapter Thirteen
B.D.
As I lay in David’s protective embrace, my mind raced. I guess Wendy was right about David. He’s definitely not gay. I wonder if she’s right about all the other stuff she told me about him. I wonder if I’m the girl for the semester or just something on the side. If I’m “the girl” will he drop me at Christmas or wait until the next semester. He certainly doesn’t act like a guy who’s planning on cutting me loose in a few months, but maybe this is how he treats the current girl. I hope I haven’t made some terrible mistake. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to go to sleep thinking about this. I should go back to my room.
I tried to shift into a position to crawl over David, but as soon as I moved an inch he clutched me tighter. I sighed, closed my eyes, and eventually went back to sleep.
The next morning, I woke alone in the bed, but I could hear David in the bathroom. I sat up but covered up with a sheet and looked around for my clothes.
“Did I wake you up?” David asked in a soft voice as he returned to bed.
I shrugged as I clutched the sheet to my body.
“Daylight makes you shy, I see.” David commented as he drug the sheet off my body. “We’ll have to fix that,” he mumbled as he lowered his head to suck my breast.
Immediately I sucked in a breath as my clit started to throb.
“I really enjoy unhurried morning sex,” David explained as he shifted to the other breast.
As he lowered me to the bed and laid down beside me, he said, “Slow, comfortable morning sex when the cobwebs are still fogging my brain,” he softly kissed me as his hand trailed down to my sex. I had already started to get wet, so he dipped his index finger inside to slick it then started to slowly massage the bundle of nerves at the top of my sex. Almost immediately I started to get wetter and my breath sped up, but David continued his slow, inexorable path across my sex. He would circle my clit then run his fingers through my slit, then my labia, and then he massaged my clit applying a little more pressure then back to gently circling, stroking my slit, my labia, finishing with a few hard strokes to my clit, then back to circle. The entire time, his mouth plundered mine. Once again, the sensations flooding me were almost too much. My nipples hardened. Goose bumps broke out over my thighs and arms. Then David stopped and slid down so that his head hovered over my pussy. He grinned then pushed my knees as far apart as they would go, grabbed an ass cheek in each hand and brought my pussy to his mouth. He started lapping at my slit and clit like they were the best thing he had ever tasted. Once more, I could feel myself start to come apart. Some part of me began to float out of my body and right then David pinched me, hard.
“Stay with me. I want to watch you watching me making you come.” Then he sat up on his knees, rummaged through his desk drawer, and pulled out a condom which he ripped open and rolled on with practiced efficiency. Then he grabbed both of my hands and pulled then over my head. “Leave them there. And,” he pushed my knees as far apart as the would go, ”leave those there too, naughty girl. I want to see all of you.” He looked me up and down as I lay on the bed completely exposed to him. Then with one hard thrust, he plunged his member completely inside me. I gasped and my eyes flew open.
He looked me in the eye, pinned my arms over my head, and told me in a commanding voice, “Don’t come until I tell you.” Then he started wildly pounding into me.
David
B.D. is so beautiful especially spread before me. Her cheeks and chest are flushed; she’s panting; her lips are parted and wet. I want to savor the moment, but I can’t keep myself from pounding her; she’s so open and willing. Goose bumps pebble B.D.’s arms. She’s trying so hard not to come; I’m about to lose it too. My balls draw up tight. Before I lose it, I yell at B.D. “Come for me baby!”
She screams my name as she comes apart beneath me. A nanosecond later, warm jets of come fill the condom. Her aftershocks milk me for all I’m worth. I close my eyes and enjoy the dregs of my orgasm. When I’m finally finished, I open my eyes in time to see B.D. open her eyes and come back to herself. That moment when she comes back down is so satisfying, because it shows me how high I’ve made her fly.
And quick too. That’s the advantage of morning sex; all the pleasure with half the work. Don’t get me wrong. I truly enjoy spending hours making love to a woman, making her come multiple times, while trying different positions. Still there’s something so satisfying about no-nonsense morning sex.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell B.D. when I get up to dispose of the condom. Even though I’m quick, she’s already got her bra and panties on when I get back. She looks a little forlorn.
�
��I better head out. I don’t want too many witnesses to my first walk of shame,” she explains while getting dressed.
“First, two hallways and three floors in an elevator don’t really count as a walk of shame. And second, I thought we might get some breakfast at Kerbey Lane. By the time we get cleaned up, breakfast will be over in the cafeteria, and I know how you love breakfast, and Kerbey Lane.”
“I do love their gingerbread pancakes,” she claps as the light comes back into her eyes.
“Let’s meet downstairs in 45?” She nods as she checks her phone. “We’ll have a nice leisurely breakfast and get back here in time to open up the tutoring center.”
“Sounds like a plan,” she agrees as she stuffs her stockings into her purse and heads out the door.
B.D.
As I stand in the shower thinking I’ve probably made a colossal mistake, because I already like David—a lot. And I’m sure he’ll dump me in December or maybe January, but at least with all this wining and dining I won’t run out of money in my meal plan like last year. I’ll do my best to protect my heart in the meantime.
I decide to go totally casual with black skinny jeans and a turquoise tie-dyed, v-neck T-shirt. David is all about the v-neck. I go with the black booties that his mother gave me from her samples closet, since it would be too ridiculous to drive essentially just across campus. I finish with my cat necklace and earrings. David likes those too. I finish the look with a messy bun. It’s Saturday morning breakfast. I’m supposed to look rumpled.
David
B.D. looks scrumptious in turquoise and black. She should always wear those colors, and the way she has her hair bunched up on her head causes little ringlets to spring out and frame her face. She walks through a shaft of light and for a moment she looks ethereal as the sunlight bounces off her hair. Then she’s out of the light and smiling as she walks towards me with her arms outstretched making clear that she’s my angel. She gives me a quick hug.
“I could drive, but parking is a hassle and it’s just a nice day, I thought we’d walk.”
“I’m up for a walk too.”
We head out in the general direction of Kerbey Lane and, just like nothing has changed, we fall into gossip about the department. “Do you think Dr. Hrezecovic and Dr. Baker have a thing?” she asks.
“Nah, Dr. Baker is gay. He’s got a long-time significant other who’s an artist. He told me that they were together so long when it was illegal to be married that now it seems beside the point to get married.”
“I had no idea that Dr. Baker was gay. I guess my gadar doesn’t work very well.”
“Clearly not. Dr. Hrezecovic is not gay, but usually if academics don’t find a partner in graduate school, finding one can get dicey.”
“They’re still dicey. Finding a university that can hire both of you is hard. Usually one partner gets marginalized as adjunct faculty. Usually the woman,” B.D. pointed out.
“Not necessarily,” I argued. “Look at Dr. Clayton and her husband—Trey. See we even call him Trey even though he’s got a PhD. He spends his life teaching calculus to people who don’t do math.”
B.D. wrinkled her nose. “I’d hate to teach four sections of “mathematics for life” every semester for the rest of my life.”
“Exactly. Academia is hard on everyone’s love life. Regardless.”
“Yeah,” B.D. said in a dejected voice but then we walked through the doors at Kerbey Lane and that unmistakable smell of coffee, syrup, and sausage hit us and she smiled. “I love Kerbey Lane,” she sighed in a dreamy voice.
“Table for two,” I told the maître d. He waved us through and sat us in a booth near the front of the restaurant. I guess 9:45 is early enough on a Saturday to avoid a wait.
Our server asked for our drink order, but B.D. announced without even looking at the menu that she was ready to order. “You ready?” she asked.
“You go first. I’ll be ready,” I responded.
B.D. squared her shoulders and authoritatively ordered, “I’d like Eggs Francisco with poached not scrambled eggs. And instead of one side, I’d like one gingerbread pancake. For the other side…what’s fruit for today?”
The server drawled: “Strawberry, honey dew, cantaloupe, and pineapple.”
“I’ll have the fruit. And hibiscus mint tea to drink,” she handed her menu to the server.
“I’ll have the California omelet and a banana pancake on the side with home fries and coffee.”
The server took my menu and nodded, “We’ll have it out as soon as possible.”
“So what’s on the agenda for today?” I asked.
“After my tutor duty, I was planning on reading 1984. I’ve got to finish it by the end of the week for my Brit. Lit. class.”
“First, that’s what the tutoring center duty is for. And it’s Saturday. Let me take you out on a real date,” I asked before I even realized I wanted to take her out on a date. I didn’t normally do the whole dinner thing. I liked to hang out and…fuck. Basically that’s all I did with the partner of the moment, but I wanted to spend time with B.D. and give her the experiences she deserved.
B.D.
Huh? I didn’t think David was the dating kind. “Okay, if you think I can get my reading done. Where were you thinking about going?”
“I don’t know. Maybe Jeffrey’s.”
“Jeffrey’s?!!! Hold on there cowboy.” I protested. “I’m saving Jeffrey’s for a big celebration like getting that Marshall Fellowship for graduate school. What about…I heard about this place in south Austin that serves really fresh Mexican food under these ancient oaks. It’s called Frescas.”
David looked interested. “I’ve been wanting to check that place out. I’ll make a reservation.”
Before I had a chance to think about what David was thinking suggesting Jeffrey’s, the food came and all worries were knocked from head by queso and bacon and gingerbread.
At noon, David unlocked both the tutoring center and the writing center. I pulled up the schedule, but no one was on it. I waved to my counterpart sitting across the hall in the writing center. She waved back. “Got any takers?” I yelled.
“Looks pretty dead over here, how about you?” Julia yelled back.
“Nada,” I answered. She shrugged, dug around in her backpack, and pulled out a textbook. I did the same and settled in for a long slog through Orwell’s classic. I had almost finished the book when a frazzled woman rushed into the tutoring center. Her smudged mascara made her look like a raccoon, and her t-shirt was covered in coffee stains. Big sections of her blond hair hung limply from her pony tail like she’d like she’d been pulling on them. “Can you help me with derivatives?”
“Sure.”
“Great!” she flung a binder and textbook down on my desk.
I reached down and grabbed an intake form. “Just fill this out and we can get started.”
She sighed and gave the intake form a pained look that implied it was all more than she could take.
“I can just put your information directly in the computer. Don’t worry about the form,” I consoled. She gave me a grateful look.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
After I got her info in the computer, I asked her to let me see what she was working on.
She opened her textbook and pointed to some pretty standard derivative problems followed by some typical word problems.
“I’m not sure how to start,” she offered.
“Do you know how to take a derivative or what they are?”
“Nope,” she shook her head forlornly.
“Don’t worry. I got you,” I assured her and pulled out some graph paper, drew an arc, and started into the standard beginning explanation of derivatives using the area under an arc and the area and circumference of a circle since one is a derivative of the other.
She gave me a blank look. It wasn’t working. I thought about it for a minute and really looked at her. Even though she was a mess, she was wearing designer sweats, diam
ond studs in her ears, and Prada ballet flats. I only knew they were Prada, because David’s mom was disappointed that the pair she had in samples was too small for me. Something told me that she hadn’t gotten hers from the sample bin.
“Do shop with a credit card?” I asked.
At the word “shop” she perked up. “Of course.”
“Do you pay the credit card bill?”
“Daddy makes me. He gives me an allowance every month and makes me pay the bill. He says that’s the only way I’ll learn the value of money like I don’t know the value of money.” She rolled her eyes.
“Have you noticed that when you don’t use your credit card and make the minimum payments, the minimum payment amount goes down?”
“Yes.”
“And you know the minimum payment is based on a calculation using the principle amount or the amount you owe,” I explained.
“Daddy explained that.”
I nodded. “If you continue to pay it, the amount gets smaller and smaller every month until it approaches zero—theoretically.”
She nodded in agreement.
“So the calculation the credit card company does to figure your minimum payment is a derivative.”
Her eyes got big, “It is?”
“Yes, and you can use derivatives to figure out what your monthly payment will be before you look at your statement, then you can make decisions about spending money not just in any given month, but down the road as well. Want me to show you how?”
She nodded enthusiastically. I drew up a fake credit card statement and then showed her how she could use a derivative to figure out the minimum payments for the next year. I swear I actually saw a light bulb go off over her head and heard a little ding in the air. She turned to her textbook and wrote out the problem and worked it correctly.
I gave her a giant smile. “See, you got it.”
“I get it.” She worked another problem.
“I get it. Why didn’t they just explain it like that to begin with. I didn’t know you could actually do something with this stuff.”
Waves and Light: Opposites Attract Series Page 12