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Damn, I need to get laid. At least, that’s the only explanation I can come up with. There’s no other reason for me to be fantasizing about my syntax professor. He really isn’t hot. Like, I only have these thoughts when he’s writing on the board and I’m staring at his ass. From the front, he isn’t my type. But every time he turns around and starts writing trees on the board I imagine myself laid out across the table in front of him, ankles hooked over his shoulders.
There’s another kid in the class I sometimes imagine making out with, but he’s a freshman, and I’m pretty sure he’s gay. Also definitely not my type. I don’t really want to get with either of them, I just… Oh, hell. I may as well admit it — I just straight up need some dick.
Class ends and I push back from my seat at the table with a sigh and a nod to the professor, who is, as far as I know, ignorant of his activities during class as far as my imagination goes (thankfully). I don’t flirt with him or anything — I think he’s married, and just… no. But it’s pretty clear I have to take some action. I’m not learning anything at all about syntax, and it’s a class in my major. I put it off until senior year because I went abroad as a junior, but now I have to get it done, and I have to get a good grade — I’m applying to grad school at the end of the semester. A D in syntax will not impress admissions committees.
I walk out of the building and jog over to the corner, where the campus shuttle is just pulling up. I like to walk, usually, but a cappella practice is all the way across campus — I’d never make it in time. There’s a cute guy in a seat by himself near the back, but there’s also an empty pair of seats closer to the front. It would be too weird to sit next to him, right? Right.
Ugh, am I gonna have to use Tinder to get laid? That seems stupid — I only signed up as a joke, really. I always figured there were tons of guys to sleep with at college, but it turned out it was harder than I thought. I believe firmly in the old “don’t shit where you eat” adage. I don’t have time for a relationship; between grad school apps, classes, rehearsal and my job, I’m totally maxed out. I just need a one nighter to get my head on straight again. But having it with someone I know is not a good plan.
The media’s always going on about how college students only hook up these days, but it’s not the no-strings-attached bliss they make it out to be. When you hook up with someone in your social circle, things can get messy. People talk, if nothing else. And sometimes it turns out they were saying they just wanted something casual, but they didn’t really mean it. Or the whole thing doesn’t go well, and then you have to face the dude who lasted only thirty seconds over breakfast for the rest of the semester.
I hop off the shuttle in front of the building where we have rehearsal and the cute guy at the back of the bus gives me a smile. I turn and let my hair fall over my face to hide the blush I’m sure is creeping up my face. Too bad — he’s really good looking. But I have to get off — I’m going to be late if I don’t hurry.
By Wednesday night, I’m horny as hell, and I have syntax again the next morning. I have to do something about it, or I’ll miss another lecture’s worth of material thinking about being boned on the table büyükçekmece escort by a balding 42-year-old British dude. I have to scratch my itch.
I complain to my roommate Alex, who’s sitting in the dining hall eating with me, and she just laughs. “Sarah, that’s what fucking Tinder is for. Why are you even talking to me right now? Let me see your phone.”
“What?” I frown and she grabs it out of my hands.
“Sometimes it’s easier if someone else does it for you,” she says, starting to swipe through guys. “Nope. Nope. Ugh, no way. Nope.” She swipes left for almost all the guys, even a couple I think aren’t bad looking.
“Aren’t you being a little harsh here? Some of those guys were okay.”
She laughs and shakes her head. “If you’re having a one night stand, make it with someone hot!”
I can see her point, but I’m not positive we agree on who’s hot. She does finally swipe right on a few dudes, and I have to admit they’re pretty attractive. Still, I’m the one who’s supposed to fuck them. Shouldn’t I be the one choosing? “Alex, come on. Give me the phone back. I can pick my own fuck buddy.”
“Can you?” She raises an eyebrow. “Because I googled a pic of your syntax professor and he’s heinous. I think your judgment is compromised.” She sticks a forkful of lasagna into her mouth. “Trust me, I’m doing you a favor.”
By the time we get up for ice cream, she’s swiped right on something like twenty-five guys. Seriously? “Did you even read the bios on any of those dudes?”
“No way.” She takes a lick of her chocolate cone. “Bios are for after they message you. If they seem crazy, you just say no when they ask you out.”
“Um, wouldn’t it be more efficient to weed out the crazies first?”
Alex rolls her eyes. “Maybe for you, since I was doing all the work. You want bios read, you do it yourself. I was just lending you my eyeballs since yours seem to be fucking broken.”
“Thanks.” I put my phone back in pocket, but it chirps a second afterwards. Somebody has already messaged me. Screw it, I’m not taking the phone back out now. I’ll wait and see in a little while how many hits I’ve gotten.
“Are you gonna come with me to John’s frat’s party?” Alex is putting on lipstick at the mirror over her desk. “You could meet someone there.”
“No way.” I shake my head. “Frat boys are a no. They’re all drunk man-whores.”
“All?” Alex shoots me a look. “Like, including my boyfriend?”
“I don’t know, you tell me.” I laugh. “Sorry, I’m just being a bitch. John is great. But he’s taken.”
“Maybe one of the other ones is also a unicorn?”
“Nope. Doubt it. Besides, if they’re John’s friends, then it’s just… weird. I’m looking for someone I’m never going to see with clothes on.”
Alex laughs. “Got it. Well, hopefully someone from Tinder will pan out! I’m not coming home tonight, so… you do what you gotta do.”
“Thanks.” I open my computer as she walks out the door. I figure I might as well get some work done since I have nothing else going on.
A few minutes later, my phone chirps again. I must have heard it four or five times since dinner — I should look at the messages at least. Can’t win if you don’t play, right? I open Tinder and start reading.
“YO WHATS UP YOUR HOT”
Um… fatih escort no.
“Wow, a college girl, u must be smart huh?”
“you’re a cutie.”
Really? That’s the best you can do?
“Hey, you like pharyngeals, too? Those are by far the best consonants. We should definitely hang out.”
I blink and read again. Someone actually read to the bottom of my bio where I put the stupid phonetics shit? And they understood it? And didn’t think it was lame?
He’s hot, too. Dark hair, blue eyes, arms like a construction worker. This dude knows about linguistics? And he isn’t gay? His name is Kyle. One of the pictures is him on the top of a mountain, a frame pack leaning against a rock nearby. He’s pushing all of my buttons. And he’s on campus, but I’ve never met him before — not one of those friend-of-a-friend situations I’m trying to avoid. Maybe a grad student?
I don’t even bother reading the messages from the last two guys, I just write back to Kyle right away.
“Don’t tell me you speak Berber.”
My phone chirps a few seconds later.
“Ha! I wish. Nope, I’m strictly Indo-European. That’s not a deal-breaker for you, is it?”
“I’m linguistically open-minded. Just wanted to know if I should plan on getting laid tonight. Berber would have pushed you into the zone for sure.”
Oh my god, did I really just write that? Jesus, he’s going to think I’m an insane slut. Way to kill it with the awesomest guy on Tinder. Ugh, why isn’t there an “unsend” button?
“Wow. I’ve never regretted my language study choices so much. I’m totally free tonight. Anything else that could get me in the zone?”
Well, shit. Apparently he doesn’t think I’m an insane slut. Or else he wants to sleep with an insane slut? I’m starting to think either would probably okay. I look at his picture again and a warm feeling starts in my gut. Yup. Either one, probably fine.
“Huh. Well, available is high on my list of desirable attributes, too. Maybe we can hang out and see if your other charms make up for your generic linguistic abilities?”
“I’m fairly confident in my other charms. Let’s get a drink.”
Now the warm feelings are spreading down lower. “Meet you at the pub in 30?” I need a little time to get ready if I’m actually gonna try to score. At least put up my hair and change into sexier underwear.
“Got it. See you then.”
I keep looking down at his picture as I get dressed. This is a good idea, right? Hot, smart, funny, down to fuck. What else could I be looking for in a one-night stand? Besides, you know, disease free. I’ll have to check on that one later.
By the time I’m dressed, I only have a few minutes to make it to the pub. Fortunately it’s just around the corner from my dorm. I flash my ID at the door and then start walking around the place slowly, trying to figure out if Kyle is already there. It’s dark inside, and most of the people I see are already paired up or in groups. God, if he doesn’t show, I’m gonna be really bummed. I try to remind myself that it isn’t a big deal, it’s just a one-night stand — if he doesn’t show up, there are other fish on the menu. But still, I really want him to show.
I go to the bar and order a gin and tonic. I try hard not to order girly drinks on dates — I don’t esenyurt escort want to send the wrong message. Just as the bartender hands me my glass, I see him. Kyle looks exactly like his picture, except he’s taller than I expected. My heart starts thumping in my chest and I take a long swig of my G he slips the shirt up over my breast and pulls my bra cup down so that I’m exposed to the night air. There’s nobody around at the moment, but there could be at any time. I can only moan and make desperate little noises; talking is quite beyond me now.
“I see,” he says, his fingertips running over my hard nipple, pinching it. “It’s all of that, isn’t it? Don’t worry — I’ll give you what you need.”
I blink and try to get ahold of myself. I’m out in the courtyard outside my dorm; any of my classmates could walk by. I need to get us inside so he can fuck my brains out now. I push back against him gently and try to cover myself up. Must get inside.
He sees my efforts and helps me to pull my shirt down. “Let’s start with the first part,” he says. “I need to fuck you. Now. I can’t wait any longer, and I can tell you can’t either. Let’s get inside and find some kind of horizontal surface I can nail you to. We can work on the rest of it after round one.”
I nod, thinking that getting nailed to a horizontal surface by Kyle sounds like the best plan I’ve ever had in my life.
He kisses me one more time and whispers, “But don’t disappoint me, sugar. I really do want you to beg me for it.”
My eyes open wider and I look at his face, trying to figure out if he means it. Because if that’s what it takes, I’ll definitely do it. There is no universe in which I’m going home alone tonight, and I don’t care what it takes to get him there with me. “You’re serious.”
He nods. “Dead serious. Please don’t hold out. I’m dying for it, but I’d never fuck a girl who doesn’t want it even more than I do.” He leans down and presses his mouth to my collarbone and I feel a muscle spasm deep inside. “And if you’re half as hot for it as I am you’ll beg me.”
He kisses my neck again and I gasp out loud. “Fuck! Stop torturing me.”
“That’s close,” he murmurs into my ear. “But you can do better. What do you want me to do?”
His hand travels down my back to grab my ass and he grinds against me again. “Please,” I whisper, not knowing what to say. I have to figure out what the magic word is, because I need him to take me inside right now. “Please, please, please fuck me.”
Apparently that’s good enough for him, because he pulls me off the back of the bench, grabs my hand and heads towards the door.
My legs are quivering as we walk the last twenty steps to my building and press my ass up against the keypad, my wallet in my back pocket unlocking the door. This is not like any other one night stand I’ve had. I expected… I don’t know. Awkward seduction? Drunken fumbling? This is like a full frontal assault of sex hormones. I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck made of pheromones or something. I fumble with my keys in the lock, and he attacks me as soon as we’re inside.
My room is a mess; Alex always leaves it looking like a bomb went off when she gets ready to go out. Kyle doesn’t notice. He’s got me on the first piece of furniture next to the door, which happens to be Alex’s desk. I’m grabbing onto his shoulders, and he brushes a bunch of papers and makeup and stuff to the floor, settling my ass onto the desk in front of him. For a second I wonder if Alex is going to be pissed, and then I realize she’s going to be stoked that I finally got some action. Immediately after this, I stop thinking at all and just concentrate on holding myself up while he touches me.
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