by Lainey Davis
I lick my lips slowly and say, "What, then?"
Neal leans in even further, whispering right into my ear. "Your tits, Dahlia. And the feel of your dripping wet pussy in my hand." Then Neal licks my ear, and he presses his fingers into my body. That's all it takes. Right there in the middle of the fourth floor stacks, I cum on Neal Sweeney's hand. I'm unable to stifle the moan that emerges, my eyes shut tight. My breath comes fast and shallow and neither of us moves as I try to calm down, but the orgasm I just felt has shaken me. I had no idea my clitoris could do that, could feel that good.
He startles me back to earth by talking, his mouth still on my ear. "Next time, you're going to cum on my tongue and you won't be able to keep quiet about it, Dahlia," he says. Then he abruptly stands up. I turn my head to stare at him, my brown eyes wide as he calmly slides his papers into his bag and walks out of the library.
He turns back once to look at me, winks, and pushes his way into the stairwell. I pull out my water bottle and thirstily guzzle half of it as I try to organize my thoughts. Ok, think. What the hell just happened?
I spend about five minutes trying to make sense of it all, and I give up. I need to find Linda.
~~~
"Wow, Dahlia. That's…that's really unlike you."
I must make a horrified face at her, because Linda is quick to continue. "I know, I know! You know this. But wow. I mean…he's a student of yours basically. And he got you off in public? Public! That's fucking hot."
Linda is well aware of my desperately unexciting love life up until this point. I've had a handful of less than notable sexual experiences with other guys--a few random guys from somewhere in the science department. I went on a few dates with each of them, slept with each of them once, and then never called again. The sex was…well, before today I would have called it fine. After what I felt today in the library, I'm very aware that I had no idea what good sex felt like.
"Linda," I breathe. "It was…I never felt anything like that." She nods. "Not even…not even with myself!"
I know I'm blushing now, but I need to tell someone what happened or I'll somehow convince myself it was a dream. Nobody just dishes out orgasms like that in the library. Just casually making my clit explode by barely touching me through my jeans.
"All right, look," she says. "It's obvious that you can't stop tutoring him because you need the money."
"Right," I say.
"But it's also obvious that he's, like, seriously gifted at giving out orgasms."
"Right again."
She nods as she chokes down the last of the Hamburger Helper I made, one of three foods I can cook. "The way I see it is you have to fuck him to get it out of your system. Neither of you is going to be able to concentrate on math otherwise."
"Linda! You can't be serious! That's…that's totally unethical." I feel the lame words falling out of my mouth and I know neither of us believes I'm going to be able to follow through. I mean, it is unethical. But I'm also 21 years old, damn it. I deserve to have good orgasms. "He's obviously had a lot of practice. I'd just be, like, a bedpost notch."
"Did he really say he's going to make you scream?" she asks. I nod, finishing up my food. She raises her eyebrows. "It sounds like it'd be worth it." Both of us sigh. It's going to be a long week.
Chapter Three
By the time I meet Neal at the library for our next session, I've decided not to mention what happened. This seems like the right course of action, because he acts like absolutely nothing is amiss. He greets me with a "Hey, Dahlia," and sits across from me, ready to work. He raps his knuckles on the desk when we finish, waves, and saunters off. This continues for two weeks and I have almost convinced myself I imagined his invasion.
The day before his first exam, I agree to meet him in the Earl since he has a late practice and needs to fit studying around his wait for his turn with the trainer afterward. The space is buzzing with activity, and there are actually a number of hockey players meeting with tutors in the cushy armchairs in the common room. I feel like a dwarf among all these giant, muscular men. I try to maintain my professional composure as they stagger out from the showers, smelling of soap and muscle ointment.
I recognize a few of them from leading group sessions previous years. One guy, Tyler, smiles and sits down. "Hey, math girl, right?" I nod. "You really helped me get through that class you know," he says. He leans back and does the man spread, legs splayed wide enough that his knee bumps mine.
"I'm glad to hear it," I say. "I want to teach college math someday."
He nods. "You'll be better at it than whatever windbag teaches freshman math. You here for study hall?"
I'm about to answer him when Neal comes stomping over with his folder. He swats Tyler's arm off the edge of the chair and says, "She's with me." I open my mouth to clarify that I'm here to work on math with Neal, but the thrill of hearing him suggest I might be with him makes me shudder. I'm sort of frozen in my chair with my mouth hanging open and Tyler looks between Neal and me with a confused look. "You're in my seat, Ty," Neal grunts.
"Hey, man, no worries," he says, easing up with popping joints. He pats Neal on the back and says, "You're in good hands." Tyler winks at me and walks off. I can tell that Neal is upset by this interaction, and I feel smug. My mind is in overdrive, trying to understand all this alpha male posturing that just happened. And why would I ever feel pride that Neal seems jealous of Tyler?
Nothing makes sense this year. I am quiet as I line up the flashcards for our review session, but I can feel Neal staring at me. I look up and his eyes are dark and angry. The look is enough to stop me from my organizing, and I furrow my brow until he speaks. "Did you sleep with Tyler?"
"What? What are you talking about? Jesus, Neal." The idea literally never occurred to me. Sure, Tyler is nice looking. Everyone on the hockey team is nice looking. I'm about to explain to Neal that I would never get involved with a tutoring student, when I remember that he's had his hand in my crotch…twice. "I just know him from leading study groups here."
Neal rolls his eyes, giving me a "whatever" look. "Besides," I hiss at him under my breath, "What's it matter to you who I sleep with? You're my tutoring client, Neal. We shouldn't even be talking about this."
He raises an eyebrow at me and I bite my lip. I tuck my legs up under me on the chair, creating distance between us. Hopefully, this will be his only round-about reference to what happened in the library. Although I'm lying if I said I could forget. Shit, I'm in trouble, I think.
I sigh. "Look, you're doing really well on your quizzes and I think you're going to do fine on this test. Let's just go through the problems from the practice exam, ok?"
Neal barely speaks for the next half hour, but he gets each question right with only gentle prodding about which equation he needs for each. I feel proud that he's obviously a good student when he applies himself and I'm smiling ear to ear as I watch him solve the bonus problem correctly. I place a hand on his knee to congratulate him, and I feel his skin sizzle beneath my fingers. Or is it my hand that's on fire? I withdraw my arm slowly, and his eyes meet mine, when I see the trainer poke his head out of the therapy room.
"Sweeney, you're up!"
Neal looks over at him and gives a salute, bending to pick up his stuff. "Guess this is it," he says.
I smile and put my hand back on his knee, giving him what I hope is an appropriate squeeze. "You're going to do great," I say. Except all I can think about is how wide his leg feels under my hand and how his powerful muscles feel under my small fingers. This, of course, quickly leads to me imagining how he'd feel on top of me. As I watch him hobble into the training room, I have to bite my tongue so I don't shout after him, asking him when he'll make good on his promise to make me cum again.
Back in my apartment, I have to touch myself in bed so I'm able to fall asleep. When I cum, I'm thinking of Neal, of me sitting on top of him in those overstuffed armchairs, naked and straddling his waist, bouncing up and down his massive cock.
> The next day, I check my email in between classes to find one from my boss. He's asking me to skip my afternoon class and meet him in his office. "Shit!" I shout into the empty computer lab. What the hell could he want that's so important I'm supposed to skip an advanced logic course?
I respond that of course I'll be there, and I dash off to the math building. I'm running through a thousand scenarios in my head, wondering if Neal told Tyler about the library and Tyler ratted me out for some reason. The only other person who knows is Linda, and she would never tell. If I lose my funding, she loses the other half of the rent money.
I've basically got myself in a panic by the time I knock on Professor Meyer's door. His tone sounds chipper, though, as he says, "Come in, Dahlia, come on in!"
I walk in the door and see Professor Meyer sitting across the desk from a man who seems vaguely familiar. He's wearing an SCU polo and khakis, looking out of place in the building full of math professors in shirts and ties. How do I know this guy…I'm racking my brains, but they're both smiling, so I try to tell myself to calm down.
Professor Meyer gestures to the other chair and says, "Coach Thomas, this is Dahlia Ward…I just can never pronounce it. Well anyway, this is the young lady who has been working with your Mr. Sweeney!" My palms start sweating and I rub them frantically along the sides of my jeans, thankful I chose a black turtleneck today to hide the sweat pools seeping from my armpits. "Dahlia, we have just learned that Mr. Sweeney earned an 85% on his math exam!"
I can't help but smile. My whole body relaxes. I'm proud of Neal, but I'm proud of myself, too. I was able to convey math concepts to another person who had truly no interest in learning them, and I did it well enough that he kicked ass on his exam. Professor Meyer continues, "Yes and the class average was a 77 for that test!" He is practically bubbling with excitement. I start to wonder if all along he just wanted Neal to feel excited about math.
Coach Thomas claps me on the back. "We really needed Sweeney to stay eligible to play. You probably saw that his grades are pretty lousy. There's a reason we didn't have him try out freshman math until his senior year!" Coach and Professor Meyer share a hearty laugh, which makes me feel uncomfortable. I start to realize how little control Neal has over his life at this school. Sure, he's here for free, but he practices around the clock, has to eat what the nutritionist says, and can't go to bed at night until he gets his sore muscles massaged. All so he can do it the next day. I guess he also doesn't get any say in what classes he even attempts.
"Neal is a really fast learner," I start to say, but Professor Meyer interrupts me.
"Dahlia, I was telling Coach Thomas how you've been leading the group study sessions since you were a freshman and now you've obviously found your stride doing some one on one tutoring. I also know you're looking to enroll in the PhD program at Penn next year." This conversation is taking a confusing turn for me. Especially considering that up until a moment ago I assumed I was going to get fired for letting Neal diddle my clit in the library.
Coach Thomas nods. "I'm pretty tight with the hockey coach over there in Philly," he says. "We've been division rivals for years!"
Professor Meyer plants his hands flat on the desk and leans forward. "I sometimes hate that this is the way things work, Dahlia, but athletic boosters really bring in a lot of funding for universities like this one. There are a lot of people eager to see Neal Sweeney continue skating in an SCU jersey. Coach Thomas tells me he's likely to get picked in the NHL draft, which means we'll be seeing SCU listed on television for years as his alma mater."
The two men are nodding as if they understand what's happening, but I feel like I've missed something. I must look confused, because Professor Meyer says, "Coach Thomas knows that you're a work-study student. He agreed to make a call for you at Penn, Dahlia."
My mouth falls open as I think I begin to understand what's happening here. My mind is swirling as I realize that my dad's failure to sign a fucking financial aide form might be slowly transforming into an opportunity for me to attend graduate school. Coach Thomas thumps me on the back, as if I were one of his hockey players. "You get Sweeney through this class, and I'll make sure the folks at Penn have a fellowship for you tutoring in their athletic department."
I'm stunned into silence. An ivy league doctoral degree in mathematics has been a pipe dream for me, one I listed in hushed tones as a far-off fantasy. The fact that I might be able to earn it while also helping to teach math to students who might struggle sounds like the best bonus imaginable. I blurt out, "I absolutely love working with students who feel intimidated by math. I just love finding the key to helping them understand the concepts!" I look back and forth between the two men. "Is there really a fellowship available just tutoring the hockey team?" My mind races, imagining a gold nameplate reading "Dr. Dahlia Wardzinksi.
Coach Thomas winks at me and says, "As long as your own grades are good enough, right Meyer?"
Professor Meyer laughs. Coach Thomas rises to leave and says over his shoulder, "Wish you could find me a gal like this to help my goalie get through his psych class!" He closes the door with a bang and I listen as his large body moves down the hallway.
"Professor Meyer, I just don't know what to say. This is all really overwhelming," I start to stutter.
He smiles at me and meets my eye. "You're one of our brightest students, Dahlia. I fully anticipate that you'll earn a Fields Medal someday." This causes me to blush and I feel my whole body tingling with excitement. All my work over the past few years of college seems to be coming together in the best ways imaginable.
"How are you approaching the work with Mr. Sweeney, anyway, Dahlia? I know he has Briggs for freshman math. And I see that a number of students are doing poorly in that course. Hm, maybe you can offer me some insight into how Briggs could more effectively reach his students?"
The blush is back, but for entirely different reasons. I know that Neal is doing well because he's working hard, but part of me can't help but wonder how the incident at the library fits into his success in the classroom. "Oh," I stammer. "Mostly I break out each concept onto its own separate flashcard. It seems like a lot of the lectures cover multiple concepts at once and I noticed Neal does better when the information is separated."
Professor Meyer nods and we spend a few minutes talking about teaching strategies. He really makes me feel confident that I can have a future as a graduate student, and by the time I get back to my apartment a bit later, I'm almost floating.
When I tell Linda, she squeals with me and starts jumping up and down. It's like this gives me permission to finally let out all my excitement. We scream for a bit in the living room, dancing like fools. She says, "We need to go out tonight and celebrate."
"Ah, Linda, I mean it's not a done deal yet. Neal needs a 70% to stay eligible…"
"Come the fuck on, Dahlia. You really think he's going to get less than a 55 on his final? Go put on your party pants. We're going to the Tap Room and I'm buying you a shot."
I pout my lip for a minute, but say, "Ok, fine, I will come out with you for one drink, but not because I am celebrating. I will come with you because I've been stressed out and it's good to unwind sometimes."
We both laugh, and then she forces me to put on a dress and we walk across the street to the bar. Our little college town basically has one street lined with apartment buildings, another lined with bars, and the university up the hill. As I walk into the Tap Room I can see the form of the hockey arena up on campus. I smile, smooth out the skirt of my dress, and follow Linda into the bar.
Chapter Four
An hour later, I'm nursing a beer slowly, sitting at a table with a bunch of people from our building. I'm feeling happy and relaxed after a shot of bourbon and half a beer and I'm enjoying the conversation around me. Everyone is starting to talk about their plans for after graduation. I feel my phone vibrate in my coat pocket and see that I've got a text from Neal.
Hey. Got a B on my math test.
I hea
rd! I'm really happy for you. I knew you could do it. I smile as I sip the last dregs of my beer.
He writes back. Celebrate with me.
I send him a balloon and party hat emoji.
I want to make you cum tonight, Dahlia. My heart stops for a second. I look up, but nobody seems to notice what I'm doing in the corner. Where RU? he writes.
Neal, I can't do that.
You're already wet for me, he writes back. I shiver a little, because it's true. From the second I saw his name on my phone I was squirming in my seat. Now my cotton panties are drenched at the thought of him just texting me, offering me another round of the unspeakable pleasure I felt at the library.
Where R U?? he writes again, and I think about everything that happened today.
I think about how elated I was at the opportunity to go to graduate school for free, but also how that opportunity is dependent on him doing well in his class. Which definitely means I can't have sex with him or even let him feel me up. Ever.
