Knocked Up on Valentine's Day

by Amy Brent

  I was profiled in Psychology Today Magazine and interviewed by the Journal of Psychiatry.

  I made the rounds of every TV show from Good Morning America to Ellen to 60 Minutes and become a national celebrity.

  Women lined up to hear me speak at conferences, and I got a couple dozen marriage proposals a day.

  All because I wrote a book on how pussy affects the brain.

  What do I have in common with Hugh Hefner, Larry Flynt, and the dude who owns The Bunny Ranch Whorehouse in Vegas? We all have big houses and fancy cars that were bought and paid for by pussy.

  Again, is this a great country or what?

  CHAPTER TWO: Wynn

  “Tell us, Wynn,” Monica said, smiling at me from over the top of her tea cup as our meeting came to a close. “How ever did you come up with the idea for this book?”

  “That’s a great question, Monica,” I said with a smile. “I was teaching a class on psychology at Midwestern University and…”

  I let my eyes go around the table as I told them the lie. They were all watching me, animated, leaning in. Like fish in a barrel. I wondered which one I should fuck first. Monica. Sure. Start at the top and work my way down.

  The truth was, I was a professor at Midwestern University when the idea for the book came to me, but it was not during a class. It was around nine o’clock on a Saturday night, while I was in a guest bathroom fucking the shit out of the wife of my boss, Jefferson Milton, the head of the psychology department.

  Jefferson’s wife Jean was a buxom forty-something with strawberry blonde hair and milky white skin who had a thing for younger men with large cocks who were willing to fuck her on command. Like within the first thirty minutes of meeting her while her husband and other guests were having drinks and hors’deuvres downstairs.

  Jean and I met the night Jefferson invited all the psyche professors over for a new semester meet and greet at his home. At the time, I was sleeping on my best pal Professor Holden Moss’ couch and screwing my way through the various sororities on campus. We professors were not supposed to screw our students, but we all did it. Even old Jefferson Milton himself was known to tap a piece of hot young ass every now and then, though I never ratted him out to his wife. There is a Bro Code we men must abide by or we have to turn in our testicles and our Man Card.

  Holden was also a psyche professor at Midwestern U and had been my best friend for years. We shared everything. A house. Car. Food. Booze. Pussy. Holden and I weren’t shy around each other. If one of us had a woman who we thought would enjoy a good threesome, we’d go all in. And we went all in a lot in those days. We ended up double-teaming Jean several times while Jefferson was out of town at various conferences and speaking events. I had never personally met a woman who could take two very large dicks inside her cunt at once. Talk about talent. Jean was dripping with it. And Holden kept cracking me up, telling me to give him ball room. That asshole.

  Jefferson had just welcomed everyone to his home, a beautiful old Victorian on the edge of campus, and introduced us to his wife, Jean, who was stunning in a black cocktail dress that showed off her big tits and curves. She caught me looking at her tits a few times, but she just smiled and kept talking to whomever she was talking to at that moment. That’s when we really started eyeing one another from across the room.

  While the other guests ate and mingled, I went upstairs in search of the bathroom. I was just zipping up and about to wash my hands when I heard the tap at the door.

  “It’s occupied!” I said, turning on the water and looking at myself in the mirror. I was holding up pretty well for an old surfer slash academic. That was one of the reasons I went into teaching in the first place, so I would have time to surf. I was raised in California and was surfing before I could even walk. Then I moved from California to the freakin’ Midwest, where surfing didn’t exist. The only reason I even had a tan was because Holden had a pal who owned a boat and we spent weekends on it. Now, I’m back living on the beach in Malibu. I guess what goes around does come around if you just give it enough time.

  I was just thirty-nine, tall, shaggy blond hair, kept in good shape playing on a campus rugby team and swimming at the natatorium every day. I was wearing one of Holden’s sport coats over a black Polo and ratty jeans. I knew I’d never get rich being a psyche professor, but I made enough to keep myself in fast food, booze and pussy, the three staples of most professors’ lives. And at that moment, pussy was knocking at the door.

  “It’s Jean,” she said quietly. “Open the door.’

  I smiled at myself in the mirror, wondering what took her so long, and dried my hands on the fluffy towel hanging on the rack. I opened the door to see her standing there with a wine glass in each hand and a devious grin on her face.

  “Can I come in?” she asked, coming through the door without waiting for permission, then bumping her ass into the door to close it. She held out one of the wine glasses and nodded at me. “Take it while I lock the door.”

  “Uh… okay…” I said, acting all innocent, taking the wine glass and a step back. I gave her a blank look as my eyebrows went up. “Did you need to use the bathroom or…”

  “Or what?” she asked. She brought the wine glass to her red lips and smiled at me from over the top of it. She had beautiful, dangerous eyes. My granny would have said she had the devil dancing in her eyes as she took a step closer, forcing me back against the sink.

  “Or…” I held out my hands and let her step into me. She mashed her body to mine and my cock immediately sprang to life. “Uh… Mrs. Milton, I’m not sure this is such a good idea.”

  “You can call me Jean,” she said, straddling my legs, grinding her pussy into my cock. She mashed her big melon tits against my chest. Her tits spilled out of the top of the black cocktail dress. I had to resist rubbing my nose in her cleavage. “And I’ll call you Wynn.”

  “Okay… Jean…” I said, swallowing the big lump that had formed in my throat. My cock kept growing in response to her cunt rubbing against it. Her tits mashed against my chest. I licked my lips and stared into her eyes. “What can I do for you, Jean?”

  “You can show me your big, hard cock,” she said, rubbing the tip of her nose to mine. She pressed her cheek to mine, then trailed her tongue around the rim of my ear. “Better still, you can just take it out and fuck me with it.”

  I took a nervous glance toward the door. “What about your husband? The others?”

  “My husband is a pompous windbag who now has a captive audience,” she said, reaching around to set her drink on the sink behind me. Her hands came back around to the front of my jeans. She rubbed her palm against my erection and cooed into my mouth. “And now, apparently, I have a captive audience of my own.”

  “Apparently, you do,” I said with a smile.

  She stepped back, got to her knees on the shaggy rug in front of me, and quickly ripped open my belt and pants. She hooked her fingers in the waistband and shoved my jeans and boxers down my legs. My twelve-inch cock sprang up and bounced in the air for a moment. When she saw it, her eyes grew wide and she licked her lips.

  “Oh my, Wynn, what a lovely cock you have,” she said as the fingers of her right hand went around the veiny shaft and the fingers of her left hand went for my balls. Her hand started moving back and forth, back and forth. I sucked in a quick breath and braced my palms against the counter to keep my knees from buckling.

  “The better to fuck you with, my dear,” I said, arching my back so my cock stuck out even more. She hummed as her hand started sliding slowly up and down the shaft, then pressed her lips to the head, which looked like a crimson balloon about to pop. When little drops of precum oozed from the slit, she hummed again and licked them away.

  “God, your cock is so fucking big,” she said, hands working in tandem, her lips leaving lipstick on the head, tongue teasing the slit. “Jefferson has a cock like… an old man… not you… mmm… yours is… this is… fucking…mmm… magnificent...”

  “Uh�
�� thanks…” I said, closing my eyes and trying to keep my breathing steady. The last thing I needed was to prematurely shoot my load all over her face and tits, though that would be something I did many times in the coming months. “Fuck… Mrs. Milton… I mean… Jean… that’s… wow… amazing…”

  She held the shaft steady as her lips closed around the head. She pumped the shaft and sucked the head like a piece of hard candy, slurping it noisily. I just watched in awe as she opened her mouth and took my cock in until the tip hit the back of her throat. The six inches of shaft left outside her mouth was being serviced by her hand milking slowly back and forth. I watched her slowly draw her lips back over the shaft, then use her spit to lube the entire thing. After a minute of this, I knew that I was getting damn near close to exploding in her mouth.

  “Let me… fuck you... Jean,” I said, reaching for her. She smiled up at me with my cock resting between her lips, then let me help her to her feet. She reached around behind and unzipped the cocktail dress. When it fell to the floor, I felt the breath catch in my throat. She was totally naked, with a freakin’ rockin’ body right out of Penthouse magazine. How the hell did old professor Milton get this gorgeous woman to even notice him was behind me. She was one of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen.

  She took a step back so I could take in her body. She was full figured, shapely, not a flaw that I could see, sexy as hell. She cupped her bulbous breasts in her palms and rolled her thick nipples under her thumbs. She had a dark bush, neatly trimmed. I could see her plump clit hood and pussy lips glistening already with her juices.

  “Fuck me from behind,” she said. “So, I can watch you in the mirror.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said, sidestepping her with my jeans and boxers still around my ankles and my cock sticking out like a tree limb. She pressed her palms on the counter, got onto her tiptoes, and stuck out her gorgeous ass. I looked toward the ceiling and gave a silent thank you. I took my cock in my hand and stroked it as I guided the head to her pussy hole, which was pink and dripping with anticipation.

  “Fuck me hard, Wynn,” she said, smiling at me in the mirror. Her big tits swung beneath her. “Fuck me really hard.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said again. I took a step closer as the head of my cock pressed to her hole, then easily slid inside her. I dug my fingers into her hips and watched her in the mirror as my cock impaled her an inch at a time. Her eyes were closed. Her mouth was open. I could hear her exhale with every inch invading her from behind. When I felt the tip of my cock hit her innermost wall, I slowly pulled out until the head appeared, then slid back in again.

  “Oh… fuck…” she moaned, eyes closed, head hanging. “You are… so… fucking… huge… my pussy… stretching… oh… fuck... yes… yes…”

  God, she was tight. Tight as any twenty-year old I’d ever fucked, and I’d fucked a lot of them. Her pussy suctioned around my cock, gripping it tight. I could feel her cunt muscles squeezing my shaft as it slid in and out, in and out. It didn’t take long before I could feel the orgasm building deep inside my balls like a volcano about to blow.

  “Faster… Wynn… faster... fuck me… faster…”

  I dug my fingers into her sides and started slamming it to her, ramming her wet pussy with my hard cock as fast and hard as I could without hurting either of us. Her big tits swung like pendulums from her chest. She opened her eyes to look at me in the mirror. Her mouth was open, her tongue draped across her bottom lip like a panting dog.

  “Fuck… Jean… I’m going… to… fuck…cum…”

  “Cum with me… baby…” she moaned, pushing her ass back toward me until my cock rammed against her cervix. “Cum in me… cum… harder… fuck… yes… yes… yes…”

  For the life of me, I had no idea how the other twenty people at the party didn’t hear us going at it like wild animals. I totally forgot that I was in Professor Milton’s upstairs guest bathroom fucking his hot wife. And Jean didn’t seem to care. She was practically wailing as she came all over my cock, squirting, drenching me, milking me with her magic pussy.

  When it was over, I fell against her and reached around to get a handful of her big tits. She wiggled her ass against me and smiled in the mirror.

  “What were you thinking?” I asked playfully as I nipped at her shoulder. That’s when she said the words that changed my life forever. She smiled at me in the mirror again and gave her ass a little wiggle.

  “I wasn’t thinking,” she said. “My pussy was.”

  I blinked at her for a moment as a tiny spark of an idea went off in my brain. “Your pussy was thinking?”

  She pushed herself up and leaned back against me. My hands cradled her tits. I rested my chin on her shoulder to stare at her. She said, “You know how men think with their cocks?”

  I gave her a nod. “Yes.”

  “Well, women think with their pussies. And my pussy thought it would be a great idea to meet your big cock.” She turned to face me and reached down to take my damp, softening cock in her hand. She rubbed the head of my cock against her clit and sighed. “So, Professor Wynn Driver’s cock, nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise,” I said as she moved to sit on the toilet to clean herself off.

  As I pulled up my pants and stuffed my cock back into my boxers, her words stuck in my brain.

  What’s your pussy thinking?

  What’s Your Vagina Thinking?

  A year later it would be a question I’d be asking the world.

  And the world—or at least many of those in the world with pussies—would be more than happy to answer.

  CHAPTER THREE: Judith “Jude” Allen

  “I can’t believe you’re reading this book,” Izzy said after plopping down on the sofa next to me and picking up my dog-eared copy of What’s Your Vagina Thinking? from the coffee table. I had been sitting peacefully on the couch in our little off-campus apartment working on the dissertation for my Master’s psychology class when she blew into the room like a hurricane and started giving me crap.

  Izzy—Isabelle Miranda Parks, to be exact—was a beautiful black girl from Atlanta who was mastering in clinical psychology at Midwestern. She was tops in her class and had a brilliant mind for psychology, though her boisterous personality and foul mouth would probably belie that fact to anyone who didn’t know her.

  Izzy had been my roommate and best friend since freshman year. Now, four years later, we were both in grad school at Midwestern and were just a few semesters away from starting our professional lives.

  Izzy as a clinical psychologist and me, well, I wasn’t sure what I would do with my life yet. I would graduate with a Master’s in Psychology, but I was now thinking about getting my Doctorate, so I could practice as a psychiatrist.

  Honestly, like so many people do, I got into psychology to address my own mental health issues, to figure out my own warped shit, primarily because I thought I was a nymphomaniac with an older man complex.

  Now, with the help of my lover, Professor Holden Moss, I had figured out that I wasn’t really a nympho, just a horny bitch who liked to fuck older guys. Just coming to that revelation cleared the way for me to devote my time to helping others do the same.

  “Why aren’t there any pictures of actual pussies in this book?” Izzy asked, clicking her tongue as she flipped through the book written by Holden’s best pal, Dr. Wynn Driver. “Girl, there ain’t a single pussy in this book, thinking or otherwise. That title is false advertising!”

  “The title is a metaphor,” I said, doing my best to sound serious despite the smile that was itching at my lips. “It’s about the female anatomy’s effect on the brain.”

  “Like a man thinking with his dick,” she said, shaking her head as she scanned the chapters.

  “Yes, pretty much.”

  “What the fuck ever,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Still, if the title says it’s about a thinking pussy, I wanna see pictures of thinking pussies!”

  “Maybe your pussy thinks too much,” I sai
d, giving her a sideways grin.

  “Girl, the problem with my pussy is Earl don’t give it time to breathe, much less think!” She cackled at herself and slapped the book on her thighs. Izzy had been dating Earl Winston, the extremely cocky and arrogant captain of the Midwestern University Buccaneers, for nearly three years. Earl had offered to fix me up with his football buddies, but I had always declined. I was never into jocks that much, and now that I was involved with Professor Holden Moss, Earl had stopped trying.

  It wasn’t that I averse to screwing a hunky football player every now and then, but I preferred sex with educated men. Okay, the truth was, I loved the idea of being The Teacher’s Pet—and no I did not consider that to be a psychology issue I had to deal with.

  I loved being dominated, commanded, directed, coddled, being taken care of. And I loved giving as good as I got. I had always been attracted to smart men… brilliant men… teachers… professors... doctors… scientists… sorry, no lawyers (a girl has to have her standards). For some reason, the thought of sleeping with a lawyer just made my skin crawl.

  Izzy turned the book over and grunted at the photo of the author on the back. “Mmmm mmm mmm… Now there’s a man I could do some damage to. Wynn Driver… wonder if he likes hot chocolate?”

  “I’m sure he does,” I said with a smile. “From what Holden tells me, Wynn Driver loves women of all shapes, sizes, colors, ethnicities…”