Schooled 4.0

by Deena Bright

  “How about this? How about you do whatever you want—any way you want and… and… I let you… no holding back?” I offer, trying to hide my reddening face.

  Being this bold sexually is not my typical demeanor, but I’m ready to do some exploration of my own. I’ll admit it; I want to experience what Vivian has been raving about for the past week and half. Ever since I admitted to her about my lack of experience on our drunken night out, she has been relentless describing in graphic details about everything I’ve been missing by not allowing Kyle to go to “Y-town” as she calls it. Vivian claims that she’ll stop being so detailed and vulgar once I let my inhibitions go and let Kyle do his magic.

  There’s something about Vivian that I just can’t say, “No,” to. She’s straightforward and bold, which is the antithesis of me. But her strength of character and intelligence are unlike anyone’s I’ve ever known before. When we talk, we talk for hours on end, but it’s not mundane and humdrum. She’s an intellectual with a witty and raunchy mind. It’s refreshing. With people, you usually get smart, stiff, and poised or vulgar, crass, and obnoxious. Never both. Vivian is all of the above—and about the most persuasive person I’ve ever met. So, it’s no wonder I’m sitting here telling Kyle to go down on me.

  “Anything?” Kyle asks, his eyes widening. “Well you know damn well what I’m starting with then.” As he unbuttons each button of my shirt, I watch his every move. “Look at you!” he marvels, “You’re eyes are open.”

  “Well why wouldn’t they be?” I ask, confused.

  “Sarah, every time we fool around, your eyes are sealed shut like you want to block me out. Tonight… tonight… you… you actually seem like you’re into this,” he explains honestly. Sitting up, he takes off his shirt and then finishes unbuttoning mine.

  Kyle really is attractive. Girls are always flirting with him. He’s got that sweet boy-next-door look, complete with the big brown puppy dog eyes and deep, round dimples. If I didn’t trust him so much, then I’d probably worry about him when we weren’t together. But I don’t have to worry; he’s just so trustworthy and loyal.

  Loyal.

  I can just hear Vivian mocking me for calling him “loyal,” and see her rolling her eyes at the mention of his name. I really should just introduce them, so that she’ll see firsthand how wonderful he is and how lucky I am to have him.

  “Kyle, I’m watching now, and I can’t wait to see what you’re going to do next,” I prompt, surprising myself.

  Honestly, I’m enjoying this boldness, this take-charge attitude. Up until now it wasn’t me, but maybe it should be. It does feel kind of good. I always said that I wanted to evolve in college. What better evolution is there than sexual evolution? Like Vivian said, “It’s win-win for everyone.”

  Once my shirt is unbuttoned, Kyle opens it, exposing my chest. “You’re so hot,” he moans. Immediately, his trite phrase makes my mind wander, but I succeed in forcing myself to stay in the moment.

  “Oh yeah, so are you,” I compliment, running my nails down his back. It’s the first time I’ve ever spoken to him—to anyone—during sex.

  “God Sarah,” he groans into my ear, “I don’t know what’s come over you, but I like it… I like it so fucking much.”

  “Yeah, show me what else you like,” I say, cringing at my words, trying to hold back my laughter. There’s no way that people really get into this and like talking to each other like this.

  Kyle pulls my bra up over my chest, freeing my breasts. He presses them together and alternates between licking my nipples and tugging one and then the other. This will most likely last for one or two minutes, until he gets bored or too worked up. Then, he’ll take off my pants. He’s got a system and very rarely does he stray from it—unless we’re just pulling a “quickie.” However, much like Jake, sex with Kyle is pretty much always a “quickie.”

  After he yanks my pants down and slides my underwear off, he kisses his way down my stomach. Licking my bellybutton, he maneuvers himself between my legs, continuing to work his way further down between my legs. Momentarily, he pauses and looks up at me. I assume since this is normally the point that I stop him that he’s awaiting my approval. I take a deep breath, spread my legs a bit further, and nod my assent.

  Kyle massages and kisses my thighs, kneading the flesh of my legs, while licking his way inward. Mentally, I will myself to relax my eyes, my face, my arms, and my entire body, mimicking the relaxation exercises that end the one yoga class I went to. I found yoga to be absurd and pretty much giggled the entire time.

  No. Focus. This is not about yoga. Pleasure. Find pleasure Sarah.

  When Kyle touches me at the center, I move my hips, permitting him to do as he pleases. I open my eyes and tilt my head upward, watching his tongue slowly make contact with me… once… twice… until he’s rolling his tongue all around my clit. I tighten, feeling very vulnerable and exposed. Praying that this ends quickly, I lay my head back down and squeeze my eyes shut. Assume the typical Sarah-position. How can I will myself to like this?

  Whispering against my sex, Kyle says, “Come on Sarah, relax… you taste so good.” Kyle places a finger inside of me and continues to circle his tongue around and around my nub. I feel a heat run through me, surprising me. He pulls my clit into his mouth, sucking it harder. Relaxing a little, I let him take over and let the warmth of his mouth and his moans bathe me in comfort.

  God, Vivian was right. She’s always right. Vivian knew the kind of pleasure this could give me. I’ve never felt so… so… God… Vivian was right. Vivian knew. Vivian knows everything. There’s nothing Vivian’s ever wrong about.

  Tangling my hands in Kyle’s hair, I lift my hips, grinding myself harder against him. “Oh… oh… oh… God,” I cry, feeling my body tense and tighten, before the small quakes shake me and pulse from inside. My hands pull at his hair as my toes grip the sheet of the bed.

  “Oh fuck Sarah,” Kyle says, kissing his way back up my body. “That was so hot… you’re so fucking hot.” He kisses me deeply, sharing the taste of my personal pleasure on my tongue and lips. I claw at his back, urging him into me as he pushes inside. I meet him thrust for thrust, lifting, rocking, and gyrating my hips against him. “Jesus… oh Sarah… oh fuck,” he yells, pounding into me, crashing the headboard against the wall.

  A loud pound echoes through the wall. “Go Kyle—get her hard,” comes a voice from the other side, followed by cheers and laughter. A proud smile splays across Kyle’s face as my eyes squeeze shut in painful humiliation. Finally, he lets go, calling my name louder than he ever has before.

  Panting with his head on my chest, Kyle glances up at me and states, “Sarah Sloane, I love you so much… every day you surprise me more and more.” Rolling over and pulling me onto his chest, he swipes my hair out of my eyes, and adds, “God, I can’t wait for the rest of our lives.”

  Noticing the tears pooling in the corners of my eyes, he says, “Babe, what’s wrong… did I hurt you?” His eyes are full of worry and concern as panic begins to set in.

  “No… no… I’m fine Kyle, really I am,” I lie, trying to smile. “You were great. That… that was so perfect… so great. I mean it. Thank you.”

  “Thank you? You’re welcome, I think,” he stammers, staring at me confusedly. “I don’t understand. What’s wrong? What happened?”

  “Nothing… It’s just… it’s… I don’t think we should see one another anymore.”

  “BITCH, OPEN THIS door or I swear to fuck and back that I’m going to break it down.”

  I’ve officially been in hiding for five days now. I called all of my professors, faked a horrid, scratchy voice, and told them I was in the hospital with pneumonia. They all bought it. I promised profusely that I’d be back in class by Monday, adding in that I hated missing their classes. Professor Punctuality told me that I could YouTube the lectures that I missed. If I’d known that, then I’d never have gone to one of his classes in the first place. Why do we always figure things out aft
er it’s too late?

  Picking up my phone, I text a message: Go away. I don’t want to talk.

  I hear the phone ding on the other side of the door and a loud thump against it. Finally hearing the footsteps retreating away, I sigh with relief and pull the blankets over my head, burrowing further into my shame. I feel terribly for Kyle. There is no better guy in this world. He’s the best—deserves the best. Deserves so much more than me.

  Hiding under my blankets, I hear the unmistakable sound of keys rattling and the jiggling of my door handle. Suddenly the door flings open, and my R.A. screams, “Sarah… Sarah… are you okay?”

  Coming out from under my comforter, I’m face-to-face with my panic-stricken R.A. and Vivian Marx. “Bitch, I told you that I was going to get in here one way or another… you’ve been sulking enough over this breakup.”

  “So wait, you didn’t think she hung her herself? Shit Vivian, you know I could get into a lot of trouble for opening Sarah’s room and barging in like this.”

  “Awww, your secret’s safe with me… your cushy irrelevant and unnecessary job is safe… for now,” Vivian states, leading her to the door. “You did the right thing. Everyone’s safe here.”

  “Are you out of your mind?” I ask, after the door closes. “I said I didn’t want to talk.”

  “For someone who wasn’t ‘in love,’ you’re really taking this breakup pretty tough,” Vivian states, sitting down on my bed. “So all you’ve told me in the last week is that you broke up and didn’t want to talk about it… so spill.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about… it’s over… what else is there to say?” I ask, lying down and covering my face with my arms.

  “So what happened? Did you walk in on him banging some so-whore-ity, Alpha-come- fuck-me girl?”

  “God no! It wasn’t anything like that. I told you he’d never hurt me,” I remind her from beneath my safe haven of crossed limbs.

  “Right, he’d never hurt you, but he dumped your ass for no reason—sounds pretty painful to me,” she states, prying my arms from my face.

  “I dumped him… me… I did it… okay!” I yell as a sob escapes my throat and tears trickle down my face.

  “Wait a second! What? What do you mean ‘you dumbed him?’ If you’re this distraught and bed-ridden over it, just walk back over there and get him back,” Vivian states, matter-of-factly.

  “It’s not that easy,” I whine, hating all of this.

  “Of course, it is,” she says. “You knock on his door. You say, ‘Hey K, I fucked up. I love you. I’m sorry—we should fuck and forget everything that happened this past week.’ See? It’s simple.”

  “It’s not simple! It’s far from simple,” I cry, shaking my head. “Vivian, you were right—right all along. I’m not in love with him. Have never been in love with him. But the problem is… he’s so good, so perfect, and so kind. He’s the type of guy every girl wants—wants to marry and be with,” I explain, knowing that I’m not making any sense. I don’t really even understand it myself. I’m a jumbled mess of thoughts and regrets and what ifs. “It’s just… not me… I don’t want him like that. I don’t know if I ever have.”

  Wrapping me in her arms as I sob into her shoulder, Vivian strokes the back of my matted, tangled, been-in-bed for a week hair. “It’s okay. I get it. It’s so hard to be honest like that—especially when it’s yourself that you’re being honest with.”

  Crying into her neck, letting her hold and comfort me, I feel an overwhelming sense of peace and assuredness. My shoulders stop shaking and I’m able to catch my breath and stop crying. “You’re going to be okay,” she soothes, still trying to console me. “It’s so much better that you told him now… if he’s as wonderful as you say he is, then it wasn’t fair to him. It’s hard loving someone that much when they don’t love you back.”

  An uncontrollable and inexplicable urge comes over me, building deep within a place inside of me that I never even knew existed. Sensing that I understand what she’s saying, what she’s implying, I take a deep breath, and softly place my lips against her neck, letting my tongue slowly taste the flesh of her skin. The quiet whimper I hear encourages me to kiss her again, traveling to her ear lobe.

  Her pained sigh, slows me at the exact moment Vivian leans back away from my advances. “Sarah, I… I… I can’t do this. I’m so sorry. I never meant to—” Standing, with a horrified look on her face, Vivian backs away from my bed, eyes wide and full of fear and regret. She grips the doorknob, not saying a word, and silently backs out of my room, like prey retreats from its predator.

  I can’t move.

  I can’t think.

  I’m full of shame, regret, confusion, fear… and an all-encompassing sense of certainty.

  To:GAM4160@gmail.com

  From:VLMarx37@JMU.edu

  Subject: HOLY SHIT

  Gwen,

  Oh. My. God. You are never ever, I mean ever, going to believe this. Sarah, sweet, innocent, totally-straight, and entirely inhibited Sarah, kissed me! Well, not on the lips, my neck, but she was definitely kissing me. And before you get all high and mighty, NO GWEN, I didn’t pursue her. I definitely learned my lesson about falling for straight chicks last year. Caroline did a number on me that I’m still reeling from a year later. Setting your sights on a straight girl is the kiss of death for gay people. Sadly it happens to us all the time. It’s a total setup for failure, a horrifying, self-fulfilling, and self-deprecating prophecy.

  I’ll admit, at first, I entertained the thought of hooking up with Sarah. She’s just so damn cute—it’s almost impossible to not imagine doing hot, sexy things to her tiny little body. (I know, too much information.) But then, something happened. I stopped picturing doing shit to her and really started liking her. She’s my friend. I wouldn’t do anything, Gwen, to ruin that. Hell, she’s about my only friend on this campus. You know how hard it is for me to make female friends to hang with—especially after they find out I’m gay. They usually shy away from me, because they don’t want people to think they’re gay or they just want their one token lesbian friend for some social status reminder.

  But with Sarah, I’ve come to rely on her funny texts and witty quips to get me through the day. And God, she’s so smart; she makes me want to be smarter and better. When we start talking and laughing, it just doesn’t stop. She’s a riot. And beautiful, her freckled innocent skin is gorgeous and flawless. Her long red hair is out-of-control, but yet sexy and endearing. Oh shit, do you hear me? I sound like a lovesick puppy. I’m not; I swear I’m not. Now, I’m just worried that I fucked it all up and lost my closest friend here. I have no idea what to do.

  I miss you.

  Love you,

  V.

  IT’S BEEN A week since I’ve seen or talked to Vivian and two weeks since I’ve seen or talked to Kyle. Kyle surprised the Hell out of me. After I broke up with him, I jumped out of the bed, threw on my clothes, apologized profusely, and bolted. I expected to get a barrage of texts, calls, and emails—and even some drop-ins.

  Not one thing.

  Nothing.

  I don’t know, after everything that happened with Vivian, maybe it would be better if Kyle came over and begged me to take him back. It would be easier, so much easier. However, he hasn’t. As much as it reconfirms what I already knew about us, it also makes me question what I thought I knew about him. I never thought in a million years that he’d let me go. Sure, I did the letting go, but he’s certainly not grasping to keep me. Maybe he’s trying the whole “If you love something, set it free…” thing. Maybe he’s waiting for me to come crawling, begging back to him.

  I can’t do that.

  I won’t do that.

  It’s not fair to love him out of convenience.

  Nothing wonderful ever comes easy.

  God, that is so true. Nothing wonderful comes easy.

  Kyle’s easy, but he’s just not wonderful in that way to me.

  Vivian, now that’s a different story. We’ve gotten
so unbelievably close these past two months that I know what she’s thinking. I could almost hear her thoughts pounding out of her head:

  “Hey look at the straight chick coming on to me just because she’s all sad and heartbroken. Well fuck that, I’m not going to be her blues-buffer. If she wants to experiment, then she can go play games with some other straight chick. Then, they can laugh and giggle about it years later with other moms over wine. They can all make jokes after the little league championship on someone’s copper-colored stamped patio in the suburbs while their kids play on trampolines and climb trees.”

  Okay, maybe she wasn’t thinking all that. But knowing Vivian, she was definitely thinking some rendition of that scenario.

  Vivian doesn’t skip classes. I, on the other hand, haven’t been to Linguistics in two weeks. Those online YouTube lectures that Professor Punctuality posts have been quite beneficial. And the best part, I start them at the exact time that I want to start them. So, fuck you PP. As for Vivian, I know she’ll come home from class to change before heading to the rec center to work out. It’s her everyday routine, a routine I’ve never seen her stray from in the two months that I’ve known her.

  Sitting down on the bench outside her dorm, I run through the words I want to make sure I say to her, hoping that I don’t forget anything. I don’t want Vivian to hate me for what I’ve done or how I’ve treated her. By no means was I trying to offend her or make her feel badly. That was never my intention. She read my actions wrong, but I certainly didn’t mean to portray them the way that I did.

  ‘So you’re out of hiding?” Vivian asks, coming up behind me. (I didn’t see that coming.) Walking around to sit down beside me, she adds, “I skipped Linguistics… stopped by your dorm. Your hermit roommate was more than happy that you finally ventured out of the cave.”

  “Vivian… you came to see me… like went to my dorm?”