36 Inches: A MFMM Romantic Comedy

by Alexis Angel

  Delia stops and looks at me.

  I don’t know what the look on my face says, but my head is spinning. “I can’t stop thinking about him. I want to sleep with him so damn bad. I know it's against the university rules, but oh my God!” I make a frustrated sound. “What the hell am I supposed to do? I can’t focus on anything!”

  “And you tried masturbating?” Delia says, her voice kind. She’s trying to help. She’s not making this a joke.

  God, I love her and I don’t know what I’d do without her.

  “That’s why I overslept and missed coffee the other day…I think that just leads to more obsession,” I admit.

  Delia’s eyes widen and she cocks her head to the side. “Well, you should just fuck him and get it out of your system. I mean, you’ve never had sex before, and that’ probably making it all that more dramatic in your head. You’ll be able to focus when you drain the oves, or whatever, girl. You have to worry about other stuff!” Delia pats my back. “We all go a little cock crazy from time to time. Get it out of your system, tell me all about it, you’ll be good.” Delia laughs. “Girl, it's a buyer’s market for you right now. You’re probably, like, the hottest you’ll ever be, and you can bag that fine teacher no problem…I say go for it. And tell me everything.”

  I laugh, too, and I feel so much better. I’ve been with Delia through breakups and relationship trauma. She’s been around the block enough to give me advice, and not only does what she’s saying make sense, it's something I want to anyway.

  We all love advice that tells us what we want to hear. In fact, sometimes that’s all we hear…

  “But, wait, girl, seriously,” Delia says. “How the hell did this happen?”

  “I was jogging and I ran into Ethan — literally, ran into his perfect damn body,” I say, my eyes rolling back in my head remembering how he felt. “And these guys were saying gross shit to me. One tried to attack me, and I ran into Ethan. I…I think Ethan beat the shit out of him, honestly.”

  I look at Delia. She’s impressed. “Girl, good on him. Lucky he was there, and badass that he knocked the shit out of that asshole. I get so sick of that shit.”

  “Yeah, me too. And…Delia, fuck,” I groan out. “When I touch him I lose all my sense.”

  Delia pats my shoulder. “That’s because you got it bad. I’ve been there.” Delia shoots me a smile and I return it.

  I feel much better having talked this out, and I want to just take her advice and try and get Ethan out of my system, but I also don’t know if that’s wise. At least I feel ready to take action — whatever that action may be, rather than wallowing.

  I hug Delia. “Thanks so much. I really needed this.”

  She kisses me on the forehead. “Of course, girl. We look out for each other.”

  And Delia is so right. I can always count on her. Makes me feel bad about masturbating my way out of one of our coffee dates, but I bore no ill will when Delia made out with a boyfriend too long and missed one before. Shit happens.

  You gotta do what you gotta do, right?

  Emmaline

  “You’re very fortunate, Miss Travers, to be in Dr. Wesley’s section,” Mrs. Simone repeats for, perhaps, the third time since I came to see her. The registrar is annoyed that I’m ungrateful.

  What am I supposed to say? Sorry, I can’t be in this class because either I need to get away from him because I want to bang him, or I need to get out of his class so I can bang him? While both seem like totally valid reasons, I don’t think that I’m going to be able to pull one of those out for Mrs. Simone.

  “Why would you want to change out of a class with a professor that’s foremost in his field, in your major?” Mrs. Simone gives me her best stern look.

  Normally I’d feel the need to stick around for more chastisement; normally, I’d be able to simply tell the truth.

  Today?

  Today I have no fucking patience for this.

  “Why would I expect you to simply tell me there are no other sections available when you could purport to be allowed in my business instead?” I barely recognize myself when those words come out of my mouth, holy shit. I don’t know if I should be horrified or proud, but my body is walking me out of the registration office anyway so that’s a problem for another day.

  Because today’s problem is figuring out what the hell I should do.

  I have to go back to class, and that’s the option I was trying to avoid. As it is, I don't want to be late, so I pick up my pace. My nonathletic sneakers have taken a real beating, but I’m grateful for their worn soles because my flats are in terrible shape right now. Even still, the pavement is harsher than normal as I hightail to Ethan’s class.

  I sit in the already crowded lecture hall and let myself look. I mean, really look and drink Ethan in. The stadium seating means that he’s on a stage for me, like this, and I can see head to toe what a formidable, delectable man he really is. Fuck, a girl could lose her GPA, her mind, her scholarships over a man like this…and this girl might be me.

  Today’s lecture begins with him writing a single word on the board.

  GRATUITOUS.

  Well, shit.

  That’s so not the word that I want to watch him sprawl over the board. When Ethan turns around of course I don’t know whether to look at the strong muscles moving beneath his jacket or the gorgeous shape of his ass.

  “When details are gratuitous, they detract, rather than add, to a work of writing,” Ethan begins.

  I inhale. Sure thing. I start taking notes.

  “For a quality piece of writing, you always want to direct your readers. Lead them to where you want them to be.”

  Fuck.

  I know that’s a bit of a reach…but I swear I see that little smirk Ethan made between my legs. Making me cum. That’s enough to make me shiver in my seat. But he doesn’t mean anything about us, he’s giving an English lecture for class.

  “Too many distractions in writing prevent the climax, which destroys the purpose of all play in the writing,” Ethan continues and I have a hard time focusing on what he’s saying.

  I know climax is a funny little word we hear in English, and now I just can’t un-hear his words or the way that they make my skin remember his mouth on me.

  “All writing must climax. You build to it with delicate touches. Forceful touches. Give them what they need, and make it impossible for them to not come with you,” Ethan lectures. His voice is so smooth that I almost feel his lips as much as I hear their words.

  I mean every damned word he's saying is more than just about the extra words he’s discussing.

  “…Strong nouns can work harder than you expect if you conjure the right things in your audience’s imagination…”

  Yeah.

  I can’t focus on anything he’s saying for the value to my writing. He’s giving solid advice, and I’m trying to write it down. But Ethan is making my body burn for him.

  Ugh, Delia did tell me what I wanted to hear. I change my mind about listening, thinking I’m doing the right thing, and that registrar just blows me off. So now I’m blowing off my good sense.

  I start taking notes again. I’m antsy but I know that I’m waiting for Ethan after class and I can pay at least an ounce of attention.

  The lecture continues to be both insightful, and just as loaded. I swear, from Ethan’s lips flows a delectable strain of poison that makes me turn to jelly just listening to him.

  When the lecture is over, it's a real credit to the interesting quality of his advice that for a few seconds, I’m disappointed.

  Then, I’m tingly. I know that I’m going to see Ethan, up close. I pack up my notes and I walk down, waiting for the throng of people with actual questions or hopes to get into Ethan’s trousers.

  That cock is mine.

  Yeah, that’s a hell of a thought for a little virgin girl like myself, but I look at my peers and think, no. I’m going to ride that cock and get it out of my system and be done with all this stress.


  Or will I be done with it? There’s a nagging thought in my mind and I’m pushing it away.

  Ethan and I are alone again. The air gets hotter. My mouth runs dry.

  “Emmaline,” Ethan says.

  His voice saying my name makes me shut my eyes for a second and breathe in that feeling. When I open my eyes, I see him looking at me with such intensity that my pussy is weeping in my thong.

  “Can we meet to talk, somewhere outside of school?” I ask, my eyes regarding his office with a knowing little wink.

  “Why?” Ethan says, drawing closer to me, his voice deepening.

  “Do you want the answer to that, or do you want me?” I say, breathless. My nipples are rock hard, pressing harshly against my shirt. I try to breathe and I’m so caught up in Ethan I'm dizzy.

  “Come to my house,” Ethan says. He leans close to me, tucking my hair behind my ear. He whispers his address to me. He pulls back and looks at me. “This evening.”

  Emmaline

  The low thrum of excitement builds inside me, and I feel like I could float right now — I’m so high. I might start skipping back to my dorm room.

  My phone buzzes. Mom.

  “Hello?” I answer.

  “Honeeeeey!” My mom trills. “I’m in the city, surprise!”

  Wow, so that is a surprise. I feel a little guilty, but I’m actually let down that my mom is here. I know that’s why she’s calling me, and normally I would be very excited and trying to figure out how to rearrange my study plans so that I’d be able to spend time with her. Now I’m just feeling woozy at these two worlds colliding.

  Ethan wanted her first, after all. God, am I the consolation prize? I so don’t need that in my life. He’s never made me feel that way. Ethan has never made me feel anything but good.

  “…get to your dorm so we can do lunch, babe!” My mother’s voice breaks through my thoughts.

  I snap back to the present. “Oh, yeah, I’ll be there in just a moment.”

  “I was just doing some shopping and I wanted to be able to catch up with you. You sounded so down last time we talked, can’t have that!” My mom’s cheery tone tells me that she’s been hitting the shopping hard.

  I’m still a scholarship student but Mom and Dad have been making huge strides in their earnings. Mom is having the time of her life buying everything she used to only see in magazines. She’s not materialistic to a fault, but we all appreciate a good shiny thing now and then and I don’t fault her.

  I just feel exhausted by her energy. It's pulling away from my own excitement and I felt like I was pulled from deep thought. It's strange, the worlds colliding. I realize that the affair with Ethan makes me feel like I’m actually an adult now. That’s twisted and warped, but I can’t help that it's true. I feel more foolish by the second. “I’ll be there in a moment, love you Mom!” I say with all the cheer I can muster and hang up.

  When I get to my door, I put my books aside, but I shove my notebook for my English course into the tote I’m using as my purse. Silly, but those notes make me feel like I’m bringing Ethan with me. I want to bring the memory of his voice and his words with me wherever I go. I want him to touch me more so that his skin can contain those words and those memories, too.

  I turn to my mom, who is giving my room the is-this-a-safe-place-for-my-daughter-to-live look to everything and smile. I give her a big hug before we walk out the door. I mean, I’m being an asshole for not wanting to see her because I’m thinking about wanting to bang my teacher, shit! But, like, this is lunch. My stomach is already excited, and I’m glad to talk to my mom. My whole world has gotten very small, existing only in the moments I’m with Ethan. That’s not healthy and I missed my momma, okay? Let’s pretend I didn’t just act like a huge dick. Because even if that was only in my head, I do feel bad about it.

  “Let’s go to that pad thai place you like, the fancy one, not the cheap one!” My mom is excited to take me to the weird place I like that has surprisingly fancy noodles. You can get all kinds of noodles there, but I always get the pad thai.

  I want the alfredo, but I don’t want to eat all that cream. Tofu and eggs seems like better food for the hardworking college student, and the cilantro is to die for.

  “Sounds good, let’s hit it and get it!” I respond. I follow my mom to her car.

  “Now, cut the shit,” my mom says while she turns to back out. “I know something’s been bugging you. Tell me your classes again. Let’s see what’s up your butt,” my mom laughs.

  I never keep anything from her. I never get nervous like this. So I start reeling off my schedule now and she stops me at Ethan.

  “Oh, you have his class now? I figure you’ll have a lot with him, since you’re majoring in his wheelhouse. That man always had a book in his face. You kind of remind me of him, the way you’re so passionate about those things!” My mom has that slightly exasperated tone.

  She knows what I care about, but she doesn’t get it.

  It's sort of difficult to explain to your mother that you don’t want to read the Gossip Girl books because you want to read Frankenstein for the thousandth time…but I mean she’s got a point, too. The Gossip Girl books are pretty damn good, too. We used to watch the show together. I know that we enjoyed how rich they were. My parents don’t have that kind of money now. We always lived in a nice house, but now they're looking more the part. I sigh thinking about how she said I remind her of him. I think I’m going to have to try to casually probe her for information about him later. Right now, I just can’t stop smiling thinking about him. “Yeah, he’s done a lot of work in literary criticism. I’ve read all of his papers,” I offer. My mom probably doesn’t realize just how much Ethan has published. I’ve been a busy gal catching up on all his papers.

  “That’s neat, sweetie. So what about that Calculus II? I know they didn’t want to let you in. Don’t they know that my baby’s so smart? You kicking that class’s ass?” My mom is practically beaming.

  “Yes, yes I am. Oooh, we’re here. I’ll get the drinks, you get us a table,” I tell her as I step out of the car. It's a nice restaurant, but you still get your own drinks because they have those machines where you can get all the flavors. I always get a diet caffeine free coke with lemon added. I love the lemon flavor and I’m not sure but I’m pretty certain it's probably pure sugar. I have enough coffee in my life; I so don’t need to add more of it.

  Mom nods and orders our usual, taking our number to the table.

  We talk about all my classes. Mom asks about Delia. We talk about everything and I almost forget that I want to press her for information about Ethan when I see my notebook in my bag, the rose gold foil glinting at me from the corner of my eye. “So, hey, you were friends with Ethan, are y’all still close?” I ask her. I call him Ethan and not Dr. Ethan, Professor, any of that.

  My mom raises an eyebrow but answers the question. “Oh, yeah we didn’t really stop being friends, we just kind of grew apart. I mean, we’re Facebook friends. Not that he really uses Facebook. But neither do I. So, it is what it is.” Mom picks at her food.

  “Oh, yeah,” I say, trying to remain casual.

  But my mom always picks up on stuff. “Something wrong in Ethan’s class?” Her tone is suspicious.

  “No, I was just curious,” I offer, and I try to sound not too urgent. I mean if my heckles are raised, then hers will be. Internally, I’m panicking like she can read everything on my mind. But I cannot let that panic read through in my voice or on my face.

  “Is Ethan singling you out? Is he bothering you in some way?” My mom interrogates.

  “No,” I say with a nervous laugh that I hope sounds nonchalant. “I was just curious about him.”

  “Ah,” my mom says.

  Okay, she didn’t buy what I just said.

  She doesn’t say anything for the rest of the lunch, and neither do I.

  “Bye, sweetie, study hard!” My mom says with a final hug when she drops me off.

  Crap. My mo
m can’t possibly think that I’m sleeping with him or that he’s being weird toward me, or something? I don’t know. But … I want to sleep with him. I’m going to propose that very thing tonight.

  Ethan

  This is what is going to lead me right to hell. I’m going to take advantage of this sweet young thing that I want more than I’ve ever fucking wanted. Despite the fact that I always, always get my cock wet the first chance I get, young girls like my students were always off limits. I fuck women my age. Women who understand my problems; women who share my kinks; women who can attempt to match my desires.

  But none of them match my desires. None of them twist me up inside the way that Emmaline does.

  None of them have ever looked at me the way Emmaline does. Breathed near me and made me feel like if I didn’t touch her, grip her shoulder, or touch her hair, that I’d fucking explode. I’m a sick bastard. I know touching her on the shoulder is a way to make her feel more comfortable, and I do it to manipulate her.

  I told myself that I’d let her lead the way, be the aggressor. I thought that was my chicken shit, easy way out. Because Emmaline, she’s such a good girl. She’s bound to be the responsible one, even if I can’t be right now, right?

  There’s hot twenty something ass trying to throw itself at me all the time. I could have any of it, and I always turn it down without a second thought.

  But I know damn fucking well that’s not what’s happening with Emmaline. I invited her to my place tonight. I seriously doubt she’ll make it all the way to my home and then tell me, hey, I just realized I shouldn’t fuck my professor. Just that thought makes me want to squeeze the student paper I’m grading right now, but I resist the urge to brutalize this substandard paper I’m making bleed. I’m not cruel, not harsh, but I don’t go easy on anyone. That’s not my job.