After fifteen minutes, he was loaded down with bags and enough action figures to keep the collectibles closet in his apartment happy for a long, long time. Two Klingon females snarled suggestively at him as he passed, their fake-tanned bosoms nearly popping out of real leather costumes. He kept his gaze downward and continued walking; they took their play a little too seriously, and he didn’t want to make an E.R. visit for bite marks this year.
“Hey, watch it!”
He looked up, but his armload of bags had already swept several crocheted TARDIS toilet paper covers off a table. The girl behind the table caught two time-traveling police boxes in one hand and reached for their companions scattered across the floor.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, dropping his load to pick up a flattened TARDIS that was stepped on by a rogue Stormtrooper.
She looked up, her brown eyes framed by the edge of the table and the two-sizes-too-big hat she wore.
“Ass-clown.”
Martin picked up the remaining crafts and set them on the table beside their squashed comrade.
“No, really. I wasn’t looking. Let me pay for this one.”
As she rose from the floor, he realized she was wearing possibly the ugliest sweater vest he had ever seen, and with his friends, that was saying something. The only saving grace was the cream-colored man’s jacket over the top of it.
She glared at him.
“Okay.”
After he handed her a twenty-dollar bill, she reached for the flat TARDIS, fluffed it out to its original shape, and slipped it into one of his bags. “Thanks for your business.”
“Hey, wait a minute, it wasn’t really broken? Why did you let me pay for it?”
She tilted her head, and a lock of long dark hair escaped the pins under her hat, sliding down the ivory skin of her neck.
“The money wasn’t for the item. It was a standard dumbass charge for ruining my display and scaring off my customers,” she said.
Martin blinked. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had called him a dumbass. When it sank in, he looked up with a witty retort on his lips, but she had already thrown a sheet over the table and was heading out of the dealers’ room to the bar.
“Wait!” He followed her, zigzagging through the crowd. She was easy to follow since she wore baggy pants matching the atrocious jacket while every other female within thirty feet had their asses clad in skintight latex, tights, or booty shorts.
A screwdriver was already lining a napkin with a frosty kiss on the bar when he caught up to her. He slid onto the stool next to her.
“You called me a dumbass. Nobody does that.”
She laughed, and more hair slipped out the back of her hat. “I’ll bet more do than you realize.” She took a deep drink of her screwdriver and sighed. “You seem like a nice but clueless fanboy. Go chase some Leias around the party suite upstairs and you’ll feel better. “
“I’m not clueless. By the way, who the hell are you supposed to be?” Martin motioned for a beer.
“I’m the Seventh Doctor.” The screwdriver dropped another half inch.
“Who?”
The glare came back, accompanied by its close friend sarcasm.
“Oh please. You know I’m cosplaying Sylvester McCoy.”
“You look like Colonel Blake from M*A*S*H.”
Her eyes raked him up and down. “And you look the guy from The I.T. Crowd.” She paused. “With better hair.”
“That’s funny, because I’m supposed to be the I.T. guy from Jurassic Park.” Martin flashed his best grin.
A laugh bubbled up from the submerged end of her straw. “That’s good.” She held out her hand. “Kate.”
“Martin.” He shook her hand gently. “And I’m sorry for upsetting your TARDIS cart. Do you make those for a living?”
Kate snorted. “No, they’re a hobby of mine, along with building device drivers for Ubuntu and creating TARDIS mods for Minecraft.”
“Kate?”
She looked up from her drink, her lips wet with orange juice and vodka.
“I think I love you.”
Hopping down from her barstool, she pressed her keycard in his hand. “Good enough.”
* * * *
It took three tries before Martin finally opened the door to Kate’s room, mainly because she was running her fingernails up his legs and over his ass. Once they were inside, he dumped the bags and the keycard, whirling on her like a wild animal. She held up a finger, slowly unpinning the hat from her head, shaking loose a thick mane of dark waist-long hair. Before the hat hit the ground, his hands roamed her soft curves, his lips covering hers in a deep kiss. She held up her arms so he could pull off her sweater vest.
“Why are you wearing so many clothes?” He growled as he struggled with her necktie, loosening it so he could kiss her neck.
“Ask the BBC,” she said as she unbuttoned her crisp white shirt, revealing pert breasts in a plain blue bra. She playfully pushed him away while she pulled the tie from her neck and slipped out of her trousers, showing off a matching set of blue panties.
He quickly undressed, dropping his button up shirt and khakis to the floor before sitting on the bed. She leaned in close. He breathed in the vanilla perfume dabbed between her breasts as he reached around and unsnapped her bra. Before she could drop it, he covered her left nipple with his mouth. Her sharp inward breath popped the nipple out of his mouth, and he kissed it gently while caressing her ass.
“Kate, tell me about your Minecraft mod,” he said in between kisses.
“Now?” Her hands were on his shoulders as she sank into his caresses.
“Mm-hm.” He slowly flicked his tongue across her right nipple, and her breath caught in her throat.
“I took the airplane mod and oh,” she said as he slowly licked the underside of her breast, “I added code so I could move around in a big blue box instead…ah.” He slid his fingers underneath her panties, stroking her pussy as he sucked her nipples. Her hips bucked against him as he pulled the cotton fabric to the floor, exposing a neatly trimmed square of pubic hair.
“So, is it bigger on the inside?” He slid his hands up her thighs.
“You tell me.” She stepped away, tugging at his underwear. He immediately obliged, rising off the bed so she could free his rigid cock. It sprang up, ready for her touch. She stroked it once and felt it pulse in her hand.
“Do you want something wild? Something naughty? Something you’ve never had before?” Her soft brown eyes now had a wicked gleam as she grasped his dick.
“God, yes,” he said. In a flash, she had one of his shopping bags upturned on the bed, scattering packages of action figures. Pulling out a vintage 1977 Luke Skywalker package, she held the corner in her teeth and opened it, throwing Luke onto the bed.
“What the hell are you doing?”
He bolted upright, staring at her in shock.
She turned to face him on the bed, her knees apart.
“Why leave things mint in the box,” she asked as her hands slid down past her belly and cupped her labia, “when you can open them up and play with them right now?”
“You are a very bad girl,” he said, ripping into packages and showering her naked body with Andorians, Jawas, and a couple of Vaders.
They rolled across the figures as they kissed, then he moved down her body, his tongue teasing her flesh. She spread her legs as he pressed his mouth against her warmth, gently licking her clit with a slow, steady rhythm. A low moan escaped her throat as she moved with his lips, her hips bucking faster, demanding more. He buried his face in her pussy, fucking her with tongue and moving up to suck her clit. She screamed as orgasm rolled through her again and again, until he finally gave her bush one last kiss and grabbed a condom from his pants by the bed.
“Let me help you with that light saber,” she said with a smile as the rubber rolled down his cock. One playful push and he was on his back, ignoring the mass of tiny plastic bodies poking him underneath. She straddled him, easin
g down on his cock inch by inch. He began to move under her, but she slowed him down until he was ready to burst; long full strokes teasing him along. Her gaze met his own, and he lost every thought he ever had as she finally sped up, pulling him higher and higher toward the peak until his balls tightened and he erupted inside her. She watched him come and stretched out on top of him as the waves diminished through his muscled torso.
They lay together for several minutes, until he could no longer take the pain of a few Star Trek and Star Wars aliens embedded in his back. He eased her off him and rolled to one side, picking plastic creatures off here and there.
“You know, you never told me what you did for a living,” he said as the action figures were swept into the floor.
“I’m staying here until my apartment is ready,” she said, propping up on an elbow. “I start a new job Monday in R & D at Frosthill Industries.”
A slow smile worked across his face as he bent down to kiss her. “Need any help setting up your printer?”
Enter the Library
Game, Set, and Wrestling Match
by Rob Rosen
Gene hit send, and the ad uploaded. He did need the money, to be sure, but what he needed more was companionship, even if that companion was simply to be a student. Then at least he’d have someone to talk to, someone who might even look up to him, even though at his five-foot-six, it was bound to be more like looking down.
He sighed as he stared at the ad, pulsing blue on the screen, and wondered who on the other end was reading it.
“I wonder what you’ll look like,” he said to himself with a hopeful smile. “I wonder what you’ll think of me.” The smile just as suddenly faltered.
Gene had always been different, hyper-intelligent, his brain growing fast as lightning while the rest of him sort of stopped, half-baked. His eyesight was poor, hence the thick glasses, his body thin and wiry, hence the baggy clothes. Heck, he couldn’t even sprout a proper beard if he wanted to. All he had was his brains, his wits, and the fervent hope that someday that would be enough.
“I wonder what you’ll look like,” he repeated, the first e-mail reaching his inbox as soon as the words breached his lips.
His heart beat jackrabbit fast as he clicked it open. It was from, of all people, someone from his college, a junior, desperate to pass biology. Pass, or lose his wrestling scholarship. No money meant no school, and then back to Podunksville, as Brad, his tutee, had put it. Please help, he’d signed.
Gene’s heart sped up, galloping through the furlong as he replied succinctly: Meet me at the library at seven, third-floor stacks, rear cubicle. The send button was hit, the smile again returning to Gene’s face. “I wonder what you’ll look like,” he repeated for the third and final time as he stared at the clock, willing it to speed along, Einstein be damned.
Though seven did roll around eventually, Gene fairly racing to the library, up the elevator, and finding his cubicle empty, as it always seemed to be. He pulled up a spare chair and waited, belly gurgling as a swarm of bats took wing inside, heart pounding a mad samba in his chest.
Then a lone figure appeared at the end of the long corridor, heading his way, backpack hanging over the stranger’s shoulder. No way, thought Gene. This guy’s a star athlete? He’s my height. Though, of course, that’s where the similarities ended, Gene realized, as soon as Brad was standing by his side.
“Gene?” the stranger asked, voice deep, resonating, eyes a startling blue, hair jet-black, lips full, body even fuller. Like every square inch of frame had been filled in by tight muscle.
“Brad?” Gene asked, voice breaking like a fifteen-year-old’s.
Both of them nodded, the smile growing wide on Brad’s handsome face. “Dude,” he said with an exhale. “You’re just in the nick of fucking time.”
Dude, thought Gene, with a smile of his own. No one has ever called me dude before. Dork, maybe. Geek and nerd, definitely. “You’re in luck then. I’m majoring in biology.”
Brad set his backpack down and plopped his ass on the chair next to Gene’s.
“And I’m majoring in fucking up, or so my father tells me. Repeatedly. And often.”
He reached inside his backpack and promptly tossed his biology book on the small table before them. “And if I don’t pass, I’ll have to listen to him say it all up close and personal like, dude. So, please, as I e-mailed, help.”
Gene nodded. “Yeah, no, um, sweat… dude,” he replied, the word equally as foreign to him coming from his own mouth as it was hearing it with his ears. Still, it did have a nice ring to it. Dude, four letters, like cock and dick, hole and fuck, his crotch tenting at the very thought, at the proximity to Brad, blue eyes sparkling beneath the fluorescent lights. “What do you need help with, exactly?”
Brad grinned and pointed to the book.
“All of it,” he replied. “Final’s in a week. Pass, and my scholarship holds. Fail, and…” He mimicked a blade slicing across his throat, his tongue lolling out as his eyes squinted shut.
To Gene, he looked just as stunning. Maybe even more so. Meaning it was going to be a hard week, emphasis on the hard.
So they started, chapter one, page one.
Hours later, Brad was obviously worn out, mentally speaking. Though Gene felt right as rain, fit as a fiddle—all the expressions he used and was summarily teased for.
“Maybe we should pick up tomorrow,” he said. “When you’re, uh, fresh.” Gene looked up as he said it, eyes locking, a flush of crimson working its way up his neck. “Same bad time, same bad channel?” he added.
“Huh?” Brad replied, with a tilt of his head.
“Back here at seven?” Gene sighed.
But Brad said no. “Wrestling practice ends at six. Meet me at my dorm room at seven, so I can chow down a bit and take a shower. ’Kay with you, dude?”
All Gene heard was shower.
“Um, ’kay, uh, dude,” he managed, with a peace sign.
Brad grinned and nodded. The peace sign returned with a chuckle, the sound to Gene like seashells being tossed at the shoreline. Then Brad was off, stellar ass shaking as the tutor watched the student hightail it down the corridor and out of sight. It was then that Gene finally exhaled for what felt like the first time that whole night.
Tomorrow, dude. See you tomorrow.
See being the optimal word for it. Seeing as Brad answered the door in nothing more than a towel. All Gene could see was a muscle-dense body, chiseled pecs with a smattering of hair down the center, six-pack abs with an extra set of cans, all of it in compact miniature.
“Oh,” was all he could squeak out.
“Sorry, dude,” apologized Brad. “Practice ran late. Come in. Grab a seat.”
Gene nodded, eyes wide, as he followed Brad inside, watching him as he flung the towel off, alabaster cheeks spread as tight sweats got pulled up and over them, equally tight tank next, until Brad was facing him, Gene stock still in the middle of the room. He’d barely budged an inch since walking inside.
“Where, uh, where should we sit?” he asked, their faces too close for comfort.
Brad shrugged.
“The bed, I suppose.”
“The bed?” coughed out Gene.
The shrug repeated as Brad hopped on.
“Only space not covered in my, uh, stuff,” he said, with a wry grin that made Gene’s cock go boing.
Gene aped the shrug, forced a smile, and walked slowly over before sitting down, eyeing the mess all around him. Clothes flung everywhere, papers beneath them, crap on top of crap. He noticed a picture on the small nightstand.
“This your family?” he asked, lifting up the dust-covered frame. “Your mom and dad, younger brother?”
Brad laughed and grabbed the frame.
“Mom and Dad, dude.” Then he pointed to the guy dead center. “And me.”
“No way,” said Gene, again staring down at the picture at the boy between the adults: slight, just like him, with glasses and baggy clothes.
“Way,” replied Brad. “Two years ago.”
“Nuh-uh,” said Gene, with a shake of his head. “Can’t be.” He pointed to the boy in the picture. “You don’t look like… you, um, you look like…”
“You?” Brad said, finishing Gene’s rattled train of thought.
“Me,” agreed Gene, stunned at the revelation as he remembered the super hot guy in the towel a mere few minutes prior. “How?” he added.
Brad sighed and crossed his legs, turning to stare at his tutor. “Being a, um, a geek is bad enough, dude,” he said, looking away as he said the word. “But if you don’t have the brains to back it all up, then what do you have?”
Gene laughed. “Me without the brains.”
Brad returned the laugh.
“You said it, not me. Anyway, Dad made me take up wrestling. That way I could defend myself, if need be, and put on some bulk. Two years later, contacts replacing glasses, plus one heaping scholarship, and here I am. Brawn and no brains.”
A nod came from Gene as he pointed to himself.
“Brain, no brawn. Nice to meet you.” He held out his hand jokingly, but Brad took it just the same, flesh on flesh, a spark riding up Gene’s spine that shot out to all four limbs before exploding in his cock. The handshake lingered, blue eyes locking on to muddy brown. “Brawn comes pretty easily, dude. Easier than brains, at any rate.” The handshake was released.
“Hey, maybe I can tutor you, like you’re tutoring me.”
Gene’s laugh returned, even more nervous now.
“De-nerd me, you mean?” Though the thought did seem appealing enough. “How?”
“Some push-ups, a few sit-ups,” he replied. “Maybe some wrestling,” he added, a sudden edge to his voice. “Wouldn’t take much to add some muscle to your frame. I should know, I used to have your exact same frame.” He paused, eyes still boring the fuck on through. “I mean, I guess you’re exactly like I was. Hard to tell beneath all those baggy clothes, though.”
Geek Lust: Erotic Stories about Hot Nerds Page 10
