by Brit M.
Her resolution had been to explore more, do new things, stop being such a goody-two-shoes. Fuck men she liked, and enjoy it, when she wanted to. There was a part of her that whispered incessantly that no self-respecting woman wanted to sleep with two men at once—but it was the same part that kept easing her into relationships with plain vanilla boys like Jeff, who'd left her out of what seemed like sheer boredom. There was no spark. But, Marissa was sure, if she was caught between a pair of gorgeous men, there would definitely be something happening. At least a spark, if not a wildfire.
So on the way to take a shower before bed, she opened her laptop and fired off a quick e-mail to Lita: “Send me the list.”
Her breath stuck in her chest for a moment after she clicked send. Just because she'd asked didn't mean she was going to go through with it. She repeated that to herself as she shut down the computer and made her way to the shower. She would just—look. See what other people were posting, what their fantasies were, and how they compared to these desires she found herself with.
Marissa turned on the shower, tested it for warmth, and stripped out of her clothes. The damp lace of her panties dragged teasingly against her skin as she stepped out of them. She cupped a hand over herself, feeling heat and wetness. Her fingers slid on her pussy. She held in a gasp and rolled the pad of her middle finger over the stiff button of her clit, back and forth, pleasure like lightning racing from the simple touch. After a moment she made herself stop, breath heavy, and climbed in the shower. The wall of hot water forced a sound of relaxation from her. It massaged the tightness in her back, and tickled down her legs.
She turned to let it wash over her face and down her chest, a hot wave pressing against her breasts, which were heavy with need to be touched. The men in the movie had taken turns feeling up their partner. She wondered how it felt to have two hands on her breasts, belonging to two different men. Would one squeeze harder than the other, use his fingernails more to pinch her nipples? She lifted her hands, one cupping each of her breasts, and tried to imitate the differences. With one hand she lifted and massaged, the other she played with her nipple, but her hands weren't quite big enough and her fingers were slender, girlish.
The water continued to spray down on her, teasing the firm nubs of her nipples, peaked with want. Marissa slid her hand down her belly and let her fingers find her clit again, one on each side, stroking deftly up and down. The pleasure built slow, like a spring coiling tighter and tighter in her as she worked her hips against her hand, never speeding the pace, simply letting the orgasm build. It hit like a blow, sudden, a burst of ecstasy that made her cry out once in the privacy of her shower, water sluicing down her legs and between her fingers. She trembled, gasping.
She hadn't managed to have much of a fantasy, she admitted to herself, but the need to come had been too urgent. Next time, she would make a game of it—imagine the naughtiest, newest things she had never done with anyone. Make herself come thinking about having a man's dick in her hand and another fucking her at the same time, their bodies above her.
Marissa finished her shower and crawled into bed half sated, a thousand thoughts of erotic encounters haunting her into sleep.
* * * *
The alarm went off too early. Marissa smacked her lips, the ugly morning-after taste of old liquor in her mouth, and slapped the snooze button. As an assistant professor only in her second week of work, she could hardly afford to be late, but her head was swimming as she sat up, sheets tangling around her legs. She hadn't had that much to drink the night before, but the one glass of vodka had caught up with her. A stumbling trip to the bathroom to comb her hair and brush her teeth left her squinting into the bright lights above her mirror. There were shadows under her eyes. Her dreams had been normal, weird, and totally not sexual, which surprised her. Maybe the movies hadn't made as much of an impression as she thought they had.
All the same, as soon as she finished throwing her clothes on and putting her tea in hot water to steep, she turned on her laptop. Her heart sped a bit as she refreshed her e-mail but nothing was waiting—Lita must not have seen the e-mail, or had time to respond yet. Marissa closed the lid with a click and sighed. Not even she knew if it was a sound of disappointment or relief.
With the new job, Marissa wondered if she would even have the time to pursue this new thing, or if it would be best to keep the desires to herself and use them to aid her own hands in getting her off at night. Would she be able to face her young, handsome students—to be honest, not much younger than she was—with the knowledge that she liked to watch men fuck? Would she think about the boys who sat to close in ways she never had before? She cursed, retrieved her tea, and sipped it standing over the stove.
The only way to find out was to go, and her first class started in an hour. The past two weeks had been interesting and terrifying, but the students were good, and so was the material. The auditor who slipped in and out to rate her progress, on the other hand, nearly gave her heart attacks. She had trouble not looking at him, speaking straight to him, or asking for approval. He always ghosted out without a word a moment before class ended. It was nerve-wracking; she didn't know how people put up with it. But of course she would, because she wanted to succeed with this job. It was what the past eight years of her life had been leading up to.
Marissa gathered up her bag, gulped the rest of her tea so fast it burned her tongue, and walked out the door of her apartment. The second-floor patio all the apartments shared was shielded from the bright September sun, but it was still too hot, and she fanned herself with a paper snagged out of her bag as she clattered down the wooden steps to the parking lot. A note was stuck under her windshield-wiper: “Hey hon, hope work's great today. I'll talk at you later!” She smiled and tucked it away. Her neighbors probably thought she had a girlfriend if they saw the note and who left it, but that was just Lita's way of showing her affection.
On the drive to the university she thought about the movies again and decided she should find some of her own if she could. It would be worth a trip to the adult store down the street, so long as none of her students ran into her there. That would be mortifying.
She parked in the administrative lot with a rush of pleasure. The joy of being able to call herself a professor and say “Doctor Ford” still had its new-car shine. She was proud of herself. She was sure it would wear off around halfway through the semester and become work, but for the moment, it was like every day was some kind of special reward. The classroom was empty when she breezed in and started setting up her notes, the book the class was reading, and a few pieces of emergency chalk in case she lost the one on the blackboard tray. She didn't have a room with a dry-erase board or a projection screen—the trials and tribulations of being an associate professor and not tenured.
One day, she thought. One day I will be.
She just needed to work hard, be on time, teach well—and make sure the auditor noticed. As if the devil called by thought, the man himself strode in. Marissa froze, hands above her notepad and ass halfway to her chair.
He raised an eyebrow.
She feigned a smile, which she was sure came off too nervous, and sat. He wedged himself into one of the desks. He was an older man, dark hair graying at the temples but still thick and rather lustrous.
Marissa cleared her throat once and managed a timid, “Hello.”
“Good morning,” he replied casually. She smiled wider.
“I'm just going to go grab a coffee before the class starts. Do you need anything?” she asked. “Or is that not allowed?”
He returned her smile. “I'm fine, thank you.”
She eased out of the classroom, trying for suave and unconcerned, but nearly fainted as soon as she stepped out. He held her potential career in his hands and he was so unreadable. It was the first time he'd ever said a word to her, and she still had no idea if he thought she was a total idiot or not.
A trip to the bagel place in the lobby of her building for a coffee took twen
ty minutes, and when she returned, a few early students had arrived. One, Evan, was always early and he always had a cream-cheese-laden bagel with him. She wondered how she'd missed him in the lobby shop's line—his dreadlocks were distinctive in a crowd, tipped with red beads that clacked together when he shook his head. She smiled at him and he returned it.
The auditor seemed to note her interaction, and that made her hide a grimace behind her coffee cup. What if she came off as too involved with her students? With the narrow age difference, that was a professional danger. But at the same time, wasn't she expected to take on favorites and potential research assistants?
Thankfully, the hour struck on the bell tower clock outside, its song ringing in through the cracked window in the corner. She stood and picked up her battered copy of Paradise Lost, ready to lead the class—even the last-minute stragglers—on a tale of wonder and woe.
The auditor slipped out halfway through, and Marissa let out a tiny sigh of relief that prompted titters from her students. She blushed, stammered, but continued with barely a moment's delay. She was only human. The rest of the hour went on without a hitch.
As soon as the class ended and the last of her students trickled out, she collapsed in the uncomfortable instructor's chair. No one needed the room for another two hours, so she tilted her head back and rubbed a hand over her eyes. The sound of a clearing throat made her jump so hard she nearly knocked the chair over.
“Are you all right?” her auditor asked, frowning.
“Oh, Jesus,” she said with a shocked laugh. “I'm so sorry, I was just—I have a bit of a headache.”
“I wanted to let you know you've been doing exceptionally well for a beginner,” he said. He flipped open his folder of notes. “You engage your students without allowing them to lead you off track, and you manage to keep them awake during Milton.”
She made an affronted face.
He smirked. “Not everyone likes Milton,” he said.
“Surely you jest,” she said. A weight had flown off of her shoulders. He was grading her well!
“Never,” he replied affably. He snapped the folder closer. “So, keep up the good work. And try not to get so nervous. I'm not your boss. I'm just here to tell them where you might need more practice, if you do. And so far, so good.”
She ducked her head, cheeks burning. Was it that obvious? “Thank you,” she said.
“All in a day's work.”
She looked up in time to see his well-shined boot disappear out the door.
Chapter Two
Marissa let her messenger bag drop off of her shoulder with a heavy thud just inside her front door. Her back was aching—she should never have worn heels to teach, not even small ones. Her feet felt pinched and they throbbed with every step. She kicked off the shoes, sighing, and padded in her stockings into her small kitchen. A burning curiosity nagged at her to check her personal e-mail now that she was home, and see if Lita had responded. She denied it, mixing herself up a cup of tea and arranging a few frozen, ready-to-bake stuffed pasta shells in a pan.
It was hardly gourmet food, but she was hungry and too broke to justify dinner out. She poured sauce over the frozen shells and turned the oven on, not bothering to wait for it to preheat before she slid the pan inside.
There was nothing else to be done now. The sink was empty of dishes; her floor was neat and didn't need to be mopped. She sipped her tea and wondered nervously what Lita would have sent her, if she even had the courage to look at singles sites and find someone to make her desire a reality, if she could go through with it. She just wasn't sure if she wanted to go so far. But truly, it couldn't hurt to look, so Marissa carried her mug of tea with her into the living room and powered up her laptop.
The first three new e-mails of the day were advertisements, but the fourth was a reply from Lita. She hesitated for a moment, reminded herself that all she was doing was taking a look, and opened the e-mail. Lita's only text was a smirking, winking animated icon. Below were five links: three to places with names like “Kink and Coffee” and two for more generic-sounding singles sites. Had Lita used all of them? Had she found partners this way? Marissa couldn't imagine her outgoing, gorgeous friend needing to use a website to find a date, not even just for one night. But maybe she had specific things she was looking for, too, just like Marissa.
She took a deep breath and closed the e-mail. How did she even know yet that she really wanted to try sex with two men? Maybe she just enjoyed watching men together, and she could do that from the privacy and safety of her own home. The thought of having to find someone on a listing who wanted what she wanted—and she hardly knew what that was—then arrange to meet them, and possibly turn them down, or worse, go to a hotel with them—It was too much. That was something other women did.
As soon as she thought it, Marissa scolded herself. Meeting strangers for sex was something other women did, and she wanted to try being somebody different for awhile. Maybe her new self was the kind of woman who would go out and take things into her own hands that way. She just—didn't know. And it was frightening, new, fraught with complications.
Instead of reopening the e-mail and following the links, Marissa pulled up her search page. First, she needed to do research. She typed in “porn stores” and her ZIP code, then blinked at the huge list that came up. There were so many. She'd bought her vibrator and her other personal toys online; she'd never set foot in an adult store. That was a much easier first step to exploration than hooking up with a stranger or two.
The oven timer dinged and she retrieved her dinner, sitting down with it on the couch in front of her laptop. She ate as she surfed through the site listings and reviews of them, ruling out the ones customers had said were sleazy or creepy.
When she finished with her meal, she wrote down the addresses of the two nearest her, closed the laptop, and went to change into a more comfortable outfit. She slipped off her silk button-up and professional slacks and stood in her underwear in front of her closet for a moment, considering. It was just a quick trip out, so she grabbed a pair of jeans and a tank-top.
Not to mention, people were less likely to recognize her from the university if she wasn't dressed up. Just in case. Though honestly, if she encountered anyone she knew in an adult store, they would have as much embarrassment on their hands. She smoothed her hands over the jeans, flattening out the creases left from the wire hangers she'd never replaced, and slipped into a pair of tennis shoes.
Marissa climbed into her car and eased it out of the apartment's lot. Her mind drifted to the class-auditor as she drove. He was so enigmatic. The fact that they'd finally spoken did nothing to erase that image. He was playful, she could tell, but seemed to enjoy having her on edge. That must have been part of his everyday job, though, to keep new and old professors alike on their toes.
She hoped against hope that he really thought she was doing okay and hadn't just told her that to soothe her. Six years of post-grad work was half the time it took most people for their doctorates, she knew, and she wanted to make the most of hers. An early suspension or firing if she wasn't any good would definitely offset her plans, not to mention make it difficult to pay back the mountain of student loans she'd accumulated.
Before she could dwell more on her job, she approached the first store on her right. She pulled into the parking lot as the sun was starting to dip to the horizon. It was still hot in September and the sun still set late. Four other cars were in the lot. She straightened her spine, looked up at the purple cursive “Priscilla's” on the sign, and went inside.
The clerk, a young-looking woman, smiled at her. “Do you need any help today?”
“Oh.” Marissa sputtered, then cleared her throat. “No, that's all right.”
The girl smiled and went back to reading the paperback in her hand. Marissa blew a breath out hard enough to ruffle her bangs and wandered farther inside. The store was built in an old house, with some of the “rooms” still intact: the main room with the register
where she was standing held clothes and costumes. She ran her fingers over a shiny vinyl corset and glanced at matching boots. A flush of heat ran down her spine. She moved further inside, glancing at clothes and accessories.
There were two doorways on the side wall. She glanced in one and saw racks of toys. Her cheeks warmed. There were two men perusing the walls. The next room was full of movies. She stepped into it and inspected the labels on the shelves. They were surprisingly detailed. Skipping past the racks of DVDs labeled things like “teen girls” and “MILFs,” she found the corner rack: “gay.”
Marissa glanced around the empty room and ran her fingers along the cases, selecting one at random and pulling it out. There were two burly men dressed as construction workers on the front. She made a face and put it back. Big hairy guys weren't her thing. The next DVD featured boys so young-looking they made her feel a little guilty. She put it back as well, feeling a bit discouraged. Where had Lita found a movie that was so gorgeous, so sexy, but still dirty? She didn't want some boring, badly produced crap.
She skipped down a shelf and picked out another. This one made her raise her eyebrows. The men were cute, and it was about “office workers” in their suits and ties. They looked clean-cut and handsome, indeterminate age but definitely not teenagers. She turned it over and looked at the screenshots on the back, shifting on her feet. A slow pulse of arousal rippled through her as she checked out the frames of men kissing, stripping each other, one leading another along by his tie with no shirt on—yes, this was the one. She tucked it under her arm and was almost all the way out of the room when one more rack caught her eye: “bisexual.” She hesitated.
It was probably the girl-girl-boy stuff. She swallowed, thinking of the video with the woman and her two lovers, and flipped through a few of the movies. They were all two or more men and one woman. Some made her frown—they looked violent, kind of icky—but finally she found a movie with two long-haired rocker types and a normal-looking blond woman between them, wearing a corset and heels. They were kneeling at her feet.
