The Virgin Dating Game

by Sky Corgan

  I already knew such a guy. Chase Vogel. We had been friends since our freshman year in high school. He was good and sweet and loving, and kind of my type. For most of high school, I had a crush on him. One of us was always dating someone else though, and by the time we were both single at the end of our senior year, it felt like he had fallen into the friend zone. Before I left for college, he had confessed his love to me. The words sounded strange coming from his lips, as if hearing a relative say them. Any romantic notion for him was twisted inside my mind. Did I love him as a friend? Or something more? Perhaps part of me worried about losing him as a friend. We had been friends for so long—four years already. In the end, I abandoned him anyway . . . sort of. Instead of manning up about my feelings, I decided to avoid him. I didn't answer his phone calls, and most of the time, I didn't even respond to his texts. Once he realized a relationship wasn't what I wanted, he tried to turn things casual. Everything had changed when he said the words though. I would never be able to look at him as just a friend again.

  “Cheyenne Grear,” the professor said, his voice deep and husky. My thoughts were elsewhere though, my pen busy scratching out a doodle on paper while my mind lingered on Chase and the love lost between us. “Cheyenne Grear,” he repeated. The second time, I heard him.

  I raised my hand to say, “Here,” and then our eyes locked.

  It felt like someone had punched me in the gut, and all I saw was stars. They didn't seem to be interested in swirling around my head for too long though and instead went straight to my cunt, causing a needy aching. Sparks.

  He gave me a disapproving look, then moved onto the next student, the intimate second between us quickly slipping away. His eyes were almost as dark as his hair, set beneath heavy brows. He looked like a rock star . . . or a movie star . . . or a model . . . or too perfect to be just a . . . college professor. Really? Was he really my professor?

  Hunger flooded my nether regions as I watched him like a cat watches prey. While he wasn't particularly broad, his T-shirt stretched tight across his body, and I could definitely tell he was fit beneath it. Jeans hugged his thighs and the small curvature of his ass. Everything in me wanted to wrap my hands around his hips and press his groin between the heat of my legs.

  Calm down, Chey, I chastised myself. He's way too old for you, and probably married, and it's totally against the rules to sleep with one of your professors. He certainly didn't look old though. Late twenties. Early thirties, maybe. Whatever his age, that body was rocking. And his eyes were so powerful. Confidence oozed from him as he walked and spoke. That's what a real man is supposed to be. I sighed, blatantly staring for a bit before I gazed around the room. Some of the other girls were giving him a similar appraisal. The gorgeous bastard could probably have his pick from the room if he wanted it.

  He stood in front of the white board, the dry erase marker a bit too dry, scratching across the smooth surface of the board as he wrote. When he was done, he turned to face the class, pointing to his words. “My name is Damien Reed. I will be your Art Appreciation teacher for this semester. Please feel free to call me Damien. Calling me Mister Reed makes me feel old and/or married, and I am neither.”

  Interesting tidbit, Mister Reed. Oops, I mean Damien. A smile played across my lips. Damien. What a sexy name. A sexy name for a deliciously sexy man. Interesting how he threw in that he's not married. I wonder if it was purposeful.

  After his introduction, Damien got right down to business, passing out a stack of quizzes to a girl in the first row, so she could hand them to the rest of us. I was horribly disappointed he hadn't handed them out himself. I would have very much enjoyed the opportunity to get a closer look.

  I took the quiz that was given to me, scribbling my name at the top and trying to refocus my attention. My mind kept slipping back to the dirty side of the gutter though, and I found myself glancing up to catch a peek at Damien while he went to sit at his desk and work on whatever it was he doing. Tattoos, I noted, trying to control my urge to drool. Now that was some art I could appreciate. One arm was sleeved out, with flowers and numbers. The other arm had a tribal that went down to the middle of his forearm. Both arms were done completely in black ink. I had never wanted tattoos on my own body, but I definitely thought they looked sexy on other people.

  Refocus, Cheyenne. The last thing you want is for him to think you're a complete idiot, I chastised myself, forcing my eyes back down to my paper. Even though I wasn't looking at Damien, his image was burned in my mind, poisoning my concentration.

  Somehow, I managed to make it through the quiz. Thankfully, it wasn't very difficult, and there was only a small handful of questions I had to leave blank.

  When time was up, Damien had us pass the quizzes forward, denying me, yet again, the chance to get a better look at him. I would have to sit closer tomorrow, I decided. After collecting our papers, he went into a speech about what we could expect from the semester. It all sounded rather boring, but at least I would have eye candy to get me through. Just watching him speak made unmanageable yearnings course through me, yearnings that would need to be taken care of.

  When we were released for lunch, I went straight to my car. Waiting for everyone else to leave the parking lot and give me space wasn't an option. I put my car in drive and found a more secluded spot to get busy. Once I was parked, I gave the surrounding area a quick inspection through my windshield. Even though it was the campus of a community college, I wouldn't put it past them to install cameras in the parking lot. Thinking about it made me paranoid, but also a bit excited. I could picture a sexy security guard sitting in a booth somewhere watching the screens. He probably found his job monotonous from day to day, but I was about to make it a lot more interesting.

  I was too shy to fondle my breasts. Doing anything above the belt was a big no-no in public. No matter how bold I was feeling, it was never quite that bold. Instead, I wiggled in my seat a bit, feeling the fabric of my bra tease across my sensitive nipples. It felt good, but nowhere near as pleasurable as thick fingers clamping down and twisting them. My fingers had another purpose.

  It was a bit difficult to spread my legs in the front seat of my Miata, but I did the best I could, bowing them out wide enough that I could slip a hand down the front of my skirt and get between them. Of course, imagining it was my own hand was no fun, so I pictured Damien pressing me up against his desk, reaching for my warm center. When my fingertip kissed my nub, fireworks shot off inside my body.

  Aggressively, I rubbed, making fast tight circles. I bit my bottom lip, trying not to groan as I pictured those gorgeous brown eyes baring down on me, making me feel like he owned me, like I belonged to him, and he could do whatever he wanted to me. He would be like that, I was sure. Dominant and confident and amazing. Not like the boys I used to date in high school.

  Thinking of them was putting me off though, so I refocused my attention. His finger mercilessly played with my clit, slipping down occasionally to feel the hot wetness he forced to pool out of me.

  “All for you,” I whispered, and then the waves overtook me, sending me out into a sea of bliss as the contractions worked their way through my stomach. It felt so good I almost drooled on myself. When the tide ebbed away, the desire was still there, but the fantasy was gone. Damien Reed was nowhere in sight. It was just me and my car and the parking lot and a pair of wet panties.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The rest of my classes produced less than impressive results in the boy department. Don't get me wrong, there were a few really hot guys. College couldn't possibly be a desolate wasteland of duds. But a Lamborghini will stay in your mind longer than a Porsche, and Damien Reed was definitely the crème de la crème.

  It almost baffled my mind that I found a teacher more attractive and alluring than any of my classmates. I wasn't typically one to go for guys much older than I was, but there was something about Damien Reed that I couldn't draw my mind away from. Maybe it was the tall, dark, and handsome appeal. He definitely had al
l of that going for him. All I knew was that I was hot for teacher.

  The thought made a smile play across my lips as I walked toward the coffee shop to meet up with my best friend. Tanya had taken Art Appreciation too, but I had registered for classes too late to get the same schedule as her. I was interested to find out what she thought of Mister Damien Reed.

  “Ugh. That was grueling,” she grumbled as we took our coffees out onto the patio. “I can't believe I got homework on the first day. Shouldn't there be a law against that?”

  “Well, we are in college now,” I replied, my dirty thoughts temporarily erased with depression at how much studying and homework I had to do. Maybe I should have taken a year off from school like I had originally planned. The thought of jumping back into things so quickly was a bit overwhelming, but it was too late to back out now.

  “I think there were only two classes I didn't get homework from.”

  “Same here. Art Appreciation and Business Orientation.”

  The corners of Tanya's mouth curled into a grin, and I knew exactly what she was thinking. Unlike me, her taste in men was primarily for the older variety. Sometimes she even liked creepily older men, men who could be her grandfather. As it was, she already had a sugar daddy she had picked up during our senior year of high school. That didn't stop her from making the rounds though.

  “Damien Reed,” I said, trying to suppress my own urge to smile like the Cheshire cat.

  “Oh. My. God. He is sooo dreamy,” she squealed.

  “I knew you'd think so.”

  “Don't you?”

  “Well, yeah.” My cheeks grew warm at the memory of my vehicular playtime.

  “And he's not married. Did he mention that in your class too?”

  “Mhm.” I sipped my coffee.

  “That had to be purposeful, like a message to all the single ladies. No one just says that.”

  “I thought so too.” My smile sulked. For some reason, the thought of other women touching him instantly made me jealous. It wasn't like we were close, or I had even spoken to him personally. Sometimes I hated my stupid feminine brain.

  “There were a lot of other hotties on campus today. You were right, college is like a smorgasbord of hot man packages.” Tanya wiggled in her seat as she stirred her coffee. The excitement in her eyes was almost overzealous.

  I grunted in reply, and then listened as she went on about this guy and that guy, and how she had been checking fingers for wedding rings. All the while, my mind was stuck on Damien Reed and what he had said about not being married. If it had been an open invitation, then maybe I had a chance. Stupid, stupid girl, I chastised myself. If it had been an invitation, then it certainly hadn't been a personal one. He was a free for all, and that meant he was dangerous. Did I really want to get involved with someone like that?

  After we finished having coffee, I went home and got right to work on my homework. Boys weren't important, school was. Damien Reed was completely out of my league, and I'd be best off forgetting about him. He would be nice to look at from afar, and perhaps it wouldn't hurt to fantasize about him now and again, but that was as far as things would go.

  The next day, I went to school with a clear mind. The excitement of boy scouting had worn down overnight, though I still kept my eyes open for any new meat wandering the hallways. With the image of Damien Reed dulled in my mind, the other boys closer to my age were looking a lot more appealing. Yet when I stepped into Art Appreciation class, it was like my brain went on reset. Any previous attractions I had were washed away with the sight of those dark eyes and that thin fit frame. My body's pleasure sensors went off as I passed close to his desk, taking a seat at the front of the classroom for a better view.

  Damien Reed seemed entranced in his paperwork, barely looking up as the classroom began to fill. My heart pounded as I blatantly stared at him, though my gaze immediately shifted when he stood to do roll call and begin his lecture.

  Our homework for the afternoon was to create an art project that told about our personal taste. Thankfully, we had until the end of the week to get it done. I was already feeling overwhelmed by the endless piles of homework my other professors had given me.

  That night, I finished all of my other homework first before I began working on my Art Appreciation project. The only art I really enjoyed was drawing manga, and I wasn't sure how much Damien would appreciate that. Then again, this project was supposed to be about self-expression, so I highly doubted he would fail me if I didn't show up to class on Friday with a Georgia O’Keeffe vagina flower painting.

  I decided to draw a cat girl throwing up the peace sign. It seemed a bit immature, but I couldn't come up with anything better in the short time frame I had to work on it between studying and doing other homework. It certainly wouldn't be getting a background.

  Unfortunately, by the time I got to it, it felt like my creative candle was about burnt out. I messed with the outline a bit, but nothing seemed to come out right. By the time exhaustion took over and sent me to bed, I had barely accomplished anything.

  The next morning, during my first class, I received an urgent message from one of my aunts saying that my mother was in the hospital with pneumonia. Naturally, as soon as class was over, I gathered my belongings and went straight to the hospital to check on her, skipping the rest of my classes for the day.

  She chastised me once I arrived, saying I should have finished out the day, but I was too worried. Even though I had just recently moved in with my dad to be near school, I was still a lot closer to my mother emotionally, and it angered me that she hadn't bothered to tell me she was sick. When I had left the week before to get settled in at my dad's house, I could tell she was getting a cold. No matter how many times I told her she needed to go to the doctor though, she wouldn't listen. Not having insurance will make you put off going to the doctor until the very last minute, and this was the consequence.

  My aunt said that she had gone over to check on my mother and found her bedridden. That's when she knew it was time to call the hospital.

  “Why didn't you tell me it was getting so bad?” I asked, clasping her hand tightly between mine. She looked absolutely horrible, her red hair a mess and her glasses resting crooked against her nose. People always said that I was a mini-replica of my mother, and I was completely fine with that because I thought she was gorgeous. Very little of my looks came from my father. Only my nose and my brown eyes. Everything else was all hers.

  “I didn't want to worry you, sweetie,” she told me, falling into a coughing fit directly afterward. “I know you were stressed out enough about starting college and having to move in with your dad. The last thing you needed was to worry about me.”

  “You're my mother. It's my job to worry about you,” I replied, scowling.

  “She's as stubborn as a goat,” Aunt Wendy said from the guest chair at the foot of my mother's hospital bed.

  “I know. I told her she should go to the doctor, and she didn't listen. She was so worried about saving money and look where that landed her.”

  “Oh, stop it, you two. I feel bad enough as it is.” Mom frowned, pulling her hand away from me.

  “Well,” I sighed, “I hope you get better soon.”

  “The doctor says I shouldn't be in here too much longer. A few days, at the most.”

  “I'll try to come visit you every day after school,” I told her.

  “Don't do that. It's such a long drive.”

  “I don't mind. I want to make sure you're okay and behaving yourself.”

  Mom smirked. “Trust me, they don't let me misbehave too much in here.”

  “I won't let her misbehave either,” Aunt Wendy said sternly.

  “Enough talk about the hospital.” Mom made a dismissive gesture. “Tell me about school. Have you met any cute boys?” Her eyes lit up at the prospect.

  “Nope. Not really.” It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the truth either. There were quite a few attractive boys at my school, but none I had actually
spoken with.

  “That's a shame. Well, it's still early. You've only been going for what, three days?”

  “Mhm.” I nodded.

  “It might help if you didn't dress so conservative.” She gave my outfit a nagging appraisal. Apparently, my dress slacks and button up blouse weren't much to her liking.

  “You know I hate looking like a skank,” I commented dryly.

  “You don't have to dress like a skank to get boys, though I think they prefer that. Just show a bit more skin. For God's sake, you button up your blouse to the very top. It won't kill you to show some cleavage.”

  “Mom!”

  “Well, it won't.” She settled down into her hospital bed, trying to look innocent.

  I couldn't help but grin.

  Since I had taken the day off anyway, I decided to spend it at the hospital, entertaining my mother as best I could, though there was little to talk about. Most of the time was spent listening to her complain about the cost of healthcare, how her job was too cheap to offer her insurance, how she wouldn't be able to afford to pay her bills because of taking off so many days from work due to her illness, and how hospital food hadn't gotten any better in nearly twenty years.

  Naturally, the not being able to pay her bills speech transitioned into why it was so important for me to stay in college. Not having a higher education had gotten my mother to where she was today, working at a pizza place and living from paycheck to paycheck. Thankfully, I had managed to get a grant to go to college, otherwise my fate might have been the same, though I doubted it. If my grant would have fallen through, my father most likely would have picked up the bill. He worked as a truck driver, hoarding back most of his money while he lived on the road. I rarely saw him, but he was quick to provide for my needs without any questioning or hesitation.

  Finally, visiting hours were over, and I was forced to go home. While I was glad that I had taken the day off of school, I dreaded the backlog of homework that awaited me the following day. There was no way I was going to be able to get everything done plus that stupid art project.