His Prize Pupil

The spasms course through me so suddenly, I almost scream, but manage to clamp my lips shut at the last minute. I rock on the bench, up and back, mentally begging for the climax to be over, begging for it to continue forever. I’m a mess of trembles and red skin and white knuckles, orgasming on the bench, inches from my professor, my panties a sodden disaster by the time the clenching subsides. I fall back on the bench, gasping for air, my limbs liquefied.

Gavin stands, coming to a stop in front of my and blocking out the sun.

There is a strain around his eyes and mouth, his jaw clenched, but he leisurely buttons his suit jacket so that it covers his extensive erection. “Be a good girl, Alana. I’ll be watching.”

Dazed, I nod.

I’m not sure how long I sit there trying to absorb what just happened. Am I in a clandestine relationship with my professor now? Or was he just acting out of jealousy and still doesn’t want anything permanent with me? Either possibility weighs my heart down even more heavily than it was this morning.

My phone rings. Ripley.

“Hey, girl,” I answer, my voice hoarse from trapping that scream.

“Uh, hey yourself. You sound like a cam girl.”

“Cool. I don’t even have to wear pants for that job.” Not wanting her to delve too deep into why my voice sounds funny, I change the subject. “I got invited to a party tonight.”

“Oh!” Silence.

“Oh?”

“I can’t go. I have kind of a…date. Thing.”

“With who?”

She hedges. “No one special. But you shouldn’t go to a party by yourself.”

I want to push and find out who she’s going out with, but she let me slide with the raspy voice situation, so I have to reciprocate. “I won’t be by myself. I’ll know people there.”

“You sure?”

“Totally.” An alarm beeps on my phone. “Crap. I have to run to sociology. Can I borrow your black dress for tonight? The short one with the crisscross neckline?”

“Sure thing, babe. Byeee.”

“Bye.”

I hang up and start a jog across campus, my legs still unsteady from my quad-gasm. But I feel more in control after deciding to attend the party. I’m not just going to sit around in confusion waiting for Gavin to tell me if there’s something between us. I would rather be with him than at some party, of course, but at least I’ll be distracted from the ache in my heart.

Except the party is nothing like I expect.

6

Alana

My nine-year-old self was right. Boys are idiots.

I sit on the windowsill of the rented house and watch Landen and his buddies attempt to form a cheerleading pyramid in the middle of the living room. They actually spent time moving furniture out of the way and are allowing people to film the drunken antics, while they loudly ponder how many hits the video will get on the web.

I’m mostly pissed that I wasted Ripley’s dress on this messy keg party, although the beer in my hand is cold and I got into an hour-long discussion about serial killers with one of the girls from class, which is what I call a pretty successful evening. I’m not going to lie, though, I’ve been thinking of Gavin this whole time. What would he think of my dress? If he were here, would he laugh with me at the pyramid makers?

What did he mean when he said he would be watching me?

A tickle forms at the back of my neck.

I turn and look out the window behind me, but I can’t see anything except the moon and the outline of trees around the house.

Wait…what is that?

I turn fully and peer up at the house next door. There is a weather vane on top of it. The kind with arrows pointing in four directions and a chicken in the middle. Something dangles from one of the arrow tips, though, and my photographer intuition prods me to get a closer look. Picking up my bag, I set down my mostly empty beer and trek through the kitchen on my way to the side exit that leads into the yard.

On my way, I smile at one of the girls from class. “Popping outside for some air.”

She gives me a thumbs up, then knocks back a shot of something pink.

I’m sure she won’t regret that in the morning.

The clean, fall air feels amazing on my skin after being trapped with a mélange of cloying cologne and perfume scents inside. I breathe in deeply and slide the camera out of my bag, pondering a walk up the block. Landen lives in an eclectic neighborhood and on the Uber ride over, I saw a couple of kitschy gardens that might yield some fun shots. But first, I want to find out what’s hanging from that weather vane.

I move to the fence for a better angle, but not even the moon is providing enough light to tell me what flops in the breeze. I should just go back inside or take my walk and stop obsessing over this, but when it comes to photography, I can be a little stubborn about capturing things that interest me. So before I can talk myself out of it, I sling the camera around my neck and toss a leg over the fence, straddling it for a second. Then I carefully gain my feet, balancing on the top of the narrow barrier.