I keep Thalia’s list on the bedside table, along with a pencil, so we can cross things off and also make programming notes as appropriate.
For example, on the line next to #9, Piledriver is the single word no. Next to #8, Pretzel, it says actually impossible; #7, Reverse Cowgirl, not nearly as good as regular cowgirl, and the line next to #6, Wheelbarrow, just reads who comes up with these?
But she likes when I put her legs over my shoulders and take her slow and hard and deep, which turns out to be #5, Plow. When we try #3, Doggy, she fucks me back so hard that I’m afraid she’s going to hurt herself, but she doesn’t. She just whimpers my name and then comes, clenching around me so tight it almost hurts.
She likes the variation on #1, Cowgirl in my office chair when she takes me all in one stroke and then rocks back and forth while I’m buried inside her. She likes #4, Froggy, which we try by accident when she collapses onto her elbows during Doggy and then buries her face in the mattress, moaning. She likes #10, Side-lying, in the morning when we’re both half-awake and don’t want to get up yet.* * *The day before the calculus final, she comes over in the afternoon and brings sandwiches. She texts first, but she’s got a key, so she just comes in to find me grading papers at the kitchen table.
“Any of those mine?” she asks.
“Why, are you offering a bribe?” I ask.
“I brought sandwiches.”
I tap my pen on the table, like I’m considering.
“What kind?”
“Turkey, brie, and arugula on baguette,” she says. “And I brought two cookies from Mason’s. Regular size, not face-size.”
She puts them on the counter, then leans against it, watching me while I sit there, thinking.
“Do you hate brie or something?” she finally asks, puzzled.
“No,” I admit. “I’m trying to think of a good way to offer you my meaty baguette but I don’t think there is one.”
Thalia laughs, her eyes crinkling.
“I brought lunch because I’m starting to feel like I’m using you for sex,” she says. “Shouldn’t we be having deep conversations about life and meaning and the universe or at least what movies we’ve seen?”
“What movies have you seen?”
“I haven’t seen any movies, I’ve been studying,” she admits.
“How about books?” I tease, leaning back, crossing my ankle over my knee, still tapping the pen on the table.
“I’ve been plowing through this really great read called Principles and Theories of Cognitive Neuroscience,” she says. “It’s a real page turner. Ask me anything about the amygdala.”
“What is it?”
“Part of your brain.”
“Thanks,” I deadpan.
“It has to do with emotional response. Mostly fear and aggression. We think it’s very involved in PTSD emotional responses, though also maybe not, because the brain is very complex and sometimes it feels like no one knows anything about it and we may as well be diagnosing mental disorders based on what lumps people have on their skulls,” she says.
“You need a study break,” I say.
“Are you turning down my offer of scintillating conversation over lunch?” she says.
“Never,” I say, still tapping my pen. “I’m just offering a stress-relieving appetizer.”
“Of a meat baguette?”
“I already regret saying that out loud.”
Thalia walks over to me and I sit up straighter, uncross my legs and she straddles me, resting her arms on my shoulders.
“You should, because it was pretty bad,” she teases, then gently takes my glasses by the arms, carefully places them on the table. “There. One more day.”
“Probably two,” I admit, my hands already cupping her ass as she rolls her hips toward me, my cock stiffening. “The class officially ends when final grades are in.”
“I’m not leaving for Norfolk until Monday,” she says. “We get a whole weekend when you’re not my professor.”
I grasp her hips harder, rock her against me, my thumbs on the soft skin of her belly, and even though yesterday we tried some variations on #2, Missionary, I already want her again with a fervor that surprises me.
Can you get addicted to a person? I think I might be.
“Want to go on a real date?” I ask. “Somewhere outside town. Saturday night. Somewhere no one knows us.”
“Do we still know how to act in public?” she asks, her fingertips already on my chest, rocking forward along the length of my cock.
“Did we ever?” I ask, and she laughs.* * *I don’t see her the day of the calculus final except at the test itself. It’s not in our usual classroom, but rather, in an auditorium with the two other sections of honors calculus, the students spaced far enough apart that there’s no way they can cheat off of each other.
Well, that’s the idea, at least, but they’re honors students. Most would never cheat, but the few who would are probably smart enough to come up with ways around being seated far from someone else.