He starts to laugh. I must seem so pathetic. Inwardly I scold myself for being incredibly transparent, only I can’t help it. I want his cock. I want him.
He steps away from me and leans over my desk, scribbling something on a piece of paper. He hands it to me. It’s an address. “Be there at eight tonight and don’t be late.”
I go back to my dorm, unable to keep Mr. Johnson off my mind. I’m supposed to meet my study group at the library tonight. Fuck them, they’re on their own. I’m not about to pass up the opportunity to spend real time with that lovely cock for an English assignment that will barely make a dent in my grade. Besides, it’s already mostly done. I only go to study groups just to get away from the dorm once in a while, and because it’s time to get out and start making friends. Easier said than done.
There are three hours until I’m supposed to meet Mr. Johnson. I go to my footlocker that houses my tiny wardrobe. When I first started college, I was dead-set against dating so I never bought anything too revealing. The closest thing I have that’s worthy of a night spent trying to seduce an older man is a 1990s-style baby-doll dress. But I’m not trying to look like a child. I want to look sexy for him. Looking at my measly collection, it doesn’t appear that’s going to happen. Oh well. No time to dwell on that. He’s used to seeing me in sweats and leggings most days anyway, so anything I wear will be an improvement.
Next I completely pluck and shave my entire body. This takes up most of my time. That’s when I realize I’ve really let myself go when it comes to upkeep. I mean, I exercise because I want to stay healthy. Sick body, sick mind, they say. I need my mind on top of its game, so a daily workout routine is essential. Unfortunately, pruning isn’t part of that regimen. I don’t think I’ve shaved above my knee since I was sixteen, and I’m starting to wonder if my poor razor is going to crap out on me before I’m done. It doesn’t, but there will definitely be some razor burn going on tomorrow.
Now, back to the perfect outfit, since I have yet to pick it out. I try on my one dress. It’s cute. When I pull my hair up and add a pair of flats with it, it’s even cuter. But cute is not what I’m going for. So I opt for a pair of jeans that fit my curves quite nicely. It’s not going to knock him backwards when he sees me, but at least it won’t give him second thoughts about our hook up—I hope.
As if telepathically sensing my dilemma, my roommate walks in. We’re not all that close, but she’s let me borrow clothes before, and she’s tidy, so we get along just fine. She also has impeccable style. She can throw together some of the most random things and make it work. And she definitely likes to show off the goods.
She lifts a brow when seeing me standing in front of the full-length mirror. “You have on your nice jeans. What’s the occasion?”
I look down at my “nice jeans”, as she calls them. The only thing that makes them nicer than the others is that they’re the only ones I own without holes in the knees.
Obviously, I’m not about to tell her about a possible hook-up with my teacher, so I keep it vague. “I have a date.”
“With a man?” she says, skeptical.
“Yes, with a man.”
“Oh, weird. I thought you were a lesbian.”
I frown, looking at her over my shoulder. “Why would you think that?”
“I’ve never heard you talk about guys before.”
I shrug. “That’s because no one has caught my eye until now.”