ME: He could crack nuts with those thighs…
SONNY: He could crack MY nuts with those thighs…
ME: Shit. WEAVER could crack your nuts with her thighs.
SONNY: Cold, bro…
I smiled and sat up straight. At least Sonny was doingsomethingto help me wake up.
I noticed a student sit down next to me as Professor White began his lecture. He seemed inordinately interested in my phone conversation, constantly peering over at my desk.
He looked familiar, but for the life of me, I couldn’t remember his name. Rick? Steve? Something normal like that. He glanced at my phone again, then at me. He raised an eyebrow and grinned. I glanced back at the phone and realized the photo had resized and was now full screen… centered on the UPS driver’s crotch, of course.Kill me now…
I stabbed at my phone quickly, and I knew my face was blazing.Gary! That was the guy’s name, Gary Jordan. A guy with two first names. We’d been in a study group the previous year for Western Civ. We’d also hooked up a couple of times, but I’d managed to lose track of him over the last few months.
I stabbed at my phone for a minute until I got the picture back to normal size and my blood pressure back under control. Just as it re-set my phone pinged with an incoming text. From Gary. Because ofcourseI had given him my phone number. The incoming text showed a picture of a peach and an eggplant. Okay, subtle he was not.
He looked at me and raised an eyebrow in question. Gary was hot, in a jock-ish linebacker kind of way. He had dirty blond hair that was a little too close to a mullet for my liking, but I did recall enjoying his soft, plump lips. He was a little shorter than me but outweighed me by a good fifty pounds. I thought of what it might feel like to have him pin me down and fuck me into a mattress. We’d never fucked, just hand jobs and blow jobs. But shit… the thought of it had me surreptitiously pressing the palm of my hand against my cock to try and tame my erection.
I hadn’t had sex in what seemed like forever, and my dick was perking up and making its preferences known. I tried to count backward to when my last time had been, but when I got past four months, I stopped trying. Some things were better left uncounted.
I got another text right after the first.
AIRGORDON: You got time before your next class?
ME: Depends… I have to teach a class at the dojo at 11. What’d you have in mind? ;) Are you faster than a speeding bullet?
I grinned at him before hitting send.
AIRGORDON: I’mdefinitelymore powerful than a locomotive….
He sent me the eggplant emoji and the sweat emoji. Yup, I was in…
I chuckled. At least I wasn’t struggling quite so desperately to stay awake for the rest of the lecture, as the thought of a quick make-out session with Gary at least provided me with an incentive to stay awake. What in God’s name had made me think an 8 a.m. class was a good idea?
When the teacher ended his lecture, we all made a beeline for the exit. Professor White was a great guy and all, but I was only taking the class because it was required, like about ninety percent of theotherstudents in the lecture.
We werealmostto the exit when I heard Professor White call my name.
“Mr. Devereaux? A moment, please.”
Shit. I saw Gary look at me, a knowing smirk on his face.
“Tick, tock, Devereaux…” he teased, tapping his watch as he walked toward the door.
I stifled a groan and jogged back down to the front of the auditorium where Professor White stood hoping my shirt was loose enough to prevent embarrassment. The sooner I got this over with, the sooner I could be getting off…
Professor White’s hair matched his name, but his skin was unusually wrinkle free for his age. He had piercing blue eyes that looked perpetually surprised, and his hair was wild and standing on end in places, like it did after almost every lecture. He was known amongst the faculty for gettingverypassionate about even the most boring of art topics, often swinging his arms wildly and running his fingers through his hair. You learned quickly that if you wanted to avoid being splashed by whatever beverage he had in his hand you didn’t sit in the front row. I slowly made my way back down to the front of the lecture hall.
“Yes, sir?” I asked as I stood in front of the desk. I had a pretty good idea what this was about.
“Mr. Devereaux, you understand that this is a required freshman level class that you have managed to avoid taking for over two years now?”
“Yes, sir,” I said, a blush starting to build up my neck.
“The summer session is the shortest, most intense way to ‘get Fart History over with’ as the students say,” he quoted.
I looked at him in surprise. I had no idea he knew the term students used when referring to the class.
