“What sort of public place are you proposing?” she asks, unable to hide the excitement in her voice.
“We can go to Drip if that’s what you really want,” I tell her. Getting Liza off is more than worth getting kicked out of the campus coffee shop, not that I’m planning on getting caught. “But I was thinking we’d work up to actual public spaces. I figured we should test the waters a little, see if the possibility of getting caught appeals to you. So, I was thinking this kitchen table would work just fine.”
“You want to have sex on the kitchen table?” she asks, like it’s the craziest thing I’ve ever suggested. “Deano will kill us if we get any stains on this table cloth. He made it in Fiber Arts and he’s very proud of it.”
“Oh, I’m aware. I was there when he picked out the fabric online. You wouldn’t think there’d be a huge selection of fabric with chickens on it, but you’d be wrong.” Deano is exceptionally pleased with his “Cock of the Walk” table cloth even though it’s just a big ass circle of fabric with a sewn edge. It’s fucking lopsided and it hangs all the way to the floor, but he acts like Pottery Barn is going to ask him to design a custom line of linens next spring.
“And you still want to use the cock tablecloth as a fitted sheet? And this oak table as a bed?”
I stroke my mustache for a second because I know she secretly loves it. “I’m comfortable right here in this chair. But if you want me to spread you out on the table, say the fucking word, Tiger.”
Liza raises an eyebrow. “You think you can work your magic from a chair?”
“I know I can,” I answer with confidence.
“Oh, really? And let me guess, you think I’m just magically ready for you? That the mere suggestion of a sexual encounterwith you has flooded my panties? Just sitting down next to you for two minutes has me soaked and aching for you?”
God, I love it when she’s feisty. And she’s feisty all the fucking time, so I’m a happy man. “If you’re not now, you will be soon.”
My arrogance drives her crazy, so she crosses her legs and then her arms. I’m not sure she set out to fold herself up like a pretzel, but it doesn’t matter. “I don’t need to touch you to get you ready for me. Don’t get me wrong, I’m dying to put my hands on you, but first, I want to ask you something.”
Liza’s eyes are narrowed as she tries to puzzle out where I’m going with this. “Your sex study is through the Psych department, right?” I ask.
“Yeah, why?”
“Well, if you’ve worked with the Psych department, I figure you’ve taken a few psychology classes, too?”
“Just the intro course that fulfills a humanities requirement,” she answers, wrapping her lips around her straw. I know she’s doing that because that's how you drink from a straw, but it’s also how you drive your sexual partner out of his goddamn mind, and Liza is using that to her advantage.
“That works. I need you to help me analyze this dream I had,” I say, stretching my legs out as I reach my arms up and fold my hands behind my head, giving her a prime view of my abs, the bare sliver of skin between my jeans and the edge of my t-shirt, and the outline of my hardening cock. If Liza wants to play the slow seduction game, I’m on board.
“I am in no way qualified to do that,” she answers, her eyes trained on my midsection.
“You are uniquely qualified. In fact, you’re the only person who can help me.”
A laugh bubbles out of her pouty lips and I feel like I just won a national title all by myself. “I’m the only one who can help, huh? You make this sound like a desperate situation, and like thebeginning of some sci-fi movie. And you know I’m not a fan of those.”
“You’re about to be a superfan,” I say, knowing my confidence both turns her on and pisses her off. “Now, listen up. I’m going to tell you what I dreamed about last night, and I need you to tell me what it means.”
Liza levels me with a look while she toys with one of her braids. “I’m probably going to refer you to a medical professional. And if this is some kind of pickup line or seduction tactic, I’m going to report you to the authorities. This is bad, Blue. So bad. Let me guess, it was a sex dream?”
“See? You’re already so good at this. You’re a natural, Liza. I know you were born to solve the infrastructure crisis, but you could make some serious bank by interpreting dreams.”
“I’ll consider it as a side hustle,” she says, glancing at her watch. “You do realize you’ve wasted nearly four minutes with this nonsense, right?”
“It’s not nonsense,” I argue. It totally is, but I’m of the firm belief that Liza DeWalt could use a little more nonsense in her life, and I’m here to help. “I almost died, Liza.”
“In your dream?”
“Yeah, I was hanging off the edge of a cliff,” I tell her, just making shit up as I go. She knows it and I know it, but that’s part of the fun. “I thought I was going to fall to my doom.”
“And then a woman walked by and offered you her magic pussy as a lifeline?” she guesses.
“Damn, that would have been convenient,” I quip. “But no. I held onto the ledge as long as I could and then my fingers started to slip. It was no use. I think my muscles are just too big and bulky. A guy my size doesn’t have a prayer in a situation like that.”
“This is such bullshit,” she giggles. “Wouldn’t your heaving muscles help lift you out of that situation?”
“The ones in my arms, yeah,” I agree, loving how her eyes track up my body. “But these thick thighs? My bubble butt? They are gifts and curses, Liza. The dump truck that is my ass ended up being my downfall. It’s just too juicy, too big. The edge of the cliff crumbled in my hands and then I fell.”
