Trent thinks he’s cute, but most professors, including me, do not think of our students in such a blatantly sexual way. The idea is as abhorrent as other social taboos that have been ingrained in us. It stirs up revulsion, not arousal, and…
“I don’t think I can use this,” I confess as my hard-on softens in my hand. “This isn’t a fantasy that will ever work for me.”
Trent immediately stops the video, turning concerned eyes on me. “Yeah? I'm sorry. You ok? I didn’t mean anything by it.”
I take a deep breath and try to get back into the fun headspace, but it feels like a losing battle. “I might not be able to masturbate with you. Why don’t you go ahead, and I’ll see if I can get it up again. If not, no big deal.”
Trent glances at the camera and nods. He quickly switches to a more traditional set up with two women and a man having fun. He watches as he strokes himself, and for some reason, instead of watching the throuple on screen, my eyes keep wanderingto Trent. His strokes are sure with a little twist, and he looks like he’s enjoying himself. The sight of his pre-cum beading up somehow makes my cock harden again, and automatically, I take myself in hand to pursue that tingle of arousal.
I glance at the video on screen, watching it for a minute before my eyes are inevitably drawn back to Trent, his hand, his cock, and the staccato of his breathing. The edge of my orgasm ramps up, causing my balls to tighten and a warm tingle to start at the base of my spine. As the first jet of his cum splatters across his chest, my cock explodes.
Pleasure blinds me for a few short moments, then laconic exhaustion noodles my bones. I lean back, glancing over at Trent, who’s wearing a self-satisfied smile. He runs a finger through the cum on his chest and licks it up, staring at the camera the whole time.
I huff a laugh. “Who tastes their own ejaculate?”
Trent chuckles with me. “You get used to it when your partner insists you clean up after you’ve made a mess.”
My eyebrows rise to my hairline. “Is that something you do?” I didn’t think Trent would be reckless enough to not use condoms.
Trent smirks. “I see you judging me. My ex liked being licked. I’d come on her chest and lick her clean, and that got her off. I’m all about pleasing my partner.”
That sounds more like Trent. I hum thoughtfully, scooping up a bit of my cum and tasting it. I grimace and shake my head. “I suspect it’s an acquired taste.”
Trent laughs, offering me a couple of tissues. “Probably.”
I clean up and stop the recording, rolling off the bed to pull on a pair of pajama pants. I catch Trent doing the same, back turned to me. He also has an excellent butt. I bet we could make bank off naked prints of him.
“I wonder if our non-women subscribers will be interested in prints of your body?” I say aloud. “Our target audience is women professionals with excess income, but we will probably attract non-heterosexual men and maybe non-binary people, too. I have a feeling that men would be more likely to decorate personal space with erotic art than women would because of societal constraints on femininity and feminism. That might be an interesting sociological study, too.”
Trent considers my theory for a moment before answering with a shrug. “One way to find out.”
I can’t help but smile at him. This exact response is the reason he’s become my best friend; it’s the reason I want him in my life for the rest of it. “So I’ll call around for a photographer, then?”
Trent huffs a laugh and nods, grabbing an apron he bought sometime this week and slipping it over his head. The front says, “I have no idea what I’m doing.”
I laugh at his apron choice. “That won’t be true forever.”
Trent smirks, and for some reason my stomach feels like it does before I meet a new class. I don’t know why I’m suddenly nervous. That’s strange.
“It’s true today, and I feel like it’s a very important reminder for our subscribers in case the food is barely edible.”
I giggle at his reasoning and agree, slipping my shoes on and grabbing the camera and my keys. We stashed our groceries in the mostly unused dorm kitchen before the shoot, so we’re heading there next. “If you follow the recipe, the only thing to blame would be the author if it's inedible.”
Trent opens the door for me and steps aside. “I’m going to make sure I tell everyone what you just said.”
Laughing, I follow him to the elevator, happy and a tiny bit nervous. Maybe it’s the idea of eating food from a novice?
Chapter 9
Trent
Magnus setup the camera in here so it captures the whole food prep area of the dorm kitchen. It’s not a big room anyway, and we put a sign up to let anyone passing know that we’re filming. So far, no one has even walked by, and I can’t be mad about that, because holy shit, cooking is difficult.
“You would think that my mother would have put in some time with me in the kitchen so I’m not completely stupid about this before sending me off into the world by myself,” I complain as I look up the difference between TBSP and TSP.
“Does your mom cook?” Magnus asks curiously, watching me measure out a TEASPOON of salt and put it in a bowl with cubed butternut squash.
“Exclusively. Mom takes care of home and hearth, and dad works and takes care of the yard. Living the American dream with two kids, a cat, and a golden retriever,” I explain, putting the lid on the container the squash is in and shaking it so that the olive oil and salt are evenly distributed.
