IRL Ch. 03

But we settle in, after only a second, and our tongues find each other. We chew at each other with frenzied, clumsy passion as we breathe nosily through our nostrils. She tastes different than dream Katy. Dream Katy did not taste like marinara sauce. It must be from dinner. I clutch her desperately, pulling her in closer. She's so warm. Her heavy breasts against me feel so comforting. Like a soft bed.

She makes a sound in her throat. "Mmm." At first, I think it's a moan. "Mmmhmm!" But the next one is louder, more insistent. She wrests her hand from mine and pushes me back.

"No. No, we can't do this," she says as she catches her breath and wipes a dribble of my/her/our spit from her chin. "Wecannotdo this!" She repeats, slapping her knee. "I'm your teacher."

"For like, four more weeks," I say.
"Yeah? And then what?" She snaps. She looks pissed. "What then, Jackson?"

"Uh...then there won't be a problem anymore? Because I'll have graduated?"

"Exactly!" She storms to her feet and paces the room, hands on her head. "I won't be your professor. And this won't be cool or sexy for you anymore."

"Whoa. Wait a second," I try to protest, but she steamrolls me.

"Look. I don't give a shit about the rules, Jackson. I never did. But I am busy fucking person with a lot on my plate right now. Do you understand? I teach two classes while trying to cobble together the mess of my fucking dissertation, which is at least three months behind where it should be. I sleep four hours a night. I have 82 dollars in my bank account. I am a busy. fucking. girl." She seems to pin me to the couch with her jutting finger as she advances on me. "So I do not have time to be your Letter to Penthouse fantasy. I am unavailable to stand in for the role of 'exotic forbidden fruit' in this evening's performance. There are entire websites full of student/professor pornography. I suggest you go home, find them, jerk off, and leave me to lead my very real, very busy life." Her face is red with fury.

"...Did you ever stop to consider that maybe that isn't what this is?" I ask slowly and carefully.

"Well. Isn't it?" She's almost trembling. She looks...scared, almost.

"No. I like you. Actual you. It's got nothing to do with you being my professor." I'm not sure which of us I'm trying to convince, anymore. "I mean, I don't know. Maybe it did, at first. But then I got to know you. And you're brilliant, and funny, and fascinating. I like the way you think about things. I like the way you makemethink about things."

"Oh God." She laughs bitterly as she collapses on the love seat. "It's worse than I thought. You've passed straight through 'hot for teacher' and moved on to Manic Pixie Dream Girl."

"What? No."

"Bad news. I can't be that for you either, Jackson. I don't wear scarves. I don't listen to The Shins."

"Would you stop trying to tell me how I feel? It's annoying."

"I've seen this before. You like that I'm older. That I've traveled and have tattoos. You think I'm full of mystery and adventure."

"Oh, you're full of something, alright."

"You want me to take you on a soulful journey of enlightenment, wherein I open your eyes and show you how to truly live." I laugh. "Come on. Admit it," she says. "Isn't that what you want?"

"Are you kidding me? You're at home alone doing homework on a Friday night. Exactly where and how would the mysterious adventure start?" She laughs, despite herself. She seems to exhale some of her anger. "I think you're a dork, Katy."

She lets a smile creep out. "...I think you're a dork, too."

"Then what exactly are you afraid of?" I ask.

She sighs. "I'm afraid that you don't want me. You want the idea of me. Whatever it is you think I am at any given moment—sexy professor, manic pixie dream girl, dork. You want the me in your head. The character in your story. And I'm afraid that she might have very little to do with the actual person sitting here." ...Wow. She's good. "Because you'll find out, pretty quickly, that I'm not any of those things. I'm just a human. With all sorts of human stuff going on. Canker sores. A lot of debt. A bizarre phobia of trains. And when you do figure that out, you'll bolt. Won't you?"

I think about what she just said. I think about what dream Katy said last night.'You need my fake love. You don't have the balls for the real stuff.'

"No. You're wrong," I say, to both of them. And for the first time, I'm sure it's true. "You're like, exactly, a hundred percent wrong. With you, for the first time—maybe ever—I don't want the idea of the thing. I want the thing. The actual thing." I smile, giddy with the truth of it.

"How can you know that? You don't even really know what the thing is yet."

"Yeah, but I want to. I want to find out."
"And if we don't like what we find out?" She asks. "If we realize we're just in hopelessly different places in our lives? Or if you hate all the movies I like? Or if you do some weird thing with your fingernails I can't stand? What if the real thing sucks?"

I shrug. "Yeah. It might. Or it might not. But...you know. There's only one way we'll ever find out."

She stares at me for a moment. She lets the tension in her face fall, as she sighs. "Well. Fuck," she says, throwing her hands up in defeat.

"...So...?" I ask

"So. Are you just going to sit there, or are you going to come over here and blur some fucking lines?" I grin. In less than a second, I am over on her loveseat, wrapping my arms back around her. She fits so well. I kiss her softly. This time, our passion is all the more instant, explosive. There are no more reservations. There is nothing else to say. Our kisses are hungry and wet. Our tongues strike at each other's like snakes. We almost cannot breathe. Our hands start exploring, greedily grasping at whatever they can find. Hair. Neck. Ass. She whimpers into my mouth and I feel myself getting hard.

"God, Katy," I breathe between kisses. "I wanted this for so long."

"Me too," she pants before her tongue plunges back into my mouth.

I think about grabbing the hem of her shirt to remove it. I stop, because I don't want to move that quickly. I don't want to give her the impression that all I want to do is see her tits, and that I'm not interested in kissing her. Of course, I do want to see her tits. Badly. But I do like kissing her. She's not a great kisser. There remains a definite teeth issue. But I don't care. I want her teeth. I want her everything. So I wait. We make out for ten minutes.

ThenI grab the hem of her shit and lift it, just a little, without breaking the kiss. I wait for any sign of disapproval. There is none; she just continues to kiss my chaffing lips. So I yank it off. Or I try to. But it gets stuck at her boobs. They're too big, and the shirt's unreasonably tight. I have to pull away and use both hands to get over her spectacular mounds, which are spilling out of a somewhat raggedy white cotton bra. "Ooouph!" She cries out. The tight band of the shirt is now stuck under her arms. She looks like she's in the stocks.

"Here. Let me—" she tries to say, but I continue to yank.

"No, I've got it. I just need to—gah." I pull, and the shirt covers her face. It is still stuck.

"Seriously, let me do it," she says, her voice muffled, as her entire head is trapped in a t-shirt. But with a strong pull, she removes it, and casts it aside with a victorious grin. Her glasses get pulled off with it. Her hair is now hopelessly frazzled. It looks great.

"Sorry," I say sheepishly.

"Don't worry about it." Then I notice something. As my eyes take in her body, I notice her left shoulder, where a clockwork tattoo isn't. "...What?" Katy asks. She sees where my eyes are. She self-consciously touches herself.

"Oh. No. It's...nothing." It should have occurred to me earlier, but I just now realize that some part of my brain made up that gear tattoo. It was never there. And there, on her ribcage, is a beautiful oak tree with a tire swing hanging from it that I had never contemplated. "I just...I like your tattoos." I run my hand gingerly over the wolf on her right shoulder.

"Thanks. You keep playing your cards right, Casanova," she smirks, "and you just might see them all tonight." She pulls my face back to hers with both hands and kisses me fiercely. She grabs at my shirt. She removes it much more deftly than I did hers. Our hands roam each other's freshly exposed skin. She wraps her arms around my back as she slides further down, so that I'm almost on top of her. My hands grip her waist. Her belly hangs just a little bit over the tight waistband of her jeans. Her flesh feels wonderful in my hands.

I can't resist any longer; I have to free her tits. I reach for the clasp behind her and fumble with it. There's three hooks. I'm still struggling with the first one when she starts to giggle, her mouth still on mine.

"What?" I say. "What are you laughing at? I think it's like, broken, or something." She smiles coyly at me, reaches behind her, and undoes it in a second.

"Don't worry," she teases. "You'll get better with practice."

"I've had plenty of practice, for your information."

"Oh? So you've seen quite a few of these?" She starts to slip the straps over her shoulders, viciously slow. "Do tell me, where do mine rank?" And she casts the bra aside.

"...Holy shit," is all I can say. They look different than in the dream. They defy gravity less. They hang lower, and spill everywhere. But they're incredible. So...substantial. Oddly, I find myself wondering if it strains her back, to carry these things around. My hands unconsciously move to cup them. Their heft feels so satisfying. She exhales deeply as my thumbs graze her wide, pink areola and her nipples starts to rise. I flick my tongue across one and she gasps. I take it into my mouth, sucking it. I bite lightly. "Oh!" She cries. I can't really tell if it's pleasure or surprise. I decide to stay away from the biting, just to be safe. She runs her hands through my hair and moans lightly as I lewdly suck her tit.

I work my way back up to her mouth, slowly. She seems to really like having her neck kissed, especially this one spot right below her ear. When I kiss her there, she gasps and arches her back off the couch. I file this information away, and hope that I'll have many other occasions to use it. We kiss and grope for a few minutes more, my hands voraciously grabbing at the flesh of her breasts, trying to sear the feel of them into my memory. And then I figure, this is it. We've reached that point of decision, where we have to figure out how far we're going. I don't care if we go any further. Well, I mean, I care. I want very much to have sex with her. But I'd be almost equally happy to keep making out, and then cool it and hang out for awhile, and then walk home through the cool spring air. I'd be happy with whatever she wants. I'm lucky just to have felt her lips once.

But on the other hand. She's shown no signs of slowing down. And she did make that comment about the tattoos. So I creep my hand up her thigh. I reach under her cute little muffin top for the button of her jeans, and undo it. Then the zipper. Then—

"Jackson," she blurts between kisses, and I instantly pull my hand away.

"I'm sorry," I say quickly. "I didn't mean to—"

"Oh, no. It's fine. I just—" she tries to say, as we talk over each other.

"I mean we don't have to do anything you—"

"It's not that, but I—"

"I don't want you to think that that's what I want, or anything."
"You don't want to?" She asks.

"No! I mean, I do. Of course. But I mean, that's notallI want. It's not like that. And I don't want to rush you into—"

"Jackson, shut up for a second." I gratefully do. "I just...I don't want you to think I do this all the time. On the first date. Or, well, not even the first date, I guess," she smiles, embarrassed. "Because I don't. Do this all the time. Only when..." She thinks about it, and then shrugs. "Well. Only when I feel like it, I guess."

"...And...do you...feel like it?" I ask.

"Oh hell yes." She grabs my hair and kisses me with violence. "Take my pants off," she orders. I slip my fingers into the waist of her jeans and pull, but it's a struggle. The denim clings stubbornly to her thighs. I tug fiercely, and tug so hard that I actually pull her ass partway off the couch.

"Oh!" She cries, as she starts sliding to the floor. "Shit. Help me. I'm..." But she's already fallen to the ground with an "omph!"

"Fuck. I'm sorry," I say. She laughs this wonderful, crinkly nose laugh and I can't help but join.

"It's okay. Help me up." I do, and she struggles to pull her pants up enough to walk. "Bedroom," she says. "We should relocate to the bedroom." She doesn't take me by the hand or anything. She just walks away, leaving me to follow. As she turns, I see something I never would have dreamt of.

"...Katy?" She stops in front of her bedroom door and looks back at me. "...Is that a tramp stamp that says 'Cognito Ergo Sum?'" I try to finish the question without laughing. I really do. But holy shit. How could I not laugh at that?

"Uh-huh. Sure is," she says over her shoulder. "...You wanna get lucky tonight, Romeo, or do you wanna keep laughing?"

"No. I'm sorry. It's...awesome. That's great." I try to stifle my giggles.

"Shut up. I like it. It's equal parts intellectual and tacky. Not unlike myself." With that, she enters her room.

Her bedroom is an equally cluttered disaster, but I'm not looking at the scenery. I'm looking at the goddess in front of me stepping out of her Levi's, leaving them in a crumpled puddle on the floor.

"Sorry," she says. "About the granny panties. I hadn't planned on disrobing in front of company tonight." And she sits on the bed.

"Well," I say as I kneel before her. "I was planning..." I plant a kiss just above her knee. I feel her tense in anticipation. "On taking them off..." I kiss just a little higher on her creamy thigh. "Pretty quickly..." My lips travel further up her soft flesh. "Anyway."

I slide her underwear off quickly and spread her legs. I can smell her pussy strongly. It's wet. It's unshaven, a brown bramble patch above her pink folds. I continue my slow ascent of kisses along her leg, taking my time. I pass the compass tattoo midway up her thigh and continue heading north. I reach the crevice where her thigh meets her pelvis, and I run my tongue along it. She arches her back. She whimpers. I taste her salty sweat and feel her hair on my tongue. Then I look up at her. Her eyes are desperate, pleading. I grin devilishly at her as I go all the way back down to her other knee, and start the journey again.

"UGH! Oh my god," she groans, throwing her head back. "You are such a dick." I just continue my slow crawl up toward her sex. Once I finally reach her glistening mound, I open my mouth, and just let my hot breath flow over her clit. "Uhhhoooohhh." A desperate whine escapes her as she writhes underneath me. "Jesus. Please, Jackson." I finally lick her clit. Softly, barely making contact. Just once, at first. Then again, and again. She squirms. She coos. I take her knees in my hands to steady her as I lap at her clit, and then dive lower with my tongue to taste all of her juices. She tastes tart. Her hair itches against my nose. Her moans get louder as I work. "Fuck yes. That's so good." She runs her hand through my hair and pulls at it roughly. "Yes. Right there. That's it, yeah."

I slip a finger into her pussy. It's tight, and blazing hot. "Ooooh. Yeah," she encourages. I start to pump it in and out of her, and she starts to rock her hips in approval. I add a second finger, still licking furiously. I can feel every ridge of her against my knuckles. "Oh shit. That's it. Oooohh," she cries. She's tugging at her nipples. "Yes! Keep going." Almost without thinking, caught up in my raging lust, my pinky finds her asshole and tries to push in.

"OH!" She shouts, reflexively scooting away from me.

"Sorry!" I pull away mortified. "I'm so sorry." Damnit. Why did I do that?

"No, it's okay," she says.

"I shouldn't have—I didn't mean to—"

"No. I was just surprised."

"So...do you want me to...?" I look up at her, her juices dripping of my chin, waiting for my cue.

"Yeah," she says, smiling, to my relief. "You should."

I dive back into her, licking and fucking her with my fingers. She tenses again when I put my pinky there, but as I work it in, she relaxes, and begins to moan louder. It seems to come from deep within her core. "Ooooooh, yes. God. That's actually...wow. That feels really good." My tongue flicks rapidly over her clit. My fingers work in and out of her holes. Seconds or minutes or hours pass as I do; I'm not sure. I curl my fingers to stroke her G-spot. I do everything I can possibly think of that might make her feel good; I'm desperate to please. I touch everything, everywhere, all at once, as many times as I can.

And she moans louder and louder. Throaty, vibrato moans. "Ooooooh, yeeeees." I feel her getting wetter. I feel her muscles tense. "Oh—God—So close!" She digs her fingers into my hair for dear life. Her back arches all the way off the bed. Her thighs lock themselves around me. She is on the precipice. She seems to hang there for an eternity. And then—

"UUUUGGGHHHOOOOPHH!" She shatters the air with a piercing, guttural wail. It's raw, almost barbaric. It is indistinguishable from the sound women make in labor on TV. Her pussy gushes fluid—I mean a lot of it—as it clamps down on my fingers. "OOOOOOH! FUCK! YES!" Her hips gyrate chaotically; I have to hold her down to keep her from wriggling away from me. "GOD YES! I'M CUMMING!" As if she had to tell me. Her juices continue rushing over my face and hand. Her ass clenches so tight I think my pinky may never get free. I keep pumping my fingers in her and lapping up her girl cum until I feel her tension release.

"Oh my fucking God," she shudders. She gasps for air. Her breasts are heaving. "That was...oh my God." Sweat drips from her brow as she pants. I stand and wipe some of her off my chin. "I'm sorry," she says, blushing. "I should have told you. I'm kind of a gusher."

"No, it's fine," I say. "It's...great, really." I lick her cum from my fingers.
"Top drawer," she says, still catching her breath.

"...What?"

"Condoms are in the top drawer of the dresser. Get inside me, Jackson."

Trembling from my own lust, I retrieve one. I can already feel a damp spot of precum on my jeans. I rip off my belt. I love the clinking sound the metal makes as I discard it on the floor. I shed my pants and boxers and my achingly hard cock springs forth.

"Mmm. Hurry up," is all she says. She does not gasp or tremble or fall to her knees and stroke my cock in amazement. She does not wax on at length about its size and majestic beauty or the alpha male dominance it obviously represents. She's looking at my face, in fact. "Please. I want to feel you inside me," she whispers.

I roll the condom on and climb between her legs. The mattress squeaks under my weight. I hold myself over her and bring my swollen head against her sopping wetness. Our eyes lock. She wraps her arms around my back and neck. I press my forehead to hers. Like last night, on the beach. But not like last night. She's here. Our heavy breaths seem to synchronize, and I push my cock into her.

She's so wet that I slide into her smoothly. All the way to the hilt. Her mouth goes wide in a silent scream, like her breath is caught in her throat. But her eyes never leave mine. She grips a fistful of my hair as she adjusts to me. For a long moment, neither of us makes a sound. We don't blink. I'm not sure we even breathe. We just stare into each other's eyes, and feel each other's heat. I feel the weight of my body settled against her. So safe. So complete. Then my hips rise, and I plunge into her again. And again. The bed creaks with each thrust. But for awhile, this is the only sound. The creaking and our breathing.