My Only Talent Ch. 20

I popped her again, left, right, and wiggled my fingers up against the roof of her now sloppy pussy; she came twice in rapid succession, really in her element now. I did four pops in rapid succession and four strong pushes into her G spot, she came four times like a thoroughbred. She was amazing. Her muscles quivered against the pull toys that surrounded her limbs, the tension and excitement moving around like bird jumping from tree limb to tree limb. I turned her over onto her back, bent her up double, kissing her tenderly on the lips and then shoved myself into her as hard as I could.

"Thank you, Master!"

I put all my weight on her: she wanted more. I sealed my lips to hers and fucked her as hard and as deep as I could. She grabbed my butt cheeks with both hands and squeezed them hard, urging me on and into her. John Henry, don't fail me now. I plastered myself to her and surged forward. She raked my ass with her nails, and then held them still and pushed them deep into me; leaving ten red welts I was sure. I loved it. I was ready to let loose.

"Fill me up, Master. All your hot stuff!"

That did it for me. My painfully hard cock exploded. I pushed myself into her like a hero falling on a grenade. But I survived, and I knew I wanted to do it again.

When I finally got back to the dorm dinner service was almost over, but I managed to load up a plate as they were beginning to shut down the lines. The older but hot cafeteria lady that usually gave me two steaks on steak night smiled as she buttoned up the dessert line and took pity on me. She gave me two very cold pints of Blue Bell: one chocolate and one pistachio, to finish off my meal. What an angel. Back in my room I checked email. There was one from Saskia Graendel with a remainder that I must not eat anything for twelve hours previous to my conditioning class workup at 6 PM Monday. I would need to be sure to make early breakfast.

I went through Monday classes in a bit of a daze, still trying to process everything that had happened to me since I got back into town. Finals were less than a week away, with a few "no class days' set aside for studying and final preparation for the exams. Despite loading up at a very early breakfast, I was starving ten minutes after 6 AM, and knew I would not get anything else until well after 8 PM tonight. I did my best to concentrate on classes and school work and ignore my growling stomach all day. Through a process akin to sublimation, I went steadily through all my classes up updated my study plans. I felt pretty confident. I had all the old exams from the UDP frat test files, and I had tried to anticipate what might be new since the last few exams. I was ready. I decided to just relax and try to learn something from the testing for the new conditioning class. I was feeling pretty good.

.....

And so it was that I left the dorm in the early evening having not eaten anything since breakfast, but supremely confident in my academic, athletic, and dating pursuits, and ready to be examined by the brilliant physiologists to see if there was even any remote possibility to improve my wonderful body in any way! I walked over to the football stadium, specifically to Theo Belmont Hall, as the structure on the west side under the upper deck was officially known. When you build a stadium that seats more than 100,000 fans, there is a lot of area under those seats, and a lot of stuff can be built under there for very little additional cost. I had heard stories of hundreds of classrooms, weight rooms, racquetball, handball and even badminton courts, athletic department offices, gymnasiums, medical labs, storage warehouses, a ballroom for dancing and events, a campus police headquarters complete with jail, and even a giant underground fallout shelter being hidden under there. I knew there was some surprising stuff under the North End Zone building where Lara's dad's corporate suite was, but I had never actually entered into the bowels of Belmont, as the rabbit warren of corridors and offices interspersed with escalators and elevators were known colloquially. After asking two passersby for directions, I finally found the office on the fifth floor that the email had directed me to, and with only a minute to spare.

Ms. Saskia Graendel, PhD., turned out to be a post doc, not a grad student, and a very average looking woman in her late twenties. She was of average height and build, with brown hair and brown eyes that were average in color, but way above average in their brightness, as they spoke of intelligence and vitality, scanning the room like lasers. But what struck me most was her Suzie signal, which was unique. If Peggy's was pure and of perfect pitch, and Nora's was just little effervescent bubbles occasionally leaking out, then Saskia's was like an unintended leak of turbulence outside the envelope of her body, where inside of her there were two giant counter--rotating tornados that almost but not quite canceled each other out. I found it disconcerting. It wasn't a signal for me, or for any individual. It was more like she was flying though tremendous stress and turbulence on the whole subject of sex in general, and just barely keeping the lid on it.

As I approached her, she looked at me funny, as my stomach was growling like sound effects from one of those old B movies where giant worms rumble up out of the ground and eat Cleveland. The last time I could remember going twelve hours without eating anything was when I had mononucleosis in the seventh grade and slept for longer than that. She looked at me coldly, almost clinically, and then the interrogation began.

"Good evening Mr. Roberts. The drums of the Borborygmi tribe are telling me you have at least not eaten much in the last twelve hours. Let's pray you can comply with our other simple instructions, shall we? Let's walk toward the lab while I get some of my interview questions done. When did you last have anything containing caffeine?"

She was already getting on my nerves. Apparently she had taken one look at me and pegged my IQ somewhere near room temperature. "I had hot tea with breakfast on Thursday morning."

She looked at me like I was a recalcitrant third grader. "Come come, Mr. Roberts! What about the ubiquitous Coca-Cola, or other big gulp soft drinks? Chocolate bars? When did you last have them, eh? Speak up!"

"I had some homemade fudge Friday, but I never eat commercial candy or drink anything besides tea, milk, juice, Caffeine Free Diet coke and Sprite, fruit juice, and water."

"I see," she said with obvious skepticism. "When did you last drink alcohol? How many hours, dear?"

I had to think about that. She assumed I was stumped, but I was pissed off and calculating. She started to interrupt when I said "Roughly 13 thousand, since my junior prom, darling! " I was imitating her tone as well as I could. She looked at me funny again.

"You must be an engineering or physics major, eh?" She looked at her clipboard. "Yes, of course!" "What about pot, speed, E? I just need the facts, dear! No police reports!"

"Junior prom, never, and never, darling!"

Now she was a little miffed too, at least. Her Suzie turbulence seemed to be increasing, also.

"How much exercise in the last 24 hours?"

"Nothing too vigorous. Sunday I walked around a park for two hours or so, and threw a Frisbee with some kids at a charity picnic. Today I just went to class and jogged at lunchtime, but only five miles.

"How about the past week? What exercise?"

"I ran my first marathon distance Friday. I was pretty shaky when I finished. I normally do 15 miles each MWF."

"How admirable of you! Anything else?"

I smiled, looking at her eyes carefully to gauge her response. "Yes, several times over the weekend, but nothing quite as vigorous as running a marathon!"

She looked at me and her Suzie turbulence clearly increased again. By this time we had reached a large space with a high ceiling that seem to be filled with medical and sports equipment. A technician had me sit at a table and did a blood draw: five vials worth! Then Saskia handed me a hospital gown and pointed to a dressing room. "Please change into this gown, tie it in the back loosely, and return. You can leave your clothes and effects in the dressing room and I will lock it." She gave me a cadaverous look when she said 'effects'.

When I emerged from the dressing room she did lock it, and motioned me up onto an examination table. It reminded me a bit of the massage table at Lara's, and I had a very vigorous and obvious reaction. She took my blood pressure and could not help but notice my circulatory state. She tried to look disapproving, but her Suzie turbulence increased again. "Let's wait a moment for things to subside, shall we, and see what your real 'resting' readings are, eh?"

I couldn't resist having a little fun with her. "Perhaps if you could have someone else take the reading, someone that I find less stimulating?"

She actually smiled for just a fraction of a second, and then caught herself. She took my blood pressure again, standing up, and then had me lay back down and took it in the right arm and then the left. She took out a tape measure and had me stand at a spot with two footprints on the floor and measured my neck, chest, waist, hips, and calves, and then my biceps and thighs. She stood me up next to a wooden frame with some a square wire grids hanging from it and said she was 'checking my alignment', and then had me lay down on what looked like a table with big scanner thing on it that ran over me several times. There was a handmade sign on the wall that said 'FatCam'. She called it a 'multiple wavelength, low energy x-ray imager' that would let her cross check some of her other measurements and calculations. She watched the screen with a curious expression and then ran the scans over again and still looked puzzled.

"Mr. Roberts, have there been any recent changes in your body that you have noticed?"

"Well, now that you mention it, I had to get new pants over Thanksgiving. All my old ones were too loose at the waist and too tight in the thighs and uh, hips, I guess you'd say. And standard clothes off the rack would not fit; we had to have some alterations done.

She snorted. "I'm sure that's true," as if she was surprised I was telling the truth. "Would it be more correct to say that your buttocks were bigger, rather than that your hips were wider?"

"Yes, that's it exactly. I have been running a lot more since I came to school here."

"That would account for the lack of fat around the waist, and the development of your thighs and calves, but not the muscle development in your buttocks. That would be a different kind of exercise. But I believe that you alluded to that earlier in your own crude way, didn't you?"

"I was trying to be discrete, not crude, but perhaps my strong reaction to you clouded my little brain?"

I was laying it on thick enough that even she should get it. She did look at me a little differently. She spoke again almost as if speaking to herself, "I'm going to run all four assessment software packages, to see how things compare, so relax for a few more minutes."

The moving x-ray head did a bunch of panning and scanning like the high resolution flat bed scanner in the art room at my old high school, while Saskia asked me more questions.

"What sports did you play in high school?"

"Tennis was my only organized sport, but the tennis coach made us run track when it wasn't tennis season."

She nodded like I had confirmed one of her suspicions. What was she up to?

She kept writing notes all the time the machine did its little song and dance, and then motioned for me to get up and follow her down the hall to another area. "We don't normally do this test much anymore, since the x-ray is much better and faster, but your readings are at the margins and I want to calibrate against the old gold standard. So we are going to dip you in some water for a few minutes, and let Archimedes tell us a few things about you. And maybe the cold water will dampen your ardor a bit, eh?"

"It will only serve to heighten the contrast with your warmth, darling!" She almost laughed again. She turned the dip test over to a taciturn looking guy wearing shorts, who had obviously had multiple and only partially successful surgeries to both knees. He looked to be about 30, but his knees looked at least 50. He had a red neck type of tan on his face and neck and angry red scars all over his knees but was otherwise pale as a ghost. I tried to make conversation.

"Football knees, huh?"

"Boy you are fucking brilliant! What did you think, in arrears with a bookie, maybe?

As he took me behind a little screen and motioned for me to take off the gown, I remembered one of Alley's dad's stories about the Cowboys player that had gotten in really deep trouble with a bookie by losing big while betting basketball games and had to pawn all his bling to pay off the bets. "Those are not necessarily mutually exclusive, are they?"

He laughed, and said, "Yeah, you're right about that. I'm Duke Knorr." He stuck out his hand.

I shook his hand. The name triggered a memory: he was a former ESU wideout that had been a kick returner in the NFL for a few years until his knees had been shattered completely. It was actually a miracle that he could still walk. He had me sit on a little stool in the tank that was like a kid's swing hanging from a hook in the ceiling, and then he turned a valve and the tank began to fill with water. It was cold!

"I'm Robbie Roberts. Are you one of Bob the Knob's students?"

"Yeah, I was up until this week. He spilt this scene for Cal, man. UC San Diego gave him a better deal -- endowed chair, research foundation of his very own, a house near campus and even a golf membership at Torrey Pines. The new head of the department will probably clean house and sweep me out with it." He read some gauges and watched the tank fill up slowly. "The new head is a woman named Arturia Colorado. I didn't even know she had her PhD. She must be the daughter in law of some regent or something to get this job, because her citation index is practically zip."

When the tank got full, he closed the valve and asked me to make sure my toes were not touching the floor. He looked at a spring and tension gauge in the rope holding the swing and then looked at me again, and rechecked his dials and gauges.

"Shit man, your body fat is like 5%! You should try to eat more! Your legs are pretty well developed, but your upper body is too skinny. We need to look seriously at your bone density! What do you do for exercise, man?" He drained the tank, and gave me a towel and when I was dry, had me but the gown back on.

"Well I just ran my first marathon distance this Friday, but I eat all the time as it is, and my stomach growls almost constantly. I haven't eaten anything all day today because of this testing, and I am so ravenous I am feeling a little shaky right now!"

He took out a little meter, pricked my finger and stuck the end of the meter in the blood.

"Sixty: That's too low!" He gave me two of Bob the Knob's little energy gel envelopes. "Suck these into your mouth, quick!"

"I like these. I had some after I finished my long run on Friday! They really tasted good, and they made me feel better."

"These aren't even out on the market yet. Where did you get them?"

"Suzanne Pliskin gave them to me, and helped me stretch after my run."

He laughed. "Man she can help me stretch anytime! That was exactly the right thing to give you though, especially if she suspected low blood sugar. She is going to be very unhappy about Bob the Knob leaving."

By this time, the lovely and gracious Saskia had returned. Duke told her about my low body fat, and the low blood sugar reading. She showed him something on her clipboard and then both of them shook their heads. Duke said, "Your bone density is wonderful, man, so that's not the problem. You should be doing advertisements for drinking milk!"

Saskia took me back to the other big lab, to what looked like a massage table next to a wall with what appeared to be rulers and protractors stenciled on it. She manipulated me like a chiropractor at a carnival, pushing and shoving my arms and legs into every conceivable position and then making notes in her little notebook. She would hold a limb at what I thought was its maximum possible extension, and then ask me to push against her for about thirty seconds, and then relax, and she would push it even farther. It hurt a bit, but thanks to my new ability to handle pain, I got another hard on. She would then feel each muscle for shape and tension and press it to see how it rebounded, which only made my condition worse.

She looked at me funny, and said "Usually the pain of a maximum stretch is anything but exciting!"

"It must be that my attraction to you overcomes the discomfort, my darling. I love it when you put your hands on me!"

This time she actually laughed, but continued to check and recheck all her measurements. This took about another 30 minutes, and I was sore and starving by the time she finished. "Just sit here a minute. I want to cross check a few things to make sure we don't need to repeat a test."

She came back in a few minutes. "Okay, Roberts, you can go. I will send you an email about your next sessions, which will be an exercise stress test here, and some MRI and X-ray stuff at another location."

I stood still, watching her.

"What are you waiting for Roberts?"

I gave her my best leer. "I was hoping for your phone number! Or were you just toying with my affections?"

She actually laughed again. "I don't date students, Roberts. Besides, I'm very likely to be your instructor this semester now that Bob the Knob is gone."

Duke Knorr walked over to me as Saskia walked away. "I don't think she dates humans, kid, at least no one here has ever heard of it happening. And just between you and me, anyone who has seen Suzanne Pliskin even once and then asks Saskia out should have their head examined. But I am sure Saskia will schedule you for an MRI soon." He laughed at his own joke.

When I left Belmont Hall, it was almost 9 PM, and I realized Suzanne would just be finishing leading a review session for the final exam in the Econ 101 class she was the TA for. I walked west on 21st toward the lecture hall, figuring to give her the news on Bob the Knob George's very recent departure, and the about to be named new department head, Dr. Arturia Colorado. I found her at the front of the room, simultaneously handling one real substantive question and deflecting two suck-ups looking for a break on their homework grades. She finished with both and noticed me, and we both smiled warmly.

"Can I walk you to your car Miss?"

Her grin widened. "Will you behave yourself, young man?"

"Absolutely not!"

"Okay, then, I'll go with you! I need a break from pushing back the frontiers of economic ignorance, one freshman at a time. How did your conditioning testing go?"

"It was quite extensive, and I am now starving. I did pick up one bit of news, though. Bob the Knob is not going to teach the class next semester."

She did a double take. "Why in the world not?"

"Because he has just resigned his post at the University, and got an endowed chair at UCSD, complete with his own research foundation."

Suzanne was clearly stunned by this. "I had no hint of this! Who is taking over as department head?"

"Someone named Arturia Colorado will be named department head later this week, and is taking over all of Bob's students, classes, and research projects.

"Oh fuck, no!"

"I take it she is not your favorite?"

"She is the nexus of evil in the modern world! That bitch wouldn't know good science if it rang her doorbell, which is about the only way she would ever encounter any. She is a suppurating sore on the ass of objective truth, a bureaucratic troll, a toady, a petty bourgeois apparatchik politician, and an embezzling grant thief. She will run that department the way Boss Tweed ran New York, with phony data sets, favoritism, inflated citation indexes, bribery, kickbacks, and intimidation. Her nickname is the Brown Bear, which is highly insulting to bears; noble beasts that vigorously defend their young! If Arturia ever had any offspring, I'm sure she would kill and eat them, which I have to agree would be much better for civilization than letting them live!"