David almost always woke up first. He went to bed when it was just dark, fighting for sleep against the irritating and incessant typing in the other room. Typically he woke up just before Heather, with just enough time to hit the bathroom and shave before she rolled out of bed.
Still, he wasn’t totally surprised to find her curled up, cat-like, next to him, studying him with soft eyes.
“Finally!” Heather said. “It’s been nearly a half-hour. I really wanted to wake you up, but I didn’t want to, you know, bother you.”
“What is it?” David said. He sat upright. Heather had gone to bed wearing her usual dark pajamas. Now she wore only a loose t-shirt and a pair of sleep-shorts. She sprawled on her side of the bed, her legs a little open. “Are you okay?”
“Oh! I’m fine.” Heather said. “I just wanted to, you know, see if there was anything I could do for you this morning.” One eyebrow went up. For the first time, David noticed the wet spot coloring her nether regions. And part of the bed. Heather flushed.
“I had some pretty vivid dreams.”
“You did that? Is that normal for girls?” David said.
“Some of them. It’s more embarrassing then anything else. Makes me thirsty. For things.” She scooted onto one side and fixed him with her best sultry look. It wasn’t a bad effort for a novice. Her hand twitched.
“Anyway, what CAN I do for you?” she asked.
David was too groggy to do anything but blink. “Are you sure you’re okay, Heather? I mean, this is really unlike you. I kind of expected you to be out the door for the Conference. Isn’t it at 9?”
Heather sat bolt upright. “The Conference! Oh, this is just… I can’t believe I forgot the Conference. I haven’t prepared at all!”
She jumped out of bed, and closed the bathroom door. David relaxed. This, at least, was much more normal. Heather acting sexy was mostly confusing… although also very, very arousing. His mind cleared away the sleep cloud. “You could’ve fucked her right then and there,” it accused. “She wanted it, and you told her to get ready for her dumb academic conference. Bravo.”
His cock agreed. It lingered over images of her sprawled on the bed, legs wide, wet for him. Heather ran out of the bathroom, her hair pulled back into the usual severe ponytail, and disappeared into the closet. She seemed a lot more.. bouncy.. then she had been.
Well, at least everything seemed to be back to normal. David walked into the kitchen and made coffee. A few minutes later, Heather entered the room. She wore a dark blouse, made out of some tight, shiny material, and a long blue skirt that skimmed her ankles. Still, even in the work outfit, she looked good. Her breasts poked at the shirt, annoyed at it, unusually prominent today. Had she lost weight?
“Does this look okay?” she said nervously, swiveling back and forth. “I feel like I’m forgetting something.”
“Looks good,” David said.
“No, really,” Heather said. “I want your opinion. What about my legs? Be honest about them.”
“Legs look fine,” David said. Heather smiled, struck a pose with them. She was wearing heels, he noticed. Just one inch or so, and she tottered a little in the unusual footwear.
“What about my hair? Do you like my hair?”
Her hair shone underneath the hallway light. It looked lighter. “Very nice. Shiny. Very professional.”
“And my boobs?” Heather said. David nearly choked on his coffee. “I’m serious, David! This is an important conference. I need to be professional. Do my boobs look okay? Not too small?”
“No, no. They’re great. Good boobs.” Heather thrust them out, waved them around. “This looks okay? And what about my butt?”
She turned around, bent over a little bit, and shook it at him. David put his coffee down carefully. Fortunately, his robe hid the tent he was pitching. “You can pinch it to see if it’s firm enough,” she offered.
Fine by me, David thought. He got up, smoothed down his robe, and pinched her on the ass. Heather straightened, sighed. “I guess I have to get moving. I just can’t help but feel like I’m missing something,” she said.”
David sniffed. “Heather… are you wearing underwear?” he asked, cautiously. She blushed scarlet.
“Oh! I can’t believe I nearly forgot. Just a second.” She disappeared and reappeared. “That could’ve been a problem. Thanks for reminding me. Okay. I’m off. I’ll be back around 2. Please, Please don’t masturbate today. Well, I mean, it’s your decision, but if you don’t, I can make it worth your while. So please don’t.”
And then she was gone. David sipped thoughtfully at his coffee.
Things seemed to be back to normal. Heather was worried about her career, same as ever. Nothing unusual about it. Everything was normal.
He sighed. Heather had forgotten to take the bottle of lubricant. It was still on the counter from last night. He would have to take it to her. This was a little absent-minded, even for her.
“What does a good feminist do when she’s… excited.., but she has to leave?” Heather thought. She walked as fast as she could in heels. It had been three years since she last wore them. Heather bought them just before her interview for Graduate School, to make a good impression. She had agonized over the decision for weeks, hyper-aware of the unfair societal standards they promoted. Still, they made her legs look good. Her ass swayed even as she tore down the sidewalk.
“If she’s horny, hypothetically-speaking, it’s only right to ask the guy for relief as part of their mutual sexual relationship,” she thought. “But if you’re waking him up as well, and rushing his sexual performance, then you need to do something to even the scales. QED.” Satisfied, she tried to put it out of her mind. The fresh air felt good. The apartment had been getting a little… cloying, now that she thought about it.
The lubricant! She had forgotten it. Should she go back?
“Well, whatever for?” Heather thought. She laughed. Go back for the lubricant! She didn’t need it at all, and besides, she was late. It would take her nearly ten minutes to walk back and get it. Ten minutes she didn’t have. Yeah. She could run, but that would take too long.
A couple of gardeners, up early on a Saturday, examined her backside as she walked past. Heather swayed a little bit more. One toe in front of the other. There, as a child of Privilege she had given some joy to them, restoring some semblance of order to the class balance. She smiled.
She ran into Jenny at the corner outside of campus. The slight Asian girl was leaned up against a lightpole, waiting for the crosswalk light.
“Hey,” Jenny said. She smiled at Heather. Heather was shocked.
“Jenny! You’re smiling!”
The smile disappeared. “Well, yeah, so?”
Heather shrugged, embarrassed. “Sorry, I’m just used to you being, you know, serious. Very serious. You know your reputation.”
Jenny retreated to her habitual scowl. “There’s a lot to be serious about! We aren’t all presenting our dissertation, living with our boyfriends, we don’t all own big research grants…” Jenny snapped. She crossed her arms.
“I really am sorry,” Heather said, in her best “apologetic” voice. Jenny wore a dark black skirt that covered her ankles and an ACLU t-shirt. Sneakers poked out underneath the skirt. “Lets see you smile again. Come on.”
“No.” Jenny said. “No way.”
“C’mon. Smile. Do it.”
“You’re being a child. Lets just go.”
Heather put her hand on Jenny’s back as they crossed the street. “If you do, you can come over. We can drink and talk.” Her boobs weren’t that bad, Heather thought. They fit her frame. She just wasn’t that big of a person. And she was perfectly thin.
Jenny’s lips trembled as she fought the urge. Then she smiled. Heather rewarded her with a brilliant smile of her own. “There! Was that so hard?” Jenny was much more attractive when she smiled, Heather decided. It complimented her light almond skin, and her eyes lost a network of lines. “And I want you to stay happy the rest of the day.”
“Not likely,” Jenny said. But she kept a quiet, relaxed smile on her face as they chatted on the way to the auditorium. Jenny at first wanted to talk about female-descended dynasties, but Heather deftly changed the conversation towards how nice the weather was. Jenny was much more fun when she was talking about pleasant topics, she decided. Jenny, for her part, didn’t seem to mind.
“I can come over later today?” Jenny asked. “Do you have that same wine you had yesterday?” She looked hopefully at Heather.
“Well! You little lush!” Heather laughed. “Sure!”
The day was bright and beautiful. Heather noted with professional interest the girls in short shorts and abbreviated skirts, lingering around the front of the library. There were more boys sitting around then could be explained by upcoming exams. “Very interesting,” she thought.
She breezed into the main lecture hall. The assembled Professors and fellow Graduate Students gave her terse nods, and opened their tight circles just enough to let her in. She walked past them, nodding politely in their direction. Today didn’t seem like a good day to deal with their bitter inter-departmental politics and cutting ideological warfare. Heather looked for her compact in her backpack, to check her hair, and realized that she didn’t own one.
Heather pulled out her dissertation. Two hundred and thirty-seven pages about remedial politics for women in the 19th century. Over nine hundred citations in a separate booklet that took up seventy pages. She read the familiar lines, most of them revised a dozen times, and went over the refrain of her thesis. Every time women’s rights took a step forwards, men pushed them two back. It was all there in black and white, the product of years of work. But what if it was only half the story? No, that was crazy. Everything about the past day had been crazy.
“What have I been doing?” She wondered. The past day felt so strange and euphoric, a potpourri-scented haze of sexual frustration and need. Yes, they had been glorious. Relaxing. Wonderful. But this was the height of her career, and she was flouncing around in front of David like a sex-starved teenager. It was undignified. Distracting. He was the embodiment of the male ego, a quivering mass of libido and primal urges itching to hold her back. And he had nearly done it! The intoxicating image of his twitching cock flooded her mind, and she was happy to see that she could banish it with relative ease.
“Heather!” David called, from the side of the aisle. Heather glared at him.
“What is it?” she snarled. She didn’t need distractions right now, especially from David. “I’m giving a presentation in just a few minutes. I don’t need any problems.”
David looked hurt. He reached her seat, put a hand out gingerly, then pulled it back. Heather took a deep breath. He smelled like the apartment, that rich smell of strawberries and cream clung to him. To his body. Already she could feel herself responding to it, starting to get wet. She didn’t have time for this.
“You should go sit over there,” she said. “we can talk after this.”
He put both hands up. “Okay, okay. I just wanted to, you know, support you.”
“Support me?” Heather felt tears blurring her vision. He was there to watch her. Watch her boring, dull dissertation presentation. On his Saturday morning, after she had already woken him up and basically demanded that he pinch her ass, even if he didn’t want to. And after she had gotten him all hard. He was still here supporting her.
“Well… thank you, David. Thanks. Now, please, go over there.” He couldn’t see her cry. Then he’d have to support her again.
“Okay,” he said. His eyes hardened. “Well, fine. I’m leaving. Good luck, I guess.” He turned around stiffly, like a wounded soldier, then turned around again.
“Oh.” he said. “I brought this, for…” he handed her the lubricant. His brows knitted. “For…um..”
Heather grabbed the bottle, pulled it down out of sight, and stuffed it into her backpack. “Okay! Now, go sit in the back.”
He nodded tersely and walked towards the end. Heather watched his butt sway. His lingering comforting aftershave—some sort of fruit—lingered behind him. He had worn the jeans she liked. David had come to support her. And once again she had acted like a horrible bitch. It would probably take too long to drag him into her office and give him a quick thank-you handjob, but maybe some light petting…
Heather shivered, and looked down. Her blue skirt was soaked through on the front, wet once again with her own betraying lubrication. She checked her watch. Her presentation was just ten minutes away. Already the head of the Department was in front of the overly lit podium, blathering on about some blah blah Afghan Children’s Fund blah. Heather held her backpack in front of her and frog-walked into the bathroom. At least her mortification had stopped the lubrication. Really, she was going to have to masturbate just to take the edge off if this sort of thing was going to affect her career every time she got emotional.
“Hello, Heather,” said a raspy voice behind her. Heather carefully turned around, fixed her face into a pleasant, vapid smile. “Hello Rebecca,” she said.
Rebecca was a dark ash blond, and wore thick-rimmed glasses that took over her entire face, excepting only a few escaping freckles. She wore a wine-red sweater that covered a prominent pair of breasts, and was on just the far side of heavy.
She didn’t need to deal with Rebecca right now. “We’re all looking forward to your presentation. A year’s worth of work, it should tear down the boundaries of Dystolic Theory.”
Rebecca and Heather shared an advisor and an office. Nothing else, not even the chalk that had come with the room. Heather had rebuffed Rebecca’s patronizing efforts to mentor her when she entered the office. For the next three years, Heather had commanded growing amounts of awards, research grants, and academic praise. Rebecca’s level of jealousy rose accordingly.
“How’s your new own publication going? Back for review?” Heather said, sweetly. Rebecca’s last submission had been rejected, “Impress us,” written across it in bright red pen.
“I didn’t try to sweet-talk them, if that’s what you mean,” Rebecca said. “Didn’t have the voice for it.”
Heather glowered. Rebecca knew that she hated her own breathy voice. She had confessed to the older student, early in her first year, that she had used it in Sophomore English to wheedle her grade up a half-point.
Rebecca sniffed. “Is that your boyfriend?” she asked, pointing towards David. He had taken a seat by himself, near the back, and was watching the academics around him warily.
“What if he is?” Heather said.
“Nothing. Just wondering who would put up with your workload. Does he see you at all or do you just e-mail him pictures? I see you’ve lost weight. For him?”
Heather nearly slapped her. Even as she delivered the barb, Rebecca frowned. She sniffed the air. “Do you smell something?” she said. “….Mangos? Raspberries?”
“My relationships are none of your business. And we are in a committed, mutual partnership,” Heather said. She smiled beatifically. Smiling she could do.
Rebecca blinked. “That must be why you sent him to sit in the back,” she said.
“I didn’t want him distracting me!”
“Is that what it is? Distracting? I’d think the girl with the vaunted 1500 GMAT wouldn’t be distracted so easily,”
“At least my IQ is higher then chest level,” Heather said. “Think about it. I’ve got the brains and I’ve got the boy. Enjoy my speech, Rebecca.” She turned, satisfied, and walked off.
Rebecca blinked, frowned, “Is that strawberries…? Wait, Heather!”
But Heather just walked off, holding the backpack triumphantly in front of a darker-blue stain. Just to put insult to injury, she swayed her hips again. It felt nice. It was always good to get the last word in. Higher then chest level. She giggled. The perfect putdown.
Jenny had tried everything to wipe the smile on her face. Nothing seemed to be working. She thought about strife in Darfur, of AIDS in Africa… but even after she managed to scare it off, the same giggly contented smile would slip back on. It made her look like a contented ditz. She had already shocked several classmates, all of whom were expecting her usual half-scowl. She nearly giggled. “NOT going to giggle,” she told herself. Even if her hormones were getting away from her, there was no excuse for giggling.
She wanted to be serious. It was just that Heather had asked her not to be. And Heather did have good advice. She had—when they—well, Jenny couldn’t recall exactly what Heather had told her when they were drinking together, but she certainly appreciated it. She had hummed to herself all the way back to her own studio apartment. Jenny felt… good. Happy.
And with a certain energy she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Like a warm tingle that spread across her… vaginal area…, then north, before ending somewhere in the back of her head. Jenny decided to take a last ditch trip to the bathroom to calm down.
The bathroom was deserted. Jenny examined her reflection. Impulsively, she let her hair down. Usually she was cursed by at least three or four pimples, blemishing her soft tan skin. But they all seemed to be gone today.
It smelled nice in here. Like strawberries and wine. She turned around to check her rear. Her ancestors would’ve approved, she thought. Living in the Patriarchy, they would’ve applauded her lithe waist and curvy hips. Good for bearing children, they would’ve said. Sitting there in some dark bedroom, giving themselves politely and agreeably to their husbands. Jenny shook her head. It was terrible. Yes. To be so agreeable.
“Jenny!” A voice hissed. She started, pulled her hand guiltily from where it had crept southwards.
“Heather?”
“Are you alone?”
“Um, yes?” Jenny said.
“Come in here with me!”
“In the stall?”
“Just do it!”
Alright, Jenny thought. Nothing wrong with that. Just helping a friend.
Heather was inside. She had pulled off her skirt, and wore just a pair of panties. Jenny stared, transfixed, at the wet spot. A tiny drop of liquid oozed down her leg. Jenny followed it all the way down.
“What happened, Heather?” she whispered.
“Jenny, I need your help.” Heather said. She kept her voice low. “I’ve got a problem. I need your skirt.”
“Whoa,” Jenny said. She felt the smile come back; she didn’t want Heather to see her frown. She fought against it. This was no time to be happy! “This is crazy. You got so wet you soaked your skirt? How did that happen?”
“I don’t have time for this, Jenny! I’m on stage in just a minute! You’re just a little shorter then me, I know it’s a big favor, but this is something I really need.”
“Heather, this is really more of a medical problem. If you’re getting so wet that you’re soaking your entire skirt, my god…”
“It’s not a big deal,” Heather sighed. “Some girls are just naturally lubricated. Here, wait, I know. This will explain things.” She pulled a bottle out of her backpack. “See, lubricant. Everyone uses it, it’s just a natural thing for female bodies.”
Jenny stared at the bottle. “That’s… what is that?”
“Put your hand out,” Heather said. There was no arguing with it. Heather poured a little onto her palm. “See? Lubrication is nothing to be ashamed of. You can even drink it.”
Jenny’s hand trembled. The lubricant glistened on her hand. It was so warm. She was so warm.
“What?”
“Drink it.”
Jenny’s hand reached her mouth, and she was licking, lost in a strawberry haze. It tasted good, kind of sweet.
She should help Heather, she realized. The poor girl was in trouble. This kind of emergency could derail a promising career, send another hardworking female into a spiral that was hard enough to keep out of. Really, she had no other option but to trade skirts. She shimmied out of hers, acutely conscious that her legs were bare. She could see why Heather got so wet. She was feeling distinctly liquid herself. Her skirt was too small for Heather, clinging tightly and lewdly to her backside. Heather didn’t seem to mind.
“Thanks!” Heather said, dashing out of the bathroom.
Jenny realized she would have to navigate an entire auditorium of watchful Professors and Colleagues, wearing a skirt that was too big for her, and bearing a big wet stain on the front of it.
So why did she feel so good about it?
“And now, our first presentation, Heather Woods. She will be presenting on.. lets see… an Alternative View of 19th Century Women’s Movements.”
Heather took the stage. The crowd waited attentively. She grabbed the microphone. Her index finger unconsciously stroked the backside of it.
She had rehearsed her presentation so many times, in her head, that the entire speech came out by rote. Heather checked out the room. Over there were a row of male grad students, mostly nerds, fidgeting. Were they checking her out? Possibly, the skirt was just a little bit too small for her. It hugged her rear, forcing her legs together, and she had to step carefully around the stage in her heels. Impulsively, she turned, faced the Powerpoint presentation in the background. When she turned around again, all four seemed that much more attentive. Interesting.
The wet spot had grown again, but this time she was prepared for it. Black skirts! That was the trick.
But David wasn’t there. She checked each row in turn, growing increasingly worried. He was gone, not in any row, not in the entire auditorium.
I’ve scared him off, Heather realized. Her heart sank. He came all the way out here, expected to spend just a little time with me, and I treated him like he was a bug on my ass.
She stumbled in her speech, shook herself. This was important, she told herself. Even if she was messing up her entire relationship to give this worthless, pointless speech. Heather rushed through the remaining ten minutes, skipping entirely the anecdotes and flipping through powerpoint slides like they were a deck of cards. After absorbing the applause from the audience, she rushed down the stage, stormed up the aisle.
A crowd of well-wishers and admirers descended on her, congratulating her on months of work, and she had no choice but to smile and nod. The boys and girls were entirely too close to her, and the resulting cloud of warm strawberries and humanity made her dizzy, confused. Wet. “I need some water,” she gasped.
Then she saw Rebecca, standing quietly by herself in the back. Smiling.
“Have you seen David?” Heather asked, coldly.
“Just maybe,” Rebecca said. “I think I spoke to him while you were in the bathroom.” She sniffed again. “There it is again. That smell. I don’t…”
“Listen,” Heather said. “What did you say to him?”
“Just that he was distracting you. He left. Very sensitive of him, I thought. You’ve got him well-trained.”
Heather stood so close to Rebecca she could count cavities. Their chests brushed together. Rebecca looked down. “Um, you’re…”
“Stay away from David,” Heather said. “He doesn’t need to be infected with failure. David likes smart girls.”
“Well, we’ll see about that,” Rebecca sneered. She was still looking down, where the two academics chests’ were touching. Rubbing together. Heather dimly realized that both sets of nipples were taut. “Wait. I mean…”
“Sure, I know what you mean. If David likes dumb girls with big boobs, let me know.”
“I will!” Rebecca said, snarling. She shook her head, looked confused. “Wait, that’s not what…”
But Heather was already striding away, too angry to be triumphant.
David walked home, his head down. Thrown out, he thought bitterly. Thrown out when he had gone all the way to the auditorium for an hour of the most godawful speeches and boring presentations. Powerpoint needed to be erased from this Earth.
“David! Oh my god, stop!” Heather called, from behind him. He turned. She struggled to keep up, shuffling in her heels and a too-tight skirt she had gotten somewhere, for some reason. At some point her hair had fallen out of its ponytail, and it bounced around her face. David let her walk all the way to him.
“I’m so sorry,” Heather said. She panted. Her breasts heaved under her blouse. They strained against her bra. “I heard about what Rebecca said.”
“She just told me what you already did! Get out of my life. Leave me alone. Stop distracting me. Well, sorry I distracted you.” He turned around to leave.
“David! Wait. Lets.. come on, I don’t want to do this here.” Heather said. She looked around. Her colleagues weren’t far away. “My office is right here, lets go there.”
David rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he said, nearly spitting it out. “Whatever.”
Heather led him into the building. Despite himself, David’s eyes kept drooping towards her ass. It swayed underneath the straining black fabric. She unlocked the office door and led him through a brightly lit central room with a bank of computers. It was huge.
“This is your office?”
“No, I share it with Rebecca. It’s all part of the grant I got last fall.”
“You got a grant? How much?”
“Um. Sixty-thousand dollars.”
“You have sixty-thousand dollars to spend? On what?”
Heather looked worried. She turned back towards him. “I didn’t have anything to spend it—look, lets do this in my office! Come on!”
Her office was off the main room, well-lit by a single window. There was a single desk in the room, with several scattered chairs and a computer. It had a musty, unused feel about it.
Heather quickly locked the door, and drew the shades. “I’m really sorry,” she said, whispering. “I didn’t mean to mistreat you like that. I know you do a lot for me.”
“It’s just part of a pattern,” David said. Heather fidgeted. “What?”
“It’s just… no, you go on,” she said.
“Just say it.”
“Alright. Everything I do for you, you take for granted.”
Heather nodded. She leaned back on the desk. Her breathing increased, and she put a hand on her chest.
“Heather, are you listening!”
“I am! I really am. And you’re completely right.” Her hand on her chest was rubbing it now, making little circles around her nipple. She ground her ass against the back of the desk. David, upset enough to burst, was barely aware.
“I know what you said last night, but I just haven’t seen any… Heather!” She moaned, half in despair, half in downright need.
“David, I can’t concentrate like this. Can we make out while you complain? It just… it’ll go faster that way. Please?” She cupped both boobs, shifting them towards him. “I want to make it up to you, I really do. I know things have to change.”
“Um,” he said. “Uh, okay.”
“Okay,” Heather said. She attacked him eagerly, pressing him back against the door while her hands rubbed all over his chest. “Keep talking. I’m listening.” One leg wrapped around his.
“Uh. I just want you to listen to me, and I want us to be more equal.”
“Yes! More equal. Exactly. I was thinking just of that during my speech today. I have a new research idea.” It was hard for Heather to talk. She assaulted his neck with wet kisses. Her breasts rubbed hard against his chest.
“Um. I’d like you to help with the dishes… maybe do some vacuuming.”
“Yes.. yes…of course,” Heather said. “No, don’t stop! Don’t mind me!”
David’s cock had had enough. He forced her head upwards, kissed her hungrily, while both hands started to roam around on Heather’s chest. Her boobs felt superb against his hands, warm and hot underneath the blouse. “Just tear it off,” she urged. Her crotch rubbed against his thigh, leaving a trail of wetness.
Instead, David lifted her and placed her on the desk. Catching the hint, Heather leaned backwards against the wall and spread her legs with both hands. She was smiling, eyes closed, as she listened to David fumbling with his fly. “I don’t think I need any lubricant,” she said, stroking her breasts with both hands. “Just hurry it up. Hurry.”
“Where did your panties go?” David asked.
“Who cares?” Heather snapped. David drew back. Heather moaned.
“Oh, I’m doing it again. I’m so sorry. Look, just fuck me. Hurry.”
There was a knock at the door. Loud and insistent. “Heather?” said a girl’s voice from outside. “You in there? I know you’re in there!”
“Shit!” Heather said. She put her legs reluctantly back together. “Just give me a minute, Candice!” she said. She looked guiltily at David, who stood, cock in hand, with a pained expression. “It’s the undergraduate I’m supposed to be mentoring,” she said. “We can’t just fuck while she’s out there! I’ll make it up to you. God, I keep saying that. Here, get behind the table. I know what to do.”
Candice waited outside, toyed with her hair. It was raven-dark, and worked well with the dark t-shirt and black jeans she wore. She was pale, not big on the sun, and a little fat. Her face was comfortable but chubby.
Heather had been ducking her, and all the undergraduates she was assigned to mentor, for the past several months. Almost everyone had given up, but Candice was ruthless in her pursuit of the Grad Student. Heather’s academic reputation was superb, and a recommendation from her would count for a lot. Candice wasn’t about to let a little thing like complete stone-walling stop her.
“Okay! Come in!” Heather said. She walked inside. Candice wrinkled her nose. It smelled… odd in here, like strawberries mixed with something… wet. While oddly comforting, like some sort of incense, it was a strange perfume choice for a seminal Theorist like Heather. It was so… feminine.
The Grad Student herself was seated behind her desk, facing Candice. Next to her was a boy, about Heather’s age, with blond hair and deep blue eyes. He seemed to be deeply interested in a book open to a random page in front of him.
“This is David, my boyfriend. He’s studying for his… Medical…. Degree. Right?”
“Right!” David gasped. He slouched back a little.
Candice wasn’t huge on judging, but it wasn’t too hard to figure out what had been going on before she arrived. Still, she thought, slouching slightly in her chair, David was sort of cute. So humid in here. Heather’s hair was askew. Her opinion of Heather fell a few notches.
“Here, have a drink.” Heather said. She passed Candice an open water bottle. Candice took a few sips to be polite. Hm. Flavored water.
“I wanted to get going on my research project,” Candice explained. Probably best to get in and out of here. Something about this room was… distracting. “I was thinking a textual examination of…”
“No, no.” Heather interrupted. She flipped her hair back. “You get your hands dirty as an undergraduate.” David laughed, and she gave him a Look. He became quiet again.
“Um, okay,” Candice said. She leaned back some more. Her legs spread a little bit wider. At least Heather was easier to talk to then she had imagined.
“Is that your normal hair color?” Heather asked.
“…Yes?” Candice said.
“And that’s how you always dress? You know, all in black?” Heather said.
“What’s wrong with all black?” Candice said. Sure, it was a little boring, but it worked. It was comfortable, at least.
“Nothing! Nothing. But I’m going to be testing a theory I’ve developed. First you will need to take a standard wellbeing questionnaire. Then I want you to do some field testing.”
“Field testing?”
“Yes, I can’t tell you the thesis, because that would ruin the experiment, but essentially you’ll be testing male-female dynamics under differing field conditions. Focusing mostly on appearance. Can you do that?”
“Like, what will I be doing?”
Heather waved a hand dismissively. “Nothing special. Dressing up a little bit. Seeing if being.. a bit informal… helps things along. Do you own any skirts?”
“A few.” This was weird. Still, if all the good ideas had already been researched, maybe this is what you had to do. That seemed right. Candice sniffed. It was so nice that Heather was showing an interest in her. Very nice.
David flinched, and fell backwards into his chair. He squeeked. Heather shifted to her right, took her hands out from underneath the table. “Okay, and think brighter colors. Come back tomorrow in an outfit you think appropriate, and we’ll go from there.”
“Okay,” Candice said. It was very comfortable in here, she thought. And Heather was taking an interest in her! If all she had to do was prance around in a stupid skirt for a few days to get a recommendation, that was a deal. Nothing wrong with skirts. She stood up.
“Wait! Twirl for me.”
Candice automatically did, her hands on her hips. She watched Heather’s eyes examine her chest, dip down when her backside was turned. This was so strange.
“Great!” Heather said. She stood up and offered her hand. Candice shook it. As she was walking outside, she noticed that Heather had apparently gotten her hand all sticky with something. Most of it was on Candice now.
Feeling warm inside, excited about tomorrow’s meeting, Candice licked it off absent-mindedly. It reminded her of candy. What skirt should she wear? This was exciting.
“This is getting out of hand,” Heather thought, glumly. Yes, she had duties to perform. Yes, David was completely right when he said that he took him for granted. And she had to work on that.
But the bottom line was that he had gotten three handjobs in a row, and she had only gotten one in return. And she needed to work tonight.
It was no wonder her thesis had been so off. To work properly, women needed a sexual outlet, one that was provided by men as part of a consenting relationship. Everything had gotten messed up. Instead of doing all the housework, women should’ve had men do the housework and reward them with orgasms. Everyone was happier. Mentally, Heather revised her reward chart upwards. Vacuuming was, lets see, probably worth a blowjob and a handjob. Cooking dinner definitely deserved a good fuck while he sat on the chair, watching TV.
“How does… behind-sex… fit in?” she wondered. There was no mistaking the power dynamics of THAT. Men dominant, woman submissive. Not part of a consenting relationship at all when David took her from behind, bent her over… she looked over at his crotch. David was driving.
“What’s the normal refractory period for a male?” she asked, as casually as she could.
“Yikes,” David said. “Five or six hours. Even then it’ll be a little sore.”
Five or six hours! Women took no time at all. Men were designed so poorly. Heather added that to the ledger of “things to make up for.”
Later she sat on the couch, mindlessly watching TV, while David cooked. Five or six hours! The scheduling wasn’t going to work. She needed to get off somehow in order to work, she needed to do her share of the housework in order to work, and yet it seemed like she couldn’t even get going until, when, after dinner? She had so much to do! An entire proposal to write!
At least it was nice to just watch some TV. She turned an old Sex and the City rerun. She’d forgotten how sexy this show could be. Samantha wore a slinky white dress that cupped her breasts. She kept having to tug it down. Mm. That worked. Heather turned off the sound. It was more fun just to watch them strut.
“Don’t forget that I’m playing poker today,” David called out from the stove. “I’m leaving around 5.”
Heather did a mental calculation. She had got him off around 11. (And poor luck that Candice had gotten the lion’s share of his cum!). He was leaving around 5… that left no time for her!
“Well, of course he’s leaving,” Heather thought to herself. “You look a mess. Don’t you have anything that can… speed up the refractory period?” She glanced at the screen. Samantha was getting fucked in a bathroom stall. The dress was hiked up around her waist.
Heather retreated into her closet. All she owned was a tired symphony of brown, grey, grey, brown, and black. Limp slacks. Boring bras. A few skirts that—ugh!—hung like a bathroom shower curtain. She tried on a blue tank top from her undergraduate years. At least her boobs were looking good today, plump and prominent. All the years wearing a bra must be paying off. And she was certainly having a good hair day, as it bounced around her face, framing her lips.
Her makeup looked good. Did she put any on this morning? She must’ve. Her skin looked like porcelain.
For pants all she could find was a pair of tan shorts. They fit loosely around the waist and too tightly around the butt, which was kind of sexy, but a little uncomfortable. And, there she went, already soaking them through. David wasn’t going to like that, a girl who couldn’t even control her own natural lubrication.
“Heather! It’s ready!” David said.
Heather walked timidly out of the closet. David looked startled and pleased.
“You look good,” he told her. “But isn’t all that.. uncomfortable for just lounging around the apartment in?”
“Oh,” he said. He didn’t like it. “I can change. Whatever you want.”
“No! No, that’s just fine.” His eyes flicked down to the wet spot. “Just fine.”
Lunch was awkward. David wanted to talk politics, but Heather was simply too distracted to deal with all that boring stuff. After trying to make conversation, she just cocked her head, pursed her lips, nodded and smiled. David didn’t seem to mind. She was hungry, but tried not to eat everything. A girl needed to keep her figure trim.
“I’m doing the dishes!” Heather declared. David shrugged, went over to the couch. Heather poured out the soap and turned on the hot water. David had explained it to her yesterday, how to work the pots and pans and do the silverware.
“This is hopeless,” she thought, picking up the sponge. “I’ll just have to hope that I can get through by masturbating, then get as much work done as I can. Maybe some sort of schedule…” She bent over to scrub a saucepan.
David groaned from the couch. “I know what you’re trying to do, and I’m sorry,” David said.
Heather was baffled. “What?”
“Bent over the sink like that? In those shorts? I know what you want. It’s… it’s just been a few hours. I need some time to recover.”
Heather brightened. So it was just a biological problem! He did want to fuck her! She turned around and leaned back against the sink, tossing her hair back. “You SURE you can’t make it happen?” she purred. Her voice WAS an asset, now that she thought about it. No matter what Rebecca said. It took guys from zero to hard in Heather seconds. She giggled.
David sat with his legs spread on the couch. “Seriously, I just can’t. Give me some time.”
“Wait,” Heather said. “Lets see if maybe… here.” She pulled out the bottle of lubricant from her backpack, poured a dose onto her hand. With her free hand she undid his pants and slid them down. His cock hung limply, trying to rise and failing.
“I don’t think that’ll help,” David said, but Heather slathered it over his cock, until the entire thing shone with a warm gleam. She inhaled. The strawberry smell was overpowering. She closed her eyes.
Both of them stared at it for a few seconds. Nothing happened. “I guess I don’t know why I thought that would work,” Heather said, disappointed. She sighed, turned around and walked back to the sink.
Suddenly, she felt two strong hands reach behind her and massage her boobs under the tight tanktop. She moaned. A strong, firm, hard presence behind her made her reach back with soapy hands. He was rock hard. “I guess it does work,” David breathed into her ear. His hands undid her shorts and slid them down over her hips. He grunted as her panties came off. A few drops of lubricant dripped onto the floor as she stepped neatly out of them.
“So that’s what.. behind-style is for,” Heather thought, leaning farther over the sink. “So women can do housework and get fucked at the same time. It’s about efficiency.” She sighed as she felt, at long-last, his dick slide effortlessly into her. It felt magnificent, a pure bolt of pleasure, and she backed her curvaceous ass into it as much as she could. David held her hips against the counter and started a steady rhythm. He was magnificent, her own stallion, riding right below her clit.
Heather did as many dishes as she could until her orgasm approached, and then shuddered and screamed with both hands on the counter.
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