The RA Volume I: Orientation
Chapter Twelve: The Sexpert
“Spencer? There’s some old slut trying to sneak around the floor. She says she knows you.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks, Angel. Good looking out.” I met my suspiciously glowering resident at the door to my room, where I found not only the woman I expected to see, but also Angel’s roommate. “Hey, Leigh. Hi Marisa. Come on in.”
Marisa smiled gratefully, though I suspect it was more to thumb her nose at Angel. “Thanks, bud. Ladies. You coming to the big show?”
Both of them regarded her with open suspicion. “What show?”
I slid Marisa past their gauntlet and into my room. “In the lounge, fifteen minutes, be there. You want to do me a solid, help me make sure everybody’s there, OK? It’s gonna be good. Sex stuff.”
I tried not to redirect my gaze to Leigh, the girl I’d wrestled naked and rejected not once but twice. I failed. Her eyes blazed with sudden interest.
I dismissed my girls and shut the door. “I told you to call when you got here. I have to hound them all the time not to let their guests wander around unescorted, and now here’s mine, showing herself around.”
“I wanted to observe them unspoiled. Didn’t see much. You weren’t kidding, though. Some of these girls are serious lookers.”
“Some? Who did you see that wasn’t?”
“I only saw some, so I can only vouch for some. I’m a scientist, remember.”
If there was one thing Marisa loved—besides sex—it was insisting on her core identity as a woman of science while looking anything but. Not that a scientist had to look a certain way, of course, but I didn’t know many who showed up to a presentation looking like Marisa. A ruffled plaid skirt that showed ample thigh above black stockings, and a tight black top that showed off her midriff even with the skirt hiked up to her navel. Plus combat boots, because it wouldn’t be a Marisa outfit if there wasn’t something incongruous about it. If she looked one scooch hotter, I’d think she was looking to be compensated for her appearance tonight in cock. Which, I reminded myself, she might be. Sex had no value judgment attached for her, and while she wasn’t the sort to cavalierly go around breaking hearts, she knew I knew her M.O. That meant I was fair game any time we both felt like saying yes, and then she could leave after breakfast with her conscience clear.
“Like what you see?”
I winced. “Sorry. You look really good. I didn’t mean to stare.”
“Eh. After how much you hyped up your Hotties, I wanted to fit in.”
Meaning she wanted to rub her hotness in their smug faces. “Looks like you’re on the right path.”
“Yeah? Because since the moment I stepped onto your floor, I’ve gotten suspicious glares from everybody I’ve seen. When I told those two I was looking for you specifically, they reacted like I was here to stuff you in a sack and kidnap you.”
I checked her for a sack. Finding none, I said, “Looks like I’m in the clear.”
“You look good, too, by the way. So that’s your special boss man shirt, huh?” I shrugged as she inspected my modified version of the floor shirt. It had shrunk, same as the girls’ had, so it fit tight. It really seemed to make them happy whenever I wore it. I knew how it looked on me, though I hoped at least some of it was simple camaraderie.
“Yeah. You’ll probably get a chance to see the other style at the program.”
“I hope so. So, tonight. We’re doing the safety spiel first, yeah? Then did you have a phase two in mind?”
“Nah, not for this. I want to make sure they know some of the basics of how to protect themselves from creeps and assholes, but beyond that, if you can make it fun, interesting…” Her look of mild resentment at my momentary insinuation that she might not lasted only a moment. “Oh who am I kidding, of course you’re going to make it fun and interesting. It’s you.”
“Man, it’s just wild that you’re still here living in the dorms.” Marisa dragged her hands along the built-in desk like it was some novelty.
“It’s a residence hall, actually.”
“What’s the difference?”
“A dormitory is a place where you sleep. Like, remember when we visited Greg and Hilary, and their room was like a closet with bunk beds? That’s a dorm. A residence hall is—”
“Forget I asked,” she said blithely. “You know, I visited my mom a month or so back, and I wound up driving my little brother to school. Can you believe he’s in tenth grade already?”
I’d only met Manuel a couple times, but it was hard to think of that kid in high school. I said something to that effect, and she went on. “So I thought, while I’m here, I’ll go say hi to some of my old teachers, you know? So I wandered around a bit, wound up heading down to the band room, thought I’d say hi to Mrs. Hobbs. Maybe, I dunno, see a piccolo sitting out and see if I could still play, right?”
“Sure, sure.”
“She was busy with a student, right, so I just sort of walked around a little, and I stepped into my old practice room. You know, one of those sound-proof ones so you can… It doesn’t matter. But not thirty seconds there, and hand to god, I’m lubing up.”
I schooled my features. Marisa made it a point not to exhibit embarrassment, ever, about her body. Not on any level. Sometimes that meant telling all our friends we couldn’t make the party because she had a massive UTI and she needed me to rub ice cubes on her back to soothe her. More often, though, it meant shares like this.
“See, this boy Jimmy Soo used to… Well, I guess he wasn’t a boy. He was one of the woodwind tutors. I guess he was like thirty or something? But he had youthful energy. Anyway, he used to finger me in there. Like, alllll the time. It’s funny, like, I always loved band, but it made me wonder how much of that was Mr. Soo playing my clit like a fiddle in the practice room. I asked Mrs. Hobbs if he still worked there, but she said he got married and moved out west. Probably just as well. It was hot when I was a kid, you know? But probably would have been awkward now.”
It went without saying that she meant it would be awkward for him, not her. I’d never once heard Marisa condemn any sexual urges, including some that frankly ought to be. (I was only now learning about Jimmy Soo Fingerblaster, whose name went immediately on that list for me.)
“That’s… interesting. Can I ask what made you think of it just now?”
“Hmm? Oh, no, it’s just being with you, here in your dorm—residence, no fuck it, whatever. Anyway, being here with you, like old times… I guess I’m surprised how much it turns me on is all. State-dependent arousal is actually a really interesting sphere of study. Lots of great material on it at Hancock.”
“You’re incorrigible, Marisa.”
She grinned. “Yeah, I know. But don’t act like you didn’t notice this little spank-me-daddy-I’ve-been-bad skirt the second I walked in. You know, we probably have time, if you wanna…? I haven’t gotten off since Tuesday morning. I’d be quick, and, well.”
It was my turn to look mildly annoyed at her insinuation. “The program starts in ten minutes.”
“Yeah, I know.” As if Marisa couldn’t clock her orgasms with a stopwatch.
“I should probably be out knocking on doors now, actually.”
“Or,” she said gamely, “or? You could ask me if I’m wearing any panties tonight, and let that dot dot dot into a quick romp. We both want it. I wanted to jump you right there in my office the other day, Spency Sixpack. We’ll be more clear headed for the program if we do it first.”
“Rather than doing it after, you mean.”
“Yeah, exactly.”
I shook my head. “Incorrigible. I’m gonna knock on some doors. Join me if you want, or jill one out and meet me in the lounge. Your call.”
Marisa remained behind. It was weird, having been dealing with all this sexual energy everywhere around me the past month. Marisa brought that energy with her everywhere, and I hardly noticed it any more. She was the only woman I’d ever met who could assure me she’d make sure not to get my bedsheets all cummy and get a simple “thanks” in response.
At 8:00 sharp, the ladies of Higgins 3 and I met up in the lounge for Marisa’s program. Snacks were set up on the counter near the sink, as yet untouched, but I’d kept the drinks sealed up in the fridge for their part in the program. Marisa was nowhere to be seen yet, but my girls had turned the hell up. Twenty-six present, including Allison, one of the triplets in 319 who had so far been our most aloof community members by a wide margin.
Every single resident was wearing their Higgins Hotties shirt. Moreover, every single one of them was wearing a frightfully judgy frown.
“Hey… Is everything OK…?” I asked nervously. Had someone died?
“How do you know that girl, Spencer?” demanded Leigh.
“That girl’s name is Marisa, and she’s a researcher at the Hancock Institute. I’ve done programs with them in the past.”
That explanation, however, did nothing to soften faces. They were eerily, to a woman, scowling. Had Marisa said something? In case she’d somehow inadvertently made a bad impression, I spoke up to vouch for her. “We, ah, also used to date, a couple years back. But it ended amicably. She’s good people.”
“I thought so,” Angel declared, arms folded beneath her massive bust. I could literally see the bottom of her breasts resting on her forearms in that thin-stretched red shirt. “The way she asked for you, the way you looked when you saw her…”
I had no idea why they cared, but I could see that they did. “Really, it’s fine. We dated on and off for a year or so, and we both decided we’d be better off seeing other people. We’re still friends.” Friendly, anyway. Not like we really hung out, but we’d reached to one another a few times over the past couple years since we’d been together. Even done a friends with benefits thing a couple times over winter break last year. “Um, can I ask why are you all so, um…”
“It’s not fair,” said Emma, one of our upperclassmen. “We agreed, no boys allowed except you. But now you’re bringing up your ex-girlfriend.”
“I… what?”
“She’s right,” insisted Sammi. “If we can’t have boyfriends, it’s only fair you don’t have girlfriends.”
“What?! Hey now, I never agreed—”
“We didn’t think we needed to ask,” interjected Kendall, her roommate Georgia nodding firmly at her side.
My head was swimming. What were they even saying? Why—
The door swung open, and in walked Marisa. The discussion ended, crashing into a wall of solid ice.
“All right, ladies, settle in!” I projected positive energy, as if it would keep Marisa from noticing the dozens of glowers aimed at her. “Here’s our guest presenter. Everybody, this is Marisa Gutierrez. Like I said, she’s a researcher with the Hancock Institute. If you have questions about sex, sexuality, sexual orientation… Pretty much anything to do with sex, she’s a great resource.”
Marisa waved as the girls stood their ground. The couches, the chairs, vacant. “Well hey there, fellow ladyketeers.”
Nobody said anything. I looked around imploringly, but all eyes were on our newcomer. For once I would have even settled for being the target of one of Casey’s signature cat calls. Nada.
“Like he said, huh? So I’m to understand you were talking about me before I showed up?” Marisa looked around, unperturbed. Doing a good job of seeming unperturbed, at least. “Anything I can help clarify?”
“You dumped Spencer,” accused Andi, of all people. Though at least from her, the resentment made sense. The rest of them…
“Whoa now, she didn’t ‘dump me.’ I told you, we dated, we broke up. It was amicable.”
Marisa, however, responded to their overprotective posturing rather than any bruises to my ego. “Is that all? Well aren’t you gals sweet as can be. Let me reassure you all then. Yes, Spencer and I dated. Yes, we had a great time. A lot of great times, in fact.” In response to my are you freaking kidding me look, she nudged me with an elbow playfully. “And then we decided we’d both be happier having great times with other people, and we were, both of us, happier. No lie, you should get after him sometime to see the next chick he hooked up with.”
“Marisa!”
She laughed away my rebuke. “But really, no hearts broken. I still adore him. And I’m so, so touched to see you all realize what a super guy you have looking out for you here.”
“We look out for each other,” corrected Charlie. But expressions were softening. Good lord, what had I done to deserve this kind of protection?
“You sure seem to. And that’s great. It actually serves as a great segue into what brings me here tonight. Looking out for ourselves, and for each other.”
I nodded, probably way too vigorously. “That’s right. Come on, really, let’s grab some snacky snacks, settle in, listen in. OK?” Please? I said with my eyes.
To my relief, my Hotties relented. If they didn’t look thrilled, they looked satisfied that they’d made their point. Whatever the hell their point was. Were they staking out territory or something? Why? All of them? I’d have to talk to Vickie about this.
Regardless, Marisa started her spiel, opened with a couple relatable anecdotes about the party scene at Lakeview, and from there transitioned into safety tips. All stuff I’d heard a hundred times, and probably things the girls had heard during orientation. By now, though, they’d been around, been at parties, talked to girls who’d had things happen to them. It was real now.
Marisa made sure of it, sharing her story of passing out drunk at a house party and waking up unsure if someone had assaulted her. I made sure of it as I distributed drinks, dropping the occasional M&M in their cups, an illustrative lesson in watching one’s drink being poured to make sure nothing was slipped in it. I made sure they knew I had resources in case of an assault, how to get a safe ride home if they were drunk, the number to call an ambulance if they thought they’d been slipped something, on and on. All those things women were burdened with knowing that most men didn’t ever think about. Whatever bizarre wariness had gripped them leading up to the program, they sobered up as we scared the living shit out of them. If the unfortunate young woman Tori had alerted me to was present, she didn’t say, but odds were fair that there was more than one getting a crash course in hindsight.
Finally, Marisa clapped her hands and leaned forward in her chair at the center of our little assembly. Faces were still grim, but no longer pointedly at her. “All right, that’s probably enough doom and gloom. If you have more questions, Spencer has my contact info, or you can pop by the Hancock Institute any time. I’ll give you a tour of the public parts myself—it’s pretty awesome in there.” I braced myself for a private parts joke, but she kept it mature. You never knew with her. “So what we’ve been talking about so far is worst case scenarios. Now, I want us to have a chance to talk about the good stuff.”
“What’s the good part of sexual assault?” asked Leigh cattily. By now, though, Marisa seemed to be doing all right with her crowd, and Leigh got enough narrowed eyes for her not to press further.
“Not sexual assault, hon. No, I’m talking about the real good stuff. Sex. That’s my real job. To better understand that oldest and best beloved of all pastimes. Biologically, psychologically, socially, the whole shebang. Why we do it, how we do it, how we can make it more pleasurable…”
A murmur went through the crowd. Most of them were fresh out of high school. For many, this was the first time someone had ever talked about sex with them except to do PR for AIDS or warn them about pregnancy. Pleasure had been promised by the media, yes, but the educational system covered it with dire foreboding.
“Raise your hands, ladies, if you have things you ever wanted to know about sex but didn’t ask? Couldn’t ask? Didn’t want to muck up your browser history on the family PC?”
There were some giggles, but a few hands went up. Once a few hands went up, dozens followed until nearly everyone had one up. I joined in, too.
“Same. I’ve been at this for years, and there’s still more I want to know. But it can be a little embarrassing right? For sure in front of a big group, but even when it’s only you and your partner. People will keep behaving the same way for years simply because they can’t bring themselves to ask a question or state a preference. A girl I was friends with in high school didn’t have her first orgasm until after she’d had her second kid. No joke. All because she felt like she’d hurt her boyfriends’ feelings if she shared they weren’t taking care of business.”
She hadn’t run this by me, but this wasn’t our first rodeo. I chimed in, “We want everybody to be comfortable here. So what Marisa and I will do is pass around some scraps of paper, and you can write any question you want on it. Then Marisa and I will draw them at random, so nobody will know whose question it was. I think you’ll be surprised how often your friends here were wondering the same thing you were.”
The girls were piqued. We hadn’t brought paper and writing utensils, but it only took a couple minutes for them to run back to their rooms and retrieve them. When I realized we’d somehow gained a second triplet in the process, I did a recount and saw we were up to a full thirty. Only missing one triplet (I wasn’t sure which) and Destiny, who Charlie confirmed was confining herself to her room with a nasty cold, but who had sent down a question with her roommate.
“Before we go any further, I realize that having a guy present might make some of you uncomfortable. Might make you uncomfortable to ask me to leave, too, so if you want me to—”
“I can’t get an answer to my question if you go, dude,” Lex said, and by the outpouring of agreement, I conceded that I was being too modest, and took a seat.
“Speaking of, feel free to mark if you’re looking for guy perspective, ‘expert’ perspective, or regular girl perspective,” Marisa instructed as they scribbled out their curiosities. “If it’s the last one, we’ll open it up to the floor and let anybody who wants to weigh in do so.”
After a few minutes, we’d collected all the questions they had. Marisa and I sat ourselves in the middle of the circle. Someone turned off the lounge’s fluorescent lights and switched on the much dimmer corner lamps. It was an intimate setting now. I could hardly make out faces, just pair after pair of perky college girl tits straining at their Higgins Hotties tops.
With an eager grin—Marisa lived for talking about sex—she drew the first piece of paper, uncrumpled it, and read.
“Oh. Looks like this one is for the boys,” she said, looking to me. “She asks, ‘what’s the number one physical trait boys find attractive in girls?’ And the physical is in caps, so no cop-outs, Spencer dear.”
Every last eye in the lounge was on me as my face reddened. I was glad for the dim light. “Um, I’m not sure that question has an objective answer, gang,” I said with a chuckle.
Casey rolled her eyes. “Oh come on, Spencer. You don’t have to speak on behalf of all boys in the universe. What do you like on a babe? It’s tits, right? Yeah, you’re a tit man, I can tell.” She thrust forth her incredible chest.
“Hey now, let’s not, ah—”
But Marisa wasn’t having it. “Let me assure you, Spencer likes tits. Now that’s not to say it’s his favorite feature, or that he even has one. Believe it or not, there are men who really do fixate on eyes, or teeth, or hands. The question was for Spencer, though, so I think this is an excellent opportunity for him to role model the filter-free, honest communication we’re striving for here.”
I dropped my voice to a whisper, which did nothing when I was surrounded by listeners. “Seriously, Marisa?!”
“Do you like eyes?” asked Katrina, lashes fluttering.
“What about lips?” inquired Shauna, puckering softly. Or maybe that was simply how hers looked all the time.
“I’m telling you guys, it’s tits!” insisted Casey, pumping a fist in the air, jiggling hers like mad.
“Sure, but not huge cow tits,” amended Georgia, in the minority of girls not threatening to burst out of her Higgins Hotties shirt. Her nipples were plain even in the lounge’s wan light. “Right, Spencer?”
“Whatever. I totally saw him checking out that one RA’s legs when they were on rounds the other week. Such a leg guy,” swore Terri, crossing hers in a pair of shorts so brief that they may as well have been underwear. (Actually, was that underwear?)
“Fuck legs—legs are just ads for a great ass, huh, boss man?” Jo declared as she bent down to pick up some discarded paper plates.
“Some guys like long hair, I know,” speculated Amy, flipping her dark tresses over her shoulder, where they hung halfway to her butt.
“Tons of Americans fetishize the Asian woman,” said who else but Kyu-Ri.
“Or the Latinx?” countered Marisa, a hair’s breadth from succumbing to peals of impish giggles.
“SMILES!” I barked suddenly. Waaay too loudly. “I, um, like a woman’s smile. A lot.”
The cacophony fell silent. Thirty lips bent into thirty smiles. “Awwww!” said a dozen or more.
“Never heard of a guy wanting to fuck a bitch’s smile,” grumbled Sammi, one of the only nineteen-year-olds I’d ever met whose tits were so big they were already starting to sag.
Casey snorted beside her. “What do you think a blowjob is, dumbass?”
Andi nodded. “Yeah, it’s all about the blowjobs, dumbass.” Sammi’s cautionary glare silenced her though.
Marisa was unfurling another piece of paper even as I tried to scramble back into reality. “All right, next question. Let’s see here… Hmm. Somebody’s got some real dude handwriting. What’s…” She cocked her head to the side. “Oh. Unclear who this is for, so we’ll open it up to anybody. It says, simply, ‘what about anal?’”
“That’s for Spencer,” said Jordyn quickly. “I mean, I think.”
“You guys, come on…!”
Marisa put a hand on my arm. “Calm down, Spencer. They’re not asking for your personal sexual history. Only your thoughts on the act.” She addressed the room. “Usually when I do this at dorm programs, we get a girl floor and a guy floor together, so there’s, ya know, more than one guy. Obviously Spencer can’t speak for his entire sex, but if he’s comfortable, I think we’d like to hear what he has to say. And if he’s not, then we need to respect that.”
I was still processing what in the wide fucking world was happening, so my ex continued. “Now for my part, I’m not big on anal? I think I like the idea of it more than the reality. Conceptually, it’s something ‘dirty.’ Taboo. One of those things where you can’t just give your partner a sensual kiss and just Do, right? You have to ask. Avert your eyes, and ask, like… ‘hey, babe, do you think, maybe, you might want to try…’ and then he knows you’re into him, right? Or that you’re a kinky slut, maybe.
“Only then… OK, this is probably TMI, but when it finally came to actually doing it? It was just… ow. The vagina, it’s set up to basically take any penis out there. There’s loads of bullshit about tight ones, lots of ‘uwu my poor virgin pussy!’ but really, they’re hella elastic, and even big penises aren’t that big on the vagina scale. Now the anus, on the other hand…” She shuddered theatrically. “Let’s just say I was a little too small. Or else he was a little too big? Both, maybe. Anyway, that’s my personal impression. I’d probably add a little more if we had any gay men in here, since that might make it of particular interest, but… alas.”
I tried to wall her off with my stare, but Marisa bulldozed right through it and finished her sordid tale. By then, whether or not it was true, it sure felt like everybody understood the reason for my wide-eyed stare.
“That wasn’t about me,” I said tersely.
Marisa seemed to realize she’d gone too far this time and grimaced. “Right, of course. Sorry, I should have mentioned.” Then she snickered in spite of herself. “Spencer here came in and out no prob.”
No one laughed.
“That was a joke.”
Still.
“Right, I forgot he said y’all had already seen it in action…”
I sighed in exasperation. She was in rare form tonight. Maybe I should have fucked her before the program just to shut her up. “How about we move onto a question not for me?” Or about me, I added mentally.
Marisa flashed a half-hearted smile. (But still, half.) “Sure, sure. OK, let’s see what we got. Something not for Spencer.”
She unfolded and unwadded the pages, murmuring through the text.
“‘Do boys really like sex with virgins,’ no…
“How do you (Spencer) feel about footjobs,’ no…
“‘Do you have a girlfriend,’ no…
“‘Do you want a girlfriend,’ Seriously? No…
“‘Whip it out,’ Are you kidding me, ladies? Come on.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Casey…” She had the audacity to look affronted.
At long last, however, Marisa found one that worked for her. “OK, here we go, this is a great question. ‘What do you think about masturbating in the shower?’”
“Oh, gross!” exclaimed at least a couple. There were likewise more than a few panicked, sheepish expressions.
“Right, see? This is where that whole biological, psychological, social breakdown I was talking about really comes into play. Masturbation. I have this quote on my wall in my office: ‘Masturbation is cheap, clean, efficient, and free from any possibility of wrong-doing—and you don’t have to go home in the dark. But it’s lonely.’ That was a guy named Robert Heinlein, not that it’s important but too many years of grad school means I can’t not cite.”
“Wasn’t he that guy who had all those creepy incest fantasies?” asked Katrina.
All eyes immediately shot to the two representatives of Lakeview’s iconic triplets. “What?” demanded Allison, crossing her arms beneath her breasts.
Marisa refocused. “So let’s talk about that ‘gross’ nonsense first, huh? The difference between touching your body, privately, for pleasure, and the difference between doing so for, say, hygiene, is barely a distinction. Anybody think it’s a bad idea to wash your vagina from time to time? No? So really, we’re talking about social distinctions. We all know the person in the next stall over is naked and touching themselves, so for my money, I don’t see much of a difference why or how. Plus, let’s be real. You live in the dorms, so—”
“Residence halls,” I said automatically.
“What’s the difference?” asked Dana.
“So,” Marisa went on, eyeballing me irritably, “it means you share space, like, all the time. I’m sure some of us have snuck in a quiet jill in our bunk while we think our roommate is sleeping,” she said, basking in startled, awkward glances by more girls than I’d have guessed. I had class bright and early the next morning, so I tried to forget which. “Which makes the shower the perfect place! It’s free, automatic lubrication. It’s white noise so you can breathe a little heavier. It’s a free rinse for your cum. Or ‘ejaculate’ if you want me to play the fancy research lady and not be real.”
“Fuck that, be real,” said Jo eagerly.
Marisa grinned. Real talk about sex was foreplay for her. “It’s a place that’s intrinsically linked with nudity, with sexual behavior. And I checked your bathrooms here before I came down and saw you even have those little seats in there, so it’s not even a slipping hazard. Me? I sprung for one of those detachable shower heads, one with just the right nozzles, and… yeah. Whew. Yeah.”
“Maybe we don’t need to be quite so anecdotal…?” I suggested softly.
“That’s a good call. Anyway, in short, masturbate in the shower as much as you like. Not saying it’s cool to make other people uncomfortable with a big ordeal about it, but that’s generally the golden rule of sexual conduct anyway—don’t make other people uncomfortable, and if you do, apologize and back off. That’s all there is to it.”
Marisa continued the activity, practicing a little extra restraint in reading the questions aloud now that it was already too late. Apologize and back off, indeed. The girls were loving it, and if I was still on edge after the way the program had begun, I could concede it was more in line with the effect this activity had had on my guys back in Rowland. If I blushed a bit more, I was the only guy in the room, and, well, the Hotties were the Hotties.
So we talked about the social dynamics of threesomes, before, during and after. We talked about friends with benefits. We talked about porn. We talked about streaming adult content. We talked about whether scissoring was a thing, with Terri and Toni failing miserably not to let everyone see who had asked it, and who had been asked about. I empathized. As with the questions about blowjob tips, the practicalities of titty-fucking, was it weird to ask to be spanked, role-playing scenarios with disparate power levels (cop-civilian, Daddy-daughter, and needless to say, RA-resident). Many of them were explicitly or implicitly addressed to me. I answered what I could, and choked down my embarrassment through the rest.
It gave me time to make sense of it all, though. Their initial attitude toward Marisa, all the flirty questions in the Q&A. They were having a little fun teasing me, that was all. It shouldn’t be so surprising considering how they usually carried on, but it had taken me a while to realize the practical joke of it all.
Savannah and Vickie entered the lounge, looking surprised to see the entirety of Higgins 3 gathered here. Rounds time, evidently. I gave a wave as Marisa went on with her answer.
“Right, facials. Like a lot of sex acts, it’s much more a trope in pornography than a common practice. That said, however, most people do watch porn, and there are plenty of people who enjoy emulating the kinds of things they see. You should never feel pressured. No matter what some guys say, once they’ve released their cum at you, what you do with it is 100% up to you. Swallow, spit, aim it at the floor—ceiling, if you’re ambitious—or heck, hose yourself down. It’s up to you.”
Our new arrivals looked a lot more surprised to hear that upon entering. My girls were riveted, and Marisa didn’t interrupt herself for strangers. Knowing her, she was stoked to have two more members in her audience. My coworkers stared, wide-eyed.
“That said, the question was specifically facials, though I’ll extrapolate that to the broader notion of letting him come on you in general. Is it degrading? Well, if you feel like it is, then it is, so don’t do it—unless you get off on being degraded. Some do. But for some, it’s one of those little things we can do to please our partner. I know I keep harping on it, but communicate. If you choose to give him a vote and you’re not sure what he wants, just ask, ‘where do you want me to take it?’ Remember, cum washes off. Really easily, in fact. You’re allowed to be squeamish, but always know that sex means touching and sweat and cum. There is no such thing as sterility in sex.”
Savannah’s eyes looked like they were about to pop out of her head. Vickie wasn’t far behind.
“Did you ever… do that? With…?” Leigh’s eyes darted to me. They’d given up on asking me questions, but apparently asking Marisa about my sex life with her was still on the table.
I used the arrival of my coworkers as an excuse. “I think that’s a little personal, Leigh, and I think you know that. Now come on, it’s ten o’clock. I know plenty of you have class early. Let’s head back to our rooms and do some processing. But first, let’s thank our presenter, yeah?”
“Best presentation ever,” said Jacqui.
“Fuck going to my room. I’m hitting the muh fuckin’ shower, yo,” said Lex.
“Promise me you won’t tell my mom you taught me about taking cum on my face,” said Dana gravely.
“I won’t. I didn’t!” I squeaked.
Marisa waved me off to go touch base with Vickie and Savannah while she faced a throng of girls with follow-up questions and requests for her contact info. In the span of two hours, she’d gone from pariah to Hottie heroine.
“What in the hell was that all about…?” asked a dazed Savannah.
Vickie whipped out her cell phone and tapped the clock. “And, so you know, it’s midnight. We saw you had a program going at ten, so we kept out of your hair. When you were still going on our second set of rounds, we figured… Yeah, I don’t think we figured we’d walk in to find out you were training your girls to take facials. Bold. Ramona’s idea?”
“That’s not what it looked like—weird timing is all. Marisa is a presenter from the Hancock Institute. She’s just really sex positive, and the girls, um, were…”
“Full of hormones?” suggested Vickie with a thin smile, eyes flickering to her rounds partner.
“They were curious. Is there something wrong with letting them ask an expert in human sexuality questions about sex?”
Savannah frowned at where Marisa was fending off questions about how long we’d been together, how we’d first hooked up, if I really was the guy in her anal sex anecdote. “I mean… there might be.”
“Oh come on, Savannah, at least these girls are learning from your example and preemptively aiming Second String here’s jizz away from their clothes, right?”
“Second…?!” Savannah’s kind eyes widened in outrage as the slight registered. “That is not funny!”
“It isn’t,” I said. Had she waited to pitch that joke to me when Savannah wasn’t around to hear it, then yes, it would have been hilarious. I waited until the last few who were meaning to leave left; Casey had an armload of leftover snacks, and invited me to come get some if I was thirsty.
None of it was liquid.
I kept my voice low, mindful of Marisa and the final few hangers on. “Look. I’m going to handle it. They decided to prank me tonight, try to make me uncomfortable. Teasing, that’s all. I’ll sleep it off, and… figure out how best to respond tomorrow.”
Savannah looked dubious, or maybe just disturbed, but Vickie merely shrugged. It was a relief that my explanation made sense to someone else. “Best response to a prank is no response. It gets a rise out of you, it’s worth doing again.” Her eyes flitted to Savannah instructively.
“You’re probably right. Look, I have to escort my presenter out—I don’t want to keep you. Sorry about… whatever that was.”
They both looked me over, but there was nothing to say except good night.
Once I was clearly paying attention again, the girls pumping Marisa for information about our history realized the faux pas and excused themselves. It was down to just the two of us.
“Now look, before you—”
“What the fuck was that, Marisa?” I snapped. “From them, it’s a crude bit of tasteless humor. From you, though? That was shitty, encouraging them like that. I don’t think I’ve ever been so embarrassed in my life. I told you some of them have crushes. You thought egging them on was the way to handle it?”
She looked chastised, something I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen from her before. The woman was usually shameless. She sniffed regretfully. “I’m sorry, OK? At first I thought I’d poke at you a little bit. I told you we should have had sex before I came down here. I always talk too much when I’m horny—you know that about me. Plus you always take this stuff so seriously, you know? I thought you were overstating. I didn’t realize they were so…”
“Come off it. They’re freshmen, Marisa. Somebody put the idea in their heads to fuck with me, and they ran with it. I didn’t need you pouring gasoline on the fire.”
“You’re right. I had no idea things were this serious. I know you warned me, but… I didn’t listen. By the time I saw that it had gone from harmless crushes and a little too much curiosity to flat-out harassment, I was out of my element. I… I’m sorry. Don’t be mad, OK? Ugh, I wish we were still going out so we could have makeup sex. You can’t makeup sex a fuck buddy though. Ugh, and I was gonna give it to you so good tonight, too! Fuck.”
“Marisa, do you see how that’s maybe not helping?”
“Hey, I still will if you want. Seeing a guy in that much demand, it…” She caught my expression, and held up her hands. “Sorry. Rejection accepted.”
To her credit, she helped me clean up the lounge before I walked her out to her car. We didn’t say much. I didn’t know what to say. When I went back upstairs, I made sure to lock the door in case somebody decided to push their luck on tonight’s hijinks. I even thought I heard someone lightly try the knob at one point, but it was probably just the draft from the stairwell door opening.
It had to be that. What else could it be?
I lie awake for quite some time that night, reliving that whole humiliating encounter, wishing it hadn’t made me hard as fuck.
* * *