"You should write a book!" my college friends used to tell me. (Actually, I did write a book, but it wasn't autobiographical, but that's a different story for a different day.) Apparently, the crazy, vaguely slutty things I did are highly entertaining for a lot of people, so that'll be the Classy Hussy section of this blog.
I promised this story first, and I am a classy hussy and I do my damndest to keep my word. Let's set the scene: I am an adorable and eager 21 years old. I am a senior in college and it is time to start student teaching. I have a fairly cute haircut. Life is pretty good.
The week before I'm supposed to officially start student teaching, I show up bright and early at the school to meet my supervisor. Having parked at the wrong end of the building, of course, I merrily trot allllllllllllllllll the way down to the correct classroom...and stop dead in my tracks, for I am greeted with a delicious example of pure masculinity. I instantly fall in love and think to myself "Holy shit, I hope this is not my supervisor. I won't be able to concentrate on a damn thing for the next seven weeks."
The universe smiles upon me and Hottie is not my supervisor, so I can breathe a sigh of relief. I meet my actual supervisor and we instantly hit it off. This is going to be a great experience, I can tell. The addition of Hottie to this requirement for graduation/certification is one hell of a bonus. I'm normally not an ass girl, but let me tell you: this ass was an absolute thing of beauty, sculpted by some higher power who wanted to share a blessed gift with us mere peons.
I'm brilliant and talented and charming and things go spectacularly well at the school. Everybody LOVES me. There is no shortage of men, ages 15 - 50, undressing me with their eyes (and as I'm an attention whore, I love this). Several students turn into a drooling mess any time I get too close. Supervisor tells me I am far better-looking than his previous student teacher, but he's happily married. Another teacher goes to compliment my hair and instead of calling it "exotic", he has an epic Freudian slip and calls it "erotic". A visiting lecturer stops me in the hallway to tell me that while he, too, is happily married, he thinks I am beautiful and just wanted me to know. I share all of this not to toot my own sexy horn, but to illustrate how UNBELIEVABLY FRUSTRATING it is that Hottie is refusing to acknowledge that I am a hot 21-year-old piece of ass parading around in front of him in tight sweaters and fuck-me heels. The nerve of some people.
It is no secret among nearly everyone I know that I want to nail this guy, and badly. It probably comes up at least once a day. All sorts of people start giving me advice, from my good friend and then-roommate Dr. ManDiva, to my college adviser's husband (which is a little weird, if you think about it). "He should be an underwear model!" says my former roommate after meeting him. Even my lesbian friend acknowledges his attractiveness and yells at me for not making out with him in my car.
So the semester is gradually coming to a close and after a school function one Wednesday night, me, Hottie, Supervisor, and OtherGuy go to the bar that is around the corner from the school (good city planning, that). I'm nearing the end of my second beer and the bartender comes over to cheerily ask if I want another one. I hesitate and Supervisor laughs and pours the rest of his beer into my glass. "If I drink this, I have to stay here until I can drive, and if I do that, I can't promise you I'll be at school at 7:30 tomorrow morning," I say.
"Who cares?" is his response.
With that bit of encouragement, I eventually lose track of the number of beers I drink. I go to the bathroom and when I come back, Supervisor and OtherGuy are talking about boats, which bores me, so I hop up on a bar stool next to Hottie (who had previously been talking to some other guy he knew). We're laughing, we're giggling, my hand is on his arm...then on his leg... what can I say, I know how to work it. Somewhere in here, Supervisor switches from buying us all beers to...shots of scotch. Straight up. Oh shit.
I think I only manage to choke down one burning shot before Supervisor and OtherGuy decide they want to play a round of pool. Hottie and I are split up and put on their teams (and I honestly can't tell you whose team I was on), but we are essentially useless when it comes to the game and prop each other up in the corner as the other two play. The game ends and Supervisor, who we then realize has only been buying the drinks and not actually DRINKING them, says he needs to leave and happily bids us farewell.
OtherGuy and I are in no state to drive. But wait! We suddenly remember that Hottie lives two buildings down from the bar! Yay! We explain that we can't drive yet and ask if we can hang out at his apartment for a bit; he generously agrees to this idea.
We make our way to Hottie's apartment* and upon entering, OtherGuy proclaims he needs to use the bathroom and goes to do just that. Hottie and I find ourselves standing in the middle of his living room, and before I know it, we are eagerly kissing each other. I am in love with my life right now. This is freaking awesome! Kissing leads to some light groping and fondling. Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to report that that amazing specimen of a perfectly-formed ass felt as good as it looked.
I pull away from him to say, "OtherGuy's going to come out of the bathroom any minute" just as OtherGuy comes out of the bathroom that minute and we do the sitcom-y jump-away-from-each-other move. I wait to see what happens next.
What happens next is...unexpected. OtherGuy finds a trombone lying around and Hottie pops in a jazz CD and they have an impromptu jam session as I sit on the couch pondering this turn of events. Huh. Okay. Hottie eventually loses interest and comes back to the couch, where we proceed to get all snuggly as OtherGuy continues to play the trombone in the kitchen. For some unknown reason, Hottie decides to grab his laptop and check his email, but between the amount of alcohol he consumed and the presence of my tongue in his ear, he is unable to remember his password and abandons this plan.
OtherGuy finally grows tired of the trombone and Hottie jumps up and says, "I should give you guys the grand tour!" It's not a huge apartment, so this doesn't take very long. As we're returning from the second bedroom/storage area, I elbow OtherGuy in the ribcage and give him THE LOOK. He correctly interprets the meaning of THE LOOK ("dude...get the fuck out") and takes his leave.
Back to the couch, where we waste no time in getting back down to business. Suddenly, I find myself on top of him, straddling him. Sweet! Then I'm sliding down his body! Wheeee! Then I'm on my knees between his legs and we're unzipping his pants and I'm devouring his cock as if I were dying from a terrible illness and the only cure was his spooge sliding down my esophagus.
It was a damn good blowjob, if I do say so myself. The music was still going, so I got into a nice rhythm, I was reaching in his pants and around to grab the Ass of Glory, and, well, he wasn't really all that big, but that's okay, as it just made it easier for me to deep-throat him. Some things I'm good at, some things I'm not; this falls into the former category.
As I have done this *cough* several times before, I know the end is approaching. Three things happen in the space of about two seconds: he yells, "Oh shit!", comes in my mouth, and...passes out. Out cold.
I straighten up and sit next to him on the couch. I say something to him and there is no response. Hmmm.
*poke*
...
*poke poke poke*
...
*poke*
Oh god, I killed him. At least that's what I'm thinking in my current state, though the thought that I was in a strange place with a dead body with his junk hanging out does sober me up considerably. I don't know how to accurately check for a pulse, so that's out. I debate going into the bathroom and calling Dr. ManDiva for help/advice, but before I can do that, I'm finally able to notice that Hottie is breathing. Okay, that's good.
But now what? I walk around the apartment a bit. I turn off the stereo. I go pee in the bathroom. I look at my watch and know there's no way I'm making that first period class in the morning. Finally, Hottie opens his eyes and I breathe a sigh of relief. He regains consciousness just long enough to zip up, take out his contacts, tell me to drive home safely, and fall onto his bed fully-clothed. This time, there is no waking him, so I make my way home. The icing on the cake? When I get there and start getting ready for bed, I look in the mirror and see that I have semen on my upper lip. Fuck my life. (Dr. ManDiva has never let me live that one down, by the way.)
I wake up at about 8:00am, decide that breakfast sounds like the worst idea in the world, shower, and get to school by the end of second period. Supervisor laughs at me and helpfully takes over all my classes (which was the least he could do, considering this was ALL HIS FAULT). Hottie acts perfectly normally, but then tells me at the end of the day that he has no recollection of anything that happened after leaving the bar with me and OtherGuy. I suspiciously raise an eyebrow, but decide not to push it.
I realized it then, but I realize it even more now, having spent several years in the public school system - holy hell, I could have gotten him into a shitload of trouble, especially as he was an untenured teacher. I did go out drinking with these people a few more times over the next few months and I did learn that he does occasionally black out after drinking too much, so it is possible that he wasn't feeding me a line of bullshit. Whatever, it was a fun, crazy night regardless, and I choose to believe that my oral skills are just so damn good, they make men completely lose consciousness in a wave of blissful ecstasy. Yeah. I'm sticking with that story.
* Okay, a little addendum to this story. About four or five months after this, we all (plus a few others) wound up at the same bar and some people were thinking to go back to Hottie's place again (a bit more sober), but no one was actually getting up to leave. OtherGuy and I decided to bravely lead the way, so we started heading in the direction we think is right...and walk straight into a fence. "Didn't we come this way last time? Was this fence always here?" we asked ourselves. Hottie assured us that the fence had always been there. OtherGuy and I realize that we have no recollection of walking from the bar to Hottie's that night. I guess we all did have more to drink than we thought. Oops.
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