“What is so wrong with sex between strangers?”
An hour ago, she was student and he was teacher. And with one unprovoked question, made by this legal teenager, all of the burden is now all his; And should she act erotically irrational, whether he says yes or no, all of the guilt is also now all his.
That is just the way it is these days.
“Excuse me?” He did not exactly outright reject her.
“Do you have a big cock? You seem like you do and I only want to fuck you if you have a big cock.”
With every word, he saw it all collapsing. His work, his morality, his restraint, his character, his innocence…word by word by word.
He felt his life, the actions in his life, becoming irreversible.
Why would anyone believe me?
She was beautiful, sexy, ferocious on stage, and a confident seductress. His boss was a horny, lonely ex-celebrity. She will have him slobberingly hard a few lines into her story.
I can’t fault him for it. He himself was getting hard just thinking about what she would say, given what she already has said; This striking Indian girl with those big cinematic eyes and full of a lust for absolute power over men. And successful thus far.
“Are you a writer?” She finally asked with him staring, lost in her question, her possibilities, and not answering.
Why would you ask that? What the fuck do you think?
All he was doing was sitting in his make-shift office that literally once was a supply closet. He was contemplating his first day as a young teacher at a university in New York City, the city he dreamed about as a boy no differently than anyone else had. He was writing about his day, the ups and downs, trying to get something on the page in the solitude of this third floor after-hours. The security guard had allowed him to stay as long as he liked, as long as he wanted to take in this life change.
“Pay attention when ya can,” the guard told him, and shut up the rest of the floor before he left.
“Well, you’re writing in that book, so, are you a writer?” She snapped him out of his lost thought again.
“Yea, I am, try to be. I try to do a few different styles, keep life interesting. Us artists always get bored too easily, so, this year I’m trying teaching.”
He was being sarcastic but, damn…Why the fuck would I lob her a softball?
“Then you know you really have no choice…if I approve. We’ll have our little secret and you’ll have your story…and maybe one day I’ll decide not to become a writer and share my stories.”
And as she says this, she closes the door, he breathes deeply and closes his notebook.
What is so wrong with sex between strangers?
af
(written with pen on paper)