Sex Club for Nerds and Geeks Ch. 04

I drifted off for what seemed like a few minutes, but when I woke I saw by her bedside clock that it was almost one. She was snoring softly with her back to me.

It was the Sirens talk! Had to be. I’m afraid of her somehow. That’s ridiculous! She likes fucking, I like fucking. We’re members of a fuck club, we know what we want, what’s to be afraid of?

My left hand summoned a semi-erection, hard enough for the job. I stroked Pat’s pussy through the crack of her legs and she moved her top leg to give me more access. I touched her anus with my little finger and she sighed and rolled onto her back.

“Oh good, you’re back for more,” she said as she reached for my cock. With a couple of deft strokes she had me hard enough for her satisfaction.

“Ride me Pat, I like it that way,” I said, not truthfully but I figured I could give her an orgasm that way and get off enough so she wouldn’t catch on.

Straddling me, she leaned forward and sucked me into her mouth, then lifted herself onto my cock and slid down. I moistened my thumb and started working her clit. She quickly got into motion and I humped against her as I played with her clit for all I was worth.

“I’m gonna cum, you’re making me cum, ohhhhhh, yessssss, fuck me, fuck me hard!” She swung her head and hips around, pumping my cock. I actually got into it myself and pushed back, hard. She got me to cum. My cock shrank faster than a spent bottle rocket at a fireworks display.

*

I excused myself from breakfast, claiming a meeting with a professor. I was at my computer by eight. I googled “failure to perform” and its variants for twenty minutes but getting nothing more than insights about too much drinking or drugs before sex.

What am I going to do about this? Maybe it’s a one-time thing. Pat’s okay, but there’s no spark. What do I need, love? I’m sorta jealous of Pete’s situation, but he’s not letting that stop him. Was it Cindy’s face I was seeing when I got hard enough to cum? Maybe I need to see a shrink.

*

Ruth considered the problem as I blabbed out the sordid details.

“I’m not a therapist, Carl, and God knows I’m not a man. And frankly I didn’t sleep around much before Stuart. I know it’s a lot easier for a woman to fake an orgasm than it is for a man. In the early days of the club, when I was doing active matchmaking, if a couple didn’t hit it off or one of them wasn’t as interested as the other, I’d talk with them. Separately, of course.

“You’re not a head case, you’re a sweet loving guy and everyone likes you. I know somebody at the health services who’d probably be helpful.” She flipped through her leather-bound book and wrote out a name and phone number.

*

On Friday morning I spilled my guts to Dr. Ascheim. For twenty minutes I rambled about kissing my sister, envying Pete, my first fuck and how tired I was afterward, my bad midterms, Cindy and living together, envying Pete some more, Pat and her roommate, and my failure to perform.

“I’m sorry to tell you this, Carl,” he said, “but you’re normal. You’ve suffered an episode of insight. It wasn’t a ‘ghee whiz’ or road-to-Damascus moment, yours was more public, but that’s what happened.

“It ought to happen more often, but the score-keeping and hook-up culture masks it.

“As it happens, you picked an unsuitable partner. You hustled into bed with her and everything was fine. When you had a chance to think about her, her roommate, whatever, subconsciously the realization got to you that there was something wrong, wrong for you. Your impotence was the result of this understanding.”

IMPOTENCE. Great! It had a name. I should have thought of that.

“So it won’t happen again?”

“I wouldn’t say that.” I crashed.

“Depends on your future choice of partners. The club facilitates members getting together, but nothing more. It’s like Craigslist, the moral equivalent of offers scrawled on bathroom walls.”

“Maybe I should date outside the club?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“The rules are dating only inside the club.”

“No, the rule is having sex partners only inside the club. There’s a difference. Remember when you asked Cindy out? You said you wanted ‘a real date, not a structured encounter.’ Even in today’s culture, spending time with a woman isn’t only about sex. You can have friendships with women, you can even have friendships with the women in the club if you want, that aren’t about sex. They can be colleagues, people you sit next to in a class, even students you teach.

“You were going to Mississippi for spring break, right? Was that about sex?”

“No, but I’d signed up in January, before I even knew about the club. I didn’t like the idea of going to Florida and maybe getting a disease. It still seems creepy, though the way Pete handled it, maybe it’s not so bad.”

“So what’re you going to do?”

“I don’t know. I can’t just give up sex, I just can’t! It’s on my mind all the time. I look at a girl and I get an erection! I know I have to have some discipline about studying, but it’s so hard. The way Cindy and I structured our time together, I felt like I was married, no sex except on weekends.”

“Well, that’s a good place for us to break,” Dr. Ascheim said. He handed me his card. “Call me anytime, we’ll get together if you need to talk.”

*

Back in my room, I called Carol and cancelled our date. This would get me grief from Ruth, as it was one of her very firm rules that the guyhad to show up, only the girl could break a date. But I didn’t know Carol any better than I knew Pat.

I’ll stop going to the club. Go back to my old ways, just study and take pictures. No, that’ll never work, that’s why I moved in with Pete. Quit school and get a job, have a real life, find someone who will love me for who I am, get married, have kids. Sure, based on your recent experience, that’s the ticket. Stop obsessing about fucking, accept it as a part of your life, balance fucking and books. Perfect! Except you don’t know how. Crap.

*

When I walked out of the bathroom on Saturday morning, Pete was surprised. He hadn’t realized I had been in the apartment all night.

“You okay?”

“No, not really, but I don’t know why. I saw a doctor at the health service yesterday, I’m fine, but, well, I don’t know, I just feel, I dunno, empty.”

“Eat your cheerios and drink your tea, be merry,” he said. “It’s lovely outside. It’s spring!”

Is that it? Spring fever? “Hooray, horray for the first of May, outdoor fucking begins that day.” No, it’s more existential, a good walk won’t fix this. I’m losing concentration, haven’t picked a major for next year, I have to study, just getting laid isn’t enough anymore, but the girl I want isn’t available, nothing personal.

*

I didn’t skip the club on Sunday afternoon, but I didn’t sign up for any dates either. No one seemed to notice. Luckily Carol wasn’t there. Pete booked two dates, Sunday and Monday nights, and both times he went to their rooms. When he found me in the kitchen on Tuesday morning he reported that he had found an apartment for himself and Suzi. Our landlord called and pushed me for a commitment about next year, so I signed the lease and gave him a deposit without anyone to share the place with.

By Wednesday afternoon, with only four weeks to go before finals, I was a real mess. I had been going to classes but hadn’t spent any time reviewing since my spring-break catch-up session. I had taken on a huge obligation to pay for an apartment but there was no one to help with the rent. I called Dr. Ascheim and made an appointment.

*

“It’s getting worse,” I said.

“What’s getting worse?”

“Everything! Isn’t it obvious? I’m not sleeping, I look like shit. Pete avoids me, he fucks his dates at their place. I’m not eating, I’ve lost five pounds. I’m masturbating at all hours of the day.”

“And?”

“And what should I do?”

“I don’t know. What would you like to do?”

“I’d like to disappear. Get away from here. Maybe transfer. I dunno.”

“Would that solve your problem?”

“Look, I know it’s the method, but can’t you give me some guidance? I don’t know what to do.”

“Okay, here’s an idea. Focus on solving one discreet problem. Today.”

“Which one?”

“Look, Carl, I’m only good for so much. You decide. Let me know what happens.”

Ascheim has to be right. Pick one problem and get a handle on it. Which one? Exams are rushing toward me, I have to study. No, that’s too big. Go to the club and get laid? No, that’s what’s got me here in the first place. What?

At two in the morning I put an ad on the university listing service:“Male roommate wanted starting fall semester. Separate bedroom. Share kitchen. Safe building. Walk to campus. No smoking. Nerds and geeks welcome.”

By noon I had six responses. Two dropped out because of the rent but by noon on Friday I had met each of the others for coffee at the union and showed them the apartment. One of them wasn’t right for me or the club, but by dinner time I had a rent deposit check and one less worry.

I called Dr. Ascheim the next morning. “Is that all there is to it?” I said, hopefully.

“Well, maybe not, but it’s a good start. What’re you going to do next?”

“I don’t know. Maybe go shoot some photos. I haven’t even looked at the camera since Cindy dumped me. A study of slush piles, maybe.”

“Good. Let me know how it works out.”

For some reason, ten hours of slush-pile photographing morphed into treating Pete to dinner at the union to celebrate my finding a roommate.

“You’ve been pretty down, Carl,” he said. “I’m glad to see you back again.”

“Yeah, I don’t know why, I just lost focus I guess.”

“Ruth was wondering how you were. Do you have a date next week?”

“I really screwed up with Carol when I cancelled our date. I owe her an apology. I was thinking I’d call her and just hang out tomorrow, maybe go to one of the games, or something.”

“She’s nice. She’s only been in the club about six weeks and I’ve never dated her,” Pete said.

I checked out her Facebook page. Her photo wasn’t sized right but she seemed perky, with interests I thought were compatible.

I screwed up my courage and called, apologizing for cancelling our date. She was gracious about it and I segued into asking her out. I suggested tomorrow’s varsity lacrosse game, scheduled for ten o’clock.

“Lacrosse? Do you play?” she said.

“No, but I like the action and my camera can handle rapid-sequence shots. Besides, it’s spring and I want to get outside.”

*

We met at the field just as the JV game was ending and the varsity was warming up.

“I’m glad you could come, Carol. I want to apologize again for cancelling at the last minute. I was really run down and had a cold. You deserved better.”

“It’s okay, Carl, it really is. The girls said it had to be real because it wasn’t like you to do something like that unless it was true.”

It was a really warm spring morning. The ground was squishy from the melting snow, but the sky was blue. We took end-of-the-row, field-level seats on the small grandstand so I could move about freely and have a good angle on the goal with the sun behind me. I showed Carol how to use the rapid-fire settings and between us we took almost 150 shots.

Back in my room we downloaded everything and picked out a dozen pictures that looked pretty good. Nine were hers.

“You have a real eye for this,” I praised, and meant it.

“My roommate’s dating a guy on the newspaper,” said Carol. “We should go over there and see if they can use any of these.” She called her roommate, who checked with her boyfriend, and he said sure, come on over. We pulled a thumb drive and headed for the student newspaper offices.

The boyfriend was the assignment editor and, as such, could recommend material for the other editors. He liked three shots and emailed them to the photo editor. Within an hour he picked one and Carol had a photo credit for the next day’s paper.

“Sports photography! A career opportunity!” I teased over a pricey, celebratory frappe, for which I insisted on paying.

“It’ll be the second time my name’s ever been in the newspaper,” Carol said slowly. When I cocked a quizzical eyebrow, she went on. “Seven years ago, my little brother and I were biking alongside the road when we were side-swiped by a car. I was dumped in the ditch but he was tossed in the air and landed in the road and was run over by the next car.” She sighed.

“Oh my,” I said. “Carol, I’m so sorry.”

She took a deep breath and leaned forward. “The local paper made a big deal about us. Mom and dad were crushed and I felt so guilty.” She sighed again, then straightened up.

“We were going to his lacrosse practice.”

Finally I asked, “How old was he?”

“Twelve. I was thirteen. I wanted to go with him to see if I could catch the eye of one of the older guys I had a crush on. I told mom we could bike there, we’d be careful, she didn’t need to drive us.” She sighed again.

“I played lacrosse too, but since the accident I haven’t touched a stick. I haven’t even been to a match since, until today.”

We sat quietly.

“C’mon, let’s go for a walk.”

We walked into town, through town, back to the union, talking, at first hesitantly, then more animatedly. She was into botany, particularly seed diversity for grains. She had a part-time job working in the seed warehouse at the ag school, where they stored a huge variety of different varieties of grains. She was starting to learn about various forms of DNA replication.

“If there’s a rust, or a rot, or a blight, the few varieties of wheat in this country could be wiped out in a few years, and we don’t have the amount of seed stored to replace them. It’s one of the tradeoffs for engineering high-production grains, that we concentrate on only a few varieties,” she explained.

“But what are the chances of a wipe out? I’ve never heard of anything like this happening.”

“You Irish?”

“No, German and Scots. Why’s that matter?”

“Well, if you were Irish you’d know about the Great Famine in Ireland, in the 1840s. Their main food, potatoes, rotted in the fields because of disease. Tens of thousands died and it sparked a mass migration. And that’s only one story, there are many others.”

It was past six and we hadn’t eaten since the frappe, so we circled back to the union and settled on Italian food. By nine we’d finished and I wondered how the day was going to end. Carol solved the dilemma by laying down her credit card.

“I’ve got to study, Carl. If I hit the library tomorrow morning I can spend a couple of hours at the club in the afternoon. Will I see you there?”

“Sure,” I said.

“Good. I’ve had a nice time. Thanks. For everything.” We shook hands and she headed for her dorm.

That was a date, Carl. Well, not really, but sort of. No really, it was. You asked her out, she accepted, you did something mutually interesting, got an insight into her, and you liked what you saw. She confided in you! You had a good time. Maybe you really can have a life.

*

I got up really early on Sunday and reviewed the notes from my four courses. I was surprised at how decent they were, even if I couldn’t remember being at the lectures. If I focused, I could be in good shape for finals.

*

The front page of the student paper was Carol’s photo, the goalie splayed out in a vain attempt to stop what turned out to be the score that ended our team’s chances for the NCAAs. When I got to Ruth’s I taped the paper to the wall next to the board and circled Carol’s photo credit in red magic marker.

I hung around all afternoon. Every time the door opened I sneaked a look but she never appeared. I circulated among those who were there. All of them were nice, but I felt like a wolf, scouting the herd of sheep to decide which one to cull out for the kill.

Haven’t you had enough of this, man? Remember what Ascheim said, maybe you want to just get to know a girl, not fuck her right away.

“Hi Carl,” said Margery as she slid onto the couch next to me. “Haven’t seen you around lately. How’ve you been?”