Sex Club for Nerds and Geeks Ch. 06

"I can go back there if I want. The problem is, I'd have to live at home. After everything I've, uh, experienced lately," I smiled winningly, "I don't think I could stand that."

"You said the other day that you were thinking of majoring is psychology or sociology, right?"

"Yeah, but I don't know right now. Like you said, though, so long as I stay in the liberal arts, it really doesn't matter."

"One of the girls was going to be a research assistant in the psych department this summer. She, uh, has this problem and can't take the job."

" 'Problem?' "

"Pregnant." Her tone was "if you must know." There was that word again.

"Anyway, they need someone really fast. It doesn't pay a lot, which is why it's still open. But it'll pay the rent and keep you in groceries. And it's research, not cleaning out rat cages."

"What about you? What're you gonna do?"

"The professor I'm an assistant for next year offered me a job for the summer. I'll teach and do research for her. I can take two courses at reduced cost and if I do it again next year, I can finish a semester early and get a head start on graduate school."

"Where will you live?"

"It's summer school, they run the place year-round. So the dorms are open and I can have my room again. I like it, it suits me well. I might even become an RA and put some more money away. But I don't want to get over-committed. I have to decide pretty soon, though.

"Anyway, what do you think about the psych job?"

Do I look that directionless? What the heck, doors open. Why not?

"Sure."

"Great. Talk to Linda. She's over there," she gestured toward the dining room.

Suddenly the shrillest whistle I'd ever heard came out of Wendy's thin frame. And there was Pete, standing on a stool in the living room.

"That was one terrific picnic yesterday! We knew that exams start in two weeks, and that it would be tough to pull it off, but you guys were great!" He thanked Ruth for everything and then all the people who worked in setup, serving, and cleanup.

"And thank you all for coming. And to those of you who brought friends, extra thanks. New members in the club let us keep it going. Let's keep more in touch. Several of you will be here over the summer working or studying, so don't forget Ruth McGowen." He stepped down to applause, even cheers.

I spotted Carol in the crowd and drifted over.

"Have fun yestserday?"

"I got into this competitive Frisbee game that Karen organized on the front lawn. It got so hot that a couple of us took off our shirts. Did you hear that the cops came by?"

"No! You could've gotten the whole party busted."

"Colored sports bras look a lot like thin halter tops. At least that's what Karen pointed out to the cops. They made one of the girls put her shirt back on, but that was it."

"You get any feedback on the front-page photo?"

"The sports editor liked it a lot, which is all that counts. Did you read the caption? She snuck in a really risqué pun." I hadn't. Dummy.

"You on the board this week?"

"Yeah, Wednesday. You?"

"Will be."

At first I couldn't find Linda, but when I scanned a little more intently there she was, talking with Kenny, who had been on the cleanup committee with her.

"I am sooo glad you guys managed to get the place back to normal yesterday," I said to them.

"I like working cleanup," said Kenny. "I can enjoy the party. If the serving committee keeps on top of things, there's not a lot of mess and it's a snap."

"Yeah, you and me, we're a team. Last year, remember, the three picnics, when nobody seemed interested in anything but food? We had to work our butts off. This was easy. Must have been all the new people, everybody was on their best behavior." They both laughed.

"Uh, Linda, Margery told me to talk to you about this summer job at the psych department. I'm thinking of majoring in psychology and this sounds interesting."

"Oh good! I'm glad somebody's interested. Look, you'd really be doing Marney a favor," she said, referring to her roommate, another member of the club. "She's got some family issues and can't take the job after all, but it's so close to the end of school that it's tough to get anyone."

"So I should talk to her?"

"Can't, she's away this weekend. But look, I know the professor is Draper. Shoot him an email with your resume. Tell him Marney suggested you be in touch."

"Do you know what the job's about?"

"Not a clue. D'you, Kenny? You're a psych major."

"Nope. I took 'Nuts and Sluts' with Draper last year. He's into research, statistics and correlations. Personally, he seems really intense. Sorry, though, I never asked Marney what the job was about."

*

I was in the office of Dr. Donald Draper the next afternoon, summoned by his secretary after she'd gotten my email and resume. By then he'd checked my grades in the two psych courses I'd taken. Since they were both A's, it was only the thinness of the resume that might be a problem.

"I'm part of a nation-wide research project where we'll be doing 150 interviews of about an hour each in six weeks. We'll video each one and afterward we'll subject the videos to a series of computer assessments of body and facial language.

"I need someone to do the recording, log the data and the paperwork, and secure everything. It's not rocket science, but it does require an organized mind. We're on a tight schedule so we don't have time for screw-ups.

"Your resume says photography. Ever done video?"

"Closest thing is time-lapse photography. I had to break down every 12 hours, then set up again. Each setup meant locating the camera in the exact same place, pointed in the exact same angle and direction, with the exact same settings.

"I take really good care of my images. They're backed up in two places here on earth and another one in a cloud somewhere."

"I like what I'm hearing," said Dr. Draper. He paused, then "I'd like you to take the job."

"Can you tell me about the project?"

"Sure. You know about lie detectors? Everybody thinks they accurately show whether the subject is telling the truth. Fact is, technically they suck, to the point where a lot of courts won't accept the evidence from them.

"Several of us believe that you can tell if a person is telling the truth by reading body language and facial expression. Several of us have done small-group tests of this, with encouraging results, or at least better results than lie detectors. But there's never been a broad-based test. Until now.

"We've got a decent-size grant. There are seven collaborators in different parts of the country doing identical interviews this summer. All together we're shooting for 1,000 completed interviews. It would be great if we could select subjects who matched the demographics of the entire country, but we can't afford it and anyway it would take too much time.

"So we've modified the design to interview college students. Each interview will be identical, with a mix of warm-up chat, biographical questions that we can check, some general knowledge questions, and some opinion questions.

"But six times during the interview, out of the blue, we'll ask a very personal question, to which we do not, of course, have the answer. Actually, we really don't care what the answer is. That's the whole purpose of the interview: all the other questions are about making sure we know how the subject looks and behaves when telling the truth, so that the answers to the personal questions can be evaluated by the facial expression and body language."

A couple of times, when I'd reviewed the photos I'd taken during a long shoot, I thought I could read what people were thinking from their expressions, but I really didn't know what I was looking at. Doing a scientific study of this would be really interesting.

"The budget is tight. We're offering the subjects serious money, $150 each, to make sure we'll have a large enough pool from the get-go and be able to start interviews right away. After we pay the university its overhead, pay the grad students for their analytical work over the next six months, license the software, and so on, I'm able to offer you $11 an hour for forty hours a week, over nine weeks, starting as soon as possible after exams are over.

"I don't mean to pressure you, but Marney's left me in a tight spot. I need your answer by tomorrow morning. I have to resolve this by the end of the week."

Well, you made $10 an hour washing windows over spring break, plus free meals. Uncle Ted's job pays $10 and you can live at home, which means free room and board but also parental supervision of your sex life. On the other hand, this is interesting and you've got your own place. On the other hand . . . What the hell, you don't have anything better to do this summer.

"That's great news, Carl. Thank you, I think you'll enjoy what we do here. Can you come by my office and fill out the paperwork today or tomorrow morning?"

*

After my mid-term exams scare, I'd learned how easily distracted I could be. Since then I'd worked at participating in every class and reviewing at the end of every week. I had two papers due by finals, in less than two weeks. I figured four days for the history paper and another three for the sociology paper. After that, it's straight on to finals. Between classes and making my off-day Thursday a power-study day, I should do well.

If I kept this schedule, I could date, for sure on Wednesday and maybe weekends.

*

Professor Draper e-mailed me the research proposal and the award documents. I was flattered that he was treating me as a collaborator, not just an employee. He invited me to lunch at the Faculty Club with his secretary, Marilyn, and Anna, the graduate student who would be conducting the interviews. By the end of lunch I felt I was part of the team and he asked me to call him "Don."

*

"I picked up a stick last week," Carol said it matter-of-factly, but I knew better. It was early Wednesday evening and we were in the union's German food court.

"Hit anybody with it?"

She giggled. "No, it was just a Sunday morning pick-up game at one of the practice fields. There's this lacrosse club, they get together for a just-for-fun scrimmage. So after church I just walked over there. One of the girls loaned me her extra stick and we threw the ball around for a while. At first I felt awkward, but I got into the groove. It felt good, really good.

"After a half-hour of warming up, we got into a 5-on-5, half-field game, kinda ragged, no pads or other stuff. We played for maybe an hour. Afterward we went to one of the sororities for beers.

"They're a fun bunch and I lost track of time. Around 3:30 I realized I was late for the club meeting, but it just felt so right hanging out with them. I guess I've missed it more than I thought."

"Too bad it's the end of the semester, you could keep it up."

"Oh, I can. I'm working this summer at the local recreation camp back home. There are a couple of leagues that play all summer. There've gotta be pickup games on the weekends. I doubt anybody in town remembers the accident any more."

I told her how I'd fallen into this research project. "If you'd told me a week ago that I'd be involved in a cutting-edge psychological research project at a major state university this summer, I'd have said you were nuts. But here I am." I laid out the subject matter and mentioned improving on lie-detectors.

"Another application could be card-sharking," she said.

"How so?"

"A couple of times a year my father plays in one of those Texas Hold 'Em tournaments. He's never even come close to getting to the final tables, and he says one reason is that he just doesn't read the other players that well. He's good at counting cards, though.

"I've played in a couple of the run-up tournaments, where the buy-in isn't much. My game is getting better. They tell me I have a good poker face and I'm amazed at how much some of the players give away when they look at their cards. But I haven't mastered card-counting yet." Cards being a social game, I'd never played.

And so the conversation went. Carol's DNA research seminar had given her the impetus to declare a major in plant biology with a minor in geography.

The movie portion of our date was the Film Society's double feature, Lon Chaney's Phantom of the Opera paired with Andrew Lloyd Weber's version. We'd both seen the musical, so we skipped out about half way through and headed to the apartment.

I kissed her at the door. "Can you come in for a nightcap?"

She kissed me back. "I'd like that."

We went straight to my room. I turned from locking the door to find her seated on the bed, pulling off her socks.

"Nice feet," I praised. "Good ankles." I lifted one of them to my lips. I ran my tongue over her toes and kissed the instep. She shivered.

"Can I play with yours?"

"I'd love it." She worked my sneakers as I pulled my shirt off and undid my belt. As I stepped out of my socks, she tickled my arch, then shifted to my zipper, sliding my pants and jockeys down.

"Can I —" I started to say.

"Only if I don't first," as she shucked her polo shirt. I reached around her and unclipped her bra, freeing her mid-sized breasts. I took one in my hands and thumbed the nipple.

"Ummmm," she said, but her hands were on her jeans, popping the button and fumbling for the zipper.

"May I?"

"Sure."

"I want to see you the first time up close," I said, and took her pants and panties down slowly, revealing her closely trimmed pussy an inch at a time.

While her hair was very dark brown, her bush was lighter and slightly sparse. I was just starting to slip my tongue onto its lips when she grabbed my armpits and pulled me upright.

"Can we get into bed first? I'd be more comfortable."

I pulled back the sheets and we slid in and clasped sideways. I opened her thighs just enough to get a leg between and pushed gently with my pelvis, announcing that my cock was hard.

"Oh that's nice. Kiss me," and I did. Her tongue dipped between my lips, not darting so much as testing. I caught her lower lip, sucked it into my mouth, and worked it.

"I want to make you cum, Carol," I said as I started to slide down.

"You don't have to, I'm ready, let's just do it."

"But I want to. I like knowing I've done it."

"That's okay, I get off when you're inside me. Really. C'mon, I want to feel your cock in me. You'll make me cum that way."

I lifted up and she slid under me. Dropping down, I inserted my second leg between hers, lubed my cockhead, and moved in. She was certainly wet and ready.

"Ohhhh yeah, feels so good, so good," she said as I got completely seated. On my second thrust she pushed back and we got our rhythm going.

"Feels so good, feels so good, feels so good," she crooned as we upped the pace. She gripped my shoulders and pumped her hips up and down, meeting my thrusts with enthusiasm.

"Feels so good, feels so good, feels so good."

As our pace quickened. I was getting closer and closer. "I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna c—" when suddenly her pussy muscles gripped my cock and held it. She humped up and down with my cock completely in her pussy's grip.

She was milking me!

And it worked! As if on cue, when she released me, I spurted. Immediately she gripped me again, then let go, and I released my second blast. She did this a third time and got my third squirt. Then she relaxed and I was free to stroke toward my final spout.

As it surged, she began to push, hard, against me. "Oh god yes, you're making me cum! I'm cumming, I'm cumming, I'm cumming now!" and she humped furiously against me as I finished. As I fell forward, she clamped my sweaty body to hers and rolled us onto our sides.

"That was so nice, so nice, thank you Carl," she said between harsh breaths. I stroked the nearest nipple as she floated her fingers across my sweaty cheek.

"I've never felt what you did before," I gasped. "It was like I was being milked."

"Like it?"

"Oh man, yeah! You took me completely by surprise. You grabbed and let go. It was amazing! You really have control over your muscles."

"It's how I like to cum. There are some really neat details and a bunch of variations to it that I'll show you sometime."

It was barely eleven when I finished cleaning us up, and I was randy. I started in on her again but she demurred. "Let's sleep and do it again in the morning."

I started to protest but thought better of it. I slid behind her as she reached between her legs for my cock. I fondled her breasts. We spooned.

"There. Everything's where it belongs." We dozed.

I woke at six, not knowing why. Carol was dressed and tying her second sneaker when I focused. I shifted and she noticed I was awake.

"Gotta go. I run every morning." As she stood, she slid a piece of paper from the desk into her pocket, then came over to the bed and pulled the sheet back. She sucked my cock into her mouth, then popped off and kissed me hard, pushing her tongue into my mouth.

"Let's do this again."

And she was gone.

*

Did I just interrupt the female version of the one-night-stand brush-off, saving face by leaving a note?

I'd come close to doing the same thing with Pat. Well, no, actually I'd behaved better: I did fuck her a second time later that night, and I was social with her and her roommate in the morning, even if I did offer the lamest excuse known to college students in order to get away.

I liked Carol. Well no, not in the same way I liked Julia and Margery, or Cindy for that matter. I was a little creeped out by how she's holding onto her guilt over her brother's death. But I like how she has a good eye for composition. She's easy to talk to and has her own ideas about things I'm interested in.

And I've NEVER known a girl who could control her pussy like that!

But just fuck, snore, and bolt? And what kind of girl turns down getting eaten first, anyway? She's got real skill with her pussy, and that was amazing, I'd like to feel that again. Crap.

*

Go to class, review, write, eat, sleep. Repeat. By the weekend my confidence in how my final grades would work out was growing. The papers were done and turned in, and I was completely current in all my courses.

At Sunday's club meeting I seriously considered signing up for two dates, Wednesday for sure and either Friday or Saturday. I decided to be conservative and booked Wendy, for Wednesday.

I looked for Linda but at first scan didn't see her. She wasn't on the board either, but then I spotted her in front of the big-screen as the Blue Jays and the Angels struggled. I plunked myself down next to her.

"I got that job with the psych department. Thank you so much for telling me about it."

"Oh, good! Marney told me they'd found someone, but she didn't know who. I'm glad it's you. She filled me in on the project and it sounds fascinating."

"Maybe it's too invasive. I've been thinking, if we ever get to the point of being able to read facial expressions and know what's behind them, we'd have too much control over people."

"Your research is about trying to get an accurate yes-or-no answer in a very structured environment, not mind invasion on the street. Besides," she grinned, "there are all sorts of ways already where I can tell what you're thinking simply by showing you an image."

"I doubt it," I said.

"Okay," and she pulled her t-shirt up, exposing her bra-less breasts, then dropped it down and stuck her forefinger in her mouth. It didn't last two seconds.

"And you think I'm thinking —"

"Admit it, you —"

"The First Swedish War against Napoleon, 1813-1814," I said, authoritatively.

"You were not!"

"Was too!"

"Well, you're wrong."

"Waddaya mean?"

"Those dates are for the Second Swedish War against Napoleon."