Christian College Sex Comedy Ch. 11

"I was going to say that a steady heartbeat indicated I was telling the truth, but someone keeps insisting they are smarter than me," I teased her. Am I really asking for another sex partner? What's wrong with me?

Her reaction wasn't what I expected it to be and then I realized that she still had something over on me – the reason for me being here. Bitch. She opened a door into a dark room and ushered me in. There appeared to be about ten ladies in the room, playing with a variety of electronics.

"Delivered as promised," Paige called out.

"What did he hit you with?" a short caramel-skinned girl inquired.

"Fellowship of the Ring," Paige grinned. Mother-fuckers!

"Did he offer to have sex with you?" Cordelia asked playfully.

"Yes. And not only gave me a 'pretty' but also a 'far prettier'." Paige gave me a smug look.

"Ha, ha, ha," I muttered. Idiot me forgot that psychology is also a science, and the reason we don't have a chess club at FFU was also evident; the Science Club devoured them.

"Come on, Zane," Cordelia batted her full lashes at me. "We need a little favor and it won't take fifteen minutes."

"Couldn't you simply coerce me into doing this?" I stated. "I'm sure this whole rigmarole of making me think I'm doing you a favor has to be making things more difficult."

"We are all friends here," Cordelia smiled.

"No, if we were all friends here, Iona would be at my side," I scolded her. "I admit you did a great scam getting me in this room, but you aren't nearly as good at lying to my face as you think you are."

"Iona..." Paige started to say.

"Don't!" Cordelia snapped, then took a deep breath. "If you threaten Iona he will hit you...no," she corrected, "He'll hit me," Cordelia reasoned out.

"There are eleven of us," another girl, Pandora Jaspers, stated, somewhat angry and confident.

"I've seen him fight, Pandora. I saw him drop Mercy Chaplain. I've seen him fight Cappadocia Davis and Coach Gorman too," Cordelia said coolly as we stared at one another. "Unless we curl up in a ball on the ground, he'll beat us down. We'll hurt him, but Zane can take more pain than we can because he cares about her."

"On that note, I'm gone again. Good going Paige; I'm sure you can think of something to make your sisters understand," I shrugged and moved for the door.

"Zane...I need you to strip down and let us attach a series of video and biometric sensors so we can create a 'Virtual Zane' for a little project we are working on," Cordelia blurted out.

I had to think hard about this; not because I didn't want to do it but because I had to figure if this was an honest play or another convoluted turn of the screws. I turned and looked at Cordelia.

"There was no way in hell you ever thought I was a professor and you miraculously materialized outside my first class with the knowledge I was actually a freshman...damn, Cordelia, can't you just ask for stuff?" I berated her.

"If you ask, you depend on another to get what you want; if you deceive, you win or lose on your own abilities," she shrugged. "Besides, I did ask you to kiss me; remember?"

"Good enough; where do you want me to stand?" I responded.

"Wait," Paige gawked. "Now he is doing it."

"Alright ladies," one girl grinned. "Everyone pay up. I told you we should simply ask him."

With that, I stepped over to a table and began stripping. Slowly the girls around me stopped what they were doing and openly ogled me. I guess the real me was better than the video.

"Aren't you curious about what we are going to do?" Pandora inquired.

"You are probably going to tell me that I'm posing naked because it is easier to dress an 'uncluttered' form, or something to that effect, but really, I like Cordelia and Iona is one of my two best friends," I mulled it over. "Besides, in case you missed it, I've seen all your faces."

Once they took that bit of news in, things went along smoothly, though they had some debate amongst themselves on whether my cock needed its own 'reference point' – a sensor attached.

The amusing thing was, when the girl running the computer imaging asked me to keep my penis still, I had to reply that certain reactions weren't under my control, which caused a rather awkward moment. When I was finally finished there was another quiet interlude as I got dressed.

"So," Cordelia wondered, rocking back and forth on her feet, "if we need more...data, could we get you to come back?"

"Sure," I smiled back, "you know where I live, and you certainly know what my digits are. Cordelia, I want you to consider that if something happens in my room that ends up on the web that betrays the trust people have put in me, I'm not going to come after all of you looking for excuses. Are we clear?"

"Is that a threat, Zane?" Cordelia beamed playfully.

"Cordelia, I'm always one step away from being tossed out of here on my ass, so those who chose to trust me and take up my cause are doing it because they are decent folk. I'm not like most people; I can't afford to toss friends away like most of the rest of the people in this room seem to be comfortable with."

"Or what," Paige smirked, "you'll beat us up?"

"No, Paige. I value trust, so if you take that away from me, I'll find out what you value and take that away from you," I stared at her intently.

"I know what you are going to say, Paige," Cordelia jumped in, "and Zane being expelled will only mean that he has no other distractions from dealing with us and he'll still have people inside the school all too willing to help him."

"Zane, how about if something is done, we give you an off switch for various sections?" Cordelia offered.

"Sounds great; let me know how the project works out, but now I have to go to Archery," I replied, before slipping out the door.

"How did he know we were going to wire his room?" I overheard Paige whisper to Cordelia.

"You don't seriously think he came here solely because we tricked him, do you?" Cordelia answered. "He knew we would try something and he wanted us to know that he knew." Yes, I had bumbled into the message I'd wanted to get across despite myself.

Does Anyone Want Me Here?

I had escaped school with a double date for Thursday Night (Chastity and Hope), then stopped by the house to plead with Aunt Jill to let Rio stay for the weekend. I gave a rational case, a compassionate reason, and then fell down on my knees and told her I really, really, really wanted her to stay. Something in that last argument made Jill relent and I phoned the good news to Rio.

All that groveling resulted in me making the Festivities Committee Meeting by only two minutes. I swept into the room abruptly and as the story of my life goes, everyone stopped talking and looked at me. A quick scan of the room told me that two of the eight women knew to expect me, or at least some guy, while the others clearly assumed I'd lost my way.

"Can we help you, young man?" an older woman with hair mostly turned to gray.

"Welcome, Glenn," Mrs. Wellington said. "Ladies, Pastor William has asked us to introduce Mr. Braxton to the good works of our Church." There was a pause.

"Thank you, Mrs. Wellington, but no one alive calls me Glenn anymore, and I'm not old or accomplished enough to be Mr. Braxton – like my Father or Uncle Tim. My teachers call me Zane."

"Oh, you are at the University?" a third woman asked politely. She was asking if I went to the University of Virginia.

"No, I don't go to UV; I go to FFU...it is a long story," I replied with trepidation.

"I have a daughter at Freedom Fellowship," one of the women responded with concern.

"What is her name?" I tried to be polite – what were the odds?

"Pandora Jaspers," Mrs. Jaspers answered.

"Seriously? I've done Handmaiden duty for her, and today I saw her at the Science Club," I sighed with relief.

"What did she have you do?" yet another woman inquired intently.

"I helped her create an umbrella walkway when it was raining so that all the students could get to class without getting soaked," I informed them.

"Have you been to 'camp'?" a sixth woman hinted at something.

"Camp...no, I can't say I've ever been to a camp," I evaded, because I had no idea what they meant.

"That's enough, ladies," Mrs. Wellington said. "We have business to take care of. We can worry about Mr. Braxton's confusion at a later time." Oh...they think I'm gay. Camp = Gay camp where fundamentalists are sure I could be cured of being homosexual. I try not to laugh.

"Mr. Braxton, I want you to sit at the chair there," Mrs. Wellington pointed to a chair away from the table, against the wall. "I want you to take personal notes for the members, things that don't go into the official record. Doreen Saxon," she indicated the gray haired woman "is our secretary. She takes the official notes of the meeting, so pay attention."

The Meeting for the first of September was called to order, the record of attendance including the difficulty of my name – they kept trying to call me Glenn Braxton while I politely asked for Zane. They went with Glenn. The rest of the group worked out like this:

Rochelle Wellington was Chairwoman, Kendra Bainbridge was our Treasurer, and Doreen Saxon was the grey-haired Secretary. The rest of the group consisted of Claire Baker, Theresa Geiger, Columbia Jaspers, Heidi Moulin, and Sahara Penny, the Pastor's wife.

As the meeting progressed there was little I could do but watch the group dynamics at work. For starters, Bainbridge was at Wellington's throat; they clearly didn't like one another. The other was an oddity; no one interacted with Sahara Penny. I wasn't sure if it was her non-white heritage (Middle Eastern of some sort), her meek nature, or some past sin, but I decided to take advantage of it.

I got up quietly and began walking around the table.

"Glenn," Mrs. Saxon asked, but I ignored her because, damn it, how many times do I have to tell them my name is Zane? I walked over and knelt by Sahara.

"Zane," Mrs. Wellington addressed me, "are you looking for the bathroom?" Bingo!

"No, Mrs. Wellington. I was hoping to get some background information on the current discussions as well as contact information for the group. Since the rest of you are treating Mrs. Penny like she has the plague, I figured she would be the perfect candidate to tell me what is really going on here," I grinned at her. "It is always the quiet ones who know the most."

And everyone stopped talking. Sahara not only looked shocked and frightened to see me, she looked like she wanted to sink under the table when I told the rest of them my reason for being here.

"I assure you, Mr. Braxton, we are fully including Sahara in the process," Mrs. Bainbridge snorted indignantly.

"I will gladly accept your reprimand if you can please tell me the last five words you said to her since I arrived," I requested, with as much innocence as I could beg, borrow, or steal.

"I asked her about the children's clothing for the Nativity this year," Kendra said after a long pause.

"That was Claire, not Sahara," I corrected her. "It is in my notes, but I'm sure Doreen can corroborate my recall of events."

"Well," she said testily, "I'm sure I said something to her." Silence.

"I apologize for disrupting the meeting. I'll crouch here quietly and conference with Sahara while the rest of you complete the business of the day," I told them, then turned back to Sahara. "Now, what the heck is up with the live turkey at the Thanksgiving celebration?"

In the end, I gathered my information, the meeting concluded its business, and the room emptied until it was me, Sahara, Kendra, and Rochelle.

"A Christian gentleman would apologize," Kendra informed me.

"Well, I guess that makes us both poor Christians, because a good Christian woman wouldn't have lied to me," I calmly replied. Kendra gaped like a fish out of water.

"Rochelle!" Kendra snapped to the Committee head.

"Zane, you apologize to Kendra right now," she commanded me, without much passion.

"Kendra Bainbridge, I apologize for my rude and uncalled for behavior," I said with a bow. Neither woman had expected me to fold up like that, so all Kendra could do was huff and storm out of the room.

"Thank you," Sahara whispered, as she touched my hand.

"I don't always know the right side to fight on but it is usually by the side of the person being bullied," I grinned. "It is the Christian thing to do," I added with a wink.

That left me with Rochelle Wellington: MILF, Lance the asshole's Mom, and wife of the Mayor.

She looked like she wanted to stand up but couldn't. Me, I had a Sorority meeting to get to, I missed dinner so I had to grab something first, and why in the hell was I even thinking what I was thinking? I sat down beside her.

"What's wrong?" I began. She looked at me, tired and somehow forlorn.

"You wouldn't understand, Mr. Braxton...Zane," she sighed.

"Try me; the worst that could happen is, I give the expression that every teenager gives an adult when something important is being said but we are too caught up in our own lives to understand."

"Oh, good point, young man," she sighed, "but I'm afraid I don't have anything even remotely interesting to talk about." I waited patiently. "I'm feeling sorry for myself. My baby is leaving the nest and it has been so long since I've been alone in the house, I don't know what to do with myself."

"Lance is an only child?" I wondered.

"Oh, no, he is the youngest of five," she responded with sadness. My jaw dropped and she stared at me.

"What, did you start having kids when you were ten?" I gawked.

"What?" she sounded confused.

"I have a hard time believing you are forty, much less the mother of five grown children," I stammered. At first Rochelle was embarrassed and a bit uncomfortable, but slowly the compliment seeped its way into her psyche.

"I...I have a home gym," she suggested as an answer.

"Well, whatever you've been doing has worked. Your husband is one lucky guy, and I hope he appreciates you and all you do to look, act, and feel so young," I wowed her.

"I'm not feeling all that young right now," she slipped back into her depression.

"Where does it hurt?" I changed my focus.

"I don't know what you mean?" she asked.

"People keep their stress in different places; the back of the neck, the mid-back, shoulders, or temples," I informed her.

"I'm not comfortable talking with you about that," Mrs. Wellington replied warily.

"Sure," I said popping out of my seat. "I apologize if I crossed any lines," and I made for the door.

"Wait, Zane, I apologize. I'm tired and a bit cranky. I know you didn't mean anything and besides, I'm sure you already have a girlfriend," Rochelle admitted.

"Please don't spread this around, but I have several girlfriends at the moment. They know about each other – I'm not going to lie about my sex life – but they are usually interested in different things," I told her.

"You have...multiple girlfriends...different things? Like what kind of different things?" Rochelle spilled out her confused thoughts.

"Some women like sexual contact," I related, "while others like romantic time together, and still others want companionship." There was another long pause.

"But you are at Freedom Fellowship University..." she trembled.

"I've never taken a student's virginity, if that's what you are asking," I answered.

"Oh, I understand. I've taught all my children that they should be virgins on their wedding day," Rochelle said with some pride.

"I have to disagree with that," I shocked her, "but that is one of the reasons that women are better than girls."

"And how would you know this?" She now turned in her chair to face me, trying to sound affronted but coming across as deeply curious.

"Uhmmm...I've had sex with girls in their teens and women in their forties, and women know more, pace themselves better, and generally have better bodies," I explained. "Teen girls need a few more years to fill out."

Rochelle was utterly speechless, and part of that had to do with the fact that I was being frank and honest, yet not openly coming on to her.

"You must not think much of me, then," she mused, "teaching my children my views on virginity."

"Where did you get that from? If anything, you are proving yourself to be an intelligent, warm, caring, and compassionate woman and mother...who happens to look like she's less than forty years old," I added. "You did what you thought was right. I can't argue with that."

"Well, good," she replied.

"Now for my part, I was taught that a real man gives his lover multiple orgasms and he should never reach fulfillment before his partner does. Any man who does so is being selfish," I stated.

"How did you come by this...thinking?" she inquired with a small voice.

"Uhmmm...I've had sex around five hundred times with thirty different partners," I told her, "so I've not only learned from very good teachers, I've field tested their ideas."

"How can you possibly consider yourself a good Christian, Zane?" she accused me.

"Compassion, respect for all living things, and forgiveness – that's what I believe in and what Christianity stands for in my eyes," I explained.

"The Bible is clear on sex and the sanctity of the marriage bed," Rochelle insisted.

"Mrs. Wellington, everything after the death of Jesus is conjecture. We both accept that Jesus was the Son of God, but after he dies, who is to say who was being touched by the Divine, who was building on JC's teachings, and who was simply making stuff up," I held up my hand to stop Rochelle's protest.

"The Catholics have a thousand Saints, most of whom we don't hold to be divinely inspired. You chose to believe that virginity is a girl's sacred duty, but I don't recall Christ saying anything on the subject. You can certainly quote later Gospels or the Old Testament, but that makes it your choice, not the Word of God," I finished up. Another long pause followed.

"I keep my stress in the top of my shoulders," she suddenly said. I stood up and moved behind her, deciding to not question her changing opinion of me.

"It helps if you take off your jacket," I suggested, then helped her shimmy out of it. She tensed up as my hands weighed down lightly on her shoulders so I kept my touch gentle.

Two minutes into the massage, I began squeezing harder and harder, moving my palms back and forth over her bra straps from upper arm to neck.

"Rochelle," I whispered into her ear, "I am going to rotate your shoulders." I rolled over each shoulder one at a time but when I finished, I pushed her slowly forward until she was resting her elbows on the table and held her head on her upturned hands.

When I went back to the massage, I worked her over harder and extended my reach from her mid-back to neck. This was clearly a case of begging forgiveness instead of asking permission. I took my time, relaxing her to a completely detached state. When I brought her back to reality, I was kneeling beside her and tapping her on the arm.

"Rochelle? Are you okay," I asked in a gentle, caring voice. Dreamily, she turned her head from its resting place on her arms to look at my eyes straight-on and mere inches away.

"What...huh?" she muttered.

"How do the shoulders feel? Has your stress gone away?" I inquired.

"Yes, yes," she popped up, alert once more. "It feels really good, in fact. I haven't felt this way in years," she added with a smile.

"I think it is time for us to go," I suggested. "Can I help you with your jacket?"

"Of course," she nodded. "Thank you for helping an old lady out." I held it while she put in one arm after the other but when I settled it on her shoulders, I stepped in and held her there for a moment while I pressed myself against her so she could feel how I felt about 'old ladies'.