Lessons Learned Ch. 01: The Class

April 27, 2020: I have submitted an edited copy of this story to Literotica. Thanks to andyinoz for giving chapter 1 and 2 a lookover for me!

Chapter 1: The Class

It was my last semester at college in 1999. It would be my last full term to complete my bachelor's degree, and then it would be time to move on to grad school in another state. I was getting a bit of a late start, being twenty-eight now and having finally returned to college earlier in the year so I could finish my senior year. My studies had been interrupted when I rashly married at twenty-one, then ended up divorced at twenty-six.

Luckily, I only had two serious classes left, along with a few weekend workshops made up of electives to push me to full-time level. In addition to my studies, I spent a few hours per week at a work study job, and I also worked part time off-campus. I had moved in with my mother so that I could save money toward my January move to grad school.

My Tuesday-Thursday classes were Cultural Diversity and Psychology of Human Sexuality. It was in Human Sexuality that I first met Zach, and became involved in a little research experiment of my own design, which led to one of the most memorable periods of my life.

On the first day of the Human Sexuality class, I arrived at the classroom with a couple of minutes to spare and scouted out the remaining seats. To one side, it seemed most of the girls in class had flocked together, either giggling, checking their makeup, or doing their best to ignore the rest of us. The middle section seemed to be where the middle-aged 'return to college' folks ended up, and the other side was mostly unoccupied. A lone guy sat in the seat I would normally have chosen for myself, back row, farthest right hand seat. I decided to take the seat next to him, deviously planning to arrive early for the next class and steal it from him. I was a bit mercenary that way.

As I sat, the guy flicked an alarmed look at me, and I almost felt sympathy for him. I usually chose the seat he had to avoid having to deal with too many people around me. I gave him a friendly smile, which he reciprocated, before his cheeks flushed pink and he returned his attention to his notebook. Interesting.

There was a commotion at the front of the classroom, as three young men entered noisily, jostling each other and laughing. They stopped short to check out the available seating, showing great interest in the flock of chattery birds on the other side of the room, before their eyes found my neighbor. The biggest of the three nudged the other two, said something in a low voice, and they came clambering toward us.

My new neighbor looked both alarmed, and somehow resigned, to their oncoming presence. I felt more than heard him sigh deeply. He looked at me apologetically as they flopped into chairs, one in front of each of us, and the other to my left, surrounding us like a pack of hunting dogs,

"Hey, brainiac," the largest of them said to my neighbor, reaching over to rub his hand hard over the kid's head, mussing his hair.

"Hey, Reggie," he answered neutrally, smoothing his hair back into place.

"Think you're gonna learn anything in this class? Like, maybe how to have a better relationship with your right hand?" He made a gesture, clearly indicating he was referring to jacking off. The other two snorted in amusement.

My neighbor blushed a deeper red than he had earlier.

"Excuse me, gentleman," I said smoothly. "I'm going to have to ask the two of you who just came in and sat next to me to move at least one seat away. At least one seat. You might even want to move two. See, I have this medical condition, and well, it could be bad news for anyone sitting too close." I glanced at my neighbor, who was staring at me incredulously. "You should be okay. You're not so close you might trigger it. And you're not covered in obnoxious cologne, which is really helpful, so thank you."

The two interlopers looked at me like I had sprouted a second head.

"I'd really hate to have to ask the professor to get involved. It might even require going to the Dean of Student Affairs, since I have a written accommodation on file specifically allowing me to arrange my classroom seating for my, uh, maximum health benefit. I just thought it would be better to ask you nicely to help me out by moving without going through all that stupid red tape, you know?" I gave them my most innocent smile. "You look like such sweet boys, I don't want to cause you any trouble. And I would hate it if you were, well, inconvenienced by my sometimes spontaneous vomiting."

I was bluffing my ass off. I don't know what made me do it; I really didn't care where these asshats sat, but something about them reminded me of a pack of jackals, and I wanted them away. I had no authority to make it happen. I've often found that just using a friendly, assertive tone was enough to convince people I knew exactly what I was doing, and that I really just had their best interests at heart.

"Yeah, okay," muttered the one next to me, and slid over two seats. The one in front of me was more reluctant but the big kid, obviously the ringleader, punched his arm, muttering to him that they'd get there earlier next class and sit where they damn well pleased. Both of them ended up moving a couple seats up to be near the third jackal, leaving me and my new neighbor pretty much isolated.

"Wow," my neighbor muttered, giving me a look that contained more than a little respect. "That was like the best line of bullshit I've ever heard anyone run on those guys and have it work."

He glanced at the three amigos, who were quietly speaking to each other, occasionally looking back at the two of us.

"Those guys are clearly dicks. Are they friends of yours? Do you want to go sit with them?" I asked, trying not to sound hopeful that he'd move, and I would gain my favored seat.

"No," he snorted. "The blonde guy is my roommate though. I wouldn't exactly call him my friend. The other two are his friends, that's how I know them." He lowered his voice. "And they are dicks."

Our discussion was interrupted by the arrival of Dr. B, one of the professors who typically taught the graduate level psych students, except for this one undergraduate course. Because of that, I'd not had any previous contact with him and had no idea what to expect aside from rumors that he was a bit of an ass, with a dash of burnt out and bitter.

Oh yeah, it was shaping up to be a great class, I thought sarcastically.

Dr. B immediately started with a caution that we were to act like adults in his class, because the content was adult-oriented material, a serious branch of the field of psychology, and he wouldn't put up with any nonsense from us. He also warned that anyone overly sensitive or unwilling to participate fully in the class, including graphic discussions and watching of graphic videos should take themselves immediately to get their schedule changed while other classes were still open and available.

To prove his point, he turned on the TV and VCR, turned off the lights, and began the show.

We sat wide-eyed, in silence, watching a clinical video about the research of Masters and Johnson, which included excerpts of archived films showing their tests subjects both masturbating and having intercourse. Naked, everyday people, calmly discussing their sex lives, or lack thereof, with people in lab coats holding clipboards. People volunteering to tell the most intimate details of their lives to the researchers. And not just tell, but demonstrate.

Maybe it's wrong, but I felt vaguely sexy sitting in the dark, with total strangers, and watching people fuck each other in the name of science.

After forty-five minutes of the visual and aural assault on our senses, the lights were abruptly turned on, and we sat blinking in the sudden brightness.

I used my peripheral vision to gauge the reactions of my classmates, and it was apparent that I wasn't the only one who found the film...interesting. Some appeared horrified, some sat ramrod straight in their chairs, staring straight ahead, while a few appeared studiously interested in the top of their desk. Several were shifting in their seats, just a bit, mking adjustments to suddenly too tight clothing, perhaps. I was trying hard not to squirm too much, while relieving the discomfort of my jeans pressing against my damp nether regions.

My neighbor was leaning forward, eyes halfway between the TV and his desk, arms crossed in a way that rather effectively was hiding what I suspected was an erection. I wanted to look closer. Instead, I tipped my head back a tad and stared at the ceiling. Must...not...look.

Dr. B allowed no time for recovery. He launched into a description of the semester activities, reviewing the textbook (which contained very real photos and blunt discussions on a variety of sexual topics), the syllabus (to include more videos, pretty much every class session), and a research paper, which was to be completed with a partner.

"We will wait until Thursday to discuss details of the research paper, after those who are faint of heart have had time to find a new course," Dr. B sneered. "Now, take one of these sheets and pass them around," he said, thrusting a thin stack of paper at the first student he could reach without having to take too many steps.

"Everyone has one?" he continued. "Good. Now partner up with someone and spend the next twenty minutes getting to know them. You will ask each other the questions on this paper. You will not take notes. You will listen to their responses. Ask the question, respond, move on to the next one. This isn't Penthouse Forum!"

I glanced at the first few questions and swallowed, nearly choking in shock. Partner up and ask someone about their first sexual experience, whether it involved penetration or not? Ask them at what age they lost their virginity? I could hear the others in class whispering and rattling their papers.

When I looked up, I saw the lead jackal's eyes focus on my young neighbor, and immediately understood he was intent on needling this shy boy for his own amusement.

"I hope you don't mind," I said smoothly, turning to my perpetually blushing neighbor. "I thought we could partner up, then we don't even have to move our seats." I smiled winningly, noting the alarm flashing across his features.

"Uhhh, yeah, uh, sure. Yeah." His eyes flicked to the lead jackal, who had managed to approach silently for such a bull-sized human. "Uh, hi Reg. Did you, uh, need something?"

"Hey, chick," he said, addressing me instead. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather be partnered with a man who actually has something to talk about besides some porno-induced fantasy life?"

I ignored him and kept my eyes on my neighbor.

"Maybe we should turn our chairs to face each other? Or would you prefer to sit side by side? I can scoot over." I didn't wait for him. I turned my chair to present my back was to the interloper. My new buddy turned his chair to face me.

The hulking mass behind me muttered something under his breath and shuffled away.

"Um, well, I guess if we're going to do this, maybe we should start by introducing ourselves?" I put out my hand. "I'm Brinna."

"Zach," he replied, looking a bit like a deer in headlights as he gripped my hand. His hand was a little damp with nervous perspiration, and I felt another pang of sympathy. He seemed like a nice, if very shy, guy.

"It's nice to meet you, Zach." I leaned forward just a little and spoke quietly to him. "Listen, Zach, I hope you won't be too uncomfortable being partnered with me for this. I'm really hard to embarrass, so there's not much you could say that's going to throw off my groove, okay? And I hope you don't mind. I mean, maybe you would rather be partnered with..." I waved my hand vaguely toward the pack of three.

"No," he blurted. "I mean, I don't mind being, uh, partnered," he stammered over the word a bit, "um, with you, and sure I don't want to be partnered with any of them." He glanced at his paper. "But I-I can't promise not to be, well, embarrassed. I, uh, is this normally how these psych classes go? Cuz this isn't exactly in my wheelhouse, ya know?"

"And what is?" I asked, propping my chin on my hand and leaning forward on my elbow.

"I'm an engineering and math major. We don't, uh, really have psych classes in my major. And we sure don't have this kind of class."

"Engineering math?"

"No, engineering, and math. I'm a double major."

"So you're like, super smart?"

"Um, I guess."

"And how'd you end up in a sex class?" I smiled internally as the flush returned to his cheeks.

"I had to have an upper-level elective outside of my majors. And I guess my advisor thought this worked best with my schedule, because this is what he wanted me to sign up for." He fidgeted with his pen, clicking it nervously. "What about you?"

"I'm a psych major, so it's required. What about your non-friends over there? What are their majors?"

"They're all Health and Human Performance majors. This is a required class for them, they said."

Ah, the HHS degrees. Future PE teachers and football coaches of the world, right here in our class, nudging each other and making low-voiced comments that made their friends snicker as Dr. B glared at them from his chair at the front of the room.

"Oh. Jocks." I let my tone show what I thought of that. Zach's eyes flashed and I took a moment to examine him from under my lashes.

He was neither slim nor heavy, caught somewhere in the range of average, in direct contrast to the buff hyenas that had encircled us earlier. He had pale blue eyes and dirty blonde hair. He wore a button-down Oxford type shirt open at the neck, showing a plain white t-shirt beneath. He wore Dockers with black athletic shoes, and I was pretty sure he was wearing contacts, which made me wonder just how he would look in a nice nerdy pair of glasses. He was neither handsome nor overly plain. He had full lips, and I glanced down at his hands as they continued to toy with his pen. They were large, though the fingers were slender and oddly delicate. From his seated height, I guessed he couldn't be much taller than me when standing.

"Ten minutes!" Dr. B bellowed. "Switch partners and allow the other person to question you now."

I hadn't really asked Zach anything. I'd been stalling a bit to try and spare him.

"How old are you, Zach?" I asked curiously. He seemed so young.

"Twenty." He saw my raised eyebrow. "I finished high school early and started college at sixteen. I'm a senior." He appeared embarrassed by this confession.

"That's so cool," I told him, meaning it. I enjoyed smart people. Even the awkward ones. Okay, especially the awkward ones. They appealed to me.

I glanced at my paper.

"I guess I should probably get these questions answered, huh? Go ahead and ask me the first one."

Zach was unable to look at me as he mumbled the first question.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you," I said innocently.

Maybe it was cruel forcing him to repeat the question instead of reading the question and just providing the answer to him. He turned so red so easily, and I was starting to find it endearing. I'd never met anyone who blushed at the drop of a hat before.

"My first sexual experience? Hmmmm." I concentrated. "Well, I guess that would have been when I gave my first real boyfriend a handjob in the back row of a movie theatre. I didn't really know what I was doing, but I guess it worked, because he came. I was a little annoyed with it because he ruined my popcorn. He was annoyed because I wouldn't, oh, how should I say it, clean up the mess I'd made of him. We didn't stay together long after that." Zach choked a bit more, still refusing to look up at me. He had flushed beet red, from his neck to his hairline. He shifted in his seat, and I wondered if he was becoming aroused by my recitation. "But as far as, well, penetration, you know, intercourse," I savored the word as I continued, "that came later, and with a different guy." I glanced at the questionnaire. What kind of weirdly perverted dude was Dr. B, exactly? "Anyway, it didn't really hurt and I didn't bleed or anything, not like you hear people say or see in movies. A couple of years before that, a doctor broke my hymen during a medical exam, so I didn't have that to deal with. Only my boyfriend at the time couldn't understand that, and thought I had lied about being a virgin. He wasn't a virgin, though. And he came after just a couple of minutes, and shot it all over my thigh."

I wondered if Zach might die of a stroke right in front of my eyes. Since he wouldn't look at me, I was free to examine him all I wanted. He was definitely aroused, though I couldn't get a good look at his package since he as leaning forward, and the edge of his shirt was hanging over his crotch. I found myself both amused and somewhat aroused by him. I admit I was trying to give the impression of being suitably clinical with my anecdote, while simultaneously seeing if I could provoke him in some way.

"I only really had one other serious boyfriend before getting married at twenty-one. Then it was just my husband for the next five years until we got divorced. I've dated a bit since, had a few little harmless flings, I guess, and here I am at twenty-eight, confessing my sex life to a twenty year old genius."

"Time's up!" Dr. B snapped, which precipitated a giant group exhale of relief, along with a burst of excited chatter, as people shifted and moved back to their original chairs.

"Um, excuse me, Dr. B?" one of the chatty blondes raised her hand. "We aren't going to have to, like, stand up and tell this stuff to everyone are we? You know, like those stupid 'get to know you' intros some teachers make us do?"
"Christ, no!" Dr. B snorted. "This is simply an exercise. Now, when you survivors return on Thursday, I expect you to take the same seats you are in now and stay in them for the remainder of the semester." A few small groans at that; students always hate assigned seating. "Now get out of here."

With that, class was dismissed.

My new young friend didn't move, and I suspected I knew the source of his problem. He gathered his things slowly as I stood.

"I'll see you Thursday, Zach," I said in a low voice, facing him as I passed in front of his chair to exit the row. I touched his shoulder very lightly and his eyes jerked up to my face. "It was nice to meet you."

"Yeah," he said, a little breathlessly, and I felt him watching as I spun and exited the class.

* * *

On Thursday, the class had shrunk, as Dr. B had predicted. He started off the class by announcing we would need to partner up with another student for a research paper, on a class textbook topic to be mutually decided between partners. I saw two of the jocks swing their heads toward Zach, and I thought to myself that their master plan was likely to get Zach, the brainiac as they called him, to do most of the work.

"Would you like to maybe be my research partner?" I asked Zach, who looked at me in shock. "I mean, unless you'd rather team up with your roommate, just because it'd be easier. What with living with him and all. Or maybe someone else in the class? You won't hurt my feelings," I assured him.

"No. I mean, yeah, sure, I meant no, I don't want to pair up with Tyler. Or any of them. They won't want to do any of the work." He gave me a slightly suspicious look. "I mean, you do want to team up, right? You don't think I'm just going to do the paper on my own because I'm smart and you're pretty?"

I liked the way he just plainly asked me my intentions. I really liked it more than a bit that he found me pretty.

"I'll do my share," I promised. "I'm going to grad school after this semester. I carry my own load."