My Only Talent Ch. 30

"Suppose he wasn't all that satisfied with your performance in bed?" She looked scandalized. "Suppose he took on a mistress that could do things for him that you wouldn't or couldn't or didn't know about? And that conniving mistress was constantly whispering in his ear that he should divorce you and marry her? Was there a pre-nup?"

That made her look really worried. "What kind of 'things' are you talking about?"

I told her, in some detail. Her face turned to stone. "Well, I never!"

"That's just the point, beautiful. As they say in the custom car biz, you are built for show, but you don't really know how to go. And guys usually need the go as much or more as they want the show! How many times have you read about guys with trophy wives that they leave at home while they take their mistress to Bali? She may not look as great as the wife, but she will do things for him that the wife can't. How many times does that spell divorce?"

She looked ready to kill someone, and I was the closest one at hand. Despite that, I knew it was time to go for the close.

"But there is a way to avoid this risk. You are a great looking woman, Jean Nancy, and looks will never be your problem."

Her expression brightened.

"What if you were as skilled as or even better than any potential mistress in bed? What if you could do things for him so wonderful that he would never even consider another woman?

I saw the wheels turning in her head, like a calculator working out the certainty of future cash flows. But then a frown crossed her face.

"But I don't want to be..." She paused. I closed.

"How many woman learn about boats because their future husband is into sailing? Or golf, or tennis, or wine, or fishing, or photography or log cabins, or whatever?"

She was buying that. "Well, sure, that's just good common sense." A light dawned in her eyes. "So if I learned..."

"Exactly. And you would almost certainly discover that you liked doing it too, plus you could get your husband to do anything for you that you wanted, if you just do those 'special things' for him."

She saw the advantages of that. And a little Suzie carrier emerged, tentatively signaling some fantasies. Then she looked at me very suspiciously.

"And just who do you suppose could teach me these things, Robbie?"

I smiled, I hoped not too smugly. "Why, you may have hit on the perfect solution, Jean Nancy. I don't want to get married anytime soon, and I don't think I am the kind of long term prospect that you are looking for, anyway. But I think you are hotter than a depot stove, and I would crave turning you and your beautiful body every way but loose for a semester or so, on the down-lo. Strictly confidential, and for the betterment of your future marriage and society as a whole, of course."

She feigned shock, but I continued.

"You would learn how to do things that any man would want you to do again and again, and be afraid of ever being apart from you. You took PSY101 last semester, right?" She nodded.

"Well after I teach you how, any man who had spent the night with you will most likely follow you around like one of Konrad Lorenz's imprinted ducklings!" This was one of my mom's favorite reasoning points when she expounded on her wacky anthropological theories of modern cultural rituals - that early imprinting leads to repeated, unthinking behavior that becomes a cultural norm.

"I would never tell anyone about our relationship - only that you are wonderful young lady and that I am proud to call you my friend. But I have to insist that you are complexly honest with me and yourself about all of your sexual desires, not just your financial ones."

She gulped, and I knew I had her. "When would you want to..."

"I want you right now beautiful, but practically speaking, next fall semester would be earliest that would work."

She gulped again. "Let me think about it?"

"I'll be thinking about you, Jean Nancy." I certainly would. I would be thinking about the lovely noises she would make the first time I made her come, and the look on those lovely dark blue eyes when I came in her mouth.

*******

I heard my phone beep in an email while I was in the shower. It was from Susan, the new head honcho of the Booties - Beta Omicron Theta sorority. She was taking me up on my offer made during Spring Rush. Her email virtually quoted me, saying she was ready to "open herself up to me in private, and tell me the absolute truth about her desires, so that I could give her even more insight and advice about her desires than I gave to those women at the 'addicted to Austin' party."

Damn. I did offer that, and in front of a couple of dozen of her BOT sisters, but I didn't think she would actually take me up on it. Her proposed meeting time is Sunday for early lunch, a few hours before going to Strelsa and Günter's place. At least it would be a distraction so I didn't have to obsess about watching Günter do Suzanne. I tell her yes, but just the two of us, in complete isolation and privacy. She agrees, and suggests we meet Sunday at her families 'lake house' which interestingly is not too far from the PIG lake house.

*******

Thursday continued my hectic pace of this week - I barely fit in my running and my minimum study schedule. If I didn't do the proper prep for physics lab, and thus did not get the required data in the allotted lab period, I would have to sign up for a makeup lab period - taking away even more time and sleep. I was pushing the limits of my school and dating separation plan - I had no time whatsoever for weekday night dates like I had squeezed in last semester, and I was considering having to limit dating activities to weekend nights only and studying during the day on Saturday and Sunday. What sacrilege!

The first time it seemed like I had a moment to even sit down was when I finally arrived at the Comm School for the evening linguistics discussion group. It was held in a classroom sized space with an entire long side wall of mirrors, and a table with 12 seats. There were screens and projectors on both of the short front and rear walls, and a very plush carpet. Kevin, my roommate, the RTF maven, had explained to me that these rooms were often used for 'focus groups' and the mirror wall was a one way portal for observers in the next room to watch the group reactions. It seemed to me that it wouldn't be worth anyone's time to observe our little discussion group.

I surveyed the room and observed the arrivals. First was a dark and petite Asian woman, who looked like a candidate for the Students Older than Average ('SOTA') campus organization, which had the reputation among frat boys as a great way to meet hot older women. Oiler told me it was usually full of guys who had worked for a few years before returning to ESU to finish an undergrad degree or get a graduate degree, and women were often in short supply. Whatever her situation, this woman was good looking enough to be slightly intimidating, dressed very formally, and sending Suzie for nobody. She had printouts of all the articles she had been assigned, with post it notes sticking out all around the edges. Her name sounded something like 'Men Ho'. She took a seat at the foot of the table and folded her arms in front of her chest, appearing to be waiting impatiently for the rest of the crowd to arrive. She glanced at me dismissively and then looked away.

The next to arrive was someone I recognized, thanks to a recent article in the Daily Texan featuring the 'early spring enrollee' football recruits. They called him 'Husky' but his full name was Russel L. Varna. He was the latest in a long line of Varnas that had attended ESU, beginning with his diminutive great grandfather 'Swede' Varna, who played football for ESU in the era of leather helmets with no face guards and was considered one of the toughest and hardest hitting players ever, despite his small stature. He went on to become a very successful high school football coach in west Texas, and began sending a large crop of his high school players and his descendants to ESU, where most of them played sports and became coaches.

Husky Varna was the largest and meanest Varna so far, earning his nickname as an aggressive linebacker who cut through the opposing team's blockers like a chainsaw to search for and destroy the ball carrier. He was not pursuing a career as a high school football coach, however, as he planned to be a college professor and was offered several purely academic Ivy League scholarships but chose to attend ESU and play football. This was much to the chagrin of his mother, a California transplant who met his coaching father at a convention for school principals in Dallas. She wanted her son to go to her beloved Stanford University - thus his middle name of Leland. He was a Linguistics major, the first I had ever actually met. Much to the chagrin of the Stanford football coaches, he and his mother had reached a compromise, and he planned to attend Stanford for graduate school after he graduated from ESU. Meanwhile he was a very real prospect to be a starter on the ESU football team next fall as a true freshman, and was thus on the doorstep of ESU fame.

Our fourth and final group member came in a few minutes late, dancing and singing along with her iPod, popping her bubblegum, and smelling like expensive perfume. I instantly hated her, but I couldn't take my eyes off of her. She had brown hair and matching brown eyes full of sparkles and intelligence, and was about 5' 10" tall, with a nice figure and a baby face. Her skin was flawless - with an alabaster tone like a healthy baby's butt, unblemished and perfect, and her cheeks were currently flushed and red, apparently from rushing up the stairs, and arriving late even then. There was a lot of other skin exposed, too. A tight little sleeveless shirt with a bare midriff and a short skirt, despite the fact that it was still cool in Austin at the end of January. The skin at her waist was as perfect as the musculature underneath it, too, damn her. Her name proved to be Lynn Da Britain. Really. Not 'Duh' like 'ya think' or 'Daah' like an Irishman's daddy, but 'Dah' like 'dit dah' or the 'Da Bears' - the professional football team in Chicago - where she was from. Strictly speaking, she was from the suburb of Winnetka, Illinois.

She took one look at Husky Varna and launched a strong and raspy Suzie signal that said 'fuck me now, and how.' What a stupid slut. She then glanced at me and sent a little restrained Suzie that said 'maybe later if nothing better turns up'. Why did that piss me off so much? What did I care? I would jump right over two of her to get to Lara or Suzanne. But then why did she fascinate me so?

We began with the presentations of the articles we had worked on. Lynn Da went first. Some perverse part of me was hoping she would sound stupid - obviously unprepared and trying to fake it with some twingy twangy awful Chicago gangster accent and poor grammar. Why did I want to hate her so? Why could I barely stop myself from reaching out to touch her perfect skin?

She had certainly read the articles. Carefully. She summarized them succinctly in a flat and very faint Midwestern US accent that was as smooth as any female news anchor I had ever heard. Perfect grammar. No "uh", no "duh", and no if's and's or but's. She sat down, smugly, looked right at me, and smiled. Bitch!

Husky Varna was next. He was obviously very bright, and had a strange subtle accent that was part west Texas twang and at the same time part lilting Swedish. He had read his articles, too, and he understood them. Not only what they said, but what they didn't say. The questions they answered, and the even greater number of issues they raised. I had to force myself not to respect him.

Men Ho went through her stuff. She looked cool, but her presentation was just adequate. Her intellect was not going to intimidate anybody, even if her looks might.

Then I went through my stuff, using my standard study habit of paraphrasing the stuff I understood, and pointing out the stuff I didn't get, like I was talking to the TA and trying to get some help.

Husky Varna snorted. "Nobody gets that. Those are some of the biggest unresolved controversies in the literature - the linguistic equivalent of 'is light a particle or a wave?' If you can come up with definitive answers, they'll give you an honorary PhD on the spot!"

We spent most of the rest of the hour opining on just these issues, and answering the rest of the 'discussion questions' the professor had posed for this session. With about ten minutes left, Husky put up an email from the professor that detailed the assignments for the next discussion group. I suddenly found myself paired with Lynn Da, and assigned to work with her to prepare a 5 to 8 minute debate segment for the next group meeting, where we took opposite positions on a point raised in a classic paper and argued our positions in front of the group. Some of them would be chosen to be presented to the entire class.

As we walked out, Lynn Da fell into step with me. "Robbie? Okay, I am pretty busy on the weekends. Could we get together on Monday or Tuesday to work up our little debate? Okay?"

I'll bet you are busy on the weekends spreading your legs, you cheeky slut! "MWF are my really busy days, but I could do Monday evening after 6, or Tuesday before 10 or after 3. What works best for you?"

She smiled. "Tuesday afternoon, Okay? I live just across the street in Kinsolving. Where are you?"

"Jester, but I'll be up near ACES that afternoon. How about we meet in the lobby of your dorm at 3?"

"Okay. Take care, Okay?"

She held up her phone and we swapped contact info via Bluetooth. Okay? She turned and stepped off toward Kinsolving dorm, putting her earbuds back in. Her walk was hypnotic, and I couldn't help staring at her until she went up the steps into the building. I even found myself unconsciously shifting my weight side to side in time with her hips. Damn her! Okay?

*******

I got back to my dorm and spent about two hours getting ready for Friday math class. I was very suspicious that it was the perfect time for a pop quiz. I got out the Tupperware container of brownies my grandmother had sent me for some glucose fortification and went thought the UDP test files looking for questions that obviously came from the material in the current chapter, and working up my answers to them. Even though we had been assigned only the 'even' problems in the text, I worked through the 'odd' numbered ones, just in case the instructor was that obvious. I even got out the 'secret weapon' that Oiler had loaned me - and old 'Schaum's Outline' paperback that covered the material from our course. Many of the problems were constructed to have answers like zero or one half or one, to take any detailed arithmetical computation out of the process of solving them correctly, and he said lots of instructor's cribbed questions from these old books. I worked the problem sets that had solutions given so I could cross check myself.

I made it through everything and found myself yawning. Kevin was still at ZZZ. I brushed my teeth and crawled under covers, setting my alarm a little early to make sure I didn't sleep through it again.

Suddenly I was once again at the PIG lake house. It was a huge party with tons of people. I was sitting on the bank of the lake on a towel by myself. It was hot and I was sweating. Suddenly a big ski boat approached, making lots of noise like it was pulling quite a load. It was. There was a pyramid of skiers behind the boat. The bottom row was a group of Suzanne's muscular soccer girls. On the shoulders of the soccer girls were Mrs. Douglass, Janet, Melanie, Peggy, Elizabeth, Millie and Chrissy. On their shoulders rode Lara, Suzanne, and Nora. All three of the top row were in constant motion, trying to climb up on the shoulders of the other two, to be the top rider on the pyramid. I suddenly realized nobody was watching the water in front of them, and they were about to hit a huge dead tree sticking up just out of the water.

I woke up. It was 2:30 AM. I hoped I could get back to sleep.

*******

I woke up just before the alarm went off. Funny how that happens. On the way down to breakfast, I got a text from Candy Matson. Her Dad's best friend had been killed in a light plane crash, and she was going to Oklahoma City for the funeral, so no slave training sessions for her this Friday and Saturday. She had copied Suzanne and Lara. Both responded with sympathy, then promised to punish her smartly later. Lara then invited Suzanne and me over for Friday night leftovers, popcorn, and Netflix, mentioning that she would set up her massage table, too. She was surely the hostess with the mostest.

I got to the conditioning class at Belmont Hall right on time. Saskia looked even better than Wednesday, if that was possible, and her new training setup blew me away. Each machine recognized our Fitbit and who we were, and had all our recorded information about our history of doing each particular exercise. Weight settings, resistance settings, damping, force exerted, reps done; it was all there. They also set the bar just a little higher for this session than any previous session. I knew the little ear sensors were sending heart rate and pulse ox to the computer programming the machines. Who knows what else Saskia may have devised? It was a little creepy. I started on my first set of bench presses, and about number six I realized I was going to have to really push to make it to the tenth rep.

As I finished the eighth rep, Saskia's voice whispered in my left ear "Two more Robbie! Push it!" I made it through number nine. "I just love a strong finisher." Number ten took everything I had. Right before I reached the top, Saskia's voice said "Just a little harder, Baby, right there! Do it!"

I finished with a grunt. Saskia grunted with me! "That was so good, Robbie! Two more sets, Baby."

I saw the machine countdown my resting period on the screen, as my heart rate dropped a fraction, and I did my best to move air to get the oxygen I needed. Somewhere from high school biology a little diagram reappeared in my head: AMP=>ADP=>ATP and back again in a circle. The countdown reached zero, and I pushed it.

The next station was preacher curls. The last set I thought my elbows were popping like knuckles. Then we rotated to the next station. What followed was 50 minutes of maximum exertion, with Saskia speaking suggestively in my ear to me, especially during the last set of each exercise, and her little robotic torture assistants making sure that each exercise pushed me to my limits. I have no idea what her voice was saying to the other class members, but it was as if she was talking directly to my member, and despite all the other exertion, it was responding. Just another demand on my already overtaxed circulatory system.

There was a pop quiz in math. Most of the class groaned, but I just wanted to see the questions. Before he revealed them, the prof said we could substitute our highest pop quiz score for our lowest exam score, if we chose. I might. When the questions went up on the screen, I recognized three out of the four as being lifted verbatim from the Schaum's outline. Hoo Ha. Physics went well, and in embedded systems I managed to get the TA to declare my car as my semester practical. I was on a roll.

I started dinner with a roll, too. Fried chicken, green beans, collard greens, and 'nanner puddin' for dessert. Shucks y'all. Polished off my afternoon classes, recopied and improved my notes and then dutifully put my books away in the bookshelf (that I had grabbed so helpfully several times while boffing Suzanne) where they could sleep unattended until Monday. I needed a little break. I had to lay in a little 'pre-dinner' before heading over to Lara's apartment, just in case the leftovers didn't get the job done for me. I had about an hour and half for a nap.