tagRomanceRevenge of the Nerd Ch. 04

Revenge of the Nerd Ch. 04


"Hi, Jeff. I don't know if you remember me."

"Now, Ashley. You're being disingenuous."

All right, I read. I know what disingenuous means. But who the fuck uses it in actual conversation? It is a word meant only to be used on the printed page.

"Well." That could have meant anything. I didn't know. Let him figure it out.

"I had a nice time studying with you the other night," he said.

Yes! I was getting a second chance.

"Me too. I was wondering if you were doing anything tonight."

"Well, I do have plans, but perhaps you'd like to come along. I'm going to see the wrestling team."


What? Is there a more boring, nerdier sport? I wonder if we have a badminton team.

"Great. I'll stop by at six thirty and we can walk together to the Rec center."

I've been driven on dates in a Rolls Royce. I've been driven in a Lamborghini. Tonight I was walking to the Rec center with a freshman nerd. How low could I sink?

"I'll be waiting."

This was really starting to weird me out. At least he hadn't said no.

Fortunately he didn't try to hold my hand on the walk over. I have no idea what I would have done.

Wrestling may still be a nerdy sport for guys, but for the girls, it is heavenly. All different weight classes and sizes, but these were sparsely dressed, exquisitely muscled, grunting, sweaty specimens of testosterone-laden masculinity in tights. I could have enjoyed watching this at home on a DVD. It was downright arousing. Had this guy discovered some new kind of visual aphrodisiac for women?

Had he been someone I would normally go out with, I would have taken him straight home and he would have gotten as lucky as it was possible to get.

As it was, after the match ended he took me to Bob's Big Boy for something to eat, part of his understanding of the dating ritual. Not exactly my usual fare. But he was probably on a limited budget and I know how to be gracious, even if I hadn't had much call to use it.

I was still fired up when we got to my door. What the hell. I would show nerd boy what kissing was all about. He was about to embark on the ride of his life. I put my arms around him and moved my lips toward his. He was surprisingly strong given that he had no visually apparent muscle.

A brief kiss. Nibble his lower lip with my lips. A tentative tongue across his lips. A little suction. Our tongues touched; they dueled back and forth. He ran his tongue along my teeth.

Oh my.

This was so good it took my breath away. We teased. We devoured. We consumed. It was the greatest kiss of my life. I felt like I was floating on air, protected by his strong arms. It seemed to go on forever. Then I became aware of a small group of girls across the street. They were applauding our kiss.

What had happened here?

I had intended to show him what an incredible kiss was like. Maybe I did. But he had certainly shown me as well.

I unlocked my door and dragged him in behind me. I headed straight for my bedroom with him in tow. I pushed him down on my bed and opened a few buttons on my blouse. I lowered myself on top of him and we went back to that scrumptious kissing.

I don't know how long we did that but it occurred to me at some point that he hadn't tried anything further.

I undid the rest of the buttons and removed my blouse. I unhooked my bra and tossed it off. Then I lifted his golf shirt which had the logo "InTime" from a consulting company he said he used to work for, pulled it over his head and tossed it away.

He ran his hands lightly over my back. He drew them down my arms, up my sides, across my shoulders, around my neck, over my cheeks, then back down.

When he reached my waist he moved his hands to my stomach and up to the bottom of my ribcage to just below my breasts. Then he slid them around to my sides and up to my armpits.

Couldn't he find my damn breasts?

I couldn't take any more. I grabbed his hands and moved them to what he had been avoiding. His touch was light. He moved his fingers in random patterns avoiding my nipples like he had been avoiding my breasts.

I wanted to punch him! I wanted to fuck him!

He rolled us so that he was on top, putting most of his weight on his knees and elbows. He kept threatening to touch my nipples and withdrawing.

Finally, when I was sure I could take no more, he touched them, still lightly.

This didn't arouse them. They were beyond arousal.

I moaned. I could feel the sensations travel from my nipples throughout my body. I don't care if it's not possible, that's how it felt.

He took one of my nipples in his mouth. I didn't care which one. Neither did he. He switched. He sucked and released. He tapped with his tongue. He blew on it. Oh, my God.

Then his fingers were back. He was pinching them with more force, but they were ready for the assault.

I was sodden at this point. I thought he might have to cut off my jeans and panties with surgical scissors.

He ran his nails lightly around my breasts. The sensation was not as intense as the previous ones, but was exquisite nonetheless.

Suddenly he began pressing his fingers into opposite sides of my breasts as if to squash them. I had felt this kind of assault before from inept neophytes who evidently thought you had to tenderize breasts like a tough steak.

After everything he had done so well, why was he doing this? I guess the mind is the most important sexual organ because all the wonderful groundwork he had laid was ruined by his ham-fisted manhandling of my breasts.

"Stop that. What are you doing? Get off me. I don't want to do this anymore."

He stopped with, "Stop that," and got up with a confused, hurt, puppy-dog look on his face.

"I'm sorry. I, I, I'm just sorry." He gathered up his shirt and quickly left.

In all he had done, I had thought he was a sexual virtuoso. I guess it just turned out that he was so timid he was afraid to get to it.

What had seemed like a carefully crafted campaign of slow arousal had turned out to be just a serendipitous accident until the end.

I was furious. Jennifer had portrayed him as an artist, but he was more like a pre-schooler with finger paints. I didn't even pause to change clothes or put on anything I had discarded. I grabbed the phone to vent my rage on her.

If she was pulling some kind of practical joke on me, I'd have her head on a stake.

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