Sex Club for Nerds and Geeks Ch. 10

Literratica was busier than I'd seen it in a week.

I'd taken a two-hour nap after my day-long fuckfest with Carrie. It was after eight and I was hungry. I called Tom to see if he wanted to join me at Lit, but it went straight to voicemail.

"It's starting, thank god," said Lisa as she arrived to take my order. "I hate it when nobody's around. 'Course I can get a lot of writing done, but no income. Got some ideas I want to show you about the drunk pictures. We could do an exhibition."

"I'm game. Tomorrow? Breakfast?"

"Maybe. Let me see how pounded I am after tonight. What'll it be?"

"I need energy food, protein. Got a steak?"

"Prime rib. How d'ya want it? Beer?"

"Medium rare. No, Sprite, thanks."

My cell rattled. It was Tom.

"Sorry I missed you, I was obsessing about a job. What's up? Any problems with the installation?"

"Nope, everything's great, approved, ready to roll. I just wanted to see if you were free for dinner. I'm at Lit. Wanna join me?"

"Yeah, sure." He arrived fifteen minutes later, sweating.

"They must have built the whole fucking campus with idiot non-union labor. The electrical system is a complete mess! There are no as-builts, I can't find out where some feeds come from, and I swear one of the junction boxes was made out of papier-mâché."

"Tell me what you really think," I teased.

"I'm serious. One of my side jobs is working on the server that's supposed to handle the merger of the bursary cards and ID cards. You heard about that?"

"Yeah, Lisa told me. Sounds good."

"Good idea, rough execution. Bursary and ID are different programs, commercial software written in different languages and designed for different operating systems, that's the way they've always been.

"Some bureaucratic genius decided to kludge them together, it was cheaper that way. Of course it didn't work. They were way behind schedule when they finally decided to find someone, somewhere, who had already written code for combining the two programs.

"Turns out one of the California state university campuses has a combined system, so they bought a license and had them do some customizing. We got the source code as a backup.

"But the same bureaucratic genius that got us way behind schedule is paranoid about the system being hacked, since it's not gonna be on the mainframe, just a small unix box, and it's gonna be in a very secure place, all its own.

"The room where they want to keep it has all sorts of non-critical stuff in it. It's big enough, and the air conditioning will handle it, but the electrical system is crap, and up until now nobody seemed to care. Now they want the electrical system to be rock solid, never a chance of outages — they even bought a battery backup that will last twelve hours.

"I've spent at least twenty hours trying to trace down where the juice comes from, since this machine's gonna be going 24-7. God I hate bureaucrats!

"They're so far behind schedule that they've eliminated all the beta-test sites except Lit. The new ID cards being issued to the summer students have the capacity, but nobody's using it. They want to install the terminals here next week and get it running as fast as they can. Stupid bastards!"

It was a little too engineer-y for me, so I changed the subject.

"You've been in summer before, right? Pretty much all the girls I was friendly with are gone. How do you handle, uh, meeting new girls when you're working?"

"This is the third summer I've stayed here. I've got a good room in the dorm, so I'm staying put. I've had this AV job for two years now, before that I stayed to make up two courses I'd failed freshman year.

"The problem isn't the girls, but they're so young. The problem," he deadpanned, "is that they don't want to go out with geezers like you and me."

"I'm not old! I won't be twenty till July!"

"Thing is, you gotta be visible after class, in the afternoon. If you're working, that's a real handicap. I work hard, pull as much overtime as I can get. I'm not done till at least six, sometimes later, like tonight, and I'm not much for concerts or the bars.

"This place is party central all summer. I mean, they do teach college-level courses, there's real work being done, but there's so much more socializing, outdoors, than during the regular semester.

"And they have all these 'special' programs, where they bring in kids for things like 'Ecology and World Religion,' where they run a debate and two classes weekly for four weeks. Virtually no reading or writing papers, just show up, pass the exam, get credit.

"It's not fluff, they get good faculty. It's just that they doesn't want to make it too tough, otherwise the special programs won't come back, and that would kill enrollment, which means they lose money.

"So they do entertainment, lots of it. SOL, for example, has a big problem with that, because the concerts and stuff the university does are either free or cheap. Outdoor concerts, Ultimate Frisbee tournaments, lots and lots of participatory things. It's fun, but if you're not there, it's tough to catch anybody's attention."

"So how do you, uh, cope?"

"I'm a techy, a geek. I know it, it's my lot in life. Last two summers I've been sorta lucky, met a geek girl. Y'know, just like Karen. I mean, you meet girls all the time, it's just tough finding the time, what with working all day."

"They don't have any problems with being in each others' rooms?"

"Regular students, no, of course not. The special programs, though, they usually have chaperones, and they're usually housed in the suites. I mean, some of these kids are fourteen or fifteen, so their parents want them under some sort of supervision. You see 'em all over, they move like gazelle herds, always together. Couldn't pick one off if you wanted to."

"Then I'm dead! The interviews are going to give me, max, five minutes' exposure with six or seven people per day, six days a week. I'm stuck in a fourth-floor lab with no windows. And I'm no more interested in the bar scene than you are.

"And if the concert I ran into at SOL the other night is any indication, I'm not going to like the music."

I slipped into self-pity.

"You live in the dorms?" said Tom. "That's how I met my girlfriend last Summer, she was reading a technical manual in the lounge."

"No. I thought I was being smart, so I got an off campus apartment."

"Well," he said, slapping the table, "looks like we'll have to look out for each other. What kind of girls do you like?"

*

You really are a horney bastard!

You spend a whole day seducing, then fucking, a fantastic girl. She's a virgin with a tight athletic body and a good mind, who's willing to do anything. You even get to play teacher, good for the ol' ego.

And now, not even six hours after she's squeezed your cock as she left the apartment, you're trolling for somebody new?

Okay, nature of the male animal and all that. God, fucking Carrie was great! She loved being eaten. Got to add some new nuances to the repertoire.

Should have been prepared for her pulling off your cock during that blowjob. Well, sailor, remember your first fuck, you didn't exactly cover yourself in glory either. Chalk it up to experience.

I tried to masturbate, to Carrie's face, but couldn't sustain an erection.

*

In the morning I made a shopping list of things I needed, including a bunch of groceries and a large woman's shower cap, and did a run. I was running out of weekdays before the six-day-a-week, six or seven-weeks-straight run of interviews, videos, and indexing.

I couldn't find the short of protective sheet I wanted. There were rubberized sheets for incontinence problems, but nothing that don't make crinkly sounds or look institutional.

The bathroom needed a complete scrubbing. It's amazing how widely you can spray when there's a naked girl trying to aim your cock.

I wanted to call Margery, find out how I'd done with Carrie, and I REALLY wanted to get Carrie to come back to my bed, but neither one seemed like a good idea right now. Besides, Margery was probably working. If I called Lisa, she'd probably bite my head off for disturbing her concentration.

Classes at least impose a routine. What you've got now is unstructured time. Go for a walk, pick up a girl, bring her back here, fuck her lights out. Yeah, and get a disease. And it's not even lunchtime yet. Crap.

Amanda! Margery said I should talk to her, she and Ruth are conspirators in recruiting for the club. She works at the reference desk in the library.

*

"Hi, I'm Carl, a friend of Ruth McGowen."

"Oh hi. Amanda Mortimer. Mindy," she called to the other librarian, "I'm gonna take my break now. You can handle things?"

"Ha! Place's deader'n the tomb. Take your time."

It was a glorious day, so we picked up a couple of wraps and bottles of water and found an out-of-the-way table in the library's commissary.

"Hear anything from Ruth?" she asked.

"Not a word. She threatened my life if I even thought about calling her. I'm a little envious of her trip, since I've never been to Europe."

"Me neither," Amanda said, "but she did give me an assignment before she left."

That was quick.

"You're thinking 'recruiting' this summer, right?"

"Well, I do feel like a designated troller for the club, yeah."

"Ruth said I should track you down if I didn't hear from you before classes started. I'm glad you've reached out. It's only you and Margery who are here this summer."

"I feel like a stalker," I confided. "Six months ago I was evading anything resembling conversation with almost everybody, now I'm prying into the sex life of any guy I meet who seems like a candidate. And any girl who looks even slightly unhappy seems like grist for the mill. I'm uncomfortable with this."

"And loving it?"

"Yes, a little. Particularly the girls," I blushed. "Hey, I'm nineteen, all of a sudden I'm on a mission from God."

"Ooooo, Ruth said she'd found a live one," Amanda teased.

"What?"

"Look," she said, leaning conspiratorially across the table, "this club is the most noble thing anybody's ever done. Ruth is a saint! She opens her home to kids who are on the road to complete loneliness, really bad decisions, even breakdowns.

"Regular sex is primal, everybody needs it, adolescents especially. If they can't connect, if they're walling off their urges or displacing them onto something that prevents them from getting it, it's unhealthy.

"That's where we come in. Ruth, and I, and a couple of others, we look for kids who need what the club provides. There are more than 15,000 students on this campus, we can't see everybody, but we do what we can from our perch here.

"You're one of us now. We're fishing the same waters, us from the shore, you guys in a boat. Ruth and I have a great vantage point here at the library, but you and Margery and your friends in the club can go places we don't even know about.

"You're not a stalker. Better term is hunter-gatherer. Stalkers are predators, out only for themselves, unhealthily focused on a single innocent person for bad reasons.

"Hunter-gatherers look for sustenance for the group. Much better phrase." She leaned back, smiling in self-satisfaction, and continued.

"Ruth and I have a pipeline. At any one time she has two or three she's working with, I've got one, two, sometimes three myself. We're doing all right, but lately so much of the burden has fallen on Ruth. She needs help, and you, and Margery, and Pete, you've got to be here for her this next year.

"So," she said, cards-on-the-table-like, "how's it going?"

"Margery's amazing! I have no idea how she finds the time, but she does. Ruth and she collaborate, right?" Amanda nodded. "I'm just coming to understand my part in all this.

"I'm exhilarated about it! I mean, I like that phrase from the 'Blues Brothers,' I'm on a mission from God. Well, maybe not from God, that's blasphemous, but yes, a mission to help people like myself."

Whoops, too much information.

"That's okay," she said, reading my mind. "I would have been so much better off if the club had existed when I was here. I know what you mean.

"Anyway, we got distracted. Have you identified any prospects yet?"

"Yeah, my roommate for next year, I picked him when I was trying to rent the other bedroom in my apartment couple of months ago. He'll be fine. He came to the picnic and we blew his mind!" I smiled, remembering his open-mouthed wonder.

"And one of the others who looked at the apartment might be a possibility, but I haven't talked to him since I met Gene. And there's a graduate student, met him doing the technical stuff for my job. I think he's good material. And George's friend Frank, who's working on Cape Cod this summer, he'll be good.

"But it's hard! This time last year I wasn't interested in anything except taking pictures, feeling superior, and trying to figure out how I could get laid." I blushed, but she nodded encouragingly.

"Now it's this mix of mentally undressing every girl I see and trying to figure out if she'd be right for the club."

"Welcome to the land of institutional responsibility," smiled Amanda.

We walked back to her desk. "I love this place! Librarianship is a lot like therapy. My job is to help people get where they want to go. Sometimes you just have to re-direct them."

*

It was only one o'clock and I was bored. So I did what I usually do when I felt this way: I grabbed my camera and started taking pictures.

It's a huge cliché to photograph kids and their parents humping stuff from a car or van into a dorm. But it is fun.

By four I'd shot about 250 pictures, three dads and a mom had given me business cards so I could send the pictures to them, and I'd met four cute girls, two of whom made it clear that I would be welcome if I came back when their parents were gone.

So I did.

Her bed was piled with boxes, but her TV and laptop were in place and she was dispersing clothes when I knocked on her open door.

"Oh hi. Carl, right?" I smiled yes. "I'm Kate.

"C'mon in. I've got to finish this up now or it'll never get done." For twenty minutes I sat on the edge of the other single bed, chatting with her about why she was here (early start on freshman year), where she was from (downstate suburb, just like me), family (younger brother), why she chose this dorm (close to library), what she wanted to major in (civil engineering, like her father), and how excited she was to be away from home (very).

"There," she said, hanging the last of her pants in the closet. "Home for the next year! Once I make the bed, I am ready to rock 'n' roll!"

She was slightly shorter than me, just thin enough, with an elongated face that reminded me of a thoroughbred horse. Her hair was brown and it broke on her shoulders, and she had a small but decent chest. A family photo on her dresser showed a handsome family.

"Done! Good! Okay, let's go."

"Where?"

"I dunno. You're the expert on this place. It's like in 'Alice in Wonderland,' when she met the cat. I don't know where I'm going, so it doesn't matter where I go."

After two hours of reconnoitering the campus, we wound up at the union's Italian food court, just before closing. We hit the buffet line, took our trays outside, and perched on the stone wall.

"This is great! I am so gonna love going to school here! Nobody's gonna hassle me. I've always had my own room but I've never had a sister. I've talked with my roommate and I think we'll get along.

"I'm gonna do well. High expectations at home since dad's an engineer too. I've gotta hit the books."

We dumped our trays in the bin and I suggested a look at the nearby part of town. It was just getting dark as we headed back to her dorm.

The car nearly run over us as it made a too-fast turn, side-swiped a parked car, and rear-ended another.

Kate went into para-medic mode.

The cut above the bridge of the driver's nose, caused by the exploding air bag smashing into her glasses, was spewing blood, but otherwise she seemed okay. Kate ripped the pocket off her shirt and made a small square. "Hold this on the cut," she directed.

Then she turned to the passenger, who hadn't been wearing a seat belt. He was bleeding from a big gash on his forehead and was crying from the pain of a broken arm and maybe something else, from hitting the dashboard.

As the crowd gathered, Kate asked in a conversational voice that someone please call 9-1-1.

"Anybody here knew first aid?" A woman said she was a nurse, so between them they got the passenger calmed down. Kate commandeered my t-shirt, tore it into strips, and had the guy's arm immobilized by the time the ambulance arrived.

I shot two dozen one-handed photos from my position next to the driver.

The police officer took our statements about what happened, and we gave her our names and addresses. She gave me her card and I promised to send the photos. The ambulance crew gave me a UVAC ("University Volunteer Ambulance Corps") shirt to wear. When they glided away and the tow truck began its work, we left the scene.

We were both a little shaky. When Kate caught a glimpse of herself in a store window, she freaked.

"There's blood all over my shirt!" she shrieked, "It's my favorite tee. I've got to wash it out before it sets."

In her dorm's bathroom she pealed the shirt off and was knuckling the blood out under the cold water when I asked her for her room key. "I'll get you another shirt," I said.

"Okay, thanks," and she fished her keys out of her jeans and tossing them to me. She had a whole drawer of t-shirts, so I took the top one from the left-hand pile and brought it back.

"Oooo, good taste," she said, stopping to put it on. I had gotten smart enough to just smile at such compliments.

Back in her room, she draped the wet shirt on a wooden hanger and hooked it over the knob of her dresser.

I took her in my arms and kissed her.

She kissed back, hard, passionately, grabbed my ass and ground into me. I slid my hands under her shirt and unhooked her bra, then stepped back so I could roll the shirt over her head.

"Good! I am so gonna like this place!" She raised her arms, then slid her shorts and panties down in one motion as I fumbled with my belt as she pulled my shirt off. Everything hit the floor as we kicked off our sandals.

"C'mon," she husked, and pulled the quilt off the sheets and me into the bed.

I rolled her onto me and pinned her hips to my erection as we kissed, tongue-wrestled, and humped against each other. She pushed her breasts into my chest and I squeezed the globes of her ass into my crotch.

We broke and I moved aside to let her lay on her back. "Condom," she husked.

Ever since Linda gave me the preparedness lesson, I'd carried one in my wallet.

"Hurry! God hurry, I'm so hot, hurry!"

I rolled it on and scooted toward her pussy. Her moisture and excited smell drew me in and I buried my face there and began licking.

"No! Fuck me!" I wanted to do it my way but she pulled my face up and out. I readjusted my position between her legs and pushed in, hard.

"Yessssss! Oh fuck me, stroke, fuck, fuck, fuck! Fuck me! FUCK me!" she commanded as she thrashed her hips wildly. She came, quickly, violently, her hair flying around and her face contorted in ecstasy.

I came right behind her, furiously pumping a day's worth of yearning into her. I collapsed on her and we shifted to accommodate ourselves on the narrow bed. I'd had to slide out of her and missed her warmth immediately.

As we recovered, she leaned over me and kissed me lightly. I kissed back, holding her head and rimming her lips.

"That was so nice, so nice, god I love this," she said dreamily.

"I love it too. God you're wild," I panted.

I slid the condom off and was struggling to knot it when she took it from me. "Easy, here's how you do it," and in one motion she had it knotted, then handed it back to me. "Put it on the floor. Remember not to step on it," she grinned.