Summer Classes

After the sound of her other book unzipping, she parroted him saying, "It's a great ass!"

"Get your shoe off, let me get you a glass of water or something real quick!" Finally, he let go of her and walked from the entry living room over toward the kitchenette. "I've also got seltzers and I already gave you alcohol, so I think we're done doing that for tonight."

"I had two glasses of water before we left, give me a seltzer at least." The woman from the bar kicked away her shoe. She slipped her hands beneath her jeans and panties and pushed them both to the ground.

"I have black razzberry and guava right now," Peter said to the back of the fridge. The door prevented him from seeing what Imogen was doing. He thought about what form of eggs to make in the morning, what he could do to get a round two even before round one. Would she like a French omelet or diner-style fried eggs? He maintained the belief that breakfast was on the meal he always needed in his fridge, just in case someone stayed the night.

The hardwood floors were cold on her feet. The checkerboard vinyl flooring of the kitchen wasn't as bad, though now they were equally as naked. For Peter, with his body hair, this was in no way an issue. For Imogen, with her intentional hairlessness, this left her shrunken. Goosebumps pressed out from beneath her skin. "It doesn't really matter."

Peter picked black razzberry. He shut the door and looked to what truth revealed itself. The seltzer didn't really matter. He whistled like a cartoon wolf seeing her fully naked before him. Carved by a skilled sculptor, her breasts were proud and immaculate of visible blemish. Her bright pink nipples stuck out like her goosebumps, slightly redder thanks to his proud efforts. The investment into a hairless body had paid off as well and even the atavisms of a past life were feminine in form. Her penis was in a shy and blushing bow. She demurred and played with her hair.

Peter put the can on the stove. His skin had seen its share of burns and cuts and other rough treatment over the years. When he put his hand on her back, it felt every bit as jagged as his history had made it. "God, you're amazing," Peter put a few cold fingers on the swell of her exposed hip. He leaned down to kiss her again. His cock brushed against her stomach when they were close. Hers was not equal to his.

Despite her adulthood, Imogen could not keep herself from giggling like a girl. With skin touching skin, she found warmth in their bodies so close together. She huddled against him even with his cock poking her. She kissed his shoulders, his neck, his cheek, his ear. She whispered, "I'm need you inside of me."

With his hands on her shoulders, Peter could not deny his immediate desire. Like a marionette, she moved as he made her until she was bent over the kitchen table. Peter sunk onto his knees. "No lube in here, so that'll have to wait," he said from behind.

The air was cool, flowing beneath her exposed stomach and between her breasts. A moment's self-consciousness exploded inside of her and Imogen worried about Peter seeing the surgery scars beneath her breasts. If he did, he did not care. His attention was entirely on the contours of her butt. A large hand on either cheek made her bite her lip. She looked over her shoulder just as he licked the first cheek and then the second. His tongue gave special attention to her and the work lasers had done to remove every spec of hair from her hole.

Peter was not shy in touching Imogen. Eating her ass needed the compliment of playing with her modest, girly, cock. The only surprise was the emptiness of her testes, though he barely paid it any mind. She did not grow big or solid, but he enjoyed the little handle to give him something extra to play with.

Not from the cold but from his touch, her spine shivered. Aftershocks throughout her bones caused her fingers and toes to clench and grip on everything near them. While her toes had nothing to hold, her knuckles turned white. Peter's tongue became more rigid than she could when her pressed it into her hole and tasted inside. Her eyes rolled back. The patron of his bar whined, "Oh god! Yes!"

Imogen looked up to the things she could pull from the table in front of her, but the oils were over somewhere else. Unable to solve the problem she felt, she pushed him away from her ass and turned around to look at him. Her face was red. She heavily panted already. "We have to go to the bedroom," she insisted.

His bedroom was relatively sparse. Outside of the queen size bed, the only fixtures were an end table, a gray armchair covered with dirty laundry, and a small bureau. Everything else was packed into his closet. Looking into it, Imogen did not miss getting away with this kind of room for herself. "You need something on your walls," she chuckled.

"I moved in just a couple months ago," Peter opened the drawer of his end table and pulled out a tube of KY and a condom.

"You still need something on them. Its 'landlord gray' in here," she teased.

Peter ignored her derision and walked over to the shorter woman he suddenly missed touching. He brushed some hair from her bright and high cheek. Her lips gently parted, showing the white of her teeth. "You should get on all fours on the bed," he smirked.

Imogen got into place and readied herself for him. "Do you have any weed?"

"Hmm?"

"It just helps my muscles relax, that's all."

"Oh, yeah," he returned to the side table and pulled out a small glass pipe that had some slightly singed green in the bowl. It clinked upon her hand after he rolled it across to her. The lighter slid next to it. With a flick, she burnt the flower in the pipe further and took its smoke inside. "That should help," his hand slapped her exposed ass which made her cough out the smoke.

"Asshole!" she said, regaining her composure. They both laughed. She passed everything back to him and Peter joined her in taking a hit before he put the lighter and pipe on a nearby pillow. Impressively, it had a pillow cover.

Peter rolled his eyes. He was still quite ready for her. His dark eyes could barely leave her body, only for the brief moment he needed to make sure the condom went on right. "Anything else you need?"

Imogen looked back to Peter and shook her ass for him. "Just you."

Peter climbed the bed on his knees. He squeezed a bit of lube onto his fingers. From the efforts of his mouth, her ass was still wet. But he needed her to enjoy herself and lube was always necessary. Before his cock, two fingers found purchase in her hole. Imogen winced when they entered, balling the sheets beneath her into her fists with the initial entry. Until they were gliding with ease, he could not put his thickness in her. The press of his knuckles brought a deep guttural moan into her throat. He beckoned her from inside.

"Ready?"

"Please."

With a content huff, Peter pulled his fingers out and reapplied the lube to them so he could put it on his cock now that she was sufficiently slippery. With his penis prepared, he gently pressed forward until the head was just pressing on her door. Imogen rocked toward him. With her encouragement, Peter pushed forward. Her jaw clenched tight, but she pushed her muscles to let him in. Once he was inside, she relaxed into a warm hug.

Like the tides, he thrust himself inside of her and pumped out, though never so far that his flared head teased her too greatly. Holding up her knees took effort as he bore down on her. A soft forest of coiled fur on her back made Imogen bite the white comforter and remove the last of her lipstick. The stain would haunt Peter for the next few days -- he couldn't bring himself to wash it immediately. Her chin rolled on the blanket as her head thrashed from side to side. If his neighbors didn't hear them earlier when he was tripping over things and slamming her against a wall, they could hear them now.

Her arms gave out and her legs splayed out. One of Peter's arms was trapped under, his hand pressing into the very base of her neck. It was not enough to choke her, just enough to let her remember the feeling. With his free hand, he tugger her hair to reveal her ear. His valiant tongue refused rest when it flicked her ear lobe. "Holy shit, holy fucking shit," he grunted.

"You've gotta let me get on top." Imogen's voice could barely hold together. Her roiling excitement squiggled out through her limbs. Her legs flailed and though they would not be visible marks, the tips of her nails dug into his back and pulled from his vertebrae down the contour of his ribs.

With a nod, he relented. No matter how many times he heard his cock pop from a woman's ass, he enjoyed it, and the sound gave itself meaning. He laid down beside her. Before coming to rest, he kissed her again. When he broke away, the woman clacked her teeth.

Though things were unsteady, she found her way off her back. One leg swung over him as she straddled his waist. "Can I have the pipe again?" Imogen asked, poising herself on Peter's lap. He blindly groped for it before catching the lighter and pipe between his KY covered fingers. She used his body hair to wipe off the lube, which caused him to snort. Imogen's lungs filled with smoke. She held it in for a long as she could until her nose vented the tainted air. Particles tickled the inside of her nose, causing it to scrunch a bit. "Thank you!" She handed the pipe back to Peter. "And the lube?"

Though her ass was still opened from their first round, while sitting atop Peter she knew she was ready. He passed her up the tube of lube and she squeezed out a small dollop. Reaching behind her back to grab his dick took a bit of position and contorting. Though she stood and paced for much of her day, Imogen's muscles were not used to keeping herself up in a crab position. For a fleeting moment, their cocks stood in as straight of a line as two crooked people could manage. The stellar alignment needed only to be sealed as a pack. And once he was slick enough, she positioned him so that she could slide down over him and envelop his cock between her cheeks.

As her breasts and cock bounced on him, Peter looked up with admiration. Their hands clasped and she leaned down. The angle was imperfect, but they could kiss and he could taste her. The softness of the bed and blankets let Peter help her in the thrust. She drew him deeper and deeper in. His arms were strong. Pushing against one another kept her aloft even when he touched on her g-spot. "Oh fuck! Oh fuck!" She cried out.

His staccato breathing barely got him enough air. His nose whistled when he exhaled. "Fuck, you're good at this!" She tugged on him like an art form, drawing up the last of the primordial desire inside of him until his cock filled with it.

"Oh yeah? Gonna cum in me then?" They both knew that would be impossible thanks to the condom, but at her urging his body released the tension. She could feel the refreshing warmth filling her. She slowed her pump to a stop. Once more, she reached under herself to pull him from her.

Getting to see just how satisfied her smirk had almost upset him. He knew better, but he'd wanted the same result. When she flopped down next to him, all the power he could take back was to drape his arm over her soft stomach and pull her close. Her breath had yet to catch up with the present reality, but the quick shallow breaths hastened her closer. Sweat matted hair to her forehead. He kissed her cheek, his beard brushing against her.

"That was amazing," Imogen broke the silence.

"We'll have to do it again. Let me go throw this out," Peter forced himself back onto his feet after pulling off the condom.

"You don't have a trash can in here?"

"Nope."

"Could you grab me that seltzer too?"

Before the dawn, Imogen left.

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For every argument, there was a beginning. To understand the conclusion, the premises must lay out a series of axioms and definitions such that the conclusion will follow from them. While not every form of argumentation followed absolute necessity, the appearance that from one thing to another the argument flowed from the series of dictums and expectations to a conclusion which, once obscure and opaque, became distinct and obvious if the reader followed it properly. If P happened, then Q must follow. Since P had happened, Q would follow. It did not matter what P and Q represented, as long as that initial premise was true then the idea that P had happened meant that Q had to follow. The beginning laid out necessity and through that necessity, it granted everything that followed from it, any words or sounds, meaning.

The haze of Peter fogged her mind for days after, but she didn't message him. Imogen kept looking at his contact information on her phone. Before the first day of classes at the Community College, she remembered that he hadn't taken any philosophy classes and she wondered how many people would show up for her Intro that summer. Of the twenty registered, half were missing. Her phone gave her the opportunity to check the time as she considered sending Peter a message and seeing how he was doing.

The clock struck one o'clock and Imogen clapped her hands. "Welcome to class, everyone! I am Imogen Reed, and I will be your professor for Introduction to Philosophy this summer. If this isn't the class you're supposed to be in, then I apologize and I hope you're able to find the room you're supposed to be in." The first few minutes of class opened with some pacing and the syllabus. A couple students filed in late through the course description. She began to tell them about the midterm for the course, "Your midterm will be a short two-page essay responding to a thought experiment, I will tell you that now!"

The door opened again. "Sorry I'm late! I just signed up and I got a little lost finding my way."

Peter walked in. Imogen glitched.