Summer Internship

As with most of my stories, this one stands on its own. But I've used Alicia and Kaylen before, most notably in "The Morning After" and "Summer Film Study" some years ago. Vickie, who takes a mere supporting role here, is another older character with her own story, written back in 2016. Karl also has an eponymous story in my catalog.

There's no such tribe as the We'a'ponqui, nor are the Yamaquira real people. But pg 244 (et seq) of Gutierrez does, indeed, discuss buggery, as do many other parts of that book.

I'm entering this to celebrate Lit's Summer Loving contest. Make sure you read all the entries and vote up your favorites! Enjoy!

* * *

"So, yeah. Not terribly easy to get food staples on the Reservation. The issue is that the grocery distributors generally deliver to white supermarkets first, then the ones in Hispanic parts of town, then the Reservation last." I shrugged. "They usually got the worst produce. Nothing toxic, you know, but the lettuce would wilt sooner and the cheese would get moldier faster."

"Systemic inequity," Professor Kuykendall said meaningfully from the corner of the stage, glaring out at his class to make sure they got it. "It's endemic to the Reservation system. Things would have been much worse under the original Dawes Act, obviously: they've gotten better. But I think what we're hearing here today is that a lot of these inequities are baked into the cake." He looked over at me again, commanding, completely in charge of the classroom. Like his students, I didn't even think of speaking until he told me to. "Do you have anything else for us, Dr Ronson?"

For you? I wanted to ask him. I've got a wet vag and the need to take your thick old cock... "I don't know, Dr Kuykendall." I smiled, gesturing out at the students. "Any other questions?" I was not much of a teacher, and I knew it well, but so far the questions had been good. "I lived among the Ponqui for almost five years; we've covered a lot, but I'm happy to answer any other questions you guys might have." I cracked a smile. "I'll even answer questions about fisheries management."

That was my day job, after all, but he'd asked me to come speak to this sociology class because I'd lived on a Rez and they had not. So I'd left the trout out of my talk.

A hand shot up in the back, two girls who'd spent most of the lesson with their eyes on their phones. The hand belonged to a wavy-haired brunette with that air of casual collegiate sexiness a lot of girls had. That air I'd never understood, even when I'd been in college. I turned my smile her way. "Yes?"

She seemed to think about her question before she opened her mouth to a calm, confident voice, the kind of voice used to getting what she wanted. "Thanks for coming, Dr Ronson," she began, "but I was reading Gutierrez last week, page 244?" She glanced at her laptop. "Earlier chapters, too. The idea there is that indigenous sexual mores were fairly loose before the Spaniards came to the region?"

I cocked my head. I had no clue what she was talking about. "Who's Gutierrez?"

"One of the course texts," Kuykendall murmured, his voice setting off a tremor in my vagina. God! What was wrong with me? The guy was old enough to be my father! "Ramon Gutierrez wrote the definitive work on the Pueblo tribes of New Mexico during the period of Spanish colonization."

I shrugged. "What's your question?"

The other girl, red-haired and with a certain cunning to her face, whispered quickly to the dark-haired one, but she didn't need the help. "Gutierrez writes of so-called 'dry love' between the mission priests and the indigenous peoples, making sex more shameful, even transactional." She glanced over at Kuykendall, then arched an eyebrow at me. "'Dry love' is anal sex, Dr Ronson. I'm wondering whether you perceived a shameful or taboo label attached to that kind of intimacy." She sounded good, a serious student asking a serious question, but her mouth had its full lips twisted into what I thought was a slightly mocking smile.

But how would I know? I wasn't good with people. It's why I worked with fish.

"You're wondering whether, um, people in the We'a'Ponqui culture have a shameful view of, ah, anal sex?" I had no idea why she thought I'd know. "I didn't make a habit of trying to find out, Ms..."

"Romano. Alicia Romano." She hesitated, but I didn't sense she did it because she was unsure; no, she was just trying to rephrase. "It's just that in five years, I'd have figured sexual mores might have come up in conversation with the locals." She smiled. "That is, if there were any cultural hangups to speak of."

I felt Kuykendall watching me from the side as I grew warm and itchy. "It wasn't really a topic of discussion," I replied shortly, aware that I was turning red. The girl nodded thoughtfully, then tapped at her computer for a moment. I felt a sudden urge to flee: it was as if she'd seen right through me...

"Okay! If there's nothing else?" Professor Kuykendall raised his eyebrows and swept the room, almost challenging them to speak. "Well! Let's give Dr Ronson a big thanks, then, and you guys can come back on Wednesday. If you think of any other questions for her during our tribal unit, I can get some answers from her?" he half-asked, nodding at me.

"Absolutely. I have a university email address; I'm happy to answer any questions anyone has." I gulped. "I'm Annabeth Ronson, so my address is 'aronson.' Okay?" Nobody was listening, though, gathering their things and noisily getting ready to leave. I remembered leaving classes, more than ten years ago now, all the books and bags and notebooks I'd brought with me: nowadays, every kid in the class had nothing but a tablet or, for the old-school, a laptop.

Progress, man.

I turned toward Professor Kuykendall, my face still flushed from Alicia Romano's question, and held out a hand. "Thanks so much for having me!" I was gushing in more ways than one, and aware that I sounded a bit frantic. "This was fun."

"A pleasure." He smiled, a warm Ernest Hemingway smile that went straight to my groin. Jesus, I needed to get laid... The thought chilled me, though, especially after I'd said my little white lies about anal sex among the Ponqui. That girl still sat back there, looking thoughtfull through me, but I shook her off. "Any day I don't have to do any lesson prep is a good day. I'll let you know if they have anything for you, but really, I appreciate this. It's rare for these kids to get a glimpse into the indigenous ways of life outside the text." He did not scan my body even once, though I imagined hopefully that he might have been checking out my ass as I'd talked to the class. "Thanks again."

"No problem." I gathered my notes, still kept the old-fashioned way in a set of binders, and stuffed them into my messenger bag as he walked off. Students clattered out of the room all around me, and my blush slowly faded as I thought about the day ahead: a trip back to my lab in Deesy, some updating of the data I was collecting there, then I'd need to call Officer Luchese and coordinate an early gate entry in the morning at Ray Peak. I was due to hike the watershed tomorrow and check my traps.

I was just trying to figure out what time I'd tell them to have the gate open when I became aware of two figures behind me. I turned, eyebrows raised, to see Alicia standing there with the redhead at her side and a sly little smile on her face. "Oh! Hi. Was there something else?"

"Just that I'm sorry I put you on the spot," she shrugged smoothly. Up close, and standing, I could see that both girls were absolute smokeshows. This was a senior seminar; they had to be 21, maybe 22, at the peak of their looks. And these girls were probably indulging in other vices, too: both looked like they could have any dick in the world, and carried themselves as if they probably had.

So, naturally, I was immediately nervous. "On the spot?"

She shrugged again, her breasts jiggling in her top. She knew how to dress, the shirt just tight enough but not indecent, with a sliver of tanned skin showing between the hem and her shorts. Perfect legs, of course. A glance at the redhead showed me something similar, but curvier. More lush. I'd never in my life been as attractive as these two, and I never would be. "I probably shouldn't have asked about Indian anal sex in, like, a full seminar," she apologized.

I froze. "It's Native American," I corrected automatically, "or it's always appropriate to use the tribal name. We'a'ponqui, in this case." I smiled thinly. "Ponqui for short."

"Okay," she smirked, "so, now that there's no one else around? Do the Ponqui do butt stuff?" Her companion giggled. "It's for my thesis," she explained. "I'm doing my senior project on sexual predilection and perception among minority groups."

"She likes to fuck black guys," the redhead explained in a strange sort of loud whisper, "and is trying to get course credit for it." They both grinned then as my mouth dropped open.

"Shut up, Kaylen," Alicia smiled, elbowing her friend. "I mean, she's not wrong," she admitted to me, "but it's actually a really fascinating topic. Do you have office hours? Can I come pick your brain a little?" she asked, turning bold hazel eyes onto mine.

"I'm not really a professor," I told them, almost apologetically, "but sure, I've got a lab. Deesy Hall, room 214?" I checked my watch. "I'll probably be back there in, say, an hour? Ninety minutes?"

"Thanks!" Alicia chirped. She plugged my information into her phone. "I appreciate it, Dr Ronson."

"Just Annabeth is fine," I shrugged. You needed a PhD to make decent money in fish biology, but I never really worried about it much. "Or even just Beth."

"Got it." She put me into her phone as Annabeth, I noticed, then gave me a dazzling full-court-press smile. "I'll see you around two."

"Looking forward to it," I managed, watching as their perfect asses turned and sauntered away toward the stairs, wondering what I'd just agreed to.

* * *

The reason I had no interest in talking about the anal-sex habits of the Ponqui had nothing to do with ignorance and everything to do with not wanting to deal with my own sordid past. There was a reason I'd felt compelled to leave the Reservation and come back here for a state job, and in an uncanny way young Alicia Romano's question had struck to the very heart of that reason.

Indigenous culture. Shame. Sex. Confusion. Dominance. Buttfucking. All those things were connected in my mind, thanks to Randall. He was the reason I'd stayed so long and also the reason I'd left, and as I waited now in my lab pretending to check turbidity readings from the sensors I'd put up Little Ray Canyon, I found my thoughts wandering back there to my many, many nights in Randall's trailer. And his backyard. And the bathroom at the local bar. And the backseat of his car. And... well, frankly, wherever he'd wanted to put it in me.

My mind was still wandering that way when my visitor arrived. Alicia didn't knock, but that was fair: I'd left the door open. "Hello?" She strode in with the same perky, tuned-in smile she'd left Kuykendall's classroom with, and as soon as she entered she dominated our interaction in the same way she'd done there. "Should I close the door?"

I looked up, brooding. "Sure." The lab was deserted, as usual. Professor Watrous only had four of us in the program, and most of the work was done by me up in the watershed on my day job anyway. I gestured toward a chair. "Take a seat."

"I feel so lucky to have met you," she smiled, unfolding her expensive-looking laptop. "I'm only 20,000 words in, and frankly I'm running out of steam. It's really hard to get information on minority sexual views."

I thought about what her friend had said, about how this girl liked African-Americans, and thought I'd be safe risking a joke. "Your friend mentioned you did, um, firsthand research?"

She paused, her head cocked, then replied with a slow, silent smile. "I like all kinds of dick," she shrugged, "but yes. At the time my professor wanted me to pick a research topic, I was with a black guy. That's what gave me the idea." She yawned. "But it's not like I've been wandering around, seeking Asians and Hispanics and, like, German exchange students to sleep with. I'm just looking at secondary sources, mostly."

I found I had little to say. This oddly composed girl could speak so casually about fucking guys... I had nothing in my experience to relate this to. I'd been a virgin until grad school, my undergrad existence dominated by an odd sense of wonder at the girls who were able to effortlessly pull dick every weekend.

Alicia Romano was giving me that same sense. I hesitated, and she picked up on it. "Was there something you wanted to ask me, Annabeth?" she said softly, her fine fingers poised above her keyboard.

I shook my head and forced a smile. "Your sex life is your own business, obviously," I managed, aiming for a lofty tone. "I didn't mean to bring it up."

"But you did," she smirked, "and I don't mind. I like sex. I like doing it and talking about it and all the things that lead up to it. I even like it afterward, when I'm all messy," she laughed. "I only mention it, Annabeth, because if you've got anything to say about modern Native American sexual practices, I'd be honored to use your contributions." Her hands remained poised, and so did her smile.

I found it impossible to stay silent. "It's not Native American practices," I pointed out weakly. "Just Ponqui. Not all tribes; not even other Southwest tribes. It's never safe to generalize from limited data."

"I appreciate the reminder, Doctor," she murmured smoothly, her fingers tapping at last. "How is Ponqui spelled?"

"It's actually We'a'ponqui," I felt I had to point out: Randall had made me squeal that while he plowed me. Tell me you want that We'a'ponqi cock, white bitch, he'd sneered, and I'd said anything and everything he'd wanted me to say. "The kids call themselves Ponks," I added, but she'd caught my pause.

"What were you remembering, Annabeth?" Her voice came purring out, silky, tempting me to answer. I suddenly wanted to tell this goddess about what I'd done on the Reservation, with Randall.

I wanted to impress her. I wanted to be like her.

"Nothing much," I said at last, ignoring the same signals my brain had been sending me all my life: signals of repression, mostly. That sex was wrong, shameful. Certainly nothing to talk about with strangers, but this stranger... well. She'd done everything. And she clearly thought I'd done nothing. "I was remembering what I could tell you about anal sex on the Reservation."

"Just what you're comfortable with, Annabeth." Still silken, that voice, and it spurred me.

"Okay." I drew a deep, shaky breath. "You were asking whether there was, what, a culture of shame in doing it that way?"

"My thesis in this section, based on Gutierrez, is that Spanish priests used sodomy as an expression of power over male natives," she said quietly. "I'm curious as to whether any of that sort of perception continues."

"In, um, a homosexual context?" I made myself say the words. I could only hope the conversation would ease as it went on, becoming more clinical. More precise. "I wouldn't know about that. Remember, I was a tribal fisheries biologist from the government," I shrugged, "I wasn't there to investigate... any of that."

"No," she agreed, sitting composed and alert in the shoddy chair, her unconscious elegance miles away from what I saw in my own mirror, "but you had... experiences."

"Yes." The word tumbled out, and I was a little surprised it had. Her fingers tapped, and I took another breath. "The kind of experiences you're researching."

"Yeah?" She cocked her head, full lips drawn into a doubtful frown. "How so?"

When I spoke, my voice was low. Ashamed, still, after so many months. "Degrading anal sex with a We'a'ponqui man. A tribal police officer."

She nodded seriously. "I see." Tap, tap tap. "I seem to have lucked out and picked precisely the right woman."

I shuddered, and hoped she didn't see it; it was the same kind of thing Randall had always told me. How I was just the right kind of white slut for him... "This went on for several years," I went on, amazed I was still speaking. "It got... intense. It's most of why I left the Reservation and moved back here."

"Understandable." She checked something on her screen, made a quick correction. "Was the intensity one-sided, Annabeth? Or did he feel it too?"

"No," I replied at once. "He did not think of me the way I thought of him." It had taken me years to realize that, and it was what had eventually driven me off.

"So he used you." The conclusion was painful, but true enough. I nodded. "He was doing just what the priests did in the seventeenth century: imposing himself. Asserting his power, his dominance." She paused, satisfaction in her eyes. "Seeking sexual gratification in the most insulting way possible?"

"I think so," I confessed heavily. "He was into some pretty twisted stuff."

"Please go on?" She readied her fingers again.

"He liked to degrade me. Like, racially. And in terms of gender. Occupation. Background. Education."

"And he did all these things while fucking you in the ass." The word should have shocked me, but I was pretty deep into my memories by then.

"Exactly. And my... well, we did it vaginally, too. And oral." Her fingers were busy now. "Sometimes, he'd tell me I wasn't good enough to be worth his... his semen."

"His cum." Her eyes glinted now. "You can say cum, Annabeth. I won't quote it."

"He usually used the word 'sperm,' actually." I hung my head. "That his Ponqui sperm was too precious for my white... vagina."

"What word did he use?" She seemed eager to hear it. "Pussy? Cunt? Twat?"

"Hole," I said at last. "Or slit." I lifted my eyes back to hers, finding nothing there: she had an excellent poker face.

And now she nodded slowly, gently. "Would you say he was abusive, Annabeth? And... was this nonconsensual?" She allowed another faint smirk. "Did he ask first before he took your ass?"

I looked away again. "It was the best sex of my life. Every time."

Her lips tightened with an air of triumph. "Interesting."

"Nobody has ever made me feel so good." God, it hurt to admit that.

"Anally?"

I hesitated. "In all ways," I whispered at last. "I didn't particularly like or dislike the anal sex. But no matter what he said to me, no matter what he did to me, no matter how he had sex with me? I always orgasmed."

She let the silence stretch a bit, then quietly said, "Had you had anal sex before?"

"No."

Alicia's voice went low, hypnotic. "What was his name, Annabeth?" It almost came out as a taunt, but that might have just been my imagination.

"What?"

She spoke firmly, with no hesitation. "So I can contact him and ask him about his impressions. His perceptions. For my research." She nodded slowly at me, watching me, eyes intent. "A biologist must know and respect the value of research, Dr Ronson. Right?" Her smile went flinty.

"I don't want to bring him into this," I said softly. "It would invade his privacy."

She sighed gravely. "This might be the only time anybody ever looks into this, Annabeth." She shrugged. "How do you know there's not something in my research that might explain why he treated you like he did?" Her eyes glinted. "Why he fucked you like he did? Not just your butt either, Annabeth." She had to look up at me because I was nodding, rhythmically, like a bobblehead. "You said took you every which way, didn't you?" I didn't stop nodding.

"I can't."

"Just a name," she urged. "I'll never mention you. You said he was a police officer? On the Reservation?" She smiled. "As far as he knows, I'm a random sociologist, seeking information on Gutierrez' conclusions from civic officials on various tribal lands." She leaned forward slightly in the chair. "And I'll tell you whatever he tells me."