The Unbearable Obliviousness...

The Unbearable Obliviousness of the Late Night Nerd

It's nearing one a.m. I'm about two thousand lines of Java into my end-of-term coursework. The cans of energy drink I'd brought for the weekend have been giving me minor palpations, so I'm back on good old coffee to see me through the night. I'm just finishing up some particularly fiddly exception-handling code when there is a knock on the door.

With a sigh, I climb out of my chair and answer it.

It is a woman. She looks vaguely familiar. She is wearing a nighty and a pair of high-heel shoes. Seen through the see-through nighty are her bra and knickers. It's hardly an appropriate get-up for a social call. There's a handbag slung across her shoulder -- probably one of those unnecessarily expensive brands. She looks directly at me, and, as always, I struggle to look back.

"Hi." The greeting is breathed more than it is said.

"Err, hello," I said.

"You probably don't know me," she explains. "I'm Stacey. From the other side of the hall."

"Yeah. Hi. Stacey. Right," I try to think of something friendly to say. "You were at the First Week brunch in first week. I think. You had the tuna salad."

She puts her hand on the frame of the door. I take a step backward.

"I'm so glad you noticed," she says. "Anyway, I was wondering if you might be able to help me."

"Me?" I ask. "Help you?"

She curls a lock of her blonde hair through her finger and looks down at the floor "Yeah, little old me. It's silly really. I understand you're an electrical engineer and, like, super smart and everything?"

"I'm more software than hardware..." I start to say.

Stacey's face has glazed over so I don't continue.

There is an uncomfortable pause.

"But, you can, like, fix stuff. Stuff with batteries and all," she says finally.

"Possibly," I reply.

"Oh, goodie," she says, suddenly animated. "My hero!" She steps forward and hugs me. I instinctively cringe as her chest pushes into mine.

We separate and she reaches into her bag. "This just suddenly stopped working, just like that. So frustrating."

She brings out the offending item. It's been wrapped in tissue paper. She pulls that off and proudly presents it to me.

It's a vibrator. Purple and shaped like an unmistakable penis. There are the remains of a slick substance covering part of the tip.

"Have you tried turning it off and on again?" I say automatically - an old engineering joke. By Stacey's face, she clearly doesn't get it.

She flicks the switch at the base a couple of times. "Grrr," she says. "Don't you just hate technology?"

She doesn't see the irony of asking a computer science major that question. I contemplate pointing it out to her, but then I spot it was intended to be rhetorical anyway. "Is it the batteries?" I find myself asking instead.

"Oh, does it have batteries?" Stacey says in surprise.

"What...you just said...literally, just a moment ago..." I begin.

"What am I like? Of course, it has batteries. It's not like I plug it into the wall and that buzz has to come from somewhere, right." She hits me lightly on the shoulder as a way of emphasizing her own joke. Even once she stops laughing, there's still a pause as she makes the next logical deduction.

Light dawns. "Oh, so you think it needs new batteries!"

She holds it up and spins it through a hundred and eighty degrees, looking for further inspiration as to how to proceed. "Why do they have to make these confounded things so complicated?"

"Here," I say. "Let me." I grab a couple of my own tissues and wipe it down thoroughly. A quick twist of the base and the batteries are free. It needs a series of triple-A batteries. Luckily, I always keep some spare for my XBox controllers. I fit them and put the toy back together again.

A flick of the switch and nothing.

"Rats," says Stacey. "I was so sure that would do it."

"Ah, well, sorry," I say. I move to show Stacey the door and she stays resolutely where she is.

"This is so awkward," she says, putting a finger to her pursed lips. "If only my boyfriend was here..."

"He'd be able to help you fix your toy, I know," I say. I realize now that conversation with Stacey will go faster if I finish her thoughts for her.

"Er, yeah, exactly," she says. "I could just scream. And all because I've got nothing to make me scream. You see the problem. Honestly, what kind of guy goes all the way to London, overnight, to see Limp Bizkit when he's got a woman like me, with my needs, waiting at home?"

I don't know the answer to that.

"Oh, everyone always tells me, Stacey, you can't rely on men. Turns out I can't even rely on my little rabbit either. Life's such a drag. Oh, you have to help me, you simply must. I'll go crazy."

"It may just be a loose connection," I say weakly.

"Oh, I know," says Stacey, leaping up and clapping her hands together. "If I show you what I was doing with the toy at the time when it broke, would that help you diagwhatsit the problem?"

I look at her in disbelief. "I'm not sure..."

"Oh, don't worry," she says. "I'll keep my panties on. I'm not a total slut." This time her laugh comes out as more of a snort.

Before I can say anything, she's jumped on my bed.

"Ow, what's this?" she says, pulling out the object that her rear has landed hard on. I'm about to tell her that is an original, official 2002 replica Mace Windu lightsabre, but she's not listening. "It doesn't vibrate does it? No? Pity." She discards it with a shocking lack of respect.

She pulls her nighty up and there's an unhindered look, if I want it, of her lower half all the way from her flat stomach to her pale blue panties. For all that is holy, I try to avoid staring.

Why is it that women make their knickers so inordinately lacy?

"So, what normally do is I start with it here," Stacey was now pressing the plastic phallus to the area just where her legs parted. "You'd think that you'd need to put it all the way in, it looking like a penis and all, but trust me, it feels plenty good just on the outside here, at least to start with. Then when I've got warmed up a bit, I...oh, sugar, well, I guess do need to take my panties off for this next bit. Ah, not to worry, it'll be our little secret."

In one fluid motion, Stacey pulls her panties halfway down, bends one leg out of them, and then takes the underwear off the other leg. Her genitals are clearly on display from about halfway through this process.

She hands her knickers to me. "Hold these, there's a dear."

The garment is wet at the crotch. I hold it far enough away from my nose that there can be no danger of smelling it.

As she settles back down, she continues, "And when I say our little secret, I mean mum's the word. Brad is the jealous type and I doubt you'd be able to out-think his fists. No offence. Now where was I?"

It turns out that where she was was inserting her little friend right past the lips of her vagina. As it goes in she moans and her free hand clenches into a fist around my duvet.

"I'm just acting, by the way," she explains. "I'd hate you to think I was actually enjoying this. These are the noises I'd be making if it was working. Without the buzz, nothing doing, I'm afraid."

"I see," I say. I vaguely wonder if she's expecting me to take notes.

"If I don't cum," she continues. "I can't sleep. Isn't that weird? Do you find that? Do you need to cum before you sleep?"

"I can't say it's an issue I have," I say. "Speaking plainly, I find it more far difficult to sleep when I know there's a deadline and I've still not finished my assessments."

"You're so lucky," said Stacey. "People are so judgmental. If only they knew what kind of terrible sleep I get when I don't have a nice strong man to hold me through the night, perhaps they'd mind their own beeswax about who I do and don't spend the evening with, please and thank you very much. Oh, whatever am I going to do? You can help, can't you? You're not going to leave me high and dry, are you?"

"Let me look at the wiring again," I say holding my hand out.

"Oh, you're so gallant." Stacey hands me the toy. "I hope you don't mind if I use my fingers in the meantime."

"Knock yourself out," I reply. I take the toy apart again and study the insides.

"No," said Stacy from the bed. "It's no good. Funny to think that I used to get myself off this way every night before I got my first toy. These days, nada."

"Well, many futurologists do worry that we are becoming too reliant on technology." I know it's a mistake to try and engage her in intelligent conversation, but it just slips out.

"We are, aren't we?" says Stacey, as if I am also a party who is deeply affected by unreliable sex aids. "If only there was a natural alternative to the vibrator."

"Got it!" I exclaim in triumph.

"What? You thought of a natural alternative?" Stacey asks wide-eyed.

"No," I say impatiently "The loose connection. The positive wire for the battery housing had come loose from the main circuit board. I've not got a soldering iron with me, but I'm pretty sure I can find a way to McGuyver it back into life."

"Oh, yay," says Stacy. Somehow she seems disappointed.

Once I identify the problem it really is a snap to fix. Three minutes later and the toy is humming like big purple penis-nosed humming bird.

"Oh my gawd," says Stacey in delight. "I knew I'd found me the right little adorable nerd. I don't know how my privates are ever going to thank you."

I find myself blushing. "They really don't need to. Now if you don't mind, I really need to get back to my project."

"Okey-dokey," says Stacey. "You get on and I'll try not to be too loud."

"I'm sure that won't be a problem," I reply. "You are several doors down, I believe."

"Ah, well, this is awkward," replies Stacey. "It's just...could I impose on you just a tiny bit longer? Just, I had to put on my shoes and this...outfit...to come all the way over here, and I was thinking if the gosh darn thing breaks again...would it be okay if I stay here? Otherwise, it'd be, like, super inconvenient."

"What? All night?" I reply.

"Oh, my, no," she answers. "Just until I've reached climax. The big climax I mean. Don't be fooled, some of the little ones can appear pretty big, but you'll know the big one when you hear it. Then I'll be right out of your hair. Assuming old faithful here holds up, of course."

She gives the dildo a little shake.

"Okay," I say cautiously. "I suppose I could put my headphones on."

"See, you're such a star. I wish my boyfriend was so accommodating. Can you believe he gets jealous? Of a piece of plastic. Even though it's smaller than him."

I check the dimensions of the sex toy again. "That seems...,"

"...unreasonable I know right. He says he should be enough for me. But what if I want six orgasms in one evening, Brad? What then?"

"Indeed," I reply. I indicate my computer screen. "If you don't mind."

I try to focus on my work, but I have to admit it's hard. When I compile my code, it barfs and I find I've messed up even on little things like semi-colons and array indexes. She's seriously put me off my game. I'm going to have to do something. After about fifteen minutes of her writhing and moaning behind me, I find myself swiveling my chair to the bed.

"Are you going to be long?" I ask impatiently.

"Well, you know, you can't hurry love," says Stacey.

"It's just I've got a deadline tomorrow, as I think I've mentioned, and...all of this...it's not helping!"

Stacey's face is suddenly crestfallen. Her dildo hand even stops the vigorous motion it has been making.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she says in a half-cry. "I didn't think."

"No, I guess you didn't," I reply.

She gets up from the bed, dildo still in hand and advances towards me.

"I guess, you're not used to girls," Stacey says. "No, how could you be?"

"It's not that," I say. "It's just this assessment is weighted..."

"And me," Stacey continues, again oblivious to how far into my own personal space she's moved. "Talking about making love five or six times a night when you probably don't even get to do it five or six times a year. I mean, check your privilege, am I right?"

"No," I say. "That's not really..."

"Oh! My! God! It just hit me. I'm assuming five or six times a year like that's not very much, but maybe to you that's, like, loads - a dream come true amount or something. You maybe haven't done it...what...ever?"

"Will you stop it?" I say offended.

"I've hit a nerve, I can tell. Oh, Stacey, what are you like? I'm mortified. I really am," she says. "I tell you what. I don't want you thinking I'm some heartless bitch. A bit spacey sometimes maybe, but I've got a heart of gold when you get to know me. So, here's the deal. I'll let you fuck me. Then I'll waltz out this door and you'll be left alone to do your sums or whatever."

"I'm sorry, what did you just say?"

"Oh, sorry, potty mouth. Where are my manners? We'll make love. All tender, if you like. It'll be beautiful. It'll be one small bed notch for me, one giant notch for nerdkind. See, I can quote Star Trek too. Total geek, right? Only rule is, no bragging after. We can't let Brad catch wind, or it'll be drama city. If I pass you and your nerd mates in the canteen, you can be all like 'That Stacey has got it going on' but nothing more than that, right?"

"That..." I sense I'm on a loser here. "You know what? Fine. That would be acceptable, I guess."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Twenty minutes later and I'm lying back in bed with Hannah.

"So, how was that for you?" she asks wrapping her arms around my chest.

"Successful," I reply. "Certainly more successful than the first time I lost my virginity. And you? Was I everything Stacey dreamed of and more?"

"Meh." Hannah shrugs. "The truth is Stacey was angling more for a Jeff Goldblum type of nerd and less for a Sheldon Cooper."

"Well," I say, pushing my glasses up on my nose. "There it is."

I pick up the blonde wig from the head of the bed. "You sure went all out. Where did this come from?"

"Rag week. Turns out they're right. I did have more fun." Hannah says.

"And the heels with a nighty. really?"

"Negligee, if you don't mind," said Hannah. "I needed a leg up to help me fulfill all your six-foot tall, busty blonde fantasies."

"You're not six foot even in heels," I say.

Hannah play-hits me. "And you're not a level twenty paladin, but I don't point that out constantly. It's called imagination for a reason. The heels were just to add a soupcon of sex appeal."

"As were the two grapefruit stuffed...no, duct taped...into the bra, I daresay. So, that Stacey, eh, an exotic mix of Los Angeles and Essex with occasional detours into 1950's Stepford?"

"She's a work in progress. There's a lot of different bimbos floating around in the media. I haven't got them all straight yet."

We settle back in bed. There is long a satisfied pause from both of us.

"Look, sorry, maybe this whole thing was selfish," she says. "How far behind have I put you?"

"It's okay," I answer. "I'll get up early tomorrow and hustle. I'll still make the twelve o'clock deadline. Well, the main task for sure, the extra credit stuff might be a stretch."

"Really?" she says. "Why are you so far behind?"

"Capra Demon," I reply.

She pulls herself out of bed. "Study first, video games later, we agreed. If I'd known, I would have done the femme fatale instead and had you shoot the gun in your pocket before I was even through the front door. No worries. I've clearly exhausted you. Leave everything to me."

She gets out of bed, sits in my chair, still completely nude, and uses my password to log back into the desktop.

"Hey," I say. "You can't do that. That's plagiarism!"

"No," she replies. "It's collusion. Look, if you want to be all upright and uptight about this, I'll just do some of the helper functions and the test harness for you. You can do what they're actually assessing yourself in the morning. And don't worry, I'll use all your ass-backwards naming conventions even though they rub the lecturer the wrong way."

I put my head back on the pillow to sleep. "Thanks, babe, you're a real doll."

"I am, aren't I?" replies Hannah with a smile.