The Unfair Exchange

For those more familiar with my romantic stories, please take note of the category for this story. It features an unlikable narrator and a tragic victim. You've been warned!

*****

I'm not going to even try to defend what I've done. It was wrong, and I know it. It knew it was wrong at the time, too, but I didn't care. I could try to blame my circumstances, I could tell you what a horrible week I'd had. I could try to convince myself that I didn't mean any harm, that I didn't think it would really hurt her. But I'd probably be lying. Something in me snapped when that waitress raised her eyebrows, hinting at something she wasn't bold enough to say. And from that moment on, I went willingly and maliciously along with what my baser instincts were driving me to do.

I won't even say I'll let you be the judge. I don't need that- I can judge myself just fine, and I've done so many times since that night. But I'm not brave or virtuous enough to try to go back and make things right. I doubt I even could if I wanted to...

*******

It was December- a cold, drizzly, winter evening. I was in a sports bar just a couple miles away from the campus where I had been teaching. I say "had" been teaching because a few days earlier, only an hour after I finished my last lecture, I had been dismissed. "We're not renewing your contract," was the only explanation I had gotten, but I knew it was office politics. One of the other professors in my department was envious of how popular my classes had become, and she had some influence. I had a book almost ready for publication, and she knew it was going to put me in an even better position around campus. So she acted while she still could, and I got ousted.

Sure, they gave me another month to wrap things up, but my contract technically ended at the end of December, so they didn't really owe me anything. I had foolishly assumed it would be renewed and hadn't pushed earlier to make it official. My own damn fault, I guess.

So there I was, my car packed full, ready to drive to God knows where. I'd probably go visit family for the holidays and figure out my next steps. My lease ended that week, so I either had to renew or move. I opted to throw stuff in storage and make a clean break of it. That's why I was at the bar, getting myself almost wasted. I was planning to head over to a cheap motel for the night, then to drive across state the next morning.

I was debating whether or not to get one mug deeper in trouble when I realized someone was talking to me. Over the din of the sports bar- thirty screens blasting all kinds of competitions, popular music over the loudspeaker, conversation all around- it was hard to make anything out. I swiveled around from the bar stool and looked at her.

Aw hell, she was hot. And I was pretty sure is wasn't beer goggles making me think that. She was holding a big tray of food in one hand and a pitcher of beer in the other. She was shorter than average, thin, and blonde. She wasn't too chesty, but the uniform for waitresses was very flattering to all her curves. Her straight hair was tied back into a ponytail and the referee's whistle that was a part of her uniform hung between her breasts, drawing your attention to their light swells.

I blinked a few times and tried not to sound drunk when I said, "Huh?"

"Professor DeWitt? I thought that was you. I just wanted to say Hi."

Professor DeWitt? Not me. I was Dr. Darius Allen, and I was quite proud of the work I had put in to the Doctor part of that. But she was staring right at me and there wasn't anyone next to me. Not wanting to make a big deal out of it (and not thinking clearly), I said, "Oh. Hi," and raised my mug in greeting. She gave a friendly smile and walked away. Of course, I watched her nubile form nimbly navigating the maze of chairs, tables, and unpredictable patrons. She was the kind of beautiful young girl who made working at a university both a pleasure and a trial.

I wasn't bad looking, and I had been forced to turn down a few young things in my two years at that school. I was barely 30 years old, so that didn't make me so old that the girls found me creepy, and I was attractive enough that they weren't propositioning me for any reason other than a good lay. But I knew the rules and didn't want to risk my job over a fling with a hot co-ed, even if she wasn't in one of my classes and was the one to initiate it. But as careful as I had been, I was still unemployed, thanks to petty office politics.

I turned back to the bar and decided to order some food. It was likely to be better there than at whatever greasy spoon would be next to my lodgings for the night. Besides, I could see that an NFL game was just coming out of halftime on one of the TV screens. I might as well stay and watch.

A half hour later, I saw the waitress again. She had an empty pitcher in her hand and leaned against the bar next to me. When I looked over at her, she smiled and said, "I guess it's OK for you to be hung-over during the exam tomorrow. It's the rest of us that will be freaking out."

"It's not so bad, is it?" I said, not sure why I was keeping up the ruse.

Her smile faded, and she looked down at the pitcher in her hand. "Not for everyone. But I'm on the border of failing your class. This semester has kicked my butt- trying to pay bills and study. I'm worried I'm going to lose my scholarship, which would be the end of my time here."

I almost made some comment about being able to understand, but I doubted Professor DeWitt had just lost his job. Instead, I asked, "Will you have time to study after work?"

"It's either study or sleep," she said, faking a smile and standing up. "I haven't decided yet." With that, she walked back to the kitchen.

For the next hour, I saw her moving around the restaurant, never failing to smile and flirt with customers, but often looking sad when her back was to the crowd. She definitely had the body and the look for this job, but if she had managed to get an academic scholarship to this school, she had to be pretty sharp, too. I wondered what field of study she was in. I knew all the Political Science students, so I was sure she wasn't in my department. But that didn't narrow it down much. I also knew that students with academic scholarships were held to pretty high standards, and one failed class would surely be enough to get her in trouble.

Part of me felt bad for her. I had worked my way through college, too, getting minimal help from my parents, who were struggling to pay their own bills back then. Nine years later and we were all a little more financially stable- or at least I had been until that week. I remembered painting houses sixty hours a week in the summers and driving a bus thirty hours a week during the school year. I barely kept up, and every time exam week rolled around, I swore I wouldn't get so far behind on my studies the next semester.

As the NFL game was winding down to its foregone conclusion (it was a blowout), I called for my check. My server handed it to me, and as I pulled out my wallet, the pretty waitress stopped by again. Still not wanting to confess to my little deception, I grabbed cash instead of a credit card. She took it from me and said, "I'll take care of it." A few minutes later, she walked back, wearing a coat. Handing me my change, she said, "Walk out with me?" I looked at the money and saw she'd returned all my cash, just changing out a twenty for smaller bills so I could leave a tip at the bar. I dropped a few bills on the table and hurried to catch up with her.

"Need a ride?" I asked.

"Nah," she answered. "I'm about two blocks away." She stuffed her hands in her pockets and nodded in one direction.

"What's this about?" I asked casually, wondering if it was time to tell the truth. "Are you hoping I'll exchange a meal for a grade?"

"Would you?" she asked hopefully.

"No...I can't do that," I said honestly. "And I can't give you any advice or hints on the exam, either."

"Would you exchange something else for a grade?" she asked, raising her eyebrow suggestively. She wasn't flirting or acting seductively. But she was serious.

"You mean...?"

"I mean I don't think there's any way I'm going to pass your exam. And even if I do, my grade in the class is going to be so low...I mean, shit, who knew oceanography would be that hard? I just needed an easy science class." She was rambling a bit, probably nervous. If she was suggesting what I thought she was suggesting, then she should be nervous.

"So...you're saying..."

"What would it take to get me a guaranteed A in the class? Not just to pass it, but an A, no matter how I do on the exam."

"Is this something you're in the habit of doing?"

"NO! I mean...I've never needed to...I'm usually a really good student, but I'm in over my head."

She had no idea how in over her head she was at that moment. And all my reservations about socializing with students didn't matter anymore. I wasn't a professor there, the rules didn't apply anymore. My alcohol-impeded brain was thinking that this was just a case of a hot girl offering me a blank check. Even if it was a case of mistaken identity, I couldn't be blamed for that. She should have known better. She wouldn't know who I was, and by the next day, I'd be out of there forever. It was a dream set-up- no consequences, no strings attached, free sex. And for a guy who'd gone without a woman for a year now, it was a no-brainer. At the time, I even thought it was good karma- after a shitty week, I was finally going to get lucky.

"You want a guaranteed A in my class? That's gonna cost you. One night."

Her face drained of color. She pulled her coat tighter around her and looked at me pleadingly. "One night?" she whispered.

"Yep. One night at your place, and I'll be gone before sunrise. That's my offer, but it has to be tonight. If we were just talking about going from a B to an A, it might be different, but it doesn't sound like that's your situation."

She looked back at the restaurant, then looked down the road. In the orange light of the parking lot I could see a tear roll down her cheek. She sniffed and wiped her eye with her sleeve.

"Just one night?" she asked, trying not to let her voice shake too much.

"Just one," I said, my heart speeding up and my crotch tightening as I realized this was actually going to happen.

"OK," she said softly. "You wanna get your car?"

"No, I can walk," I said quickly, not wanting her to see that my car was filled with my belongings, which would probably be suspicious. "Do you have roommates?" I asked, falling into step next to her as she headed towards the sidewalk.

"Yeah, but they're probably asleep already. And I have my own room and bathroom."

"You're going to have to remind me of your name," I said, hoping that wasn't suspicious.

"Joelle," she said after a few seconds. "My name is Joelle. I'll write it down for you so you don't forget which grade to change."

*******

It only took 10 minutes to get to her apartment, which was in the middle of a whole complex of student housing. We walked up to the third floor of her building and she asked me to step back while she quietly opened the door. Once she peeked inside and confirmed that no one was awake, she waved me inside. I followed her past the kitchen and down the hall, slipping silently into a room at the end. She put her mouth next to my ear and whispered, "I'm going to make some hot chocolate. Do you want any?" I nodded yes and whispered, "Bathroom?" She pointed to a door on the far wall.

While she was gone, I relieved myself, then looked around her bedroom. It was very simple and plain. There were no pictures of a family or anything, and most of the stuff on her shelves was just textbooks and some DVDs. I tapped the track pad on her computer and was surprised when the screensaver disappeared without a password. Not smart on her part, but lucky for me.

I could sill hear her in the kitchen, so I quickly pulled up an internet browser and searched for Professor DeWitt. He was probably a few years older and seemed a little bit heavier than me, but we both had a black goatee, thick-rimmed glasses, and the same hairstyle. The funny thing was that, until the day before, no one would have confused us with each other. I usually wore contacts but had lost them while packing and had worn my glasses to the bar that night. Also, I had just that week shaved my full beard down to a goatee and had cut off my trademark ponytail. When I had seen a group of my students at the sports bar, they didn't even say hello. I had thought they were just being rude, but now I realized that they probably didn't even recognize me. I made a mental note to shave off the goatee and get different glasses- the look didn't suit Professor DeWitt and I imagined it looked just as bad on me.

I looked again at my doppelganger on the screen. His first name was Carl. I wondered what he was doing that night and if I was going to be getting him in any trouble. I started to consider coming clean and leaving, but my lust was taking over.

I swiftly shut her computer and moved back over to her bookshelf. Looking at the books, I guessed she was majoring in something related to sociology or education. I was looking closely at what few pictures she had framed when she came back in the room. I straightened up and took the mug from her hand. She was trembling.

"By one night you mean one time, right?" she asked softly. She sipped her drink and winced as the hot beverage stung her lip.

"No, I mean one night," I said bravely, knowing she wasn't in any position to bargain. She looked away, glancing at the window that was covered by thick curtains. "But look at it this way," I continued, "it's already midnight, I said I'd be gone by sunrise, and I will need to sleep at some point, so we're not talking about a long time."

She sighed and said mostly to herself, "I can't believe I'm doing this."

I looked over at her neatly-made bed, and thought, I can't believe you're doing it either.

*******

The next few minutes were strange, almost surreal. We sat in silence, me at her desk and her on the bed, both of us sipping our hot chocolate. Neither of us spoke or made any motion other than the occasional glance around the room. I imagine we were both on unfamiliar ground and were both wanting the other to make the first move.

When I finished my drink, I set it gently on the desk. A short while later, she finished hers, stood, and took both our cups to the kitchen. I heard the sink running as she washed the mugs and put them out to dry.

She walked back into the room, quietly closing and locking her door. She seemed so calm about this, and I couldn't help but mention that.

"I grew up in the foster system," she explained. "This isn't the first time I've been...compelled to use my body to make it through a tough situation." I winced briefly but managed not to let the guilt rise to the surface. I told myself I wasn't like those other guys who had taken advantage of her- this had been her idea to begin with. It was a flimsy self-deception that didn't hold up to the later scrutiny of my conscience, but for now that voice was currently silenced by alcohol and hormones.

Sitting back on the corner of her bed she asked, "So what do I have to do first?"

I guess I had hoped she would be more into it, that her demeanor would be like it was in the bar. She could have said the exact same words but with a smirk, a playful tone indicating that we were involved in a cliché porn scenario that she planned to enjoy just as much as I would. But her voice conveyed none of that comfortable sense. Instead, she sounded defeated. Not frightened or trapped, just...defeated.

Still wanting to feel like she was an active participant in this, I told her, "First, you undress us."

She sighed, slumping her shoulders as she began to unbutton her uniform. Shrugging her shirt off, she tossed it into a large basket near her window. With one fluid motion, she reached back, unclasping her bra and tossing it into the same basket. I didn't want to seem overly lecherous, but it was hard not to stare. Her skin looked so smooth and healthy. Her breasts jutted out proudly, despite her poor posture. I wanted to move towards her and begin feeling them, but I forced myself to wait until she had finished undressing us.

Joelle stood up and shimmied her shorts down, taking her panties with them. They joined the laundry pile, followed quickly by her socks. She looked at me and asked blankly, "Now what?"

"I said to undress us," I replied, trying in vain to hide the smile in my voice. She looked at me with a small amount of disbelief, then shrugged her shoulders. Standing, she closed the distance between us with just three steps, then gripped the bottom of my sweater.

"Arms up," she said, sounding like a mother undressing a toddler. I raised my arms and blinked as the sweater brushed over my face, leaving me directly in front of her jiggling globes. Released of their restraints, they looked much bigger and fuller when she stood up straight. I extended a hand and gently cupped one breast as Joelle leaned in and pulled my t-shirt off.

"Stand up," she said softly, and I slowly rose from the chair. Before she could make a move, I gripped her shoulders and held her still. Then pulling her towards me, I wrapped both arms around her, shivering at the feeling of her skin against mine. I hadn't felt anything like that in a while, and it made me feel so alive. I knew without asking that kissing was probably not on the menu that evening. I opened my arms and stepped back.

"Go ahead," I said, closing my eyes and resting my hands on her back as she bent over and pulled my jeans down. I stepped out of them, using my toes to push my socks off. Then I walked over to her bed and lay down. I lifted my hips up and Joelle sighed again, joining me on the bed and pulling my boxers off.

Once we were naked and on the bed, I made a rolling motion with my hand and said to her, "On your back." She obeyed slowly, waving with her hand to indicate that I needed to give her more room. Once she was on her back and her legs were spread, I ran my thumb along her slit. Unsurprisingly, she didn't seem aroused. I guess it was too much to hope for- that she would follow the script of such stories and find herself strangely but thoroughly aroused by what was taking place.

"Got any lube?" I asked, not feeling very inclined to lick her.

At that moment, it was if everything became very real to her. Her eyes widened and she sat upright. "Condoms!" she said in a panicky whisper. "Do you have condoms?"

"No, and if you don't, then I guess we're not using them," I quickly replied, hoping to intimidate her into dropping the issue. I would have used them if she had them and insisted, but I was very glad she didn't. "I'm clean...don't worry about it," I added.

"We can't do that," she protested. "I...I never...that's not safe." her eyes were pleading, desperate, begging for mercy. But her body was naked and available, and that was the more convincing argument in that moment.

"Look," I said with feigned impatience, "when I walk out this door, I'm not coming back. If you're trying to send me out to the store, I'm going home and our deal is off. You've still got a few hours to either sleep or study." I let the words hang in the air, waiting to see how desperate she really was. In the dim light of her desk lamp, I stared at her face. She looked up at me, meeting my gaze with a look of genuine fear. When I didn't flinch, she slumped her shoulders and fell back onto the bed. After a few seconds of silence, she mumbled, "There's some baby oil behind the bathroom mirror."