Helen:And you hate it?
Me:Hate what you’re wearing at work, but I’m not saying anything because I get why you do.
Helen:You don’t have to say anything for me to hear it, even in your texts. I’m glad you get it. That makes me like you.
Me:You like me anyway.
Helen:You have your moments, Theodore. What are you doing?
Me:I was trying to cram sociology into my unwilling head. Now I’m waiting for you to get off work so I can cram my cock in your pretty pussy.
Helen:Bahahahahahaha…dude. You just screwed up my mascara, I laughed so hard. Please never cram your cock anywhere near me.
Laughing, I fell back on the bed. This girl got to me. She knew how to flip the switch and turn my mood around. That worked in the other direction too, but tonight, she was using her powers for good instead of evil.
Me:Cram is bad?
Helen:Absolutely. Thrust, drive, grind, slide, all good words. Cram = no.
Me:Then what if I say I can’t wait to put your pretty, soaking pussy on my dick tonight? Does that work for you?
Helen:Yeah, that works for me. I can’t wait for that too. But I need you to do me a favor, Theodore.
Me:Tell me.
Helen:If you want this pussy, I need you to study hard. So hard, it hurts. Fill that big brain with facts, then you can fill my pussy with cum. Stuff it, baby. And while I’m riding you, you can whisper dirty, sociology words in my ear...
Me:Ethnomethodology.
Helen:Oh yeah, keep going, I’m going to be ready for you.
Me:Groupthink.
Helen:My favorite kind of think. So kinky. More, Theodore!
Me:Matrilocality.
Helen:Yes!
Me:Neocolonialism.
Helen:I’m close...omg…
Me:Patrilocality.
Helen:Yes, give it to me.
Me:Conflict theory.
Helen:Oooh, yeah, you filthy, dirty man.
Me:How does everything you do make me hard? Care to explain it?
Helen:I’m sure there’s some sociological term for it. I hate to end our study/sexting session, but I need to get out on the floor before my boss’s head explodes. See you later. xoxo
Me:I’ll be there, baby. xxx.
Tossing my phone aside, I picked up my textbook, grinning to myself as I read through the passages that had been putting me to sleep earlier. I’d never look at sociology the same. And if I got to fuck Helen every time I studied, I was going to ace this class.
My levity slowly crashed as the hours ticked by, waiting for Helen. The thorny blanket of reality that Andrew Whitlock had created for me once again settled over me. This was only the beginning. I wouldn’t have a choice the next time he made demands of me. Not until I was out of school.
I had to grab hold of what I had for as long as I could. Because when Dear Father decided to pull the rug out from under me again, I’d have no option but to let go.