“Schmidt.”
He scowled. “It’s Swanson. Do you have this hard of a time remembering the names of all the guys who fuck you?”
“Sorry, Swanson. What can I do for you?” He marveled anew that nothing in her manner suggested she was put off by what he’d done to her, just like it was any other day.
“I know I already earned my A for the semester and all, but still. You gave me a zero for plagiarism. I didn’t plagiarize. I came to your office and you said it was fine.” He showed her the essay.
She looked it over. “Oh. I see, honest mistake. I remembered talking to you about it, but I thought your name was Schmidt. So when I saw Swanson at the top, I thought you had cheated off of Schmidt.” She shrugged. “Sorry, honest mistake.” She handed him back his paper, and he just laughed. For a moment, he’d actually thought that there was some loophole in the tolerance that let her punish him for his writing—but it turned out she had actually been trying to protect him!
And then the question that had been burgeoning beneath the surface of his mind these past days sprang to the top. What can’t I do?
“Oh. Glad to know I didn’t actually fail on my merit.” He looked around for something to help wipe her face clean.
“Oh? No, you still deserved to fail. Just not for plagiarism. I told you that was a bad topic choice. Not that it matters now, with your A.”
He froze. “You know, just when I thought you might be a decent person… Well, you know what I think is a bad choice? That outfit. In fact as of now, I’m changing your dress code. Every class meeting, you’re to show up in something nice and slutty. Nothing lower than here,” he put a finger on her thigh about two inches below her pussy, “and nothing higher than here,” he said, drawing a line with his finger just above her nipples, “unless it also reveals a hell of a lot of cleavage.”
“You can’t tell me how to dress, Swanson.” She folded her arms across her chest, but it looked more sulky than defiant.
Two hours later, the two stepped out of Ink, Inc., a local tattoo parlor. Missy walked delicately, the fresh brand on her lower back still burning. “Now, you’ll adhere to my dress code, or I’ll bring you back here after class Wednesday and get something a hell of a lot worse. You get me, Missy?”
She nodded. “I get you. I’m sorry. You didn’t have to do this you know. I would’ve worn the outfit like you said.”
He shrugged. “Yeah, we’ve some things you just have to put up with. And Missy? Add to the dress code that whatever you wear has to show off your new tat.”
She hung her head low as DJ lifted her sweater to reveal her lower back where the words “Bitch From Hell” were written, stylized flames coming out of the letters. Expressive typography indeed.
DJ had her drop him off outside his dorm, giving her a long farewell kiss and squeeze on her tits before he got out of the car. It was a bright fall day. All around him, college girls were taken advantage of the last warm days of the year to don their skimpy summer clothes. It was a shmorgasbord—and the only thing keeping him on his diet was a nagging little whisper that called itself Conscience.
But even louder was that other voice. What can’t I do?
Chapter Five
By the time DJ left the police station, his conscience was clear.
Not that he’d been arrested, mind you—far from it. He’d gone in and asked—well, demanded—to speak to a detective, and once he’d been put in touch with one, he’d explained everything he’d done to Dr. Missy, in torrid detail.
“So, did I commit any crimes?”
The detective considered. “Certainly several counts of public indecency, though that could be argued it was instructional—a professor inviting a student on stage to do it and all—which would make it her crime, not yours.”
“So I didn’t rape her?”
The older man shook his head. “No, son, it sure doesn’t sound like any rape I ever heard tell of. Both adults, both consented to the act before and during. Ain’t a crime to not give a lady a good time—just bad manners. Quicker though, eh?” He nudged DJ with gentle bro-ish camaraderie.
And that was good enough for him. After all, everyone had consented to everything he’d done. Kelsey had seemed to resist a bit more, but he wondered if her trying to ditch him in the parking lot had just been part of the foreplay—she’d certainly been wet and ready by the time he got her pants off.
That evening, he made a To-Do list, resisting the urge, for now, to include people’s names, and went to bed early to rest from his wild romp with his professor and to prepare for the big day ahead. First on the list was transportation. He really did like walking around campus, but the weather didn’t always cooperate, and it would be good for getting around town, save his step-mom from having to pick him up for fall break on Friday.
DJ had done a little research, and got himself a nice sensible hybrid—no need for anything flashy, and he liked to be eco-minded when he could afford to be. He had the owner of the dealership transfer the deed to his name and told the woman to take care of the payments herself. After stopping by the BMV (even cutting to the front of the line, it was slow going there) to take care of all the legalese, since he didn’t know if cops would pull him over for plates or the like but he didn’t feel like dealing with the hassle, he ordered a personalized license plate reading “TOLR8ME.” He smiled as he screwed it into place.
Next, he stopped by the duty office and explained to the residence manager that he’d no long be doing the various parts of his job he didn’t feel like doing—mailroom duty, meetings and so on—and switched around the duty schedule to leave him free all weekends, and all his weekday shifts he was partnered with either Emily or Abby. Abby was one of those girls who never got tired of looking for excuses to bring her politics to bear at every possible opening, but she was still pretty hot and word had it that she was a tigress in bed. (This last came from complaints from her next-door neighbors, who had no recourse but to put up with their noisy RA’s sexcapades.)
While breaking from his checklist for lunch, DJ was eating alone as usual, reflecting how strange it was to be so influential and yet still not be popular. Then, suddenly, he wasn’t alone. Ashley Vandoren sat down across from him, as casually as if she did this every day. He stared, dumb-founded; their last interaction had gone well, but hardly seemed to qualify him as a friend. He’d never had a friend as hot as Ashley, and certainly not one with such amazing tits.
“Um, hi Ashley.” His voice almost broke. For all his recent luck with the ladies, his inner geek still ruled his instincts in social interactions.
“Hey, Deej. You don’t mind if I sit here, do you.” She didn’t even bother to put it as a question. Of course no guy would mind if she sat with them. He managed a monosyllabic response as if it had been one, though.
“So I hear you’ve been busy.” She took a bite of her burrito nonchalantly.
He had a strange feeling like he was on the cusp of an interrogation. “I guess… what’d you hear, exactly?”
“Well, for starters I heard you made Dr. Restrepo give you a blowjob during lecture and then fucked her brains out behind the podium after.” She grinned.
“What? Who’d you hear that from?” Up until now, it hadn’t struck him like his misadventures had occasioned gossip.
“A friend of mine’s in that class. She only brought it up because she knows I used to have that big grudge against you. So is it true?”
DJ nodded slowly, nervous about this line of questioning. “More or less. The podium sort of fell out of the way during the, um, sex part.”