Is this the right door? It looks like the right door. What am I saying, they're all the same, bloody brown colour and ugly handles. What kind of a half arse nitwit uses Roman and Arabic numerals, and occasional letters on doors in the same building, on the same floor?
Sod this maze and sod this conference! You should go, John, networking is good for your research, John. Mingle, meet other professors, your matrix models in financial risk assessment and emerging markets fixed income indices need recognition. What you models need is you in front of the computer for a month, without any distractions!
And also, were they pissed when they were drawing the campus map? Sod it, let's hope this is the right door. You push the door, and it becomes obvious that it is definitely not the Morning Bleeding Panel of the Third Bloody International Economics Conference. The auditorium is large, packed with students, and at the bottom of the amphitheatre a lecturer is sitting on her desk. Is she sitting on her desk with her legs crossed?!
You feel like an arse, and start backing up. "Well, succumb to the gravity already!" Her voice is clear and commanding, and you plop your arse on the nearest bench. All students turn to look at you with a loud rustling sound running through the auditorium. The girl sitting next to you gives you a disdainful glare. Man up, John!
The professor returns to her lecture. Why did you sit? The escape route was just there, how old are you, dimwit? Her voice is energetic, ringing through the room, and you gather it is some feminist, manhate filled, English literature crap. You look around, most of the students are indeed girls in glasses, with an occasional bloke with ridiculous hair. Blimey, you just had to get into this aggro!
She is quite a looker though. Unruly flaming curls gathered in a messy something on her head, two long pins sticking out. Are those pencils?! The calves of the crossed legs are toned, breasts perky. What the bloody hell is wrong with you? Did you just imagine running your palms over those legs?! She is pretty far away, you can't even see her properly, deprived perv.
She jumps off the table and you understand that she is tiny. She will hardly reach your shoulder. Small but curvy. A jumper goes down mid thigh, but you can see enough to know there are hips, and a delectable round bum.
She is pacing in the front of the auditorium, gesturing energetically. Her small hands are flying in front of her, fingers splayed and motioning some round forms in the air. "Initially, she wanted to name her novel after the main heroine, as she did in Mary Barton but Dickens, a chauvinistic arse as he was, God rest his soul, insisted on a title that would emphasize the geographical and cultural difference between the two regions, and consequently the two characters, which gave the male character equal footing to Margaret. Never a woman on top obviously!…" The class laughs, and she pushes a red curl off her face. "Lord David Cecil in his assessment of the novel in Early Victorian Novelists in 1934 states that she was "all woman" who "makes a creditable effort to overcome her natural deficiencies but all in vain"". She lifts a brow and the class laughs again. "Deficiencies, my ass!" You look at her in shock.
She keeps talking, pacing, her whole body moving in a mesmerizing rhythm. You can see it is a body of a dancer, you dated that crazy bird from Liverpool, you remember the signs. Her hands, face, shoulders, curls and hips are lecturing too, and her passion is pulling you into what she is trying to tell, and you are actually listening to the lecture. She is all fire and snark, but there is no manhate. She is sarcastic and observant, and you feel that yes, the character of the novel you vaguely remember from school program, "though dreamy, is a man like any other with flaws and a tender heart."
The lecture ends and students clap. You join in, and she bows to the audience, laughing. "Get out, get some fresh air, make out with random strangers, you are still young!" She motions them out. "Next week I'm expecting rough drafts of your term papers or pathetic excuses for why you cannot hand them in!" The leaving students laugh again.
You get up and to your own disbelief you start walking down the stairs between the rows of benches. The female students in square plastic glasses give you disapproving looks. Yes, that is a beard and long hair. I'm that chauvinistic tosser of a manpig that you all hate some much! Just let me pass, would you? What is wrong with uni chicks these days?!
The professor is picking up her stuff from the desk. You are still trying to get down, and see her dropping first the pen, then a notebook. She picks them up and drops her phone. It slides under the desk, and she bends down with an exasperated "Oh fiddlesticks!". You admire the backside and then think, "Fiddlesticks?" Your crazy aunt Tessa still says it but she is 90.
You come up to her while she is inspecting the phone. You cough, and she lifts enormous hazel eyes at you. She is also wearing the stupid plastic Grandpa glasses, but they are hot on her. You notice the freckles sprinkled on the nose and cheekbones. Common, John, don't budge it!
"Hey..." Brilliant beginning. Aren't you smooth today, John! She blinks and then smiles. "Hey you too!" You stretch your hand out. "John Thorington, University of Manchester". She shakes your hand. "Wren Leary, shortbread biscuits connoisseur." It is your turn to blink like a dimwit. Not that she blinked like a dimwit! It was actually cute! Did you just mentally use the word "cute"? She shrugs, "I thought we are exchanging honorifics."
Your mind is blank. There are couple of daft arse pick up lines floating there but in general it is just void. Something like "Then you should have said, "Wren Leary, the gorgeous."" Oh, just end yourself now!
She takes pity of you and smiles, "Judging by the attire," she motions at your leather jacket, "you are not in the English literature there, in the University of Manchester." "Economics and Computer Science." "Uh-huh," she is fixing the glasses on her nose. Those are actually pencils in her hair. "So what brought you to my lecture, John? Or did you go into a wrong door?" Blimey. She starts laughing. "Seriously? What are you, five? You couldn't excuse yourself and leave?" Her laughter is contagious and very sexy. "You have a commanding voice!"
She pushes your back into the door of her office and grabs you around your neck. She pulls your head down, and you are kissing her, your head spinning, all your skin burning. How did you get from walking through campus and chatting, well, all right, shamelessly flirting, to her greedy little hands pushing your leather jacket off your shoulders? You grab the bottom hem of her jumper and pull it off. Fuck, those are hell of beautiful breasts! Perky, round, perfect size for your hands, and the red lacy bra is a pleasant surprise! You are groping each other and move away from the door.
She jumps away from you and darts back to the door. What?! You feel completely drunk. She locks the door, dashes to a shelf near a wall and start rummaging through a box on it. You are standing in the middle of her office, like a complete pillock, staring at her. She fishes a condom out of it and pounces at you. You shake off the stupour and grab her. You spin you two around and prop her on her desk, pushing some papers off to the floor.
"Those are ungraded papers, you barmpot!' She is laughing and pulls off your tee. What a hell is going on? You are completely dazed, her hot lips and surprisingly strong palms all over your chest and shoulders. You go into sensitive overload. But then her hand cups her erection, and you leap into action. You suck on her neck and ear and unclasp her bra. The jeans buttons go next, and her hot palm encircles your shaft. Fucking fuck! She is biting your shoulder and suddenly pushes you away. You are blinking and staring into her giant eyes, still covered with the glasses.
"So you know, I've never done that before, the condom is from that safe sex event they had on campus, and I only dated three guys in my life." All you can do is nod and hope she doesn't change her mind. "You are just so..." She waves her hands in front of your face and suddenly grabbing a handful of your hair she presses her mouth to yours again.
That does it! Brain off, libido on! You grab the waist of her denim and knickers, she supports her weight on her hands, lifts her bum, and the clothes are on the floor. On the way they apparently drag off her shoes with them, judging by two thuds on the floor. You press kisses to the tops of her breasts, she drops her head back. Then her ribs, she giggles from the beard, then her stomach, then her thighs and knees and she spreads her legs wider. You are kneeling and see a pair of happy pink socks with yellow polka-dots on her tiny feet. You chuckle, and she slightly kicks your shoulder.
You shift your attention to her hot center in front of you, dark curls wet and glistening, but she grabs your ears and pulls you up, gently but decisively. You get up again and she grabs the square package wrapper. "I'm clean though," she says pointedly. "Me too," you choke on your words as she is rolling a condom out onto your cock. She pushes your jeans all the way down to your knees and wraps her legs around you waist. You catch her mouth and push in her.
She is super tight, and it feels divine. She is clenching her inner walls and making soft mewling noises. You start thrusting, gentle at first, but quickly picking up speed, since the encouraging pushes of her calves on your arse and her nails digging into your shoulders are sort of hard to misinterpret. You are just starting to feel the pressure pooling in your stomach, when she bites into your shoulder and comes. She is panting and pressing her forehead into your neck, and a sudden feeling of tenderness floods you. What the fuck is with you and this girl, John?
It is quickly forgotten since she pushes her hips into you again, and you start thrusting into her still quivering walls, and then the world shatters, fireworks, stars and shit. More like a nuclear bomb explodes in your brain, and everything around is white and hot.
You two are panting, her naked bum is on the table, your arse is cooling in the air of her office. She comes to her senses first and looks at you. She is gorgeous, the pencils lost at some point, orange halo of curls, giant hazel eyes behind the stupid, sexy glasses, and an adorable blush on her cheeks. "I'm sorry, that was uncalled for," she mumbles, and you start laughing. "That is the weirdest thing anybody said to me after a shag." She chews her lip and say, "Seriously, I don't know what came over me."
You kiss her again, this time it is your turn to do it right. "I have never done it before either, I have had five serious relationships. I'm single and clean. Will you have dinner with me?" She guffaws. Have you mentioned you just love her laughter? "It sounds very nice, except I can hardly take you seriously since your cock is still in me." "It likes it there," she smacks your shoulder. "I don't like Chinese, the rest is fine." "Deal," and you kiss her again. Best conference ever!