Peter and Millie were swimming in the lake, and Retta was showering. Millie was naked, and kept playing with his boner and trying to distract him, but Retta could see that he was sneaking glances at her.
Wow, thought Retta. He really likes me. She let the shampoo soak into her hair, and spent a long time slowly washing her pussy and ass, and her breasts. They didn't need all that cleaning, but Peter certainly liked it. His penis was rock-hard and twitching. She washed Trudy, too. Peter also liked that.
Millie's gonna fuck Peter, thought Retta. First chance she gets. I can't complain - I am showering off other men's come, after all. I don't mind if Peter has some fun with my friends.
But then she started to worry. She was really gullible, and no matter how she tried, she always seemed to get tricked into fucking random men. How was she going to have a boyfriend, especially one like him? He was a lot older than her - he was like a real adult. He was in great shape, but his hairline was a bit high, and there was a little grey on his temples and in his chest hair. He wasn't going to have time for a twitty girl who got buttfucked by kids she barely knew.
As Retta scrubbed the last of Frank's semen out of her hair, she thought: Peter is the sweetest man I ever met - the only one who didn't just want to fuck me and run off. I need to keep him. I need to get more smart.
She borrowed a little dress from Trudy and ran off down the sidewalk. It was pretty short, but she was in too much of a hurry to complain. Retta was on her way to college.
*
Trudy sighed. "So nobody's going to tell her that's actually a shirt?"
*
The college was in a big wooden building with a front porch that extended across the front. The sign read:
GENERAL COLLEGE.
Dry classes and sundry.
All sorts of useful knowledge imparted.
Saloon and hot bath for extra charge.
Dr. Wm. G. Buttzfuchte, proprietor.
A pair of old men were sitting in rocking chairs on the porch, drinking from a jug marked with an "X". Retta figured they were probably professors, so she smoothed back her hair to look more respectable. When she climbed up on the porch, one of them said, "Excuse me, miss, but you dropped something."
"Really?"
"It's just over there to your right."
She bent over and looked. "That's so strange," she said. "I wasn't even carrying anything." When she straightened up, she saw the two men grinning. Oh, right, she thought. This dress is way too short and I'm not wearing panties. I am so stupid. But that's what I'm here to fix, right?
She went in. Behind the front desk was a tall young man with dark hair. He greeted her with a "May I help you?" His eyes drifted downward, checking her out, like everyone did.
"My name is Henrietta Bergson. I need to get more smart."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm not smart. I'm gullible, and men are always using me. You can fix that, can't you?"
The man behind the counter had been staring at her breasts the entire time. "Oh, sure," he said. "We have a wide range of course offerings." He slapped a pamphlet on the counter.
"Great," said Retta. "You also teach classes, right?"
"I just said - you know what, you just bend over a little bit more and look at this pamphlet."
Retta sighed. For a smart person in a college, he was not doing a good job of hiding the fact that he was looking down her dress.
"Let me tell you about our calendar," said the man. He pointed to the pamphlet. "You can see here, we teach chemistry."
"I should study that. Peter and I have lots of chemistry."
"Then there's biology, and all the branches of physics: mechanics, thermodynamics, quantum physics, microphysics, nanophysics, biophysics, metaphysics, physic, and phys. ed."
"I've done mechanics," said Retta. "I like them. It takes them forever to come and there are always extra parts involved. But I think I want to learn some science. Do you teach science?"
The man sighed. "You might be better suited to the liberal arts. Or if you prefer, the conservative arts."
"What's the difference?"
"Liberal arts is mostly French and taking offense. Conservative arts is shooting guns and rimming out rich white men."
"I'm good at shooting," said Retta. "I was at the fair once and I went to the sharpshooting booth and on my first try I hit the secret lower-left corner target. Instead of a stuffed animal my prize was a threesome with the carnie and his friend - ohhhhh." She groaned and slumped on the counter. "I am so, so stupid." One strap of her dress came off her shoulder, and her nipple peeked out.
The man at the counter licked his lips. "If you don't like either of those," he said, "there's independent studies."
"What's that?"
"Two hours a day of masturbation."
"I pretty much already do that."
"And I," said the man, "will be doing some homework as soon as you leave." Retta pulled her dress strap back up. He went on, "We also offer courses in the social sciences: cunnilinguistics, sociopathy, misanthropology, history, hertory, and itstory."
"What's the difference between those last ones?"
He rolled his eyes. "It depends on whose tory it is. Obviously. And we teach math and maths. Maths is the British version."
