Sex Club for Nerds and Gees

Pete breezed into the apartment around seven. His tan and smile told me all I needed to know about how his spring break had gone. As he unloaded his backpack he gave me a rundown of his two weeks.

“Everything they say about spring break in Florida is true!” he gushed. “There are endless parties, food, swimming, and wall-to-wall willing girls. And there are bins of condoms, all sizes, all colors, all flavors. The pressure is to use them, every time.”

“So you met a lot of girls?”

“Weeeeeeeeeell, not reeeeeeeeeally,” he stretched it out.

“Oh?”

“Actually, I met two girls. There was Marcia, who introduced me to Suzi. After the second day Suzi and I were inseparable.

“She’s fabulous! We like the same music, the same politics, even the same sports teams. And we don’t like the wild parties, the drinking, and the drugs. Here,” he said, whipping out his cell and flipping to the photos.

She had brown hair to her shoulders, a t-shirt tight in all the right places, big black-framed glasses, a wide wonderful smile, and a twinkle that suggested she was posing for the camera and liked it. Pete flipped to the second photo, which showed her in an apron in a kitchen; to the third, which showed her in a bikini which did not leave a lot to the imagination; and to a fourth, which showed her stark naked, full frontal, with a huge grin.

“Ooops! Went too far,” he blushed and flipped back to number three.

“So we just, well, lived together. For eleven days. And I’m in love.”

“Congratulations!”

“You know I don’t like to cook, right? Well, she and her roommate had rented a place with a small kitchen. After the second day, when Suzi and I decided we wanted to stay together, her roommate offered to take my room and I moved in with Suzi. We ate out but that got expensive. So we bought some groceries and said we’d share the cooking. Secretly I figured I was so bad that she’d take over. Turned out, she was worse than me! We wouldn’t have starved, but cold scrambled eggs for breakfast and overdone scrambled eggs for dinner was no good, either.

“We went to one of the hotels that offered a free wine-and-cheese tasting. Afterward we heard about a four-day cooking class they were starting the next day, and we signed up.

“There were ten of us, two couples and six singles. Three of the singles were older guys, in their mid-twenties, probably reliving their youth.

“The class was in the morning, for three hours. We learned to make all kinds of omelets, grill fish and meat, make sauces and salads from scratch, and pair wines with the meals. We got to the point we thought we were good enough to have a party and invited Marcia and her boyfriend, Suzi’s roommate and her boyfriend, and another couple we met.

“We made dinner for eight in a small motel room with a lame kitchen. And it was a blast! We spent the rest of our time fucking, swimming, and pestering restaurant owners about all sorts of foody things. Since they were usually the chefs as well, we learned a lot.”

“AND you’re in love?” I asked, returning to the original subject.

“Oh yeah. After a while, frankly, the club gets, well, repetitive. That’s why I went to Florida, for some variety. Fucking is in the air there! And so is pressure to use condoms. God how I hate condoms! We used them, of course, but then we saw an ad for 3-day results on an STD test. By Monday our results were back, both negative, so we went bareback the rest of the time.”

“So you’re in love?” I prompted, again.

“She is soooo loving! I don’t just mean the sex, which was great. But we just care about each other and what we can do together, outside bed.

“Carl, she’s going to transfer here next year. We’re going to get an apartment and live together.”

“You don’t waste any time, do you?” I teased.

“My parents met in Florida on spring break in 1983. Dad transferred to mom’s school and they got married the year after they graduated. This may not work out, but I’m gonna take the chance.”

Pete was finished unpacking so we popped a couple of Sprites and sat at the kitchen table.

“Don’t you want to keep this apartment?” I asked.

“We won’t need this much space. If I start looking now, I’ll find something that we can take for the fall. There is always turnover as people graduate and the graduate students move on.”

My head was whirling. “I like this place. Can I take it over?”

“Sure. My advice is, starting advertizing soon, that way you’ll get it over with and have the best chance for a good roommate.”

Is the university listing service the way to go?”

“Yes, it really got responses. I interviewed four guys. You were the best fit for my style and the club.”

“The club? Why worry about the club?”

“Because there is always turnover and the club keeps going only if we have new members. We lose between fifteen and twenty members every year. Didn’t you notice? Well, probably not, you were too busy settling in, but there have been eight new members since New Year’s, besides yourself. Cindy is one of them, but there are also three female graduate students; a female sophomore; and three guys, a freshman, a sophomore, and a graduate student. The mix keeps changing, but we have to fill the vacancies. Otherwise, the club will collapse and fifty people won’t be getting laid.”

Pete sat up in his chair. “Hey, I’m sorry, this has been pretty one-sided. Tell me how

your

spring vacation was.”

I gave Pete a rundown on Cindy, our working together, and what I took to be our breakup.

“The girls don’t usually get into the club for long-term relationships,” Pete mused. “No one really does, but especially with the girls, they’re usually focused on something else: careers, interests — like Karen, she’s a classic! — but not the white picket fence and two-point-five kids. It’s our biggest selling point for women, that they can have an active sex life without the pressure to get committed to anyone.

“For the guys, it’s easier in a way. You and I, we were virgins, we wanted to get laid and the club made it happen. I probably would have been a virgin till I was forty, the way I was going. Once I understood that I was attractive, I was on my way. But, as I’ve gotten bolder, I find I like the chase.”

“You take this seriously,” I said.

“Well, yes. Ruth — Mrs. McGowen — encourages everyone to look for possible members. I’ve brought in three this year, not counting you: my freshman-year roommate, his roommate, and a guy one of the girls was dating before she joined the club. Margery’s good at it too, but most of the members can’t be bothered. It’s a struggle, frankly.”

We sat in silence for few minutes, then Pete brightened. “Did you sign up for any dates this week?” I told him Wednesday and Friday.

“Any more available?”

“There were when I left,” I said, then realized where he was going. “Hey, wait! You’re in love! You can’t —”

“I’m in love but she’s not here. We agreed that we would pick up where we left off when she arrives here in the fall. How else can we live? I’ll call Ruth and see if we can come over. C’mon, you haven’t seen her outside her role as den mother.”

*

Over chicken francese, Ruth McGowen explained how the club came about.

“I graduated from here sixteen years ago and married my sweetheart that summer. He was two years older, already an assistant lecturer in his department, and within three years he was on track for a tenured position. So we bought this house. At the time it was a wreck. Several undergraduate and graduate students worked for us for almost two years to restore and update the place. It was a magical time for us! We became very close to them and took several in as boarders.

“At my job in the library’s reserve desk, I’d see a lot of kids. So many of them just burrowed into their books, all they did was study. They’d chat with me, the boys and the girls, but they didn’t seem to have any social life. It made me sad.

“So I thought, ‘why not do a little matchmaking?’ We started with Saturday night pot-luck dinners, then added springtime picnics. The matchmaking worked pretty well, but there were still kids who weren’t dating. I was surprised at how many of them would unburden themselves to me about being shy, feeling unlovable or dorky, irredeemably nerdy, what have you. It just broke my heart.

“Stuart was killed eight years ago in an automobile wreck. I was destroyed, but the kids were so supportive. There must have been forty of them, those who had graduated and those who were still here. They became my family. They got me through it.

“Financially I am more than comfortable. The legal settlement plus the university life insurance paid off the mortgage and construction loans and left me with enough that I make almost what an associate professor does. I still work at the library but do legal research for appellate lawyers in all sorts of civil litigation on a part-time basis.

“The pot-lucks were my anchor. They became bigger and bigger. Gradually I realized that the matchmaking should get more organized. At first I was afraid I would scare girls away if I was too up-front about it, but the ones I confided in convinced me that they would be very receptive, so I set up the board on the kitchen wall.

“It’s evolved now to a membership of fifty, give or take. Roughly 28 girls and 21 guys. I’ve gotten firmer in the rules, particularly about STD tests and dating only within the membership.”

“I was one of those reading-room trolls,” Pete said quietly. “You were so kind to me. You listened and listened. Then you invited me to one of the pot-lucks. At first I resisted, but you were persistent. ‘Just bring a six-pack of Sprite,’ you said.

“You had me pass stuff around and put me on the clean-up crew. And you would talk to me for hours about my hopes and my fears.”

Ruth smiled. “That’s the way it works. My job is to bring you out of your shell, help you see that you have value to others and that you can take something from the group for yourself.”

“Nobody’s ever mentioned these pot-lucks to me. Aren’t you doing them anymore?” I asked.

“They’re a lot of work,” Ruth sighed. “Last spring I decided I just couldn’t keep it up. So I switched to the Sunday afternoon soirees. But I think things have gotten a little too mechanical, frankly, and I do miss the pot-lucks. There just isn’t anyone who wants to take them on.”

“Pete said there’s a drop-out problem. Why is it so hard to find members? If you’d advertized you’d have gotten me much earlier,” I said.

“Well, maybe not,” Ruth replied, wanly. “What would the ad say? ‘Easy sex, no strings, must pass STD test, call Ruth at 555-1212?’ The first call would be from an undercover agent for the district attorney. No, this is a very private, referral club, just friends and friends-of-friends.

“As it is, I’ve been called into the Provost’s office twice to discuss the club, because someone who was turned down made allegations. We straightened it out and she clued the police and the district attorney in, so they wouldn’t get crazy. That’s where the Dutch treat rule came from. And it’s why I don’t take boarders any more.”

Ruth and I did the dishes as Pete scanned the board. Of the four uncovered tokens only one was for Thursday, the night he was interested in.

“Karen. You mind?”

Why should I? Who she sleeps with and what they do isn’t my business. Besides, they’ve been to bed before. She didn’t talk about any of her previous lovers, she isn’t going to talk about me, right?

“We’ll go to her place if you want.”

“No need. I’ll be in the library or my room sorting photos. No problem.”

*

My Wednesday date was with Pat, an archaeology major who was graduating and heading off to Crete. Of all the girls in the club, she was by far the most vivacious. Her laugh was infectious and she used it to get others to laugh too.

I ran into her on Monday, in the union. “Any preference for dinner?” I asked.

“You’re not into fast food, I hope. This place is calorie city. How about going into town?”

“I’ve been here almost two years and only recently did it occur to me to eat in town,” I admitted. “I’ve been to the Indian place but I’m game for something new. You know some place you like?”

“There’s a French-Canadian place not too far away. Nah, the frog’s legs are squishy.” She laughed at the thought. “Let’s each do a little research. We’ll write the names of two places we might like on slips of paper, and we’ll draw.”

So we ate Mexican, just around the corner from her apartment. She knew the owner, the waiters, the cooks, and the bartender. Every time she introduced me to one of them they smiled knowingly. By eight we had finished and I knew enough about horizontal, vertical, and keyhole excavation techniques, strata preservation strategies, and pottery age estimating to teach a freshman course.

The owner wanted to pay for our dinner but we both declined, insisting on paying our half the check.

Afterward she showed me around her part of town. It was a warm night, the kind that hints it will be spring soon but you’re skeptical since there are piles of dirty snow everywhere.

By nine we were in her apartment. Her roommate, Mark, was a graduate assistant in a sociology class I took freshman year. “Yeah, that’s my field. Did you get a good grade?”

“ ‘A’ but I’m not sure I deserved it,” I said. “My paper was thin.”

“You probably skated on your good looks,” he sniggered and I winced.

“See ya, Mark,” said Pat as she guided me down the hall to her bedroom.

“Mark’s a terrific roommate,” Pat apologized. “He’s gay but sometimes his sense of humor can make guys uncomfortable.” Her room was surprisingly large, with a small love seat and several large bookcases. We’d shed our shoes as soon as we entered the apartment and now we reached for each other.

Her lips were soft, her tongue demanding. She grabbed my ass and pulled me tight to her, wanting my cock hard against her. I obliged and found myself wanting to take everything between us away, right away. My hands went inside her jeans to snag her ass even as her tongue engaged mine into a fierce battle. She was pulling my shirt out of my pants as we broke for air.

“Good!” she puffed, “I want it fast!”

I was on her zipper quickly and had her jeans and panties down fast. I lapped at her curly mound on my way north to her chest, which held two different-sized breasts, the right one slightly smaller than the left. Freckles extended from her shoulders almost to these breasts, which were pale with already-pointy nipples.

She was on my belt and zipper like a tiger. Pop, zip, thumbs inside, slide, cock out and bobbing. “Mmmmm, nice,” she said approvingly as she cupped my balls. Drawing her hand up and over my cockhead, she gave it a slight squeeze, then helped me finish my shirt.

Brushing past me to the bed, Pat pulled the covers down and fell onto her back, extending her arms and spreading her legs. I was right behind her but slid further and pulled her to my side. My cockhead was millimeters from her opening.

I reached for her and took the nipple of the smaller breast into my mouth. I sucked it, nipped it once or twice to good effect, and felt her push against my face even as she stroked my hair and moved her hands down my side to my haunch.

“Ride me baby, I’m ready, I’m hot,” she panted. I licked my fingers and swabbed my cock, then rose into position and one-stroked into her. Her hips collided with mine and we were thrashing. In and out I pistoned, up and down she humped.

“Oh yes, so good, push it in me, I’ll cum, you cum, fuck yes! Yes! Oh YESSS!” and her pussy muscles contracted in orgasm around me as I zoomed to my own climax.

We collapsed into a sweaty pile of heavy breathing. I kissed her face and felt her pussy muscles trying to milk me. I stayed hard longer than I ever remembered, but eventually I got soft and slid out.

“You’re a cocksman, Carl,” she purred, “a real sprinter. God that was good.”

As I got my breathing back to normal, I turned to her and idly began stroking her larger breast, trying not to touch the flesh but letting the charge in the air do the work. After ten or fifteen minutes she began to respond and pulled me onto her. I straddled her and began kissing her chest, trying to place my mouth on each freckle. I felt my flaccid cock ooze the last drops of cum onto her belly.

“You up for some more?” she said. In response I took a deep breath and blew into her navel. The loud “blaaaat!” set us both off, laughing.

“Does your ass have freckles, too?” I asked.

“See for yourself,” she said and, as I released her, she rolled onto her belly and pushed her ass into my face.

I kissed all around both cheeks. “I’m here to report: no freckles, ma’m, just two alluring orbs calling out to me.”

“And what’re they saying?”

“ ‘Fuck us, fuck us now, we’re waiting,’ ” I intoned in as high-pitched voice as I could. “I think that’s what I heard. Isn’t that what the Sirens sang?”

“Smartass! There were three Sirens and they sang to lure men to their doom.”

“Whoops! Bad analogy, then, ’cause these are round and pink and sending out offers of pleasure, not destruction.” I’d read a bit of classical literature and commentary in high school but must have missed this part.

“Try me then,” she said. I shuffled into position behind her and plugged her opening with my cock, just drying from its last adventure in her. I started slow, stroking deeply into her pussy and retreating almost completely out on the back stroke. She wiggled against me and I reached for her clit to see what would happen.

“Oh god that’s nice, do both, soooo nice, you are sooooo nice,” she murmured encouragingly as I sat back on my heels. I wanted to last as long as I could, so I slid in deep and laid my face on her back.

Her clit was aroused and I wanted to get my tongue on it, but that was an anatomical impossibility. I could feel it growing, though, so I slobbed my thumb and forefinger and worked it slowly.

“Start up again,” she said softly. My hips moved maybe two inches back, then returned to their original position tight against her ass. “More, do more, please, it’s so nice to feel you moving in me,” she purred.

I’ve never deliberately held off this long. She seems to like my extending it. When’s she going to orgasm? I’m getting a little tired in this position. Maybe I should speed up, but I don’t feel the need to cum right now. What does she want?

“You’re thinking! I can feel you starting to get soft. STAY HARD!” and she lifted her hips and swung her ass around to stimulate me.

Snapped out of my reverie, I began sliding my cock in and out. It was true, I had gotten semi-soft. “You have to help me, Pat, I just got mellow being quiet in your pussy.”

“Then roll over, I’ll ride you,” she said authoritatively. I pulled out and flopped on my back as she straddled me. While not flaccid, my cock did droop and I was embarrassed.

This has never happened to me before! How could I go soft when I’m in her pussy? I’m fucking! This isn’t normal! God I hope she doesn’t think I don’t like fucking her.

“C’mon man, get hard,” she commanded as she slapped my cock against my thigh. Not getting the cooperation she wanted, she slid down and took it in her mouth and began pumping me with her hands and sucking me.

As the realization sunk in that it was no use, she gave up and laid her head on my chest. As I stroked her hair, my shame overwhelmed me, but I knew I had to say something.

“Pat, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what’s happened.”

“I’m puzzled too,” she said. “That first go-round was really good! Let’s wait a little bit and see if things get back to normal.” She got up and pulled on her robe, then strode out to the bathroom. When she came back it was with a warm washcloth to clean me and the bed. We spooned and she draped her arm across my hip, barely brushing my cockhead.