The odds against an American child growing up to be an NFL Quarterback or Victoria Secret model are on the order of 20 million to one. Most of us live at the median of the bell curve of human possibilities. Average looks. Average physique. Average intelligence. Average motivation. Average sex appeal.
Not me. I belong to a subgroup that is blessed----or cursed, depending on your perspective--with above average intelligence and academic motivation. But being brainy has it's price. In my case, it means below average looks, sub par social skills, and a complete absence of sex appeal.
I am, in short, a nerd. And like most flocks of a feather, nerds tend to stick together. So when I arrived in Prague for a semester of foreign study, I looked for someone else who didn't party, didn't date, and didn't waste time hanging out in pubs.
That's how I found Sarah.
The main thing we share is the compulsion to study. Classes, labs and studio sessions during the day, reading assignments and lecture note reviews at night. For a while, we'd meet after dinner in the Charles University Library, but Sarah's dorm room turned out to be more comfortable and convenient.
It didn't take long to realize that while Sarah's behavior conformed to nerd norms, she wasn't entirely like the rest of us. Sure, she kept her hair gathered in a tight bun, seldom wore makeup, hid behind oversized reading glasses, and her wardrobe consisted entirely of loose sweats, khaki pants, oversized sweaters, and L.L. Bean hiking shoes.
As I got to know Sarah better, it became clear that the hair she kept bundled was long, luxurious and blonde. Even without makeup, her lips were full, her eyes were wide and pale blue, and there were strong hints that her body, although carefully obscured, was shapely and lithe. Imagine Emma Watson or, better yet, Emma Stone, in character as a nerd-girl without makeup and wearing frumpy clothes, tortoise frame glasses and hiking boots. That's Sarah.
During study breaks, our conversation invariably turned to course work and aspirations. She dreamed of winning a Fulbright to study Medieval Art at Oxford. I confessed how, although almost certainly bound for law school and a career in corporate contract litigation, I longed to be a video game programmer.
We soon developed a typical Platonic, nerd relationship. Still, the more I listened to Sarah's perfectly modulated voice, the more I wondered if there might be a smoldering, sexually liberated babe under the nerd veneer.
There were clues. Sarah was a gifted artist, and fresh pencil sketches frequently appeared on her walls. With just a few confident strokes Sara could define the essence of almost any object. There were a handful of still life drawings. But most of her sketches were nudes--naked male and female bodies drawn with uncanny precision and shaded in exquisite detail.
While none were overtly sexual, taken together they implied a serious familiarity with the nude bodies of both sexes. Not a typical nerd knowledge set.
Then there was the boyfriend back in Boston. Sarah never actually mentioned him. There was no need, Boston Boyfriend Skyped almost every evening during our study sessions.
If we were nearly finished, I gathered up my notebooks and let myself out with a wave. If we were still working, Sarah would put on her headset and talk for few minutes while I kept out of webcam range. I couldn't avoid hearing her end of the conversation, which typically included promises to log online in a few hour's time. Promises that dripped with very unnerd-like sexual innuendo.
As far as I could tell, Boston Boyfriend didn't know I existed. This omission became an unspoken conspiracy. It also made me wonder what other secrets Sarah might be keeping to herself.
With time, when we studied, Sarah's bulky sweaters and khakis gave way to baggy sweat shirts and pants. There were even rare moments of nerdish flirtation, mainly in the form of deadpan statements about my obvious and persistent state of sexual frustration. My masturbation habits, in particular, were the subject of mild teasing. "You look relaxed tonight, Jason," was a frequent greeting. "You must have gotten some privacy last night."
Shortly after mid-terms, on the way to her dorm, a fellow Warcraft addict dragged me into a pub for some Pilsner and a sausage sandwich. It was almost 10 PM when I finally reached her room. Sarah opened the door glistening in sweat and wearing a faded Jonas Brothers tee shirt and gym shorts. In a single wide-eyed glance, I confirmed that Sarah, indeed, possessed one smoking-hot body.
Sarah's breasts were far higher and fuller than I imagined. Her legs were long and slim. So slim that when she walked, light shone through a narrow V-shaped gap at the top of her inner thighs.
Out of nervousness, I launched into my notes, stealing glances at Sarah's breasts and frequently losing my place as a result. When I finished, Sarah re-positioned herself on the bed, pulling her legs against her chest while reading from a notebook balanced on her knees. I don't think she realized that in this position her gym shorts were stretched drum-tight. Even in the dim light I could make out the shape of her lower lips straining against thin cotton.
I was looking at Sarah so intently, that I didn't notice she had stopped reading.
"Jason," she said with her voice raised to get my attention.
She had a quizzical, bemused expression. "Are you checking out my kitty?"
Talk about a deer caught in the headlights. All I could do was lift my gaze and try to avoiding looking her in the eye.
"You are, aren't you?" It was a rhetorical question and she asked it with a giggle.
"My God, I'm so sorry," I blurted. "I don't know what happened."
I don't usually blush, but I could feel my face turning 40 shades of red.
"Don't worry, I'm actually kinda flattered." Sarah was smiling now. And not just a little grin, but a full smile that radiated good-natured acceptance of my rude behavior. "I didn't know you thought of me that sort of way."
As she spoke, she nodded toward my lower torso. I followed her gaze to the front of my jeans, and my embarrassment compounded exponentially. There, outlined in full relief, was my erect penis.
I was wearing ancient, stonewashed jeans that had seen hundreds, maybe thousands of wash-rinse cycles. They were so soft that the fabric molded to every anatomical contour, leaving little to the imagination.
"Why, Jason," she exclaimed leaning in for a closer view. "You're aren't, are you?"
"Aren't what?" I asked, a little bewildered
"Aren't circumcised."
Despite my humiliation, something amazing was happening. Sarah's eyes shone with fascination as she examined the bulge in my jeans. And that strange, sexy gaze made Sarah look more attractive than any Supermodel, taking my arousal to whole new level. I felt butterflies in my stomach and although I dared not look down at myself again, I knew my cock was twitching visibly.
"It's that obvious?" I asked.
"Oh, yes!" she said, taking a series of short, deep breaths that made her breasts heave. Distended nipples pressed against the fabric on either side of Nick and Kevin's silk-screened faces. "It's just that... that I've never seen an uncircumcised cock before... at least not a hard one. It's very beautiful."
"Really?" It was my turn to be flattered. My Mother, always the militant nonconformist, refused to permit me to be circumcised as an infant, saying I should "be allowed to make up my own mind." Seriously? Show me the juvenile who's going to say, "Sure, bring on the scalpel," and I'll show you an incipient psychopathic misfit.
"Oh, Yes! It's... well... almost classical. Like the 2nd Century statue of Hermes by Lysippos, or Leochares' sculpture of Apollo!"
"Apollo? You're kidding me, right?"
"Not at all. Yours looks bigger, although it's probably an unfair comparison, since in the statue Apollo is, you know, completely relaxed."
"Wow, Sarah. I'm relatively certain that my uncircumcised boner has never been been mentioned in the same sentence with a Greek God before." I was starting to actually feel O.K. about the whole erection thing, and was enjoying the fact that Sarah still hadn't taken her eyes off my twitching cock.
