She was the smartest girl I'd ever dated.
A junior at Oxford College.
She was Irish. Her name was Keira, which I'd later find out meant 'little dark one' in the traditional Gaelic.
Boy, was that ever the understatement of the century.
I'd met her on a dating app during my sophomore year. I was a ripe twenty-one and had tooled around abroad for my first years out of high school, before finally deciding to get back on some sort of life track.
I was in the human sciences school, as I eventually planned to join my father's medical devices company, in sunny San Diego. That's where my family was from, but my Dad had an in with the dean and was able to get me admitted, even with a fairly average set of qualifications (Namely, my 3.2 GPA...with "some" extracurriculars.) Mostly, I just hadn't really applied myself yet. I was very good at getting by, and that's just what I had done. I hadn't planned to go back to England to attend college (especially considering that I had spent my previous trips there going to clubs and exploring as many party drugs and loose women as possible) but life is a circle-and so, like the earth around the sun, I made another captivating circuit.
That's what was so impressively sexy about Keira. She was everything I felt like I wanted to be: driven, active, sharper than an Elven blade. She worked out five times a week and read two-to-three books at once. She could school me on trivia and keep up with every subtle, pop-cultural reference I attempted to best her with. She always beat me to the punch. She challenged me. She played for an intramural soccer team and had well-developed friendships. Her room decor was immaculate. She owned actual furniture in her college flat. So that's what furniture was like?
Also...her body was...well...dripping with the Irish, morning dew of a fucking highland goddess. She had dark, red hair, and fair skin, with a galaxy of freckles; especially on her nose and cheeks. Her ass was as round and as ripe as the juiciest summer peach I'd ever slobbered out of a cobbler dish. Her breasts were pert and perky B's-pushing-C's. She was basically a more pornographic version of Emma Stone. Less girl next door. More girl next whore.
And she knew it too. She knew that men and women looked when she sauntered by. She knew that professors looked when she crossed legs under desks. She knew that I looked.
But then, she looked at me too.
Because we both swiped right.
I practically choked on my beer when we matched, and the following first date that turned into the following, spontaneous first sex in a building stairwell, couldn't have surprised me more.
I felt like a solid seven on my best days and this girl was an unequivocal ten. But we definitely had a connection from the very start. She thought I was funny and charming. She thought I was cute.
I think she also liked how safe and comfortable she felt around me. There was a definitive command to the type of sexual energy she brought to us.
I fucked her often. But she frequently initiated, in some of the most obvious ways.
Sometimes she'd just ask to suck on my cock while we watched TV. She just wanted my cock in her mouth. It was an oral fixation. But she had the other fixations too. I filled them all dutifully.
She'd come over from a hot day on campus and flip her skirt up over a kitchen counter and then tell me to fuck her right there, with her sweaty thong pulled to the side for access. Then she'd walk out the door with my cum leaking from her birth-control-blessed envelope of perfect, pussy tightness.
She was my first encounter with an actual fucking witch. That's what it felt like. I was out of my league and doing my absolute best to keep up with her.
I was also, in case it's not already obvious, smitten from the very beginning.
But she seemed quite enamored with me also.
So on we went.
It was a few months into the semester and I began to see less of her, as she'd begun working on a new lab project with her famous, human sciences professor, who held the university's Title of Distinction—Alfred Tennison. He had penned four, highly-lauded books and more peer-reviewed articles than the rest of the department combined, over his various sabbaticals. And the asshole was only in his late 40's.
I really needed to step up my adulthood game if I was going to thrive in this fast, new world I found myself ensconced in.
What made me even more jealous of her increasing absences was the focus of her studies. Keira and her graduate team were currently working with the professor on some breakthrough discovery regarding the sexual brain, though what that meant I wasn't exactly sure.
She'd explained it to me enough times over stoned weekend dates and late-night bar crawls, but we were young and horny, and usually missed each other so much that the night would quickly devolve to our basest instincts.
She knew I was simpler than her, and that was okay. I was doing my best to keep up. And she loved how much I adored her. I think she also liked being practically worshipped whenever our clothing came off.
I was six inches, cut, and she loved my cock; but truly, it was when she saw me cum that she was most happy. She had talked to me a lot about compersion-the ability to take pleasure in other's pleasure. That was her entire dynamic, and honestly, it made her even sexier to me. She was the most fascinating person I'd ever encountered.
It was a Friday night, and for once, Keira had mercifully gotten off from her lab work a little earlier than expected. I'd finished with my last class of the week, and all I wanted was to get a little fucked up before Sunday rolled around, when I'd have numerous research papers to work on. I was currently in the thicket of nano-bot research, which was nowhere near as cool as it sounded. Apparently I was not going to be the next Ant Man, after all. Rather...I'd probably be working at my Dad's lab, figuring out clever ways to get certain types of nutrients into different parts of the body.
Woohoo.
Life.
We met at our favorite campus dive, 'The White Horse,' which had all the trappings of a classic, English pub. It was interspersed with collegiate bro's and nerdy hoes and drunken, neighborhood Joe's. It was a great place to catch a game of footie, (or footsie), when it came to Keira pressed up tightly to me at the bar.
"Babe, cheers to another exhausting, fuck of a week," she said, in her adorable Irish accent. I swear it never failed to make my knees weak. She was wearing a pair of tight jeans and a very thin, cotton top that revealed large parts of her healthy breasts. We clinked drinks.
"So has the professor been riding you guys pretty hard?" I said to her with a wink.
It was a common joke in our relationship. The man was undeniably attractive and I knew all too well my girlfriend's voracious sexual proclivities. It was fun to tease her about what was clearly an obvious crush.
"Ugh, I WISH he'd ride me hard," she said with a teasing smirk, her eyes wandering up to the ceiling as if in playful thought, as she sipped from her beer. Her act was impeccable.
"So long as I get to watch," I joked. This followed the theme of the bit we'd developed over time. It wasn't the first time we'd told this joke.
"Oh baby...if you only knew," and she gave me a wink as she headed for the restroom.
I cocked an eyebrow and she laughed as she pranced off, blowing a kiss over her shoulder to me.
I knew I didn't have anything to worry about, but there was at least a part of me that wondered if there might be some sort of laboratory flirtation going on. My Keira was a walking, collegiate wet dream, that was undeniable.
After she got back to the bar, we ordered a couple 'Royally Fucked' shots, which were basically Crown Royal's dropped into Red Bull's, with a touch of Peach Schnapps and cranberry juice-sometimes known as 'Vegas Shots.' I'd brought this drink with me from the states, and the bartender grumbled every time we ordered it. But we tipped well, and that wasn't commonplace here, so he put up with my American bar influences.
With another beer in hand, we shifted away from the crowded main bar and headed over to a recently abandoned shuffleboard table to start up a game and do some much-needed flirting. We were relaxed and convivial with each other, and the alcohol only made us lean in more to the instant chemistry we seemed to share. It was lighting in a six pack.
We switched over to the pool table for a vibrant, shit-talking filled game, and then eventually came back to play a second round of shuffleboard. I was 1-1 somehow, thanks to my previous shuffleboard luck. She'd murdered my ass in pool like I'd never played. The girl knew what to do with a set of balls and a stick, that was for sure. But she could snooker me anytime she wanted, I told her. She laughed at me before gracefully explaining the differences in the two games.
We were both a little tipsy now, and she started to talk more in-depth on the frustrations of her recent work week, even as we intertwined occasionally as she rubbed her hands up and down my love handles and ribs, kissing me. I would caress her sides and the small of her back, already craving the feel of her naked skin against mine. I could smell the cinnamon of her body lotion. We both knew we'd get there eventually. It was all a part of the marvelous dance we were enjoying with each other.
She explained in bits and pieces how the esteemed Professor Tennison had been hard at work on a very fascinating line of research that she was absolutely obsessed with.
I prodded her onward. I wanted to know more. I was intrigued.
"Well you see, he's been studying some of the deeper constructs of human sexuality, particularly expanding on a lot of Kinsey's research. Do you know who Kinsey is?" She asked, not in any way wanting to come off didactic.
And I did actually know who he was (because of that movie with Liam Neeson, and no other reason). But I knew who he was and what he had established.
