Carmen stared at the pile of papers on her desk and grimaced as if experiencing a sour organism. She was looking at three grueling hours, maybe four, and chucking pain for pleasure, she fled her confining office. On her way home, she thought about stopping at the adult video store and checking out the new releases. But her highly critical nature told her that nothing on the shelves would come up to her standards. Before two minutes of footage would pass, she'd be skewering the director about his choice of angles and flogging the writer for lacking a frontal lobe. The pathetic actresses, all too young, would be spared her whip, for they were merely cloned Barbie dolls--plastic on the outside, hollow within.
But Carmen's mood quickly brightened when she spotted a flesh and blood woman trudging down the sun-baked sidewalk. The red hair riding the shoulders was an early clue to her identity, as were the full hips that so went against the current trend. But it was the woman's large ankles and calves that were instant markers, and Carmen's belly stiffened like an aroused clit. It was like running into a movie star, for she had employed the redhead in so many fantasies that, like an addict, she was now addicted to "Sandy stories" and couldn't get off without them.
Carmen braked to allow a longer glimpse of the redhead from behind, whose thin summer dress barely concealed her black panties. Each tired step rolled her butt cheeks from side to side, and Carmen imagined the thin, sweat-soaked crotch panel riding up and chafing the hairy pubes, forcing Sandy to tug down on her torturous underwear in public.
Slowly passing her student, Carmen wrestled with the notion of pulling over. There was nothing illegal about offering a student a ride, but it was the type of ride that threw up a red flag. For the naughty professor was spinning another fantasy, weaving it into her discontent with the adult film industry.
How would they handle this subject? They'd have her stop, and in less than two minutes she'd be in bed with the woman, never bothering to strip the masks off the characters and expose their dark motivations, never bothering to build conflict and use it to drive the action, never bothering to show the psychic forces that generate lust; in short, never bothering to include reality in the script but settling for quick, phony emotion and mind-sapping music.
Of course, Hollywood would employ a pair of young babes in both roles, each staggering under forty pounds of make-up and silicon and trading juvenile dialogue that even fifth graders would scorn. It would be just another fuck film, filled with boring, repetitious shots that had been seen a trillion times and would last ten minutes on the shelf until another loser took its place. And if this turkey appeared on the Playboy channel, even the sophomoric sex would be censored and shown at "safe" angles. What a world! And how ironic considering all the cinematic freedom now allowed! Stewing with artistic rage, Carmen suddenly realized that she had stopped and that someone was staring at her.
"Are you okay?" Sandy asked, screwing up her face from both the heat and worry. The redhead was bending over the door of the convertible, and Carmen tried not to ogle her ripe cleavage.
"Hi," the professor said with a toothy smile. "I saw you dragging your...self down the sidewalk and thought you'd like a lift. It's so bitching hot--sorry for my French--and you looked ready to collapse."
"I am dog-tired," Sandy admitted, wiping the perspiration off her forehead and drying her hand on her hip--the only dry place left on her dress--for the sweat from her belly and breasts had already soaked through the front. "But I don't want to be a bother."
"Get in," Carmen said as if issuing an order. She didn't mean to sound so authoritative, but it was her natural way of speaking due to years of dealing with lazy students and lame alibies. So to erase any misconception and establish a mood of informality, she began by saying how pleased she was with Sandy's last paper, praising her for her study habits.
Sandy brightened at the compliment, but her smile was also due to the cool air that blew into the open auto now that they were moving. Carmen didn't ask where the redhead was going--a deliberate omission--for she wished to delay all thoughts of ending the trip before she had milked it like a swollen tit. That meant continuing her fantasy, of course, and as Sandy seemed content to simply enjoy the ride, Carmen pressed the pedal to the metal in her sensual mind.
The fantasy begins with a pick-up, naturally. But instead of a teacher offering Sandy a lift, it's one of her classmates in a battered Ford Mustang. The girl, named Michelle, is a twenty-year-old blonde with a shapely figure, though some baby fat stubbornly clings to her belly and thighs. Her complexion also bears the marks of a rough adolescence, having weathered a storm of acne that was foolishly treated by making the pimples pop. But her breasts are solid C-cups with pointed tips, and her calves and ankles look mean and lean, the latter sporting colorful tattoos. Her clothes, however, match her old car, for she's wearing a torn T-shirt, ragged jeans, and a pair of scuffed heels that stride the line between casual and slutty. And without asking where Sandy is headed, the young blonde plunges into traffic and a steady dialogue.
Thoroughly dominating the conversation , Michelle complains about their last test, thanking Sandy for her notes which allowed her to escape a failing grade. But the topic doesn't remain academic for long, for her comments about the girls seen on the sidewalk are sandwiched into duets with the blaring radio. In less than five minutes, Sandy learns that Michelle loves this girl's hair and hates that one's shoes, that she'd love to kick the shit out of that bitch standing by the corner, and that she'd kill to go down on the babe coming out of the pizza joint.
Her comments come quickly and are so evenly stressed that Sandy barely notices the shift in topics, merely nodding her head as if in agreement which encourages her classmate to go on. Michelle turns totally carnal now, giving everyone she sees a sexual rating and musing on them as a bed partner. Some of her subjects are tall and tanned, young and lovely. But some, like Sandy, are older and have never been to Impanema.
Apparently, Michelle has a fixation on the female gender, for not once during her running commentary does she express interest in a male. But when she casually admits to being very bi and asks Sandy what she is, there's a long pause where nothing is said but much is thought.
On the surface Sandy is totally embarrassed, and her face flushes hotly. But inside other thoughts are stirring like scary noises in the basement. She's also suffering a headache brought on by her classmate's unceasing palaver, making her agitated and befuddled. As a result, she stammers out a hesitant reply consisting of little but awkward gibberish. But Michelle grasps the situation at once, for her thoughts have been sharply different, and she interprets Sandy's blushing and wavering as a shy confession.
"I knew you were bi!" the blonde says triumphantly, as if her judgment on such matters was never wrong. "Most everyone I know is," she went on, "and any woman who isn't is really stupid. I mean, why let some jerk pound your pussy when another woman can do it just as well? You've got a big rubber cock, of course, so you know what I mean. And though they don't spurt, they last forever and--Look at that babe in the short skirt! Wow! Wouldn't you love to do her?--and they never beat you up or make you get them a beer. I've got a seventeen-incher that's pink and makes me groan like a fucking pig, and when my ass is being sucked at the same time, I practically explode and--Ugh! What a dog! I wouldn't eat her if she had cherry pie stuffed up her muff--and my mom's always borrowing it and leaving her cum on it, and I tell her that I don't mind her using it, but-- Mmmm! I wouldn't throw that bitch out of bed!--but the least she could do is wipe it off on her big tits and butt. But I don't really care that much, because I love my mom a lot, and we're real close and share the same bed, and it is a turn-on knowing we share the same dick and--God! Did you see the tits on that babe? I bet she slams her head into the sink every time she brushes her teeth!--and besides, her cum is real sweet, and if you ever sampled it, you'd say it was the best you ever had and--"
And on and on. Sandy's headache is getting worse, and she's tempted to tell the prattling bitch to shut the fuck up. But since she's always careful with her language, she remains mute and bravely endures the verbal assault, nodding and smiling to be polite which only misinforms and incites the young blonde.
"And you really should get a tattoo on your boobs. I mean, everyone has one, and your skin is so white that it would really stand out. You could get a rose or something, though that's pretty common, but what you should get is--Look at the sneer on that bitch! I bet she greets her lovers with a whip--is a snake coiled around your big tits. That would look so cool, especially if it was crawling down to your belly as if about to invade your pussy! It would be a little painful and would take several sessions, but I know this babe who'd give you a good deal and--Shit! Look at the ass on that bitch!--and she's really good at it and won't hit on you unless you want her to and--"
Unable to sit still any longer, Sandy digs in her purse for some gum hoping that gnawing on something will help silence her brain. But even this innocent action is misread by Michelle who plays the psychic again.
"Looking for your vibrator, huh? Seeing all those sexy bitches has made you hot, right? I'm horny, too! All I have to do is think about sex and my pussy wants to spurt, so in class I have to be careful not to touch myself, especially when Lori is sitting in front of me. Don't you just love the way her ass looks in jeans? If I had her yummy body, I'd move to California and become a porn star. Listen, do you want me to pull over? Or are you gonna do yourself while we're moving? God, that would be cool! But I'll probably get in a crash by not watching the road! I bet you're real hairy, right? I keep my bush partially shaved because it looks sexier that way, but older women like you and my mom usually just let it sprout. Hey, why don't we go to my place since it's close, and then neither of us has to wind up in jail or in a hospital. We're only a couple blocks away, and my mom should be home from work. I know you two will really hit it off, because you're about the same age, and you both have voluptuous figures. I'll probably wind up looking that way myself, but for now I'd like to stay a little thin. Forty will come soon enough, you know. Now our place is a little messy, so I hope it won't turn you off. But since you're not coming for Sunday dinner, you probably won't notice. Then again, knowing how 'hungry' you are, you'll probably wind up eating something!"
A minute later, Michelle pulls into the driveway behind a rusting Cadillac and kills the engine. But she doesn't kill her mouth, for she keeps babbling all the way to the messy kitchen where she introduces Sandy to a dark-haired woman slurping gin in her underwear. Jill is forty-four, and the same number applies to her bust and hips which spill out of a black bra and matching panties. Her stained and wrinkled waitress' uniform is lying in a heap on the floor, and seeing that her daughter has brought home a guest, she bends over to straighten the seams on her stockings before pouring a second drink.
"You don't get one," Jill says to Michelle, "because you drink too much as it is."
"Then I'll just sip Sandy's," the sassy blonde replies, "because she'll be too busy to drink! She got really horny in the car and was going to get off while we were moving, but I said we should come here instead. Sandy's in one of my classes, by the way, and is really smart and bi like us, and without her help I'd probably fail my ass off, so you have to be real sweet to her, okay?"
"I'm sweet to everyone," Jill says, handing Sandy a drink while examining her through eyes laden with mascara. "But you can't be too bright if you get off in public and run around with Michelle. All her girlfriends are perverts, you know, and the last one she brought home liked to get it on with dogs. And I don't mean the two-legged kind!"
"She exaggerates everything!" her daughter protests. "Mom's only saying that because my friend, Kim, made a specialty movie for some rich European guys that will never be seen in this country. And she got a lot of cash and gifts for doing it, too!"
