Life Outside the Elysium

This is another chapter in Part 2 of a series that began with Life in the Elysium, which you can find here - https://www.literotica.com/series/se/494113320. I strongly suggest you read the first series before starting this one. For those who just skip to the sex scenes, there will be no issue if you pick up here, but if you want to understand and enjoy the plot more fully, please take some time to read the series, as it will make more sense.

Be aware, this series includes a variety of adult situations, including bisexuality, interracial sex, light incest, group sex and other taboo subjects that not everybody may be into. If any of these subjects bother you, there's an entire site here filled with things you may prefer more. In any event, thanks for reading!

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Every morning, millions of Americans around the globe set wake up alarms. The peak wake up time in the United States is between six and six-thirty, with at least half the population awake by six-thirty.

Avery's alarm was on her phone. It played "Here Comes the Sun" by the Beatles, and I have to admit, after barely one week of sleeping next to her -- it was really just a couple of days -- I was starting to hate that song.

Now, my normal routine, at least for the past four years, had me getting up at five, but since I was kicked off the baseball team, I'd not been keeping a regular workout schedule. I resolved that I needed to start doing that again, and that I'd begin this morning.

"What is that awful racket?" Ainsley said, stretching her arms high over her head, her cute, pert breasts touching my back.

"The Beatles, Mom," Avery said, pulling almost the exact same maneuver on the other side of me. It was cute. It was the closest I was likely to get to being with twins, this mother/daughter pair, but hey -- I lived in the Elysium now, so I should never say never when it comes to the sex department. "What am I saying," she added, yawning. "You've probably never heard of them."

"Of course I've heard of the Beatles, dear," Ainsley replied, sitting up, her black hair spilling down her front and covering my view of those cute tits. "I like that Mick Jagger guy. Why don't you play 'Satisfaction' to wake yourself up instead? I like that song better," she added, with a smile on her face.

I couldn't tell whether she was kidding or not. Avery groaned and rolled out of bed. Her hair, as always, was a literal black mane of curls, mangled up in tangled up knots. I had no idea how she ever went from that to her usual lustrous locks -- Locke's Lustrous Locks would be a great name for a hair product, by the way -- but give Avery an hour and she could make it happen. She headed off into the bathroom.

I sprinted out of bed, running to get there first, because I had to go, really bad, and if she got in there first and locked the door, I'd have to find another bathroom and my brain hadn't turned on enough for me to figure out where the closest one was (it was literally outside the bedroom in the second floor lobby, as I learned ten minutes later). I skidded into the bathroom just as she was about to close the door.

"Can I help you, sir?" Avery said, looking at me with a bemused look on her face.

"Gotta go," I said, stepping up to the toilet.

"Jack, it's been a month. Are we really ready to take this next step? I mean, you just told me you loved me two days ago," she smirked.

"Wha?" My brain was still not awake yet. I had no idea what she was talking about.

"You know, when you go from 'oooh I love you forever' and constant sex to being willing to pee in front of each other," Avery said. "That step."

"Babe, if you gotta go, you gotta go," I said. I finished doing my business, and decided since I was already there, I'd brush my teeth.

"Jack, seriously? I've gotta go to work. You don't have to be up this early, if you don't want to. Your first class isn't 'til ten," she said, her hand on her hip, shaking her head at me. Her hair was truly a sight to see. If a bird had chosen that moment to fly out of it, I wouldn't have been surprised.

"Sorry, babe. I want to get a workout in this morning, so I need to head out when you do," I told her. I finished with my teeth, gave her a quick kiss, and then left her to get ready.

When I came out, Ainsley had already left, and I could hear the sound of a coffee maker perking. I pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt, my running shoes, threw my phone in my pocket, and went downstairs.

Ainsley was a gem. She was still naked and looked beautiful in the twilight between night and sunrise, which was still an hour away. I watched as she pulled a handful of eggs from the refrigerator, the brief cold from the fridge causing her nipples to harden and goosepimples to rise on her chest and arms. She grabbed milk and a carafe of orange juice as well and set them out on the island.

I walked over and stood, looking out at the unobstructed view we had of the Potomac and points west, the tall spire of Healy Hall barely visible in the predawn murk. This was a great apartment, here in Watergate West. Claire and Avery had outdone themselves.

By seven, breakfast was on the table, coffee was made, and Avery came bouncing down the stairs, ready to start her day. She looked very cute, but professional. She was wearing a very tight black v neck T-shirt that showed off some tasteful cleavage, above a pair of blue slacks and her beige suede boots. Above the T-shirt she was wearing a white tweed, wool-lined blazer, double-breasted with peaked lapels. Her black curly hair had been tamed and was flowing down her back, just brushing the top of her butt.

I felt a twitch of envy for the guys at the Chronicle who would get to look at her all day.

"Why so formal, dear?" Ainsley asked. She was still naked.

"We've got a meeting with the Russian press officer today, for a story," she said.

"They'll tell you anything you want, looking like that," I told her. She leaned in for a kiss.

We ate, Ainsley went up to her room to go back to bed, and Avery and I left around the same time. She had an uber ready to take her to 15th Street, and I gave her another kiss as she climbed into the waiting Expedition.

I decided the best way to start my workout was to jog over to the Yates Field House. It was about two miles from the Watergate to Yates, where I would have to work out since the Thompson Center was only for student athletes. Yates was for everyone. It opened at seven, so it would be going full swing by the time I got there.

I jogged up Virginia Avenue, crossing over Rock Creek, and along the Georgetown waterfront, passing the Sequoia, the restaurant we'd eaten at Monday night. Behind me, the sun had popped up above the river and was flooding my view with rays of sun that were bright but did nothing to warm me up. It was in the low twenties, maybe in the teens, and my breath was puffing out in front of me in big, white clouds, like a creamy vape rising from the pen of some douchebag frat boy.

I was not on a good pace for the run, just taking it easy. I finished the first mile in maybe nine minutes, which was slow for me, but the cold always ate a bit at my speed. I was fully warmed up now, and when I made the turn right to head up Wisconsin Avenue, on that steeper grade towards the school, I hit the gas.

The run was great for clearing my mind. I had a short to-do list of things. Mainly, they involved the appeal of my dismissal from Georgetown. My anger at what was happening had started to abate yesterday after my meeting with Maggie. The hearing board would be three people, and as long as I had two out of three in my corner, I was going to beat this bullshit. At least, as long as they played by the rules, which I was starting to realize was not something I could actually count on.

I still had no idea why this Dr. Chao had it in for me, but I trusted Chris Stoneman and her crew to find out. Hopefully they'd have something for me by the end of the weekend before I flew back to DC. I figured we could leave late Sunday night, so Avery would be back in time for work Monday morning. That would give Stoneman five days to finish her deep dive into Chao.

I'd spoken to Professor Harker yesterday and she'd agreed to do the hearing, in exchange for a meeting during her "office hours," which I immediately understood would take place in her home office, not her work one. I sure hoped it didn't involve that big black strap on dildo Mom had warned me about, but if it did, I figured I could take one for the team, just once. She was helping me stay in school, after all.

The biggest question I had was the student rep. I needed to find someone. In fact, I thought I probably needed to find a few people. I thought about Troy, one of the pitchers on the baseball team. We were pretty good friends, and I didn't think he'd fuck me over, but we were on the baseball team together and if Dr. Chao was truly trying to stack the deck against me, he'd nix anybody who had even a tenuous relationship to me. It needed to be someone with no obvious connection, beyond perhaps a class or two.

I wracked my brain as my legs pushed me closer and closer to campus, but I came up with nothing. Maybe Ben would be able to help, and I resolved to check with him before I headed back to the Watergate after my last class, which ended at two.

I turned left at O Street and headed west towards campus. My pace was back, and I felt good. I arrived at Yates a few minutes later, my elapsed time for the run was just around fifteen minutes, which wasn't as bad as I was expecting. In better weather, I could usually do a six-minute mile.

As I thought, Yates was bustling. It was the start of a new semester, it was just after the new year, and college students are just as bad about making New Years resolutions that they keep for a month and then forget about as the rest of the population. The jog was a good warmup, and I started going through my usual weight routine. The machines were mostly taken up, but I was a dumbbell guy for weight training, and there was plenty to go around.

There were kids of all shapes and sizes in Yates that morning. Men and women, at least one person I thought was likely trans. I took up a spot near the racks of free weights, facing the rest of the gym, which was filled with treadmills, elliptical machines and exercise bikes. I liked to people watch while I worked out, as I cleared my mind and focused on my exercises. I wasn't training to play baseball anymore, but I wanted to stay in shape to look good, not just for Avery but because I would need the porn career if I couldn't stay in school and keep my job at the Sinclair Group. Granted, the dudes in porn aren't what most people are looking at, but it couldn't hurt my value as an actor if I looked my best. I mean, have you seen some of the dudes doing porn?

I know I'm not a bad looking guy, but I've always been a bit of a dunce when it comes to flirting. I'm pretty good at it when I set my mind to it, but I can't always tell when a woman is interested in me. Now, you can laugh when I say that, because you've read all these stories about my sexual exploits, but more than one of you has said you think I'm being led around by the nose by some of these women and men, and that's probably not wrong, although I bristle at the idea that I'm some kind of sub sissy. Like I said, I can't always tell when I'm actually being flirted with unless it's completely unsubtle.

So, I surprised myself today when I noticed that quite a few of the girls in the gym were looking at me, and a not insubstantial number of the men were, too. Had everybody on campus seen my movie? Well, given how much we'd shot over the last few days, when the site launched in two weeks, they'd have a lot more to watch. I almost wanted to yell "Please buy a subscription!" while I was doing my deadlifts, but I thought that would be odd.

There was one girl who stood out to me. She was on the treadmill, closest to where I was working out. She was of medium height, extremely slim build with champagne glass breasts. I never understood why people used that imagery; weren't champagne glasses long and thin? She had short black hair that went down to her chin, with platinum blonde frosted tips, a nose ring in her left nostril, a tattoo across her chest that was peeking out of her sports bra, tattoos trailing down her right arm in a sleeve that didn't appear to be completely finished, and some black and white tattoos in the shape of flowers trailing down the side of her abdomen and disappearing into her workout shorts. She had ear buds in and was snapping gum as she worked out, the pink of the gum the same color as her lip gloss.

She was cute, but totally not my type -- I'd never really been into the goth or alt scenes -- but she was staring at me intently, until she caught my eye and then looked away. I got the feeling that I'd seen her somewhere before, but I couldn't place her. Throughout the workout I caught her looking at me, and the last time our eyes met, I tried smiling at her, and she hesitantly smiled back at me.

Interesting.

I put it out of my mind, because it was well past nine at this point, and I needed to grab a shower and head to my Strategic Management class at ten. I reracked my weights, headed to the showers, got cleaned up, threw on my sweats and then realized I had left all of my materials in Nevils, and had to run there to get my laptop and books before class.

I slid in the door just as the professor was walking in the room. I hated Strategic Management. The professor was one of those older, tenure track business professors who hadn't actually been in the workforce since the mid-90s. He had to be pushing seventy, and everything he taught us was a regurgitation of the book he made us buy, which, of course, he wrote.

I was almost late, so all of the prime seats in the back were gone, and I was forced to sit up in front. I rushed in, pushed through the crowd of students, and took my seat, almost directly in front of the Professor.

This was going to be a long class. I set up my laptop as unobtrusively as I could, pulled up notepad and started typing notes as he droned on.

There is no worse place to be in a college lecture than in the front row. Not only are you directly in the professor's line of sight so you're likely to get called on, but you also can't fuck around -- at least, I always felt bad fucking around -- because everyone behind you can see what you're looking at or doing. No Wordle, no watching YouTube or scrolling DikDok. I once saw a dude watching porn. It was amazing he didn't get busted. Maybe he did. I couldn't remember.

I was so lost in my own thoughts, typing random sentences into my computer, I didn't notice when the person sitting next to me passed me a note, like we were in elementary school.

It wasn't a full sheet of paper, just a piece of scrap torn off the top corner of a notebook. It had a few words scribbled on it, in handwriting that was almost as bad as mine.

Hi. You're Jack, right?

I looked to see who it was who had passed me the note, and damned if it wasn't the short-haired girl from Yates this morning. I knew I'd seen her somewhere, and it was obviously because we both were suffering through this boring ass Strategic Management glass. She was wearing a gray sweatshirt and gray sweatpants, one shade darker than the matching pair I had on. She smelled pretty good, and I wondered why it took that long for me to notice her.

I looked at the paper, and looked at her, but she had her head forward, looking at the professor and ignoring me. I took the hint, took the paper and flipped it over. I had to dig through my bag to find a pen, earning me a nasty look from Professor Old Fart, but I finally found one and wrote a response on the same torn off sheet of paper.

Hi. Yep, that's me. How'd you guess?

I handed the paper back to her and she read it looking down, her face still forward. I saw her eyes dart down, and a smirk flit across her features.

There was still a little space on the side she had first written on, so she wrote in small print:

Can I talk to you after class?

Now, my first inclination was to respond with a snarky "I don't know, CAN you?" If we'd have been talking, I'm almost sure that was what I would have said, because, like I said before there are times when I feel like a sixty-year-old man trapped in a twenty-one-year old's body, and I've always been a fan of Dad jokes. Probably because my dad loved them. The thought sent a stab of memory through me. I still miss Dad, nearly twelve years gone at this point.

She looked at me, and I just nodded, not bothering to write a response. The girl took the piece of paper, pulled the gum she had been chewing out, stuck it in the piece of paper, balled it up, and then threw it directly into the trash can fifteen feet away by the door. I looked at her with respect in my eyes. That was a solid throw.

"Nice shot, Miss Ross," the Professor said, looking at her pointedly. "Don't ever do that again."

Class got out at quarter past eleven, and I needed to head to a different building for my eleven thirty Fiscal Policy class. Miss Ross -- I didn't know what else to call her -- and I picked up our stuff and headed for the door the instant the professor let us go.

"That man could bore a hyperactive teenager on speed to death," she said to me as we left together. "I keep telling myself it's just one more semester, but there are times when I can't deal with school anymore," she said to me. Then she stopped, and I stopped, and she put out her hand. "Hi, I'm Molly Ross. My friends call me 'Pitcher,'" she said.

"Hi, I'm Jack," I said, taking her hand. "But you apparently already knew that," I added. "I've got to head to Fiscal Policy. Want to walk with me?"

"Sure," she replied. "I'm heading that way anyway. Just going to Leo's to grab a bite."

"That was a hell of a shot you made in there."

"Yeah, I used to be on the softball team here, until I tore my rotator cuff sophomore year. That's where I got the nickname from," she added.

"Oh, I thought it was because your name is Molly. You know, Molly Pitcher," I said, smiling.

She looked at me funny. "Molly who?"

"Never mind," I said. The shit they didn't teach in American history these days. Hopefully whoever named her Pitcher knew the reference.

"Anyway, I saw you in the gym and realized we had class together, and I don't think we've ever talked. We've been in a few of the same business classes over the years, but you always sit in the back," she said.

Busted. "Yeah, I like being in the back, so I can goof off on my laptop and nobody sees me," I said. Honesty, my favorite policy.

She laughed. "I wish I could do that. I can't see for shit if I'm that far away, and I don't want to wear glasses and look like a fucking nerd," she said. "Anyway, the reason I wanted to talk to you was because I saw your movie and I thought it was awesome. I wanted to know if you'd be willing to chat with me about the porn business. I'm interested in it," she said.

This made me perk my ears up almost immediately. "Really?"

She looked at me with a look that was just slightly warmer than smoldering. "Really. The black-haired girl in your movie, Gabby? She is like my ideal woman. She reminds me of Dita von Teese, and I've been a huge Joanna Angel fan for a long time. Joanna started the alt porn thing, and I don't know why but ever since I quit softball, I've needed an outlet for my energy, and porn combines two of my favorite things -- sex and working out," she said. That made me laugh.

She looked at me again, and this time I could tell she was turning on the charm. "Do you think I have what it takes?" She licked her lips slowly and smiled at me again.