i really like someone who can get into a good rp though
cravesbbc
it gets me really hot
bumpyj97
i know just what you mean
cravesbbc
so are you that good with words IRL?
bumpyj97
haha yeah i guess
bumpyj97
don't usually do meetups tho
cravesbbc
it's just i see the city on your profile
cravesbbc
and i'm gonna be there in a couple weeks
cravesbbc
on kind of a book tour
bumpyj97
for real? what kind of book?
cravesbbc
well... you might not believe me but...
Now.
Monk.
Seeing her in person was still surreal.
He only half noticed Miss Anderson talking about the essay of apology they were all supposed to write for their behaviour in class. Just like the first time, he couldn't take his eyes off her. And he could see her flushing as she felt his gaze. She bit her lip, moved a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. Studiously avoided looking at him.
Monk had trawled the depths of chat boards like the one he'd found her on for some time. "Interracial" was the one he enjoyed best, mostly because of the opportunities it presented to mess with people. He'd been surprised when he'd started to find their encounter genuinely hot... and more surprised yet when he found out who she actually was.
"You saying you cybered with Karla Colton,"
Shad had said disbelievingly when he'd first mentioned it as they'd been hanging in the parking lot.
"Son, you are straight trippin'."
"Keep your fucking voice down, man."
Monk had felt furtive, like he was admitting to sex with David Duke or something. And the thing that messed with his head was, that wasn't far from the truth.
Female version of, anyway.
"Why on Earth would I make up a story like that? Think about it."
And Shad had kind of looked at him wonderingly, and there had been the first step to this day. Now here they were, he and Karla in the same classroom they'd been in that morning when they'd set up their kayfabe "incident." He knew now that he hadn't been prepared for how
weird
it would be.
They both
were
and
were not
former lovers. At once intimate and foreign to each other, they had not spoken directly in the flesh and as the plan went, they wouldn't do so at any point. Monk was a middle man, a purveyor. The beefy goods were sitting in front of him. Soon he'd scrawl his "essay" across a piece of paper and be up and gone, and his role in this little drama would be over.
That she was here, standing in this room -- the story was that she'd come at the invitation of an old friend to give some lucky students some surprise inspiration -- anyone looking at the whole situation would have to wonder what the hell Stina Anderson could have been thinking. This after all was a woman who'd spent the last eight years building a career on a certain kind of rhetoric. Her most famous book was called
The Kenyan Conspiracy
, its subtitle was
The Liberal Plot to Undermine American Greatness
. That one had gotten her banned from print syndication in most major papers. She was currently touring with
#WhiteLivesMatter
, a book about how America needed to get back to building a unified White nationalism in order to secure its future. She was famous for a sexy photo which featured her in a Confederate flag bikini brandishing an AR-15 and sporting a "Make America Great Again" cap.
What kind of person would bring
this
woman to
this
school in the sweltering heat of
this
summer? Monk, of course, knew the secret reason. The
real
reason. The thought of it had his dick hard even now.
Something he'd told no-one: he'd had a vivid dream of Karla the night before. Touching her, sucking those pert breasts as he'd described doing in their multiple cyber sessions, fucking her hard and deep, making her moan while her famous brassy voice dirty-talked him about how she loved being a whore for her daddy. In the dream he'd had one of those porn-star big black cocks that he didn't have in life, and he'd started to come so hard that it was a fountain, so hard that he drenched her in it, drenched the bed, his nuts jumping and jumping as he'd cried out hoarsely and the spunk had kept boiling out of him, dripping from the walls and the ceiling and drenching the carpet, pumping and pumping as it started to flood his bedroom, rising up to ankle level, calf level, he'd started slipping around and trying to get to the door but he couldn't keep his feet, the spunk was still pumping out of him again and she was purring and teasing him from the bed and trying to get him to come back and fuck her again and the spunk was still pumping out of him, up to his knees now, the end table floating past as he threw back his head a roared, begging someone to help him get out...
... and he'd woken up drenched in cold sweat with a sticky mess in his boxers, wondering:
What the fuck was that?
Watching her now as Miss Anderson droned on about how they should make an effort to make their essays heart-felt and sincere, Monk wondered how many Karla Coltons there were out there. Wondered if he wasn't, in some ways, just the inverse of her. Wondered if he was really going through with all this.
"Are we clear, everyone? Monk, are you listening?"
He snapped out of his trance as he saw Miss Anderson looking at him. Her colour was just as high as her friend's, her breathing nervous... looking close he saw a tremor in her hands. It was her inclusion in the caper that had brought Shad on board, the big lunk had admitted to fantasizing about her since forever. Monk reminded himself that he wasn't the only one wrestling with the weirdness of the situation. He cleared his throat. "Uh, yeah. Crystal clear, Miss Anderson."
Felt the other girl's eyes on him them. Rachel Raines. He knew her a little, though only a little. She'd just hit town in spring and she cut class even more than he did. She was pretty... more than just pretty, actually. Supposed to be pretty cool, too. Any other time he would have been charmed by the way her eyes were flirting with him in little stolen glances. He would have been intrigued by her curiosity.
But he couldn't focus on her. She was the fly in this ointment. Nobody had expected her to land herself in detention along with Monk and his ringers, and until she was out of this room, nobody could just relax and admit what was going to happen here. And Monk was privately becoming certain that Sol and Shad -- so uncharacteristically subdued, their normal rough-housing forgotten in their eager anticipation -- were going to give the game away, alert her somehow.
The tension was unbearable. Monk just gritted his teeth and took out a notebook from his satchel. Put pen to paper and started to write seven words. He wrote them again, and again, and again... and again.
Before.
Stina and Karla.
"I can't believe I'm letting you talk me into this."
"Hey, what are old college chums for? Trust me, you're going to have the time of your life."
"I didn't think you were even into... you know. What with all that stuff you say in your books?"
"Nah, that's just a day job. Girl's gotta have her Benjamins. This, now, this is
life.
You've got to get out there and live it."
"I... I don't know, Karla. What if Danny finds out?"
"And what the fuck has Danny done for
you
lately, girlfriend? How long did you say it was since the last time he touched you?"
"God, like... six months?"
"Six months! How do you live?"
"Honestly... I
am
kind of climbing the walls. I go through batteries on my vibrator like they're going out of style."
"See, what did I tell you. This isn't just for fun now, Stina, we're doing this for your sanity! Hell, Danny should be thanking us for probably saving your marriage into the bargain. And anyway, he won't find out."
"I really hope not. And I don't want to wind up like one of those stories in the paper, you know? 'Horndog Teacher Takes Advantage of Students'..."
