Wes took me one more time before the night ended. I wanted to take a quick shower, so I hopped off the bed and went into his bathroom. Before I could even turn the shower on, he came in rushing. He insisted on cleaning me up, then began massaging my shoulders. Since the pressure was great and relaxing, I didn't deny his access, and soon he moved to clean my chest area. Wes usually paid good attention to my nipples.
That's all it took, and I caved in like how one of those Walmart plastic bags does in your driveway. You would think you need to take five more steps, and you will be home. But there it goes, dumping all your contents on the floor, leaving you frustrated and dissatisfied for even trusting it. That's how I felt with my body too.
I sagged against the wall. Wes immediately took it as an opportunity to lift me, and before I even knew what was going on, we ended up having sex against the wall in his shower. He finally let me sleep after that.
The next day morning came, and I ran away from Wes. I mean, not literally because I still needed him to give me a ride. It was one of those moments when my sanity returned, and this dumb feeling of déjà vu hit me again. Wasn't that exactly how things work between us? I freak out; Wes manipulates. I retaliate; Wes manipulates. I run, and Wes manipulates. The end!
Classes kept me busy all morning from thinking about those unthinkable thoughts. Thank you, the universe, for small mercies.
That afternoon, I got a call from the Academic Center for the Student-Athletes, and an assistant who works in some coach's office asked me to come for a quick session with the athlete.
Since they were always in need of tutors, there was no formal interview. They would decide if I'm a good fit for that particular athlete. If not, I'll be switched to another student who requires help. This was convenient for me because I sucked at interviews.
I was so happy to have a distraction finally. I had my Tuesday and Thursday afternoons free. So, I could tutor the student on those days.
I practically skipped to the building and almost felt like whistling. In addition to escaping Wes, I was also going to get paid for it. I pushed open the door to find a man in his late 40s. He seemed intimidating at first. But I didn't want to look like a wimp, so I sucked it up.
"Hello, Ms. Jones. Please come in. My name is Richard Brown, and I am an assistant coach to the Football team. Please call me Rich. That's what everyone calls me," he seemed sweet but intimidating.
It's okay, Amy. No one ever died from an interview. (That's it! I'm going to die).
He must have noticed my nervousness, so he calmly continued. "This is a special case for us. He would be here in a moment, but I can explain his request for a tutor. He is our star athlete and very bright on and off the field. He has a straight record of A and has been already lined up for the next year's drafts."
Why am I suddenly getting this weird feeling? Was it just gas, or was my gut telling me to STFU and get out of this room? It was probably gas. I reached out for water and took a sip.
"Hey coach, sorry I'm late. Guys were hogging the gym; they had to sort that out." I heard the familiar voice say.
I spewed water all over the table and started coughing like a crazy goat. Wes urgently reached to my side and to rub my back. It's like all my lucky stars have abandoned me and are chilling out at a bar, leaving me to the elements.
Coach gave us a weird look as Wes sat in the chair beside me. "Do you both know each other?" he asked.
I snorted. Out loud. Do we know each other? Do we?!!!
"No," I said out loud, immediately recovering, just as Wes said, "Yes."
Dang!
"She works at the library coach. I have met her there, such a sweet gal!" Wes handled smoothly. I gulped nervously. If I was nervous before Wes came in, it's quadrupled now.
Coach continued, "Wes reached out to me yesterday, requesting a tutor. As I said, he's always a straight-A student, but he recently ended up with a C in a subject, and he wants to improve that to maintain his impeccable record. We promised his parents that he will get out with a cum laude, and he doesn't want to break his promise."
Cum what?! Why the hell did Wes never tell me about his academic excellence. Also, why the hell did I assume that Wes was a dumb jock? I mean, that's what I would get for stereotyping a football player.
"Uh...excuse me, Mr. Brown, these coaching sessions are for students who really need them. For students who are barely making it in their classes. Wes seems to be competent to be excelling in his education. I don't think I am the right fit in this scenario."
"If Wes says he needs help for one semester, I guess he does need help. After all, despite his very busy schedule, he always managed to stay on top in the academics," coach Brown replied with a determined look.
He looked at Wes just like how I looked at my Hogwarts poster every day (any day soon, I'll be getting out of here). "Why don't you take it from here, son," he said.
"Thanks, coach," Wes chuckled. "So, Amy, is it? I have been having problems with the Enterprise Architecture class. I saw that you had already taken that class last semester. That's one of the main reasons why I specially requested for you. It was a mandatory course, and I thought I could manage to make it out of alive. This semester's practice is already kicking my ass; I can't even drop out of the class at this point of the semester. Would you please help me out?"
He looked pathetic. Maybe he really needed some help with the course. It made sense to assume that he specifically requested me to tutor him because I was the familiar face in the list of tutors for this course. Also, he can't go around telling people he's failing in a class. Poor guy, he really didn't have any choice.
"Would you like to read the essay we had to write for the class assignment?" he asked in a smooth tone. He seemed very professional, and maybe I was wrong in assuming that Wes only did this to harass me.
For a second, I ended up worrying if this would be a conflict of interest since we were sleeping together. But it's not like I was Wes's teacher. I was only a tutor who would help him score on his tests. Maybe I finally found my weapon! I could use this as an excuse and manipulate him to not use my body for sex. This was my chance! I was not a "sex slave" like he thinks I am. The whole concept was degrading and humiliating.
"Here you go, read and let me know what you think of it," he suggested eagerly, which surprised me. He probably was passionate about his education, and I guess I shouldn't have stereotyped him.
"Coach, you can leave if you want to. We can handle this," Wes said to Mr. Brown.
Why was he trying to get rid of the coach? This doesn't look good. If I knew Wes correctly, we would end up with his fingers in my panties even before I began reading the first line of his essay. I couldn't risk it.
"No!" I screamed desperately. Looking cool when you're burning on the inside was very tough. "Since this is our first session, it's a good idea for you to stay, Mr. Brown. What if I'm not a good fit for Wes."
Smooth. Very smooth!
Wes did not like my answer. He wanted us alone. "Amy, I already have this gut feeling that you'll be a kickass. I don't want anyone else except you. Anyway, I'm sure you'll change your mind once you read my essay," he said with a piercing look.
Why was he so pressing on for me to read his class essay?! I reluctantly took his Mac and opened his word document.
I was not having a good feeling about this, but I pushed it aside. It's just a class essay. What was the worse that could happen? I opened the word document and began reading.
Hey Sweetheart,
I'd recommend you not change your expressions since the coach is looking at us like a hawk. As the coach is yammering about how important this tutoring session is for me, I decided to surprise you with a small story I wrote for you.
This little story is inspired by every single time we had sex. But this is more of a fantasy I hope will come true tonight (or in an hour, if I'm lucky).
Despite his warning, I gasped rather loudly. Wes immediately held my thigh under the table and pressed it. The idiot was rather having so much fun. I looked at him. Correction, I glared at him as I pushed his hand away. Also, what was he thinking?
"Amy looks like you haven't gotten to the main part of my essay; please continue. I'm pretty sure you'll enjoy it," Wes said with a sweet, innocent expression. That bastard!
I looked at him with exasperation and then looked at the coach. He was busy looking at his phone with a concerned expression. Initially, he was paying his full attention to whatever bullshit Wes was busily spewing; now, when I needed him, he seemed distracted. Wes's hand found my thigh again. He was slowly massaging along my thigh, and it felt nice. It was intimate, and it was turning me on. What the hell?!
If I showed the coach the 'essay' now and told him about Wes, it would probably explode in my face. I needed to read it to estimate its potential as blackmail. I needed more ammunition. So, I continued reading.
It was later in the night, and I was craving for the taste of you, so I came to your room.
Remember the first time I was in your dorm room, you welcomed me with a dinky towel? You did the same thing this time too, but because you knew it was me on the other side of the door. You rushed to the door and opened it for me. Your cheeks were flushed, either from the hot shower or from the anticipation building up.
"I was dreaming about you," you said shyly. Before I could say anything, you pulled me inside. You couldn't take the heat anymore; you leaped into my arms and kissed me. We both staggered into your desk, knocking down your pen stand. Soon, all the amusement faded away as I pulled the towel away from your body...
"Amy, I don't think you're reading it fast enough. Do you want me to read it out for you?" Wes asked beside me with a smug smile.
"No!" I squealed like an idiot. Why does he have to make my life complicated? This essay was not any regular story; it was a sex fantasy.
Why would he write a sex fantasy pretending to be an essay and make me read it right in front of his coach? Why did he portray me as a willing participant? As someone initiating the sex. Whatever he was playing at, he knew I couldn't let the coach see it.
I quickly tried to mollify the situation. "Please stop disturbing me and let me read it." I pulled his Mac towards me and continued.
