A few classes after the midterm, I finally returned his sideways glances. I’m usually hyper-sensitive to lust, almost incapable of rejecting it; but I had been getting fucked so well by Steven that I suppose my wandering eye had, miraculously, been shut.

I sat right beside him for weeks without acknowledging the way he flustered and fidgeted, and yet he still chose the seat next to mine, coming in a second behind me even if I was late. I had given him the once-over–more than once, actually–silently assessing his businessman vibe and noting a cut physique underneath it.

But young professionals were the types I usually stayed away from, even if they were physically appealing, because they often required a commitment of some form. I wasn’t looking to fall in love and settle down, nor was I interested in augmenting my full-time school and work schedules with daily coke binges capped by weekend clubbing in the city. Those extremes tended to be the primary modes of the white-collar college kid. I prefer blue boys, dumb and coarse, eager to learn and even more so to fuck. After all, I’m going for my master’s in English; sex and education are my greatest passions.

Yet despite the initial dismissal, my eye began peeking out at the prospect. Steven was starting to cling anyway, and no matter how good I got dicked, I still got bored.

He had warm skin, almost certainly Italian-American. His dark hair was thick but clean cut, and his shirt had one too many buttons undone to be work-appropriate. I looked down to his khakis and caught him adjusting himself, giving his cock a little shift through the pocket and leaning forward to disguise its bulge.

I shifted my chair an inch to the right and turned my face slightly toward him. “Hey,” I murmured, “chill out. Your pants are rustling.”

In the corner of my eye, his cheeks seemed to flush. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I get a little…anxious…in class.” He attempted to smooth out the wrinkle over his crotch.

I smiled and leaned closer, so that my voice would wind directly into his ear. “I noticed…but you never have to apologize for having a healthy sex drive.”

“That’s not–,” he began in protest. I brushed the top of his thigh with my wrist, and he froze. His face turned from a look of bewilderment to anguished lust.

“Oh…now it’s my turn. I’m sorry I bumped into your…leg.” I smiled sweetly and naively.

He stared at me for a moment, and licked his lips. I stared back, and dropped my gaze to those lips, biting mine in response and raising my hand to caress my throat.

His body tensed and his head whipped back to the front of the class as my teacher asked another useless question.