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They look at each other and laugh.
“No,” says Mike. “I don’t like him to touch me in fact.”
Scott just rolls his eyes.
“What a pussy. But no, we’re not bisexual,” Scott explains. “And if we were, there’s no way in hell I’d be into this clown.” He nudges Mike, who makes a face. “We’re straight, but we like to share, that’s all. Two men and one woman always means more pleasure for her, and we find that it works for us.”
I take a deep breath, trying to settle the butterflies suddenly fluttering around my stomach. They definitely knew how to pleasure me, all right. Then, the men turn back to me.
“But how have you not found anyone at NYU to date, Violet?” Mike asks, taking my hand. “Someone as sexy and smart as you should have boys lining up at your door.”
I laugh, blushing again, and shake my head. “I wish that were the case,” I say in a wry voice, “but that’s definitely not reality. I haven’t had a lot of, um, experience. Like I mentioned, I’ve never done anything like that in the sauna before.”
“You’re a natural,” Scott says in a low voice, his tone growing intimate. “And we definitely hope to continue our liaison with you, but no pressure. You’re in control. Okay?”
I nod my agreement. There are still so many outstanding issues and I haven’t even asked half of the questions on my mind. But it seems our coffee date is over and I don’t want to come off like a blubbery idiot either.
Mike pays the bill, and I stand a little awkwardly, unsure if I should go in for a hug. I decide not to--we’re in public, after all, and that might look strange--but Scott surreptitiously squeezes my hand.
“Let us know what you decide,” he growls, his blue eyes glowing. Then, he and Mike say their goodbyes and leave the café, every female head turning to watch as those broad forms stride away.
I try to make my way down the block, but am forced to sit on a stoop as my legs suddenly turn to jelly. Never in a million years did I think that two older, successful, ridiculously attractive men would take an interest in me, and that I’d have to make a choice. I certainly have some thinking to do, but in my heart, I already know. I want to be with them. I want to taste their kisses and hear their moans. I want to welcome them with sensuality, and give as much as I can take. I want a future with Mike and Scott, no matter where it leads.
7
Violet
“Movie night! Movie night!”
Kristy has been chanting this at me for over an hour. I’m up to my eyeballs in homework (and I know for a fact that she is too), but it’s Friday night, and I guess she’s in the mood to unwind.
“C’mon, Vi!” she whines from her side of the room. Kris is lying on her bed upside down so that her hair is dangling off the side and towards the floor. “Screw your stupid weight loss bars! Let’s get some candy and popcorn and watch a ton of dumb movies.”
I groan, sticking a pencil behind my ear. “I have so much work to do, Kristy,” I remind her. “And so do you. Let’s just keep studying, okay?”
“Okay, but just one movie. Please? I got stood up on my date and want to do something fun. Pleaaaase?”
I stare daggers at Kristy, who smiles innocently back at me.
I sigh. “Okay. Fine. One movie. But promise me you’ll never talk to that guy again.”
“Yay!” Kristy sits up, bounces out of bed, and puts on her shoes. “Of course not, I hate his guts now. I’m running to go buy chocolate and popcorn. You want anything else?”
I shake my head, and she practically sprints out the door.
I slam my chemistry book closed with another groan. Some of these subjects have just not been sticking. It doesn’t help, I guess, that I’ve been so incredibly distracted. I’ve always been a good student, but it’s difficult to focus when you just keep thinking about when you’re going to have sex with your hot professors again.
On my bed, I roll onto my back and hide my face in my hands. It’s still hard to believe that Mike and Scott want to see me again, and that they were so considerate about letting me be the one to make the choice. It would have been easy for them, I’m sure, to steamroll me as an innocent sophomore. But like the gentlemen they are, they’ve placed the ball in my court. Now I just have to pick up the racket. Or the bat. Or whatever sporting implement is supposed to be used in this particular metaphor.
Now though, Kristy has decided that it’s time to relax, and it would probably benefit me to do so. I put my books and notes on my bedside table and change into my pajamas, throwing my hair into a giant bun on top of my head. By the time I’m done washing my face, Kristy has returned, triumphantly holding two grocery bags chock full of snacks.
