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Professor Hot Pants by Ember-Raine Winters (1)

RYAN

I had perfected the art of sneaking out of people’s beds in the middle of the night. Men, women, it didn’t matter one way or another; it was all about scratching the itch. So when I was crawling out of some random guy’s bed one night after fucking him into oblivion, he surprised me by grabbing my arm with his hand.

“Where are you going, Ryan?”

Turning at the sound of his sleepy voice, clothes on the floor forgotten, the lie slipped out easily as I extracted my arm.

“I have an early class in the morning.” He sat up, scrubbed his hand over his face and looked at me quizzically as if asking permission before his hand came down on my dick and stroked it. My cock hardened under his touch.

“How about I suck you off before you go?” Sleepy confusion gone, desire now plain in his eyes. I hesitated and he must have taken that as my silent agreement because he licked his lips, then his mouth came down on my cock. His tongue swirled around the head before licking it from root to tip. I grabbed his shaggy hair guiding his mouth back to the head.

“Open your mouth, take it all.” He groaned at the demand as I thrust my hips up and hit the back of his throat with the tip of my cock. It was pretty much a wild ride after that. “Hold still. I’m gonna fuck that mouth.”

He did what he was told. I grinned, grabbing fistfuls of his hair and pumping into his mouth at a punishing pace. He moaned around my dick and the vibrations went straight to my balls. “Are you jerking yourself off as I take what I want?” He tried to nod but I held him in place. “Good.” No doubt I was a bastard, but I wasn’t so far gone that I’d ever deny my hookup the benefit of getting off as well.

It was only a matter of moments before I came on a roar down his throat. I had to give it to him, he drank every last drop. “Thanks for that.” Reaching for my jeans, he looked at me a little dumbfounded, with hurt evident in his eyes, but I never promised anyone more than I was willing to give. He knew the score.

I walked out of his dorm without a backward glance, with the feel of his eyes boring into my back, but I shrugged it off. My phone rang and I smiled. “Hey, Mom.”

“Ryan, how are you, baby boy,” she slurred the words.

“I’m good.” I paused on the sidewalk, waiting to hear what she wanted. She knew I wouldn’t support her habit, but at the same time, I wouldn’t leave her in a lurch either. I worked two jobs on top of the academic scholarship I received to go to school. I paid her cell phone bill and rent on her shitty little studio apartment and filled her fridge full of groceries but I never gave her money and she knew that. She had stopped asking me for money a long time ago. “What’s up?

“What are you doing up so late?”

“I had an itch,” I said vaguely. I heard her sigh on the other end of the phone. “Don’t start, Mom.”

“When are you going to stop with the random hook-ups? I want better than that for you.” She grumbled. “I don’t want you to be like me. You’re so much better.”

“Maybe I’m not. Maybe I’m not cut out for a real relationship.” I would never let her, or anyone for that matter, know how badly my childhood fucked me up. It was the main reason I studied psychology. I’d taken enough classes to know my fucked-up childhood had everything to do with who I’d become, but there was no way I was analyzing anything. Day by day was all I could handle.

“You’re meant for so many great things, baby boy. I hope one day you realize that.”

“Mom? What’s this all about? Why are you talking like you’re saying goodbye?” With her lifestyle any day could be her last, and I tried desperately to get her into rehab, but that just made her angry so I’d stopped pushing. Moments like these regret was easy to find.

“You never know what could happen. I just wanted to remind you how much I love you and that I know you’re going to do great things one day.” She sniffled and hung up the phone before I could grill her for information. The phone went straight to voicemail on my attempt to call her back and figure out what that was all about. The feeling of dread grew the closer I got to my dorm, and I knew that sleep would not be happening.