She's So Heavy

In the immortal words of Mr. Lennon: I want you so bad it's driving me mad it's driving me mad.

In other words? Porn. Of the female variety. Forewarned and all that.

She likes nothing better than driving me out of my mind. This is just like her, grabbing me before class, yanking me into a bathroom stall, fingering me quick and dirty while my brain flashes red: Danger! Danger! She takes me to the edge before pulling up my jeans, and buttoning them up with a smug smile on her face. A chaste kiss and she walks away with my panties, a scrap of lace in her back pocket.

It’s so hard not to squirm in my seat, unused to the roughness of denim as it rubs up against me. She walks in and starts the lecture, cool and collected, as if she never pressed me to the cool tile whispering dirty nothings into my ear while her fingers were inside me.

Half the guys in the room are at half mast, saluting that hint of cleavage. She's completely indifferent, they don’t have a chance, she’s all mine, the fucking tease.

I press my thighs in together, and try not to moan. My face must show what I’m thinking; her gaze sharpens when I meet her eyes. She pauses. Please please please don’t asking me a question. She does of course. Bitch.

Frantically, I try to piece together what’s been said while I was thinking about the gory of her breasts. I cough; my voice is completely shredded by need. I must have come up with a convincing enough response, because she gives me a curt nod and moves on, her raised brow making me a promise. Good girls get rewards.

What I'm Listening to Right Now: I Want You (She's So Heavy) - The Beatles (what else?)