Sheepishly you arrive at the lecture seriously late. Dr. Burlingame throws you a disapproving glance but proceeds without comment, and you are barely noticed as you take a seat.
You try to concentrate on the lecture, but Vanessa is stubbornly on your mind, and you keep replaying how hot the night might have been had you not stayed true to Rhea. Constantly reimagining your time with Vanessa obsesses you to an exasperating degree, and you fidget in your seat, blinking and shaking your head, anything to force yourself to concentrate.
While this is going on, your nostrils are assaulted by a peculiar aroma. Sandalwood ... some cinnamon ... maybe a hint of vanilla ... no, and now a faint sting of peppermint ... You find the aroma difficult to identify, but it's quite amazing, so much so that you feel dreadfully hungry -- but not for food. After a while you figure that the aroma must be emanating from your own body.
Was the dream not a dream? Had you actually gotten a shot, and this was an aftereffect? You feel all the more self-conscious as you hear shap sniffing all around you. The nostrils of your classmates are likewise twitching, and somehow you know they have your scent. Then you realize it's only the girls, the guys don't seem bugged by it at all. In fact, maybe you're the only guy who notices simply because you are the source.
You surivive the remainder of the period and are prepared to simply curse your bad luck and slink out, but then Dr. Burlingame says "Terrence, I want to see you for just a minute after class, if you don't mind."
The rest of the class quickly files out and you approach Dr. Burlingame. You've always found her vaguely attractive, in a quirky Tina Fey sort of way, but now your brain is going crazy with all kinds of sexual thoughts about her.
"Terrence, I've always assumed that you were never really into this 'Beyond Freud' class of mine. There was an add-rop period, you know."
"I know, Dr. Burlingame. It's just that, I needed a requirement, and I guess I figured psychology might be fun, I might even learn something."
"Yes, well -- " She stops cold, her nostrils flaring. "My God! What happened? Suddenly this room smells like a bakery for Christmas cookies! Huh! But what I mean to say is, you've got to commit. You can't burn both ends of your ... um ... candle ... "
Now she has an oddly horrified look. She breathes harder and backs away from you. Something has spooked her, but how, and why you?
You try to state your case. "It's just that, I always figured, it's all just Freud, so the title 'Beyond Freud' intrigued me."
"Freud was way too hung up over sex -- and even that is an oversimplification of him, because he also recognized the value of work. But somehow it's the ... sex ... that's alway's ... emphasized ... "
She's staring at your lower body, so you look down. The blatant bulge of your phallus has grown to a simply gigantic size, the ridge of the glans plainly visible, and even as you watch, it twitches madly like some trapped squirrel.
"Oh fuck, it's alive!" gasps Dr. Burlingame, her back to the board.
Something in both her beauty and her terror turns you on, so hard and so fast that you have no choise but to unbuckle and unzip on the spot, and allow it to spring free to an erection of hulking proportions.
"Dr. Burlingame, I'm sorry." It's all you can think of to say.
"Oh, please, Terrence. Please ... call me Tiffany ... !" |