Latest Pinay Rivals

Ben snagged a cracker from the passing platter. He had time to eat, considering that no one was crowding him, not the way they were Zach. Every year, the same thing. End of the semester party and Ben gets to count up all the latest pinay graduate  students who fawned over Zach.

It was the material. It had to be. Ben taught political science, was a Jefferson scholar. Wasn’t that attractive? Didn’t that get your panties wet? Apparently, it had nothing on Zach’s English Lit and his high-brow, salacious instruction of Nobokov, D.H. Lawrence, and Marquis de Sade. Maybe Zach would even throw in an Updike reference, get the girls tittering.

Ben sat and slugged his chardonnay, muttering to himself about lectures on voting behavior not exciting the masses the way it used to.

“Oh, I dunno,” she said. “I find them interesting.”

Ben turned and offered a self-conscious smile to Andrea Simone, a master’s student who had worked on Hillary’s campaign a few years back. He stood and she laughed in her usual awkward way, her long, wavy brown hair bouncing with each chuckle.
“You caught me,” he said. “Now that you’re here, I don’t have to talk to myself.”
“There are plenty of people here who want to talk to you, Dr. Nichols,” she said. “There’s a whole table of poli. sci. kids right over there. You should join us.”
Ben heard her, but was lost in the orgy surrounding Zach—boys with white smiles of emulation, standing with girls who wanted more than just grades. And there was Zach, in the middle of it, cracking his literature specific jokes to guffaws and affected laughs, before breaking into a serious tone cueing his students to listen intently should a nugget of insight fall from his lips. They hung on him and he played them, every word, every gesture, every flip of his surfer hair with just the right amount of gray, calculated for effect.

The whole act really burned Ben.

“Professor Lancaster sure is popular,” she said.
“Huh? Oh, yeah,” Ben said. “We’ve been friends for a long time.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Went through Georgetown together.”
“Wow. And now you’re here. I bet you guys have had some amazing conversations over the years.”
“You’d be surprised.”
He caught her squinting at him, like she was trying to read him, before her face went innocent and her lips flattened into a vulnerable grin.
“Well, we’re sitting over by the door if you want to join us,” she said. “Oh, and we might be heading out for some drinks later. I don’t know if you’re interested. Actually, I wanted to talk to you about Obama’s electoral strategy for Florida. Maybe we could do it then?”
“Thanks, Andy, maybe. We’ll see.”
She nodded and turned in a small loop that brushed his shoulder with hers. She waved and Ben watched her go to the far table with three other shapes in chairs, students whose faces he couldn’t make out, couldn’t tell if one of them was a guy.
He felt a hand on his arm and accompanying voice asking for Andy’s identity. He turned to his wife, Olivia.
“Just a student. Andy. She’s in my voting behavior seminar.”
“Ah,” she said, her eyes lingering on the space once occupied by Andy. “Well, Zach’s drawn his usual crowd.”
“What’s new, eh?” Ben said. “Different year. Same thing.”
He felt her gaze and kept his locked on Zach’s fan club.
“Tiffany and I thought the four of us could go out after for a few drinks,” she said.
“I dunno, hon. Bit tired.”
She stepped into his sight line and he sighed at her pursed, blood lips.
“What’s wrong?” she said.
“Nothing.”
“This happens every year,” she said, hand on skinny hip. “He draws some big crowd and you get all jealous.”
“I’m not jealous.”
“But even you’ve told me that English students are different from the political science kids.”
“I’m not jealous.”
She drew closer and stuck a fresh glass of wine in his hand that she had snatched from a strolling server’s tray.
“You know what Tiffany told me?” she said, her eyes wide under her black, cropped hair. “She said Zach was all prickly tonight because your book on Jefferson’s letters was so well received.”
“It wasn’t that well received,” he said.
She removed his glasses and blew on the lenses. Ben grabbed for them and told her to stop fussing with him. She replied that she was just clearing off some dust and didn’t know how he could see through them.
“You should be proud of yourself,” she said. “Besides, Tiffany said that Zach couldn’t even get started on some Brit lit thing he wanted to work on. You know, the two of you have these mountainous egos—“
“I really don’t.”
“Yes, you do, and it’s okay. It’s expected. But it’s getting in the way of your friendship with Zach, is all. You guys came out of college so close, and now . . . Tiffany and I think something needs to be done. Do you want more wine?”
Ben checked his glass and polished it off, handing the empty to Olivia who went to the bar. He noticed Zach edging out of his student gaggle and coming toward him. He tried for a smile, but it just seemed forced, so he loitered, hands-in-pockets, hoping his awkwardness didn’t betray him. Zach extended his hand and came in for a hug, and Ben felt Zach’s thick shoulder press into his chest. Even at close to fifty, Zach was still a regular in the gym. Ben was more of a runner.
“Good to see you, my brother,” Zach said, and his followers giggled at Zach’s endearment. The student mob closed them in their circle, talking about Zach and Ben as a legendary meeting of the minds and fortunate they were to be in their presence. Ben nodded in discomfort and noticed Tiffany behind the mass wearing a questioning face. Olivia wiggled in next to Ben and he watched her share a non-verbal, reassuring moment with Tiffany. Before Ben could ask what it was about, Olivia stuck another glass of wine in his hand.
He drank and listened to Zach give discourses on Dostoevsky and Tolstoy and Ben couldn’t follow it. Tiffany laughed, sometimes in the wrong places, and Ben was thankful he married Olivia, opting for IQ points over tits. One of the Lit. students, Ben thought his name was Matt, asked Ben about post-Revolutionary War literature, and Ben felt himself drawn into a lecture. He went on about the development of American literature and how it mirrored the country’s political evolution, and appreciated Matt’s studious face. He began to pull an audience before Zach made some crack about Ben joining the English department.
The crowd laughed and Ben went silent, feeling Olivia drive a fresh glass of wine into his hand. He saw Andy peering over the group at him. She was standing at the door with her brown eyes teeming with admiration leavened with disappointment. She turned and left and acid poured over Ben.
Olivia’s lips pressed into his ear. “C’mon, we’re leaving,” she said.
“Where?”
“We’re going out for drinks, like I said.”
She hooked under his arm and walked him out, helping him fight his wobbling feet. Ben looked for Zach, but couldn’t find him.
He thought about Andy for the entire car ride.
The car stopped at a club he didn’t recognize and realized Olivia had been talking the whole time, but couldn’t recall what she said. Inside was a small lounge with a several leather sofas and chairs forming small groups around low tables. There was a bar winding along the far wall with an elegant woman tending customers. The sitting areas were filled with well-dressed couples chatting in a quiet din. Ben noticed the women in black dresses and wondered if he was underdressed in his tweed coat, no tie.
Olivia had his hand and led him through his unsteadiness to a couch where Zach waited, arm outstretched above his head, beckoning Ben to have a seat. Tiffany flashed a smile and continued talking to a young man in a gray suit who seemed a little too interested in her. Ben sat next to Zach and shook his head when Zach asked if he’d ever been this club before.
“How’d the girls find this place, huh?” Zach said. “Seems a little sketchy.”
“Really?” Ben said.
“Yeah. It’s like it’s a bar for everyone the Occupy Wall Street people hate.”
Ben cackled and felt water build in his eyes, listening to Zach vocally imagine a scene where protestors set up camp in the lounge, sleeping on the couches, wearing signs around their necks. Ben nodded and laughed as Zach declared that he’d join the occupation.
“You know what this place reminds me of?” Zach said.
“You just told me,” Ben said.
“No, no. Remember that place we went to sophomore year and you met that girl from Jakarta?”
“Shh. Shhhh. Shut up. Olivia’s right behind me.”
“Oh, she’s not listening. She’s talking to some corporate dude. Remember we went in there because we wanted to fuck some yuppie girls and that Jakarta girl and her friend turned out to be communists? What was her friend’s name?”
“Ha. Yeah. Um. Shirley, wasn’t it?”
“Right. Right. Shirley. Christ, what a name.”
Ben’s face ached with smile. He watched Zach chuckle and fold his arms, talking about how drunk he was because Tiffany kept feeding him drinks. Ben pointed at him, but Zach cut him off, quickly congratulating Ben on his Jefferson work, Zach’s chin on his chest, calling the book true scholarship. Ben creased his lips and thanked Zach, despite doubting his sincerity. They were silent until Zach reminisced about their days at the university newspaper, and Ben smiled as the good times filled his head. He had been the Editorial Page Editor while Zach had been Editor-in-Chief, and two of them set Georgetown afire with their timely pieces and prevocational opinions. Those were good days.
A hand filled his hair, and Ben turned to see Olivia’s face within inches of his own.
“You’re having a good time?” she said.
He nodded. She laughed.
“You keep smiling. You’re so hammered,” she said.
“No. It’s just –“
She stopped him with her tongue grasping his lips, and he felt the sharp tug she gave at his hair.
“Whoa,” he said, getting his breath.
“Do you trust me?” she said.
“Wha—? Yeah. Of course,” he said.
She kissed him again, this time grazing his cock with her finger tips. He pushed her hand away and she came back harder, squeezing his balls. He broke from her mouth and asked what she was doing and she laughed and grabbed his hand, pulling him off the couch. Ben looked for Zach, but he was gone. Olivia led him through the crowd into an empty make-shift locker room, before passing through a curtain into a room that looked like the lounge they left. Only darker.
Ben stayed close to Olivia’s back, still dizzy with drink and suffering from night blindness. He could hardly make out shapes at various sofas and chairs, groups of shapes blending together with very little conversation. He was about to ask Olivia where they were when they passed close to a group and he noticed a naked woman. At least he thought she was naked. And wearing a mask.
He tugged on Olivia’s arm, eager to share his observation, when she spun him around and nearly tackled him onto couch, sitting on him, pulling his chin up to accept her dirty mouth. He felt her thrusting hard against him and he slipped into drunken, aroused confusion. She broke for air and put her eyes close to his, those gorgeous, opal stones that drew him to her so many years ago. She smiled, as if to say, watch this, and leaned back, allowing hands from behind her own to run down her body and cup her tits. He watched his wife accept a kiss from Tiffany, who clutched his shoulder and turned her mouth to him after she parted from Olivia.
He kissed and wrapped tongues, not sure if it was the lips of his wife or his friend’s wife that pressed to his own. They alternated between him and each other until Tiffany leaned away and Ben felt Olivia’s hand guide, then press the back of his head until his face met Zach. He didn’t know Zach had been next to him and froze when he felt Zach’s lips. Ben could sense Zach had the same trepidation. Their lips met again, Ben’s head pushed from behind, and he gave into it, accepting Zach’s firm tongue.
Ben felt Olivia and Tiffany pulling him off the couch, peeling off his coat and shirt—it was all happening so fast—Olivia behind, unbuckling his pants and pushing him to his knees, his face deep in Zach’s chest. He watched Zach stand up, coached by Tiffany, who grabbed one end of the belt Olivia handed him and pulled from Ben’s pants. Olivia coiled the other end around her hand and the two women, on either side of Ben, placed the belt strap behind his head. Zach was in front of him. Swollen.
Ben ‘s nose pressed against the wall of Zach’s abdomen. He tried to relax his throat to keep from gagging, but Zach’s strokes were long and stiff. And the strap was unyielding.
Ben only remembered pieces after that. Zach’s arms. Tiffany’s ass. His wife’s beautiful eyes.
He sat in the passenger seat as road rolled by. His balls were pinched and spent and he still tasted cum. He turned to his wife, driving, she seemed so relaxed. He stared at her. She caught his eyes and returned to the road.
“Don’t worry,” she said.
“What?” he said.
“It’s okay. Better than okay.”
“How?”
She shrugged and turned left.
“Now you know how you truly feel about Zach, so no more bullshit,” she said.
He faced ahead and his neighborhood took shape around him. He barely heard her ask him what the deal was with Andy.