Geek Lust: Erotic Stories about Hot Nerds (9 page)

“What the hell are you doing?”

He bolted upright, staring at her in shock.

She turned to face him on the bed, her knees apart.

“Why leave things mint in the box,” she asked as her hands slid down past her belly and cupped her labia, “when you can open them up and play with them right now?”

“You are a very bad girl,” he said, ripping into packages and showering her naked body with Andorians, Jawas, and a couple of Vaders.

They rolled across the figures as they kissed, then he moved down her body, his tongue teasing her flesh. She spread her legs as he pressed his mouth against her warmth, gently licking her clit with a slow, steady rhythm. A low moan escaped her throat as she moved with his lips, her hips bucking faster, demanding more. He buried his face in her pussy, fucking her with tongue and moving up to suck her clit. She screamed as orgasm rolled through her again and again, until he finally gave her bush one last kiss and grabbed a condom from his pants by the bed.

“Let me help you with that light saber,” she said with a smile as the rubber rolled down his cock. One playful push and he was on his back, ignoring the mass of tiny plastic bodies poking him underneath. She straddled him, easing down on his cock inch by inch. He began to move under her, but she slowed him down until he was ready to burst; long full strokes teasing him along. Her gaze met his own, and he lost every thought he ever had as she finally sped up, pulling him higher and higher toward the peak until his balls tightened and he erupted inside her. She watched him come and stretched out on top of him as the waves diminished through his muscled torso.

They lay together for several minutes, until he could no longer take the pain of a few
Star Trek
and
Star Wars
aliens embedded in his back. He eased her off him and rolled to one side, picking plastic creatures off here and there.

“You know, you never told me what you did for a living,” he said as the action figures were swept into the floor.

“I’m staying here until my apartment is ready,” she said, propping up on an elbow. “I start a new job Monday in R & D at Frosthill Industries.”

A slow smile worked across his face as he bent down to kiss her. “Need any help setting up your printer?”

by Rob Rosen

Gene hit send, and the ad uploaded. He did need the money, to be sure, but what he needed more was companionship, even if that companion was simply to be a student. Then at least he’d have someone to talk to, someone who might even look up to him, even though at his five-foot-six, it was bound to be more like looking down.

He sighed as he stared at the ad, pulsing blue on the screen, and wondered who on the other end was reading it.

“I wonder what you’ll look like,” he said to himself with a hopeful smile. “I wonder what you’ll think of me.” The smile just as suddenly faltered.

Gene had always been different, hyper-intelligent, his brain growing fast as lightning while the rest of him sort of stopped, half-baked. His eyesight was poor, hence the thick glasses, his body thin and wiry, hence the baggy clothes. Heck, he couldn’t even sprout a proper beard if he wanted to. All he had was his brains, his wits, and the fervent hope that someday that would be enough.

“I wonder what you’ll look like,” he repeated, the first e-mail reaching his inbox as soon as the words breached his lips.

His heart beat jackrabbit fast as he clicked it open. It was from, of all people, someone from his college, a junior, desperate to pass biology. Pass, or lose his wrestling scholarship. No money meant no school, and then back to Podunksville, as Brad, his tutee, had put it.
Please help
, he’d signed.

Gene’s heart sped up, galloping through the furlong as he replied succinctly:
Meet me at the library at seven, third-floor stacks, rear cubicle.
The send button was hit, the smile again returning to Gene’s face. “I wonder what you’ll look like,” he repeated for the third and final time as he stared at the clock, willing it to speed along, Einstein be damned.

Though seven did roll around eventually, Gene fairly racing to the library, up the elevator, and finding his cubicle empty, as it always seemed to be. He pulled up a spare chair and waited, belly gurgling as a swarm of bats took wing inside, heart pounding a mad samba in his chest.

Then a lone figure appeared at the end of the long corridor, heading his way, backpack hanging over the stranger’s shoulder.
No way
, thought Gene.
This guy’s a star athlete? He’s my height.
Though, of course, that’s where the similarities ended, Gene realized, as soon as Brad was standing by his side.

“Gene?” the stranger asked, voice deep, resonating, eyes a startling blue, hair jet-black, lips full, body even fuller. Like every square inch of frame had been filled in by tight muscle.

“Brad?” Gene asked, voice breaking like a fifteen-year-old’s.

Both of them nodded, the smile growing wide on Brad’s handsome face. “Dude,” he said with an exhale. “You’re just in the nick of fucking time.”

Dude
, thought Gene, with a smile of his own.
No one has ever called me dude before.
Dork, maybe. Geek and nerd, definitely.
“You’re in luck then. I’m majoring in biology.”

Brad set his backpack down and plopped his ass on the chair next to Gene’s.

“And I’m majoring in fucking up, or so my father tells me. Repeatedly. And often.”

He reached inside his backpack and promptly tossed his biology book on the small table before them. “And if I don’t pass, I’ll have to listen to him say it all up close and personal like, dude. So, please, as I e-mailed, help.”

Gene nodded. “Yeah, no, um, sweat…
dude
,” he replied, the word equally as foreign to him coming from his own mouth as it was hearing it with his ears. Still, it did have a nice ring to it.
Dude
, four letters, like cock and dick, hole and fuck, his crotch tenting at the very thought, at the proximity to Brad, blue eyes sparkling beneath the fluorescent lights. “What do you need help with, exactly?”

Brad grinned and pointed to the book.

“All of it,” he replied. “Final’s in a week. Pass, and my scholarship holds. Fail, and…” He mimicked a blade slicing across his throat, his tongue lolling out as his eyes squinted shut.

To Gene, he looked just as stunning. Maybe even more so. Meaning it was going to be a hard week, emphasis on the
hard
.

So they started, chapter one, page one.

Hours later, Brad was obviously worn out, mentally speaking. Though Gene felt right as rain, fit as a fiddle—all the expressions he used and was summarily teased for.

“Maybe we should pick up tomorrow,” he said. “When you’re, uh, fresh.” Gene looked up as he said it, eyes locking, a flush of crimson working its way up his neck. “Same bad time, same bad channel?” he added.

“Huh?” Brad replied, with a tilt of his head.

“Back here at seven?” Gene sighed.

But Brad said no. “Wrestling practice ends at six. Meet me at my dorm room at seven, so I can chow down a bit and take a shower. ’Kay with you, dude?”

All Gene heard was
shower
.

“Um, ’kay, uh, dude,” he managed, with a peace sign.

Brad grinned and nodded. The peace sign returned with a chuckle, the sound to Gene like seashells being tossed at the shoreline. Then Brad was off, stellar ass shaking as the tutor watched the student hightail it down the corridor and out of sight. It was then that Gene finally exhaled for what felt like the first time that whole night.

Tomorrow, dude. See you tomorrow.

See
being the optimal word for it. Seeing as Brad answered the door in nothing more than a towel. All Gene could see was a muscle-dense body, chiseled pecs with a smattering of hair down the center, six-pack abs with an extra set of cans, all of it in compact miniature.

“Oh,” was all he could squeak out.

“Sorry, dude,” apologized Brad. “Practice ran late. Come in. Grab a seat.”

Gene nodded, eyes wide, as he followed Brad inside, watching him as he flung the towel off, alabaster cheeks spread as tight sweats got pulled up and over them, equally tight tank next, until Brad was facing him, Gene stock still in the middle of the room. He’d barely budged an inch since walking inside.

“Where, uh, where should we sit?” he asked, their faces too close for comfort.

Brad shrugged.

“The bed, I suppose.”

“The bed?” coughed out Gene.

The shrug repeated as Brad hopped on.

“Only space not covered in my, uh, stuff,” he said, with a wry grin that made Gene’s cock go
boing
.

Gene aped the shrug, forced a smile, and walked slowly over before sitting down, eyeing the mess all around him. Clothes flung everywhere, papers beneath them, crap on top of crap. He noticed a picture on the small nightstand.

“This your family?” he asked, lifting up the dust-covered frame. “Your mom and dad, younger brother?”

Brad laughed and grabbed the frame.

“Mom and Dad, dude.” Then he pointed to the guy dead center. “And me.”

“No way,” said Gene, again staring down at the picture at the boy between the adults: slight, just like him, with glasses and baggy clothes.

“Way,” replied Brad. “Two years ago.”

“Nuh-uh,” said Gene, with a shake of his head. “Can’t be.” He pointed to the boy in the picture. “You don’t look like… you, um, you look like…”

“You?” Brad said, finishing Gene’s rattled train of thought.

“Me,” agreed Gene, stunned at the revelation as he remembered the super hot guy in the towel a mere few minutes prior. “How?” he added.

Brad sighed and crossed his legs, turning to stare at his tutor. “Being a, um, a geek is bad enough, dude,” he said, looking away as he said the word. “But if you don’t have the brains to back it all up, then what do you have?”

Gene laughed. “Me without the brains.”

Brad returned the laugh.

“You said it, not me. Anyway, Dad made me take up wrestling. That way I could defend myself, if need be, and put on some bulk. Two years later, contacts replacing glasses, plus one heaping scholarship, and here I am. Brawn and no brains.”

A nod came from Gene as he pointed to himself.

“Brain, no brawn. Nice to meet you.” He held out his hand jokingly, but Brad took it just the same, flesh on flesh, a spark riding up Gene’s spine that shot out to all four limbs before exploding in his cock. The handshake lingered, blue eyes locking on to muddy brown. “Brawn comes pretty easily, dude. Easier than brains, at any rate.” The handshake was released.

“Hey, maybe I can tutor you, like you’re tutoring me.”

Gene’s laugh returned, even more nervous now.

“De-nerd me, you mean?” Though the thought did seem appealing enough. “How?”

“Some push-ups, a few sit-ups,” he replied. “Maybe some wrestling,” he added, a sudden edge to his voice. “Wouldn’t take much to add some muscle to your frame. I should know, I used to have your exact same frame.” He paused, eyes still boring the fuck on through. “I mean, I guess you’re exactly like I was. Hard to tell beneath all those baggy clothes, though.”

Gene gulped, lemon-sized Adam’s apple bobbing up and down from within his slender throat. Still, the volley was tossed, might as well lob it back, he figured. In for a penny, in for a pound. Or ninety-seven pounds, as it were. The proverbial weakling. Live and in person. Step right on up, folks.

He tentatively grabbed his sweatshirt and lifted it up and over his head.

“You, uh, you used to look like… this?” He pointed at his flat chest, flat belly, hairless except for the love trail that disappeared teasingly inside his baggy jeans.

Brad’s eyes widened, obviously shocked that his tutor was now sitting across from him shirtless.

“Yeah, dude,” he croaked out. “Just, uh, just like that.” Then he reached across, that white-hot spark repeating as he brushed his hand across the smooth chest. “Only, I had a little more grass on the lawn.”

Gene giggled and also ran his hand across his barely-there pecs.

“Grass doesn’t grow on concrete, dude.”

Brad paused, his hand in midair, then cracked up, laughing so hard that tears welled in his eyes, laughing so hard that he shifted in the bed, until their knees were banging, their faces mere inches apart.

“Good one,” he coughed out.

It was perhaps Gene’s first joke, and he was glad it had been so well received.

“Though you’d need a lawnmower for my legs,” he said, not realizing what he was implying. Or, maybe, only subconsciously realizing. Okay, maybe semi-consciously.

Brad stopped laughing, the pause returning. He hiked up the cuff of his sweats, revealing calves like small boulders. “Hairier than this?” he asked, the lob returned, the ball still very much obviously still in play.

Gene jumped off the bed and kicked off his sneakers, then glanced up at his host, who stared back—eager, it seemed, for the show. His belt got unhooked, the jeans slid down and off, twig thin legs revealed, covered in a black wiry down, the polar opposite of the torso up north.

“Sasquatch revealed. News at eleven.”

Again Brad cracked up, falling backwards on the bed, hand over belly. It was then Gene noticed the tenting inside his sweats, something stiff and promising swaying from within. Brad looked at him.

“I think I could work with that,” he said, his voice a mix of rasp and gravel, the serve returned.

Except Gene scored the point, dropping his boxers to the carpet.

“Could you work with this, too?” He stood there naked, save for sweat socks pulled up over his shins, cock arching up and out, a fifth limb on a sapling of a tree.

“Dude,” said Brad, hopping off the bed. “For a nerd, you’re awfully sexy.” He wrapped his arms around Gene and pulled him in good and tight, lips brushing, tongues collided, dicks ground together.

“Sexy nerd, huh?” he said, sliding his hands inside the sweats, fingers tracing the crack down the center. “That like jumbo shrimp?”

Brad grabbed Gene’s throbbing cock. “Jumbo is right, dude. You got enough blood elsewhere now?”

Gene shrugged.

“I don’t know. Maybe I should lie down before I pass out.”

Seconds later, they were both prone, both naked, the wrestler pinning his partner, hands holding down hands, thighs straddling waist, mouths colliding. Gene fought for control, but more for show, seeing as his measly muscles were more for decoration than anything else. He guessed Brad believed he was at least was trying.

“You pin me on my back for ten seconds, dude, and you get to fuck me.”

Gene’s eyes stopped mid-blink. “And if I don’t?”

Brad released his hold on Gene’s hands as he reached between those hairy thighs, fingers stroking the equally hairy, crinkled hole.

“Take a guess,” he replied, hocking up a loogie, spit at the ready above Gene’s face.

This time the tutor fought harder before he managed to flip the pupil off of him, the wrestler on the bed. The geek now on his feet, legs wide, hands out, cock, well
cocked
.

“Bring it on, dude,” he said with a grin and a look of fierce determination on his face, glasses pushed up and over the bridge of his bumpy nose.

Brad rubbed his hands together and jumped off the bed, cock swaying as he took an identical stance across from Gene. Both men circled one another. It was then that Brad’s sty of a room worked against him, because he tripped over a stack of rumpled clothes, lost his balance, and fell over onto his back.

Gene, seeing this as his only chance, leapt, his knees landing on either side of Brad’s head, hands holding down his legs. Brad, caught by surprise with several pairs of socks beneath his back, prevented him from getting proper leverage, fought, but wasn’t fast enough. Plus, Gene skipped all the odd numbers as he counted.

“Ten!” the geek shouted, his dick swaying above the wrestler’s mouth.

Brad sucked away, downing Gene’s rod in one swoop before Gene popped the prick out of his mouth and replied,

“More like six and a half rather than ten, dude. Seven on a good day.”

Gene laughed, held the seven in question in his grip, slapping the leaking head against his lips.

“Looks like a mighty good day right about now,” Brad said, taking the cock down to the hilt, until a happy gagging tear tricked across his smooth cheek.