Brad wasn’t my type at all. He just wasn’t. He was hot, by anyone’s standards. In his own vernacular, his body was “jacked.” He was tall and broad-shouldered and his teeth were perfect and white and straight. He had the kind of blonde hair you’d expect to see in a movie about surfers in California. All this to say he was nearly perfect looking. But who can fall in love with someone who looks like a magazine?
I like brunettes, I like dark eyes. I like people who are complicated and brooding and the more I got to know Brad the more I wondered if he’d ever had a bad day in his life. He was always smiling the same dopey, toothsome smile. We were lab partners in a chemistry lab neither of us had any business being in — except that we needed a science credit to graduate and this class seemed as good as any. The difference being that for me chemistry wasn’t my thing but I could figure it out well enough to get by. Brad was lost. So lost he didn’t know he was lost. Just oblivious to how he reached new breathtaking lows of intelligence day after day.
He was a bimbo, the worst of crimes in my book.
I have to admit I wasn’t the nicest to Brad. I knew I was going to struggle in a science lab and while I fully intended to pull my own weight (as much as possible at least) I was hoping to get paired up with a brainy guy who could explain to me the things I didn’t understand. I was fully unequipped to carry not only myself but this man who was unavoidably simple as well. And so I was curt. And condescending. And a little bit bitchy.
To Brad’s credit, he always took my attitude with a smile and a genuine laugh.
Over the course of the semester he grew on me. It was fun to have someone to take my aggressions out on with no consequence. Brad was so blessed in all the other areas of his life I don’t even think he realized I was being mean to him. Or at least he was mistaking my rudeness for friendship because we grew closer, barely scrapping by on our weekly assignments. It’d be enough to pass, and it wasn’t going to affect my precious 4.0 within my English major anyway.
When the final was approaching Brad suggested we study for it together and it didn’t even occur to me to disagree. He’d won me over with his indiscriminate happiness.
I arrived at his apartment to find him shirtless. Of course. If you got it, flaunt it, right?
Staring at his abs, which were literally Zac Effron abs or something I lost myself a bit and made the cardinal college mistake of accepting a drink offer when I’m supposed to be studying. Of course I couldn’t concentrate after that. Of course I lost interest in science completely — that’s why that rule exists.
A few drinks in I got curious. Or rather, I got buzzed and gave voice to the curiosity I’ve always had, “Brad, can I ask you a question?”
“Yup,” he responded, always eager, especially when it seemed our actual studying was moving further and further away.
“Why do you let me be so mean to you?”
Brad looked serious for once. Like he was actually thinking instead of spouting off whatever came to the top of his head, “I think it’s sexy.”
Was I hearing him correctly? This bronzed adonis of a man thought I was sexy?
To be clear — I don’t have low self-esteem but I happen to be aware of — and okay with — the fact I didn’t look like the kind of girl Brad should be with. She was some Kendall Jenner of a thing — perfect looking (at least by this decade’s standards) and free-spirited enough not to weigh him down with any thought’s that were too harsh.
I laughed. How could I stop myself? “YOU think I’m sexy? You’re like the platonic form of sexy. Like, you have girls throwing themselves at you all the time.”
I stopped laughing when I saw his expression, again he was serious. “I don’t like them. They’re all so… flimsy. I like strong women. I like how you boss me around when we do our lab together. To be honest, it’s a big turn-on.”
With this, I became very aware of Brad’s hand on my thigh, and how close we were sitting, and how my body was responding to his. Between my legs I felt the tug my brain wouldn’t allow itself to give — approval of this simple but gorgeous man.
I’d never thought about this situation occurring — why would he be interested in me when his looks could get him a much hotter girl? Beyond that, I’d written him off long ago as “traditionally handsome but not my type” — how could a smart girl like me honestly be interested in such a bimbo?
But my body liked him, I could tell from the way his hand moving on my thigh was also moving a warm feeling up to my crotch. Fuck it, it’s college.
I traced my hand down the outside of his arm, pulling it closer to me. He grinned that winning Brad smile and followed my invitation, climbing on top of me on the couch and kissing my neck lightly, causing brand new butterflies to form below my abdomen.
As hot as the beginning of almost any hook-up is my mind began to wander. Why is he kissing my neck so lightly? It tickles more than it feels hot. Maybe hot guys don’t know how to do anything good in bed because they are used to girls throwing themselves at them? And then I realized, Brad liked it when I was bossy. Maybe I could just tell him everything I wanted to do and he would like it (and I would have an amazing time)?
“Kiss me harder,” I instructed.
Immediately I felt the improvement. With a low, animal kind of groan Brad’s kisses became more fervent, more impactful. I could feel his cock harden as it rested on my leg.
I ran my hand down his free arm and moved his hand until he was cupping me through my jeans. Apparently not as stupid at sex as he was at life he caught on immediately and unbuttoned and unzipped me. I shimmied out of them and his fingers went to work warming me up, his thumb rubbing my clit as he brought his middle finger inside me, sliding it down the front wall. I made sure to respond with enthusiasm to area of my body he was clearly most gifted at touching.
“Now use your mouth.”
I opened my eyes and looked down, trying to memorize the beautiful site of Brad positioning himself between my legs.
The fogginess of the alcohol gave way to the fogginess of oral sex, which is always so intense it’s hard for me to keep a running thought process. I instructed him to use his fingers as he worked his tongue on my clit. I laid back and enjoyed his work, massaging one breast occasionally, trying to intensify the orgasm I knew was coming.
In those moments, I felt so powerful, controlling this hot guy, knowing that his entire aim was to please me, that he’d do whatever I said in order to accomplish that goal.
“Make me cum,” I commanded him. “Go a bit faster and then don’t stop.”
Together his and and his tongue quickened and I felt an orgasm nearing. I massaged my breast again, initiated a full body tidal wave of an orgasm, bucking my hips a big against Brad’s mouth as it overtook me. Convulsing around Brad’s fingers, still inside me. Brad sat up, pleased with himself. No one could mistake such a full-body reaction.
I patted his hair as I put my jeans back on. “That was great, Brad. Can you get my books together for me now? I need to go to the library and actually study.”
As I walked out of his apartment and towards the library my buzz from the drinks was completely gone, replaced with a new, better buzz — the high of having some kind of power over such a beautiful creature. We would definitely have to have more study sessions together.