XXVIII. Greta Comes Clean

Sixth period arrived.

Kurt looked down at his penis, just now exhaling the dregs of his semen into Greta Scarborough’s flaming red-haired cunt. He breathed deeply. Greta seemed bereft.

“You gotta…you gotta…stop…rolling up…on me in…the hallways,” Kurt grunted. “My girlfriend…is…getting wise.”

Greta didn’t reply. She was beyond contact. Their session had been demanding. URGENT. She’d had a full four days of seethe to compromise. Talking at this point seemed a waste of energy.

“Did you hear me?” Kurt reiterated.

Greta nodded.

“She’ll come up here looking for me, you know,” he emphasized. “And when she doesn’t find us in the library, she’ll start checking these A/V rooms.”

Greta nodded again.

“I’m just sayin’,” he said.

Kurt dipped to extract his cock from between her butt cheeks. She turned to kiss him, with his cock odor on her lips.

“I love you,” she whispered.

She pressed her forehead to his lips as if she’d just admitted the resting location of the Holy Grail. Kurt’s eyes widened. This shit was getting serious. The word “love” hadn’t crossed his mind.

“Oh, you don’t. What about Ned?”

“I don’t love Ned. I love YOU.”

Kurt rocked her gently in his arms, unsure of how to proceed.

This bitch is nuckin’ futs!

Kurt did a quick calculation. How many other bitches was he fucking? There was his girlfriend Denise—the Sizzler. There was Paula. There was Sharon and Jonna. There was Angie Devi, and sometimes Delphia, but only when Jules was around. Martha, of course. When was the last time he’d fucked one of the College Blondes, you know, besides Paula? He couldn’t remember.

How many of these bitches had fallen in love with him? NONE!

Even Denise doesn’t tell me she loves me!

Slowly, it dawned upon Kurt that Greta Scarborough was trouble. BIG trouble.

She could fuck my shit up in a VERY big way.

A woman in love would not be above approaching his girlfriend and saying, “I’m fucking YOUR boyfriend. What are you gonna do about it, BITCH?” None of the other women in his seraglio would consider such a misstep, even for an instant.

It’s just sex! It’s not that serious!

This white woman was looking for a boyfriend.

I’m…I’m…just not available! Kurt thought.

Holding Greta in his arms now, both of them dripping with spooge, Kurt suddenly felt like a wild animal caught in a trap.

This bitch has gotta go!

In the A/V room next door, Jules Kittridge and Greta’s sister, Gretchen Bainbridge, were still going at it. Gretchen was bent over a table naked, taking it up the ass, grunting ferally. Gretchen loved anal sex. Her husband did not. Jules was indifferent. It was just another hole to him. Jules wasn’t even close to closure. Gretchen had cum thrice. Both she and he were bathed in sweat.

“I’ve…I’ve…got to…be...UNH!…UNH!…getting back…to…the office,” she huffed.

Jules ignored her.

“Jules!”

Jules continued to ignore her.

“JULES! PULL OUT!!!”

“Are you just going to leave me with this hard-on?” he snarked.

He pulled out. His dick waggled comically, coated in ass. Gretchen straightened.

“I’m…sure…you have plenty of other orifices…available to you…here. Hand me that…towel, please”.

She gave herself a full body wipe, tamping the sweat away with terrycloth before re-donning her dress. She set her lipstick aright using a compact mirror, then dabbed roll-on deodorant under her armpits, unhappy to find afternoon stubble.

I just shaved this morning!

Jules hadn’t cum. She didn’t have much to worry about leakage.

Jules watched her dress. He didn’t bother to pull up his pants. He knew he’d be in there awhile longer. They couldn’t be seen leaving together. Maybe he’d jack his dick after she left. Maybe he wouldn’t.

Their relationship was appropriately transactional. Gretchen was not in love.

She kissed him briefly before rushing out. Jules sat there seething in the sexual funk they’d rousted up. He waited ten minutes, then dressed and exited the room. He and Kurt almost knocked each other over.

“JULES!” Kurt rushed. “I’ve gotta shut it down! This bitch is crazy!”

Jules laughed.

“What’d she do?”

“SHE TOLD ME SHE LOVES ME!!!”

“Get out,” Jules replied in disbelief.

“I’m serious as a heart attack! She said it just like that! Said she didn’t love Ned anymore!”

“Fug dat. She just wanted to see how you’d respond. She’s playing you!”

“JULES! I know when bitches are playing around. She’s always rolling up on me in the hallways. Denise warned me she’s jonesing. I didn’t believe her. But THIS bitch is off the chain! I gotta shut it down. YOU gotta help me!”

Jules stopped in his tracks.

“ME?!? What I got to do wit’ it? What it got to do wit’ me? I fucked her, too! She ain’t huntin’ me down in the hallways.”

“Maybe your dick ain’t as big as mine,” Kurt said flatly.

Jules shook his head in disgust.

“Swarthy Friend of Mine, YOU the one that’s gotta get rid of that bitch, not me.”

“I know, I know! But I’m in her class! I’ve gotta pass her class in order to graduate!”

“You think she’ll flunk you if you drop her? She can’t do that! You’ve got a strong A in her class. Even if she gives you F’s the rest of the year, the worst you can do is a C.”

“I DON’T WANT A C IN ENGLISH! I’M A GOOD WRITER! I WANT TO MAJOR IN JOURNALISM!”

“Well, you’re fucked, then.”

They walked in silence for a few minutes, digesting the gravity of the situation.

“Where’re you on your way to?” Jules asked.

“I’ve got a hookup scheduled with Angie in the auditorium.”

“Devi? That fine ass Indian girl with the big titties?”

“Yeah.”

“You just got done fucking super MILF! And now you’re gonna go again?”

“Yeah. I wasn’t expecting super MILF today. It was a last minute thing.”

“Can you do her?” Jules asked.

“I dunno. I’m pretty tired. This ‘I love you’ shit has got me wildin’ out.”

“Whyn’t you let me deal with Angie? I ain’t fucked her yet.”

“You just got done fucking super MILF, too! What makes you more ready than me?”

Jules pointed to the unrequited lump in his jeans. Kurt laughed.

“Oh! I see you. I see you, dawg! Go get her! She’s all yours!”

XXIX. Nuckin’ Futs

Greta Scarborough, a woman in ‘love’, was becoming increasingly reckless. She left Kurt Kuhlmann’s arms at the end of sixth period without visiting the faculty restroom. Consequently, the odor wafting in her wake was not subtle.

Greta turned heads.

Every student she passed stopped to muse, “THAT ho has been FUCKING.”

Of course, the students assumed that Greta and her husband Ned had sneaked off to take a moment for themselves. Greta’s ethereal odor was taken as “two married people getting’ freaky at work”. The gossip mill revved up but didn’t get far. What’s scandalous about two married people sneaking off to have sex on the job? It was actually kinda cute.

Greta walked with her head held high. She knew, just as any woman would know, that she was shedding sexual pheromones in her wake. So what? Greta was in love.

She assumed the entire world was as blithely happy as she at that moment.

“Tonight Ned gets the third speech,” she vowed.

How had Kurt taken the news of her undying devotion? He’d been thrilled!!! He’d held and caressed her, nursed her inhibitions away!!! Undoubtedly, Kurt felt the same tug at his heartstrings as she.

Of course, he hadn’t said as much. Maybe that was a generational thing.

These young people have difficulty expressing their emotions. They think everything is a video game!

On the way to her class, Greta noticed young girls drawing off to the side distastefully.

Yeh, bitches. YEAH! That’s MY man’s dick drip you’re smelling. And that’s all you’ll get, too. A whiff! The real thing belongs to me!

She muddled her way through the seventh period lecture.

I can’t wait to get home. Maybe I’ll tell him on the way in the car. Maybe I should go and talk to a lawyer first? Maybe I should set up a separate bank account? My mom’s gonna have a hissy fit. But I’ve gotta tell her. And Gretchen told me I was nuckin’ futs! I guess we’ll show her!

The school day ended.

Greta stopped by the faculty lounge to commiserate with other teachers, all of whom noticed her indiscreet aroma, much to their chagrin. Greta basked in the insensate joy of new love.

Checking her inbox, Greta came across a handwritten note. It was from Ned:

“Honey, I had to leave early. I’ll see you at home. Stop by Wegmans and bring home a bottle of Chianti.”

Greta grimaced. “Chianti” meant an unscheduled sex night. He was actually going to go through with it.

I wonder why he’s all of a sudden so interested now? This pussy belongs to another.

Nevertheless, she left work and made her way to Wegmans where she purchased a bottle of their favorite brand.

Maybe this will help him take the news better.

She drove home, steeling herself against the ordeal to come. In her mind, Greta considered all the arguments Ned might foster against a divorce.

If he says this, I’ll say that. If he says that, I’ll say this. What if he cries?

Crying was a distinct possibility. She didn’t know what she’d do if Ned broke down.

He’s an emotional guy.

Should she hold him as Kurt had held her? Should she try to console him? What good would it do? It wouldn’t change their circumstances any.

Ned! I don’t love you anymore!

She wasn’t going to bring up Kurt. What good would that do? No. Bringing Kurt into the equation would only complicate things. Better to just let Ned know their relationship was over. Make it quick and surgical. No sense dragging things out.

It would not be painless. Yet, it had to be done. Kurt Kuhlmann was the man in her life now. Nothing Ned might say would change that. Greta just had to set her cap and forge a brave new future.

She envisioned a large home in the country with a dog. And three little stairstep children, one after the other, three little curly-haired, cherub-cheeked, tan-colored angels. (Greta figured she could get three in before the age of forty-five).

She’d work while Kurt made his way through college. He’d graduate and get a hundred thousand dollar a year job somewhere doing….what? Journalism? Journalists don’t earn that kind of cheddar.

“I may have to work a bit longer,” she mused.

Now she wondered if the judge might award spousal support.

Why not? I put a lot of money into this marriage! I deserve my share!

Maybe not. She and Ned earned about the same salary. They had no kids. Frugally, they’d only purchased one car. They’d have to sell the house, of course, and split the proceeds. That ought to feather her nest nicely.

I’ll…WE’LL need that money to get a foothold.

Greta was already thinking of herself and Kuhlie in terms of “we.”

How much was the house worth? Six hundred, seven hundred thousand? And what was the mortgage? Just south of three hundred thousand? They’d done well for themselves. The home had appreciated nicely. Good neighborhood. Good schools. After the mortgage was paid off, she and Ned would split the difference.

What if he cries? I hope he doesn’t cry.

All these things rushed through Greta’s mind on the drive home. She was at once excited and fearful. Excited for the future; fearful of the confrontation.

Arriving at home, Greta sat in her car for a full five minutes before dredging up the courage to go in. Their stereo hummed low music from the local jazz station. Lit candles glowed on the dining room table. Two settings of the good china were laid out.

“He’s cooking,” Greta observed.

Indeed, Ned was in the kitchen preparing his infamous homemade pasta with marinara sauce and meatballs. It was the same meal he’d first enticed her with so many years ago. Greta rolled her eyes.

This might be harder than I thought.

Ned emerged from the kitchen.

“Ah! Mon ami! Sit down! Sit down! You’ve had zee long day! Did you bring zhe wine? Excellent, excellent! I have zee meal fit for zee queen prepared! And zhen, maybe, zee after dinner aperitif? And zhen? Zee dirty movie and zee baby making, no?”

All spoken in Ned’s Pepe LePew faux French accent.

They’d had good times together. Greta’s heart sank. She smiled in appreciation of his efforts before sitting down to eat. Ned poured the Chianti. He served both their plates. He even had warm French baguettes prepared, with fresh-whipped butter, and a Greek salad with black olives, tomatoes, bits of onion and goat cheese. Jazz music provided a cozy backdrop. Ned was pulling out all the stops.

Greta listened patiently while Ned chattered over their meal. Complaints about his students predominated. He droned on and on about this and that, touched on workplace politics, shared a few unsubstantiated rumors.

“Hey!” he enthused. “I heard that somebody in your sector came to class smelling of sex! RANCID. Who does that!? Oh my god! And nobody said anything! Did you hear that?”

“No, Ned. I didn’t.”

His plate rapidly diminished. Greta picked over her food.

“You’re not hungry?” he asked.

“No, Ned. I…I…”

“Well, put the meatballs back if you’re not gonna eat them. Hell, I’ll eat them.”

Greta obediently shoveled her meatballs back into the bowl.

“It’s…it’s…everything’s great, Ned. I just…I just…”

Ned smiled.

“Can’t wait, eh? You thinking about this baby, hey? I’ve been thinking about it all day! Maybe we’ll have another little Greta, hey? A little red-haired, chubby-cheeked beauty! Hey, this jazz station is pretty good! It’s got ME in the mood! You?”

Greta sighed.

“Yes, Ned. Sure.”

They retired to their bedroom without bothering to clean the table.

“I’ll get to it later,” Ned groused, leading her to the bed.

Now a new consideration emerged.

“Ned, let me get into the bathroom to wash up. It’s been a long day,” Greta said.

Ned grinned at her lasciviously.

“I like it a little ripe!” he said.

Where had this newfound interest come from? If only he’d shown this interest earlier!

He threw her on the bed and mounted her, fully clothed. Ned began kissing and groping her as he had in their younger days. Greta responded tepidly. Somehow, Greta felt this canoodling a case of adultery against Kurt.

Ned’s hands caressed her breasts as he rained kisses on her lips, cheeks, ears and neck. He reached down to caress her vulva. Greta drew her knees up. Ned pulled up her dress. He pulled her panties down. An explosion of funk billowed forth. Ned noticed, but thought Greta’s aromatic vaginal bouquet to be on his account.

“No, Ned. Let me wash up. I need to…”

Ned was not to be put off. His kisses drifted south and further south. Soon his intentions became clear. Greta resigned herself.

Maybe this is the best way to let him know.

Ned continued to make his way south, working her panties down over her thighs and calves. Greta finally drew her legs free of her funky underwear. Her dress scrunched up about her waist. In a moment Ned came face to face with the object of his affection.

He paused to admire.

Ned found Greta’s vulva smashed and in disarray. Her abundant thatch of crimson pubic hair straggled wildly. Her slit pulsed unnaturally red. She stank. A viscous, white fluid oozed languidly from her opening.

This jizz wasn’t his.

Ned looked up at his wife in horror.