Chapter 1

It was the weirdest class I ever had, because it was so practical. Every other class I’d ever taken, and I’d probably taken hundreds having been like a professional student for a while, and even including all the art classes which could seem to be about results but were more about completing the coursework really had been essentially ... well ... academic, but this wasn’t. This one had a purpose in the real world, not the virtual world. It was all about building a home. Not the outside, the brick and mortar construction, although that aspect was there but more like the virtual academic type thing; more about imagination than reality since the outside was actually a fabricated construction meant to be slotted into a superstructure like sliding in a drawer except, at least hopefully, not meant to be slid out again anytime soon. Becoming temporarily slotted would mean a permanent solution for me, and maybe there was some temporality inevitable to it, but one that I hoped would be delayed for many years.

I received the acceptance to the class via snail mail in an envelope that shouted government which immediately made me skeptical. How many scams had worn such disguises? Thousands probably. If it had been sent via email I would have immediately deleted it, which, as it turns out, was why it was sent the old fashioned way. I set it aside in my pile of bills and fliers to be examined at a later time and more than likely tossed.

Emily clued me in to its purpose and its veracity the next day at work.

Emily who had stood out, a genius’s genius, a vein of gold amongst the gleam of quartz crystals, not just shiny facets but brilliant and beautiful through and through. Emily to whom I had become instantly enraptured a couple years before along with most men and many women lucky enough to encounter her, and luckier to get to know her. Emily whose creamy skin and dazzling blue/green eyes on a perfectly symmetrical rounded face with elven features and cute dimples at her cheeks when she smiled framed by thick, wavy, golden red hair still affected me profoundly after all those years, maybe even more so. She seemed to shimmer, to glow, as if the background became a dull gray just to set her off, leaving me breathless. Emily to whom I’d had inappropriate thoughts at the get go, her sixteen year old body not thoroughly on display with her loose button shirts though at least b cup sized breasts pushed out the shirts, and a couple years later there seemed to be even more pushing, made clear when she’d become more casual, wearing t shirts sometimes making it pretty obvious she’d developed c cup breasts, and even more appealing to me, some appearance of a midriff revealing a subtly rounded belly, both firm and feminine. But most attracting to me, unlike the loose shirts, she tended towards tight jeans revealing perfectly formed buttocks which also seemed to fill out as she matured. And I tended to be an ass man, enjoying the form and movement of a fine ass, and Emily’s was as fine as any.

What I didn’t know, perhaps keeping my desire to myself, at least to some extent, because Emily couldn’t help being noticed and had most likely gotten inured to the stares though still annoyed I’d imagine, and I’d managed to keep the lust out of our conversations, no stutters revealing the impact there, conversations which had always been at least interesting and sometimes fascinating, was that Emily had been interested in me for most of our time together. I always treated her like the brilliant young woman she was, respecting her, her intelligence and her wry wit, her competitive drive to challenge me like a world class debater. I dreamed or fantasized she lusted after me the way I did her, favoring a tall, slim, fairly good looking man, me being six feet six inches tall and barely over 200 pounds, and though my nose had some substantial length, revealing my Jewish heritage but also my Scotch/Irish heritage with its straightness, and my head was fairly large and elongated due to my height and my body shape, and my blue/gray eyes were fairly small, more than one woman had described me as cute, probably from a general youthfulness in my features that made me look younger than my late twenties would ascribe, and I did have a nice full head of wavy brown hair, and with my air of confidence, I’d had my share of female companionship over the years, with a couple of long relationships, though none for a while, actually since I first met her, I had my attractiveness, but had a hard time despite my confidence to think I could possibly be in her league.

Anyway, the next day after receiving that official and suspicious looking letter, she arrived in my office wearing a white blouse I hadn’t seen before, buttons opened to show cleavage, and I could swear I could see the shadow of her areolas, and also sporting her usual tight jeans. “Did you receive the acceptance letter?” she asked.

“What acceptance letter?” I returned.

She sat on the smaller leather chair on the other side of my desk, and since I stood when she entered my office, I sat back on my larger office chair. Her as usual well stuffed canvas backpack, died pink, rested on her lap. She popped open the button closure to the front pocket of the pack and pulled out an envelope. “It looks like this,” she said, handing it to me.

It had the same US Government look to it. For the first time I noticed the initials on the return address: USDESQHIQ. “What’s the department?” I asked.

“A mouthful,” she laughed. “They basically call themselves the Brain Trust. Same funding as you get.”

“Department of Education?” I asked.

“The genius branch,” she chuckled.

I nodded. Like I mentioned before, I had been what might be called a professional student. I had a knack for getting into PhD programs on full rides and had four doctorates to prove it. The first, at twenty-one, was Art History, and yes, like Emily I was a precocious genius, a prodigy. Psychology, more practically, followed, and then Education and finally, and the most practical as it ended up, Government, although they all tied in when I proposed a program to the Department of Education to serve as a sort of Guidance Counselor/Psychologist/Advisor to prodigies like me and their struggles being younger and smarter than the rest of the world and got the funding I needed to go forward with it. I found classes for them which would at least be somewhat challenging. We’d get together as a group, sometimes for group therapy, which actually brought my art education into things as well as psychology, but also to create independent projects in which some would partner up or would be done individually or the entire group would be involved such that their strengths and interests in different aspects of the project worked towards a common goal.

Because of the success I had with these brilliant youngsters, our contact continued even after I helped them through their crises and the sometimes awkward moments being kids amongst adults, and as much from suggestions from them as well as some interest from the government, I broadened my goals to recommending them and getting them into various organizations in need of their genius.

“What is it?” I asked.

“You didn’t look at yours?”

“It looked like a scam. How did you know I got one too?”

“Because I recommended you.”

“To whom did you recommend me?”

She laughed. “I thought you taught us not to talk like pompous asses.”

I chuckled. “Nevertheless...”

“I was sitting in Central Park watching the chess matches...”

“Our spectator sport,” I smirked.

“Not a sport, a board game, but never mind. You’re being amusing. This woman sat next to me, hair in a bun, tortoise shell glasses, modest business suit, white shirt buttoned to the collar, the whole nerd outfit, pretty despite herself and deemphasizing her voluptuousness. She says my name, and when I nod, surprised of course that she knows me, she hands me an old fashioned cell phone with a text message, an office in city hall and a time. She tells me one number is programmed in for speed dial and if I have a conflict or am curious, to call it. Then she leaves.

“Of course I call the number and a man with a low gruff voice answers with those letters. When I ask what that means he tells me it’s not important, just that it’s a government project involving those of the highest IQ’s. When I ask if he sent a woman so as not to think I was being hit on, he laughs. He tells me to come alone and not to share anything about them with anyone, explaining the project is at the highest level of secrecy. ‘I look forward to meeting you, Emily,’ he says, ending the call.

“I arrive at the door, one of hundreds just like it on a middle floor of the temple of government bureaucracy, although this one has no sign on it, no designation of who might be inside or what they might do, and I knock. The same woman who met me, though it took a moment to recognize her since she no longer wore her nerd disguise, instead emphasizing what she hid, her voluptuousness and her beauty, no glasses for instance, her dark hair down, long, thick and wavy, with carefully applied make-up and her blouse undone to reveal copious cleavage opened the door for me to enter.

“I asked, amused, if this was a test. She placed a finger on her painted lips expressing the need for silence, and after closing the door behind me, she pressed a button on some device which created a subtle sound, a hum using a cluster of notes. She asked if I found her desirable, and I responded that I knew she had been hiding her beauty behind a nerd disguise and figured she did it to avoid being hit on. She asked me the exact question again which I found condescending so my reply was a bit terse and uncensored telling her I wouldn’t kick her out of bed, but would rather have a hot stud with a nice hard cock, maybe both of them, if it was just something physical. I guess it was a test because she smiled and nodded and opened a door.

“One of the uglier men I’ve seen sat behind a plain metal desk. Egghead came to mind since his balding head seemed too large and too round, and he had one of those horrible comb overs to cover the bald spot. The woman didn’t seem to mind, sitting on his lap and when his hand reached under her blouse, cooing her pleasure. When he spoke I recognized the voice from the phone. He told me my picture didn’t do me justice which I found particularly inappropriate if he was going to be my boss. He must have noticed because he laughed and told me to relax. I asked if this was more testing, and he responded by divulging he’d listened in to what I said outside his office, asking me to explain the added specific rejoinder qualifying my answer of physical.

“It seemed all things were on the table as far as being explicit, so I told him that ultimately the gender didn’t matter as much as whether I liked the person or not and being excited mentally being with that person would be as much or more important than if I found the person sexy physically, in fact it was a mental sexiness I needed.

“The woman agreed, grinning, and illustrated it by kissing the man, and her hand definitely moved somewhere effective for him which I couldn’t see but it was pretty obvious. He scolded her lightly, and with her name which ended up being Candy! She pouted and returned to sitting on his lap and he kept his hand inside her blouse.

“He asked if I’d met such a person, and I told him I had, but, frustratingly, the man hadn’t figured it out yet. ‘Does that mean you haven’t had sex yet?’ the man asked, and I told him I’d made out before, even going pretty far with a woman so I knew I was bisexual, but I was still a virgin. ‘Really?’ the woman exclaimed.”

Breaking the narrative I asked, “You never...?”

Emily stood, sighed and shook her head, but a sly smirk appeared on her face. As she walked around my large desk, she muttered, “You’d think someone that brilliant would figure it out.” Leaning over me, she pushed back my chair and attempted straddling me. Unfortunately the arm rests got in the way, so she sat close to my knees. “Can you get those out of the way?” she complained.

“Mostly,” I said, and reached to the side of the rests and pressed a button, lowering them most of the way. I also moved my ass forward. Her legs still draped a bit over them, but, as planned, our covered genitalia met.

She giggled. “You’ve done this before.”

“Maybe.”

“Someone with a similar fantasy as mine,” she added before bringing her lips down, kissing me.

I broke it reluctantly. “Emily.”

“Don’t worry,” she grinned. “I locked the door.”

Sitting up while rocking against my hardening cock, she undid the rest of her buttons, and teasingly keeping the fabric draped in front so I could see the inner curves of her breasts but not quite revealing nipples, and then she undid mine. And it was as much waiting for her hands to slide beneath my shirt before mine slid beneath her blouse, feeling her warm, smooth naked torso flesh for the first time. Since she pressed against me, naked flesh against naked flesh, my more sensitive fingers would have to wait to explore the entirety of her tits, weighing them, teasing the nipples and so forth. Instead I felt the scrape of hardness subtly against my chest. And even when the hug ended and she lifted off me, though I swear I could feel tips of pressure still there, with her hands gripping my head as if framing it for her kiss, the visuals and the measuring remained delayed. The kiss became several kisses as if she tried every way in which lips can meet until I offered my tongue into the fray and she happily accepted it into her mouth, resulting in the meeting of her tongue feeling like the most pleasurable electric shock. After that our lips were sealed together and the tongues traversed from mouth to mouth, acting like slugs in a mating dance. Our excitement built: nostrils flared to fill our lungs with needed oxygen; genitalia fully excited, mine more obvious of course, but I could feel the heat and even some dampness from hers. The grinding of those genitalia against each other assisted by my hands reaching down to her firm round ass cheeks so often admired by me finally grasped, squeezed and pulled. Except for the clothes still worn, it was as if we fucked each other.

“Oh God Joe,” she moaned when she released her mouth from mine, leaning back and adding an up and down rubbing to our grinding. It finally made her breasts available, and since I didn’t want to relinquish my hold on her ass, my chin nudged aside the fabric so that my mouth could take in each mound of flesh, as much as could fit, enjoying the youthful firmness before letting it slip out until her reddish brown nipple only remained, and I sucked each one, first her left and then her right breast getting the same treatment, my tongue tip dabbing and caressing as well.

The balancing of pleasure worked, her rubbing against me more emphatic until she simply pressed, and I added to that press with my hands, and her head bent back and her body subtly trembled and she moaned from deep in her chest but through a tightened larynx so roughened up a little, almost a higher pitched growl, one exclaimed word, “Fuck!”

I took control of the rubbing through her climax, keeping the pressure of my hard cock, and actually steering the contact to the extra bulge of the glans to where I presumed her clit would be and it seemed to help sustain it for several extra seconds until she moved herself off me, her sudden need of separation causing my hands to finally release her ass cheeks and she moved those cheeks to rest on my desk.