The Horny Geek Club

Chapter 1Sally “I suppose someone, somewhere, got the first ever blowjob. I mean, s*x is for procreation, right, Sally? Essentially, that’s the whole point. It’s for making babies. So, logic follows that at one point in human history there was a time before the trimmings were added. Yeah?” Harvey wasn’t looking for an answer, but I nodded my head anyway. I tried hard not to look as if I was in a rush, which I was. We were sitting in his flat on the sofa facing each other. “So, if you think about it, our old Homo erectus,” Harvey emphasized erect and smirked at his clever wordplay. I didn’t smirk back. “would pop behind a bush with Mrs. Homo Erectus, a quick bit of how’s yer father—junk deposited and off out again before the saber-toothed tiger could get them.” I nodded slowly again. Where are you going with this s**t, Harv? “Foreplay was a waste of time and dangerous.” My experience suggested that most men still appeared to feel that way, but I said nothing. I offered more slow nodding. “You know, they say that our early ancestors did it doggy style.” Like many of his peer group—and by peer group I mean very capable men in one way but who hugely sexually awkward, Harvey always called s*x, f*****g, making love, having a shag as “doing it.” Quite sweet really. “That way she could look out ahead for danger and he was high enough up to spring to life if danger appeared. Missionary, for example, would be s**t and as for girl on top…” Harvey paused and smiled at something going through his mind. I merely suspected that we had now exhausted Harvey’s list of s****l positions. “Well,” he went on, having recovered his train of thought, “they’d all be pretty f*****g useless. Wouldn’t they? Anyway. One day, Mr. Homo Erectus or maybe Mr. Homo Sapiens was feeling particularly safe from the sabre tooth tiger danger and was enjoying watching the way Mrs. Homo Sapiens was sucking on a twig, or a leaf or bone or something and thought to himself—I’d like her noshing action around my tackle.” He stopped for a second, presumably seeking some feedback. He got none but continued undeterred. “And the point is, Mrs. Homo Sapiens had never done it before. In fact, no one in the whole tribe had done it before, or the tribe in the next valley. Or anyone in any tribe anywhere. So, he then got not just his first ever b-j but the first ever b-j and because it was so awesome, he told all his mates. ‘Hey guys, guess what you need to try?’ Yeah? What do you think, Sal?” I looked at his beaming I’m-so-clever smile and sighed. “Listen, Harv, do you want me to suck your f*****g c**k now or not?” “Oh, yes, sorry, Sal, of course.” He stood up quickly and started to get ready—he undid his belt and moved to his zip. I gestured to him. “Harv, just you sit down.” I got to my knees in front of him. “Allow me…Relax, babe.” He nodded. Finally, he had gone completely silent. As I unzipped, I could see that his already stiffening member popping out in my eye line told me that the time of Harvey relaxing had passed. I took a deep breath and set about sucking Harv’s f*****g c**k with a high level of skill and efficiency. If giving blowjobs had been an Olympic sport, I would definitely have made Team GB, and would have been in with a strong shot of getting on the podium. My significant experience in the field made every performance world class, and as such, it made every performance short lived. I pulled out my puppies, rolled my tongue, bobbed my head, and writhed with a free hand between my legs, as if I was loving every second of Harvey’s knob being in my mouth. Harvey moaned and groaned, said a couple of oh-my-Gods and politely warned me that he was going to ejaculate. He was like that, a nice boy. He finished on cue with a hefty level of production, and I swallowed without hesitation. All part of the deal. “Oh wow, Sal,” he said, as he leaned back and I removed his deflating member from my mouth, “that was amazing!” I sat back on the sofa, wiped my mouth, and smiled. “Good, I’m pleased.” It was important to me that Harvey had a good time, every time. It kept him coming back. That said, I think just the chance to sit on the same sofa with me would have kept him coming back. I could just have read the telephone directory for ten minutes and he’d have been happy. I could feel him watching me as I fixed myself. He’s thinking of something to say. “How’s class going?” he asked, in just the same sort of way a caring boyfriend might ask. “Good, thanks, babe,” I replied, now getting myself covered up again. “Although I am late with an essay on international contract law, and that is massively freaking me.” “Oh yeah,” he said, “listen I did a load of that last year, so if you want anything, you know, just ask. I’d love to help.” “Thanks.” I gave him my best grateful smile. I kissed his cheek. I wouldn’t ask him. Harvey was final year, and I was second year—both doing Law at Manchester University. He was cruising to be top of the class and I knew his offer to help was genuine. His input would be really useful as well, but it would just blur a line that I had no intention of blurring. “I’ll text you over the weekend, if I need any help, if that’s okay?” I said. I wouldn’t. “Sure, yeah, great.” he replied. I kissed his head the way a favorite aunt would and stood up. He looked up at me, with a slightly sad longing in his eyes. “Don’t forget the PayPal bit…” I said as I adjusted a twist in my bra strap. I smiled at him, waggled my fingers, and left. Harvey wouldn’t forget the PayPal bit. None of the Horny Geek Club ever did, but I liked to remind them just in case. The money would be with me before I left the building. The Horny Geek Club. That was the cutesy name I gave to a bunch of socially awkward academic highflyers that I orally satisfied for hard currency on a semi-regular basis to pay for my degree. s*x work, you might say. Actually, s*x work, even if you didn’t say or gave it a cutesy name. I got into it by accident. Obvs. It started in my first year. I had been working double shifts in a bar and studying full time. It was hard. I was always skint, always exhausted, and badly failing a course I loved and was great at. No matter how hard things were though, it didn’t even cross my mind what was in my future. The shitshow of my finances had started as soon as I left home in Surrey for university in Manchester. My family had never been well off, but we got by in a lower middle-class family of four, semi-detached house, and dog sort of way. It was when my dad and mum split the whole money thing just got bad. I guess they waited until I left the house, and then waged war on each other. Their split didn’t upset me, the truth is they were rubbish together and made my little brother miserable, but the break-up put the family finances deep underwater. Trouble was the calculation for my tuition fees had already been made, and to stay, I had to pay. Law at Manchester University didn’t come cheap. I didn’t make the decision to get on my knees for cash at that stage. It wasn’t remotely in my thoughts. I made the decision to work full time, study like the swotty b***h I was and tough it out. So, I did. I worked double shifts at a student dive bar and made it to every lecture, tutorial, and study group. It was killing me. Law was no part-time course and working six nights a week until two a.m. was the only way I could get enough cash. I was falling asleep in classes and was permanently grumpy. My friends were worried. Then the opportunity of sucking for cash just sort of fell into my lap. It was just like any other shift at the bar and I was yawning my way through it to home time. Our most regular regular, Martin, was positioned at the end of the bar pouring Guinness down his throat at his usual alarming rate, waiting for the moment to hit on me. He always sat in the same place, and he always hit on me. Martin was a bit of a d**k, but harmless enough, and could be quite amusing when he wasn’t completely pissed or hitting on me. He was easily twenty stone and although he may have been good looking once, it was hard to tell. He sported a straggly beard, wore thick, rimmed glasses, and drank way too much. In a way, I felt quite sorry for him, as he probably had few friends and the bar really wasn’t the answer to his self-esteem issues, but there he was. Every night. He was crazy about me. I could tell for two reasons. One, the way he always talked to me, but rarely anyone else who worked there. Maybe, of course, that’s because I was always there. Two, he told me all the f*****g time just how hot I was. “Top drawer, totally smoking, absolute babe,” he would say. I knew he was right, but I always tried to look like I didn’t know it. I did know it. I knew that I was pretty, because for years my grandparents always told me and well, I knew about mirrors and my eyes worked. As I reached my later teens I was always getting approached by totally sleazy guys asking me if I wanted to do modelling. f**k you, creep. I didn’t. I was top of my class. No harm to models, but I preferred not to just be t**s, ass, and a pretty face. Running between lectures and working on my feet every night kept me in great shape—no need for the gym fees I couldn’t afford. The fact that I often skipped the cost of lunch also helped keep my stomach flat. Not a great nutritional approach, but it worked. Fortunately, that particular dietary regime didn’t mess with my curves. My shape rocked. I had no issues with the way I looked. All my issues were with the way I felt. Tired, hungry, irritated, and out of control. That night in the bar was going along pretty normally. I had no idea that it would end up being totally life changing. Life changing in ultimately a flat out f*****g freaky way. Martin was getting pissed up, as usual. It was a quiet shift and as his chat was entertainingly decent enough, so I was leaning on the bar pretending to clean a glass whilst idly talking to him. He could hit on me all he wanted, the answer would always be no, but it was sort of fun. He was also studying law, was in his final year, and wasn’t shy about telling me how he was strolling to ace the lot. He had also travelled more than I could even imagine, and I think he knew his travel chat was the bit I listened to, so unsurprisingly that is precisely what he always talked about. I was super jealous and couldn’t ever hide my desperation to visit even just some of the places he had been to. The furthest I’d been was to Ibiza for a friend’s twenty-first birthday, and I was still paying off the credit cards. That night he was talking about Australia. He was heading there straight after graduation and, as he was stupid rich, the details of his plans sounded amazing. Australia was top of my wish list, so I was genuinely interested. Fat chance that trip would happen for me though, I had precisely £17.50 in my bank account, and no food in the cupboard. I could fantasize though. The bar crowd thinned out, and Chris, the manager, gave me the rest of the night off. He said he’d still pay me for the rest of the shift. He knew I needed rest as much as I needed cash. Maybe more. “Have a drink on me and beat it, Sally.” I pulled a Heineken from the fridge, then sat beside Martin and drank deeply from the bottle. I knew this was about the time of the evening he’d give it a shot at bedding me again. He’d try, I’d knock him back, and we’d carry on chatting. “Hey, Sally, fancy dinner some evening?” He was slightly slurring, but still coherent. Bang on cue. “You know what I’m going to say, Martin, so why ask?” “Because someday, you will say yes…” I turned and looked at him and took a swig of beer. I shook my head slowly. “Nope, buddy, and you don’t want dinner, you just want to f**k me. Not. Going. To. Happen.” He laughed at this. It was true, but possibly a little unfair. He probably just wanted a girlfriend. A hot girlfriend. “Well,” he said, emboldened by his Guinness, “can I f**k you then?” My turn to laugh. “NO!!” He was enjoying this. It was a bit flirty and a bit flirty was as close as he ever got to the prize. “Suuuure?” he asked. “Sorry, buddy,” I said, “but you will never f**k me. Eveeeer. I like you loads, but just not like that. Not ever like that.” I took another swig. He finished his glass and nodded along the bar for Chris to pour another. “That hurts, that really hurts.” It hadn’t. His smirk confirmed that. Dick. “Yeah, well, build a bridge and get over it.” Another swig. His pint arrived and he pulled out his wallet. I had never seen that much cash in one place before. It was bulging. He saw me looking. He paid for a beer and pulled out a wedge of twenty pound notes. “Would that convince you?” He smiled, but I grimaced. What a vulgar arsehole. Is he propositioning me, or suggesting that I date him because he’s loaded? Turned out he was propositioning me. “I’d pay a fortune to be with someone like you. When I say ‘someone like you,’ of course what I actually really mean is, well, you!” He laughed as he spoke. I think he thought he was just being outrageous, slightly off color, giving me a bit of hearty bantz, but still within the boundary of humor. I wasn’t sure he was really joking at all. I wasn’t at all offended, because he was really quite drunk and when he was quite drunk he was usually a bit of a d**k trying to be outrageous, but just sound like a posh t**t. I pretended to be mortified. “Hey, what kind of girl do you take me for?” “Sorry for any offense that my suggestion may have caused, it was purely unintentional.” His politician apology/non apology made me smirk. He bowed his head as he spoke in a naughty schoolboy gesture. “The answer is still a hard no though, Martin.” “What about a blowjob then?” “Oh, for f**k sake, man, give it up!” “I’ll pay you for a blowjob. Straight up.” “Martin, NO!” “Come on, Sally. Fifty quid, our secret, one off? What’s the harm?” Slightly slurred. The way he looked at me was different. He had passed through flirtation and was probably now being serious. He was drunk, but I could tell in his eyes he was scanning my body language for a c***k of opportunity, for the slightest hint I would actually bite. I raised the bottle to my lips and pulled on it slowly. I knew that the reason I hadn’t just rejected outright but had had taken another a slug of beer was to delay. I’d given myself some thinking time. Is he serious? A quick gob-job would be easy. As long as he was clean, and actually paid up, what’s the harm? I knew him and was almost a hundred percent sure he was no danger, and his reputation would be properly f****d in a career damaging way if he was caught paying for s****l favors. Fuck sake, Sal, what are you actually considering here? Just say no and storm out! I had just earned £54 for a six-hour shift. There’d be tax and national insurance to come from that. I’d take home less than forty notes for sore feet and a sore head. I was doing sums as I drank my beer. I also hid the little voice of self-loathing in me as I was taking his f*****g awful suggestion seriously. I finished my beer, put the bottle on the counter, and stood up. “Yeah, sure.” I said, being as casual as possible. I was half pretending I would and half being sarcastically dismissive. I didn’t want to agree and find out that he was just joking. On the other hand, I didn’t want to agree and find out he wasn’t joking and then have to wriggle out. I wasn’t sure I could go through with it. But, hey, fifty pounds for ten minutes work (absolute max ten minutes) would be an easy gig. Hell, I needed the cash. I was considering his f*****g awful suggestion seriously. Rock bottom, but an option. “Right, creep, I’m off now. But if you are serious, message me tomorrow on f*******:, otherwise don’t waste my time.” I said the last bit with a serious businesswoman look on my face. Another attempt to make it look serious, but not serious, sarcastic, but testing. I turned and left; fully aware he was watching my backside in my jeans as I walked to the door. I knew there was no way he would message me when he was sober. He did. He messaged me the next evening, and I picked it up on my break at work. It was the same sort of tone as the playful, is-this-for-real chat of the night before. Martin: Hi, Sally, sorry if I offended you last night with my banter—I was just mucking about!! You’re a great girl and you know I fancy you like mad, but I get you aren’t into bigger guys. Anyway, the offer still stands and it’s up to £60 by way of apology! He’d thought about the message. Jokey, but serious. An easy out if I knock him back with an “only kidding, girl! You serious?” But also, the door was most definitely open for me to say yes. I looked at the schedule on the staff room wall. I looked at my phone and the classes ahead of me. f**k, what a week. I messaged back. Martin would have to walk the talk. Sixty pounds would mean I could ask for a shift off and get some sleep. Sally: Hey, Martin—no worries. Listen, I wasn’t offended at all. As for your offer—let’s do this. 3 conditions. First—You don’ tell a single f*****g soul. Ever! Honestly, I am not some campus slut. Second—One and done. Third—PayPal payment—I’m not taking cash for this—that’s just grubby. OK? I checked my phone again at the end of the shift. A message from Martin. Martin: Great. I swear I will not say a thing. I know you are massively cool, and I know why you are doing this and it’s a bit s**t. I am serious about this, obvs—you are totes hot!! When suits? Bit s**t. Yeah, for sure. Totes hot. God almighty. Oh, Sally. I responded back. Sally: It’s just gone up to £80 for the totes hot s**t…x. I asked Chris for that Wednesday off, and he agreed immediately. No reasons needed, as he knew I was breaking. He really did care. Nice guy. He helped me a lot. “Thanks. You are a star.” “You need to look after Sally, Sally.” I gave him a hug. “Oh, Chris, if you weren’t smaller than me…or my boss…or married…” “Or gay…” He spun me round, slapped my bum and pushed me out the door. “Now, get yourself home nice and early tonight as well, girlfriend!” The plan for Wednesday was made; classes, shower, suck for cash (ugh), study, and get my ass to bed early for once.