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Willie And The Brain

She was poor, cute, and smart. He was rich, dumb and didn’t have a chance.
Willie and the Brain

By Rumple Foreskin

Many hours later, as she faced questions from her sorority sisters, Tanya the Tri-Delt Tramp would remember, Willie, the frat boy she’d been screwing cowboy style that morning and his awesome orgasm that blew her off both his spurting cock and the bed. What she couldn’t understand and mentioned to no one was how, during lift off, she heard him scream, “Mid-terms!”


"If only the good die young, those guys will live to a hundred.” This unflattering rumination came from one, William Jackson (Willie) Sinclair IV. Having helped the confused but only slightly bruised Tanya slip out through the kitchen, he now gazed upon the target of his jaundiced assessment, the Iota Fraternity test procurement committee. It’s entire membership was currently passed out in a back room of the Iota house amid a sea of stained toga sheets, empty beer cans and two semi-nude females he didn’t recognize.

What prompted Willie’s unkind assessment was the committee members failure to obtain any copies of his upcoming mid-term exams. This dereliction of duty meant he faced some serious book time.

Casual observers, unaware of the fortitude possessed by this scion of the Sinclair clan, might have expected him to quail at the prospect of real study. For it is true that not unlike the lily of the field, young Willie spun not, neither did he weave in the groves of academe. It is, therefore, to his credit that young Willie’s resolve remained unshaken.

This stouthearted attitude was due, in no small measure, to the proximity of a certain, Ms Edwina Toupes, known to her band of loyal friends and admirers as, “Etta,” She had gotten into Wodehouse College on a full scholarship and was an acknowledged campus brain. Willie’s surprising inclusion in her circle of acquaintances was due to his sincere appreciation for Ms Toupes' remarkable mental capabilities and her unfailing willingness to share that gift with him.

It is true, that he sometimes overheard certain Iota brothers making gross references to her grade point average far exceeding her bosom's measurement. But like most other thoughts, ones about her figure seldom troubled his mind. To him, the important point was not the modest number assigned to Etta's bosom, but the even more modest figure that now represented his own grade point average.

For Willie, Ms Toupes' attraction was spiritual and intellectual, not physical. It was an appeal not of the flesh but of the mind. In short, he knew no one more capable than Etta of helping him overcome his very real academic shortcomings.

This profound appreciation of Ms Toupes' scholarly qualifications was commendable. But when it came to noticing the young lady's physical attributes, he was a total failure. For a worldly-wise Iota Assistant Rush Chairman, the oversight was surprising. For while objective observers often described Etta as willowy, even slender, those same individuals also noted with approval her large brown eyes, pert button of a nose, brilliant smile and long, rather shapely, legs.

The condition of Etta’s legs was a combination of favorable genetics and her participation on the school's new women's track team. She’d casually mentioned this membership during their most recent extended social intercourse which just happened to occur a few days before finals last semester.

Etta’s involvement with varsity athletics troubled Willie. As a key member of the school’s perennially losing football team, he held on point-after and field goal attempts, he knew how physically demanding sports could be.

He was also bothered by her recent adoption of "Ms" as her preferred title. This might be the 1970’s, but Willie's views on social norms were of an antiquarian bent. However, he credited himself with being tolerant enough to overlook Etta's recent faddish excesses.

This forbearance reflected both his cosmopolitan appreciation for the capriciousness of the female of the specie and his current academic imperatives. As a result, he had no problem curbing his natural instinct towards brotherly remonstration.

Willie felt justified in this decision. After all, Etta was an intelligent girl, in a bookish sort of way. Sooner or later, her basic good sense would overcome these impulsive gestures toward modernity. So it was with a clear conscience that he hopped in his car and exited the Iota house parking lot in search of Ms Etta Toupes.

The automobile in question was a dilapidated model rich in years. To the uninitiated, this might seem surprising. Willie was sole heir to the Sinclair family fortune, the limits of which had been perceived by few and then but dimly and at a great distance. But Willie considered, "The Heap," his fond name for the car, a thing of joy and satisfaction.

The Sinclair’s did not amass a rather large pile of liquid assets by being spendthrifts. The cautious use of money was preached to young Willie from his earliest days. The Sinclair’s were, as a rule, extremely frugal. Willie had, so far, proved to be a glaring exception to that rule.

The Heap was the chief, some would say only, evidence the sermons of his elders had not been totally in vain. Willie had it from a good authority, his mother, that its presence was all that kept his allowance checks rolling in. Now he guided The Heap in an unusual direction, toward that natural habitat of Ms Edwina Toupes, the school library.

Etta had just reached the library steps when Willie once again staged an entrance into her life. Since it was test week, this meeting came as no surprise. Willie had been making these raids on her with tidal regularity since their freshman year in high school.

One unwanted by-product of her periodic attempts at academic resuscitation was the solitary “B” that kept her from having a perfect 4.00 average. But Etta had a remarkably sanguine attitude toward Willie’s reappearances.

Since their first meeting in ninth grade, she’d been fascinated by Willie Sinclair. In her opinion, he was a force of nature, but with a quiet charm most people overlooked. He was also very good looking, which was nice, and possessed many things she lacked, such as self-confidence, social standing and, well money.

Over the years, however, Etta had come to realize there were things missing from Willie’s make up. High on that list were intelligence and self-discipline. Time and self-awareness had not lessened her fascination with Willie. Therefore, she greeted him warmly. "Willie, what's a guy like you doing in a nice place like this?"

"Just trying to improve the image of this den of learning, Ms Toupes. What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be off burning a bra or some such?”

Willie couldn’t believe what he just said. It wasn't a very smart thing to say when about to ask for a favor. But most of all, in light of her endowment, or lack of the same, it was downright rude.

"Sorry about that, Etta. I didn't mean to get personal like, you know. I mean, politics is one thing but friendship is another, uh, don't you know." Willie squirmed. Apologies weren't his strong suit, few things were, and he’d hashed that one to the max.

As usual, Etta was a good scout. "It wouldn't do me any good to go to one of those demonstrations. Training bras are flame proof.” Just like Etta to let a fellow off the hook, he thought, experiencing an intense feeling of gratitude.

Much to his relief, Etta picked up the conversational ball. "Willie, according to my sundial, it's test week. Now if I hadn’t known you since the ninth grade, I might think you're just here for some mindless social reason like, for instance, asking me to the big Iota spring ball. But I bet you're here on a more serious, a more scholarly mission. Why, I bet going to the dance hasn't even crossed your mind, especially with me. The only thing you’re concerned about is how you’re going to do on your tests. Am I right, Willie? When you think of me, you think of tests, not formal dances, right?"

Willie was not the worlds' strongest debater. To him, logic was illogical. When it came to diplomacy and negotiation, he was strictly of the, "Take it or leave it," school. However, even he could see his present position was precarious. Never strong at thinking on his feet, or any other position, he now had to take quick stock of the situation and make a command decision.

He’d already given Etta a good reason to be huffy with that dumb bra burning joke. And while she’d been remarkably decent about that screw-up, he sensed it would be a mistake to presume too much on her sense of humor, especially about that subject.

What’s more, there were signs she might be coming around to the belief his visits were due solely to his sagging grade point average. Of course, that wasn’t true, at least not entirely. The timing had been purely coincidental all these years. Still, it had been a lot of years. Some of the egghead types he noticed hanging around her might have started questioning his motives.

Then there was the dance. Until Etta brought it up, he’d been able to put thoughts of the Iota spring ball out of his mind. Not that the event by itself was unpleasant, in fact, it was something he rather liked. It was just that thinking about it reminded him of, The Sin.

Cynthia “The Sin” Bliss possessed the type of beauty, both natural and, rumor had it, artificially enhanced, that tends to stop traffic. She was a tall, tanned, blue-eyed, blonde. The generous proportions of her eye-catching figure brought to mind the extreme curvature of an hourglass. The sight of her walking away while wearing a certain pair of tight leather pants always sent testosterone levels soaring.

The Sin and Willie had been a number for the longest, maybe over a month. While not actually pinned, the word was out. Then suddenly, Willie was out with, The Sin.

Unbeknownst to Willie, the seeds of his downfall had been sown early in the relationship. Prior to their first date, he’d gone home to negotiate an advance on his allowance and say goodbye to his father who was leaving on a three-week business trip to Europe . He also wrangled use of the paternal Lincoln Continental while The Heap’ underwent an extended period of much needed mechanical resuscitation at a local garage.

Thus it came to pass that Willie picked up ‘The Sin’ for their first date in one of the creamiest cream puffs ever to lumber down the nation’s highways. To his astonishment, the date ended at a much-used local lover’s lane with his hand inside her panties while she, with skirt bunched above hips, moaned and shimmied on the soft leather of the front seat.

A week later, their second date ended at a much more secluded spot several miles from town. Shortly after the first serious groping began, ‘The Sin’ broke an especially passionate kiss, gave him a sultry look, and in a low husky whisper said, “Why don’t we get in the back, you know, where we’d have more room?

History does not record the incredulous response of Willie, but one can be assured it was in a most positive vein. ’The Sin’ rewarded him with a coy smile… “Well, if that’s what you really want. But tell you what, if you’d like a little surprise, close your eyes while I get into the back. When I give you the word, come and join me but don’t peek until you open the back door. Okay?”

Never was a request so quickly agreed to or a surprise more eagerly awaited.

When that much anticipated word arrived, Willie bolted from the car. Thanks to backdoors that opened toward the stern of the senior Sinclair’s land yacht, he quickly found himself staring at a living, breathing, wide awake wet dream.

From her well-polished toes to the golden locks of her hair, ‘The Sin’ was spectacularly and, most of all, totally nude. One leg dangled off the wide, long leather back seat forming one-half of a leggy V compelling Willie’s attention up to hips that moved in a slow, seductive motion, breasts that lolled sensuously from side-to-side, a face wreathed in a beckoning smile and arms that reached out to him.

It was a sight to bring weak men to the brink of cardiac arrest and strong ones to their knees. That was, in fact the posture Willie found himself in, positioned between those luscious limbs. Under the guidance of ‘The Sin’s soft but demanding hands, he soon found his face buried amid the surprisingly dark patch covering her garden of earthly delights.

With ‘The Sin’s’ ever more insistent voice urging him on, Willie just managed to beat back the brush, so to speak, before having his face shoved between the folds of her surprisingly tasty twat. While not exactly a novice, most of his other oral experiences had been of the, touch and go, variety. Now, however, all signs indicated a more extended dining experience would be required

That posed no problem for Willie. The feel of silken thighs pressing against the sides of his head, the taste of warm female juices, and the sounds of ever growing passion all spurred him on. Using first his tongue, and when that tired, adding lips and fingertips to the mix, he was soon lapping the field in a way that brought moans, groans, and at the climax, even shouts of erotic approbation.

His reward was one of the shortest blowjobs in the history of backseat sex. It is a well known fact that a young heterosexual male in a state of extreme arousal can seldom, if ever, withstand the coaxing of their nude sexual partners. This explains why Willie found himself standing just outside the car’s open back door.

With her bare bottom wiggling on the leather seat, ‘The Sin’ very, very quickly brought him to the point of no return. His strangled warning gave her time to switch from oral to digital stimulation and turn him to face the darkness that surrounded them. Moments later, thrilled by what she had wrought, she watched as thick ropes of Sinclair semen flew away and vanished into that good night.

It goes without saying, but won’t, that Willie looked forward to their next date with the barely contained eagerness of a five-year old on Christmas Eve. Unfortunately, that proved to be their first date in ‘The Heap’.

‘The Sin’ was not amused. To his confused surprise, Willie not only didn’t race from third base to home, he found himself sent back to first base, and that just barely.

The woman had, of course, been totally unreasonable, taking strong exception to riding in, The Heap. Willie tried to explain the reasons behind his affection for the car, such as low maintenance and steady allowance. However, she proved to be firm as only a homecoming queen can be. It was either her or, The Heap.

With his Ouija board on the blink, Willie could not know that, many years later, following her second divorce, ‘The Sin’ would heed her inner desires by establishing a successful line of upscale boutiques specializing in exotic leather goods. In short, it was the Continental’s supple leather seats that turned her crank, not Willie, and most definitely not the worn fabric seats of his old car.

The Sin was a bit surprised when he took The Heap over her. She was not dismayed, just surprised. Willie had begun to grow on her. Unlike most of her dates, he was a gentleman and one who possessed a most enthusiastic tongue. Of course, she also liked the stories of his family's financial resources. But his decision convinced her that, Lincoln or not, the stories of his monetary estate were either exaggerated or he was one really weird car nut.

The truth was, in the end, Willie picked the full figure on his allowance check over that possessed by The Sin. It had been two weeks since the great divide, and Willie was just beginning to recover from its effects. Now Etta had brought all those painful memories rushing back.

Questions of the heart aside, he also had to face an immediate crises regarding questions on tests. Etta's remarks indicated to even his slow wit that the strategies of the past might prove less fruitful than usual in conjuring up her cooperation. A simple question like, "How's about a Coke?" somehow didn't seem to be an adequate opening gambit.

Light rarely illuminated the intellect of Willie Sinclair with any measurable brilliance. In this case, however, his bulb suddenly began approaching searchlight candlepower. "The dance,” he exclaimed, breaking a somewhat protracted silence.

Etta continued to gaze calmly at Willie as he again became lost in thought. He'd invite good old Etta to the dance. It had never occurred to him to ask her to any social event. Not that he didn't respect, admire and even like her. He just never thought about her as a date.

But taking Etta to the dance would kill several birds with one, somewhat slender, stone. She wasn’t The Sin, but then who was? Still, she wasn't a bad looking girl, if you thought about it. In fact, you might even call her cute in a healthy, perky sort of way. And having a date for the Valentine’s Day dance would show The Sin that William Jackson Sinclair's social life didn’t end with the great divide.

Going to the dance with Etta would also spare him the agony of taking Priscilla Rogers, the family favorite for his hand in matrimony. Unfortunately, Priscilla was neither perky and smart like Etta nor beautiful and interesting like, The Sin. Priscilla was to Willie as Oakland was to the poet who proclaimed, "There’s no there, there".

Asking Etta to the dance would also prove he wasn’t just interested in her academically. That should relieve any suspicions she might be harboring concerning his intentions at this pivotal point on the academic calendar.

"Willie," said Etta, breaking the second extended period of Sinclair silence. "You said something about the Iota dance?"

"Yes, of course I did, I mean, you reminded me, you know?" As usual, Willie was having some trouble getting into verbal gear. "What I’m trying to say is, Etta, we've been friends for ages and I guess you heard about me and The Sin. Well, I don't want you to think that I'm just trying to pick you up on some sort of rebound but, like I said, we've been good friends for ages and I don't have a date for the dance. So I wondered if you'd like to go, you know, with me to the Iota dance?" With a sigh, Willie completed one of the longest orations in his intercollegiate career.

Although her heart had just performed an impressive high-jump into her throat, Etta didn't blink an eye, "That might be fun. But it would have to depend on how well you do on your tests. After all, you’ve got to keep your grades up or you’re off the football team. In case you've forgotten, I'm not just a brain anymore. I'm a jock, kind of like you, in a way."

Willie’s look of relief resembled that of a condemned man reprieved just minutes from the gallows. His reply, “Sounds good to me,” should be ranked in the top ten all-time greatest understatements.

Etta moved up a step and gestured toward the library. "So shake a leg, big fella. Let’s get a move on. Knowing you, we'll have to hustle up to catch up. But when the going gets tough, the tough get going. Ya know what I mean?"

As Willie bent over to pick up the backpack containing his seldom used books, he glanced up and, thanks to the abbreviated nature of her track shorts, noticed that Etta really did have great legs and that, as she continued up the steps, marveled at how her trim bottom bounced around inside them in a most provocative way, and suddenly, what he felt was more than just relief. The image of those same legs wrapped around his head flashed across his libidinous imagination.

Sensing she was a parade of one, Etta turned back on the top step and looked back. The winsome smile she bestowed on him looked just like the one he’d seen for years – only, somehow it seemed very different.

“Books too heavy to carry?” she asked, in a teasing tone.

“No, it’s not that. I was just wondering if you’d mind going to the dance in my old car?”

“Of course not, Willie. ‘The Heap’ is you.” And with that, the future of William Sinclair was signed, sealed and delivered. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Willie recognized this, smiled at the thought, and followed Etta into the library.

The End

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

Copyright © All stories submitted under the name RUMPLE FORESKIN are copyrighted by the author.

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