Upon reflection, Bertram decided that his Scott Pilgrim Versus the World poster had to come down. He was proud of how he’d gotten it for free, and no doubt it added a splash of colour to his drab dorm room wall – but the awkward truth was that he hadn’t actually seen the movie while it was in theatres, and he suspected that Tessa would likely judge him for that.

He’d met her in his Early Twentieth Century Literature course at the beginning of the semester. She’d caught his eye the moment he’d seen her in her seat – long, lime-green hair spilling down onto her shoulders, dressed in a black corset and puffy skirt with striped leggings peeking out from underneath (The style was called “Gothic Lolita”, as he would later learn).

A black choker encircled her delicate neck. Two wicked-looking spiked piercings protruded from her nose and lip. There were several times that he had to force himself to avert his eyes so as not to be caught staring.

It wasn’t just that she was strikingly beautiful – though she was! But if he’d met her in high school, he likely never would have spoken to her, assuming that they had nothing in common.

But Bertram had learned much since leaving home… and especially since he’d gotten his own computer, one that didn’t require him to clear his browser history after every time he’d used it. He had a secret – while he fantasized about sex like every most every other guy his age, some of those fantasies had a decidedly spicier edge.

And when he was alone, “entertaining” himself with video clips of girls having their panties taken down and spanked on their bare bottoms… he’d seen a lot of models who looked like those Goth girls from high school. Who looked like Tessa.

Was she… was she someone like him? And open about it?

He’d forced himself to push that thought to the back of his mind and concentrate on his lessons – which would have been easier if Tessa hadn’t also been assigned to his tutorial, and easier still if she weren’t an incorrigible brat. She was a lively participant in class discussions, but always moving toward the most inflammatory topics, the ones that caused the class to disintegrate into off-topic arguments while she sat with a smirk, taking notes.

Despite the chaos she so enjoyed, she still made top marks.

Bertram had been content to watch her work, until one session following a lecture on pulp fiction that included The Music of Erich Zann. When asked for impressions of the reading, Tessa’s hand shot up.

“I have a question. Did the professor pick this particular story because it’s representative of Lovecraft’s work? Or because it’s one of the few that isn’t hugely racist and weird with tentacles?”

“Listen, I’m not going to defend the man’s xenophobia—“

Bertram hadn’t even raised his hand. Now, suddenly, he had the unexpected attention of twenty-five of his fellow students. Tessa raised an eyebrow.

“—But if you’re going to pull from Lovecraft’s biography, it deserves more than a cursory glance. During his life, he was forced into confronting that the things he thought were important, like being educated or Christian or yes, racially pure – none of that mattered. That meaninglessness, that powerlessness, that terror – that’s the essence of Lovecraft.”

“Uh-huh,” replied Tessa, seemingly unimpressed, “And what about the tentacles?”

Bertram shrugged. “Maybe he just liked tentacles. Are you kink-shaming?”

The class erupted in laughter. Tessa tried to look annoyed that Betram had stolen her thunder, but he saw the line of her onyx lipstick break into a smile.

They hung out a few times after that, always before or after class. She’d always dominate the conversation, talking at length about her course load, or her parent’s disapproval of her lifestyle, or how Bertram’s belief in the ‘death of the author’ was reductive and silly.

He’d always be thinking: Is she into… that? Am I reading the signs right?

On a whim, he asked her if she’d like to join him for a study session in preparation for the midterm. She thanked him for the gesture, but she said she hated studying in the library – too many people, too many echoes, and it gave her a headache.

“We could study in my dorm.”

His ears burned immediately after saying it, but Tessa looked him over, seemingly to decide how seriously she should take him. She nodded and suggested a time later in the evening, well after classes had ended.

He was sure he heard her say, “Bring protection.”

Bertram had never… ‘been’… with a woman before. It was an embarrassing thing to admit at twenty-one, but the situation had never come up before, as it were. Between his studies and his hidden interests, Bertram had assumed that if such a thing were to happen, it would require a serious and long-term commitment.

But now he’d just accidentally propositioned an attractive classmate… and she’d said yes. Just on a lark.

He was not prepared for this.

Maybe he was better off to leave Scott Pilgrim at its post. The wall looked bare without any decoration…

There was a knock at the door. He answered, maybe a little too hastily.

Tessa stood outside, her knuckles still raised. Her hair was tucked in under a toque. She looked like she’d abandoned her typical Goth attire for an oversized sweater, though she had her familiar choker on underneath.

“Are you going to let me in, or just stare?”

“Sorry.” He swept out his arm to admit her through the narrow doorway. He caught a scent of weed and sweat and… something he couldn’t place.

“You look like you’ve gotten your exercise getting here.”

“In a manner of speaking…” She trailed off, dropping the subject as she caught sight of the empty space on his wall. “And you look like you’ve been housekeeping. Let me guess – Grindhouse? Maybe Scarface?”

Busted. “Scott Pilgrim.”

“Huh. I never saw that one.”

“Well, for tonight’s events I have a selection of books from the syllabus, in addition to extracts from our oversized and overpriced textbook. What would the lady prefer?”

Tessa rolled her eyes. “You didn’t really ask me here to study, did you?”

Her skin was almost glowing. Was it just the light in the room? Or had she been like that since before she arrived?

Something was going on, something he didn’t yet understand. He decided to proceed with caution.

“How about we start with studying and see where the night takes us from there?”

“Bertie, Bertie…” she said with a shake of her head. “You are playing this way too fucking safe. We’ve been flirting for months, and now that you’ve got me here you’re not sure where you want to go? You want me to take it off, don’t you?”

She reached under her sweater. Bertram liked where this was going, and signaled his enthusiasm with a nod.

“Say something, dude. It almost feels like I’m taking advantage of you like this.”

“I want you to take it off.”

Her arm drifted farther up the sweater, the fabric climbing up her midsection, past her ribs – he didn’t see a bra strap, but he did see just a peek of the swell of her…

… And as that hand drew his attention, her opposite hand grabbed the toque off her head and threw it at his unsuspecting face.

He must have looked pretty dumb falling for the woolen sucker punch, but the look he gave her upon seeing the scalp underneath had her laughing out loud. Soft, short peach fuzz covered her scalp, and he realized that the green hair had been a wig.

That, and she was a natural redhead. Good to know?

She snorted. “You’re cute when you’re flustered, you know that?”

“Thanks… I think.”

“I mean it. Let me show you—“ And with that she pulled off her sweater in one practiced motion. Underneath her skin stippled with freckles that danced over her stomach, her collarbone, over her lily-white breasts, her nipples pink and engorged.

Bertie had to sit down on his bed.

“Look, Bert,” she whispered, “if you’ve got any sexual hang-ups or tentacle fetishes to get off your chest, this is your courtesy call.”

He thought hard.

“I’m a virgin,” he confessed.

“Well, no shit.”

She kissed him deeply, her lip spike biting into his mouth. He flinched from the sting, and Tessa grinned.

“Don’t you like a little pain with your pleasure?”

That was all he needed. He kissed her back, his enthusiasm catching her by surprise. The spike dug deeper, but Bertram wouldn’t have felt it anyway. He was awash in the heat from Tessa’s body, but he felt confined himself.

He tore at the buttons on his shirt, his lips still entwined with hers. As his clothes hit the floor, he felt a twinge of self-consciousness. He wasn’t the most handsome guy, but now that he was undressed there was no hiding that he was out of shape and kind of hairy. Did it bother her?

If she didn’t, she wasn’t letting it show. She pushed him down on the bed and straddled him, stroking his… stroking him through his briefs, her knees precariously balanced on either side of his single mattress. Somewhere along the line she’d shucked off her leggings, and he couldn’t help but stare at the bramble of coppery pubic hair now pressed so close to his own private parts.

“Did you remember protection?” she whispered.

“Under the pillow.”

Tessa leaned over, her creamy breasts brushing his cheek as she rummaged behind his head. A crinkle let him know that she’d found what she was looking for. She held her prize up where he could see it.

“You really thought I’d believe you just invited me here to study?” she said.

He grinned. “It was worth a—“ was all he got out before the rest was lost in a gasp as she dragged her fingertips down his chest. His underwear strained in response, a damp patch already forming at his tip.

“It looks like you're ready for me...”

“Uh, yeah,” Bertram gulped. “Don’t you want me to… go down on you first or something?”

“Do you know how to go down on a girl?” She chuckled. “Bertie, I got myself off before I came here. I’m kind of surprised that you didn’t notice.”

She brushed her hand beneath his nose, and he recognized the aroma that had paired with her sweat when she’d arrived. She drifted down his neck, across his stomach, to his waistband. Her fingers crept under the elastic and pulled.

“I have your attention, right?”

He nodded with vigour.

“I bet I do. Now breathe.” He closed his eyes and exhaled. He took another deep breath, and the pressure in his loins lessened, if only a bit. Her voice continued, “In a minute, I’m going to let you put the condom on, but I need you calm. Placid. Don’t cum the moment you’re inside me, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Breathe in, breathe out.”

“Okay.”

“Say it with me. ‘I’m not going to cum the minute I’m inside you’.”

“Tessa, please…”

She squeezed her thighs like a vise. “’I’m not going to cum’…”

“I’m not going to cum the minute I’m inside you!”

“Good.” She squeezed harder. “Now say, ‘H.P. Lovecraft was a bigoted hack’.”

“I’d sooner die a virg—“

“Now, Bertie.”

She’d caught him by surprise, but he hadn’t forgotten his part. The pressure on his hips abated, and he grabbed the plastic sheath from Tessa’s hands and rolled it down his shaft with a grunt. It was a tight fit. Was it supposed to be this tight?

His doubts crumbled as he watched Tessa lower herself onto him, grimacing as he entered her. He shifted, but she shook her head and continued to slowly descend until she’d swallowed him up entirely.

He had to remind himself to keep breathing.

Now comfortable with Bertram imbedded inside her, Tessa began to rock back and forth, her hips rolling with the movement. The sensation was… it was a lot, but he was keeping up. His body reacted, and as she pressed down, his hips rose on their own accord to meet her. That got a grin from her.

His hands were outstretched on the sides of the bed – there wasn’t much space and he didn’t know what to do with them. As if reading his mind, Tessa grasped his wrists and pulled his hands behind her. Lacking direction, he settled for whatever he could grasp.

What he found was warm and round and doughy in his clutches. He held her buttocks tight as she continued to grind against him, his breath coming to him in short gasps.

She grinned. “You like this, don’t—“

He made a sound much like a hiccup and the room went white. When his vision cleared, he saw her shaking her head.

“Well, you lasted until the minute after you were inside me, I’ll give you that.” She pushed herself up by her knees, and his rapidly softening member slid out of her.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, his words slurring. He tugged at the condom with unsteady hands and fired it at the garbage can beside his desk.

Tessa lay down on her stomach beside him, her arm draped over his chest. She gave him a little kiss on the cheek. “We can work on that. You really like my ass, huh?”

He turned his head. Her pale and speckled cheeks winked back at him. He nodded.

“You want to give it a good smack, then?”

This had to be the afterglow, he thought, but she was wiggling that butt of hers so enticingly. He raised his hand cautiously and struck her bottom with the barest of effort.

“Come on, you can do better that that—“

The gauntlet had been cast, and his lingering questions answered. This time, he slapped her naked ass with full force, watching it wobble under his palm. She cooed, and so encouraged he kept going, one cheek to the next.

“Ooh! Ooh! Ow! Wait!”

To his horror, she leapt off the bed like he’d burned her.

“Ow! Bert, what the fuck? I meant like ‘yeah, take it’, not ‘just wait until your father gets home’!” She danced in place, rubbing at the gleaming red blotch on her hindquarters.

Bertie lay with his mouth open. “I’m sorry, I thought—“

“You thought what?”

He pointed dumbly to her choker, his finger trembling.

“This?” she asked. “It’s just fashion. I went to Catholic school until I was eighteen, I’m not actually into that whips and chains shit. Are you?”

Bertram didn’t have an answer – at least not one that was any more succinct than the mark he’d left on Tessa.

She snatched her clothes off the floor and hastily redressed.

“Well, this has been educational. Best of luck on the test, don’t call me again.”

The sound of the door slamming behind her shook him out of his post-orgasm haze. So… that had happened. And now it was over. Four years of schooling had led to this, and it might be another four years before it would happen again.

His fingers still held the memory of Tessa’s ass in his hands. That would be the sensation he’d miss most.

He kneeled beside his bed and retrieved the Scott Pilgrim poster out from underneath. Two more months and he would graduate and leave all of this behind. Provided, of course, that he passed the final.

The poster could wait. He stretched out and grabbed the closest book from the syllabus.