Page 26 of Distorted Obsession

My cheeks heat as my skin flushes, more from arousal than embarrassment. If there’s one thing I’m confident in, it’s my sexuality. I will never be ashamed of my appreciation for the human form. The choice has never been, nor will it ever be, binary.

Attraction is a spectrum that society tries to deny exists… instead, choosing to enforce mores and norms that try to shame people into conforming.

“Hi,” I state.

“Hello.” He grins, and the bass in his voice shoots straight to my pussy.

I bite the inside of my cheek, halting the moan eager to escape. Then I lean over to grab my bag, attempting to distractmyself, and instantly regret it. At this point, I think even my eyelashes are sore.

“So, what sport do you play?” he inquires.

Distracted by my jello arms, I mindlessly reply, “Huh?”

Laughing, he repeats his question as I place my laptop on my desk and turn toward him. Then he tips his head in the general direction of my broken body. “I recognize a workout from the pits of hell when I see one. So you either have an overzealous trainer or a coach trying to make a point.”

“The latter. I was ten minutes late to morning practice,” I explain.

“Good afternoon,” a voice booms from the front of the room, shifting my attention away from the gorgeous man with the megawatt smile before I can finish answering him.

Gazing up, I observe the person standing in front of the smart board in white linen pants and a coral tunic top with white and gold accessories, accentuating the beauty of their smooth, warm ochre complexion.

“Welcome to Human Sexuality. I’m Dr. Ife Robinson. You may call me Dr. Robinson or Ife. My pronouns are she, her, and hers. While in my class, we will address everyone by their chosen name or preferred pronouns.” Dr. Robinson opens her laptop, loading her screen before she continues. This course will require building a safe and respectful space. If everyone would bring up the course outline, we can begin,” she instructs.

Dr. Robinson spends the next fifteen minutes reviewing the syllabus, and going over the assignments, tests, research papers, and course expectations.

Once called on, a student from the other side of the room asks, “Are we going to be able to pair up with anyone for any of the research projects?”

“There will be an opportunity for collaboration further down the road. However, that will only be an option once I trust that we’re fostering community,” Dr. Robinson answers.

A few other students ask follow-up questions, inquiring about the class discussions and weekly reading.

“This might just be my favorite class of the semester,” the guy next to me whispers.

I hum my agreement, ignoring the gut punch of a reminder that this is one of the classes Farrah discussed taking at length. Clenching my teeth, I remind myself that each thing I do in memory of her is penance.

“Okay, I’d like to spend the remainder of class with you all introducing yourselves,” Dr. Robinson begins. “We’ll go around the room starting over here.” She points to the student in the first seat of the row closest to the window. “Tell us your name, your preferred pronouns, your major, what year of school you’re in, and one of your funniest memories.”

One after another, each person introduces themselves. “My name is Liam Bradley. I’m a cybersecurity and software engineering major in my third year of undergrad. My pronouns are he, him, and his, and my funniest memory is the time I tripped over my Spiderman shoe laces and fell facefirst into my birthday cake when I was seven.”

The class breaks out into laughter and I can’t hide my amusement either. An image of a young Liam covered in cake plays like a movie reel in my head.

Fuck.He’s hot and intelligent.

It’s not long before it’s my turn. “I’m a first-year student majoring in history.” I pause, trying to recall a hilarious moment I can share without revealing my name. The last thing I want is for more people to know I’m a Pierce. “My funniest memory is when I lost a bet with my best friend and had to wear a glittered-rainbow inflatable narwhal costume to my eighth-grade graduation while singing “Under the Sea” when I accepted my graduation certificate.”

Nice, Eva. I mentally high-five myself.

Before the student behind me can begin, Dr. Robinson cuts in. “Your name?”

My short win dies a quick death with her command, and my palms begin to sweat. I peer around the room. Expectant gazes await my answer so we can continue.

Clearing my throat, I finally confess, “Eva Pierce.” There’s a gasp, and I follow the sound. Liam’s demeanor has shifted, and his laid-back vibe has vanished.

“Pierce as inthePierces?” he probes.

“That part is irrelevant, Mr. Bradley,” the professor states, but I see the recognition register on Liam’s face.

What I am not expecting is the anger rolling off him in waves. I open my mouth to speak when he stands abruptly, storming from the room.

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