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THIS ROUND IS NOW CLOSED TO NEW PROMPTS.
ROUND FOUR WILL OPEN AT 10PM EST ON MONDAY THE 14TH.
ROUND THREE
closing at 5000 comments
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REMINDER: THERE IS A SPOILER POLICY IN PLACE UNTIL 7 MAY.
PROMPT FORMATTING:
Alphabetize pairings. They will be archived that way!Put [RPF] before RPF prompts ( Read more... )
Most of the time, as he moved on through his education, he found it useful, helpful, being able to look at a problem in a way that none of his classmates could. It pissed the seniors off to no end, having some smart-ass little freshman in all their classes showing them up, but it wasn’t his fault that he looked at a curve, and could instantly see the equation that described it, laid out neatly in his mind already. No fuss, no muss. Simple.
It wasn’t so simple, though, when the ultra-expensive private high school ran out of classes that challenged him in any significant way in his spring semester, sophomore year. And his father insisted that, despite the fact that his acceptance package to MIT was sitting on his work bench in his bedroom, he maintain at least some contact with the damn place.
You’re a mouthy little shit, Tony, and you know it. You need friends your own age. You’re staying there.
Tony thought that was insane. Friends? Who the fuck said anything about high school friends? It’s not like he needed them. It’s not like he even really had any. Everybody there thought he was more than a little weird. He liked his classmates in the college classes he got to attend three days a week a hell of a lot better. They didn’t think he was some kind of freak. Most of them were arguably geekier than he was...
So Tony thought maybe his dad was fucking with him or something, leaving him there.
And then he got an invitation to a party. Thrown by one of the senior girls. Clinging to her friend as she handed him the note in between fourth period and lunch, shy in her big sweater, teased hair falling over her shoulders.
She looked cute, way cuter than any of the half-dozen girls in the MIT physics program, so Tony agreed. Even if hanging out with high schoolers really should have been beneath a college student. She was cute.
She was even cuter, the night of the party three days later, with that teased hair falling down around her shoulders, across his lap, her head bobbing between his knees with his cock in her blissfully warm mouth, in some bedroom upstairs in her family’s ludicriously large mansion, her parents in the Caymans for the month. It was thrilling.
Tony ran his fingers through her hair, gripping tight, feeling her flex around him. God, that felt good. Really good. A smooth feeling, frictionless, white. round. Completely without feature, without blemish, nothing to detract from the perfection. A sphere, realized in all its glory.
He laid back on the bed, gasping, overcome with just how right that was, that shape that was expanding to fill every corner of his mind, all consuming...
And then something - that damn girl, had to be, had to be, his suddenly fevered mind told him - burst it open, draining all that pressure, destroying that beautiful, beautiful thing...
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The girl, however, seemed to take that as permission to move into her space and kiss his cheek. “You like that, Tony?” she purred in what the teen assumed was supposed to be a seductive voice. Damn, he’d heard better off the interns his father brought home every now and them.
“You ruined it,” he told he flatly. “It was so cool, and you ruined it. Really kind of mad at you for that.”
She sat up then, and slapped him on her way off the bed. “You’re an asshole,” she snapped over her shoulder as she pulled her shirt back over her head and stormed from the room.
It was then that Tony’s brain finally caught up with his body, and he realized what had just happened.
Right. Pretty girl. Getting hard. First blowjob. Coming in her mouth...
So that was what sex looked like, he thought to himself, and wondered if it wasn’t another one of those weird sensation crossed wire things.
Still. It had been fantastic. Sex... sex was fantastic.
He'd never seen anything like that before. Not even when doing math.
So he just filed his reaction under the don’t tell anybody about this category, figuring that getting slapped by a girl at the end of things wasn’t a good way to make sure it happened again.
By the time he finished his undergraduate degree five semesters later, he’d gotten completely comfortable with faking all the socially acceptable reactions to the act. Part of him hated it, though, how he couldn’t just enjoy it how he wanted to enjoy it. Lay there and enjoy the shapes.
But he knew better than to think anyone was going to exactly understand that.
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