Talk To Me

Ada

He was drunk. He was drunk. He was drunk. He. Was. Drunk. Does he know it's me? No. He wouldn't tell me all this then, would he? Fuck.

I frantically run my hands through my wet hair, hearing his drunken southern accent in my head again. "I'm a provezzor at a local collej and can't even do ma fuckin job because of her leaving." When he's drunk, he apparently cant pronounce his f's, g's or, s's. It's laughable. Well, would be if I hadn't figured out my professor was heartbroken and turning to phone sex for help.

The first time I believed it was him, it was and I wasn't just being paranoid. He didn't want anything, just conversation. But this time, he actually did it. He actually jerked off to our conversation. To my voice. Oliver Quinn Levine. Yeah, Quinn is his middle name. I was gobsmacked to say the very least.

"Thank you, butterfly." Is the only fully intelligible thing he had said the entire call before hanging up.

Butterfly. Professor Levine called me butterfly. Oh, god. I love older men enough. Would it be wrong to go after him? Would it be seen as preying on him when I know his fiancée left him? God, that's so fucked up. I'm angry for him. It seems like he loved her more than life itself. I'm heartbroken for him.

"Whaz- whaz your dream, sweetheart?" He asked through muffled moans.

I love vocal men enough, but oh. Oh, God. His moans? Life changing. They're sweet yet raspy and needy yet demanding. The exact type of moan that makes a girl wrap her legs around a man when in missionary. The type of moan that makes you moan.

I'm literally getting ready for his class and I can't stop thinking about it. He doesn't know it's me. There's no way I could bring it up to him. The guy is heartbroken already and I don't need to make him question his life by letting him know his own student has heard him moan.

I step off the treadmill and stare at the pastel green clock on the wall, watching the second hand tick by as I contemplate searching him up on Facebook. I groan to myself and snatch my phone off the nightstand, clicking on Facebook. I never post much on it but I am very active in shit-posting groups. I've never thought to search him up until now. I click on the magnifying glass and search his name, clicking on the first person. I click on his profile picture and my jaw drops at the sight. In the photo are three sweaty men holding up finisher medals.

On the right of him is a clean cut, short haired brunette. He has no tattoos or anything, just messy hair and a killer face. To the left of him is someone who looks more like his aesthetic. Fully tattooed with a straight face and long legs. His long brown hair stuck to his sweat covered, chiseled face. In the middle is Oliver. Mr. Levine. His soft 6-pack glistens from the sweat of whatever marathon they had just finished but his tattooed chest and arms make it hard to see any sweat on them. My eyes shoot down to his belly button. I almost gasp at the tattoo and the sight of his happy trail. Oh. My. God. What a man.

I look at his face and can't move my eyes away from the way he's holding the ribbon from his medal between his bright teeth and the way his eyes are squinted and his nose is scrunched in a playful way. I shake my head and scroll on, seeing no signs of a woman on his page. He must've deleted everything already. I go to his tagged photos... jackpot. The tattooed one in the photo had posted a photo of Mr. Levine and a woman shorter than him. She has beautiful collarbone length hair and shimmering blue eyes. She's undeniably plus size. Right around my size, actually. No way. He has his long arms around her and his stubble covered jaw against the side of her head as he seemingly whispers in her ear. A smile played on both of their faces as their fingers were intertwined on her stomach and love filled their eyes. He likes bigger women. Oh. Oh, God.

That's Mariah. It has to be. She is exactly as he described her, elegant and beyond beautiful. I would say I don't know who fumbled who but with the way Mariah left... she fumbled him. A little bit of anger rises in me as I think about it. To agree to live the rest of your life with someone madly in love with you then leave without a word is beyond fucked up. I can't comprehend doing that to someone I love. He is rightfully upset. Anybody in that position would be.

I sigh to myself before grabbing my backpack and car keys, not bothering with putting any makeup or anything on. I wanted to get there early enough to tell Sam about Mr. Levine but quickly decided against it once I parked. I've got a big ass mouth but she one ups me on that. A damn largemouth bass is what she is. The entire campus would know within 12 hours and its sad that she's that way... but I love her anyways. It took all of two minutes for Sam to bang on the window of my car with her eyebrows furrowed. "Bitch!" the glass muffles her voice.

I roll my window down. "Hi, babe." I giggle, watching as she pulls the small knob next to the window to unlock my car door and open it. "Girl..." I whisper defeatedly.

The brown eyed girl gives me a confused look as if she doesn't know that anyone else would've shot her for what she just did. "Girl, come on. We'll be late to class." She huffs.

I flip my wrist toward me and look at the time on my watch. "We have sixteen minutes, Sam." I say, disinterested.

The woman stares at me as if I've just committed treason. "We have to get front row seats! I want to see that sexy piece of man pie up close and personal." She practically moans.

My jaw drops as my head reverts back into my neck and my eyebrows raise in disgust. "What the fuck did you just say to me?" I loudly retort as I step out of my car and swing my bag over my shoulder, closing my door and locking the car behind me.

"You heard me and you know you agree." She shrugs. I stare at the ground as his moans run from ear to ear again. 'God- fuuuck.' I have to stop myself from smiling at the growl he put into the u.

I almost fully agree but just shrug back at her as we turn around a brick building. "He is pretty." is all I say. She doesn't say anything but side eyes me so I know she'll bring it up after class and force me to say I'd ride him until his bones are dust. Which, I would. But, why would I admit that?

She wraps her hand around the metal handle and pulls the door open, motioning for me to walk in first. Sam follows behind me as I find a seat off to the left of the front row so we'd be sat in front of his desk. She throws her bag down between us and nudges my arm. "You're genius!" she whispers.

I nod proudly. "I know." I chuckle, pulling out my notebook and textbook as more students come filing in the class.

Sam obnoxiously tapped her pencil around until Mr. Levine came strutting in the room with a few strands of his hair out of place. He had bags under his eyes and his tie was on a bit crooked. Hungover? Oh, man. I frown a bit at the sight while Samantha is losing her shit next to me over the rugged Oliver look. Her long pink nails dig into my thigh as she basically bites her bottom lip off at the site of him.

I slap her hand away. "Get it together, you buffoon!" I groan at her, making her shoot me some daggers through her eyes.

"Good morning, guys." Mr. Levine speaks, beginning by grabbing an expo marker and writing the date on the board. The class responds with a groggy 'morning' to which he chuckles. "Rough night?" he turns and looks over everyone, reaching down and fixing his tie.

I raise an eyebrow, knowing he had one as well. Knowing he got wasted and called a phone sex hotline and rubbed one out. I know Mariah is regretting her decision. The repetitive whimpers he let out as he finished followed by a low grunt echo in my mind. I cross my legs and look back up at him, coming out of the trance he himself had unknowingly put me in.

"Well, I'll make it easy on you guys. How about you guys read chapter six today and write down the parts you guys think are important and we'll discuss Thursday?" His eyes scan over the class, a small grin appearing on his lips. "Yeah? perfect. If you guys have any questions, don't be afraid to come up and ask me."

He places the marker down on the top of the whiteboard, making the sleeve of his button up pull back to reveal part of his arm tattoos. I smile a bit at the sight. God, tattoos are hot. Mr. Levine walks to his desk and sits down, slumping down in his chair.

"Fuck!" Sam giggles. "He's manspreading." She gasps, smacking my leg to make me look.

I look over and my eyes go wide. Jesus fuck. What is it with male teachers and the pants that show their bulges. I try to pry my eyes away but I can't. Just thinking about how he was just jerking off to my voice hours ago. What if I just- Ugh, God, I can't.