Sexed Up

Sexed Up More

I flipped through my test. There were three questions and nine blank pages for calculations. The first question of my Thermodynamics test pertained to a Carnot engine. It'd take some time to set up the problem, but I could do it. The second question was pure calculation—lots of them. It involved a black box, three thermal bodies, enthalpy and entropy. It'd be easy enough, if I didn't make a stupid calculator error, but it'd take a lot of time. I only had an hour.

The last question was simple. Other than the values, the problem was straight out of one of our homework assignments. I'd done the problem, while studying, at least thirty times in the past week. I started with the last one first.

Seven minutes and a page and a half of scribbled calculations later, I was done. The answer felt right, but if I had time I'd come back later and check my math. Fat fingering the calculator was a curse, one that'd bitten me multiple times in my college career. I pushed my dark, flat ironed tresses, behind my ear and flipped back to the first problem on the test.

I had to draw the Carnot engine described in the problem. I wasn't sure why, but if I could see it, setting up the math was easier. Still, I crossed out my first two attempts at writing the equation and then modified my third. Finally happy with my starting point, I started computing. Sometimes I had to go backwards, crossing out my work when I took it in a wrong direction, but twenty minutes later I had an answer that felt designed. Professor Ward liked nice round numbers with only three significant digits and the fact that I had gotten one, told me that I was correct.

Well, at least I'd get a thirty-three and a third percent on my test. If I'd gotten question three one-hundred percent correct I was rocking a solid D on my test. I hastily flipped to the second question—my last. Anxiety skittered over my nerves. What if I hadn't gotten question three correct?

I spared a quick glance around the room. The auditorium was filled with men and the occasional women. Just like me all of us were furtively glancing at the clock while we scribbled furiously. Only Shannon, in the front row, looked calm. The blond bomb had it all—rich parents, runway looks, a supercomputer for a brain and Gucci. She was working through her test at an almost leisurely pace. I wanted to hate the biotch, but I couldn't. Shannon was nice.

And a friend.

A woman in engineering.

We girls needed to stick together.

My gaze dropped back to my test and I scribbled out the nine frickin' equations I'd need to solve the problem. I glanced at the clock once more. My nerves electrified. There was no way I could finish in time. I tried to work but I was stressed and starting to make mistakes.

I glanced about me. Nothing had changed, except the clock. Everyone was in a race that no one could win. No one I could see was looking at me. I didn't dare check the three rows behind me. Professor Ward took cheating seriously.

I moved my left elbow off my chair's folding "desk" and dropped my hand between my thighs. My breath hitched as anticipation fired my nerves. My body knew what I was doing and in the past few days, I'd become conditioned. I'd not yet done this someplace so public but I had to release this stress and Todd had given me a way to do it.

I fished my hand under the hem of my sweater. It was a white, knit, fall of the shoulder type that looked really good with my dark hair and the black strap of my bra. It was long enough it could almost be a dress. Not that I ever wore it as one, I didn't usually like my girly bits playing peek-a-boo. For the occasions when I was into that, I had other clothes that served the purpose better.

I uncrossed my legs. I slid a finger up the juncture of my thighs. My fleece lined stretchy pants made things a little more ambiguous than when I was wearing jeans—or a skirt—but I found the lover buzzer at the apex of my crease and pushed.