Rated X Imagines

The Late Night Special

The Late Night Special

"Attention, the computer lab will be closing in an hour and thirty minutes. Use the rest of this time to finish and save whatever you have been working on."

Great! I am nowhere near finished with this English midterm paper. How in the world can I come here at five in the evening, only to type two whole sentences for four hours? I'm not like this! I get my work done, and on time at that, yet here I am with three cups of coffee, the book that I have to write my midterm paper on and some sweet-tart jellybeans for a snack. And to top it off I love this novel, so it shouldn't even be this difficult! Light in August is by far the best works of literature from Faulkner that I have ever been blessed to read. It grasps everything from racism, to inequality of women and isolation of an individual; but that's not what cultivated me to the point of reading it four times in the same month. It was the dark, mysterious, racially ambiguous bad boy Joe Christmas that had me up at three in the morning with a knot of pleasure in my stomach.

Yes, I am the nerd who fantasizes of the bad boy coming out from the sky to sweep me off my feet and showing me a different way of living. I've always been that girl. That stereotypical girl that sports nothing but prescription glasses, faded long sleeve shirts, bell bottom jeans, and worn out black converse that go with every piece of clothing that I have. I'm that girl who has the most pathetic adoration for abs and tattoos instead of gentlemen and suits.

"Someone put me out of my misery," I whine, taking another gulp of coffee before studying the question one last time. Soon people start filing out, satisfied and worn out looks plastered on their faces while I sit in the same spot, typing away until I successfully manage to squeeze out one paragraph.

"Argh! God I'm going to do it, I'm gonna give it up. I'm going to get my butt from out of this chair and I am going to gather my stuff and never look back. You win! I'll take the F. Tell my parents their little girl failed because her mind exploded from too much anxiety. They'll understand."

I huffed, laying my head down on my folded arms and closed my eyes ready for sleep to just come and take me away. "Nice pity party speech, now get up and let me see what the fuck you're whining about so I can at least try and help," a deep, brash voice murmured in my ear. A warm breath blew down my neck, causing each miniscule strand of hair to stand up in attention. He was so close behind me that I could even smell the redolent axe rolling off of his clothes. Oh god, I didn't know I could fall asleep that fast. Yes! Hot sex with a stranger in a public environment, I love these dreams.

Taking a second to compose myself, I stifle the yawn that desperately wanted to break free from my lips and lift my head, craning it to focus my gaze on the... Finest man on the face of the Earth.

Jackpot!

How in the hell did my mind conjure up this walking Adonis? He was perfect. A short kinky abundance of black curls for hair, brown Hershey kissed eyes, nice smooth brown skin, and plump glistening lips that were meant to roam freely on my skin. "I, ugh, um, who are you," I stuttered, still taking in his appearance. Oh Jesus, the muscles.

"Daniel, now move a bit so I can pull up a chair."

Assertive, I like it. "You are," he questioned, looking at the screen and chuckling at the seven sentences that I had typed.

"Wet."

"Wait, what? I meant your name, baby." His laughs were more prominent now, and that's when realization hit me like a truck full of shitting cows. This isn't a dream. I'm still awake, and I have just humiliated myself to the point of no return. Daniel is just a random stranger who wanted to help me and I have just confessed, without knowing, that my panties are damp because of him. Wait to go, Y/n! Not only have you screwed up your grade and your underwear, this man probably thinks you're messed up in the head.