03. Orla's Research - Sex Stories

03. Orla's Research

03. Orla’s Research People call me BC. Big Cat. I have had this nickname all my life except for a period of 3 or 4 years at Art College, where I was known as ‘Fluffer’. These are the stories of that time. Fluffer’s time. I lived in a house by the sea, almost on the beach, with this other guy from my course. He was a moron but in the holidays I had the place to myself because he moved back home. I was really looking forward to the long summer break, when I would have six blissful weeks to myself but, annoyingly, his sister, Orla, was looking for somewhere to study during the summer hols. However, Orla was way more attractive than her brother. I simply couldn’t believe my luck when this beautiful girl turned up. Slim with long blonde hair, these bright eyes bursting with humour, and a wickedly cheeky mouth. One of these really smiley happy people, not like her miserable fatass brother. And I was single too! But unfortunately she wasn’t. And on top of this my flatmate embarrassed both of us by barking, “Do NOT fuck my sister,” as he left. As if she wasn’t there, as if this wasn’t up to her anyway. She was seeing some old friend of his as it turned out and was pretty frustrated, not that I knew that at the time. The first couple of days went by innocently enough. We both studied together in the lounge with these big doors open and a warm sea breeze blowing in. I worked at my drawing board (angled up between us so I could concentrate!) and she worked on the sofa with her books ...

... and papers spread around the floor. Orla was doing a psychology degree and her project was on the male view of female sexuality. Then, one day, she brings me a cup of tea. Now this was loaded because she did literally nothing around the house. I was doing all her cooking and washing everything. She seemed anxious. “I need you to do me a favour,” she said to her bare toes, which never kept still by the way, and then immediately flushed. I shrugged. She cleared her throat. “You know what I’m studying? The male view of female…” She flapped her hand about and laughed nervously. “Well I need some… reference material…” Her voice trailed off croakily, like I was supposed to know what she meant. I blinked. She took a deep breath and launched at the next bit. “I need you to get me some porn. Well, unless you’ve got some around already? Um that I could use?” We both burst out laughing, but then I was literally struck dumb. I had only ever bought one men’s magazine, when I was a teenager. That’s all there was then, before the internet made it all ubiquitous. She explained how the porn was really just for research and she would pay for it, but was too nervous to go and actually do the deed in the newsagents. I put on a brave face, explained I didn’t have a stash (did this make me less of a man in her eyes I wondered?) and that of course I would help her out. When I got back, Orla came scampering down from her room dressed in a wetsuit. I kid you not. This was doubly remarkable because she ...