Goodbye, Miss Granger - Part 2 - Sex Stories

Goodbye, Miss Granger - Part 2

... trace of malice. “To Belinda,” she toasted again merrily. “Good bitch of the South.” “Judy Garland’s ghost will haunt you for that,” I laughed, and then drank along with her. With a can of beer inside me and a lot of laughing, I had a little buzz on; I couldn’t remember ever having so much fun. Belinda and I weren’t the only girls there, but all the others seemed to be partnered up. Andrew hadn’t turned up yet, so even though Belinda had the appearance of a single girl, in reality I was just about the only one. Belinda was playing a game of Guess the Major with me, pointing out a more or less geeky guy and trying to guess his Major. Her knowledge of science was pretty limited, so I kept guessing ever more improbable and nerdy branches of mathematics and physics, making up justifications for my choices based on how they looked and what they wore. “What about that guy?” she asked, nodding towards a short, round guy wearing a red T-shirt with a silver triangle that looked like a super-hero insignia. “Easy,” I said. “Spherical Trigonometry.” Belinda giggled dutifully at my wit. “And him?” a tall gaunt guy with a droopy moustache. “String theory,” I said, deadpan. “That’s not a real thing,” she giggled. “How can you have a theory of string? What about sticky-tape theory?” “They missed a golden opportunity there,” I said. “They called the next one Super-String Theory instead.” “You’re making this up!” she poked me. “I am not!” I laughed. “Don’t you want to know what came next?” ...

... “Super-Dooper String Theory?” she guessed. “That’s pretty close,” I laughed. “Second Super-String Theory.” “And they let these people walk around free?” she snorted. “Don’t worry, you’re safe,” I said. “Physicists hardly ever leave the lab. The ones here are all high-functioning.” “You’re not very nice to your fellow geeks, you know,” she said, laughing. “They’re not my geeks,” I smiled. “I’ve had two beers. I have the I.Q. of a humanities undergrad now.” “Jeannie!” she hissed at me with a big grin. “Wicked bitch of the West!” “I told you, don’t go there,” I drained my can of beer and felt a warm buzz in my middle. “Judy Garland’s ghost will rip off your head and shit down your neck.” “You’re having fun, aren’t you?” she laughed. “Let’s get you another beer and then we can find you some nice men.” We were making our way over to the beer-ute when Belinda’s phone rang. “It’s Andrew,” she said. “Hang on, it’s probably some lame excuse for why he’s late.” She answered it, but couldn’t hear properly over the music. She caught my eye and held up a finger – just one minute – and then trotted off to find a quieter place. I realised with a chill that I was all alone without my wing-girl for protection, and yep , everyone was watching me. Well, not everyone exactly, just all the single guys. I felt like a leg of lamb dropped into the shark tank, and in a moment they would start to feed. I looked around in desperation, thinking that maybe I could mitigate things by choosing my own guy to ...