Chapter 1: Introduction
The air in the apartment wasn't just warm, it was a solid, soggy weight. Jemma blamed the dying air conditioner, a rattling metal cube in the window that did little more than shuffle the heat around. She was sprawled on the lumpy corduroy sofa wearing only a faded black tank top and a pair of men’s boxer shorts, her short black hair sticking to her neck and temples.
A key turned in the lock. The door swung open and Alan shuffled in, dumping his backpack on the floor with a thud. He was slick with sweat, his plain white t-shirt darkened in patches. “It’s a meat locker out there,” he muttered, not quite looking at her. “I think my shoes melted.”
“Try living in it,” Jemma said, not moving. “The AC’s given up the ghost. I’ve been slowly braising.”
He finally glanced over, a flicker of something—embarrassment, awareness—crossing his face before he looked away at the stacked pizza boxes on the coffee table. “Comfortable?”
“Moderately nude. It’s the only way to survive.” She swung her legs off the couch, the boxers riding up her thighs. “We should go out. Somewhere with frosty air conditioning and overpriced drinks.”
“My bank account says no,” Alan sighed, collapsing into the room’s only other chair, a mustard-yellow monstrosity. “Seriously. I’m in the negative until Friday.”
“Ugh, fine. Cheap homebodies it is.” Jemma grabbed the old remote from the couch cushion. The television was a heavy, black plastic relic from the ’90s. It flickered to life with a static whine, casting a blue-white glow across the clutter of books, cables, and discarded sweatshirts.
The screen didn’t show the cable menu. It was paused on a video file list. At the top, in glaring white letters against the dark background, was a title: oiled curves love hard pounding.pmv.
Jemma’s eyebrows shot up. She tilted her head, reading it again. A slow, wicked grin spread across her face. “Alan.”
He was already staring, frozen, a deer in the mustard-yellow headlights. His cheeks flushed a deep, immediate red. “I… I must have forgotten to…”
“This is yours?” she asked, her voice teasingly melodic. “‘Oiled curves love hard pounding’? That’s… specific.”
“It’s just a video,” he mumbled, staring intently at a stain on the carpet.
“A PMV. A porn music video.” Jemma clicked the selection box onto the file, highlighting it. The date modified was from last night. “A recently watched porn music video. What’s on the syllabus, Professor Alan? Let’s see the curriculum.”
“Jemma, don’t.” His voice was tight, but there was no force behind it. He didn’t get up.
“Why not? It’s too hot to argue. Let’s watch a movie.” Her green eyes glittered with mischief. “I’m curious about your tastes. What gets my usually-quiet roommate off?” She clicked ‘play’ before he could form another protest.
A heavy, pulsing techno beat filled the room, surprisingly clear through the TV’s tinny speakers. The initial shots were almost tame, artistic: beautiful women in shimmering, neon-colored bikinis, slow-motion shots of them running hands through sun-streaked hair, laughing on dazzling white beaches. The editing was sharp, synced perfectly to the thumping kick-drum.
Alan sank lower in his chair, arms crossed. He looked like he wanted to evaporate.
“Okay, soft launch,” Jemma said, tucking her feet underneath her. She wasn’t looking at him anymore; she was watching the screen. “Very cinematic. Very… glossy.”
The video didn’t stay glossy for long. The tempo increased. The bikinis got smaller, then disappeared, replaced by glistening, oiled skin. The focus narrowed—curving backs, the deep divide of cleavage, the jiggle of a perfect, rounded ass being slowly, deliberately anointed with more oil. The light caught every slick highlight, every tremble. The techno grew harder, more insistent.
The room felt smaller. The hum of the failing AC was gone, swallowed by the relentless music and the soft, wet sounds now punctuating the beat. Jemma’s teasing smile had faded into an expression of genuine, absorbed curiosity, as he fingers teased ever further down her tank-top clad toned tummy and played nearer the waist band of her little shorts.
"What's the matter, nerd? you jerk off to this stuff, and your seem to have good taste. No I'm not into girls but knowing this turns you on is kinda doing it for me."