Fuck, I can’t concentrate. Looking around me, everyone’s staring at their books. I’m wearing a low cut top, but I still can’t catch anyone’s eye. I try playing footsie with the guy opposite. He recoils in horror. ‘What are you doing?! Can’t you see I’m working.’ ‘What are you. Frigid?’ I snap. But he’s not listening.
Christ, I hate exam term! Up at seven, library by eight. Now it’s 10. Half an hour of revision done, an hour and a half of porn watched. I’m so desperate. I need to cum before I can work, is that too much to ask? But I can’t just whack one off in 10 minutes like geek boy over there. Nah, I need to get laid.
Sex tip: >Stressed? Get a fuck buddy. >Can’t get it up? Man up.
Such fucking déjà vu. The same as last year: two terms of easy sex, and then…. it’s gone. Cambridge turns celibate. What am I left with? The same damn dull routine. An efficient morning’s work followed by a light lunch and a brisk jog. Struggling through the afternoon, dreaming about dinner. Then another shit chick flick and an early night. Argh, I don’t think I can take it, even for a day. Relaxation is a crucial part of a good work ethic, right? Well,
daily orgasms are what chill me out. So I drew up a new revision plan including quickie breaks. By then, my clit was throbbing, begging for relief. Time to take action. Hmmm, I’ll text Ben and suggest a rendezvous. Ben and I have been mates ever since he fingered me in a lecture. Phone sex in the holidays, oral sex during essay crises – we’re there for each other in desperate times. Thank fuck, he was keen. ‘Meet in 10 minutes?’ Yes! Dripping with anticipation, I raced to his room… I burst in and found him rock hard and waiting. We didn’t waste time on shit like foreplay. Swiping his stuff off his desk I lay back and spread. As he thrust inside me, I heard books and laptop crash to the floor. Franticly, noisily we fucked our stress away. I came hard and he quickly followed. With satisfied smiles, we collapsed on the bed. ‘So how’re you?’ ‘Alright, work’s a bitch though.’ ‘Tell me about it. You wanna break again at 2?’ ‘Hell yeah. See you then.’ Shit I needed that.
Dear Sister Tabitha, I have recently been asked to celebrate the centenary of Charles Darwin’s Origin of the Species with some friends at a dinner party and am concerned as to whether I should attend. They will be, of course, discussing Darwin and the theory of evolution. There will also be, I imagine, drinks available. What would be your advice? Should I attend? Should I acknowledge Darwin, or do you think that the adulation of the rest of the country will suffice? Yours, S. Verdi Thank you so much for your letter of what I am sure must be a troubling dilemma for you. However, do not fear, my child, and put your faith in God, for He will provide the answer. Charles Darwin was not an evil man, nor
was he entirely incorrect in what he observed – he just simply came to the wrong conclusion. One of Darwin’s observations was of different breeds of finches on the Galapagos islands, where he saw that they had beaks specially designed to help them in the different environments they lived in. Darwin concluded with the theory (and, remember, dear child, it is only a theory) that this proved the finches had evolved their differently shaped beaks. But, of course, whilst one can see how dear Darwin came
to this conclusion, one must also see his great error: the birds did not evolve, they were designed especially and with loving care for the islands that they inhabited. I do not see, therefore, why it is so important for everyone to celebrate a man who, however dashing, did in fact get it wrong. The Lord does not reward being wrong, and, in this light, I do not think it would be a good idea for you to attend. God reward you, Sister Tabitha