Deer Minotaur Boyfriend (complete)

    There’s this rigidity that I’ve always hated in people. It’s the sort of thing you’d see in Charles Dickens type movies and shows. Stiff upper lips, flared nostrils, a yardstick up the ass, and a crooked eyebrow. I had a couple of relatives that were like that, and they were never my favorite people. They were the ones who told me everything I did wasn’t good enough. I didn’t sit right, I didn’t eat right, I didn’t walk like a lady.

    Am I a bad person for being grateful they’re dead? Sure, it’s sad when family dies. But is it really when they did nothing to help you or your self-esteem? My grandmother had always cultivated that air around herself. No matter what I did, it was never, ever, good enough for her. Stiff upper lip and yardstick up the ass until she died. Her last words to me when I went to the hospital were to tell me my hair color wasn’t fooling anybody. It was easy for me to understand why my mom got knocked-up at eighteen and ran away with my hippy loft-living father when she got the chance.

    Well, enough with my history. The reason I bring it up is because of my history professor at school. Professor Barnum looks like he’d be a cool guy. He’s a deer minotaur with antlers jutting out from the top of his head. His fur is dark brown and grows bushy around his neck and chest. I had thought, when I signed up for the class, I would be getting an interesting experience. Instead, I am hit hard in the memory gut. 

    Professor Barnum is just as rigid and judgemental as my grandmother. Nothing any of us did is good enough for him. Our papers receive harsh critics. If we hand write anything, he will look at it and shake his head. I feel like my grandmother has possessed this poor young man after she died just so she can continue to torment me.

    Although, I can’t deny that Professor Barnum is a very good teacher. I’ve learned a lot from him, even if he does aggravate the living shit out of me. He’s got a good body too, and I’ve heard more than one person whisper compliments about his ass at one time or another. But his attitude makes everything seem like he is ‘meh.’

    His class is tough too, so me and a few others have formed a study group. We share notes and everything from class and combine all we have into a massive document we can all access. There are some nights we have to beg Mr. Kuwahara, the librarian, to let us stay late in order to get all our work done.

    There is one lucky day we are able to leave early, so we all decide to go out and eat and have a good time.

    “Look at this,” one of the guys says as he whips out a business card. “I went to a toy store the other day, and I had to take one of these.” He passes it along the table.

    “A toy store?” I ask, looking up from my dumplings and noodles.

    He nods. “You know?” He then chuckles. “A toy store!”

    It doesn’t really click for me until the card is passed over to me.

    “I didn’t realize phone sex was still a thing,” one of the other members of the study group laughs.

    I look over the card, just as surprised. It really isn’t something you hear about in this day and age anymore! After all, with the internet and everything it can provide, is phone sex really that popular a draw for people?

    “I thought we could give it a try,” the guy says.

    My eyes go a little bit wide. “Why?”

    “Just to see! I mean, how good can it possibly be?” He snorts.

    “That’s a real person, though,” I reply. “Not some joke or automated system. You’re going to call a real person and have a laugh?”

    He rolls his eyes. “They’re a phone sex operator. They know what they’re getting into.”

    I scowl and keep the card. “Just because they do sex work for a living doesn’t mean people like you get to treat them like a joke.”

    “She’s got a point,” one of my friends replies. “My cousin works as a cam girl, and she gets bullshit all the time from people who think it’s all a joke.”

    The guy scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Give me the card back,” he juts his hand out.

    “No!” I keep the card and stick it in my pocket. “Go back to your toy store and get another one.” My friends and I in the group get our food to go, and we leave the restaurant. 

    After some mall hopping, we all return to our homes. I have a long drive ahead of me, considering I commute from home to school in an effort to save whatever money I get. It’s not the best, but it’s better than just living outright in my car.

    I sigh, turning off the radio as the talk portion is starting to aggravate me. I slouch back, watching the traffic ahead of me. I fidget a bit, and something pokes me in my pocket. I’m grumpy as is, always am when stuck in the highway hussle, so I thrust my hand into my pocket, hatefully searching out what was poking me.

    I look at the phone sex card. I had forgotten it was there. I look it over, wondering why it was such a big deal. Sure, people get lonely and want someone to talk to. People are also horny all the time, phone sex work seems very logical. It also just seems like a relic of the past that texting and instant messaging has overpowered. 

    I glance back out my window, seeing the steady trickle that are the lanes before me. It wouldn’t hurt, right? I had an extra twenty bucks I’d only use on coffee. I could afford a quick little phone sex peek, right? The card has a special offer on it, I could do it.

    I dial the number, and my phone goes through the Bluetooth of my car. It rings once, and then a sultry automated message pops up.

    “Hello, you’ve just called the angels of the hotline. If you have an operator you’d like to reach, dial in their extension now. If not, press one for more options.”

    “One,” I say out loud.

    “For a female representative, press one. For a male representative, press two. For a nonbinary representative, press three.”

    “Two?” I say, not really caring.

    “You’ve selected a male representative.” The automated voice continues on, asking a few other questions. I then put in the discount on the card.

    “You will be connected to M O R G A N.”

    There is a click and then a sultry purr of a laugh. “Hi there,” he says. “I hope you’re having a good day.” His voice is rich and sultry like good chocolate. I instantly understand the allure this could bring.

    “Huh-hi,” I chuckle nervously. “Uhm, just sitting in traffic.” I then grimace, I really shouldn’t have said that I was in my car.

    “Worse places to be,” Morgan says with a laugh. “Are you alone?”

    “Yeah,” I say.

    “What’s your name?” Morgan asks.

    I swallow, wondering if I should give a fake name or not. “It’s Isabelle,” I answer. I hadn’t been called that since my grandmother died. Everyone simply knows me as Izzy.

    “Oh wow, that’s lovely. Sort of like something from a soap opera,” he chuckles. “Something good to moan, you know?”

    I chuckle. “Yeah, I suppose.”

    “Tell me, Isabelle,” I melt a little when he says my name, “is there a reason you called today?”

    “Curiosity?” I confess with a squeak to my voice.

    “Oh, really? Why so curious, kitty?” Morgan laughs.

    I smile and bite my lip. “Just to see what it’s like.”

    Morgan moans and, I swear to God, my head feels like a hot coal instantly. “I’ll be gentle with you, then. I’ll just give you a taste of how it can be.”

    The way he says taste sounds seductive on its own. I realize I’ve gotten a master on my hands here.

    “Can anyone see you?” Morgan growls. “Any cars very close to you?”

    I check side to side. “Kind of?”

    “Exciting, right?” Morgan purrs. “All of them in their own little bubble. So close and yet so far away. They have no idea, but they could at any moment.”

    I swallow back the lump in my throat.

    “You could cum, and they wouldn’t know,” he growls. “Your cunt slick, hot, and needy, all while they’re listening to their easy rock or whatever DVD the kids are watching.”

    I bite my lip as a sensation starts to grow between my thighs. “What would you do, then?” I ask with a breathy voice.

    Morgan chuckles darkly. “I’d start by putting my hand under your shirt,” he replies. “Touching your bare skin and getting you flustered and excited.”

    “Mhm,” I whimper.

    “I’d want to see how hot I got you, so I’d slip my fingers down and rub over your panties,” Morgan takes a breath and groans. “Oh, Isabelle,” he moans. “You’re so wet.”

    “I am,” the words slip from my mouth and I quickly reassess my surroundings. 

    Morgan laughs. “That’s good. Because my fingers are pretty big.” He takes a breath. “Your pussy is so hot and tight. You’re starting to moan, and I have to urge you to keep quiet.”

    “Yeah,” I pant. “Well, what about you?”

    He laughs. “What about me, Isabelle?”

    “We’re stuck right now,” I pant. “I’m on the brake and probably will be for a while.”

    Morgan groans. “The zipper is starting to hurt. Why don’t you find out what’s behind it?”

    I take a drink of water and pant. “You’re so big,” I mewl, and I feel like an idiot. “What should I do with it?”

    Morgan moans. “Isabelle, what do you want?”

    “Your fingers feel so good,” I pant.

    “Your mouth,” Morgan snarls, “it feels even better.”

    “Really?” I chuckle. “Just, right here? Right now?”

    “I’ll put on the parking brake,” Morgan moans. “It’s exciting, right? Oh, Isabelle,” he moans. “Someone is looking at us.”

    “Really?” I pant.

    “I don’t care. Do you?” Morgan whispers.

    I shake my head.

    “Isabelle,” he laughs, “do you care?”

    “Oh,” I gasp. “No, I don’t care.” I bite my lip and put my hand between my thighs. I can’t believe how excited and turned on I’ve gotten.

    Morgan laughs. “Fuck,” his long moan makes me weak. “I’m going to cum if you aren’t careful.”

    “I’m not,” I gasp.

    His moans and groans sound too real, too pleasured. He then chuckles darkly and grunts. “You better hurry. The traffic is starting to move.”

    “Your cum is all over my face,” I pant.

    “I’ll clean it off,” Morgan growls. “Just drive.”

    “Oh, wow,” I whisper.

    Morgan laughs, “Did you enjoy your taste, Isabelle?”

    I swallow, but the lump in my throat is too big. “Yeah,” I gasp. “A lot!” I giggle, touching my cheek and realizing I’m burning up.

    “I’m glad. I have your number. I’ll text you my extension so you can reach me anytime you feel like you need me.” Morgan moans again. “I had fun driving with you, Isabelle.”

    I nod and chuckle. “Me too. Uhm, thanks, Morgan.”

    “Anytime. Have a good evening.” He hangs up and, a moment later, my text message alert pings. 

    I sigh, driving on ahead to home. Once I get there, the ache is still palpable. I quickly get to my room, hoping to take care of it. As I’m getting snuggled in bed with my favorite vibrator, I see I have an email from Professor Barnum. 

    He’s linked everyone to a special lecture he did that summer, and he’s urging everyone to listen to it so it can be discussed in class the next day.

    “What a blowhard,” I grumble. I try to close the window, but I accidentally hit the link that turns on the audio.

    “It is this belief that has led to this sort of backwards, hero worship we see in many high school classrooms today regarding history. This backwoods logic that everything is because it’s deserved and earned.”

    I stop for a moment, listening closer to Professor Barnum’s voice. It sounds eerily familiar, and it’s setting me on edge a bit. I listen more and then Professor Barnum laughs.

    I go cold for a moment. He sounds just like Morgan. 

    I try to convince myself I’m insane and just high off the conversation I had with Morgan. But when Professor Barnum laughs at a comment from the audience, I can only hear Morgan’s sultry laugh.

    I’m confused and bewildered. There just is no way! I must be crazy! But after several heavy listening sessions, I am almost convinced that Professor Barnum is also Morgan the phone sex operator. 

    I don’t want to call Morgan back so soon. I actually don’t know if I have the money to. It just all seems so odd! I check the message Morgan had sent me with his extension, and it includes his hours and days of operation. To my shock, they line up with Professor Barnum's off hours in a creepily perfect way.

    I try to push it out of my mind. Professor Barnum would be the last person on earth who would ever do such a thing as phone sex. He is too rigid, too uptight. Maybe? What if it’s a front? Why would he even want to do phone sex? Wouldn’t he make enough at the college? No, probably not. Lots of the teachers have second jobs and shit. That’s life!

    It is such a struggle of thought I don’t realize the time. I had spent a good chunk of my valuable sleeping hours pouring myself over wondering if my hardass history professor is a sex worker at night. There are stranger things in the world, after all. And this is a story as old as time itself. Teacher by day, phone sex operator by night. It is plausible, but I still can’t wrap my head around it. 

    The next day at school, I feel even worse. Sitting in Professor Barnum’s class, all I can hear is Morgan moaning into my ear. I hate life. I hate that I called that damn number. I hate that I actually enjoyed it. I hate that I am thinking that Professor Barnum looks hot.

    “Izzy,” his voice cuts through the buzzing of my mind, and I look up, red-faced and exhausted from overthinking.

    “Did you listen to the lecture I sent?” Professor Barnum asks.

    I stare, wide-eyed and shocked. “What?” I gasp.

    He scoffs. “The lecture.” He says with a clipped voice. “Did you listen?”

    I swallow. “I listened,” I say.

    “Then why haven’t you been answering at all during class?” He tilts his head. “You’ve been oddly silent.”

    “Have I?” I squeak.

    He scoffs. “See me after class,” he growls.

    Professor Barnum continues on, and I stay back after he dismisses everyone. I walk down to his desk once everyone is out and he makes me clean off his board.

    “I don’t appreciate when my students come into my class, drunk, Izzy.” He says to me.

    I snap around at him. “I’m not drunk!” I snap at him. 

    His ear twitches and he smirks. “Then what the fuck is wrong with you?” He asks. “You stared off into space for half the class, and your face was as red as an ass. If you’re not drunk, you better not be sick,” he snarls.

    “Nothing. No, either!” I flounder as I try to find my footing.

    “Then what?” Professor Barnum asks. “If it’s drugs-”

    “No!” I snap at him. “Professor Barnum, I’m just dealing with something right now, and it’s got me really confused!”

    “Confused?” He asks. “How so?”

    “I can’t tell you,” I huff. “Just-I’m sorry. I’ll be in better shape tomorrow. I didn’t mean to appear drunk in class.”

    He tilts his head. “I should hope not.” He collects his things. “I’d hate to think you would be drunk in class. Your work is better than that.”

    “Was that a compliment?” I chuckle.

    Professor Barnum smirks, and a dark, sultry laugh escapes his lips. It was the exact laugh Morgan had given me yesterday. It did nothing to assuage my assurance that Professor Barnum was Morgan.

 “You best head home,” Professor Barnum’s voice has switched from harsh to playful really quick. “I know you often fight traffic, Izzy.”

    My insides go cold. Did he know? Oh, God. It’s somehow worse.

    “How do you know that?” I ask with a quiet voice. “I’ve never told you I commute from home to come to school.”

    He turns at the door. “We find out all sorts of things when we don’t mean to, Izzy,” his voice is dark and strict again. “Sometimes, it’s best if we just stay quiet.”

    I frown a bit, watching as he leaves the room.

    I may not have the money to waste, but I can’t stand it. I dial the phone sex line again, quickly typing in Morgan’s extension. I hear it ring then click and Morgan breathes into the phone.

    “You’ve reached Morgan,” he moans. “I wasn’t expecting someone so soon. I’m afraid you’ve caught me at a rather...inopportune time,” he chuckles.

    “Caught you with your pants down, did I?” I ask.

    He chuckles. “I know that voice,” he growls.

    “I’m sick of traffic,” I murmur. “But catching you like this, I feel like a taste just wasn’t enough for me.”

    “Oh, Isabelle,” Morgan growls. “I can’t wait to give you so much more,” he moans. “I’m glad you called. I was thinking about you.”

    I bite back a smirk. “So have I,” I purr. 

    Morgan chuckles. “I doubt I’ll get rid of you. So, we might as well take our time. That is if you want me?”

    A million reasons to say no, maybe only one to say yes. “I do,” I whisper. 

    Morgan’s laugh is dark and a little scary. “Then, my lovely Isabelle, let’s get started. It’s just you and me.”