Breaking Clichés Ch. 01

Edited by Dark Star. Thanks!

After five hours of hard work on my old car, a 1968 Dodge Charger, I finally pulled out of the garage with a purring, stable engine. Three months ago, when I finally put my hands on a decent 440 engine, I decided to upgrade the old 383. It took a few more weeks of work to get it working right, but here I was, finally driving the monster I had wanted. The paint job was already just about perfect and so was the interior and undercarriage of the car. As soon as I could get out of this city, I was going for a long ride. Smoothly, of course, to break-in the new cam gently, but I was not planning on getting out of the car for many hours.

I learned a few minutes later that this long ride was never meant to be. It wasn't the car, but the traffic. I had almost forgotten just how badly I hated the city for this reason. What should have been a two hour drive had turned into five, and I soon realized that I was trapped in a large, bumper to bumper, rush-hour traffic jam. My only consolation was that all this idling was very soft work for the new cam. I couldn't do more than take what I thought was the shortest route and accept the many thumbs-up, as well as a few frowns, the car was attracting.

Suddenly, above the sound of the engine I heard the distinctive sound of a didgeridoo and remembered that today was Earth Day. Looking as far as I could up the road, I made out a large group of people celebrating by teasing and chiding all of us stuck drivers. Smiling and sighing at the same time, I knew I was going to get more than my fair share of comments driving my monster. Soon enough, some of the hippies saw me and a general call-to-arms seemed to have been given. I tried explaining that this was a car only for special occasions and that my daily ride was a Prius. When I pulled out the registration for the Prius, one of the hippies laughed and shouted to his friends that I had printed a fake registration.

Laughing despite myself, I shook my head and tried to wait patiently. From the corner of my eye, as I was trying to ignore the crowd of hippies, I saw a bright red object weaving towards me through the throng. Looking more carefully I saw an amazing pair of breasts hidden under a red top, suddenly appearing between two people. Because of my job, I knew that sometimes our mind could play tricks on us. For example, being a healthy, heterosexual guy, I knew that I would rate a women more beautiful than she actually was if I only saw her in a quick flash. But try as I might to be critical of the image of those breasts, I couldn't find any flaw except that they appeared too big for the underlying frame.

As the mystery pair of breasts reappeared and floated closer to me, I was shocked to see that my mental image of them had indeed been flawed. The fact that it had been incorrect wasn't what shocked me. Instead, it was the fact that the breasts I was seeing directly in front of me were even more wonderful than I had thought. They were, in fact, simply impossible. If this stunning girl had been sitting, I would have been ready to swear that she had implants. Their proportions were outrageous, yet walking as she was, I could see them dance; their unpredictable yet smooth reactions to the fight between her movements and gravity. As the pretty, young girl walked closer, I realized she was rather thin. The red top turned out to be a long summer dress that hugged her body from those breasts to her hips. Still, my mind reeled reconciling that lithe body with those breasts.

I knew she had begun talking as soon as she bent down towards me, but I couldn't hear a thing. I'm a professor and I'm used to being surrounded by quite a few very pretty and sexy students, a few of whom had actually tried to seduce me, either for a better grade or the thrill of getting the prof. Despite years of training, I was very glad to have my black shades on. It took me a solid two seconds before I could tear my eyes away from the ridiculous cleavage in front of me. Two seconds when you're lying in bed trying to find sleep isn't significant at all, but two seconds spent gawking lewdly at a girl's cleavage, especially when that girl is busy insulting you, is quite another matter.

As her insults began penetrating the thick haze of red lust that surrounded my mind, I felt the rest of my mind getting ready for an argument. In a sense, you could say that my entire adult life had been a preparation for this fight. I had been breathing, eating and sleeping philosophy since I left high school, and have now been teaching it for about ten years. Arguing about anything and everything for an hour, then enjoying trying to defend the opposite position had been one of my greatest joys for many years.

It was ironic, looking into the eyes of a girl at least fifteen years younger than me, that I knew that I was going to lose. That girl's face l was beautiful enough to turn heads, but through our discussion, as my car couldn't move more than three meters at a time, I quickly understood that her breasts and the raw sexual energy she radiated would get the better of me. And soon I surmised that she knew exactly what she was doing with that tight summer dress, bent towards me like this. Worst of all, I'm pretty sure that she knew she was going to win our argument.

Still bent towards my car, her face very close to me, but still speaking very loudly, she kept going on repeating the same memorable words: "Don't you care about the planet?" or "Don't you see how humans are dominating this vulnerable world of ours?" And her best: "That car's CO2 is being shoved down the Earth's throat! Would you like to have poison shoved down your throat?" Frustrated as I was, all I could think about was that I really wanted to shove my cock down her throat to shut her up.

I could have replied with the easy criticisms that popped into my head. She was spouting unwarranted generalizations, trying to force me into false dilemmas, using the slippery slope and complex question fallacies, and was using unverified opinions as fact. Had I been in my office grading her paper, I would have flunked her utterly, but I wasn't in my office, and I wasn't grading her paper. Instead, I was trying to keep my cool as my blood was beginning to boil.

Frustration and intense arousal wasn't a mix I was used to, but later I would concede that it was a heady combination. Covered by a thin sheet of sweat, her cleavage was glistening, and she kept moving about, straightening up before bending back down as I was forced to stop my car. I was being hypnotized by her breasts, all the while irritated by her weak arguments and presuppositions about my own actions and beliefs.

When she repeated her "Shoving down the planet's throat." platitude one last time before I was free of her, I gripped the wheel hard, doing my best to refrain from getting out and deepthroating her right there. I'd had the immense pleasure of having this particular sex feat performed on me only once before. Well, a few times before, but only with one woman. While those moments were amazing, the rest of the relationship was not and in the end, I didn't have many good memories of her except for the sight of my entire cock going inside of her mouth.

That, and the fact that she had a red couch. She would lay down on her back with her head hanging down just over the arm rest. Seeing her naked body reclining on the couch was wonderful, but seeing her delicate throat being stretched by my cock from the inside was just...

I snapped out of my little reverie and felt my cock beginning to harden from the visual and cognitive stimulation. As the traffic eased up and I saw that I could take the next turn, I took my shades off and winked at her before making my tires squeal a little. It earned me a fiercely angry look from her, and a chorus of boos from the rest of the hippy crowd, but I was laughing as I rode on. It was a cheap pleasure, and some of the most influential authors in moral philosophy would have shaken their heads at me just then, but I didn't care. I had lost the argument badly, but I was left with an erection born of lust and anger, and I couldn't help grinning about the fact that I had made my tires squeal in front of them. It was totally childish behavior, yet somehow totally worth it.

I spent the following week trying not to think about that red-dressed, long haired and heavenly breasted hippy girl. I surprised and amused myself, as I was talking about this girl to a friend, by telling him just how close those breasts had come to making me believe in god. Try as I might, she seemed to pop into my mind many times each day.

Once I even caught myself trying to find her on Earth Day websites. I knew, rationally, that any photographer would have captured her, and that any environmentalist webmaster would have placed such a picture on his site. On the other hand, I wasn't sure what I was trying to accomplish by finding her, or what I'd do with an actual image of her and her breasts.

On a rainy Wednesday, I fled to the college's library leaving my phone and laptop in my office. Libraries were quiet places and I knew I would be able to read and work in peace. How wrong was I! Sometimes, even an atheist has to admit that the world presents us with improbable, no better yet, with impossible coincidences. After a couple of hours of quiet work, in this huge room with only about a dozen, very motivated students scattered around, I looked up and saw the same girl!

My initial reaction wasn't that of recognition though. At first I grinned, stunned by the coincidence of seeing two girls with preposterously magnificent breasts in the same week. But as I looked up at her face, I was shocked to recognize her as that hippy girl. She didn't look like a hippy at all. Instead, she was wearing an old Iron Maiden tee-shirt and those long leggings that girls aren't ashamed to wear in public these days. Looking at her sideways as I was, I was graced with an unobstructed view of her legs and ass. If the leggings she was wearing had been skin colored, she would have looked completely naked from the waist down. Her legs were nice enough, and she definitely had womanly hips and a full, round ass, yet my eyes were drawn upwards.

Her shirt was very old and very clingy. My guess is that she got it when she was much younger, and while the shirt had aged and became worn, her growing breasts managed to keep it looking taut and firm and perky and absolutely mouth watering... Hmm, I have to admit that I was far more interested in her breasts than the shirt that was hiding them. Then again, why was a hippy dressed like a metal-head, complete with a large leather bracelet and spiky stud earrings? And what was she doing in my library?

When she raised her arms and stood on tip toe to reach for a high shelf, I smiled and closed my eyes for a second. I was convinced that she had seen me and was now teasing me. Leaning back into my comfortable chair, instead of getting up to confront her, I simply enjoyed the show. Those two minutes were amazing, as I watch her bend down, get up, reach for that high shelf again, and lean against the books to read a few paragraphs. At the end of those two minutes, I was convinced of two things: First, I couldn't get up even if I wanted to since my erection would be clearly visible. And second, the girl had no idea I was here.

That second meeting could have ended with her just turning around and moving on, oblivious to my accidental presence. Instead I cleared my throat without even thinking about it. Honestly. She looked up absentmindedly and looked at me for a fraction of a second. As soon as her eyes returned to her book, they looked up again, focusing on me. She had not seen me previously. Nor had she been teasing me. Nor, I had to admit a few seconds later, would have even thought of teasing me.

Instead she dropped her book and walked straight towards me, angry as she had been the week before. This time though, even if her breasts were dancing in front of me, I wasn't in sweet lustful shock. I was here, in my element.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" she asked, barely able to refrain from shouting.

With a slight smile, I replied: "Well, I'm working."

"I can see that, but why are you here? Don't tell me you're thinking of going back to college after spending too many hours flipping burgers to pay for your '68 Charger?"

Laughing gently, I shook my head. "Not really, no." Getting up from my chair, I extended my hand to her and said: "We didn't introduce ourselves the last time we met. I'm Mr. Keating, a philosophy professor here. And you are...?"

"I'm Scarlett..." she said, clearly shocked by the fact that I was a professor.

"And you're here because..." I said in her awkward silence.

"I'm a sociology student..." she said, still trying to get herself together.

"I see... That explains your interest in the Earth Day movement even though you're not a hardcore environmentalist." I replied.

When I saw her eyes flare at my comment, I could see that she was back. "How dare you!" she said, angry again. "There's nothing more important to me than the environment!"

"Then why aren't you studying one of the earth sciences?" I said, whispering despite her own growing voice.

"Well, it's... there's more to life than just one thing! You don't live only for your damn car, or only to teach, do you?"

She did her best to answer, but I was ready this time. "We'll talk about the car later. I know you're not really a green-to-the-core environmentalist because, well, that shirt for one, and your simplistic arguments back at the demonstration." I said.

"What?" she cried, much too loud this time. Her eyes darted between her shirt and my face, trying to understand the link. Failing to do so, she replied: "My arguments were good! You couldn't even reply!"

Grinning now, I said: "Go ahead." and waited like a patient teacher. I was probably enjoying myself too much, and playing the part of the condescending teacher too obviously, but it was fun and allowed me to focus on something other than her breasts.

"As I told you, your car tells me that you don't care about the planet." she said, standing straight and crossing her arms under her breasts.

"Well," I said, calm and prepared this time, "that's an unwarranted generalization. What if I told you that my main car is a Chevy Volt, or that I usually take my bike to work, that my pool is heated with a simple set-up of aluminum cans painted black, that I make recurrent donations to a couple of green organizations, etc... What then?"

"You still have that awful car!" she cried, unable to come up with anything better.

"Yes, of course. But caring for something doesn't mean that you organize your whole life around it." I responded.

At that point we were interrupted when the librarian, a man I knew but didn't particularly like, came and shushed us like children. Scarlett barely acknowledged him, but sat down. As she did, her knee touched mine perfectly innocently. I resumed: "Life is a lot more complex than that. I'm pretty sure, actually, that if we looked into your life," I said, unable to resist throwing a very quick glance at her cleavage, "that we'd find some things that are not as green as they could be..."

"Okay then." Scarlett said, moving closer, her knee touching me once again. "We're still dominating the planet, a very delicate planet!"

"Well in a way, yes. We are dominating it, as we have been for millennia. Do a bit of research on the Anthropocene era, and you might be surprised. As for today and the damage we're inflicting on the planet, two quick things: First, the planet doesn't really care if we drive ourselves to extinction. We, on the other hand, care very much. The danger is to us, as we are fragile. Even if we create a mass extinction as we go down, the planet will keep going and new life will evolve, just like the mammals exploded only when the dinosaurs disappeared. Second, we cannot look at our actions today and think that it's all there is. We are already changing, and our industry and technology are adapting."

Scarlett was clearly taken aback. Of course, when you're shouting these arguments during a protest, surrounded by lots of people who believe the same thing as you, it's easy. Leaning back into her chair, she was obviously searching for another argument. Her eyes lit up as she found one, her classic, and she sat back-up, leaning towards me over the table. As she did, I saw the neckline of her shirt slipping down; way down. A very quick look told me that it hadn't been an accident. One of her hands was still on her lap, probably holding the shirt down.

At the same time she began talking, her knees touched mine again and this time she left them there. "Well, professor," she said with a particular inflection I couldn't quite place, "say what you will, but we're still shoving CO2 down the planet's throat." I swallowed visibly as she said that again. "All that poison forced all the way down her throat... It's unacceptable." 
"Yes, but only if can't manage it." I countered "Many countries' CO2 emissions have now peaked, and the use of renewable energy sources is soaring. I think that people have finally accepted the idea that we are most likely responsible for global warming, and now we're changing. We may be shoving that CO2 down the planet's throat," once again, bolder than I usually am, I took a very brief pause and looked at her own throat. "but it doesn't mean that it's all bad and that she can't learn to like it... Sometimes domination can be good..."

That wasn't what I wanted to say at all, and I felt a pulse of fear shaking me. Had I gone too far? It didn't even make any sense in the context of the planet! Shit! But it seemed that my boldness wasn't quite done. As she was trying to make sense of my last few sentences, and before I could stop myself, I added: "Also, this won't work." As I said this, I played with my own shirt's neckline. When she opened her eyes wide in surprise, I saw that she knew she had been caught. "You are a very impressive girl, Scarlett, in more ways than one." After a brief pause, I added. "In any case, I have to leave. There's a car show this weekend. I'll be there with my Charger and if you're interested, I'll show you how much fun domination can be."

As I said all this, I unmistakably rubbed her knee with mine. After that, I got up and left. I heard her turning around on her chair, probably too stunned to say anything, but I didn't turn around. I was tempted to do so only to wink at her again, but I resisted. As I ran down the many stairs in front of the library, I couldn't help grinning and laughing. I had gone way too far, and I had no doubt in my mind that she had understood all of my barely veiled comments at the end. Had I really said that I would like to teach her how domination and deepthroating could be good? No, I hadn't... had I? No, definitely not... Nonetheless...

I was still laughing as I rode back home in my Charger. And it's only then that it hit me: Scarlett had known exactly what year and model my car was. That requires a good eye and a pretty good knowledge of muscle cars. That little bitch probably came to hassle me just to see the car! The gall! I was laughing, hoping and fearing another meeting with her. It was in her hands though. She knew my name and where I worked, and I had even invited her to the show. I had already planned on spending both weekend days at the show, more than enough time to look at the other cars, spend time with some friends and talk about my own upgraded Charger.

I spent the entire Saturday on a constant lookout for her, completely in vain. As I lay in my bed that night, I felt both thrilled about the possibility that she might show up on the morrow, and foolish for thinking that I had any chance that a spectacular girl like her would be interested in me. Yet I just couldn't stop thinking about her.