The Fuck Tape

And in David's room the track reached its end. David felt his body go limp, every ounce of his essence drained by Mary. Her hair was sweaty, and yet somehow that made her even more beautiful. They had not discussed Sociology. Not even once.

Her body, previously hidden under the sweatshirts that make dating in any Midwestern school such a crap shoot, did not disappoint. He was not sure how she kept it in such wonderful shape, but he offered up a silent prayer of thanks.

And the song. That song. It echoed around his head like a dream, tantalizingly close, only to escape his grasp. It was an animating force, the pure energy of life given sonic form. Ben had called it a Fuck Tape, but it was more than that. It was an affirmation. We are here. We are sexual. We should, you know, probably do something about that.

It was a symphony, really. A masterwork that would echo through time. Even if he couldn't remember a single chord.

Mary smiled at him, and he wondered if he looked as disheveled, as satisfied, as she did.

He leaned in close to kiss her. Which, he realized would be for the first time. He had done things to her that would keep him in confession for a solid hour, but somehow they had never kissed.

Her lips were soft, her cheek felt like velvet against the back of her hand. Her tongue was clever, and her fingers pulled him in close. She was one hell of a kisser.

He leaned back, and appreciated the work of art before him.

"What did you think?" he asked.

"About what?" she said. "Your dick? A-. Your stamina and recovery? A++"

David blushed. Everywhere.

"Thank you. You were, you know, awesome. But I was talking about the Prince song."

Mary sat up, every curve on display in the fluorescent dorm light. She leaned forward pressing every part against him in the most satisfying of ways. She traced his neck with her lips, until she reached his ear. When she spoke it was a whisper, so soft he could barely hear it over his heartbeat.

"I have no idea," she said. "I'm tone deaf."