"The International Monetary Fund's intervention in developing nations represents a form of economic colonialism that perpetuates dependency rather than fostering genuine development."
Professor Chen's voice drones through the lecture hall like a particularly boring documentary about paint drying, and all I can think about is Victor's cock in my mouth while Clara stood three inches away.
What if she had bent down just a little more? What if she had seen me there, jaw aching, her husband throbbing against my tongue?
The fantasy unfolds in my mind with disturbing clarity.
Clara's perfectly composed face shifting from surprise to something else—not anger, but calculation.
The way she'd probably lecture us on proper academic conduct while I continued sucking her husband.
"The structural adjustment programs implemented in the 1980s created conditions that—Miss Valenti, are you paying attention?"
"Absolutely, Professor Chen," I lie, shifting in my seat, feeling how wet the fantasy has made me. "Structural adjustment programs. Devastating impact on local economies."
"Correct. As I was saying, these programs often required countries to prioritize debt repayment over social services."
He returns to his PowerPoint, and I return to my mental theater of the absurd.
Would Clara have watched?
Joined?
Given us both a performance review while Victor tried not to come down my throat?
The thought makes me squeeze my thighs together, and that small pressure sends a jolt straight through me.
I cross my legs tighter, the friction of denim against denim creating just enough sensation to be dangerous.
This is insane. I'm sitting in International Relations thinking about giving my best friend's father head while his wife critiques my technique.
But the mental image won't leave—Clara's manicured hand in my hair, guiding my rhythm while she discusses their tax returns or something equally mundane.
The juxtaposition of the domestic and the obscene makes my pulse race.
I contract my internal muscles, a subtle movement that nobody can see. The pressure builds with each deliberate clench, my breathing getting shallower as Chen discusses trade deficits.
"The Washington Consensus promoted the idea that free markets would naturally lead to prosperity," Chen continues.
Another contraction, stronger this time.
My hands grip the desk, knuckles white, as the sensation builds.
I'm so close, right on the edge of coming when Liv's voice cuts through the haze.
"Earth to Elisa," she whispers, leaning over from the next seat. "You okay? You're all flushed."
The orgasm dies instantly, withering like a flower in a nuclear winter.
My body screams in frustration while I force my face into something resembling normal human expression.
"Yeah, just the heating in here," I manage, my voice only slightly strangled. "You know how they always crank it up too high."
"You look like you're having a medical emergency," Liv says, her concern genuine and cutting. "Do you need water? I have that fancy mineral stuff Mom insists on buying."
If only you knew your best friend was about to climax thinking about your parents' marriage like it's some kind of twisted porn category.
"I'm fine, really," I tell her, uncrossing my legs and trying to ignore the frustrated throbbing between them. "Just zoning out."
"I swear Chen could make the apocalypse sound boring." She pauses, studying my face with those earnest eyes that make me want to confess everything and also disappear forever. "You've been weird lately, Elisa. Like, more than your usual level of weird."
"Thanks for that precise measurement of my weirdness," I deflect, but she's not letting it go.
"I'm serious. You keep missing our study sessions." Her voice drops lower. "Is it a guy? Are you seeing someone?"
Before I can craft a lie sophisticated enough to navigate this minefield, Chen's voice cuts through our whispered conversation.
"Since you two seem so engaged in discussion, perhaps you'd like to share your thoughts on the IMF's role in perpetuating global inequality?"
"We were just discussing how the structural adjustment programs disproportionately affect women in developing nations," I say, pulling the answer from some functioning part of my brain.
"An excellent point. Which brings us to our group project." Chen clicks to the next slide, revealing partnership assignments. "You'll be working in pairs to analyze a specific case study of IMF intervention. Valenti, you're with Young."
"Ashley Young?" I confirm, spotting Ashley across the room practically vibrating with excitement.
"Yes. And Larsen, you're with Whitmore."
Liv groans.
"Great. Jess will probably make me do all the work while she online shops."
The universe clearly has a sense of humor, pairing me with Connor's new girlfriend while Liv gets stuck with the girl who knows about me and Victor.
Ashley practically bounces over to our seats the moment Chen dismisses us for group work, her enthusiasm radiating like a small sun that runs on privilege and good intentions.
"Elisa! This is perfect! We're going to be such a good team!" She slides into the seat Liv just vacated, immediately pulling out color-coded notebooks. "Also, I wanted to thank you again for the other night. Connor is literally amazing."
"Glad it worked out," I say, watching her glow with new relationship energy.
"Worked out? It's like a fairytale! He actually listens when I talk about my interests. Did you know he's teaching me about cryptocurrency? It's basically the future of money!"
Ashley's excitement could power a small city.
"He even made me breakfast. Real breakfast, not just cereal. There were eggs involved!"
"Eggs are definitely a sign of true love," I deadpan, but she doesn't catch the sarcasm.
"Right? And he wants me to meet his parents next month at their place in the Hamptons. The Hamptons, Elisa! That's like serious relationship territory!"
"Speaking of serious," I say, seizing my opportunity, "I need help with Chen's midterm. The economic theory stuff is killing me."
"Oh my God, of course! You literally gave me the best thing that's ever happened to me. I'll help you with anything!"
Ashley opens one of her color-coded notebooks, revealing notes that look like they were drafted by a professional calligrapher with OCD.
"I have this whole system for remembering the theories. Each economist gets their own color and mnemonic device."
"You color-code dead economists?"
"It makes them easier to remember! Like, Keynes is green because money is green and he was all about government spending. Smith is invisible ink because of the invisible hand of the market—okay, I don't actually use invisible ink, but I use silver which is almost invisible!"
Her enthusiasm for economic theory is both disturbing and exactly what I need to pass this class.
"You'll really help me?" I ask, calculating how much study time I can squeeze in between Victor's office hours and Kilian's drug runs.
"Are you kidding? You're basically my fairy godmother! If you hadn't invited me to your room, I'd still be pining from afar and writing in my diary about his lacrosse shoulders."
She grabs my hands, her manicure perfect as her GPA.
"We're going to ace this midterm together. I promise."
"Great," I say, extracting my hands before her gratitude becomes uncomfortable. "When do you want to start?"
"How about Thursday evening? Connor has practice, so I'm free from seven to whenever!"
Thursday.
When I'm supposed to be in Victor's office, probably under his desk again while he pretends to grade papers.
"Thursday works," I lie.
Ashley beams.
"This is going to be so fun! We can study at my place. I have every supplementary textbook Chen's ever recommended, plus my dad knows someone at the IMF, so I have insider perspectives!"
Of course she does. In Ashley's world, everyone knows someone who knows someone who can make problems disappear with a phone call.
"Sounds perfect," I tell her, gathering my things as Chen dismisses the class.
At least someone's getting something useful from all this fucking.