The tutor

by BRK   

A star football player’s mandatory tutoring session in logic takes a few unexpected turns.

“This is stupid. Why do I need to take frickin’ tutoring sessions? And from a pipsqueak like you, too.”

“Because, Christopher—”

“C.J. Everyone calls me C.J. Even pipsqueaks.”

“Because, C.J., there’s such a thing a distribution requirements.”

“I’m the star running back for an A-1 team. That’s what matters. This logic and philosophy stuff is stupid. Who gets trophies and endorsements talking about structural logic? Who gets laid spouting off about ontological approaches to existentialism?”

“Yes, well. Stupid it may be, but if you want to continue being the big, handsome star running back at this university, you’ll need to pass at least one of your electives. And your coach said this one—”

“Wait, what’s with the ‘big, handsome’ bit? You trying to get into my pants, pipsqueak?”

“Oh, sure. I want nothing more than to peel off your tight football pants and smell your sweaty, hairy balls.”

“That sounded like sarcasm. Why are the lights flickering?”

“I dunno, I never use this room for tutoring. Actually, I didn’t even know it was here. I could have sworn there was a blank wall, but we were assigned room TC-0606, so—”

“And why did it say ‘Tutors’ Suggestion Room’ on the door?”

“I told you, I don’t know. Maybe it’s an old form of mnemonic review. Anyway…”

“…Anyway… what? You sort of trailed off there, pip.”

“Huh? Sorry, I was—listen, can you not sit with your legs spread like that?”

“You don’t want me to sit… like this? Gee, why’s that, pip?”

“Well, it’s distracting.”

“Aha! I knew you wanted in my pants.”

“Don’t take it personally. I have this thing about athletes and their… well, anyway. If you could close—”

“Oh, I see. So, any jock sitting here, you’d stare at their junk, huh? Nothing personal?”

“What, I bruised your ego? Because clearly you’re the sexiest jock I’ve ever met and extra distracting.”

“You know, you nerds assume athletes can’t pick up on sarcasm but—fuck, what is up with these fluorescents? Seriously, it’s like a bad episode of Supernatural in here.”

“Uhhh…”

“Yo, pip, you with us? Earth to Major Pipsqueak!”

“Wuhhh—huh? What? What were we saying?”

“We were saying that you’ve got a little bit of drool coming off the left side of your mouth there.”

“What? I—Jesus, you are…”

“I am—?”

“Okay, this is so unfair. Next tutoring session I’m going to, like, make you sit inside a refrigerator box so I can’t see you.”

“Haha, that’s how all the boys want me. In a refrigerator box.”

“You get a lot of boys staring at you, Chri—I mean, C.J.?”

“Girls, boys, duckbilled platypi… I’m used to it.”

“Ugh, maybe next time I’ll be in the refrigerator box. Okay, I’ll just, uh, turn around and use the whiteboard.”

“And pretend you can’t smell my nice, sweaty balls.”

“And, yeah. Okay, now, logic. We’re doing the module on logic. So I’ll write this syllogism on the—”

“What the fuck is a silly-jism?”

“Ha, ha. C’mon, C.J., you know what a syllogism is.”

“I know, it’s—jeez, I’m almost getting used to that thing with the lights. Fine, write your fancy three-termed rational progression up on the board, see if I care.”

“I knew you knew. So we’ll start with something that’s demonstrably true, like—well, we’ll relate it to you so you’ll understand it.”

“Thanks, pipsqueak. Thanks so much.”

“Ooh, I get it! Reciprocal sarcasm! Neat. I think there’s a symbol for that. Okay, sooo… let’s set the premise as All football players are athletes. Fair?”

“Does that count soccer players? Because they call that shit ‘football,’ and they can’t even use their hands.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m learning to recognize when you’re being snarky. And, yes. Also, if Messi isn’t an athlete than you might as well say, I dunno, nitrogen isn’t a gas or something.”

“Weird analogy, but okay. Moving on.”

“Okay. Middle term, C.J. is a football player. Therefore?”

“All C.J.s are athletes.”

“No, goofball. It’s not the whole class of C.J.s, it’s the one instance of C.J. specified in the middle term. So: C.J. is an athlete.”

“And colossally hung.”

“And colossally hung, fine. But that’s not part of the syllogism.”

“Right, it’s—okay, fuck. I guess the lights only flicker when you say incredibly obvious things.”

“That’s probably why it’s the ‘Tutors’ Suggestion Room.’”

“Me being colossally hung is not a suggestion, though, it’s a fact.”

“As is immediately obvious to anyone who meets you. You know, I heard they tried to give your junk a separate number.”

“Ha, ha.”

“I heard the first game you were put in, the ref called a penalty because there was an extra player on the field.”

“Stop telling ‘C.J. junk jokes’ and get on with it.”

“Partypoop. Okay, so that first syllogism worked. But let’s say we start with a faulty premise, like… I dunno… All football players are four-armed.”

“Okay, so—damn, these lights. But—you said that’s a faulty premise? I thought that had to be something untrue.”

“Y-yeah, okay, you’re right. I don’t know why I put that. Okay, erase that, we’ll go with… All football players have ten-pack abs.”

“That’s—huh. I think that’s true, too. Wasn’t there a whole thing on ESPN about that?”

“Fuck. Okay, Let’s go back. I’ll do the flaw with the third term instead of the first. So. All football players have four arms. C.J. has four arms. Therefore?”

“C.J. is a football pl—or, wait. Why does that feel wrong?”

“Because there are other four-armed guys. Right?”

“Are there? I—huh, okay. Yeah, I guess there are. Actually my cousin Jamie is four-armed and he couldn’t catch a football if you handed it to him under the tree on Christmas morning.”

“Right. Exactly. So C.J. being four-armed doesn’t necessarily require that C.J. is a football player. Four-armed guys is the larger group.”

“Huh. Makes sense, I guess. Okay, do another one that doesn’t work.”

“Okay, so, let me try a faulty premise again. Um... okay, let’s go with C.J. has a leg-sized cock.”

“You wish. Though… it’s pretty close, pip, honestly. Not that you can tell with the lights in here fluttering like a debutante’s lashes.”

“Ugh, you are seriously a problem for me… Where do you even get pants with an extra leg for your giant dick? Because I, uhhh…”

“…You, ‘uhhh’…?”

“I, ‘uhhh,’ am totally getting the fridge box for next time, no joke.”

“For you? Because if it’s for me I’m not sure my dick’ll fit, pip.”

“Oh, I’ll make it fit.”

“That’s what she—”

“Shut it. Okay, forget about using you for the faulty premise. How about… Everyone in this room is muscular and ripped AF.”

“Is ‘AF’ a traditional logic term? Did, like, Aristotle talk about how ‘all philosophers are mortal AF’?”

“Sure, but in Greek, so ‘alpha phi’ instead of AF.”

“Right. And, dude, I gotta say, you are seriously built for a nerd. Almost as much as me, and crazy tight, too. Like, how do you even have time to study?”

“Shut up. This is all natural, no gym necessary.”

“Ha, ha, funny.”

“Totally serious, actually. You think you got good genes? Check this out.”

“Dude, you’re kind of turning me on, and I’m straight alpha phi.”

“I can see you’re getting turned on. Mostly thanks to you having a cock the size of a photon torpedo.”

“Nerd. Sexy muscle nerd.”

“Don’t fight it. You’re totally gay for this sexy muscle nerd’s seriously hot bod.”

“I—fuck, I kind of am. Anyway, I totally want to see your sexy muscle nerd body in a room with a functional electrical system, no lie.”

“Your nipples get hard for me and spurt hot man-juice whenever you see me.”

“I—geez, how did you—? Yeah, well, at least I’m still on top when it comes to arms. And cock.”

“You’re ‘on top’ when it comes to cock, huh?”

“Think you can work with that, teach?”

“I think sexy muscle nerds… and sexy muscle football players… are verse and take turns. It’s only polite.”

“Take… turns, yeah, of course we do. In fact, why don’t we—”

“Hang on, it’s my boss. Hello, Jen, I….What?… Why do I need to change rooms?… What about the fabric of reality? I—hello?”

“Pip, were you fucking with the fabric of reality again? Such a bad boy.”

“I don’t know what she was talking about. Maybe we should go, though.”

“I think we were about to… reconvene elsewhere, anyway.”

“Fuck yeah. Because you know what? Sexy muscle nerds can have any fucking reality they want.”

“Damn right. Grab the front end of my boner, will ya?”

“You got four arms, you grab it.”

“I can’t reach, numb nuts, and it’s fucking heavy. Besides, carrying my giant boner is one of the perks of dating me. Ask anyone.”

“I thought it was licking your nipple-spunk off your ten-pack abs.”

“That, too.”

“Fine, seeing as you’re such a sexy fucker, but don’t be surprised if I clone myself later so I can do both. After all, you and I are exclusive, and I’m going to be paying a lot of attention to you.”

“Sounds like a plan. So what’s our final problem for tonight? If Dating C.J. is awesome… and, Pip is dating C.J., then…?”

“C.J. and Pip will cum so much tonight they could fill an bathtub.”

“For a sexy muscle nerd logic tutor you are really terrible at logic, you know that?”

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