I didn’t mean to fuck all of them.
Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John
Guard the bed that I lie on,
I’m generally not that kind of a girl.
Four corners to my bed
Four angels round my head,
If anything, I’m fiercely monogamous . . . or always have been in the past.
One to watch and one to pray
And two to bear my soul away.
But I’d never tutored four guys before. Never found myself attracted to four different men at the same time. In my defense, it simply couldn’t be helped. They were each so unique, and so willing. And once I’d taken one into my bed, I found turning the next one down too difficult to fathom.
Of course, other people saw the whole situation in a different light:
“Why in the hell are you taking that class?” my mother had asked sternly, when I’d read off my schedule.
“French? I’ve always wanted to learn French.”
“Not French,” she huffed. “The other one.”
“Ancient Greek Art?” I tried next, grimacing at the audible sound of her anger steaming through the phone receiver. “You know I was hoping to go to Athens next summer . . .”
“The religious one,” she interrupted. “The Jesus one.”
I’d signed up for the 8 a.m. Christian Iconography class because it suited my schedule, not my spirituality. I was done by 9:30, able to make 10 a.m. French three days a week, and then finished until my late afternoon Art History lecture, which gave me time for my job at a weekly newspaper.
“It’s indecent,” my mother insisted. “A nice Jewish girl like you, taking a class like that . . .” FIX THIS . . . She wanted indecent? Indecent had nothing to do with the class, and everything to do with my fantasies.
The iconography class was my last choice, but the only one still open by the time my lottery number for class sign-ups was called. I kept reminding myself that it was important to take the appropriate amount of credits each semester. I even pretended that Christian Iconography was bound to be useful in my future life. Although how useful in my future love life, I couldn’t really appreciate.
Three days a week, I found myself walking down the steep hill from dorm to quad, trying desperately to memorize the various icons we’d been discussing. For a non-practicing Jewish girl, the subject might as well have been in Greek. (Except I was doing fine in Ancient Greek Artifacts.)
“Do you like it?” my mom asked after the first week.
“Sure,” I told her. “What’s not to like?”
Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John
Guard the bed that I lie on.
I sing-songed the nursery rhyme as I headed into class.
Four corners to my bed
Four angels round my head,
And I took my standard spot at the back of the lecture hall, to-go coffee cup in hand, ready to learn more about art with a Christian perspective.
One to watch and one to pray
And two to bear my soul away.
The truth was, I couldn’t focus fully on the slides, or the droning words of the professor. Couldn’t focus properly because of my fellow classmates. Well, four to be precise. The handsome jocks in the row in front of me, who always showed up late, and who seemed to have found themselves in this lecture for the same reasons I did – nothing else was available.
I listened to them joking with each other, never saw them open a notebook, never even saw them glance up at the slide-show. And I nicknamed them: Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. The dark-haired “Matthew” was the man. Redheaded “Mark” was the lion. “Luke” had shaved his head, punk-rock style, and sported more than his fair share of tattoos. He was definitely the ox. And “John,” the quietest, most delicately drawn, the eagle.
Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John
Guard the bed that I lie on.
In spite of their intrusion into my fantasies, I tried my best. I took copious notes. Created flashcards. Posted assorted images on my bulletin board and over my bed. I was determined to show my disbelieving family that I could ace a class I had no interest in. Although my interest grew the week before midterms, when the foursome sent over “John” to ask me a question.
“Study with us?”
“Excuse me?”
“We’re rancid at this. Seriously. We lost a bet and had to take the class. I have no desire to take it over again, and even less of a desire to fail without trying. You look like you know what you’re doing. Will you study with us tomorrow night? Cram with us. Help us out.”
“Group studying has never worked for me,” I told him honestly.
“You’d rather do us one on one?”
The way he asked the question made me wonder if he might actually be suggesting something else entirely. But I pretended not to hear the innuendo, and I nodded. “Sure, that would be better.” And I watched as he made out a little study schedule for the week we had left. Matthew on Monday and Thursday. Mark on Tuesday and Friday. Luke on Wednesday and Saturday.
“That only leaves Sunday for you,” I said.
“I’m the smartest of the four of us,” he grinned.
When the first one showed up – twenty minutes late, with a brown paper bag in hand and no backpack in sight – I started to get the feeling that maybe betting on classes wasn’t the only gamble this little group took.
“I’ve got flashcards,” I told him, ushering him into my dorm room.
“I’ve got vodka.”
“I don’t think that’s going to help you pass,” I smiled, trying not to sound too condescending.
“But it might help me get there – ” he nodded toward my bed.
“I heard you lost a bet. That’s why you’re taking the class.”
He nodded. He didn’t look the least bit sheepish about this information.
“So you’re a gambler?”
Another nod as he opened the vodka.
“Then let’s place a bet of our own. You name the items on the flashcards – get at least ten correct – and I’ll have a glass of that.”
“I didn’t bring glasses.”
“A swig then,” I said brightly. But “Matthew” had other plans. “Let’s try this,” he countered. “You take off your clothes and lie down on the bed. I’ll cover you all over with the flashcards. If I get one correct, I’ll take the card away. Until you’re totally naked.”
“How’s that going to help you ace the exam?”
“I’m doomed,” he said. “I just want to have a little fun.”
Against my better judgment, I stripped down and placed the cards strategically over my body. Matthew turned away, gentlemanly, while I got comfortable. When I was ready, he came up on the bed at my side, gazing at the images on the cards, doing his best to try to remember what each icon represented. He failed miserably, but was such a good sport, that I wound up laughing, giggling, as the cards fell away, and then stopping when I saw him staring at my naked body.
Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John
Guard the bed that I lie on.
The words spiraled in my head as he slid off his own clothes and met me on the mattress.
“Who would have thought Christian Iconography would be such a fucking turn-on?” he growled right before he came.
On Tuesday, I vowed to be better prepared. I had books spread out on the bed, so that there was no chance for foul play, or foreplay. And I dressed myself in a type of no-nonsense costume – clad in my oldest gray sweats, my dark hair scraped back in a pony tail, my glasses in place. “Mark” didn’t seem to notice. He showed up with his backpack, unlike Matthew. But it didn’t hold books, a binder, notebook, or even a pencil. Instead, as I watched, in awe, he drew out the sexiest little lingerie set, tags showing that he’d correctly guessed my size.
“I’ve got this thing for brunettes in black,” he said, handing over the lacy outfit. “Especially ones who wear those cute little intellectual glasses like yours.”
“Why would I put that on?” I asked him. “We’re supposed to be studying.”
He gave me an evil smile. “Yeah? Just like you did last night?” And embarrassment flooded through me. “Mark” was handsome, with his long gingery hair and easygoing smile. He located my CD player while I snipped the tags and put on the outfit, and in moments, Pink Floyd came rumbling out of the speakers.
“Don’t you want to try and study?” I asked.
“You can’t teach me half a semester in a night,” he said softly.
“We’ve got two sessions,” I tried valiantly. “We could get you a decent score.”
He shook his head. “I’ve got no head for those slides,” he said. “And you look good enough to eat in that thing.”
Who was I to argue with a lion? He had me up on my desk in a flash, my slim legs spread as he lapped and licked me along the seam of the black satin panties.
Four corners to my bed
Four angels round my head
I saw stars when he made me come, and then he lifted me off the desk, spun me around, and pulled down my sopping panties. He fucked me hard as I stared at the bulletin board over my desk, at the images of angels with their luminous halos, then at the study schedule John had carefully laid out for us. It would definitely take a miracle for these four boys to pass.
But it took much less than a miracle for him to make me come.
Wednesday brought Luke.
And Luke brought pot.
“I thought the pictures would look prettier if we were blasted,” he said.
“Prettier, maybe,” I agreed, “but I don’t think you’re going to learn anything.”
“Oh?” he asked. “I don’t think that’s true at all. From what I’ve heard, you’re an excellent tutor.”
Once more, I felt myself flush, and that made Luke smile, as if he’d just won an A in a difficult class. I watched as he expertly rolled a joint and lit the tip, inhaling once before handing it over to me. When I shook my head, he gripped the nape of my neck and pulled me close, kissing me and exhaling at the same time, so that my lungs filled with the fragrant smoke.
He was right. The pictures in the books were prettier when we were stoned. We looked at all of the lambs. We looked at the ancient frescoes, the colors faded but beautiful all the same. And then we looked at each other and started to laugh.
“I’m usually high in class,” he said, “that’s why I never take notes.”
“You don’t take notes because you don’t care about anything but punk rock and football.”
He studied me for a moment, then grinned. “Sounds like the title to one of our songs,” he said, “you’re very observant.”
I shrugged.
“But have you noticed me watching you?”
“Yes . . .”
“And wondering what you look like under your clothes.”
My heart started to race. I’d promised myself that two was my limit. Matthew and Mark. That I had no room in my bed for three. But I’d lied. “Luke” was persistent. Sweetly stroking me through my jeans before slowly undoing the button fly. The scent of pot surrounded us. And that led quickly to the scent of sex.
Who did I think I was, forgoing studying in place of pleasure? Did I think I could keep up a schedule like this? Truthfully, I didn’t think. I tried to plan educational lessons, but for six days, I wound up in bed with my pupils. One after another. I knew I’d feel responsible if these four boys failed the class. But as soon as one had left, I found myself daydreaming about the next.
Sunday should have been a day of rest. Instead, I prepared for John. I found myself wishing that he had been first. Because there was no way I was going to sleep with him. I’d worked my way through the other boys – twice each. They had to have told John what we were up to. And he had the brains of the bunch. He wouldn’t give me a second glance now that he knew I’d been with his frat brothers.
Would he?
John seemed prepared to study. He liked my flashcards. He liked my color-coded notes. And he liked the way I kept glancing over the top of my glasses at him. At least, that’s what he said.
“And who are these four?” he asked finally.
I must have turned the non-erotic hue of a beet. “Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John,” I told him, wondering if he could possibly guess that those were the names I’d given him and his buddies. Monikers I couldn’t shake, even when we were fucking.
“And what are these notes about?”
“Each one is represented in a different way,” I explained, trying to keep my voice steady. “The man, the lion, the ox, and the eagle.”
“Which one am I?” he persisted, and I realized that yes, he was the smartest of the bunch. He’d found me out.
“You can guess, can’t you?”
His blue eyes lit up.
“I could guess, but I’d rather have you tell me.”
“No,” I shook my head. “Match them up. Matthew. Mark. Luke and John. Guard the bed that I lie on. Four corners to my bed. Four angels round my head . . .”
There was a knock on the door then, and I felt a change take place in the boy at my side. He slid the notes away. He slowly turned off the desk light. And then he went to the door and opened it, letting in the trio, waiting there for me.
I sucked in my breath. There was no way.
No way . . .
But, of course, there was. The angels, coming in, lifting me up. Setting me down on the floor instead of the tiny twin bed. Taking off my clothes. Wrapping me up in their bodies and their warmth. The man. The lion. The ox. The eagle.
John, taking his time, letting the others prep me before positioning himself on top. Arms tight, pumping hard.
One to watch and one to pray
And two to bear my soul away.
Had I taught them anything?
No. They were the ones who taught me. Giving me the most extreme pleasure in that single evening. Drawing out our actions. Painting pictures with their lips on mine, their fingertips on my skin.
We didn’t study at all, but we stayed up all night. Stumbling into class with bleary eyes. Laughing as the exams were passed out. Feeling as faded as one of those old frescoes, but as beautiful.
John laughed when the slides of the four apostles came up. And I knew he’d get at least one question right. One out of many.
But you want to know all of the test results, don’t you?
Well, I won’t lie. They failed. One more dismally than the next. With their study habits, they couldn’t possibly pass. But that was okay.
You see, it was only a mid-term.
We had plenty of time to cram before finals.