Economics at the Cafe with Mal

You show up to one of the campus cafes early in the afternoon, grabbing a table by the long glass windows. The sunshine feels great on your face, and it soon illuminates a wicked smile on Mal’s face as she pops in a minute later. She’s wearing a ruffled red tube top that would give a puritan a heart attack, her tight-fitting jean shorts tracing the fine curves of her ass.

“Here’s a problem to chew on,” Mal says, reaching into her handbag and pulling out a crumpled piece of paper. She frowns at it. “Nope, that’s from the IRS, not the econ problem set.” To your horror, she tosses the paper into the trash, and then pulls out another sheet of paper, slapping it down on the table.

“Did you… just throw away your tax forms?” you ask her. “You know that there are consequences to that, right?”

Mal laughs, slapping her thigh, as she says: “Oh man, look at your face! I knew I’d get you with that. I printed extra copies of my tax forms just for moments like this.”

You cross your arms, not impressed, and say: “But that’s still your taxes. If somebody got a hold of that, identity theft would be so easy that—hey, why are you laughing again?”

Mal drops her handbag down on the chair and stifles her last giggle, saying: “I lied about that too. It’s just nonsense formatted like an IRS tax form. Anyhoo, I’m going to grab my coffee now. Take a look at that problem while I’m gone, will you?”’

With that, she joins the short queue at the counter. You pick up the sheet of paper she left on the table, which contains one of the questions on the latest econ problem set.

Imagine a consumer with a concave utility function deciding on the optimal level of insurance to purchase. One asset provides a random payout that can be decomposed into the following Arrow-Debreu securities...

“Really boring stuff, right?” Mal says a minute later, returning to her seat. She fakes a yawn and takes a sip from her black coffee. “That’s why I let you work it out first.”

“What? You find this boring? But I thought you loved risk. This should be right up your alley!” you exclaim, only half-sarcastically.

Mal rolls her eyes dramatically.

“Then make the consumer have a convex utility function,” she grumbles. “At least that way she’ll be a risk-lover like me. I’d rather play the lottery than work a steady-paying job anyways.”

“So what you’re saying,” you say, briefly nudging her foot with yours, “is that you wouldn’t mind this?”

You reach under the table with one of your hands, and grab at the center of her jeans, right where her crotch is. Mal raises an eyebrow.

“Bold. Risky. I like it,” she says, taking a nonchalant sip of her coffee.

“So do I,” you grin. “You should pull your pants down.”

Mallory pauses, placing her coffee mug back down on the saucer with a soft clink. She unbuttons her jean shorts and pulls them down, scooting her seat in as she does so, so that the tablecloth will at least mostly cover her newly bared ass and pussy.

“Why not give everyone a show?” you ask, leaning forwards, letting your hand under the table brush up against her outer folds.

“There’s a fine line between bravery and stupidity,” Mal says, her expression betraying nothing. “I’ll have you know that I’m one and not the other.”

“No wonder you needed help with this problem,” you say, nodding towards the paper on the table, and then sliding a finger into her slick pussy. “Because it’s really not that difficult.”

“You’re a daring man, calling me stupid with that finger in me,” she smiles. “You’re not afraid of the pussy-teeth? They pack a nasty bite.”

You withdraw your hand on instinct, and Mal cackles, shaking her head.

“Did you seriously just…. oh!” she gaps, as your finger reinserts itself in her with a vengeance.

“Let’s talk through the problem, shall we?” you smile, pushing your finger deep into her. “What’s the derivative here?”

“Fuck, math is suddenly really hard,” she says, straining to keep a straight face. “The partial derivative is… uh…” She loses her train of thought as you insert a second finger.

“Yes?” you ask, enjoying the feeling of finally getting the better of her, by getting her off.

“The market clears,” Mal mutters, “prices have to reach an equilibrium… meaning...”

You use your free hand to jot down a couple notes on the paper, spinning it around so that it faces her.

“Is this what you meant?” you ask, just as you curl your fingers, striking what must be her g-spot.

“Yeah, that’s it,” she says, her face flushing almost as red as her hair. “That’s it…”

You keep up the fingering, innocently ignoring the looks from one or two nearby suspicious patrons.

“We should move to a different problem,” Mal says breathily, gripping your hand beneath the table.

“Why, not such a big fan of risk anymore?” you ask.

“Not a big fan of stupidity,” she says, and then she drops her voice. “I’m loud in bed. If you keep this up, this is going to get loud…”

“Message heard, loud and clear,” you smirk, withdrawing your hand. “Though I do intend on finding that out for myself some day…”

“Some day,” Mallory smiles, pulling up her pants with a subtle lift of her ass. “Now, let’s get to work on some other damn problem.”

Mallory +20