Study Psych

So things didn’t go perfectly with the girl. That’s okay, you think to yourself. You had work to do anyways.

You plunk yourself down in a chair in the lounge and crack open your readings on psycholinguistics. You begin with a high level overview of the field, learning about phonetics, syntax, and semantics and how they interact. There’s a big emphasis placed on how children acquire these capabilities, and just as much of an emphasis on language production errors. You learn about spoonerisms and malapropisms, substitutions and morpheme shifts, and of course, the Freudian slip.

Who knew there were so many ways to make psycholinguistic mistakes?

You take diligent notes, making up your own examples of the various mistakes to ensure that you’re really understanding the material, when you sense someone hovering over your shoulder.

“You know that the phrase is quickly enough, not quick enoughly,” Charmaine says.

She’s got her arms folded over her chest, and she looks supremely unimpressed at you. Charmaine’s wearing a long red dress that shows a fair amount of side-boob, a distracting enough sight that your brain feels scrambled as you form your next sentence.

“It was debatably intentional,” you say, before pausing, frowning yourself.

“Deliberately intentional,” you amend. “I’m learning about language mistakes in psychology and coming up with examples.”

A hint of a smile crosses Charmaine’s face.

“Seems to me like you’ve internalized the lessons a mite too butch,” she says, and then she frowns. “Bit too much.”

“It’s infectious,” you smile. “I’ve given you the bug!”

“Our whole Seminar class is going to be down with the thickness,” Charmaine says, before quickly correcting herself: “Sickness. I meant sickness.”

Plenty of thickness too, you think to yourself. Annalise has got a great ass, for instance. And Brooke, what a pair of tits! Or Charmaine, here before you, she’s on the skinnier side, but no less of a bangin’ bod, how I’d like to see her…

“Don’t tell me the class has taken your tongue away, too,” she says.

“I was just choosing the words to my sentence carefully,” you say. “So that I don’t make a nip slip.”

Charmaine double-takes at that particularly egregious slip of the tongue, and almost as if God had intended it, she slips in her heels on the floor, stumbling. She catches herself on the desk, breathing in relief, until she catches you staring once again. That loose red dress showing plenty of side boob? It’s slid just an inch to the side, bringing about the fated nip slip. Your eyes are fixated on the swell of her breast and that chocolate nipple, the little nub growing in the second or two when Charmaine just stands there, frozen and embarrassed.

She hastily covers herself up, re-adjusting her dress, and the nipple disappears under a tumble of red cloth.

“Sorry, I meant to say lip slip,” you say.

Charmaine clears her throat, going pink in the face.

“You didn’t see anything,” she says.

“No, I didn’t,” you say, struggling to maintain composure.

“Good. Bood guy,” she says, turning to leave, and then you hear her scowl to herself. “Goodbye! Goodbye. Goodbye.”

You chuckle to yourself and continue studying, the thought of Charmaine’s bared tits looming large in your head.

Charmaine +3