title="Teaching" author="Dan Singer" keywords="M/F, work, coll, cons"
Copyright the author, all rights reserved. You may link to this from non-commercial or free sites, but you may not copy or use it for any
purpose other than your own personal enjoyment.
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This is about the rebirth of passion and the persistence of lust.
Names and personal details have been changed, but guaranteed 99% true.
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TEACHING (c) Dan Singer 2002
Some years ago, when I was in my thirties and coming out of a painful
breakup, I took a teaching job at a state university in a remote part of
the country. The position was for a year; I had no desire to teach
permanently, but I felt I needed a change of scene. My friend
Phil had been appointed chairman of the English department, and when he
heard about my situation, he called and offered me a job.
It was mid-summer and the department needed someone to teach creative
writing in the fall. The fellow I was replacing had left hastily at the
end of the spring term. This man, a popular teacher with a
reputation in his field, had been caught molesting one of his advisees.
His faculty colleagues had winked at his misbehavior for years, but he had
finally hit on the wrong who refused to submit in silence. Her
boyfriend and had gotten involved, there were threats of a lawsuit,
and a dozen other women came forward with similar stories. The situation
threatened to get out of control.
Eventually, the professor and department chair were allowed to resign,
and Phil was brought in to fend off the state legislators. Phil was an ivy
league star; he must have cost them a bundle. Above all, he warned me, I
had to be discrete. There was plenty of action to be had - he himself was
no celibate - but not on campus. "Not on campus, Singer, have I made
myself clear? Have I?" He almost seemed to be pleading. "And not with the
students, ever." But he needn't have worried, I knew the rules. I had no
intention of becoming involved with my students, not romantically and not
sexually. I gave Phil my word.
I flew out in mid-August to find a place to live and get comfortable. I
rented a furnished apartment on the second floor of an private house
that looked out on a nature preserve owned by the university. The back
faced a squat cinder block building that housed government offices that
were busy from 9 to 5 but were deserted at night. It was much nicer than
the attached suburban row houses that most of the junior faculty lived in.
During the final weeks of summer, I hiked and swam in the nature
preserve. I rarely saw anyone. In the evenings, I wandered the streets of
this sleepy university town, lingering in the deserted bars and coffee
shops. If there was any action to be had, I certainly wasn't finding it.
Then suddenly, everything changed. The students began to arrive and the
streets filled up with people in their teens and twenties, young, vigorous
and full of hormones. I knew the were off-limits but they were
impossible to ignore. They swarmed everywhere, and since it was still
summer, most of them were half-naked. I decided it was time for me to get
back into shape, and I dug out my running shoes and started each day with a
workout.
I had been a high school athlete, and in I had always done
physical jobs, carpentry, construction, loading and unloading crates. In
those days I was tough and rangy, not big-boned but solid, but I hadn't
done much of anything for 10 years except bang on a keyboard. Now it felt
good to get back to my workouts and I threw myself into them. One morning,
I saw myself in the window of a Starbuck's and I was pleased. My face had
clocked some mileage, I was clearly no longer young, but maybe that wasn't
such a bad thing. My past was receding, my body was firming up, I was
ready for the rest of my life.
Creative Writing was a prerequisite for other, more desirable courses
and there was never enough room. Students had to get my permission before
they could register, and at the beginning of each term they lined up
outside my office asking, begging, wheedling for a place. Since I hated
all forms of favoritism, I promised myself that I would not follow in the
steps of my disgraced predecessor, I would not take this opportunity to
stock the class with beautiful and interesting women. I would choose those
students who needed the class most. On the other hand, I was not going to
turn away a promising writer just because she happened to have a gorgeous
body or beautiful or a luscious ass. That wasn't exactly fair either.
I interviewed the students individually. I read their writing samples
and asked them about their interests and their majors. I listened
attentively to their hopes for the future. I felt free to flirt with the
girls since I knew it couldn't go anywhere, and some reciprocated.
A few of them went to extremes, for which I was grateful. One plump
chocolate-skinned sophomore named Sylvia turned up in a low cut blouse and
skin-tight jeans, her practically laid out for my inspection. They
were breathtaking and showed off just a hint of dusky areola. "Tell me
about Sylvia," I purred. A criminal justice major, thought the class might
be fun, always wanted to be a writer. Her voice practically dripped sex.
It was true she didn't actually need the credits, but why hold that against
her? What wouldn't I give to nibble on those gorgeous chocolate boobies? I
was soon completely hard and had to stay behind the desk to avoid making a
spectacle of myself. She slipped me her phone number in case we needed to
talk further, but why waste time on talk? I signed her registration form
and kicked out some unworthy male philosophy major. Probably a Marxist.
Then there was Milena. She made an appointment to see me and arrived 30
minutes late. She was tall and willowy, with wild spiky hair and a
middle-European accent, perhaps out of Vienna or Prague. The contrast
between her graceful body and angular hair was striking. She wore grey
sweat pants, sneakers and a tee-shirt and moved like a cat.
Milena explained her situation. She was an economics major, she needed
the credit, it was a requirement, she was leaving at the end of the year,
etc., etc., etc. I was unconvinced. Then she dropped her papers and bent
over to retrieve them. The material of her sweatpants stretched over the
curves of her ass. She wasn't wearing a thing underneath. Her tee rode up a couple of inches exposing a lovely swath of skin.
I imagined grabbing her from behind and pressing my hardening cock
against her snatch. What color was her pubic hair? The hair on her head
was black, but what if it had been dyed and her hair was naturally
blond? Or red? Was it or sparse? There was something to be said
for both. A rich, fragrant bush spreading from to navel like an
overgrown garden, or a neat little patch, fresh as new mown grass. That
was the glory of nature, so much variety, and all of it delightful. Well,
maybe not all of it. I never liked underarm hair. Did she shave her
armpits? I looked up to check.
Milena had retrieved her papers and was arranging herself in the chair
next to my desk. Unfortunately, the sleeves of her tee-shirt hid her
underarms. They would have to wait. She smiled back at me gamely.
Evidently she was used to being examined, most likely she enjoyed it.
"I will be able to register, yes Professor...?" She fished for my name.
Her voice was high pitched, slightly nasal and, I had to admit, not
entirely pleasant. Perhaps she had a sinus infection. That was
unfortunate but no reason to deny her the chance to develop her gifts as a
writer. What would it feel like to have her long, shaply legs wrapped
around my back and my dick buried up to the hilt in pussy? I managed to
squeeze her into the Tuesday-Thursday, but things were beginning to get
tight.
As you can see, after enduring years of abuse from editors and
publishers, a little taste of power had gone straight to my head.
Nonetheless, I managed to keep a tight rein on my impulses and refrained
from acting any of them out. I had made a promise to Phil and I intended
to keep it.
One evening, about 2 weeks after I moved in, my landlady, Mrs. Guthrie
called to ask if she could bring something over to the apartment. Mrs.
Guthrie was short and chubby and wore large rectangular glasses. She
looked like a soccer mom. I figured she wanted to check out what kind of
tenant I was, to see for herself that I wasn't tearing up the walls or
destroying the furniture. She showed up an hour later with a six pack and
made herself comfortable on my couch. We sipped the beers and since she
seemed lonely, I let her talk.
Mrs. Guthrie was divorced. I could call her Irene. Her husband had
owned an ad agency in town but had run off to New York City with his
secretary, who promptly dumped him for a screenwriter. He had tried
to crawl back, but she would have nothing to do with him. The divorce had
left her with a number of small apartment buildings which she managed. She
had one child, a teenage daughter.
As I listened to her story, I began to find Mrs. Guthrie very
attractive. Who could resist her sparkling eyes, her warm smile and
infectious laugh, her voluptuous figure? When the beers were finished, I
felt not merely lustful but positively amorous towards this juicy,
affectionate divorcee. It was months since I had been with a woman, it was
late and we were clearly fated for each other. I took her hands in mine.
"There's no reason for either of us to be lonely," I told her. I kissed
her and she responded by running her tongue around my mouth. I had
forgotten what that was like. I led her to the bedroom. We lay on the
bed, kissing and stroking each other, getting more and more worked up,
removing our clothing piece by piece. When we had all our clothes off, I
gazed at her lying on the bed, arms spread out in welcome, and I knew I had
hit the jackpot.
Irene had one of those pleasing, utterly fuckable bodies that guarantee
the survival of the species. She could have been 35 or 50, but she had
clearly worked at staying in shape. Her legs were firm and curvy. She had
short brown hair, and with her glasses off, I could see her cute pixie
face. She had a nice hairy with prominent pink lips. But her true
glory, or glories, were her tits. They sagged a little now, but in their
prime they must have been wondrous. They were still nice and round, a good
handful each, topped by dark nipples that now poked out half an inch.
Her body wasn't perfect, but it fit together perfectly, and like I said,
she was utterly fuckable. I hoped she felt the same about me.
Although her were glorious, she didn't want them or
fondled. She wanted straight-ahead fucking. My dick was very and hard
and stood straight out, and she pulled it toward her. I lay on top of her
and slowly rubbed my cock against her pussy. The lips of her moistening
cunt made a squishy sound as I teased the head of my prick back and forth
over them.
Meanwhile, she stroked my cock lightly just beneath its swollen purple
head. Her touch was velvety and made me groan out loud. No one had ever
touched me quite like that, teasing me higher and higher without quite
making me come. She reached around and rubbed my balls. This made my cock
pulse with excitement. She wrapped her fingers around the shaft and gently
squeezed, which made me gasp for breath. After a few minutes of this, I
begged her to let me put my cock up her cunt. She wrapped her hand around
it and pressed it against her pussy.
Her stroking had made my penis swell up so much that I was doubtful
about getting the head inside her. I took some time easing it in. The
walls of her gripped my cock tightly, but she keep pushing it deeper,
and once we started moving she didn't want to stop. I thanked my lucky
stars that I'd been masturbating every night since my arrival, so I was
able to last. She gripped my ass and guided my strokes, and soon we found
an angle and a rhythm that she liked. Our bodies began to heat up and
sweat together, and I abandoned myself to the sheer pleasure of her rubbing my cock.
"I love fucking you," I gasped, as I watched my prick move in and out of
her hairy snatch, "I love your gorgeous fucking cunt, you beautiful hot
fuck." She was a groaner, not a talker, and her "mmm's" and "oh's"
intoxicated me. I wanted nothing more than to fuck her for hours, and I
completely lost track of time. At some point, her breath speeded up and
she moaned with each thrust, which made my cock so hard I thought it would
burst. Then her "ohs" grew louder until she screamed "Oh Jesus, oh Jesus,
oh Jesus!" She bucked against me, and all I could feel was her contracting against my cock as we moved together, while I groaned in
pleasure and went hurtling over the edge of a tremendous climax.
We relaxed and lay still for a few minutes, but I was so aroused that I
stayed hard inside her, and pretty soon we went at it again. This time she
rode my cock from above, and when she cried "Oh Jesus!" she was on her
knees and her were dangling over my mouth. When she came the last
time, she was on her back again and I was moving on top of her, and just
before her climax, she slipped a finger in my butt. I exploded in an
orgasm while my penis and butt pulsed and she cried "Oh Jesus, oh Jesus, oh
Jesus!"
We shared a cigarette and let our bodies cool as we drifted off to
sleep. I was thoroughly happy. Irene didn't want a relationship, and
frankly, neither did I. We really had only one thing in common. But once
or twice a month, whenever she felt lonely or horny, she would come over
and warm up my sheets.
I had been hired to teach creative writing, so I required the students
to write something creative every week and sit in front of the class and
read it out loud. If you've never done this before, it can be quite
difficult. Many of the students buried their heads in their papers and
mumbled inaudibly. Some became nervous and giggly. A few were confident
or naïve enough simply to read their work. After a piece was read, I would
ask the students for their reactions. This relieved me from having to
actually read all of the papers and respond to them myself.
Paula was in the class that met on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons. She
did not attract my attention at first, though I noticed that she had no
trouble reading out loud. On the first week, she brought in a about
a cat. When Paula was 12, she brought the home from a shelter. It
was a 6 week calico kitten that she called Mitzi. Its tongue was
scratchy. The first night, it curled up on her pillow and went to sleep,
but the next morning it was gone. The searched and searched but it
had disappeared. Finally, 2 days later, the kitten emerged from a drain
pipe in the back yard, no worse for wear. This was amazingly insipid
stuff, even for a sophomore, but midway through her reading I
noticed that my cock was completely hard.
There was nothing overtly sexual about the or for that matter
about Paula. She was a pleasant-looking with wavy brown hair and a
friendly open face, broad-hipped without being fat, though perhaps with a
little tummy. Her were medium sized but by a loose-fitting
sweatshirt. Her legs and ass were covered by baggy trousers. She was
completely ordinary, and yet here I sat listening to her with a total hard
on. So I tried to ignore it. It must be some neutral physiological
phenomenon like the spontaneous erections that occur overnight. Or I had
attracted some stray pherenomes from one of the more obviously carnal like Milena or Sylvia, both of whom were in the class. That must be it.
The next week the same thing happened. Paula's was entitled "My
First Day at Kindergarten." She described the terror she felt at being left
by her in a strange place, the comforting teacher who held her in
her lap, the strange purple tiles in the bathroom, her discovery of the
doll area, her dawning realization that she actually liked being in the
place, and finally, her relief when her arrived at the end of the
day to pick her up.
Halfway through, I had an erection that throbbed so intensely I
could barely focus on the words. I forced myself to listen but my cock
just got harder and harder and rubbed uncomfortably against my trousers. I
looked around to see if I was the only one with this reaction. A few of
the students were listening, 2 were napping, most were bored. Obviously,
whatever was going on was between Paula and me.
When it happened for the third time, I was prepared for my reaction, but
that didn't make it any less intense or any less disturbing. Her -
this time about the purchase of a used car - left me panting with
excitement. My breath quickened, my heart pounded in my throat and my
penis got completely hard. I could hardly sit still. Concentration was
out of the question.
That night, I got home late from a faculty meeting. The usual idiocy.
It was already dark and I didn't feel like going out for dinner. As I
prepared my food, something outside the window caught my attention. I
glanced at the building across the way. The light was on in one of the
second floor offices. Someone was working late. No, that was impossible,
it was a government office.
I looked up again at the square of light from across the street.
Someone appeared to be making regular back-and-forth movements, as if
sawing or planing a piece of wood. Gradually, the scene came into focus. A
man and a woman were sitting in a chair. She was in his lap and they were
facing each other. I looked closer. The woman was naked from the waist
up. She wore a short skirt that was hiked way up her thighs, and she was
moving up and down on the man's prick, fucking him fast and hard. I could
see her bouncing up and down. Every so often she would shake her
wavy brown hair out of her face, but neither of them paused for breath,
they just kept on going and going and going. Then she threw her head back,
with her mouth open in a wordless cry, and moving in slow, hard, deliberate
strokes, she came, intensely, deeply came.
After about a minute, she collapsed against the and rested up for a
bit. Then she stood up and put her clothes on. The got up too. From
where I stood, they both looked about 18 or 20. He had long hair and
a well-muscled body. She had a nice shapely ass and firm athletic legs.
As a matter of fact, she looked a little like Paula. Then the light went
off, and they were gone.
Watching this office quickie had made my prick very hard, but it had
also disturbed me. Was it possible that the really was Paula? I felt
a stab of fear. What if it actually was her? It better not be her, and
why not? Because I wanted her for myself, that's why. I hadn't realized
it until now and it caught me by surprise. I wanted her and I wanted her
badly, but I couldn't even think of having her because of that stupid
promise I made to Phil.
I lay in bed that night rubbing my thick, hard dick, pondering my
situation. Should I make an advance and risk everything or should I let it
pass? It would pass eventually, wouldn't it, or would I have to endure 13
more weeks of this torture? I hadn't felt like this since high school,
when I had become infatuated with one of my teachers and things had gotten
a bit out of hand. Why was I reacting this way to a completely ordinary
girl anyway? And what about my promise to Phil, how much was I obligated
to him?
At some point, I realized that I'd been occupied with Paula for 8 solid
hours. I had already come once but my dick was still hard. I let it calm
down and then I got up and phoned my best friend Ronnie, whom I'd known
since grade school. Ronnie was tough and practical, and he was incredibly
successful with women, he always had been. When Ronnie made an entrance,
all the cunts in the room twitched, you could feel the vibrations. He had
gotten married, moved to the Northwest, and had a couple of kids, but he
still had a prick and women still responded to it. I told him about Paula.
I explained the sexual politics of the situation, my obligations to Phil
and the quandary I was in. Ronnie was silent for a moment and then
delivered his verdict: "If you don't go for it, Singer, you're a total and
complete dickhead."
"What's the point of living if you can't live?" I couldn't argue with
that. "Your clock is ticking...can you hear it? Soon you won't be able to
enjoy the little gifts that life throws in your path, and here I speak from
experience. Live while you can." I interrupted him. "What about my friend
Phil, what about the promise I made?"
"It's invalid," he shot back. "Why is it invalid?" "Because I don't
care who you are, I don't care if you're the President of the United States
or an adjunct professor at some dinky little state college..." I corrected
him. I was not an adjunct and it was not some dinky little.... "Shuddup.
No one is capable of keeping that kind of promise, and what kind of friend
would even ask you to make it?" That silenced me. "Your innermost being
has responded to this woman, right? You have no choice. Make an advance
and see if she's interested, end of story. The problem with this other
turkey was he couldn't take no for an answer. That's not your problem.
You can't take yes for an answer."
Ronnie had always given me good, commonsense advice, I liked that about
him. Plus, I had to admit he was right about Phil, he really was a
manipulative bastard. How could he ask me to swear off sex with students?
This was a university for Chrissakes, it had nothing but students, it was
teeming with young, nubile, barely post-adolescent women who longed to be
taught by an experienced but still attractive man. Ronnie was right,
I might never have this opportunity again. I thanked him and hung up, and
the next week, I called Paula in for a conference.
I normally met with students in my office, which was fine except that I
shared it with Professor A. R. Crouch, a retired queen who minced in
once a week to give a seminar on Elizabethan poetry. Crouch was allright,
he was hardly ever there, but he had picked this day to show up and make
phone calls. "We won't disturb you," I apologized, as I ushered Paula out
the door. He waved me away with a wink. That was close. If he'd arrived
much later or if we'd come in sooner, he might have walked in on us. Not
that he would've cared, but I didn't want to scare Paula.
I suggested we go across the street to the coffee shop. It was a
departmental hangout, but at this hour it should be deserted, and it was.
We had a whole section to ourselves and sat down in a cozy little booth.
This was a good omen, a little luck for a change.
We sat facing each other across the table, talking casually and I
immediately felt the same attraction as I had in class. It had been no
mistake, I was very turned on, so I tried to get down to business. "You're
a good writer, a very good writer," I blabbed, "I like the way you write."
I couldn't believe I was saying this.
She stared back at me across the table, her clear brown eyes fixed
directly on mine, the beginnings of a smile stirring in her eyes. "What do
you like about it?" "What do I like about it?" "Yes, what do you like about
it?" Her fingers traced the rim of her coffee cup. Ahh, she was enjoying
this, she was playing me. "You write clearly and directly. I like your
simplicity and your balance. It takes a lot of confidence to write the way
you write." My heart had begun to pound and I had to work to keep it out of
my voice.
"But now that I've seen what you can do, I think it's time for you to
try and work more personally, to write about things that are a little more
private." She appeared to consider it. "I've been thinking that myself,"
she said, "and I've been working on something that's very private, but I've
been embarrassed to bring it in to class."
"I can understand that," I told her, and I did. "There are some things
that need to stay private until they're read, and there are some things
that have to stay private forever. I hope it's not one of those things."
"Why not?" she asked. My dick had begun to ache. My heart throbbed in it.
A blush had formed on Paula's cheeks. I looked down at the table and took
one of her hands in mine. The blush spread down her neck. "Because I'd
like you to read it to me."
At this point, a noisy band of students entered the restaurant, filling
the room with shouts and laughter and making intimate conversation
impossible. This was fortuitous. "Let's go someplace where we can hear
ourselves," I suggested, "I want to be able to pay attention to your
story." "Where do you want to go?" she asked. I pretended to think it
over. "Why don't we go to my apartment where it'll be quiet. It's only a
few blocks away. I can make us a pot of coffee." "Okay," she said and we
paid the bill and left.
The walk to my apartment took about 5 minutes but felt like 5 hours. We
had crossed over into something but I wasn't sure what. Of course I
couldn't take her hand, but I could touch her shoulder or her bare arm to
guide her in the direction of my house, and each time I did, her body
seemed to lean into me. Was it my imagination? Her skin felt hot through
the cloth.
I had a chance to take her in physically. In the past, I had seen Paula
in baggy pants and sweatshirts but today she was wearing a tight blouse and
jeans that fit her legs and ass perfectly. She moved with confidence and
her body looked firm, athletic and sexy. She was no longer nondescript,
she was beautiful.
We arrived at my apartment and I let her in. I now felt free to take
her hand and as soon as I did, my dick started to harden. I led Paula into
the dining room and we sat down at the table. I made us some coffee and
then I asked her if she'd like to read me what she'd written. She took out
a manila envelope from her backpack and withdrew a small group of pages,
maybe a half dozen in all, double-spaced. Paula settled herself in the
chair and prepared to read. I moved my chair closer to hers so that our
knees were almost touching.
She read, "All of us are given a certain time on earth and no more. I
arrived here determined not to waste a single moment." She shifted slightly
and her knees brushed against mine. My cock became very hard and I felt my
heart pounding. I tried to catch my breath.
Paula paused for a moment and then continued. "In my second year of
university, I became fascinated by one of my teachers. I felt like I was a
fish and he had cast out his line and was reeling me in." I brushed my
knees against hers again and I felt another wave of pleasure. She inhaled
sharply as a blush spread over her face and neck. Her nipples poked out
from the center of her breasts, surprisingly long and thick.
"As I sat in class, I felt his presence in my skin. I wondered if he
knew, and I wondered if he felt something similar for me." Paula raised her
eyes from the page and looked at me. I took her face in my hands and
gently touched her lips. She kissed my finger, and I felt her mouth
tremble, and then she opened her lips and licked it. It felt like her
tongue was traveling the length of my fully hard prick.
I brought my hand down to her wrist and stroked her arm from the wrist
up to the forearm. My fingers left a trail of goosebumps. I took the page
from her hand and put it on the table.
I placed my hands on her shoulders. Her seemed to reach out
towards me. I slid my hands down her shoulders, down the sides of her
chest, along the sides of her bra. Her eyes closed. I brought my hands up
again and this time let my thumbs graze the front of her bra. "Oooh," she
moaned. Her voice caressed my cock. Some pre-cum leaked out, spreading a
wet patch over the front of my underpants.
I rubbed her through her blouse and then reached underneath it
with both hands. Paula unhooked her bra and shrugged it off her shoulders.
I couldn't wait. I brought my mouth down, kissing, licking and her
elongated nipples, holding her engorged in my hands. She dug her
hands into my hair and pressed my mouth against her.
All of this activity had made me incredibly hard. I raised my head and
stood up. I led Paula to the couch and she lay down while I stepped out of
my jeans. Paula stared at my briefs. My cock was completely erect and
poking out obscenely. I knelt down next to her and unsnapped her jeans and
opened the zipper. I stroked my fingers back and forth over the outside of
her white cotton and felt her soft bush. I brought my fingers down
lower, gliding them over the long, slick wet patch that had formed on the
cloth.
I lowered my mouth to her other and gently flicked the nipple.
She pushed up against my hand and groaned. Her hand found the head of my
cock through the cloth of my briefs and she stroked the edge, making me
groan with pleasure.
I found the hard little nub of her clitoris and rubbed it lightly with
my thumb. I reached into her and rubbed her lips. They were
drenched and their scent inflamed me. She lifted up her ass and I slid her
panties down her thighs. Then I stood up and freed my cock from my briefs.
It sprang straight out, and pulsing. She cradled the head in her palm,
making it jump and sending pre-orgasmic shudders through my entire groin. I
opened the drawer of the table and pulled out a condom. She shook her head
no and took my hand and rubbed it over her slit.
Two of my fingers slid easily into the warm channel of her cunt. She
gripped my hand between her thighs, and I brought my head down to her
breast and rolled my tongue over the nipple. Paula stroked the underside
of my dick and I felt on the verge of an climax. I began to
groan, "Oh god, oh god, you're gonna make me come, you're gonna make
me...aaah..." as my orgasm started while her thighs shook and she cried "Oh
no, oh no, oh no," and the climax swept over us both.
We lay together holding each other for what seemed like a long time. I
got up and brought her a towel and we dried off. Paula got up. "I have to
get back," she said. Her were soaked, and she slipped them into
her purse. I watched her dress from the couch. Then she bent down and
kissed me on the mouth, our first. "I want you to teach me," she said.
We began to see each other every week. Each time, Paula started out by
reading me one of her love letters. Then once a week became twice and
three times. Although we tried to be discrete, our hormones gave us away.
I only had to be in the same room with her for my dick to get hard. For
her part, her nipples would poke out and I swear I could smell her cunt,
and all this without even touching. We were Pavlovian in our response, and
we seized any opportunity to satisfy ourselves. In my office after class,
at home in a chair, in a bar seated at a table, my hand inside her jeans, 3
fingers up her cunt. Anywhere, anytime, anyhow.
Phil found out about our relationship, it was impossible for him not to,
but to his everlasting credit, he never mentioned it to me. I think he
realized that he couldn't control it and it was futile to even try. Or
maybe he simply felt the heat and thought it better to let it burn itself
out.
But it didn't burn out. Ronnie was right, my innermost being had
responded to her, although we drifted apart at the end of the term. I saw
Paula several years later at a conference in St. Louis and we spent a
weekend together. We have been through marriages and careers, separated by
3,000 miles, but as I sit here in my kitchen writing these words, I hear
her voice reading to me and it burns me, it burns me still.
Dan Singer singer@radiolink.net
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