“Though of course, not so much evidence was recorded, the sources make it fairly clear that many of the peasants were practicing some form of birth control at the time.”

A girl up front raised her hand and asked, “But what did they do?”

“Coitus interruptus, most commonly.”

“But wasn’t that against Catholic doctrine?”

“Of course. It was a sin to waste one’s seed.” Then she looked around the classroom and, looking straight into my eyes, said, “Of course, it’s really only a sin if the man’s not man enough to hold on until after the woman’s had her pleasure,” and as the rest of the class chuckled she held her gaze for another split-second and then broke it with a barely perceptible nod.

Lecture continued for another five minutes, and once she released us, she beckoned to me. “See me this afternoon about two to discuss your paper topic."

“I’ll be there with bells on.”

She smiled, “No need for that. Bells would be silly. And no damn tassels.” She held my eyes for two more seconds and then blinked and turned, releasing me.

To avoid making a throbbing fool of myself, I found the nearest bathroom and took the stall furthest from the door. I pulled out my cock and thought back to the first of her office hours I attended. I remembered her deep cleavage plunging within a red satin blouse seemingly too tight to restrain such impressive womanliness, and imagined her kneeling before me, her deep brown eyes staring into my soul as I slid myself into her cleavage, and with only ten pumps of the fist followed by twelve spurts of seed showed I was probably not a good candidate for coitus interruptus with her. Chuckling, I wiped up, lifted my shirt, and shifted my focus from her cleavage to her cleft, this time lasting two minutes as her deep brown eyes stared into mine, her cum-coated breasts thrusting up and down as I filled to the full tunnel that must be paradise on earth, and imagined her giving me a sly smile when I pumped my seed wildly deep inside her belly but in reality all over mine.

I wiped up and washed up, the thought of her suddenly making me harden again, and as I exited I nearly bumped into a blur rushing past. She stopped and smiled at me, pushing her light brown hair out of her creamy face. “Sorry, sorry!”

“Sally, right?”

“The one and the same."

I suddenly remembered the chat we had had with a mutual friend when we met a couple of weeks before. “How’s stats?”

“A bitch and a half and nothing else.”

We grinned and I said, “Stat’s a kitten. A hamster.”

“Or a gerbil. That should be shoved up someone’s ass so that someone somewhere, anywhere, finally gets the slightest pleasure from it.”

We laughed and she cocked her head, “Help me study?”

“Gladly.”

“Tonight, your place. I’ll bring dinner. Like chicken cacciatore?”

“Yes, but really, is that what you get for takeout?”

“It’s leftovers from my last cooking binge. Don’t worry, I know my way around a kitchen.”

“Then I’m looking forward to it.”

“Good. Address?”

I told her and she grinned, “Seven. I’ll be there, you’ll probably be square.”

“I’ll be around, actually.”

She chuckled and waved bye and rushed off. I looked after her lithe, well-toned body, slender and appealing, so like my tastes and so unlike the older woman bedeviling me…and I realized I wanted the other one more. After a decent lunch and indigestible ponderings on the crush that had gripped me since the first day of class, I rushed to Aviva’s office. “Hello, come in,” she said.

I sat down to see her eyes watching me; I restrained from glancing down to the Star of David that graced the top of her beguiling cleavage or the wedding ring that made any fantasies seem twisted impossibilities, and simply said, “Hi, hope I’m not late.”

“You’re on time. You have ten minutes before the next guy. So yes, this topic is good. You should check these sources.” She slid over a list of four article titles and a book. “You have to use a contemporary source, so check the records in that book. Check them against the claims in the articles. Remember, read them like a historian. Or a lawyer. Try to punch holes in them. King John was an asshole and no mistake, but remember, he wasn’t an idiot. Think about what he had in mind, what he missed in his situation, or why he might have disregarded it. And compare him to Richard. It can be enlightening.”

“For you?”

“Fuck no. For you. No point to it otherwise.” We smiled and she looked over to her bookcases long enough to let me glimpse down to make sure her breasts were as impressive as I remembered; she turned back to me a split-second before I glanced back up to see her smiling obscurely as she looked into my eyes. As always, their deep brown drew me in and held me tight, and she added, “I must have taken it home. There’s another book to look for.” She slid the paper back to her as she looked into my eyes, then cavalierly left me bereft in a cold uncaring universe as she looked down to scribble another reference.

“You’ve studied Latin?”

“A little.”

She nodded. “Old French?”

“No.”

“Well, this might not be so useful, but it does have passable translations. This isn’t a class for majors, so you needn’t wield the full scholarly implementarium, but do check out the original in this source.” She added a note. “Do source criticism to the best of your ability. History classes don’t just teach history; ideally, they teach you to think like a historian, which is valuable. And whatever you do, please, I beg of you, I beseech you, don’t bore me. Please.”

We laughed and I said, “I’m sure I’m very boring to you already.”

She shrugged, seemed ready to say something, then blinked and said in a lighter tone, “Yes, perhaps, so don’t compound the injury.”

I glanced around at the shelves, seeing English, French, German, Latin, Greek, Hebrew, and other scripts I couldn’t connect with languages, and wondered how she could put up with young ones like us day after day.

•••

Dinner was delicious, and more delightful than dessert, were Sally’s smile and shining eyes as she made me explain the statistical tests she had run up against. Afterwards, she went into my kitchen area to get another glass of water, and as I came up behind her, she turned to face me. She leaned against the counter and watched me fixedly over the rim of the glass. When she put it down, she held onto the counter with both hands and simply looked at me. I came up to her and she nodded slightly and met me halfway for a kiss.

At first, she was enthusiastic, kissing me deeply and pushing her firm breasts into my hands; when my hands reached her waist she whispered, “I’m on the pill and I’m clean. You’re disease-free?” Her green eyes watched me fixedly as I said yes, and seemingly satisfied with my probity returned to my mouth.

As I slowly uncovered her body, palest white and firmly toned, her smallish breasts firm and high and tipped in pink above a taut belly and wide hips, yet as more of her came into view she became less demonstrative, passively allowing me to caress and kiss whatever I desired, watching me with increasing objectivity, and pulling away to mechanically strip off each article of my clothing after I had slowly removed the corresponding piece from her.

I finally slid off her panties, a lacy affair that did little to hide the beautiful brown patch that rose like a flame at the join of her thighs, and leaned in to lick the lips and explore her further. She let me push her thighs apart as I wished but took no more active role, and despite my best efforts her inner lips remained resolutely unfurled.

After five minutes she pushed me away and said quietly, “Don’t worry about it.” She led me into my bedroom and stripped me naked. She looked me up and down impassively and nodded, “All right, here.”

She lay down on the bed and spread her thighs as I knelt before her, and as I looked down at her shell almost completely closed, she said, “Do it slowly. Use some spit.”

It took five minutes to fully insert myself in her, and despite every caress I made, she only became slightly wet, looking up at me as I worked above her. After a minute fully inside her slack tunnel, I felt my mood start to wane; if it weren’t for the insult it would give, I realized I’d be no less happy asking her to leave and using my hand.

As if the universe had decided to completely mock me, the image of Aviva came to me from office hours a few days before. I imagined staring down into her deep brown eyes, her silver-streaked black hair thickly curly around her round face, the gold Star of David bouncing at the top of her cleavage as I thrust into her, and I fully hardened. Flushed with desire, I thrust deeply and stared down in the vicinity of Sally’s expressionless face, but all I saw was Aviva. My passion built and just before orgasm she seemed to smile up at me and whisper, “You’re even better than my husband.”

Just as I imagined those words, Sally said, “Pull out.”

“But…”

“Not inside.” Momentarily puzzled, I did so, and as the first spurt shot out of me onto her belly, the full significance of her order hit me and I sat up and yanked the rest out onto her. When I had finished, I looked with distaste mingled with sick satisfaction at the white streaks all over her torso and sighed.

She sat up and found a handkerchief in her purse and wiped up as I sat there in shame and disgust, disgust with myself and my twisted subconscious and shame at ignoring a new lover for thoughts of an impossible dream. I followed her around my apartment as she picked up her clothes and put them on, and oddly she seemed less impassive, smiling when she glanced around at me. Fully dressed, she packed her books and smiled sadly and sweetly. “Good?”

“Yes.”

“For me too. Thanks.”

I swallowed the bile that provoked and made what must have been the sickest, bitterest smile of my adult life. “No, thank you.”

She shrugged, “No problem. I’ll give you a call, hey?”

“Sure.”

She seemed about to say something, but instead kissed me on the cheek and left. In the shower, I washed her scent off me, but the shame was fixed in place, burning like the furnace keeping my feeling of failure at a hard boil. Try as I might, however, figuring out what had gone wrong, what I had done wrong, what she meant, how she might feel, what I could possibly do now, and how I could ever face her again was completely beyond me. Finally, over my third beer long after midnight, I sighed and realized some mysteries were never meant to be solved.

•••

A week later, papers and midterms were done, and to relax I was looking at books in the history section when a shadow crossed the shelf in front of me. “Well now,” I heard a low voice purr, and turned to see Aviva watching me with a slight smile, her short plump body calling to me as always.

“Hello, Doctor…”

“You know to call me Aviva.”

As we walked around, she chatted with me about the books she picked up; after the first three books, her comments were increasingly suggestive, yet phrased so as to make me feel sophisticated and adult, which I was far from feeling as I struggled to keep my erection hidden and my throat wet enough to speak. “Yes,” she said at one point while watching closely as if checking I was learning the lesson well, “the penitentials for clergymen were revealing in that way. Of course, priests were punished for sins of the flesh, and the punishment was higher the more serious the relationship was. Because the more serious the attachment to the world, the greater the impairment of one’s commitment to spiritual life, and the harder to uproot. So a one-time session with a prostitute was less serious an infringement of one’s vows than a regular woman on the side, and approaching marriage worse than that.”

“And making sure she came before he did was worse still.”

She laughed and shook her finger at me approvingly, “In the sense that it would have fed the sin of well-deserved pride, probably. Typical of the way you Christians took your New Dispensation as a way to reverse all that was good in our old one.”

Before she left, she said, “It’s been a good class. I liked your paper. Come to my office hours tomorrow after five so we can discuss it.”

“What will the new guy be like?”

“New. A guy.”

“Is that common, two teachers in one class?”

“Things are so different in college now I still get confused. Seriously, as an experiment, it’s interesting, but I suspect it’s just a very short-sighted way of saving money, since the other guy’s not tenured. Half a class, they don’t have to pay him anything but wages, and the fact that he’s doing that in four different classes means that he doesn’t qualify for full-time benefits even though he’s actually working full time. Chickenshit bean counters, they’d chisel their own mothers’ pensions if they could get away with it.”

“But he’s a good teacher?”

“Oh yes,” she smiled, “almost as good as I am.”

“I’ll miss your part of the class.”

“Why, thank you! But look on the bright side: We’ll be equals once it ends and I hand in your grades. Surely you’re looking forward to that? Becoming a real adult? Being treated like one?”

I laughed as she smiled winningly and waved her fingers good-bye, and after she left the store seemed deserted, a tomb for the congealed and rotting wisdom of the dead past, and I wondered how such a vivid woman could devote herself to it.

•••

I stopped at her door ten minutes after the end of her posted hours, and she smiled when she saw me and said, “Please come in, close the door.”

“Sorry I’m late.”

“That’s fine. We can chat without being interrupted.” She handed back my paper. “Good job.” She sighed, “The worst thing about teaching sometimes is having to read people regurgitating everything I tell them and they read without digesting it. It’s as sick-making as it sounds.” She grinned and continued, “There’s usually one or two every semester who at least regurgitates the same pap with his own flair. It’ll never be something new, but it’s a relief when someone clearly explains what we all know.”

“Well, thank you, I guess.”

We chatted about the paper for ten minutes, then she said, “Office hours are long over and I’m a pumpkin. So hush, so no one bothers my well-earned peace now that this damn class is over.” She strolled to the door, locked it, and said, “Now, come here.” She took a book from a shelf and said, “This is what you were wondering about.” I stood near her, a little shy with her soft body so close to mine, and tried to keep my eyes on the book when her tight green blouse showed her plunging cleavage so near it. I glanced at the line of her neck, full and far from elegant yet beautifully physical, and followed the chain down to the ever-present Star of David cradled at the top of the swells of her breasts, then up to her eyes watching me with a twinkle.

“No, you did make one factual error. Probably a late-night goof. This is that castle that Richard built and John lost that was so important.” She leaned back so that her arm pressed into my side, and she turned a page, carelessly brushing me with her elbow. “This map shows how the whole system crumbled over John’s reign.” With only an occasional reference to the dates on the page, she showed the chain of events in detail in ten minutes. Stunned at the end, I simply stared at her and she smiled and shrugged. She flipped through the book and said, “Ah yes, here. Just a note for the future. You have to be more specific which Mathilda you’re talking about.” She showed me the family tree and smiled, “The royal families were lousy with Mathildas for a while. William the Conqueror’s wife, Henry I’s wife, the Empress Mathilda, even her opponent Stephen’s wife, and Queen Eleanor’s daughter, they were all Mathilda.”

“Why?”

“Nice German name. ‘Strong in battle.’ ”

Her breast had settled surreptitiously against me by then, surrounding my elbow as I stood there trying to utter coherent speech, and I stared down at her staring up into my eyes. Aviva hummed Jacques Brel and laughed. “Yes, Mathildes are dangerous.”

Suddenly I felt the chill of the air as she turned away and walked to another shelf. She looked over her shoulder and I followed her to the corner. She said, “Little help?” Standing on a stool, she said, “Steady me.” I moved in and she said, “Hold my hips. Yes, like that.” She reached up to the top shelf and took her own sweet time finding the book she was looking for. Her hips were muscular and full, moving sensuously under my hands as she leaned left then right, her well-rounded buttocks at my chest level almost as fascinating as her breasts. I was stunned, seized by a sudden desire to slide my hands around to her belly and up to her breasts, but fear held me firmly in place. With a sudden plunge, she stepped off the stool, pressing her ass and then her lower back into my crotch.

She stood there for a second as she looked carelessly at the cover, and then she pulled away blithely and walked to her couch, standing and watching me. I sat down at one end and she sat facing me, looking through the book for a moment, then she set it aside on the floor. “Sorry, I thought it was in there.” She looked up at me, “So, we are no longer student and teacher. Your grades have been submitted for the first half of the semester; you did well.” She smiled and said, “Most students you can tell are just there for the requirements. I always have one or two each semester who are better than that. I like to get to know them. Meet the scholars of tomorrow.”

She leaned back into the couch, an arm on the back and the other on the armrest, and she crossed her knees. I watched her figure as it settled into place, so unlike my usual interests yet intoxicating. Her green blouse shimmered in the light, the long arms matching nicely the blue of her couch while flattering the slight olive tinge of her skin, lightening to tan on the chest above her cleavage. Her breasts were low-slung and held tightly together; surprisingly little waist showed between the swell of her breasts and her hips. Moreover, her waist was well-padded, with no real curving in on her torso from armpit to hips. The blouse was tucked tightly into a black knee-length skirt that clung to her meaty thighs; her belt was shiny black with a golden buckle.

I looked up to see her watching my inspection with an unreadable smile. “So, you work too, right?”

“Yes.”

“I remember the old round of campus jobs when I was a student. I must have done everything. Art gallery attendant, pot-and-pan washer-upper, waitress in the faculty club, massage therapist for a while…I must appear in the figures for two dozen psychology papers.” We laughed.

We chatted for twenty minutes more, at the end of which she got up to reshelve her book. She looked up at the shelf it came from, shrugged, and laid it on a lower shelf, turning to see me stretching my neck. “Oh, let me help with that. Sit there.” She came up behind me and began rubbing my neck and shoulders firmly and skillfully. “I did this all through college and grad school. The only trouble was finding a barber who could give the barber a haircut.”

We chuckled and soon I was preternaturally aware of how much closer she had gotten as she pressed more deeply into my muscles. Three minutes passed, every second of which was filled with the nearness of her and the force of her massage, and then I felt something warm and soft against the back of my head. She then shifted her efforts and the other side of my head felt the softness. Over the next three minutes, her hands dissolved the tension in my shoulders and neck and softness enveloped more of my head as the tension in the rest of me mounted.

Suddenly I felt abandoned by the world as she pulled away, then rejoiced as she appeared before me, her breasts at eye level, to begin massaging from the front. I stared fascinated at her cleavage and the star dangling before it as she massaged deeply into my neck. My eyes wandered down her body to her wide hips and up her sides to her shoulder as I wondered how it would feel to take such a body, to couple with such a woman, now treating me as if she were a trained servant striving for my pleasure. My eyes wandered further up to her face to sink into her eyes watching me with a twinkle of amusement or desire; the look of mastery in them swept away any silly fantasies of her being the servant. She continued massaging deeply as we looked without blinking into each other’s eyes, and after a minute she said, “Open your lap. I have to get closer.”

I blinked and then understood, blushing as I swallowed my response, “No, you open yours.” I made space for her and she moved closer. I looked up at her eyes past her breasts and gripped the arms of the chair tightly to keep from making a terrible mistake.

After another minute she smiled and moved away, the chill of loneliness filling the space she had occupied. I stood, and she rolled her head and stretched her neck, saying quietly, “Oh, to be the barber when you need a barber…”

We laughed and I asked, “Stiff neck?” She nodded. “May I help?”

She looked at me coyly and with alacrity sat in the chair as I came up behind her. I caressed the back of her neck and shoulder with my fingertips for a few seconds and then massaged slow and hard. She moaned lightly at the first touch, then rotated her head and shifted her shoulders eagerly as I massaged deeply. I delighted in the feel of her strong muscles in my hands, the response of her body as I pushed deep and squeezed hard, smiling at her occasional yelps and frequent low moans as I worked her hard.

“Enough. Now my back.” She stood and swiftly undid her buttons, then leaned forward as she pulled her blouse off, then unbuckled and unzipped her skirt. Her slightly olive skin shone out around the deep blue of her brassiere and bulging a little above the matching blue of her panties. Returning to her bra, I marveled at the thickness of the band, at least three inches across, and wondered at the size of what they must have been designed to hold in place. I looked at her eyes and she smiled, “A good craftsman is wise to survey the scene, make sure he has all the right tools for his work, and size up the job at hand. I think you can handle it.” She glanced below my waist for a split second and then turned and lay belly down on the rug. I sat next to her and reached up to her shoulder blades, and she said, “No, no, don’t be timid. Sit on my ass. I can take it.”

I did so, and once I was in place, my erection painful and my balls swollen and feeling a deep blue, she said, “Now unhook my bra.” I did, and she looked over her shoulder, “Now don’t tell anyone about this.”

I shook my head violently and she chuckled, and I leaned forward and worked her back thoroughly from top to bottom for fifteen minutes. As she tensed and relaxed under my fingers, I delighted in the feel of her flesh. As I pushed my hands into and along her back, my cock pressed freely against her ass, and several times she seemed to roll her hips slightly to work herself against me. Finally she said, “Lift off me a sec.”

I did so and she rolled over, her sagging breasts finally coming into view for me. They were firmer than I expected, almost creamy white, with dark nipples and large aureoles. She stared fixedly into my eyes and finally said in a deep, low voice, “You did such a good job on the back! Now do my front.”

She watched me as I massaged her, and soon I returned the favor, looking into her eyes to watch her responses as I worked down from her shoulders. When I reached the beginning of the swells of her breasts, she said, “No muscles there. Back to work.” I continued down to her waist and then started from her feet up to her thighs. Soon she said, “Very good, but I wonder if you’re skilled enough for my other muscles.”

I blinked and avoided saying “Huh?” I looked fixedly at her as she lifted her hips, slipped her panties down to her thighs, and then after a pause helped her slip them off entirely. She spread her thighs wide and pointed at her flushed lips, “Yes, these muscles inside. I need a deep massage.”

I reached down toward her mount and she chuckled, “No, no. I mean, you could do that, but isn’t your specialized tool ready?”

I chuckled and looked fixedly back into her eyes. “It’s been ready for four months now.”

“Very well then, don’t let it catch any more rust.”

I stripped quickly and knelt before her as she let me explore her flushed, drenched lips for a moment. I was throbbing and close, and caught my breath as she said, “We’ll have to be quiet when we climax. I don’t want my colleagues to think I’m corrupting the youth. Like I’m running a seminary or something! Nope, no corruption here.”

“So beautiful.”

She chuckled, “There must be a dozen young men around campus imagining what you’re seeing right now as they waste their joy into a handkerchief. Just think what you get to do! Now get started. Fuck me.”

As I lowered myself onto her and she reached down to guide me inside, she said, “Remember, no guilt. We both need this. But remember too, don’t sin.”

After a second I chuckled, “Might be hard.”

“Fortunately you’ve got me very close, but no heated rushed until I’ve come.”

I pushed forward as her body enveloped me, and when I was buried to the hilt inside her she smiled up at me, “Aren’t you going to kiss me?”

She embraced me as our lips met and held my hips to guide my rhythm. I felt her respond vigorously underneath me from the instant our lips met, and as I maintained a steady rhythm she whispered, “Yes, like that, oh yes.” Her body was as soft and yielding on the surface as I had dreamed, but the muscles under her skin and deep inside her belly wrestled fiercely underneath me, flexing and relaxing in time with my thrusts, and I pulled my lips away from hers to watch her face as her neck flushed, the blush spreading to her cheeks, as she let herself go and her passion rapidly climbed. She opened her eyes to see me devouring her with my eyes, and this pushed her over the edge. Her head titled back as the tendons in her throat clenched, and with a quiet moan her hips pounded up against me in a chaotic mixture of rotations and forward thrusts.

As the waves passing through her receded, I lifted her hips and thrust fast and hard into her. Looking down at her face as I aimed upwards to pummel her front wall, I saw her watching me closely. “Don’t even think of pulling out. Pump every drop into me.”

I continued thrusting regularly, holding off long enough to feel her passion rise again, and when the first spasm flowed through her, I let myself go and fucked wildly up into her. Within seconds my first spasm struck, and as she continued thrusting wildly against me, I knelt rigid and stock still as spasm after spasm seized me, draining the lust and tension of the past two hours into her.

I collapsed to the floor next to her, four months of fantasies come true. She smiled at me as I finally got to fondle her breasts, and she pulled my lips to hers as her hands explored my body. Soon enough I worked my lips down to her jaw, then her neck and chest, following the chain down to the star between her breasts, and then down to suck on her nipples. For fifteen minutes I kissed and nibbled, squeezed and stroked, and licked and sucked them, then pulling away to stare at them as I hefted them happily, her eyes watching me with satisfaction and growing passion.

After the first five minutes, I felt her hips start to circle and her thighs clench, and finally, she pushed me to my knees and reached down. Her fingertips stroked my shaft as she stared at my head throbbing and purple, and she whispered, “Just perfect.” She grasped me firmly and stroked expertly as I squeezed her breasts, the soft flesh squeezing between my fingers like modeling clay, and as I stared down at her, she whispered, “There’s so much need in your eyes. Don’t hold back. Drown me with your cum.”

I let myself go, thrusting hard into her pistoning fist as she stared avidly at my cock, and in less than a minute the first spurt was torn out of me, spraying all over her breasts and belly. I moaned as she breathed raggedly, spurt after spurt coating her belly, and she kept stroking as I softened. I pulled away and lay on the floor again beside her; she pulled my mouth to hers and thrust her tongue deep into my mouth.

I reached down to feel between her thighs, and when she lifted her hips to give me full access, I sat up and leaned over to stare at her thick sodden hairs between her thick thighs, her scent filling the room, and ran my fingers along her flushed lips. As my fingertips slid inside her, I leaned forward and sucked her tongue into my mouth. She groaned as I explored her, soon finding her rhythm. She soon cried out into my mouth, lifting herself onto her feet and shoulders as she thrust up hard against my hand. Her tunnel squeezed tightly around my fingers twenty, thirty, forty times, and then she collapsed. I kissed down from her breasts to her cunt and began licking happily. Soon I shifted myself so that my chest was on her belly, and as I licked and sucked deeply, she grabbed my hips and pulled me into position above her face as she took my head into her mouth.

Her hips circled and thrust as her clit and my tongue circled each other for wrestling bout after wrestling bout that we both won, her thighs spread wide so that I could see and lick every part of her, her glistening lips swollen for me more raggedly red and gaping than any I had ever seen in magazines or movies. She came repeatedly, exhausted each time yet ravenous for more, and after her sixth, she finally settled down to her task of pulling me into the back of her throat. With a satisfied groan, I entered her fully and in less than a minute spasmed uncontrollably as I drained into her while she swallowed every drop.

I curled up next to her and she smiled, “That was a good start. I always enjoy welcoming a new man into my life.”

“But you’re married.”

She nodded. “He’s twenty years older than me. He had cancer a few years ago, prostate. He’s completely impotent now. I’ll never leave him. I love him forever, but he knows I need release. Is it okay with you?” I nodded. She continued, “I often have a young man from my classes, after they’re over. Not during class. The quiet, thoughtful, sexy one who writes good papers, usually. Is that okay with you?” I nodded again and she said, “So, you get a few months with me, and I get a few wonderful months with you.”

After a minute I asked, “Can I ask…well…” She watched me closely, then laughed happily when I finished, “how old are you?”

“Guess.”

“Twenty-seven.”

She swatted me with a wide smile. “Not even close.”

“Twenty-nine?”

She laughed again. “Forty-seven.”

I laughed, “A prime number for a woman in her prime.”

After a pause, she laughed, “A little stupid, but endearing.”

I chuckled, “I hope you’re on the pill.”

She laughed, “Dear boy, my days of fertility are over.”

“Whew. I wouldn’t want to make you pregnant.”

“Of course, surprises after the change have happened before. Wouldn’t that be funny?” I laughed nervously and she chuckled, “Don’t worry, I’ll name her after you.”

“Or him?”

“My sweet, my womanliness is too powerful for that to happen. She’d be a she.” We giggled and she ran her fingertips along my face. “When did you first want me?”

“When you came in the classroom the first time.”

“I seem to have that effect on the men it’s worth knowing better.”

“So you waited until you were no longer my teacher?”

“As always.”

“Still, isn’t it prohibited?”

“It’s not prohibited, just looked askance at. If anyone ever knew, it might have…ripple effects. Fewer classes in the future and so on.”

“So, no one has ever told?”

“Not that I’ve ever heard.”

“Good.”

She chuckled, “You sound so chivalrous. Would you defend my honor with pistols at dawn?”

We laughed and I asked, “What do you see in me even?”

“Youth, vigor, promise. The same thing dirty old men in the academy claim to see in the young women they play with.”

“Are you really that different?”

“From those severe and twisted old men? Fundamentally.”

“How?”

“When it comes out with those senes severiores, they destroy their lovers, their own students. Ruin their reputations to save their own careers. If it came out with me, you’d be safe.”

“Were you, oh, wild as a young woman? A bad girl?”

She chuckled and lifted her necklace. “I reject the Christian implications of that statement.”

“I was using the colloquial sense without…moral judgment.”

We laughed and she said, “Our family was very liberal, very Reformed. I started young, but they were long relationships. Typical for my circles, I guess, actually.”

“So not very wild.”

“No. Not in the way it usually implies, of sleeping with anyone. Which most of the supposedly wild girls never do. I wasn’t easy, which is part of what the word means, but I wasn’t embarrassed to like a guy or love sex or make the first move. And I never had to make the second move.” We laughed and she asked, “So, right back atcha, how long have you had a mother complex?”

After we finished laughing, I said, “Never.”

“Of course not. It’s a stupid idea.” She ran her fingers along my hardened cock and whispered, “How many times can you do me tonight?”

“Six or seven, probably?”

She grinned wildly. “Total or more?” We laughed and she added, “In case anyone ever wonders why I do what I do, there’s their answer right there. That and the look of awe on your face when I let you do exactly what we both need.” She played with my cock for a minute as I caressed her wet lips, and she whispered, “How many times have you masturbated about me?”

“Dozens. Well over a hundred.”

“What did you imagine the first time?”

“Pushing you to your knees, wrapping your tits around my cock inside your blouse, and coming all over your neck and chest. Ruined your blouse…”

“And this was in the shower that night?”

“No, this was in a bathroom stall three minutes after class ended.”

She laughed sharply. “When I get you home, that’s the first thing we’ll do. I hope it will have been worth the wait.”

“What about your…”

“Out of town. You’re spending the night with me.” She stood and went to her desk and pulled out a box of wet-wipes. “Help me clean off all this dried cum of yours?”

“Of course.”

“Perfect gentleman,” she laughed as I kissed her and began wiping. As I wiped her cheek and down to her neck, the funk of my cum thick and cloying beneath her chin, I asked, “What about you? How often do you masturbate?”

She tilted her head and thought. “When I’m between men, oh, probably five, six times a day.”

“Did you ever think of me?”

“Of course. Repeatedly. Every day more than once after the first time you came to office hours. The look in your eyes, I knew what you wanted.”

“So, what did you think of doing with me the first time you masturbated to me?”

“We did it already. Our first time. It was like my first time ever, bringing a guy off in my belly. It’s a magical experience, a man knowing me for the first time and giving me his pleasure inside me. Inside me. I always think of it with a new man.”

I helped her dress, watching with intense interest as she settled herself into her bra. “It’s a beautiful bra.”

“It’s a marvel of modern engineering, my sweet. To hold my breasts in position comfortably and keep them lifted above my knees? They barely even swing when I walk. It’s my best bra. Pay great respect to it! I certainly do.”

We laughed and I helped her button her blouse and settle it within her skirt before she buttoned it and belted up, and after she was presentable she watched happily as I dressed for her. “All my men love removing them. It’s a special man who likes to help me put them back on,” she chuckled. She looked at me, “It’s like you haven’t had a girlfriend. One of the worst things about doing virgins is they don’t even know how good they’ve got it with me. No basis for comparison.”

“Virgin. Pshaw. Be nice.”

She glanced at me with her eyes twinkling and said, “Nice? Nice? You’ve made it abundantly clear it’s not my nice you want!”

"I’d say what I’ve gotten from you is very nice indeed.”

She nodded and kissed me happily. “So this was routine for you then.”

“God no. Never have I ever…”

We chuckled and she said, “But tell me, honestly, was any of it new?”

“In one way. No woman ever wanted to, well…” She watched me with a broadening smile as I blushed, and finally, she said, “Pay you lip service?”

“Return the favor, yeah.”

“But you did go down on them, right?”

“Of course.”

“Perfect gentleman, good, I won’t have to scold you. Why didn’t you insist?”

“They said, no.”

“Turnabout.”

“Not exactly. It’s not like I have anything in my throat…”

“Good, you are the perfect gentleman. Whenever you want, just ask. Just tell me, order me if it turns you on. But always be sweet about it…”

“So, no ‘suck it, bitch’?”

She laughed. “You can say it, if you don’t mind me biting down hard. Maybe chewing. Sending you to emergency surgery.”

We laughed, me more nervously than her, and she said, “Come on. We have only a few hours of darkness, and then we must separate.”

“For the nonce.”

“For, as you say, the nonce.”

•••

Most of my spare time was spent with and inside Aviva, who despite our start was rigorously apart from school now; I mentioned none of my school life, and she discussed none of hers. When her husband was out of town we slept in her guest bed; when he was in town she helped me wear out my bed before going home a bit before ten.

A month after we became lovers, I lay behind her in her bed, our sweat drying, as I indulged a sudden fascination with her shoulder blades. She tensed for several seconds and shivered as I kissed them, and then she rolled around and asked, “So, is this a teenage dream come true? Were you hot for teacher all through high school?”

“No. You?”

“Goodness, no. So you didn’t dream about your teachers?”

“No. I mean, a couple of the young ones in school were kind of hot. Not my teacher-teachers though, even the pretty ones. That wouldn’t have appealed to me.”

Nodding, she said, “So, the whole idea of education isn’t a sexy dream.”

“No. I mean, one of the teachers for…home-ec, I guess it was, she was probably 24 or so, just out of teacher college. She was cute. I was walking down the hall once when she was a monitor…or something…I forget. Anyway, she turned around and her nipples were just standing out. It was impressive, but as she talked to me they softened immediately. Story of my life in high school. Everyone was having sex but me, and their sex lives were with…not me. If I had been interested in her, it would have ended then. Kind of depressing. No, just…chastening. It was clear I was just this kid. I was always just this kid, even to the other kids.”

“That’s life, my sweet. Happens to everyone except the eternally spoiled, and they turn out evil, so it’s for the best.”

We laughed and she said, “And you don’t have the hots for your other teachers, in college, ever?”

“Just you. And it was despite you being my prof. I don’t know…You were alive in a way the others aren’t.”

“A live historian in the dead past.”

I chuckled, “Yeah, but not completely like that. Like…A young woman, or a perfectly aged woman still young, letting her life seep into her work. I guess. Hard to say what I mean.”

“It’s an interesting start. Try.”

“Well, your work and your play…seemed to be combined. With other profs, they’re there for the work. I love it, they give you their best, make you learn, make you like learning, but you don’t always feel that it’s their…fun as much as their work. With you, it’s fun and work.”

“So you don’t get an erotic charge out of drinking from the source, kneeling before the father or mother figure and suckling at the fountainhead of knowledge?”

We laughed and I said, “Lord, no.”

“That’s the same with me. I’m just comparing notes, making sure I’m not entirely insane.”

“Oh?”

“Like with Samuel, he wasn’t my teacher. We met in a store by accident and didn’t even know we were both in academia until after our first kiss. Mind you, we started quickly, but not that quickly. He had to drool over me for four whole hours before I jumped him. I think he’d gotten my right tit out when he said something about class the next morning.”

We laughed and she continued, “But yes, so. It’s a trope in academia that students are hot for teacher because of the erotics of education. Which is bullshit in my considered opinion. Just an excuse for self-serving bigwigs to victimize their grad students. They always say that when they get disciplined for harassing or molesting them.”

“What do they say?”

“They go back to Ancient Greece, as if it’s some great tradition they have to continue. Greek idea that the teacher seduces the student into knowledge. They go on about how the young girls in their classes need education in losing their virginity and timidity. Believe me, most young women in our culture have absolutely no problem getting a complete education of the senses by prom night. It’s just a racket, those twisted old men. —So, you never felt like you needed a teacher to teach you that?”

“I think I did a pretty good job learning it on my own, yeah.”

“Not even from me?”

“I didn’t want you to teach me that. Teaching was not at all involved. A real connection with a real woman, sex with a woman worth having it with. I wanted to fuck your brains out, and it irritated the hell out of me you were my teacher, though not as much as your wedding ring did.”

She laughed, “Good. Should I take it off when I’m with you?”

“No, it’s no hindrance now.”

She reached down. “I do like how it flashes in the light when I jerk you off.”

“You do that, yeah,” I groaned as my fingers sought her crevice and five minutes later we drained each other by hand.

She sat up and stretched after catching her breath. “Put on a robe. Let’s chat vertically for once.” I laughed and we went to her loveseat. “So, tell me about your friends. Your special friends before me. The ones who prepared you for the challenge of me. They did a good job.”

“Probably better than I did for some of them.”

“Ooh, dish! I love dirty gossip straight from the source!”

I told her about my previous lovers over the next fifteen minutes and finished with a brief outline of my evening with Sally.

She watched me levelly and said, “So it was disappointing. Happens.”

“No, it’s not that. I’ve had disappointing before, been disappointing before, but not like that. It didn’t make sense, any of it. She was eager, then she wasn’t.”

“Maybe she shows eagerness differently.”

“But, no, she let me…inside, but made me finish outside, like…she’d decided to move her boundaries.”

“Yes, that’s everyone’s inherent right.”

“Yes, but there’s usually a reason for it. I don’t think I was rude or anything…Not abusive at all. But suddenly it was as if I had been. And when we started kissing, she was pretty enthusiastic…and even when she…locked down on me she agreed whenever I suggested the next step, because it was hard to tell if she was just…passive? or maybe unsure?”

“Yes, it’s an odd dance we dance. Even me at times, I suppose. But you shouldn’t worry about that part; you’ll never figure it out without asking her. Focus on what you do know. Like why you continued with it when she wasn’t enthusiastic. Did you just need a wet hole to finish in instead of your fist?”

“No.”

“Good. So you liked her.”

“Yes.”

“Keep that in mind then, and if you see her around, even if you resent her, please be kind to her. For your own sake as well as hers. And for me. I’d hate to think a man I let inside me would resent not being treated like Casanova when being gifted with such a sweet treasure.”

I wanted to say something, but realized I’d just be protesting too much since every word she said was perfectly correct, so I simply smiled and kissed her. I added, “But it wasn’t her treasure that helped me finish, you know. I wasn’t into it while we were…exploring for treasure, so…I had to think of someone else.” After a moment I added, “You. I imagined it was you. She was of course nowhere near as good.” She laughed uproariously for a minute, then kissed me back and said, “No wonder you were a bit reluctant to talk about her. For a second I feared perhaps you were entangled in something dishonest. I’m flattered.” She winked and added, “And whatever you do, don’t tell her about that, or about me. She’d never be able to get over the thought you’ve known perfection; she’d develop the most horrible inferiority complex knowing she could never compete.”

We laughed and I smiled, “Ain’t tellin’ no one.”

“Good, good. But don’t you have any male friends?”

I laughed as she smiled coyly; I replied, “At the moment, no one in town.”

“Well, that’s a shame. You have no one to brag to about me.”

“That is true.”

“If you want, I can put on a fake moustache and let you brag to me about myself. I think I’d really like to hear that, actually.”

“And I’ll put on Groucho glasses and you can brag about me.”

We laughed and she whispered, “Care to sixty-nine one last time before we sleep?”

“That would be heavenly.”

We lapped quietly at each other for fifteen minutes, expertly driving each other wild and finally draining into each other’s mouth, and she whispered as we fell asleep, “Samuel will be back tomorrow. I’ll visit you in a couple of days.”

•••

One night in the middle of summer vacation, I lay atop Aviva in our mingling sweat and asked, “So, how much longer will we be together?”

“Until September. Our relationship ends with the beginning of the new semester.”

I nodded and she kissed me. “I’ll miss it, but no hangovers.”

“I hope he’s good, the next guy.”

“They always are.”

“Good.”

“You’re not disappointed?”

“No. I’m not…it’s not…not what I want in the long term.”

“Of course. You need someone like I have Samuel.”

•••

My life continued in this way a little longer, and on August 31st, Aviva took me to a restaurant and toasted our friendship; we talked lightly of our time together and repeated our favorite jokes and reminisced. After dessert, she escorted me to our hotel room and once the door was closed, knelt before me. “I know how special this is for you,” she smiled as she licked the tip. “Even after tonight, I’ll always be your best.” She then spent an hour showing me the full range of her oral skills, drinking me three times as I marveled at her lust for the act, and above all for me, and when she pulled away with a smile I lifted her to the bed and knelt in return for an hour myself. Even though she had come well over a dozen times, her lips were still swollen and eager and she moaned, “Take me now.”

After another hour, we lay there exhausted. She smiled, “Tonight is our good-bye. You’ll get to do everything tonight.”

“We’ve done everything.”

“No, not yet,” she smiled, and over another half-hour let me into her last secret place. We washed up in a shower and drew a bath, and lay there exhausted as the sweat rolled down our faces. “It’s not my favorite act, but I always share it with my lover on the last night. A special good-bye.” She yawned and asked, “Was it good?”

“It wasn’t what I ever really dreamed of doing. It was intense.”

“Was it good?”

“Yes, of course, thank you. It was…”

“My gift.”

“Did you like it?”

“Yes. It’s strange. If I’m saying good-bye, I come repeatedly during it.” I nodded in remembrance. “Any other time, it hurts.”

“It was good, though…”

She laughed, “You want my final good-bye to be a kiss-off.”

“Yes.”

“It will be.”

“I’ll always remember that.”

“Of course you will. Like I’ll always remember you with your beautiful face between my thighs, buried in my cunt while you suck me to heaven. It’s so beautiful. Never marry a woman who won’t return the favor, promise me, and promise me you’ll always suck her off.”

“I promise,” I smiled.

She kissed my neck. “Good.”

A minute later she said, “You know we’ll still be friends. You have to meet me every month for coffee. Tell me how you’re doing. Just talk with me like we do. Most of my men leave me when they leave me, and I don’t mind, but you’re still my friend. Stay that with me.”

“Of course.”

“And you can even come to my office once in a while. Only when the door is open though, and it will stay open. Just to chat. Borrow books if you need.”

I smiled and kissed her, and she brushed what might have been sweat from her eyes. She ducked under the water, then rose and pulled me out to dry me off; we went to bed and woke each other on occasion for another good-bye, and in the morning she sat up and smiled at me. “Did we set a record for you?”

“Yes.”

“Want to make it one more?”

I looked at her full, nude body and said, “How about two?”

She laughed as I pulled her down and took her long and slow, and after we showered again, she pushed me against the door and said, “This is it. Once we leave this room, our time together will be in the past. Treasure it, lover,” and she leaned in and stared into my eyes as she worked me to a final climax, draining me one last time into her fully welcoming mouth and throat, and then smiled down at me as I pushed her against the door and gave her one last memory of my face between her thighs.

At breakfast, we sat like a civilized pair of friends and drank coffee over eggs and sausage, and she said, “Perhaps I’m getting too old. That good-bye was a little harder than I expected.”

“It was a great time.”

She nodded. “Well, I’ll see you in a month. Expect my call.”

“Breathlessly.”

After breakfast, we walked around the forest around the hotel, down to a stream and over to a thicker stand of trees; we kissed lightly and walked back to the car, and when she dropped me off, she kissed me passionately and then sweetly, letting me caress her breasts one last time, then ran her fingertips along my bulge in good-bye and said, “Be well.”

As she drove off, I waved and turned as her car turned the corner, and went inside to relax, a warm melancholy beginning to pervade me.

•••

Two weeks later a shadow crossed my book. I looked up as Sally sat down and said, “Hey.”

Surprised at her smile, I returned it and said, “Hi! Look at you.”

She grinned and blushed slightly. She looked down at my book, found it seemingly unappetizing, and said, “I have intermediate stats this semester and I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

“I’m always the last place you look, you know.”

She laughed, “So I see. Do you like chicken parmesan?”

“Love it! When did you cook it?”

“Oh, in a couple of hours. Same address?”

“Same bat cave, same bat channel.”

“Same bat time then. Gotta go.” She smiled happily and rushed off.

When she finally grasped the last new statistical test for the week, she put the book down, leaned in, and kissed me as she held my neck. Puzzled, I discovered that the less I reacted, the more enthusiastically she caressed me, and I let her lead me to my bedroom and strip us bare. She pushed me back and mounted my face, her lips fully aroused, and as she rode my face she gasped and squealed, finally climaxing roughly, rubbing and thrusting with no regard for my comfort.

After catching her breath, she said, “Your turn.” She held the head in the back of her mouth as she stroked the shaft, comfortable with what she had inside and delighting both of us. Her circling tongue and nursing mouth swept me over the edge in three minutes, and after she had swallowed all I gave her, she stroked me hard again and mounted me.

She devoured me with her eyes as she rode me hard, knowing exactly what she wanted and determined to take it to the full. Having come, I was able to last through her first three climaxes without a worry, but the weather was even stormier as she built to the big climax she had been working for. Suddenly she squealed and her body went mad above me, and as she screamed I pumped my lust into her.

She plumped down beside me, wide grin on her face. “You’ll have more to give me later?”

“Gallons.”

She laughed, “Don’t need that much!”

“Okay, one or two cups.”

She laughed again and kissed me softly. After we smooched a while, she curled up next to me and said, “Thank god.”

“Listen, I’m sorry about our first time. I shouldn’t have pushed.”

She laughed happily, “No, no, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed. It was just a bad idea. And it wasn’t you. Really, for once, it really was me. I was so happy after making our study date, but then I found out my best friend…my ex-best friend had been stabbing me in the back for a month. The first evidence of it anyway. It was enough I knew something was really off, though the next week after that, all the bits of news I pieced together about what she'd done were just hell. I swore it didn’t make a difference when I came to study, but it did. More and more as the evening went on, and the whole time you were kissing me I was thinking more and more, ‘What else has she been doing? What is she doing now?’ God, it was killing me.”

She looked into space for a minute and added, “I’m sorry I messed with your head. It was cruel. I was too embarrassed to see you again after…after I let you have fun. I was too distracted to enjoy it, and I just needed to leave. If I’d let you come inside me, I’d have had to stay the night, and that would have been a disaster. Like I said, I shouldn’t have pushed myself; it didn’t make me feel better at all, just worse. I’m truly sorry.”

•••

A month after our good-bye, I answered Aviva’s call and met her for coffee that afternoon.

After chatting about school, she asked a little too casually, “So how’s your love life?”

“The best.”

She looked at me and smiled, “I thought you were taken. I felt that you’re no longer mine and I’m no longer yours, even emotionally.”

I nodded and smiled, then told her briefly about Sally. “And how is the sex?”

“None of your business. I don’t want to make you jealous.”

She grinned, “You’ve grown up well,” and suddenly I heard her humming the ending of Der Rosenkavalier, and I joined in and she smiled in surprise.

An hour later we were chatted out. “Next month?”

“I’d love it.”

When we left the coffee shop, she held me at arm’s length and looked me over quickly. “My best student,” she said, and kissed my cheek and turned away.