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“Professor?” she’d ask me if she were here.
“Yes?”
“I’m ready to give my oral report...” and then she’d lean her head down onto my cock and try guzzling the entire thing at once. Only because she’s so young and presumably— at least in my fantasies— inexperienced, she’d choke and gag and drool would pool down along the sides.
“This is forbidden,” I’d tell her. “I could lose my job-- you could be expelled!”
I shouldn’t be doing this, I tell myself. I always do this. Ever since I first saw her her freshman year, before she was even my student I’ve thought about her in this lustful way. I certainly shouldn’t be masturbating to it in my office. I don’t even have the door locked, I don’t think.
But I haven’t really given women any thought until I met her. My life has been very focused, just as my afternoon should have been, on my work and other non-romantic aspects of my personal life. There’s not been time for women. When I have tried dating or thinking of women, it hasn’t gone well. I casually dated one woman for a while that I thought I knew well. But she just, she didn’t get it. Our values— and the most fundamental ones at that— were so far from each other. It surprised me, too, as she’s a writer herself.
But I guess that’s what you get when you try to pair a poet with someone who produces popular fiction.
So I try not dating. I’ve even kind of been abstaining for a while. For a long while. And that’s probably why my carnal reactions to Caroline’s presence are so hard to fight.
But at least I am just thinking. I would never initiate a pursuit on anything in real life with her. It’s too risky. So I stroke a little more and find myself panting and sweating a little, when suddenly--
Knock, knock!
It’s the door to my office. I jump and yank my cock back into my slacks. Then I reach for a kerchief on the desk and wipe the sweat from my brow and pray to god that my office isn’t smelling of pheromones and sex.
“Come in!” I manage to let out.
Caroline pokes her head in the door, which sort of takes my breath away as she is the last person that I am expecting to come through the door before I see her.
“Professor Mitchell, do you have a minute?” she asks me in that soft, silky voice of hers. The one that broke my heart as she regaled me with the poem of her late mother.
“Sure, Caroline,” she closes the door and walks over toward my desk. “Would you like to sit down?”
“No, no,” she says. “I’ll only be a minute. I was just kind of wondering if maybe there was something wrong with my poem today. I know it may seem very self-conscious of me to ask such a thing. It’s just I don’t see why you had such a visceral reaction to it.” She is almost panting now, as she’s clearly very nervous. “You know, I looked ahead on the syllabus when I first got into your class, and I saw this assignment was coming up. I’ve been working on the poem since the first week of class, and I was planning to do the same with the final after today. Now I’m just not so sure that that’s a good idea if you don’t like my poetry.”
“Whoa-whoa-whoa,” I say. “Caroline, take a breath. It has nothing to do with me not liking your poetry.”
“It doesn’t?”
“No!” The poor girl. I’ve given her a goddamn complex. “Not at all. It’s just that I knew it was a very personal poem for you and frankly, it hit me quite personally too.” I feel compelled to be even more honest with her so she knows I’m not just trying to make her feel better. “In fact, it kind of choked me up.”
Her expression goes blank.
“Oh.”
Now that she’s not rambling, I can see that she was on the brink of tears, and suddenly I can hear her reciting the poem in my head all over again. And my eyes get watery, too. Damn it! I swore I’d never get emotional in front of a student.
“Oh, no, no, no,” she says, rushing around the table to my side. “Professor, please don’t cry. If you cry, I’m going to cry!” She leans down a bit and wraps her arms around me in a hug, my face falling right between her breasts as she does so. “I’m sorry, it’s just that it was a really emotional poem for me. I loved my mom so much, and I love my dad, too. But, he’s just so, so harsh about things. He softened up when mom died. But he wanted me to be so focused on school, he didn’t even tell me how bad things were until two days before she died. He’s always just been so strict and nothing ever seems to be good enough.”
