by Anna Durand
Students brush past Cat while she hesitates just inside the double doors that lead into the hall.
This lecture space is enormous, with row after row of seats broken into three sections by two aisles. The floor slopes downward in a gentle grade toward the stage, where a lectern awaits the lecturer—which would be me.
Cat used to love sitting in on my classes. And I loved seeing her face in the crowd. Her smiling, attentive face. It had always made me feel…I don't know. Like I'd discovered a previously unknown civilization and cracked the code of its never-before-seen language.
While the students take seats as close to the stage as possible, swiftly filling in the rows, Cat slinks into the shadowed area behind the last row at the back of the hall. Maybe she hopes I won't notice her. No chance of that. Though she loiters in the shadows, I can still see her silhouette. Knowing she's watching me gives me a strange sensation, like I've gulped down half a bottle of vodka.
Catriona MacTaggart has always intoxicated me.
But not in front of my students.
I step back, so I can't see between the curtains anymore. But I know she's out there. Well, I did change my lecture for today because I wanted her to hear it. And see it. And…hear and see me.
None of that means anything. I like the idea of shocking Cat, that's all. She's doing her best to turn my world upside-down, so I'm responding in kind.
This morning, when she'd come to my bedroom and I'd dropped that towel, her expression and body language had evidenced the truth. She wants me, and I want to have her one more time before I send her back to Scotland. End of story.
When all the students have taken their seats and filled up the hall, my teaching assistant, Todd, trots onto the stage and announces, "Dr. Thorne will be here in a few minutes. He has a special surprise for all of you today."
Do I ever. Are you ready for this, Cat? All the dirty things I used to whisper in her ear may pale in comparison to what I'm about to do. I've given a version of this lecture before, but I spent the last hour giving it a little extra spice.
Maybe more than a little.
If I get arrested or fired or both, it will be worth it to see the look on Cat's face.
Todd hurries off the stage.
All the lights go out, and for a moment, everyone—including me—waits in the dark. Then a single spotlight flares on, aimed at the lectern.
Everyone stops talking. The silence seems as deep as an abyssal plain at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean.
Yes, it's overly dramatic. But I love a bit of drama. So do my students. This is how I keep them engaged while teaching them about history and the science of archaeology. Honestly, that stuff is rather dull on its own.
I push through the curtain and saunter up to the lectern, which has a microphone attached to it to ensure everyone hears me. The spotlight sheds its backwash onto Cat, where she still hides in the dark alcove. Her hand flies to her mouth, a gesture that I'm sure masks a smile.
My students gasp or laugh or simply look stunned.
Well, I am wearing a pink kilt with glitter-coated pink flowers sewn onto it.
Catriona had given me this kilt on the day last year when I'd first seen her again after eleven years apart. Logan and Serena had essentially abducted me, dragging me to Scotland and to the MacTaggart family Highland games, held in a field behind Rory's castle. Anyone who participates in the games has to wear a kilt. Naturally, Rory and his brothers let Cat choose a kilt for me, since I didn't own one. She had, no doubt, hoped I would be embarrassed.
Was I? Of course not. I do not get embarrassed. Not even a pink kilt can accomplish that feat.
Now, I stand at the edge of the stage, lit by that solitary spotlight, wearing the pink kilt—wearing it for Cat. I survey my students, trying to get a final read on their moods. Their shock over my kilt has faded, and most of them seem genuinely interested in whatever I might say.
"Look at that! He's wearing a skirt!"
The first heckler turns out to be a scrawny twat in the third row who wears thick glasses and is illuminated in the ambient glow of the spotlight.
A brawny tosser in the first row half rises from his seat to laugh and say, "Always knew you were a sissy boy. Where's your tiara, princess?"
This isn't the first time I've been harassed by obnoxious children. But I'd hoped for something more creative when the taunts started.
I lay one hand on the lectern, aiming my gaze directly at the tosser who called me "princess." I stare at him for several seconds, doing nothing more threatening than lifting one brow. Still, the boy glances around, his expression anxious, then drops down in his seat.
Yes, it's that easy to silence an irritating buffoon.
"Good afternoon," I say to the crowd. "Would anyone else care to speak up before I begin the lecture?"
Silence. Deep, rapt silence.
I love this part, when the room falls silent and I have their undivided attention.
"Good." I move behind the lectern and place my hands on either side of it, my fingers curled over the edges. "Let's begin. Today's lesson focuses on sexual practices in the ancient world. Or, as I like to call it, The Forbidden History of Shagging and Wanking."
Some students laugh, some gaze at me enraptured, while others look uncomfortable. No one leaves. Even the embarrassed ones want to hear what I might say next.
A solitary hand raises in the front row.
"What is it?" I ask. I smirk when I add, "I haven't gotten to the naughty bits yet."
The lass who raised her hand asks, in a tentative voice, "Will this be on the final exam?"
"Naturally." I wink at her. "Take copious notes, love. I'm sure they'll come in handy outside of school too."
The girl is blushing.
I slant toward the microphone and lower my voice to a deeper register. "Before we begin, a word of warning. If sex and explicit language offend you, please walk out the door. It won't affect your grade."
No one moves. I wait a minute, maybe longer, but every student stays put.
"All right, then," I say. "We need a bit of graphic imagery to excite your…curiosity and stimulate…your minds."
"Oh yes, please!" shouts a female voice.
A girl in the second row fans herself with a sheet of paper, but I have no idea if she's the one who shouted.
I reach under the lectern to pull an item out of the shelf hidden inside it. Raising the item, I ask the class, "Anyone care to guess what this artifact represents?"
"A headless dachshund," a freckle-faced female suggests.
"Sorry, no." I shake the artifact, making the bells attached to it clang. "This is a fascinum, a wind chime in the shape of…" I grin like the devil himself because I always love this bit. "A winged penis with three heads and two legs."
The tosser who'd called me a sissy guffaws and slaps his leg. "Damn, you're a real perv, aren't you? Three-headed dicks? I thought this was a history lesson, not show and tell from your toolbox of freaky shit."
He guffaws some more.
Idiots always think they're hilarious.
"The fascinum," I say, "was a powerful totem in ancient Rome. This one is a wind chime that people used to hang in their homes to ward off disease and promote fertility." I hold out the fascinum as if I'm offering it to the tosser. "Here, you probably need this more than I do. Maybe it will improve your virility. Then again, it may not be powerful enough to accomplish that feat."
Laughter echoes through the hall.
The arrogance floods out of the tosser, who slumps in his seat.
I raise my hand, and the audience settles down, quiet again.
"Romans did more than hang flying penises in their homes," I say, hanging the fascinum from the microphone stand. "Sex was an important part of life in the Roman Empire, and they weren't shy about it. They loved erotica." I pull out the remote control for the large screen that was revealed when the curtains parted and click the button to start my sli
deshow. "Take a good, long look at this one."
"Is that guy killing a goat?" a boy wearing glasses asks.
"No. Look between his legs."
The young man pushes his glasses up and squints at the screen. His mouth twists this way and that while he studies the image. Suddenly, his eyes go wide. He glances around like he's done something wicked, then slowly raises his hand.
"Yes?" I ask.
"That, uh, looks like the hairy-legs guy is, uh…with the goat…" The student pushes up his glasses again, which I decide is a nervous gesture. "He's sort of…"
"Spit it out. There's nothing to be ashamed of." I wait a few seconds before I decide the boy can't make himself speak the words. I lean closer to the microphone. "That's the god Pan getting a leg over with a goat. Or as my Scots friends might say, he's having a poke at it."
Everyone stares at me. Ah well, I am in America—and these are college students. I can't expect them to grasp my meaning without an explicit explanation.
"He's fucking the goat."
"Ew," a female voice says, though I can't see who spoke. "That's, like, so gross."
"The god Pan is half goat himself, so let's give him the benefit of the doubt on this, eh?" I smile and wink at my audience. "Moving on… Something a bit more mainstream, but no less titillating." I tap the button on the remote, changing the slide. "Romans loved a good shag. This lovely lady and two gents are enjoying a three-way."
I glance back at the screen and the image of a bas-relief carving. It depicts a man lying on his back on a chaise longue with a woman on top of him. A third man stands behind the woman. Both blokes have their cocks inside the woman, who seems to be enjoying the attention.
"Look at the ecstasy on her face," I say in my wickedest voice. "This woman is getting it at both ends and loving every second of it, by the looks of things. Not sure if that pose is physically achievable in reality, but if anyone wants to try it and report back to me, I'll give you extra credit."
A pretty redhead waves her hand, grinning at me. "I'll volunteer for that, if you're one of the guys."
Several girls raise their hands and shout, almost at the same instant, "Me too!"
Maybe I should've thought that through before I suggested it. Spur of the moment announcements often get me into trouble.
"That's flattering, but I'm taken." Why I say that, I don't know. I suppose I say it strictly to discourage them from the idea of having a threesome with me. That will definitely get me fired. "Moving on… The Romans didn't invent hot sex. Take this image from Greece, circa fifth century BCE."
I click to the next slide. A wine jug decorated in the typical Greek shades of black and orange depicts a woman bent over at the waist while a man takes her from behind.
"This one is believed to show a prostitute and her client," I say. "Yes, it really is the oldest profession. But my, does that gent look like he's getting his money's worth."
I glance at the alcove, but I can't even see Cat's silhouette anymore. She must have moved back into the deepest shadows. I don't believe for one second that she's left the hall.
"Erotic art has been a part of human society for a very long time," I say. "Even before written language existed, randy men and women found ways to arouse themselves with naughty artwork. Like this piece from the sixth millennium BCE." I switch to another slide. "What do you think that is?"
My students squint at the photo of a sculpture that has two ball-shaped elements side by side and another, longer element protruding from them.
"It's a pair of tits," someone shouts.
"No, that's not it." I pluck the microphone from its stand, walking away from the lectern to point at the elements in the photograph. "These are two testicles, and that's the head of a rather small penis. The model for this might not have been well-endowed, but his cock is immortalized for eternity."
A young woman raises her hand. "Um, was that a decorative thing? Like the wind chime?"
"Possibly." I walk to the edge of the stage, kneeling and looking straight into the eyes of the student who'd spoken. "But for all we know, those ancient ladies used sculptures like this one to pleasure themselves without the aid of a man."
The girl who'd asked the question flutters her lashes at me. "Where can I get one of those?"
Chuckling, I stand and move back behind the lectern. "Maybe the next slide will give you some other ideas." I hit the button on the remote. "This woman is sitting on an upside-down vase, using its conical base for, shall we say, an off-label use. Who wants to take a guess about what this lovely woman is doing?"
"Relieving her constipation?" a male voice suggests.
"Cleaning her vagina!" another male voice offers.
I smile, doing my best to look like a wolf about to devour his prey. Students really are so easy to fool. "You're close, mate. She's not cleaning herself, though, she's enjoying herself."
Everyone seems confused by that statement. Maybe I do love confusing my students more than I should.
I hold the microphone close to my mouth and speak in a low and sensual voice. "Ladies and gentlemen, this woman who lived over two thousand years ago is showing us how randy Egyptian girls pleasured themselves." I give my audience a few seconds to absorb the image and what I've said. Then I announce, "She's masturbating."
Gasps echo throughout the hall.
The tosser who'd called me "princess" pumps his fists in the air and shouts, "Woo-hoo! We get class credit for watching porn!"
"Sit down," I command. "We haven't even gotten to the best part."
The lad sits down.
And I glance at the alcove again, wondering how my performance is affecting Cat. It's making me want to run back there and fuck her like mad. But I have a lecture to finish and young minds to corrupt—ah, inform.
So I continue.
Chapter Ten
Catriona
Alex continues his slideshow of ancient erotica, but I can't focus on what he's saying. His voice, his body language, the look on his face—all these things prove how much he loves teaching. He excites his students even when he's not talking about sex. Once he dives into the topic of excavations and the dating of artifacts, he still keeps his audience enthralled.
I'm enthralled too, like I had been years ago.
When I'd wandered into the lecture hall earlier, a crowd of bright-eyed students had been chattering away as they entered the huge room. They carried various kinds of rucksacks and computer bags, and when they took their seats, they got out their textbooks and notepads. I'm sure none of them had a clue that Alex changed his lecture. I doubt the subjects he's discussed today are in any textbook.
It's been a long time since I set foot on a university campus. Longer still since I was a student. My cousin Iain talked me into teaching a few one-off adult education courses at the University of the Highlands and the Islands, where he's on the faculty. Iain was blacklisted for years thanks to one nasty family that punished him for loving Rae, one of his students. Iain got his job back a couple years ago. Not because a sneaky bastard connived to make it happen for him, but because he deserved it.
Me? I got my new job because of Alex Thorne. My anger over the sneaky bastard's conniving has waned to a low simmer of irritation, but I don't know if I can forgive him for what he's done, now or in the past. I hope once I understand him, his motivations and his desires, I'll be able to lay the ghost of our past relationship to rest once and for all.
And move on with my life. Without Alex interfering.
Without Alex, full stop.
But as I watch him perform for his audience, those old feelings rise up inside me again. Do I want to be rid of him? I lay a hand over my belly as nausea roils in my gut. Why should the thought of getting rid of Alex make me queasy? I suppose I need to understand my own motivations and desires too, before I can cleanse Alex from my life for good.
This lecture hall is enormous. Naturally, Alex needs an enormous room, since he attracts s
tudents like flies to honey. He has everything going for him—looks, charisma, intelligence, encyclopedic knowledge of the ancient world, and a talent for turning his lectures into crowd-pleasing events.
I used to love watching him teach.
Maybe I still do.
While the students had swiftly filled in every seat in every row, I had slunk into the shadowed area behind the last row at the back of the hall. Let Alex wonder where I am. Let him think maybe I decided not to come after all. I can't help feeling a wee thrill at the prospect of him not knowing if I'm watching.
But a larger thrill, one that sizzles on my skin, overtook me when I realized that any moment I'd be seeing him in action again for the first time in twelve years. I used to be mesmerized whenever he delivered a lesson. I never took one of his courses, but after we became involved, I would sneak into his classroom just to watch him. After class, I'd beg him to take me to a private place, anyplace as long as it was nearby, and make love to me. Sometimes, we went to not-so-private places. But always, experiencing his lectures drove me wild with lust for him.
That will not happen today. I'm older, more mature, and not enthralled by him anymore.
A memory of this morning flares in my mind. Alex naked and gripping a towel in one hand to keep himself covered. Until he dropped the towel.
Stop thinking about that.
I still can't believe he wore the pink kilt. I made it for my brother Rory as a joke, knowing the Steely Solicitor would never wear such a thing, and Rory passed it on to Gavin, my sister Jamie's American husband. Jamie told me she loves seeing Gavin wear silly things, because his audacity and lack of shame make her "as randy as a wild mare in heat."
Honestly, I didn't need to know that about my sister.
I had reclaimed the pink kilt a few months ago when I arrived at the MacTaggart Highland games to find Alex there. Since he was Logan's guest, I couldn't tell my brothers to drag Alex off the property and dump him in the nearest rubbish heap. So instead, I took my revenge by asking Rory to get the pink kilt. If Alex insisted on participating in the games, he needed to dress the part. But why should he have a manly kilt created with the MacTaggart clan tartan? No, he deserved an embarrassing pink one.