by Sj Hooks
“I’ll come back this weekend,” I tell him. “Saturday night. I’ll play the piano for you then, OK?
“That’ll be nice, dear. They don’t pay you gals enough.”
He chuckles at his little joke and I laugh along even though it isn’t funny at all.
I leave South Haven. I should be devastated after seeing him so thin and old, a shell of the man he used to be, but I guess I’ve gotten used to it by now, because I don’t even cry as I drive home in what used to be his car. All I feel is restless—and I know the cure for that.
* * *
Later that night, Meg and Sophia take me to a popular sports bar. We have a few drinks and at one point we end up doing body shots off each other. The men are ripe for the picking, watching us with glazed-over eyes as they holler at us. It’s like shooting fish in a barrel and I know I should just choose one of them to take home with me. A good, hard fuck will cure what ails me and make me forget all the crap for a little while. But even though I was intent on it earlier, I just can’t get into it tonight. The whole thing seems like an act—the introductions, the pickup lines, the whole thing—and I’ve pretended enough for one day. The baseball game starts and most of the guys turn their attention to the screens.
“This place is dead,” Meg says after a little while. “Let’s head out.”
Sophia and I follow her outside, and the two of them jump into a waiting taxi. I should go with them, find another bar, and hook up, but I can’t feign interest tonight. None of the guys in the sports bar were attractive to me and I doubt anyone will be right now. I don’t want to fuck and I don’t want to party. I know what I want: something that’ll take my mind off everything for a while without me needing to be fake. I just don’t know what that something is.
“Go on without me,” I say, closing the car door.
Sophia rolls the window down. “Jules, are you sure? We can just go back to our place and talk, you know?”
“I’m sure. Really, I think I’ll just head home, maybe give Sam or Dylan a call.”
“OK, we’ll call you if we find something fun, yeah?”
I plaster a smile on my face. “Deal.”
They drive off and leave me standing there, feeling lonely and forlorn, even though I told them to go without me. I don’t know what’s wrong with me—the last thing I should do is push my friends away, especially with some lame excuse of going home and calling up one of my old hookups. That’s not going to happen.
Maybe I’m done with the party scene.
The thought is pretty scary, I’ll admit. Partying is how I cope, which is admittedly unhealthy, but it works. Or, it used to work. Tonight, I just feel numb. I should go home.
Rifling through my purse, I realize that I’m out of money. It isn’t a big deal—I have cash for a cab fare at home—but it’s enough of an irritation to cause me to explode.
“Son of a bitch!”
This day has gone to complete shit and there’s no way to salvage it. I light up a cigarette and close my eyes, exhaling the smoke slowly as I feel my tense shoulders drop. Sensing movement to my right, I open my eyes.
Holy shit!
“Stephen!”
My professor is standing there, looking hotter than ever. For once, his hair isn’t combed down and his old man jacket is missing. I grin, surprised at how happy I am to see him, my previous numbness replaced with a sense of excitement.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“It’s Professor Worthington,” he says.
“We’re not in school now.”
We’re equals outside the classroom. I’m a woman, he’s a man. But he’s more than that, I realize. I’m attracted to him. The guys in the bar didn’t do a thing for me, but Stephen… Yeah, he does something to me.
I take a drag of my cigarette, contemplating my next move. I’ve wanted Professor Worthington since I first laid eyes on him, despite him not being my type. I never really examined my attraction for him since I didn’t think I’d ever have the opportunity to act on it. I dismissed it as one of those things that would never happen, even if it was fun to think about. But now he’s here, right in front of me, outside school and within reach.
"It's my brother's bar. I mean, my stepbrother.” He stumbles over the words, avoiding my eyes. He is too cute.
“Well, what is he? Your brother or your stepbrother?” I ask, smiling.
“I don’t know.”
“Huh.” I look him up and down, blatantly checking him out. There’s nothing boyish about his physique as far as I can tell, and I wonder for the second time that day why he’s always so shy around me, and why he doesn’t want to look at me. Maybe he doesn’t like the way I look…or maybe it’s the exact opposite.
“I never pegged you for the sports type,” I say, hoping to engage him in conversation.
"I'm not, and I'm leaving. Good night, Ms. Wilde.”
He turns and starts walking away. Damn it. I make a quick decision: Screw the consequences—I’m doing this. Life is too short.
"Wait,” I call out. “I don't have enough money for a cab and my friends already left in the other direction. Can I have a ride?"
He stops. I knew he was a good guy. The chivalrous type.
"Hey, never mind," I say to his back, laying it on thick. "I'll just see you in class on Friday."
I only make it a few steps in the opposite direction before he calls my name, as I knew he would. I smile as I walk toward him, purposely swaying my hips.
After I get rid of the cigarette at his request, I eat a mint. If things go the way I hope, I’ll be kissing the hot professor very soon.
The drive is pleasant enough and I like talking to him, even though he does his best to keep the conversation to a minimum. I don’t blame him. I know this is wrong on so many levels. If something happens tonight, not only could he get fired and I’d get a reputation for screwing a member of the faculty, but he could become clingy, which is the last thing I want.
Oh, please. It’s not like he’ll fall for you after one night of fucking. This is real life, not a chick flick.
He parks the car in front of my building.
"Well, good night,” he says as he avoids looking in my direction. His posture is rigid and his body is radiating tension.
We’re not doing anything wrong right now, and yet he seems hyperaware of our close proximity. I can’t be the only one who feels this attraction.
Only one way to find out. I lean a little closer to him and make my voice soft and seductive.
"Listen, Stephen, it's still pretty early. Would you like to come up for some coffee or a drink?"
For a moment, I think he’ll decline.
“Yes,” he says, sounding surprised.
I smile.
* * *
I enter my apartment with Stephen trailing behind me silently. I catch him looking at my bed, a stunned expression on his face.
"Your bed is very, uh, interesting," he finally says.
"Thank you. I know it's a little over the top, but I like to have a nice place to sleep." I light a few candles and turn to him. "And to do other things that don't involve sleep.”
Once again, he looks a bit shocked. I’m guessing he isn’t used to women taking the reins, so to speak.
"Would you like a drink, Stephen?"
“T—that’s why I’m here,” he stammers. “You offered me one.”
"So I did. Wine? Beer? Coffee? Tea?"
"What are you having?"
"You.” No point in beating around the bush. We both know why he’s here. "And some wine, I think.”
In the kitchen I find a nice bottle of red, one I’ve been saving for a special occasion. This certainly qualifies. I can’t believe I’m about to do this. I’ve brought guys home before, of course, but I’ve never slept with a member of the faculty, and I’m guessing I won’t ever again. There’s just something about Stephen that I find completely irresistible, something that makes me not care about the fact that that this is irrespo
nsible. I take my education seriously and, while I’ve fantasized about him a lot this semester, I never expected this to actually happen. I wonder if he’s ever done anything like this before. I know a lot of girls on campus find him attractive. He’s “academically hot”—a term Meg coined during our freshman year.
I rejoin him in the bedroom and hand him his glass before I take a seat on the bed to remove my boots.
"I helped make that, you know.”
"Make what?"
"The wine."
"Oh. Up in Napa?"
"South of France, four years ago," I say, pulling off the other boot. "I worked in a winery the summer after I graduated from high school."
"Why?" he asks.
I found my ex cheating on me and then ran away with the first guy I met afterward.
I doubt Stephen wants to hear about my past. That’s not why he came up here.
"Why not?"
Deciding to move this along, I flirt with him and make ridiculously suggestive comments while he helps me pick out some music. He doesn’t respond how I expect him to, though. I’m practically throwing myself at him and he’s not taking the bait. He must be really nervous about sleeping with a student.
"Will you help me unzip my dress?" I ask, turning my back to him. "My friend Meg put me in it and I have no idea how to get out."
He can’t possibly misinterpret my intentions now.
"Is she the one with the red hair or the black hair?" he asks.
Was he watching us earlier?
"The redhead. Did you see us in the bar?"
No answer.
"Stephen, the dress. I don't want to sleep in this. It isn't very comfortable."
Why isn’t he taking it off?
Finally, he responds, dragging down the zipper.
"Thank you.” I slip the dress off, turning to look at him.
He’s not even watching! What’s going on with him?
"Why do you have your eyes shut?" I ask, suppressing a laugh. This is undoubtedly the weirdest hookup ever.
"I don't know.”
"You can open your eyes now,” I tell him.
"A-are you decent?" he stutters.
Decent? What does he think we’re doing here? Did he change his mind?
"Well, I wouldn't go that far. Look at me.”
I lean into his body, reaching up to place my hands on his face, enjoying the feel of his slight scruff.
"Stephen, look at me.”
After what seems like a long time, he finally opens his eyes. They’re darker in the candlelight; beautiful.
"Thank you for driving me home,” I whisper.
"You're welcome.”
I wait for him to kiss me. I can tell that he wants to. His gaze flickers between my eyes and my lips. We’re so, so close and the air seems charged around us. His breathing is already labored and I feel it fanning across my face. But he doesn’t make a move. I realize that I will have to initiate this if I want to get somewhere with him. I’m not used to being with guys who don’t try to take the lead. It’s kind of hot being in control.
Slowly, I stand up on my toes and press my lips against his. His body jolts a little and he gasps. When I deepen the kiss, he responds, carefully caressing my tongue with his. Most guys think French kissing involves licking my tonsils, but Stephen is tentative and gentle. I love it.
"Mmm, you taste good.”
And you’re a great kisser.
I take off the ridiculous old-fashioned bowtie he always wears and unbutton his shirt.
Ho-ly pectorals.
Stephen is cut. His chest and abdomen are toned and sculpted without being over the top.
“Wow,” I exhale, stating the obvious. “You work out.”
He nods, gasping softly again as I brush my lips over the pulse point on his neck.
“Please,” he croaks.
I glance up at him. He looks like he’s in pain. Does he want me to touch him, or does he want me to stop? The moment my hands make contact with his hard chest, he exhales and his shoulders drop. The relief he feels in palpable, and while I don’t understand his reaction, it’s a turn on to see how much my touch affects him. I take his shirt off. He’s gorgeous; his arms are just as toned as his chest. Who would have thought?
"You have a great body. I never would have guessed with the way you dress," I tell him, running my hands over his biceps. I want to see the rest of him and quickly drop to my knees.
"Wait, what…what are you doing?" he asks.
I look up at him. "I'm taking off your pants, Stephen,” I say, stating the obvious yet again. “Or would you prefer to do this on the bed?"
"D-do what?" he stammers.
God, he’s so nervous. Is it because I’m his student? I thought it was obvious to both of us why he’s here.
I rise to my feet, stretching up to give him a kiss.
"Have sex," I say, “I’d love to have sex with you."
Normally, I would use the word fuck, but I don’t think Stephen is used to that kind of language. Gently, I take his hand and lead him toward the bed. I give him a small push and he practically collapses onto his back. As I straddle him, his eyes just about pop out of his head. I can’t help but smirk a little. He’s so hot, but at the same time he seems so innocent, which is definitely a new experience for me. I reach behind my back to undo my bra, letting it fall to the floor. Stephen makes a guttural sound as his breath leaves his lungs, his eyes fixed on my chest. He doesn’t touch me, but I don’t mind. It’s pretty fun being the one to initiate. I grab his hands and lift them up, sighing as he gently cups my tits. I want more. I lower myself down into his lap, and—oh my God. He’s big and hard underneath me. This is going to be awesome. I rock back and forth, causing Stephen to moan.
"You really like that. Don't you, Professor?"
"Stop!" he yells out of nowhere, sitting up quickly.
"What is it?"
"We…I…I can't do this. It's wrong,” he rambles, taking his hands off me. "I shouldn't have come up here. You've been drinking and I'm just…"
He’s upset, looking everywhere but at me.
"We can't do this," he says, his voice laced with disappointment. He’s definitely disappointed.
He wants to. He wants me.
"I won't tell anyone, if that's what you're worried about," I say.
He looks at me again. "You won't?"
"No, of course not. Why would I?" I’d never ruin his career or subject myself to the stigma of being the girl who slept with her professor.
"If this gets out, I could lose my job," he mumbles.
"It won't,” I say firmly. “Whatever happens here tonight stays between the two of us." I take his hands and place them on my thighs. "Do you want me?"
He nods, a faraway look in his eyes.
"Good. Because I really want you, too."
"Why?" he asks, finally focusing on me.
I laugh at his strange question. "Why? Because you're hot and I’m horny."
His mouth drops open and I resist the urge to laugh again. I guess the other women he’s fucked haven’t been this candid.
"Do you want to?" I ask, running my fingers through his hair.
He exhales, tipping his head back, like he wants to feels my fingertips against his scalp for as long as possible. I’ll have to remember that he likes this. He nods his assent.
"Good, then lie back and enjoy this. Stop thinking so much."
He lies back on the bed, his eyes sweeping over my almost naked body.
"Take your hair down,” he says softly, although it sounds more like a question than a command.
I take out my hair tie, shaking out my hair like one of those stupid shampoo commercials on TV. I guess there’s a method to them, though, because Stephen is loving the show I’m putting on. He runs his fingers through my hair, completely enthralled by it. I wonder if he’s used to dating shorthaired women.
"You should wear it like that every day," he says.
It’s flattering, but I kn
ow I won’t. My long, wavy hair makes me look like a Disney princess, like someone nice and friendly. I like wearing my hair up, my makeup and clothes edgy to keep people at a distance. I’m well aware of the fact that I look like a hard bitch most of the time in school. The only ones who know the real me are Megan and Sophia, and letting them in took a long time.
"You should wear yours like this every day," I tell him, giving his hair another tug. "Can you see without them?" I ask as I take his glasses off.
He nods and I put them on the nightstand. I look at him lying here on my bed, half-naked and so fucking sexy. I’m a little giddy, I’ll admit. This night has definitely turned out better than I thought it would!
"I want to see the rest of you.” Quickly, I take off the rest of his clothes, as well as his shoes, and look at him again. My heart starts racing and my body reacts to the sight of him. To the sight of it. Fuck, I want that thing inside of me in the worst way.
"Holy shit, Stephen. I didn't expect that."
"Um, w-what?" he stutters.
Why is he nervous? He owns a mirror, right?
"Well, you’re fucking perfect.”
He is. His face, his body, his cock. It’s long and thick, so hard that it’s resting against his stomach. My mouth waters at the sight.
Kissing my way across his chest and then lower, I look up at him, licking my lips.
"Whoa, you, err, you don't have to do that," he rushes out, grabbing my shoulders to stop me.
I let out a laugh at his assumption that I’m only doing this for him. "I wouldn't do it if I didn't want to. Don't you want me to?"
"I don't know," he says, sounding distressed.
He’s all over the place emotionally. He wants this, I’m certain. But he’s so nervous, so fumbling, so unsure, for some reason. It’s almost as if…
I sit up.
"Wait. Has no one ever done this to you before?"
He shakes his head, averting his eyes. His breathing is choppy and not because he’s turned on.