"It is complete within seconds, that monument.
The blood runs underground yet brings forth a tower."
Anne Sexton
It could have been a dream. I mean it had been a dream so many other times, a dream of a woman, no, not just any woman, of her... her walking the narrow aisles between the desks, each step slightly crossing in front of her, accentuating the sway of her hips like models on a run way. It could have been a dream but for my cock, achingly hard, driven by a life-force beyond any reason tight against the tight fabric, in through the seams of my underwear, tangling beyond all possibility of adjustment.
It was hot, incredibly so, as the sweat rolled down my temples, over my cheeks and jaws, then tickling down my neck. It was hot, yet she kept on, completely unaffected by the stifling air, flipping through her book before raising her gaze to us and huskily saying, "Ah, here's one you might enjoy. It's called 'The Breast,' one I wrote. I wrote... oh hell, what does it matter when I wrote it?"
I gritted my teeth, wanting to reach under the desk and extricate my erection from the tangled mess of my jockey shorts, but she seemed to be staring at me. My hands grabbed my desk as I held on.
"The Breast,"
she started, peeking up over the book for a moment and then returning,
"This is the key to it.
This is the key to everything.
Preciously..."
The woman, the poet, unbelievably Anne Sexton was reading to the class, to me as my cock screamed at me. Her words led my fingers down over the full, silk slip she wore, over the thin strap at her shoulders, down the slippery fabric and over those two wonderful mounds."
"...So tell me anything but track me like a climber
for here is the eye, here is the jewel,
here is the excitement the nipple learns..."
I could see her nipples in the white, casting curved shadows over the slight mounds, pressing against her fabric like my erection pressed mine. I imagined the two, nipple and cock straining for each other, longing the touch, the connection, the blood fired sensation.
She rustled through some more pages, snapping me back to the classroom. I focused back on her, noticing how her hair parted on one side with short bangs combed across her face, her forehead peeking around the side. On the side her hair rolled down over her ears and hovered just above her shoulders, curving under as if to caress her neck. Her neck and shoulders were thin, like you would expect from an ex-lingerie model, and likewise, her breasts formed two small mounds each accentuating a firm knob pressing out from the center.
"The Nude Swim,"
she began as I winced, feeling each word slide up the length of my shaft. I began to tremble.
"...we found a little unknown grotto..."
I entered the water with her.
“...and let our bodies lose all
their loneliness."
"Ahem," she half coughed, trying to regain my attention. I looked up and the classroom was empty, the bell had rung and the other students had left the room, all while I remained in the grotto with Anne.
I slid my chair back and began to stand, but immediately let myself fall back onto the molded plastic. Starting to reach down to adjust my erection to a less noticeable position, I realized she was staring at me. Looking up I saw here half seated on the desk, one leg lifted slightly off the floor.
"You hesitate?" she asked.
"I ah, uhm, I ah, well..."
"It is often like "The Nude Swim," she said.
