An Educational Experience

*DISCLAIMER: I know of no private schools as the one I describe below... if there is such a school by the same name, it is purely coincidental. I apologize :) *

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It happened innocently enough. I had just sat down in my philosophy class on a sunny Thursday, with only the sparest of views to the sparkly, sunny campus lawns about me. At the posh private college I attended, I was expected to be studious and proficient in all of my subjects.

Sometimes, I just wasn’t into it.

Today, I was looking forward to bursting out of the double doors and reveling in the sunshine... book in hand, of course. I was just settling into a rather uncomfortable vinyl covered seat. It felt sticky, the seat pulling at my bare thighs. At this overpriced school, I also had to dress the part of wealthy, scholarly lady befitting my family’s image in a traditional white blouse that felt masculine and over starched, as well as a tie emblazoned with the school’s emblem. A modest, knee-length plaid skirt and knee-high white socks completed the look. I always felt as though I looked one of those irritating porcelain doll that dear old grandmother bought for you rather than the hottest new Nintendo game featuring gun play, monkeys in suits, and villainous men in white coats. Or whatever... I never *had* a Nintendo. Despite the length of my skirt, however, it always managed to ride up nearly mid-thigh when I sat down, not covering my long legs in a modest enough fashion. So I suffered the sticky vinyl and the leers of the young men I had class with. It was disgusting.

This particular class was set up into a semicircle, and the professor usually orated from a podium at the center. There were the traditional blackboards, the overabundance of polished mahogany, and, of course, the dust motes that you’d expect from somewhere like Penbrook Unversity. Formerly Penbrook College for Scholarly Royalty. Or something like that. It was absolutely stuffy. So, as I said, I was just trying to find a comfortable position in the impossibly wrought chair and desk set... and then my professor, Jason Newirth, strolled in. Dr. Newirth was American. He was from some liberal arts college in Virgina, U.S.A. For liberal, read huge party school. Prof was only in his late twenties, and fresh from the doctorate program. I really liked him and the way he talked about philosophy... and especially they way he bent the rules of the university. The first day of classes, he asked us to call him Jason. Or Jas. Or Hey You... anything but Dr. Newirth. Today... well, today he outright broke the rules.

He was wearing a shirt and tie under a navy blazer. He was also wearing a pair of blue jeans, with his shirt untucked. The bottom of his shirt was wrinkled as though he’d had it tucked... and then in a hurry, pulled it out. Or changed his pants. Why one would change out of the suit pants that would match his jacket mid-day, I had no idea. Then a torrid thought colored my imagination. I felt my face heat and hoped it wasn’t apparent.

I then noticed that the rest of my classmates began whispering wildly as Jason entered. I knew that they all liked him as well as I. He was new and fun. He was a magnificent change from the stuffy, buttoned-up, white-haired professors we were all too used to. As usual, Jason either didn’t notice the stir or didn’t care, and just launched into the discussion. Immediately, everyone quieted and listened with rapt attention. Even I forgot my longing for the sunny lawns. But not for long.

“All right, guys. Today, we’re having class outside.” he stated, not bothering to set his attache down.

The uproar again rolled though class. And, just as before, Jason ignored it. With a nod of his head, we rose and followed him. Minutes later, the fresh air and sunshine hit me in the face and immediately, I felt happy and relaxed. A light breeze ruffled my skirt, cooling my exposed legs. The sensation felt wonderful, and for some reason, it made my gaze go to Jason. I caught his eye, and immediately flushed.

Soon, we were all seated, though somewhat awkwardly in the lush, cool grass. We were garnering odd stares left and right. Jason didn’t care. I smiled at the notion. We all had our respective texts open, and were ready for his next move.

“So, did you all think about what I asked last time?” he asked. There was a general murmur of assent. “Good. Okay, now we’re going to discuss Plato’s Five Constitutions using The Simpsons.”

A ripple of honest laughter rippled though us. Jason smiled broadly. “C’mon. I know you’ve all seen them. And this will make it easier to think about it.”

For the next half hour, the class talked and laughed, sharing an intimacy and excitement that no other class had ever brought me. I felt sure my classmates felt the same.

“So, which Simpson has the most aristocratic soul?”

A young man named David raised his hand, a broad devilish smile. I knew David was much like me, for he came from a wealthy family, but hated his classes. I had never noticed him participating before. It made me smile. “Lisa,” he answered. As a class, we burst out with our approval and agreement. Jason also smiled and nodded.

“Though Lisa is flawed, I agree that she is most aristocratic. We would all be hard pressed to find a true aristocratic soul among us, or in any good literature because Plato’s ideal is nearly unattainable. Any questions before we leave?”

I raised my hand. I was almost surprised that I did. “Well, what would Plato say about Lisa? I mean, she has a lot of Homer-like desires. She might be ruled by reason, but I think she envies how everyone else is more democratic.”

Jason smiled at me and I felt myself flush again. This time I felt a deep seated pull low in my belly. “A brilliant question, Jessica,” came his husky, mature voice, “ I’ll ask you all to mull it over for a weekend, and we’ll discuss it Tuesday.”

As the class began to gather ourselves off of the lawn, brushing off grass and chatting pleasantly, I somehow felt removed. Why had I reacted to Jason’s look so, I wondered.

Just as I was moving to walk back to my dormitory, I heard that familiar voice catch up with me. “Jessica... if you wouldn’t mind... I was hoping to meet with you in my office concerning your paper on Mill.”

Slightly worried, I hesitated a moment. “Sure, what about?”

Jason smiled, “Don’t worry, I was just hoping to hear an extension of your argument for justice. If you could, is this afternoon around five okay?”

I nodded, still unsure. A professor has never asked to meet with me over a paper. But, this wasn’t any professor. “Yeah, it’s no problem. I’ll see you in your office then.”

Jason smiled at me and bid me goodbye until then.

I had a class at four, so at five to five, I was hurrying across campus to make it to the hall where the philosophy department was located. I skidded into his office just as the campus chapel was chiming five. Jason looked up at me, again with his winning smile cutting across his slightly stubbled face.

“You didn’t have to hurry. I’m not nearly that important.” he said, gesturing to a comfy looking couch placed under the window. His office was masculine, but sunny. There was a box in the corner, attesting to the fact that he just moved in. All ready though, there were a few personal touches, like a snapshot of what must have been his family framed on his desk. I liked it instantly.

“So, what’s wrong with my paper?” I asked as soon as Jason was seated across from me. His desk was mahogany. Go figure.

He chuckled. “Are you this worried all the time?”

He laughed again when I didn’t answer. My frustration must have been apparent, because he moved forward to rest his elbows on his desk, his face serious. “All right, nothing is wrong with your paper. It’s perfect. The only problem is that it’s the wrong paper. I asked for you to address the problem of how Mill’s idea of liberty would apply if a person’s ideals where only a consequence of birth. For example, if a man had been raised a Jew, only to find that there are many more religions to be had, would Judaism still be the right choice? Did he even have a choice?”

I must’ve colored, because I felt myself flush. I’d never been told I was completely wrong. “My paper addresses that very fact in a succinct way, Professor. I believe I began by stating the problem, then attacking it from Mill’s perspective that choice is the very basis for humanity.” I raised my paper and waved it about for emphasis.

“I understand that. But what about the problem? The man finds out that he has choices. I’m sure that doesn’t make him feel better that his upbringing into the Jewish faith were founded.” Jason pushed, smiling.

Again I flushed. This time I wasn’t sure if it was from anger or from the way he was edging me on. “I address that, too. Mill would say that the man would use the choices lain before him and make his religion whatever was best for him. He would make it dynamic and meaningful. It would end up the same for him no matter what religion he was born into.” I smiled, settling back into, my arms folded.

“I can see where Mill might have said that. But, what about this example. A girl is raise into a life of wealth and privilege. She shuns a social life to better her studies. Then, confronted with a choice to do something bad, what would she do? Would she be able to shake off her good girl image and take risks?”

I answered without hesitating. “Absolutely. Every individual is dynamic, not flat. No one is merely a consequence of the image they project. A good girl exterior doesn’t make for a saint at heart.”

“Even if that choice is taboo... something completely out of character? Something like being involved with a perceived superior?” he asked, his voice dropping to a rough level.

“Yes, of course. Like I said, ‘character’ isn’t one-dimensional.” As soon as the words tumbled from my mouth, I blushed. The reality of Jason’s words sunk in and drug my back into my seat with a force that nearly knocked me free of breath.

Jason just smiled. “So, if a professor who has made his longing clear were to ask again in a more transparent fashion, would the wealthy good-girl say yes, like you think. Or is it true that a leopard can’t change her spots?”

I gulped. My throat went dry and my palms grew moist. The unfamiliar tug low in my belly made an appearance. I was torn between jumping on Jason’s desk and bolting out the door. I still managed to answer. “Leopards cannot change their spots... but good-girl types are only that. Types. A type is not absolute. The good-girl could say anything she pleases.”

Jason stood. His golden brown hair caught the setting sun. His shirt was open at the collar, showing a tiny bit of bronzed muscle. He moved around the side of the desk, his knees scant centimeters from mine. My heart caught and I forced myself to sit up straight in the manly leather chair. He spoke again, “And what does the good girl please?”

A smiled curved along my lips, almost surprising me. My body had a mind of it’s own and my logic had ceased to function. Before I could think too much, the word “Yes.” fell from my lips. Damn the only thinking parts of me were shutting down.

Jason smiled at me, a catlike, but still genuine smile. I felt like I was in danger. I wanted it. Wordlessly, he stepped away from me, opening a pocket of air that my lungs were searching for. I began to breath again, watching him all the while. He moved to the window and slid a dark wood shutter closed. The room became dark and a manly aroma I had not noticed before took over where sight failed me. It was a little spicy, like patchouli but dark and musky, as well. Before I had time to ruminate any longer, another thought dawned on me. Surely he didn’t mean to... to do this in this very office. I watched him settle on the couch. He did mean to.

“Come here Jessica.” he said, his voice masculine and assured. He patted the couch for emphasis. Again my body betrayed me and I stood a moved to him. I sat, and my skirt rose up. This leather was cool and supple on the back of my heated legs and the soft denim of his jeans brushed the side of my thigh. I shuddered.

He ran the backs of his fingers across my jaw. I felt their callused roughness as well as the soft hair on his knuckles. When he came to my chin, he turned my face to him. I swallowed hard. He was studying me intently. As he gently stroked the nape of my neck and ran his fingers through my long chestnut hair, he spoke. I noticed how his mouth was formed. It was wide, his lips supple a pink. They had a bitten look to them, like they belong to someone deep in concentration. “I noticed you the first day of the semester. I was new and excited to teach... and I even wanted to follow the rules. But the second I saw your face, I knew I had to have you. You’re face is so much like Audrey Hepburn’s... and you’re mind is as nimble and fiery as her daughter. You’re perfect, Jessica. I had to have you.”

I smiled again at his overzealous praise, neither thanking him or shying away from it. Rather, I wanted to hear more. I could barely breath. He ran his big hand down my arm, pulling me slightly closer. Our knees were touching. He settled on my hand, lightly tickling my fingers with his, playing with the palm of my hand. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his. They were hazel, flecked heavily with gold. They reminded me of lion’s eyes, prideful and fierce, but so beautiful you want to know they mystery behind them.

His hand traveled back up my arm and settled again on my jaw. I knew it was coming before I could process it. He angled my head up and settled his lush mouth over mine. I moaned instinctually. I had never felt anything so warm or so sure in my life. He caressed my neck and my back as his lips played over mine, neither demanding nor pliant. When he licked along my lower lip, I never thought to protest. When his hot tongue entered my waiting mouth, my heart started to race frantically. With that slight intrusion, I wanted everything from him. I slid my hands up to his face and pulled myself closer to him, deepening and intensifying our kiss. Emboldened by my response, he pulled my up into his lap. My skirt was pulled up to a most unladylike height, but the feeling of his hard thighs on my soft ones made me forget modesty. I wrapped my arms around his neck and ran my fingers through his hair. I pulled it lightly and brushed my nails across his neck. I’d never felt so brazen, and Jason took notice.

He dropped one hand to my bare thigh and began to stroke it ever higher. With each pass of his deft fingers, he came closer to the hem. Finally, he pushed under it, cupping the roundness of my bare bottom. He groaned against my mouth and I struggled to be closer to him. My breasts began to feel heavy, my nipples straining against the lace of my bra which felt two sizes to small. Suddenly my skin felt too small as well. I felt as though I could just burst right through it.

Sensing my need, Jason slid his other hand up along my back beneath my shirt, sending chills in every direction. He deftly unfastened the cumbersome bra. My breasts tumbled free, the hard crests brushing the hard fabric of my shirt. Before giving me the pleasure of palming one of my swollen peaks, he moved me away from him. He studied my face for what seemed like forever before he smiled. His mouth was pinker, his cheeks rosy. I noticed that the deep, sensual aroma was coming from him. I sighed aloud, my lips parting for him. My need was transparent. Like an expert, he removed my tie and unbuttoned my blouse. He peeled it along with my bra down my arms, his gaze focused on my face. I felt my breasts swell again at the shock of the air on them. He smiled the catlike smile again, then laid me down on the soft couch. Goose pimples popped up on all over me.

Jason divested himself of his shirt. His chest was bronzed, scarcely covered my fine golden hairs. His flat belly showed faint definition and a clear line of fur led into the worn waistband of his jeans. I reached from the buttons, but he intercepted my hands with a chuckle. He smiled at me, his cat eyes twinkling. He knelt between my splayed legs and dipped his head low over me. He began by kissing lightly along my neck and collarbone. His ruffled hair played along my neck and cheeks, sending more chills along my arms and causing the feeling in my belly to surge. I was already near my breaking point, and I still had my panties on. I moaned. This acted as encouragement and Jason dipped his head lower. He hovered just over my left breast. His hand began to caress the right one pulling and rubbing my aching peak until I writhed beneath him. His delicious torture was taking its toll, but he soon relieved me and dropped his wet mouth to my hard nipple. I cried out and grabbed his hair, forcing him to me. He nibbled and bit with abandon as my hands explored all I could touch. I felt my panties moisten and knew I needed him inside me.

He began to move further down along my belly with kisses. I stopped him at the waist of my skirt. “Please, Jason.” He looked at me, concerned.

“Are you okay? Don’t you want me...” he began.

“No... I need you. I need every bit of you inside me now.”

Jason smiled his superior smile and moved for his pants. I grabbed his hands and moved out from under me. We stood and he eyed me curiously. I just smiled. I hooked my thumbs into the waist of my itchy plaid skirt. I peeled it down my legs along with my damp panties, exposing a closely cropped thatch of dark curls. I heard Jason groan. I then moved behind him and rubbed up against his back. My fingers moved to his fly and undid it quickly. I pulled them down, along with his boxer briefs pulling and playing along his thighs and the backs of his knees. Once he stepped out of his puddled pants, I moved in front of him and knelt. I looked up at him, his face was a mask of shock. “Jessica... you don’t have to...” he started, words not coming as easily as before.

I smiled, glad to have the upper hand, “Oh, but this is what I choose.” With that, I took his rigid member into my mouth, savoring every hard centimeter of him. He groaned and dropped his hand to my hair. He pulled and stroked it as I licked and sucked his cock with the expertise he’d proven on my nipples. I ran my fingers up the inside of his legs, gently caressing his testicles, and tugging them lightly until I heard him groan approval.

He moved my head away just then. “Okay, we’ve both had our bits of torture. I’m going to take you up on your original offer.” He helped me to my feet and then laid me back against the leather cushions. I nearly purred with anticipation and delight. He stroked my curls lightly for a moment before guiding his long thickness into me. I moaned and tossed my head back as he pushed all the way into me. He grunted with pleasure, then stroked my cheek again. “Are you okay, Jessica?”

I nodded and smiled up at him. He smiled back, before pulling out and pushing back into me. I felt my wet heat wrap around him like a glove. He began to thrust in an out of my molten center with increasing crescendo while his thumb found my hidden button through my damp curls. He leaned down close to me, using his body and hands to build me up. Soon, he was pounding into me and my legs were wrapped around him. A few strokes later, I felt my heat come to a head and a blinding warm feeling engulfed my body. As soon as my body began to convulse around his engorged cock, I heard him groan. He held me tight to him and thrusted harder and faster until I felt his release fill me. His heat triggered another wave of ripples fr me and I ground my hips into his, taking him for all he was worth. After what seemed like hours of laying there, still connected, he moved off of me. He stroked my hair and smiled down at me. I smiled blearily up at him. He rested his head on my shoulder and pulled a blanket from the back of the couch onto us.