I've been asked to write sequels to several of my other stories, but most of them are written as single ideas. I decided to create a story line that I can keep going for 5 or 6 chapters, or longer, depending. This is the first chapter, setting the table for future chapters to come.
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I always wake up the same way: open one eye, then the other. The first eye tells me, yes, I am still alive. The second eye orients me as to where I am. Usually, that's my bed at home. This morning, on opening my second eye, I realized I was not in my bed, but in a strange environment. Bright sunlight on pale green walls and the scent of lavender accosted my senses. Then a wave of realization washed over me and caused my mouth to curl into a smile. I was in Emma's bed.
I turned to see if she was there and saw the covers thrown back in her absence. I took a deep breath and could barely detect her scent. My ears picked up sounds from down the hall and I could swear I heard the sound of sizzling bacon. I smiled again and turned over to relish the morning, thoughts of the previous evening echoing in my head and bringing me into a new day.
I am a 48 year-old English professor at a major state university in Southern New England. My specialty is modern contemporary fiction and I teach several undergrad courses and one graduate level seminar. I've been divorced for seven years, and have been in no hurry to reconnect on a marital level. My work keeps me so busy, and contributed to my divorce in the first place, and I have a few friends with benefits who ease the pain of occasionally lacking a steady female counterpart in my life.
I had made it a policy over the years to avoid fraternizing with my female students. I had seen several of my colleagues suffer embarrassment and worse from illegal student interactions, and I had been able to resist the normal temptations of the freewheeling university atmosphere. That was until I met Emmaline, or Emma, as she liked to be called.
I have had my will tested over my years at the university. I'm a relatively handsome, sensitive fellow, keep myself in shape with diet and exercise, and have never had a problem attracting members of the opposite sex. I'm 6'1" and a tight 175 pounds with long wavy brown hair that I let run a little long over the ears and collar. A few flecks of gray and rimless glasses do give away my approaching dotage, but I feel like a million bucks and stay young from my constant contact and interaction with college age kids. Working on a college campus will do that.
While I've always regarded most of the female students with a bemused eye, it has been rare that one has gotten under my skin. But every once in awhile the right combination of looks, allure and intelligence will be sitting in my classroom, and I find myself fighting the urge to connect.
Emma was a senior English major taking my second semester Modern American Lit seminar. I had noticed her the first day she walked into my classroom; she was hard to miss; and I had found myself struggling to maintain an even keel and equal eye contact with the other students in the room. She was a stunner.
She stood about 5'6" tall, had a wonderfully slender, but curvy, body that looked like it had been sculpted by a very kind God. She had long lithe legs that culminated in one of the finest asses I had ever laid my eyes on. Her breasts, while not very evident under the necessary layers of the early second semester weather, were quite full and very well proportioned to her body.
Her face was a study in innocence and beauty, with full saucy lips, dark, alluring brown eyes, and high regal cheekbones. Her hair was fine, lustrous, medium brown and cut to just below her shoulder. She could wear it loose and flowing, or tie it up casually with everything from a hair clip to a ballpoint pen. She liked to wear tight jeans and sandals or shoes that had a little lift to the heel. She was a stunningly beautiful young woman, yet appeared to be completely unaffected by her good looks.
It was her skin, however, that drove me crazy. She had smooth, silky skin that begged to be touched and stroked. It had a luminescent quality about it and was accentuated by her fine, delicate features. I longed to reach and touch.
Beyond her appearance, she was an excellent student and had a flare for analysis and a writing style that showed great promise. Her father was a well-to-do surgeon in New York and her mother had to have had some exotic bloodlines as she had inherited both the brains and the beauty from her family pool.
I remember noticing her the first day of class and had had a hard time taking my eyes off her as I said. She dallied as she left the classroom that day; a small seminar of about a dozen students; and I remember her walking by me; the last student to leave. My eyes hungrily followed her sweet swaying butt, tucked so tightly into her jeans, when with a sudden quick movement, she flicked her hair and looked over her shoulder at me, catching me with a slacked jaw and an unrepentant look of lust in my eyes.
I made no movement toward trying to look away or pretend I was looking elsewhere. She just smiled quickly and kept moving out the classroom door. It had all happened in a split second, but the ensuing months would hinge on that quick visual connection. She knew that I had been watching her and was pleased with herself for luring me into her orbit. I was lured in willingly, but was somewhat frightened by my lack of self-control.
As the weeks passed we maintained a cordial teacher/student relationship, but I did find myself looking forward to those weekly afternoon seminars. Emma would look at me with a bemused expression on her face that said, "I know you want me." She was right, of course. In any case, I became more attracted to her as the semester wore on, especially as I slowly discovered her keen intellect. I've always been a sucker for a certain type of beauty, but throw youthful intelligence into the mix and I'm a goner.
As April brought warmer spring weather, the coeds began to celebrate by wearing less and less. It's my favorite time of year as the lush young bodies that have been covered under fleece and flannel expose themselves to the sun and spring air. Emma was no exception and I gained a new appreciation for the loveliness of her body as she began to wear tight tank tops and leave her midriff exposed; slender bra straps peeking out as they arched over the delicate bones and smooth skin of her shoulders. Occasionally she would wear a short skirt or dress that would slowly ride up her shapely tan legs as she'd shift in her chair, making no pretense of trying to be modest.
I was constantly fighting the urge to observe her body during class. She would see me looking at her and I could swear there was an unspoken connection between us. More than once I caught her staring at my crotch, a wan smile on her face, as I waxed on poetically about Walker Percy or Dom Delillo. It was as if we had come to a silent agreement that it was okay for each of us to ogle one another.
One beautiful spring morning I was walking across campus when I spied Emma, some distance away, walking toward me. She was talking on a cell phone as she strolled and I sat down on a bench just off the path to watch her. She was looking down as she walked so I was pretty sure I could observe her unnoticed. She was wearing a tight black low cut top, skin tight designer jeans and high heeled sandals. A bag was slung over her shoulder and her lustrous hair bounced and swayed with her very sexy stride. I couldn't keep my eyes off the tight crease of her pussy. The jeans gathered together so snugly at the apex of her thighs and belly, and the beautiful vee of denim cupped her treasure; her labia clearly visible through the well-worn fabric. Her breasts jiggled in tight controlled bounces as she walked and I could only wish that I was on the other end of her conversation; perhaps making plans to see her.
As she walked by I saw her exquisite profile for a fleeting moment, and then admired the retreating form of her little bubble butt, twitching tightly as she strode by. I hoped, as I stared, that no one was watching me leer at this lovely student. But for those few seconds, I really didn't care. I shook my head in disbelief and wonder, then gathered myself together and stood up to go on my way.
As the semester wore on the students began to work on their final papers. Emma hung back after class one day and said she was having a little trouble with her topic and asked if she could see me in my office. We made an appointment for the following day. She looked radiant as she stood a few feet from me. I watched happily as she swayed out of the classroom; knowing that she knew I was watching and lusting. I fantasized about seeing her alone in my office, but knew I'd leave it as a fantasy. Still, the thought of having her alone was making my blood run hot. The next day she showed up at my office on time and grinned that beguiling smile of hers; a combination of naivete and naughtiness.
"Hi Professor Wood. Can I come in?"
"Emma. Please. Nice to see you." This was an understatement.
She had on the requisite jeans, a tight top with bra straps showing, and a pair of sandals with a little kick of elevation. Her hair was up and looked like she'd done it as an afterthought. It was so sexy; errant strands falling on either side and framing her beautiful face. She sat down, put her bag on the floor and we began to talk about her topic. I worked hard at not letting my eyes wander down to the delicious cleavage and swell of her breasts, clearly on display above the scooping neckline of her top.
It became evident that a little focused research on the computer would take her to some sources she hadn't considered. I got up and had her sit in my chair and use the computer to do her search. I stood over her, hand on the back of the chair as she googled her way through several excellent sites I directed her to. As she worked the mouse I stood over her, breathing in her fresh scent. Her long dangling earrings shook as she talked, and I found myself wanting to lean down and kiss the nape of her neck. I surveyed the swell of her breasts from above, wanting to slide my hand in and scoop up their fullness. She had to know I was looking at her, but she showed no shyness or modesty as she unselfconsciously let me look at her luscious body.
