Illicit Actions

An adoring graduate student fantasizes about her advisor.

*****

I've thought about it more times than I'd like to recount. Many different ways in many different situations.

In one instance, we'd just gotten a huge grant and I walk in to his office to celebrate. Of course, I close the door behind me and go in for a hug, holding him just a beat too long. He reaches over a locks the door (even though it's too late for anyone to still be in the building) and then takes me in his arms again. Very gently he places one hand on my face, the other resting on the small of my back. "We did it," he murmurs before lowering his lips to mine. It is here the fantasy goes one of two ways.

In the first, we kiss for just a minute before we both pull away, blushing at our momentary indiscretion.

The second is much less innocent. I'm wearing a dress right on the cusp of appropriate that he's complimented several times. I'm not very tall, 5'3" on a good day, and not very blessed up top but quite generous from behind, all of which is accentuated by this outfit.

The kiss deepens and his hand goes from my face to my shoulder, caressing my collarbone, sending shivers down my spine. Never sure what to do with my hands in these moments, I simply rest them on his chest.

I may take a moment here to describe the object of my desire. He isn't considerably tall, but tall enough that I could nuzzle into him if I wanted to. He is a typical academic - white tube socks with black dress shoes, traditional khakis and always a wrinkled button down without an undershirt. He's pushing 50 with a bit extra around the middle and he definitely had more hair at another time. But the vestiges of being particularly handsome in his younger years remain. But it wasn't his looks that attracted me.

No, it was his understated intelligence. This was a man who had stacks of every kind of book imaginable in his office, and you felt your IQ drop a few points every time you left. He could carry on a conversation about anything ranging from South Park to Skyrim to complexity theory. He graduated from Harvard and got his doctorate from NYU. He'd written two books on subjects like digital poetics. He spearheaded a center in the English department that dealt with publishing books and working on other creative projects and performances.

We sent flirtatious emails and texts. Never anything completely overt, but there was enough to make me happy to receive communication from him.

I will never know what he saw in me. From the very beginning, when I first stepped into his office to ask for an intern position for my capstone. I didn't know then that signing up to work on his latest project would completely change the trajectory of my life plan. He always encouraged me to do what pleased me, wrote me every letter of recommendation to apply for the position of editor at the school newspaper and then as an applicant to the graduate program there. If I'm being honest, I stayed at this university to stay with him. I've had so many great opportunities, and it's all because of him. I owe him everything I have.

So, these feelings are strictly verboten and irrational. But how could I ignore them with the amount of time we spend together, in the office and on longer trips? How else could I interpret the 10:00 p.m. texts about my April Fools article in the newspaper or the 9:30 p.m. emails discussing a weird Skype call from earlier in the day?

I digress. To return to my steamy fantasy...

With my hands on his chest, his kisses become more urgent, more insistent. His hands begin to explore my ample bottom and my flat stomach. I push my body against his in an attempt to soak in as much of him as possible. With a shared glance to his overflowing desk, I gingerly move the stacks of papers and books into a neat pile to the other end. In one quick motion, he lifts me on to the edge of the desk and I place my hands back behind me for support, granting him access to the front of my dress. He takes the opportunity to push the sleeves from my shoulders and plays with the straps of my black lace bra. My breath quickens and he uses that opportunity to trace the swell of my breast. My nipples instantly tighten, poking through the thin material.

He tweaks a nipple and I think I might explode. I grab his hips and draw him in between my legs. I move against him and feel his cock, hard and throbbing with desire. For me. Finally. He suckles and kisses my breasts as I rock against him. Without shame or hesitation, he unzips his khakis and pulls out his cock. It's as perfect as I'd imagined it would be. Circumcised, the perfect length and girth to fill you up but not painfully so. Without further ado, he pushes my dress up to my waist and only slows down to make note of my matching lace thong.

"You're getting my desk a little dirty," he whispers in my ear, "let's see if we can fix that."

With that he pushes the tip of his hard cock against my clit, and I'm afraid I'll cum before it even happens. He holds me still, one hand on my hip, the other under my knee, holding up my leg for more leverage.

"Please..." I beg. "Please."

Acquiescing my request, his slides in between my soaking lips to pierce what seems to be my very soul. I take a moment to savor what's happening, that it's finally real, my innermost desires come to fruition. The moment passes and he begins thrusting with more zeal, and I can tell in that instant that he's wanted this for as long as I have. His breath quickens and moans of pleasure escape.

I lift my hips to meet each thrust, matching his force. I reach down to rub my clit to bring forth my climax, he intercepts me and uses his finger to circle my clit, teasing, drawing it out. When his cock fills me and he strokes my clit at the same moment, I fall into ecstasy. I bury my face into the crook of his arm to muffle my screams, but that's the last bit of control I can maintain. My hips rock of their own volition and my toes curl painfully.

He grabs my right breast and plants his hand on my back to stabilize the force of his thrusts and then shudders, letting out the breath he's been holding. Both completely spent, we take the next few moments to regain composure.

I fix my dress and smooth my hair. He zips up his pants and turns away to give me privacy. Always the considerate gentleman. They don't make them like that anymore.

I pick up my bag and laptop and walk out the door. It was as though it never happened, which considering I had a long-term boyfriend, he had a wife and two kids and was my advisor, was probably for the best.