Every year my head of department invited me to his special wine tasting. Desmond had been a country boy scholarship winner from North East Victoria. His academic career had settled him in Melbourne but he never lost touch with his country roots and childhood friends. A few of them had taken over their family's farms and become vintners. They sent their friend Des annually a generous sample of their latest bottling.
Usually once during the academic year, Desmond decided that a particular vintage in his growing collection had reached perfection. He would invite a select group of us to a tasting. Apart from me, the other members of our party worked in different departments of our university. They had met Desmond in his role as independent chairperson, and often peacemaker, on various committees. This year five of us knew each other from previous tastings. The two things we knew about the three newcomers were that they appreciated wine and that they, like us, had won Des's friendship.
What was unusual this year was that Des had invited a woman to join us. He, like many other male teachers, had responded to the Me-Too onrush of accusations against men by avoiding any personal, non-formal relationship with female students and staff. What was different about this woman that Des had invited her to a party of males in his home?
We surreptitiously looked her over: she was tall, slim, a brunette with shoulder-length hair, no discernible make-up and casually dressed in jeans, a plain t-shirt and runners. We were put somewhat at ease when she introduced herself with a cheery, "Hi, all. I'm Kate from Biology. I'm still new here."
Introductions over, we settled comfortably into Des' large and homely, intergenerationally over-furnished living room. The big red Des had selected for more than just a furtive tasting was superb. It was accompanied by a generous feed of cheese, smoked ham and thick slices of country bread laid out on a sideboard for the taking. The relaxed, unfussed mood found us quickly companionably engaged in relishing the offerings, and a lively exchange of laughter and talk.
For us previous acquaintances, the talk switched naturally to the news and changes in our lives since we were together at Des's last year's party. I told them that after my divorce was concluded I had bought an apartment in Carlton. I lived now close to the university and might invite them over for a drink. Regarding the divorce, mine wasn't the only one. But - with a sideway glimpse at new member Kate - we male divorcees swallowed the hurtful details and turned to the wine and food.
When I asked Desmond where he had located this wonderful cheddar cheese, a movement by Kate made me look at her. She, holding a plate, chimed in, "God, Desmond, with your wine this cheese is worth dying for!" Looking up at Des, Kate licked a finger, swept the plate to collect the remaining cheese crumbs and then pushed the loaded finger into her mouth for an appreciative suck.
Desmond laughed and moved away and Kate's eyes shifted to me. With her dark eyes wide open and the laugh wrinkles behind her oversized fashion glasses, she let her finger demonstratively plop out of her mouth. Then she leaned back in her chair and pulled her legs up under her. Lifting her wine glass inviting me to toast, Kate gave me a broad smile and said, "So, to life and all you and I seem to enjoy."
Without wanting to be too quickly won over, I merely raised my glass in response. But now really looking at her for the first time, I was stricken by the openness and beauty of Kate's strong, intelligent face. Also, as she lounged in her chair, Kate neither hid nor displayed her slim body's allure from my furtive eyes. The well-shaped ankles left uncovered by her jeans, and the enticing shape of her smallish breasts under her t-shirt caused me a politically incorrect stirring in the groin.
I tried not to stare but it was long enough for Kate to notice. In leaning back her boobs suddenly showed nipples of pointy perfection under her stretched top. Kate momentarily turned her eyes down on their betrayal. When she looked up again, she gave me a knowing, not at all chastising smile.
The magical moment passed, and Kate and I were drawn into the lively exchange of opinions about our work situation. Eventually, our talk turned to the, most of us felt, increasing alienation of us in our university jobs. Be it in the humanities, sciences, marketing or psychology, the language in which we think, teach and write has become for the outside world a foreign tongue. And with it, we have become either half-understood or ignored.
I do not know if it was the wine or the sideways glance at Kate that made me burst into this general debate with a personal confession. With an embarrassed guffaw, I said, "You have just given me the perfect excuse for my writing for Literotica."
There was a moment of silence, then suppressed laughter before Roger, the mathematician, declared, "Oh, I see! Benjamin, our English prof, has started to write porn?"
"And our pure maths colleague knows all about the porn in Literotica!", commented David dryly.
This scored applause and tension-easing laughter. It encouraged me to give my reasons for what I was doing:
"My friends, I wanted to find out if I still could write. I mean differently, in a way that would be read and enjoyed by ordinary people. Requiring proof, I had to make my writings available. But how? They were not for our academic journals. Eager to have my story published, I settled on Literotica. It offered me for free a large and interestingly mixed readership. There was a price to pay. I had to shed my inhibitions in writing entertainingly and sexually arousing about erotic experiences."
I leaned back in my chair. Suddenly brave, I faced Kate as I concluded, "Yes, I needed to become sexually unashamed. Since then, some twenty-thousand anonymous readers have followed and enjoyed my disreputable stories. When it comes to sex, my language and my stories must have found the common touch!"
Kate's eyes had not wavered in looking at me. She had sucked in her lower lip. Suppressing a question, Kate blushed. None of the others asked about the details of my contributions to Literotika either, and our talking switched back to general matters.
When our party broke up and we gathered around Desmond for our Thank You and Good Byes, Kate stood close to me. So close, that her breast pressed attention demanding against my arm.
Then her breath caressed my cheek as she whispered, "Ben, I have questions I didn't dare ask. Can I text you?"
I looked down to see the phone in her hand resting against my hip. Its screen was lit up on 'Contacts'. Turning towards Kate, sheltered by our bodies, I typed in my phone number and private mail address. In looking down, our foreheads touched and neither she nor I pulled back.
But then we went home our separate ways. I strongly felt it was the wrong ending to the night. However, as I was undressing to go to bed, my phone binged.
Looking at the screen I suddenly knew the unknown number had to be Kate:
"Dear Ben, I have to send you this request while I am still in the afterglow of D's wine and remembering/feeling what tonight has happened between us. You looked at me and wanted me! You did, didn't you? I felt it so strongly. Therefore, I dare to ask you to let me read your stories. I want to know how you write, how you feel about sex, women and -- yes, I admit it -- their (and your!) sexual passion. Are you shocked? Is it too much to ask? Will you mail me the titles of your stories? Or your Username in Literotica? You see, I dare to be as shameless as you!!?? Kate."
"Dear shameless Kate, I love your brave, in 'afterglow' penned, message. How can I refuse your wish and not hope that you, being aware of the sensual vibes between us, will like and respond to the sex and passion in my stories? My Erotica username is Benultimo. What will happen if you give me a 5, the highest mark? Will that be all for you? I am intrigued, and yes, Kate, hoping for more! Ben."
There was no immediate reply. Over the next five days, I used some contacts to find out about Kate and her background.
Kate was a Western Australian who had undertaken further studies in California, completing her doctorate in Plant Biology at Berkeley. She secured her lecturer position in Melbourne nine months ago. Beyond learning that Kate was probably in her early thirties and appeared to be unattached, my contacts knew nothing more about her past and present life.
On the sixth day, late at night, Kate's mail arrived:
"Dear Ben, I hope this reaches you in bed for I am typing it, after having tossed and squirmed for the last hour, in mine. Will naked me now dare to say all? I have read your stories and relished especially the longer ones. To me, they are romances of beautiful, guilt-free, life- and self-affirming sex between fully engaged and consenting partners. What arouses me most in your stories is that your women wait not to be picked up and taken by predatory males. They all make bravely the opening move on the partner they desire! It encourages me to follow their example. When and where can we, will we meet? I would love it to be over a hot chilli-dinner at my place, or yours. I somehow know you must be an accomplished cook. All great lovers are! When will you let me know? Will I get some sleep tonight? Kate."
"Dearest Kate, Come tomorrow, 7 pm to 27/608 Canning Street, Carlton. A deliciously hot dinner and I will be waiting. For tonight, sleep well and sweet dreams. Ben."
At a quarter past seven, with the Chilli Con Carne close to perfection, Kate rang my bell at the main entrance. Not wishing to punish her for being late, I not only quickly unlocked the entrance but went out to the lift to welcome her.
The woman stepping out of the lift with a surprised laugh at my presence took my breath away. I had only seen Kate - yes, fallen under her spell -- dressed in loose-fitting jeans and a plain cotton top. Today she wore a close-fitting, silver-grey silk blouse under her loose open jacket. An equally close-tailored black skirt, slitted to her thighs to let her walk, highlighted the perfection of Kate's long legs. Her ankles - I had fallen in lust with them before - were now encircled by the straps of dressy, high-heeled sandals. As Kate stepped unhesitatingly in my in-surprise half-raised arms, she was almost as tall as my six foot two.
Kate brought her lips immediately temptingly close to mine to murmur, "Kiss me, Ben. Let's get over the first awkwardness of our beginnings. We like each other, don't we?"
When her lips opened slightly and the tip of her tongue slyly ventured on mine, I drank in the hot breath she tried to hold back. And then we sank into a long, telling-all kiss, and her arms and mine pressed our bodies into a voluptuous one. Kate's nipples rubbed against my chest. When my rising cock nestled into her crotch, Kate's legs parted as wide as her tight skirt allowed. She welcomed it by moaning deep into my mouth.
Although we were alone in the hallway, we had to break apart.
"My God, Kate, what a tempting beginning. But there is also a dinner waiting for us. Not only a bed." I said with a grin as I led her into my apartment.
