Office Hours

"I thought senior year was supposed to be fun," I grumbled into my beer. It was late Friday afternoon, and I had joined my friends, Chris and Tina, at the bar after classes had concluded.

"Oh, come on, Joy," Chris teased, his brown eyes a bit red from already pulling an all-nighter, "it's Friday! Get your head out of your ass and come shoot pool with me!"

Normally, that would have been an easy yes, but I was fuming.

Apparently, I hadn't paid close enough attention to a few of my required courses for graduation and had gotten a very abrupt email from my guidance counselor.

Dr. Davidson was about seventy years old, very blunt, and resembled Roz from Monsters, Inc. She had never led me astray. Why now, after three years, did she realize I was supposed to take Statistics 101?

Statistics. Math. I shuddered at the thought. I was liberal arts all the way, working towards a dual degree in English and creative writing. Math and I weren't friends. I cringed thinking back to my statistics course in high school.

I could still see the big, red C's and D's on my exams. I could still feel my cheeks redden with embarrassment, and I could still hear my teacher mocking me. I thought when I went to college, I would never have to face a math book ever again.

Fate, and bad luck, had other plans.

"If you're pissed about Stats, I can help tutor you," Chris prodded.

I rolled my eyes. Chris had been my best friend since we'd bonded over our shared hatred of the university's old-world policies towards co-ed dormitories.

The dorm we had called home for the last three years was appropriately dubbed 'the virgin vault'. One side was strictly for girls, the other strictly for boys, and only during the hours of 3-6 PM could mingling occur.

Silly university. Horny college students always find a way.

I sighed. "Yeah, I'm pissed. And it's 101! I'll be a random senior in a room full of freshman. Not to mention, my math skills in general are horrid..."

"For a woman named Joy, you're really turning into a buzzkill," Chris whined, pulling on my arm. "Pool. You. Me. Now. I'm gonna beat your ass."

At this, I snorted. "Yeah, right." But I set down my glass, sauntered over to the pool table, and began to rack up the balls.

"Who'd Davidson give you? What section?" Tina asked.

I straightened, grabbed a cue stick, and coated the tip in chalk. "Second section. Think his name is Mitchum?"

Tina perked up. "As in Professor Matthew Mitchum? Fuck, you're lucky. He's in his late twenties, and he's gorgeous."

I gave her a look and laughed. "For a pre-law major, you know a lot about some random Prof in the math department."

Her dark eyes sparkled in mischief. "Joy, listen. You'll enjoy looking at him. He's your type, too."

I puffed out my cheeks. "I don't have a type." I pretended not to notice Chris's glowering stare. I had a feeling he liked me more than a friend, but to me, he was like a brother.

"Anyway," I said, draining the last of my beer, "I start on Monday. There goes my GPA!"

Chris and Tina shrugged, and we settled in for a long evening of drunken pool, eager to forget that soon we would be off in the real world, the safety net of academia left behind.

Monday came quickly. My morning classes went by in a blur. I was dreading the afternoon Statistics class like the plague, but 2 PM rolled around anyway.

I trudged to the fifth floor of the liberal arts building and slowly wandered into the cold, windowless classroom.

With the beige, blank walls, and the florescent lighting, the room felt more like a prison cell than a college classroom. I sighed and took a seat in the middle of the room. I didn't like the back--too far away to see the board, and I hated the front--don't you dare call on me, even if I do know the answer!

I fiddled with my notebook and my new black pen while a group of giggling, overly made-up freshman girls entered the classroom. I fought the urge to glare. I hated high pitched giggling, and frankly, I didn't like make-up, either.

I was a no-nonsense girl who enjoyed being bare faced and natural. Nothing on me was altered. My hair remained a long, brown, unruly mess no matter what I did to it. My eyes were the shade of melted caramel, my skin, Mediterranean olive.

The rest of the class trickled in. I checked my watch. 1:58. He was going to be late. Maybe he wouldn't show, and I could put off this agony until Wednesday.

And then...he walked in the door.

Damnit. Tina hadn't been kidding. A slim, but muscular man briskly entered the room, briefcase in hand. He glanced at the classroom, and I was greeted with a flash of bright blue eyes.

I swallowed and crossed my legs. I knew just by looking, that I would enjoy caressing his thick, wavy, dark brown hair. He was pale with chiseled cheekbones. He was already sporting a five o'clock shadow. Blood instantly flooded my cheeks. He didn't appear to be incredibly tall, in fact, I guessed he was around five foot eight. But with one glance, suddenly, I was sitting at attention.

As the hour passed, I found that Professor Mitchum didn't fuck around. It was easy to see he was fiercely intelligent, and not someone to cross. The lesson centered around words I hadn't heard in years--curves, deviation, variance.

Each word was like a dagger in my gut, and my nerves increased as I frantically took notes. The sickening feeling of being called out and feeling stupid settled in the pit of my stomach. I was already confused, and in danger of having a panic attack. When the hour ended, and Mitchum let us know we were free to leave, I started to rush towards the door.

But then I heard him call out to me. "Marino, right? Joy Marino?"

I swallowed hard and turned to face him. "That's me."

"Would you mind joining me in my office? I'd like to talk to you." His blue eyes had a hungry gaze, and I bit my lip as he looked me up and down.

"Sure." I gathered my things and followed his retreating back down the hall, unable to keep my eyes off his perfect ass, highlighted by a pair of dark blue jeans. We entered a back office that had a wide picture window that looked out onto the city. He sat down at his desk and gestured for me to sit opposite him. I caught a whiff of him, an earthy, sensual blend of citrus, palo santo, and clove.

Being this close to him made my head spin, but the dread of why I was in his office overtook any feelings of arousal.

Slowly, I sunk down into the plush leather chair, feeling like I was somehow in deep trouble. "Have I done something wrong, sir? It's only my first class."

"Not at all. But I see that you're my only senior student. Dr. Davidson informed me you'd be joining the class. I know you missed the first week, as you were unregistered. I'm offering to get you up to speed with the rest of the class."

My cheeks flushed. "Oh! That would be great, sir. Although, I'm going to be honest with you. I'm not a great math student."

Mitchum studied me, his eyes no longer wandering. Suddenly, he smiled, and my pulse quickened. "Joy, let me tell you something. Not a lot of people are. All I'm asking is you give the class your best shot, okay?"

I nodded, making sure to keep his piercing, blue eyed stare. "Yes, sir, I'll do my best."

His smile widened, and he opened the stats book in front of him. "Let's get to work."

An hour later, I was caught up, but still a bit confused. I tried to keep the frustrated expression from my face as I headed back to the dorms.

I started my homework with a sigh, biting the end of my pencil. All Mitchum's instructions seemed to have left me as I stared blankly at the problem in front of me. What did standard deviation mean again? Why the fuck was it important? The numbers blurred in front of me, and I shook my head. It was going to take a damn miracle for me to pass this class.

I headed into my bedroom, my books, computer, and assignments pushed aside. I was exhausted, and miserable. I laid down on my back and stretched out. Maybe I'd feel better about my assignment after I took a little nap.

I closed my eyes and tried to fall asleep, but two warring scenes battled in my head for top billing. One was all the problems, the numbers--swirling through my aching head. The other, was the image of Mitchum's eyes--such a brilliant blue... and suddenly I was picturing him shirtless in front of me.

A different ache began to fill my body and unconsciously, my hands took on a life of their own. I closed my eyes and cupped my full breasts in both hands, a soft moan escaping my lips as I caressed them. My nipples hardened under my shirt, and I quickly shucked off my sweater and bra. I looked down at the soft, pillowy flesh of my breasts, and began to pinch and twist my swollen, erect nipples, sighing softly as I imagined Mitchum's hands doing the same.

I shuddered as I pictured him looking up at me while his lips suckled my breast and found my hand had slipped into my panties. The fabric was soaked already with my arousal. I found my swollen clit and slowly began to draw circles around it, my breathing becoming ragged and unhinged. The thought of him, suddenly filling me with his cock sent me over the edge--my orgasm hit me hard, and I writhed on my mattress, riding out each glorious spasm.

As I came down from my high, I knew without a doubt, that I had to push my attraction for him out of my mind if I was going to have a chance at passing.

The semester seemed to drag by. Three weeks passed, and Statistics had left me with a weight in my stomach that clenched when I came into the room.

I'd done decently with deviation and variance. I had even managed a B on the first exam, thanks to Mitchum's extra tutoring sessions. His patience and my vigorous studying had paid off.

But now, the current lesson on probability was making me sick.

Mitchum stood at the whiteboard and tapped his red marker at the problem at hand. When he was in his element like that, I had to stop myself from staring at him. He looked damn good in a dark blue button-down tucked into his black dress pants.

I shook my head. Nope. Look at the board, Joy. Especially since almost everyone in the class had gone to the board to solve a problem.

Mitchum tapped the board again with his marker. "I'm going to toss three coins in the air, one at a time. What's the probability that two of them will land heads up and one will land tails up?"

I swallowed and tried to think. I knew from my notes from the day before that I needed to take the number of desired outcomes and divide that by the number of possible outcomes.

Heads or tails...but wait, there are three coins? Why the fuck did this even matter? I wasn't going to Vegas anytime soon. My mind drifted. Did it matter which coins? What if you tossed a penny, a dime and a nickel? Did their weight matter? Fuck, I was confusing myself. Suddenly, one of the freshman girls nudged me. She was always smirking and giggling at me. Mara? Was that her name? Asshole.

"Hey. He called on you."

I looked up in horror. Mitchum was looking at me with a worried glance. "Joy? Are you with us? Want to give the problem a shot?"

Was he serious? I gulped, but I stood up. Maybe I could figure this out. I walked up to the board, feeling like a cow being led to the slaughterhouse. He handed me the marker. "It's okay, Joy, just write it out. Let's start with the simplest question. How many possible outcomes do you have with a coin?"

I took a deep breath. "Well, either heads or tails, so...two."

He smiled encouragingly. "Okay, good. Now, how many coins am I throwing?"

My cheeks flushed, but I forced myself to stay calm. "Three, sir. So, you have two possible outcomes for each coin, so you'd take two times two times two and that would be eight possible outcomes, right?"

His smile widened. "Great. So, you know you're going to have eight possible outcomes. I want you to write down all eight--but remember what the condition is. Two heads and one tails."

I took a deep breath and gripped the marker. I wrote down the most obvious of the outcomes, HHH, or three heads. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye.

"Good, seven more to go," he said.

I frowned. I wrote down HHT and HTT, then looked at him for approval.

"Keep going, you're doing fine."

Mara let out an exasperated sigh. "The answer is sooo obvious," she stage-whispered to her friend. The other girl giggled, twirling her hair around her manicured finger.

My cheeks reddened. My concentration slipped and I rewrote HTT.

"Joy, you've already used that combination," Mitchum said gently, giving the two freshman girls a side glare.

"Oh. Right." I started to sweat. Why couldn't I think? I wrote down TTT.

"You forgot the other Heads combination," whined Mara again, this time, louder.

I stared at the board feeling stupid. The marker tip touched the whiteboard, and I hesitantly wrote down the letter H, hoping it would come to me if I started writing.

"Oh, come on, it's HTH!" she chided, "no wonder you're in this class as a senior. Did you drink your brain away the last three years?"

Mitchum turned abruptly. "How about you keep your comments to yourself?"

She shut up instantly but continued to smirk at me. I swallowed, feeling even more stupid. Mitchum put his hand on my shoulder. "Joy, go ahead. You only need three more." I felt his thumb gently brush up and down. I looked up at him. Those blue eyes sparkled. "You can do this." My heart pounded but it wasn't because of the math problem.

I had to show him I had been listening, that his extra help was paying off. With a trembling hand, I quickly wrote down TTH, THT, and THH. His smile widened. "Excellent. Now that you have all your possible combinations, you can observe and tell me which ones showcase our desired outcome."

"You mean two heads and one tails?"

He nodded. I stared at the board. The letters swam in front of my eyes. I saw HHT, and THH. "2 showcase our desired outcome. So, 2 out of 8 is the probability."

Mara started to laugh, and a couple of the other students snickered. Mitchum gave the class a look of fury and they quieted.

He turned back to me and murmured, "Joy, you forgot HTH, the answer is 3/8." His hand lightly brushed my back. I met his eyes and saw he looked disappointed.

My face burned with shame. How had I missed that? I handed him back the marker and slunk back to my seat.

I could barely listen to the rest of the lecture. I stared at the open textbook, my face red in shame. I didn't even notice when he dismissed class five minutes later. I was numb and embarrassed.

When Mitchum sat down in the empty seat in front of me, straddling the chair from behind, I finally came to my senses. His incredible scent washed over me like a soothing wave of cool water on a hot day.

"Joy, class is over. Please don't be discouraged. It's my own fault. I called you out. I caused you to panic. You did well, though. So, you missed a combination. I don't think if you encountered that question on a test you'd miss it."

I looked up at him. "I fucked up."

He gave me a look. "No, you didn't, and you almost had it perfect. You're learning." He furrowed his brows in curiosity. "What is your major, if you don't mind me asking?"

I sighed. "I'm a writer. I'm getting a dual degree in English and creative writing. You can imagine how angry I was when I realized I need to take math."

He frowned, but then he leaned forward. "What do you like to write? Anything you wouldn't mind sharing?"

I blushed hard. "I write poetry, short stories, and I'm working on a novel, but I'm very private with my writing."

He crossed his arms across his chest. "Joy, if you want to be a serious writer, you're eventually going to have to let someone read it, you know?"

I bit my lip. He was right. I reached into my bag and pulled out my notebook. I flipped through it to one of my favorite poems. The creative energy had been good to me the day I wrote it. I took a deep breath and handed it to him.

Mitchum smiled, and eagerly accepted the notebook. He sat in quiet contemplation as he read the words. My heart thudded hard against my ribs. When he finished, wordlessly, he handed it back to me. I couldn't read him.

"Sir?" I asked, feeling even more self-conscious.

"Joy, this is incredible. You're a very talented poet. You're deep, introspective. I love the free verse."

I blushed. "You really don't have to say that."

His hand gently brushed against mine. "I mean it." We stared into each other's eyes for a moment longer, then I pulled my hand away.

"Well, I should go. Thanks for helping me and for being encouraging."

"Anytime. I know you're going to get this. I promise you. And don't listen to the bullshit the other students say. Not everyone learns at the same pace. I know you're trying very hard."

I gathered up my bag. "Thanks, Professor."

I quickly headed towards the door. "Joy?"

I turned back. "Sir?"

"Thanks for sharing your work with me. I know someday I'll be reading your published works."

Finally, I smiled and blushed deeper. "Thanks Professor Mitchum. See you Wednesday." I was feeling downright giddy. There was definitely something happening between us. I made my way down the hall to the elevators when I almost smacked right into Mara.

"All that extra help is for nothing, huh?" She sneered at me.

I pushed past her. "Will you leave me alone?"

"Ohh, is that how it is? What are you doing in those private tutoring sessions? Maybe if you blow him, you'll have a chance at a B. You're far too stupid to even think about getting an A--"

I turned abruptly and grabbed her arm. "Leave me alone. I don't know what kind of mean girl shit you pulled in high school, but this is college. I've worked my ass off for the last three years and I'm not going to let some little know-it-all teenager bully me."

She looked up at me and her surprised face twisted into a nasty grin. "So defensive. Fine, whatever, but you'll never get an A. Not in a million years." She pushed my hand away and strutted into the now open elevator. Well, I sure as hell wasn't getting in with her. I'd rather walk down five flights of stairs than be in her presence another minute.

Back in the quiet security of my dorm, I stuck my ear buds into my ears, and tapped play on my classical playlist. I needed to concentrate if I was going to figure out my homework. I gritted my teeth and flipped to a new page in my notebook.

An hour later, my notebook looked as cluttered as one of John Nash's chalkboard problems from A Beautiful Mind -- but thankfully made some sense to me. My homework was complete, but my mind raced with anxiety. Mara's nasty comments stung, and my earlier humiliation at the board left a heavy weight on my chest.

But again, my thoughts drifted to Mitchum. He'd believed that I could do it. I could hear his encouraging voice, his hand on my shoulder in encouragement, his blue eyes as he told me I had talent in my writing...

I didn't realize my hand had slipped into my jeans until my fingertip brushed my swelling clit. With a soft moan, I slid my finger lower, feeling the dewy wetness drip from my pussy. Fuck!

I needed more. I stood and headed to my bed, quickly stripping my clothes from my body. I needed to be naked, uninhibited.

In a lust filled daze, I grabbed my dildo and clit sucker from their hidden place in the back of my nightstand drawer. I looked at my bottle of lube with a laugh--I knew I wouldn't need it. Not now. I had every thought to lie back on my bed and give myself what my sex-starved body craved. But then, I caught sight of myself in my floor-length mirror. A flush had spread across my cheeks and breasts. My arousal dripped down my inner thighs, coating them in slick juices. I couldn't remember ever being this aroused.

Trance-like, I sat down on the floor, my back against my bed. I spread my legs in front of the mirror and observed my swollen, pink mound. I touched the tip of the dildo to my opening and gasped with pleasure.