I was invited by one of my former graduate students to Ottawa to give the annual headline lecture for the center she now runs. Amy had been a brilliant if difficult student, very independent, somewhat stubborn, resistant to advice - but tremendously smart. We became close over the years, first at adviser-advisee, later as coauthors, eventually as friends - though the two decade difference in ages and our shared history never quite left us as equals. Nonetheless, she was one of my favorite people, and we always made an effort to get together for a meal or drink when our paths crossed at professional meeting. She had now done me the honor of asking me to speak at the biggest event of the year for her center.
If truth be told, I always had a bit of a crush on Amy. She is of Chinese ancestry, dark skinned, with once upon a time multiple piercings and spiky purple hair, although the number of studs protruding from her ears and eyebrows has diminished over time and her hair has lost its unusual color. She is very fit, tall for an Asian woman, and blessed with a great pair of full breasts. I will confess that as much as I try to look into her eyes as we talk, I can't resist glancing at her chest. Despite my occasional fantasy about her, we have always had a close personal but nonetheless professional relationship.
I arrived in Ottawa the evening before the big lecture. We met for a late dinner at the hotel. We did the usual catching up: how are the wife and kids, how is her new husband, what are you working on, what interesting papers have you read recently...the usual academic small talk, if you will, between close colleagues and friends. We were relaxing into the end of a nice bottle of wine when our hands touched, snapping an arc of electricity between us. Both of us immediately looked at each other with a shock of surprise. We tried to return to our conversation, but something had changed. What once flowed now felt stilted, awkward. Her leg brushed up against mine under the table. Rather than pulling it back, Amy left it there, letting me feel its warmth. I shifted uncomfortably as an erection grew in my pants. I reached across the table, resting my hand on top of hers. She did not pull away.
Looking directly into my eyes, she said in a small voice, "I told my husband I might be home late." Pausing not for effect, I think, but to gather courage, she glanced down and then up again. "Would you like to go upstairs" she asked? The waiter could not bring the bill fast enough.
The silence in the elevator was deafening as we rose to the 29th floor. We stood closer than normal, but respectably apart. As we reached my room, I fumbled for the key card, my hand shaking as I tried to insert the plastic rectangle into the slot. Not a good sign, I thought.
