Professor's Sugar Momma

EDITED 29/02/2020

(It makes sense to write the date from the shortest amount of time to the longest. I mean, it wouldn't make any sense to write first the month, then the day and then the year, right?)

AN:

¨English is my second language, but back in the eighties, I lived in the UK long enough to become a qualified electrician. So, even though I can write something that resembles a lot of English language, I still could use an editor...

Rapierwit24601

, I fixed the weight issue you mentioned. I probably should use the Metric System since it's the one I use in my daily life, but most of the stories in this site seem to use the Imperial System, so, at least for now, I stick with it.

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"Aside from being sexy, what do you do for a living?"

I smiled at the woman who had asked that. She was a beautiful brunette in her thirties, with an oval face and flawless curvy body of a lingerie model. Even though she had given the pickup line to me, her brown eyes still were assessing me with the austere attitude that beautiful women often had. "That's a good pickup line," I said, "I'm a professor."

"A professor of what?" She asked, twirling the black curls around her forefinger.

"Psychology," I replied. "What about you, love, what do you do when you're not hitting on men old enough to be your father?"

She chuckled and said, "I doubt that you're old enough to be my father," she said, stroking my arm. "You cannot be much older than forty."

I grinned at her. "Thank you for the compliment. I'm fifty-two."

"That's a surprise. You don't look a day older than forty," she said, stroking my arm. Holding the tray full of beers on my left hand, I pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear before I rested my hand on her shoulder.

Stroking her arm, I chatted with her for a short while, getting a feel what kind of girl she was. When the weight of the tray on my left hand was starting to be too much to handle, I gave her an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, love, but I have to go."

I'm not British, but, when talking with potential sex partners, I like to use the term love the way British use it in the movies. I call all my girls as loves, honeys, and babes because I'm terrible with the names.

"Why?" She asked, pushing her ample tits forward, obviously wanting me to notice them.

I wasn't going to disappoint her. For a second or two too long, I kept my gaze buried on the deep valley between her tits before I raised my eyes to meet hers. "The fact is that you couldn't handle me," I said.

An annoyance flashed in her brown eyes. "You think I can't handle you?" she asked.

"I know that you cannot handle me," I said.

"Oh," she said and pressed her body against me, the soft tits squashing against my chest. "What makes you think so?"

My cock twitched as the blood started to pump into it. While talking to her, I'd realized that, most likely, under the pushy and self-assured act, there was a sexually submissive girl. If that was the case, it made her just the kind of a woman I was attracted to.

I freely admit that, since my wife left me for another man, I have developed some self-image and control issues. When having sex, I need to maintain the illusion of being in control. I want -- no -- I

need

to know that I'm in control of the situation.

And, right now, I was in control. She was mine; she had decided to take me to her bed. But I had gotten bored having sex with one-night stands. The sex with my conquests never was nearly as good as sex with my ex-wife had been.

Sex with the one-night stands was just a physical act, nothing more, and that got you only so far. Even the most exceptional sex with a one-night stand always left me feeling a bit unsatisfied.

As I looked at the gorgeous creature before me, I suddenly wanted to see what would happen if I'd say no to her. I wanted to see what she'd do if I'd bluntly tell her that she wasn't worthy of me.

"Trust me, love, I know when the girl cannot handle what I have to give. I know when the girl is not worthy of my time," I said, and with my free hand, I gently pushed her out of my way. "Sorry, love, but I must go. My friends are waiting for their beers."

I walked to the corner booth where my friends were without looking back. I sat down so that my back was at the bar. I didn't want to look at her, I wanted her badly, and if I'd look at her, she'd see how much I lusted her. That would give her an advantage in this game, and I wanted to keep her unbalanced.

"Christ, Paul, why'd you shoved that hot little piece of ass away?" my best friend Eric asked. We'd known since the middle-school, and we're each other's children's godfathers.

"I have my reasons," I said as I placed the tray on the table.

"How do you do it?" Raj, the Professor of Mathematics and my Tennis partner, asked. "I mean, sure, you're a big and tall man. But you are a middle-aged guy with thinning and graying hairs, and you have a beer gut--"

"And you're just as a plain-looking guy as we are," Eric said.

"Sure, you're tall, but that's all you have. You are just another middle-aged ugly motherfucker," Floyd, a corporate lawyer, said. I used to be married to his sister. I'll always be grateful for him that, after my divorce, Floyd stayed on my side while most of my old friends took my ex-wife's side and stopped talking to me.

"So, why the hell girls seldom brush you off when you hit on them?" Eric asked.

"Actually, she hit on me," I said, "and you guys don't really see me as the man I am. When you realize how most people see me, you know why most women won't brush me off."

They weren't entirely wrong in their description of me. I'm strong as an ox, but I'm still a middle-aged man. I have a start of a beer gut, my hairs are gray, and I have a bald spot on the top of my head. I'm not a handsome man, but I'm not ugly either.

My friends had known me twenty years, they'd seen me getting fat and losing the hair. They'd seen me in my worse when I fell into a deep depression after Mary dumped me for another man. They'd seen me crawl out of the depression.

They knew me so well that it blinded them from seeing the man other people, especially women, saw when they looked at me.

When they looked at me, most people saw a massive man who stood six feet six and weighed 250 pounds. I had what some women called a muscular dadbod, and since I'd gotten back on the dating scene, I'd learned that many women liked the way I was built.

"You mean that you're hitting on coeds?" wide-eyed Eric asked.

"What?" I asked.

"You asked us to think about how most people see you. Well, you're a college professor, so you're hitting coeds?"

"No," I said, starting to get annoyed, "I would never sleep with my students--"

"Why not? It's not illegal, and they're young, hot, and eager to please the Professor," Floyd asked.

"You've watched too much porn," I said. "It would be unethical to fuck my students, and I'm pretty sure that it'd get me fired. Besides, I wouldn't want to do it anyway. It's enough that I have to deal with them in my work. I'd never want to deal with them in my personal life. Most of my students are in their late teens or early twenties, and in that age, they still aren't fully in control of their emotions. They're too much wrapped in their daily drama for my taste. I'm sure you're not too old to remember your teen years. Ask yourself, would you want to deal with all that drama in your personal life?"

"Hell, no!" Eric said. "It's enough that I have to deal with a teen daughter and her drama. I'm glad that I'm happily married to a hot mama of my own age."

"Cherish that, cherish her, woo her every week. Don't make her think that you don't want her anymore," I said.

Eric grinned. "Oh, don't worry, Shelly and I have a system for that."

"Huh?" I asked.

"That's our little secret," Eric said. "So... no coeds for you?"

"Nope, I prefer women in their mid-thirties or the early forties. By then, women know who they are, and they've left all the unnecessary drama behind. They also are comfortable in their body and have enough life behind them to make them damn good in the bed," I said.

"Psychologist," Floyd suddenly said, "you're a professor of clinical psychology and a therapist, and you've written a book about criminal profiling. You're using your profiler powers to seduce them."

"Profiler powers?" I said with a cocked eyebrow. "You make it sound like I used to be a Green Lantern who gave a ring away but kept some of the powers."

"Geek," Eric said.

"And proud of it," I replied, "besides you are a geek too, you're Leonard to my Sheldon."

"And who am I, Wolowitz?" Floyd asked.

"Well, you are a Jew," Eric said. "so, yeah, you're Howard."

"I guess that makes me Raj," Raj said.

"You literally are Raj, now you only have to switch from Mathematics to astronomy," I said.

"Well, at least, as an astronomer, I'd still be a real scientist unlike you," Raj said.

"Huh?" I asked.

"To quote Dr. Temperance Brennan, psychology is a soft science," Raj said. "Not a real science, but a soft science."

"Bones is right; psychology is a soft science. That's why I get to enjoy soft female bodies, and your hard cock won't ever know the pleasures of the soft cunt rippling around it," I said.

"Fuck you," Raj said.

"Oh, no, you're the one fucking yourself. I'm fucking real and living women," I grinned, "how's your RealDoll™ doing? Still a keen follower of Lysistrata?"

"Fuck you, I don't need fuck dolls, I get pussy... not as often as you do, but I do get pussy, even though some of them are real cunts," Raj said.

"Why is it that the two guys among us who are teaching the younger generation have the filthiest mouths?" Eric asked.

"We're single," Raj and I said in unison.

"What the hell has that to do with the foul language you use?" Floyd asked.

"We don't have wives telling us to tone down the cussing," Raj explained.

"Oh... yeah, there is that," Eric said.

"As entertaining this is, I'd like to know how the ugly motherfucker like my brother-in-law gets so much prime pussy," Floyd said. "So, if you're not using your profiler superpowers to lure them in... then what is it you use to catch girls?"

"No, psychology isn't it. Sure, the knowledge about the human psyche helps, but that's not the reason why girls want to hear what I have to offer before brushing me off... that is if they brush me off at all. Try to see me with the eyes of a woman, and you'll know why the women listen to me when I try to hit on them."

"Boxer," Eric said. "You were amateur heavyweight boxing champion and Olympic Bronze medalist. You're a big and strong man, is that it?"

I grinned at him. "Yep, that's it. Well, part of it. I'm a tall and strongly built man, and I was raised to be an old-time gentleman, and that combination attracts women."

"How come?" Raj asked.

"Well... I was raised to protect and take care of women. Instinctively, when talking to a woman, I start to act protectively--"

"Yeah, Shelly has noticed it, she thinks that it is your most endearing attribute," Eric said. "By the way, don't you dare to hit on her."

"I'd never hit on friend's wife, I'm a keen follower of Barney's bro code," I said. "...and now I lost my track. What the hell was I saying?"

"Telling us why your size and the way you were raised attracts women."

"Right... so, we agree that I act protectively with every woman I talk to, and it's ingrained in me. Now, I'm also a big man, and, as a college professor, I'm used to being listened to. I expect people to listen to what I have to say. I'm a big, protective, and commanding man. Most women are raised to react positively to that combination. It is as simple as that."

"Huh?" Raj asked.

"The girls listen to me when I try to hit on them because I ooze authority and protectiveness, that combination makes me attractive. And it doesn't hurt that physically I'm a big and strong man. To women, it doesn't matter that I have a face of a criminal -- as my ever-loving ex-wife put it -- or that I have more than a few extra pounds, especially in the gut area. The way the human mind works, I doubt that the girls even notice those things in me. What they see is colored by the feeling of being protected and dominated by me."

"Well, that explains a lot," a soft female voice said behind me.

I blinked and turned to look; the girl who had hit on me at the bar was standing only a few feet away. "Shit," I cursed and turned back to my grinning friends. "And none of you had the decency tell me that she was standing behind me and listening?"

"She motioned us not to tell you she's there, and, truthfully, I wanted to see if you'd crawl down into the deep, dark hole I hoped you'll dig," Eric said.

"Assholes, all my friends are assholes," I said.

"Don't worry, you didn't dig a hole, everything you said made sense, and none of it angered me," the girl said and sat down beside Eric. She then offered her hand to me. "Jill Swanson," she said.

"Dr. Paul Sandberg," I said as I shook her hand, wondering why the hell I needed to emphasize my degree. I never introduced myself as a Doctor or Professor.

"I'm kinda disappointed with myself. You're right; I didn't see any of the flaws that you just mentioned. I only saw your size and your beautiful, piercing blue eyes. And you're right on that you did make me feel safe and..." she grinned, "dominated."

I snorted. "And pissed, you didn't much like it that I turned you down, did you?"

Jill nodded. "No, it doesn't often happen... to tell the truth, I'm sort of a princess, and I'm used to getting my way. Men have not said NO to me since my High School days, and it pissed me off that you just brushed me off that easily."

"And you so-oo hate being ignored," I said, and then I introduced my friends to her. "So, love, I now have no idea how to play this game. Hell, I'm not sure what the game is anymore."

"It's just the same game we started at the bar," Jill said. "But while listening to you, I realized that I don't just want to fuck your brains out I want to learn more about you... dedicated bachelor, a widow, or a divorcee?"

"Divorcee. I was married twenty-six years, and then, out of the blue, my ex-wife told me that she wanted a divorce because she was unhappy, and she wanted to find herself and all that crap. About two weeks later, I learned that there was another man, and she'd been fucking him for six months," I said. "She married him two months after our divorce was final."

"My sister is an idiot," Floyd said, "she doesn't love Bill, I'm not sure if she even likes him. The only reason she traded Paul to Bill was that he's rich as hell. The kind of rich who buys a yacht to his wife as a birthday present."

"Floyd, did you really have to tell that to a girl none of us knows?" I asked.

"You opened up to her about your divorce," Floyd said, "and I know Jill, she's one of the junior partners."

"She's a junior partner of the Lynch, Murphy, and Miller?" I asked.

"Yeah, she's one of the best lawyers in the firm and, sorry, Paul, but she's way out of your league. She's twenty or so years younger than you and probably earns thrice as much as you do," Floyd said. "I'd compare her physical attractiveness to yours. But, quite frankly, I'm too intimidated by Jill to go there. She's a scary-smart woman."

Jill gave him a broad smile. "Thanks, boss, it's always nice to know that I'm appreciated and feared," she turned to me. "What if we ditch these losers and go and have a private dinner?"

"Did you just call your boss a loser?" I asked with a cocked eyebrow.

"Uh-huh, but you heard him; he's afraid of me," smirking Jill said.

I laughed. "Floyd, what do you say, should I take her offer or not?"

"I don't know. To tell the truth, I don't know Jill that well, she is a great lawyer, the best we have. She's worthy of every penny we pay her. She's a shark that scares the hell out of other sharks. And she really is a scary-smart woman, but, then again, Paul, you're scary smart too," Floyd said. "So, I really can't say what you should do."

"But it is dinner with a gorgeous young woman. What can you lose if you take her offer?" Eric asked.

"Probably only what little I have left of my self-respect," I said as I stood up and offered my hand to Jill. "Since you asked me on this date, I expect you to pay."

"Of course," she smirked, "I'll always pay when we go out. After all, as Floyd told us, I'm the rich one here."

"So, you want to be my sugar momma?" I asked.

"Well, all successful women need an arm candy to take to the fundraisers and other social gatherings," Jill said, and my friends laughed at that. Still, I had a hunch that her comment wasn't a joke, at least, not entirely.

We got up and left. At the door, I helped her coat on and asked the bouncer to call a cab. Twenty minutes later, Jill led me into a fancy, probably Michelin star-rated restaurant.

"Why did you want to piss me off?" she asked after we had sat down.

"Excuse me?"

"Back at the pub, it was going well, I got your attention, we talked, we laughed and just when I thought that you'd swallowed the sinker with the hook you told me that I cannot handle you. And to add into the insult, you told me that I'm not worthy of your time," Jill said. "Took me a moment to realize that you deliberately pissed me off, and now I want to know why."

I looked around; it was one of those posh restaurants that catered only for the rich people. I didn't much like the place, I like less pretentious restaurants. I turned my eyes back to her. "Floyd said that you earn thrice what I do. I earn 120 K a year; do you really earn four hundred?"

"If you count bonuses, yes, I do earn four hundred a year. A bit more, actually," Jill said. "and, darling, I'm a lawyer, I'm not easily distracted when I want the answers, so answer the question. Why did you want to piss me off?"

"Suddenly, amidst the playing the seduction game with you, I realized that I'm bored of it all. Seducing young girls like you and having sex with them was fun for a while, and the fact that I could seduce much younger women was a great ego boost. And my ego needed that boost after my wife left me for another man. But the sex with one-night stand is, in its best, decent, but it never is good. And, while talking to you, I suddenly realized that, though I don't want to marry again, I still want to be in a long-term relationship."

"So, I kinda just happened to be there when you decided to call it quits with the fucking around?" she asked.

"Yes, that's part of it," I smirked, "the other part was that you are a princess. You thought that I was in your pocket. I wanted to see what'll happen if I anger you by dumping and belittling you."

Jill snorted. "I figured that it was something like that. It did anger me a lot, but it also made me think about my life too. I might be much younger than you, but I'm in a similar situation that you are."

"Divorced and fucking anyone you get into your bed?" I asked.

She burst into delighted laughter. "God, I love that you're not beating around the bush. Although, it is strange to hear a distinguished-looking gentleman using words like fucking."

"I used to work as a sex therapist, so there isn't anything sexual that you can say to embarrass me."

"Sex therapist?" She asked with a cocked eyebrow.

"Yeah, I'm an old man, I've had several jobs. It took me a while to figure out that I love teaching."

"Oh, okay," Jill said. "So, Mr. Sex Therapist, care to hear why I said that we're in a similar phase of our lives?"

"I'd be lying if I'd say that I'm not interested," I said.

"I've never dated or had a real boyfriend. Until I got my law degree, I concentrated on my studies. I didn't date, I just sometimes fucked guys to get rid of the sexual tension. And since I graduated, I've put everything into my work. I'm twenty-nine years old, and I'm very close to achieving everything I set myself to do before my thirtieth birthday, but something is missing. I don't mean a family; I don't ever want to have snot-nosed brats, nor do I want a live-in boyfriend. I'm alone, but I'm not lonely, I have good and close friends with whom I can talk about anything," Jill frowned. "Why am I opening up to you about my life?"