Will Cuts Class

I was in the middle of my lecture when Bijou walked into class. The topic that day was line breaks in poetry, and I was talking about how the William Carlos Williams poem "The Red Wheelbarrow" perfectly illustrated how carefully chosen breaks add sense to a poem.

She sat in the back of the room, crossed her legs, and smiled at me. Only one or two of the students even looked up at her entrance. The rest were too busy texting friends or dozing to notice.

"If you write out Williams' poem as prose," I said, doing so on the white board, "you can see that the language he uses is very straightforward—not at all 'poetic.' But," I wrote the text out again, this time with the breaks, "once you put the breaks in, the image you get when reading the poem is very different. It comes alive

because

of the breaks." I could see one or two students scribbling something like LN BRKS = MNING!!! into their notebooks. I suppressed a sigh.

"Now let's look at the Gwendolyn Brooks poem you read for today," I said, turning back to face the class. Bijou was staring intently at me. Slowly and distinctly she mouthed

I WANT YOU TO FUCK ME

, paused, then continued

RIGHT NOW

.

"Uh," I said after a moment, "'We Real Cool' is..."

N-O-W

she mouthed.

NOW

. "Uh, is like the Williams poem, quite famous as an examp..." Bijou started unbuttoning the filmy blouse she was wearing—slowly and deliberately, but definitely like she meant to continue. I was starting to get an erection, which would prove awkward, as there was no lectern to hide behind.

"...as an example of how carefully chosen line breaks can enhance a poem's meaning." I said as fast as I could. She was on button number four. I could see cleavage even from the front of the room "But rather than have me tell you about why the line breaks work in the poem, I think you should tell me. Let's break for today. Take the last thirty minutes and write a two-page paper about the line breaks in the poem for tomorrow. Why they work, how they work, if they work. Be specific and cite examples." Regina Phillips, who was sitting in the first row, was staring at my crotch and sniggering. I didn't care and didn't have much control over the situation anyway. "Thank you all and," I grabbed my lecture notes and almost ran down the aisle, "class dismissed." Bijou sauntered leisurely out of the room, hips swaying gently.

At the door, I stopped and turned to address the class. The students were all staring at me as if I had suddenly lost my mind. Perhaps I had. In any case, I couldn't stay.

"Office hours are cancelled today too," I squeaked. "Sorry," and shot out into the hall.

She was nowhere to be seen.

Damn woman

is

a witch,

I thought. I started toward the hall's main door when I heard her call my name.

"Will," she said in a stage whisper, "up here."

I was just passing the stairwell and looked up. Bijou was leaning over the railing on the second floor, waving at me.

I half ran up the stairs, hoping to keep ahead of any curious students who might follow me. Pausing on the second floor landing, I looked back. Nobody.

Still stunned,

I thought,

or stoned.

"Will!" cried My Siren, "Come on!"

Bijou was standing partway down the second floor corridor, in front of a blank door. She smiled happily and kissed me when I reached her side. "Love me?" she asked, impishly.

"What the hell are you doing?" I said. Then, "Yes."

"I thought you read my lips."

"I did, but..."

"So here we are," she said, indicating the door.

I looked more closely at it. The only marking was a number: 229. "This is a closet," I said, "and it's probably locked."

"It

is

locked, silly. I have the key." She produced it and opened the door, switched on the light, and stepped inside. I hesitated until she grabbed my tie and pulled me in with her, closing and locking the door behind me.

It was apparently a janitor's storeroom. There was shelving along one wall that held paper towels, packages of toilet paper, cleaning supplies. A mop and bucket sat next to a sink at the rear of the room. Bijou had slipped off her sandals and was pushing her jeans down over her hips while she looked up and down the shelves, apparently searching for something.

Despite all the questions rattling around my cortex, I couldn't help pausing to appreciate her long, slender thighs and that sweet, round ass, barely covered by a purple bikini.

This woman has more underwear than Frederick's of Hollywood,

I thought, just before she hooked her thumbs under the waistband of the bikini and yanked it down her legs.

"What are you looking for?" I asked, fighting an almost uncontrollable urge to simply bend her forward against the shelves and thrust into her.

She shook her head, then reached to the rear of one of the shelves and picked up what appeared to be a washcloth or dust rag of some kind. After inspecting it closely, she murmured something like, "This will do," and set it aside, turning to face me.

"You don't even have your clothes off!" she said in mock astonishment. "Don't you want to fuck me?" Stepping forward, she cupped my cock, which was straining at my slacks. She grinned and said, "It sure

feels

like you want to fuck me," then went back to opening the remaining buttons on her blouse. She was a little more than halfway down the front.

I grabbed her wrist to stop her. "Where'd you get that key?"

"Rudy is a friend of mine. I have to give it back to him by seven this evening." In a pouty voice, she asked, "You don't want to fuck me, do you?"

"It's not that," I replied. "I just really like that partly open top." Bijou's smile lit the room like a floodlight.

"But," I said, pointing, "what's that cloth for?"

"You'll have to gag me," she said. "There's probably going to be a hundred people walking by this door in a few minutes. You know how you get me yowling. I don't want the esteemed Dr. Hathaway caught in a closet with a naked..."

"Half-naked," I said reasonably.

She grinned. "Half-naked woman, screwing the bejesus out of her. What would your department chairman say?"

I settled my body into an imitation of Thorsen's lugubrious slouch. "'At least it wasn't a student,'" I intoned sepulchrally.

She snorted.

"But you have a point. How do I secure it? You'll just spit it out."

She reached into her purse and pulled out a long gauzy scarf. "This?"

I nodded. She placed the scarf next to the rag, then reached into her bag and took out a small bottle and placed it near them.

"What's that?" I asked.

"Lube."

"But you're always so wet."

She turned her back to me, displaying her ass and wiggling it provocatively. Looking back over her shoulder she said, "That depends on which hole you're fucking, doesn't it, professor?"

I am so going to hell,

I thought. I started to take my clothes off in earnest.

"Is there another one of those rags?" I asked. "I think I'm going to need one too."