Part three: The lessons begin
The next morning, Jim pedaled his mountain bike along the neighborhood streets to Dr. Winderly's home. It was in a part of town that was just now becoming hip again. She bought the house four years ago when she landed the job at the university. A bequest from her grandmother made the down payment possible. Now the neighborhood is gentrifying and much safer for a single woman.
Jim arrived a little early and found a note on the door. "Gone for a run. Back soon." So, he sat on her porch swing and enjoyed the gentle rocking as he read the book he had brought: Augustus Beyerly's Ancient Peoples. It was a bedrock study of gender-specific rituals but was derided by many modern researchers as merely one man's ambition to find as many horny customs as he could and write about them. Sort of like Kinsey was accused of by his detractors.
He had worn khaki cargo shorts but was going commando. After reading how some tribesmen were washed and shaved by their sisters or aunts, he became aware that his cock was peeking out from the hem of his shorts. A drool of pre-cum connected his cock to the leg of his shorts. Jim was caught up in a vision of his Aunt Marge washing his cock and balls when he heard the footfalls on the wooden porch steps. He jumped up with a start and tried to cover himself with his satchel. Too late, she had noticed his awkwardness holding the bag and she surmised what he was covering.
Dr. Winderly glowed from a sheen of perspiration. Her nylon running shorts caressed her ass and hugged her hips. About as tight as volleyball shorts, they showed she had no panties on beneath. She wore a sports bra but despite the layers, it could not cover her nipples. Even though they were not erect, they were meaty and made their presence known beneath the acrylic bra. She seemed bustier than he imagined from her uninspiring wardrobe in class: Jeans and heavy shirts.
"Been hard long? I mean, been here long?" She covered her obvious slip of the tongue pretty quickly by giving orders. "Oh, is that a Beyerly's you have there? Where'd you find it. I didn't know it was still in print." He explained the marvels of interlibrary loans and that this one came from some small college in the mountains of East Tennessee.
"Well, I'm going to take a shower. There is coffee in the kitchen and I have laid out some books for you in the den. Take a look at what's there and we'll discuss your project."
He followed her inside and went to the kitchen as instructed and poured a cup. He looked in the fridge for milk or cream. Instead, there was a box of hazelnut creamer. "Of course." So, he drank his black.
Jim looked around her small house as he drank his coffee. He called to her to see if she wanted her coffee when she got out. "Yes, please. With some creamer." He was looking in the direction of her voice down the short hall and saw the bathroom door ajar. A step to his right and he could see the full-length mirror and naked body in it. She was out of the shower and drying off. She toweled her hair and he saw her uplifted breasts in their fullness. Probably a 34-C, but her nipples were like pencil erasers, long and fat. Her hips flared gracefully to firm and shapely legs. Her pussy was thick but trim, not shaved in the manner of many women these days.
Dr. Winderly glanced in the mirror and saw him, though she could not tell if he was actually looking at her. Still, she moved slightly obscuring the view. Jim shuffled a bit and asked in a loud voice, "Sugar?" He hoped to act nonchalant as if he had not just seen her naked body. His cock was not nonchalant; it was hardening again. Jim reached down and shifted his cock so it would stand straight up. He usually dressed left, but if he pulled it upward maybe the zipper material would hide any pre-cum that might leak. He was a prolific leaker.
"No, I'm good with the cream." She wondered if Jim would catch about the double meaning of creamer. She, who was so knowledgeable about all manner of sexual rituals, had very little first-hand knowledge of her own. She didn't flirt and didn't catch a pass when it was offered to her.
It's true that in her field research, she had participated in many tribal rituals but only ones for virgins. She could reel-off the details of male penis cults but hadn't taken one into her deepest openings. She covered her innocence with the air of authority she exhibited in class. She tried to keep her feelings at bay by erecting a wall of severity around her. With Jim, it was more difficult. So, she put him down, called him Dummy rather than by his first or proper last name. And though they were only four years apart in age, she tried to make the distance a canyon between them.
It had been easier when she was herself in graduate school. Alec Heidler, her major professor, had such a calm and detached manner, he made it possible for her to explore almost any sexual subject without getting lost in her own embarrassment or passion. Heidler took all his students through the same kind of readjustment training she wanted to take Jim through.
The year she started in his lab there were three G.A.s who went through a weekend of sexual attitude adjustment. It was Heidler, a male GA, Dee and another women. The Friday session began with the recounting of how they learned about sex. Before the night was over, he had elicited secrets Dee had not dared utter even to her best friend. On Saturday morning, they watched a lot of fucking: horse breeding in a controlled setting, then zoo animals. By the afternoon, Heidler had shown six very explicit porn videos. They covered the gamut from straight and gay/lesbian sex to BDSM, to fetishes involving feet, pissing, and cum swapping.
On Sunday Professor Heidler had the students talking about performing some very intimate acts. He never violated any of them. The point was for them to learn their boundaries and to push through them. From him, she learned self-control and detachment. She mastered herself and was able to talk to him frankly about her thoughts and habits. Later in the semester, Dee masturbated thinking of him, then told him all about it in precise clinical detail, how she had visualized him, what she imagined him doing to her, how wet she got, and how her orgasm developed. Nothing was left out. It was just a set of clinical observations, only she was her own study subject. She and her fellow grad students that year talked about the hottest sex acts as if they were describing how to cook a pot roast. It was precise, accurate, and sterile. By the end of the last semester each of them masturbated in front of their professor as he watched patiently. It was sort of a final exam proving they could live in the experience yet remain clinically detached and comfortable in their own skin. It was how she learned her craft and how she would teach Jim.
The way to the den led past the bathroom. The door was still ajar. Trying to be a gentleman, as he passed, he turned his head to the right examining a block print on the wall. He caught the trace of something in the air. Ulysses had it easy sailing between Scylla and Charybdis compared to the siren just on the other side of that door.
Dr. Winderly noticed him pass and was slightly disappointed he did not try to steal a look. "Of course" she thought. "Dummy. He probably would not know what to do if he burst through the door. Just as well, I guess. I wouldn't either." She continued to get ready as Jim made his way to the next room.
He sat on the leather couch. Setting his mug to his left, hers to the right, he examined the stack of books on the low table. They all had authoritative titles: Physical affection and sexual attraction; Male sex rituals among aboriginal tribes of North Africa; Naked and alone: Early rites of coupling. Seed worship and fertility rituals among ancient peoples. And in the stack was a bound dissertation. The thick black tome had showed a simple gilt title on the spine: Sex and tribal ritual: Introduction and practice. And just below was her last name Winderly. Little did he know then how much the drab book held. Only one familiar with teaching and scholarship would know it contained the exploration of what she had referred to in class. That is to say, her belief that to understand a subject you had to literally live it.
He flipped the heavy book to the end. Where the book fell open, it revealed a precise pen and ink drawing of a woman in what seemed to be ceremonial garb. She was kneeling with her hands resting between her thighs, bound by a leather cuff. Because of it was a drawing he could not tell the material. She appeared to have an ornate belt around her waist with a drape covering her sex. Thin coils wrapped around her upper arm like a constricting snake. A similar ornate collar circled her neck and throat. Her hair was pulled back into a knot and clasped with the same kind of intricate metalwork. What he could not keep from staring at was how her breasts were thrust outward. Because of the way her hands were bound and between her thighs, her elbows squeezed toward each other thrusting her breasts forward.
The woman's breasts were perfectly shaped and her fat nipples were long and hard. She had a bit of a smile on her face. HER FACE! "Oh my god! It's Dr. Winderly!" Jim realized. He gulped for air.
Turning the page he found another perfect drawing of another costumed woman. He was sure it was Winderly, too. This time the woman wore a knotted cape, designed not to cover her but to frame her perfect body. Perhaps a regal mantle, he thought. Another collar, but this time woven of cords or wires. A crown sat on her head made from natural materials, nuts, vines, feathers. A single plait ran from the collar between her naked breasts and down to the jeweled shield over her groin. The woman's face was turned three-quarters. It was her image again. He stared at her luscious breasts.
He was aware that his cock was now straining to climb out of his jeans. He wished he had worn underwear to help hide his obviously engorged penis. Being seated helped him conceal his erection, but did nothing to ease the pain he was in. He could feel the tip of his cock worming its way to the belt of his shorts. His balls ached. He was about to rub his cock and adjust it again, when he heard Professor Winderly cough lightly.
She had been watching him as he looked at the images. "I just look at them for the articles," mocking how men explained their reading of Playboy.
He slammed the book shut and stammered something of an apology.
"No need, Dummy. It's is part of the research. It's for science. So, if you want to look, look. Consider it an investigation."
"This is the heart of our work," she continued. "To be immersed in the act and to be able to describe and discuss it with others. So, you are going to have to get used to this. I had to get used to it. You can too." She doused the quick flash of the indelible instruction Alec gave for her to masturbate in front of him and the others. She could not indulge herself now.
Now that she had his attention, she began to order him. "Open the dissertation again. Go ahead flip to the appendix again. I believe you were there in the ceremonial section. Tell me what you see there."
Jim swallowed hard. "What I see?" She nodded but did not speak, waiting for the silence to cause him to talk.
"What I see is a beautiful woman in different kinds of situations."
