On Wednesday afternoon, Camilla, with blonde hair and blue eyes again, was in her class, 'Literature: Forms and Approaches.' Her teacher, Dr. Martin, a handsome, silver-haired Englishman in his late fifties, both attracted and repelled her--he looked and sounded a lot like Richard Dawkins, the advocate of atheism, a man whose lack of religious faith offended her Catholic sensibilities, but whose erudition, suave English accent, and obvious intelligence excited her. Though she didn't know anything about Dr. Martin's personal beliefs, he reminded her enough about Dawkins, both physically and intellectually, to give her the same jolts of attraction and repulsion; thus she'd been undecided whether to seduce or not to seduce. After a month of attending his lectures, she was now leaning toward the former.
During this Wednesday's lecture, he spoke of psychoanalytic readings of literature, introducing Freud's theories. "According to Freud," Dr. Martin said, "children go through a phase in their relationship with their parents called the 'Oedipus complex'; they have sexual feelings for the parent of the opposite sex, while having feelings of hostility for the parent of the same sex, who is the child's rival for the love of the former parent. Jung provided the term 'Electra complex' for girls' version of this Oedipal conflict, since in Greek myth, Electra deeply loved her father, Agamemnon, and hated her mother, Clytemnestra, for plotting his murder with her lover, Aegisthus."
That's my life he's talking about,
Camilla thought.
Those are my desires he's describing: Dr. Martin's brilliant.
She put her hand under her miniskirt, slipped it in her panties, and started fingering her clitoris.
"With the Electra complex," Dr. Martin continued, "the daughter begins to envy the penis...her
father's
penis. She wants it; this theory, perhaps more than any other, is why Freud has been marginalized in psychology--perhaps more through the opposition of the vast majority of feminists than through that of all the other critics of psychoanalysis. His ideas, however, still have some influence in the humanities, as in the writings of feminist Camille Paglia."
"Right again," Camilla whispered. Now her finger was flickering inside her cunt.
I don't know about most women,
she thought;
but I sure want my daddy's cock; if I had one attached to my body, I wouldn't stop playing with it.
"Dr. Martin, you're so hot." Sitting beside her at the front row of desks was a young man; he couldn't help looking down and watching what she was doing between her legs.
"As the girl grows up, she replaces her desire for her father with a desire for men in general," Martin said.
Or she
supplements
Daddy with men in general,
she thought;
men like
you
.
She stuck her finger in deeper, reaching for her A-spot. Her panties were getting damp from her pussy's moisture.
"And desire for his penis, his 'little one', as Freud called it,..."
You're wrong there, Sigmund,
she thought;
Daddy's got a great big one
. Her hand was jerking faster in her panties. The young man was really hoping her miniskirt would flip up so he could see more.
"...is replaced with a desire for a different 'little one', a baby," the prof said.
Wrong again, Freud,
she thought;
I don't want a baby...well, not yet, anyway.
"Oh!" She blushed to think that anyone might have heard her; the young man beside her only smiled.
Dr. Martin then discussed Freud's views on religion: "Freud saw God as an illusion, based on the infantile need for a powerful father figure."
Oh, no,
she thought;
he's sounding like Dawkins again. Still, Dawkins is hot.
Trying her best to keep her sighs as soft as possible, she was approaching orgasm.
"Freud also said that in religion man yearns for 'a sensation of
eternity
, a feeling as of something limitless, unbounded--as it were,
oceanic
."
"Agreed," she whispered. She tried to disguise her moaning with coughs as she came, as it were, an ocean, in her panties.
"Freud himself, however, never knew that oceanic feeling," Dr. Martin said.
I know it,
she thought. Getting a small plastic bag out of her purse, she pulled off her soaking panties, trying her best not to make a mess on the floor, and put them in the bag.
The young man beside her was getting bold. "Next time," he said, ogling her, "if you need a helping hand, just let me know."
She looked in his eyes intensely, her eyes temporarily turning black. "You don't want to pursue me," she said with a hypnotic hum to her voice.
"I don't want to pursue you," he said in a zombie-like way.
"I'm not the kind of girl you're looking for." She quickly cooled the lust in his pants.