"Would you like to kiss me, Doctor K?"
The question came out of the blue, and nearly unmanned him. The asker, Danielle, was by far the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen -- and he'd seen a lot in his time. Her Mom was full-blooded first generation Chinese, her father plain mongrel American White Boy. Danielle had turned eighteen a few weeks ago, at sea.
The present interesting situation was all Mom's fault, too. At the 4th of July picnic, he'd been introduced to Mom as "the oceanographer", and instantly she had called Danielle over to introduce them to one another -- Danielle, it seems, was thoroughly enamored of the ocean after the family's recent two-year round-the-world sailing junket, and was hoping to catch up academically (and skip her first two years of college ashore) by taking a high-intensity college-level special curriculum focused on the oceans. She and Mom and Doctor K had spent over an hour together, tête-à-tête, obliviato to the rest of the gathering swirling about them, discussing things both educational and oceanographic.
Not only was she drop-dead gorgeous -- all five feet, 93 pounds of her, the most exquisite golden-pink-brown coloring, perfect oval face with stunning lips and eyes, a tight bun of what was obviously very long, jet-black hair held up with a classic sterling-and-pearl hairpin. Insanely touch-demanding skin texture, not a trace of makeup, dressed in plain white blouse, short pleated skirt that nicely exposed the most perfectly shaped calves - taut-skinned, tight-muscled, and supremely smooth. Devastating.
Brains squared, too. Not only all of that beauty, but she was also the only person (much less teenager) he'd ever encountered who, in her first paragraph of their conversation, properly and casually used the words "indictment", "cohort", and "substantive".
During the evening, she and a swarm of grade-schoolers had played with bioluminescent "cold fireworks" -- she'd been enthralled, he had given her a short, private lecture on the chemistry, then taken a necklace, fired it up, and snapped it around her neck. Up that close, well within one another's personal spaces, she was absolutely breathtaking. He let his fingertips linger just a moment on the skin of her collarbones, and she'd given him the oddest little smile, yielding a strong impression that she was considering flirting with him but deciding not to do so. She laughed, thanked him, and trotted out to watch the real fireworks. She sat at the end of the row of spectators, in a cheap lawn chair, an awkward device that held her bottom down and knees high. Doctor K's attention was mightily distracted by the prolonged glimpses of under and inner thigh he caught as he moved about, always standing, setting off the big fireworks.
That evening's discussions had resulted in a dinner invitation (tomorrow) from the family, especially Mom -- "Come see the boat!" - which he'd accepted. The family had moved out of the boat already and back into their uplands house, but they all thought he'd like to see the vehicle, because he had sailed extensively himself.
At that dinner, the conversation centered on the circumnavigation, and on Danielle's still-developing educational plans. Doctor K volunteered to help her decide about the plan -- which would be a huge work-load for her, but sounded like enormous fun and a great opportunity. He would tutor her for a few hours a week -- for a month - in things oceanographic, especially his own research specialty. That way she could see if the interest persisted under the strain of heavy study.
Next day he arranged for her an unrestricted library card at the university, and a private carrel for studying, seventh floor at the rear, a very quiet place especially in the summertime. They planned to meet there every morning to review the previous day's materials and what she'd done overnight, then talk about the ocean and how it worked. She'd been very well home-schooled by enthusiastic, well-educated taskmasters -- her literacy seemed to extend to every topic -- math, history, some chemistry, even politics and psychology. Doctor K found it amusing, and a bit exciting, to have to be so much on his mental toes with such a young person.
On Day One, getting started, she had arrived in the plainest of clothes -- long chinos and a very demure blouse. But things had gone very nicely, and on Day Two (again, in the library) she made a special effort to look good for him -- since he had complimented her on the pleated skirt at the picnic, she wore a similar one, but quite obviously shorter. Intentionally so. She had clearly decided that some flirting was on the menu. He complimented her again, then let her lead the way up the narrow, steep stairs between library floors, his eyes locked on the backs of her knees and calves.
During the morning, amidst some calculations, the subject of their ages and other astrological topics came up -- Danielle, who was conversant with minor Chinese numerology and curious about astrology, was enormously taken by two oddball numerical coincidences. If one added the digits of her age (18), or of his age (63), you got the same number, namely nine. And they also shared the same birthday.
"We Chinese..." she said, "... well, our whole society is number-crazy. Has been for thousands of years. And it's completely illogical, really. But I'm sure that the older generations would say these numbers must be an omen of some sort. Undoubtedly a good omen, too. At least, I'm sure of that myself." When she had asked and been told his age, she looked shocked and protested it was impossible, demanded to see his driver's license, then asked how he stayed so young-looking. Her folks, she said, thought he was in his late or perhaps even middle forties. When he invoked genes ("I chose my grandparents pretty carefully!") and running, she challenged him to a noon-time run next day, saying that she was a regular jogger.
On Day Three, she wore another pleated skirt -- her last -- a sleeveless boat-neck blouse, and no bra. Not that she had the least need of "support". Scandalizing Mom would be a bad idea, so she slid out of the house almost surreptitiously, being sure that Mom wasn't going to be encountered enroute.
He noticed the clothing, of course, just as she hoped he would. She was enjoying his reactions immensely -- especially the fact that he wasn't doing anything beyond letting her see how much he appreciated just looking at her. No comments, suggestions or little touchings, nothing the least bit forward or offensive -- she was almost disappointed at how safe she felt!
At noon, they changed to running togs in the big bathrooms in the library basement. Outside, she found at once that he could more than keep pace with her -- she was, in fact, a jogger, while he was an experienced long-distance runner. Her legs, and the tight high-frequency jiggling of her tiny late-blooming Asian Itty-Bitty Titties almost put him on his face a couple of times -- which she did not fail to notice and enjoy. When they returned, thoroughly sweaty, they toweled off in the baths and returned to the library carrel.
Sitting across from one another, knees almost touching under the little desk, she was concentrating on a graph problem he had set up for her, and he was studying the texture of her skin. She glanced up and caught his eye, studied his expression, and slowly put down her pencil. She raised her head, holding his gaze steadily.
