It was on Monday morning, nine days after that incredible Saturday night (which was already starting to seem like some crazy porn fantasy that had happened to someone else, not me), that someone shuffled hesitantly into my office.
It was Dontae.
A little shudder ran through me when I saw him. The
reality
of what I'd done with him and his teammates suddenly flooded back to me, and I remembered every cock that had poked and prodded me--one, two, or three at a time--during those three or four hours. What did he want? A "private show" all to himself? Was he going to blackmail me into servicing him? He didn't seem the type, but who knew?
"Hello, Dontae," I said.
"Hi, ma'am," he said.
After an awkward little silence, I said, "What can I do for you?"
That may not have been the best choice of words, but they'd come out before I had a chance to think of their implications.
He looked down at his hands, then raised his head up to me, a rather pathetic look of longing on his face. "Oh, ma'am," he cried, "I miss you!"
I closed my eyes. Then, sitting down at my desk and gesturing to him that he should sit in the hard wooden chair next to the desk, I said, "Dontae, I understand what you're going through. They say a woman never forgets her first, um, encounter, but maybe men don't either. It's all very natural--but you know very well we can't do it again. We certainly can't have any sort of real relationship."
"I know," he said glumly, looking at his hands again. "You're Julius's girl."
I bridled at that. "I'm not his 'girl' or anyone else's."
He gazed over at me as if I'd denied that the earth was round. "But--but he's living in your house, isn't he?"
"Yes--but only till he graduates. That'll be in a few months."
"But he--and you--"
"Yes, of course we are."
Of course he's in my bed every night.
"But I'm not sure how long that's going to last either. My understanding is that he'll get drafted by some NFL team and then go off somewhere, maybe to the other side of the country." I knew enough about football to be aware of the upcoming NFL Draft, where the thirty-odd professional teams offer hot-shot college players oodles of money to bang heads with one another.
"He thinks the world of you," Dontae insisted. "He wouldn't do anything to hurt you."
"I know that, and I think a lot of him too. He--he's certainly a refreshing man to have in my life. But I just don't see--" I shook my head, as if to get the cobwebs out. "Look, Dontae, we're not here to talk about Julius and me. We need to figure out what to do about you. You really should find a girl of your own age. There are plenty of nice, pretty girls on campus here, and lots of them will fall all over you because you're an athlete--and you have a lot more to offer them than that."
It's hard to tell when a Black man is blushing, but Dontae clearly was. "Thank you, ma'am. But I don't know how to talk to girls."
"It's not that hard, Dontae. Just be interested in their lives and their feelings and things like that. Maybe you've spent most of your life around guys, but women aren't strange creatures from outer space. They're people, just like you."
He shook his head, as if despairing of ever having the skill or the sophistication to woo a female.
A thought suddenly shot into my head.
"Listen, Dontae," I said, "there's a girl I know--her name is Tricia--and I think you'd really go for her, and she for you. She's white, but that doesn't matter, does it?"
"No, ma'am. Not to me."
"And not to her, either. I'll add that she's had a certain amount of experience with men, but I don't think she's with anyone right now."
"How do you know her?"
"She's taken a couple of classes with me. We've almost become friends, even though she's still an undergraduate. A junior, I think."
"Way smarter than me," he said, as if that was another excuse for not making a move on her.
"I don't know about that. Anyway, even if she is, you have a lot of other things to your credit. She's pretty and lively and just the faintest bit sarcastic, but she has a good heart. I'm sure she'll go for you."
Dontae was massively skeptical, but said nothing.
"Look," I persisted, "here's her phone number. Give her a call. Meanwhile I'll call her and tell her to expect to hear from you. Just go out with her once or twice--if you don't hit it off, well, no harm done. You'll have gotten some experience. There are plenty of other fish in the sea."
I practically had to force him to take the scrap of paper on which I'd scribbled Tricia's cellphone number. He shoved it into his pocket, and I wondered if he'd discard it the moment he left my office.
I thought he'd just get up and leave, but he remained seated--and gave me that yearning look again.
"Something else the matter?" I said, although I was beginning to sense his difficulty.
"I'm . . . sort of uncomfortable, ma'am," he said.
I was confused for a moment--then looked down at his groin, and I understood.
"Yes," I said slowly, "I see that you are." Quietly and sharply I went on: "Just close the door."
The office was very small, and it took him little effort to extend an arm and shut the door. I knelt down in front of him and began unbuttoning his fly. It was pretty hard to pull the zipper down on those tight jeans, but I managed; and then I fished out his fairly sizable cock from out of his underwear. It was certainly big--and uncomfortable-looking.
With a sigh of weariness (
the things I do to please my men!
