That night in bed with her lover Bex sleeping beside her, Shyla dreamed about her first year at Uni, before they met. She was an avid reader and loved to write. Keeping a daily journal was like eating and sleeping, it became second nature. She felt very confident in her writing skills and enrolled in an upper-level course as a first-year student. It was a comparative literature class focusing on gender issues and specifically feminism. It was taught by Professor Zhou.
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She stood 5 feet, 5 inches tall, with a slim body that gave her that petite feminine look, yet her eyes, black from afar, but brown up close, relayed the tiger inside her. It was this dichotomy that mystified Shyla. How one so small to indicate a submissive nature yet her face so ferocious as to imply beware. And when she spoke, you listened. Every day I couldn't wait till her class started and would never be late. In fact, I was always early hoping to watch Prof Zhou sitting behind her desk grading papers or reading some material. I always paid attention for the full duration of her lectures. And back in my dorm room I would touch myself thinking of her.
She had silky black hair of medium length that she often changed with the seasons. In Winter she preferred to pin it up in a bun while in the Spring she let it fall down just over her shoulders and touching the top of her breasts. Her attire changed as well, but I remember those blouses with Chinese motifs. Not bright, loud colors, but soft, subtle ones that expressed her personality: formal and reserved. I began to wonder who is this Professor Zhou? When our eyes would meet in class, and it was often, I always looked away. She liked selecting me to answer questions in class, also very often. I think she liked my voice. A young woman's voice, feeling herself growing confident and coming to terms with her sexuality. Professor Zhou recognized this.
Soon the reading became very time consuming. And the writing exercises were taxing my skills as a first-year student. After class one day, I stayed and explained the difficulty I was having, feeling that my papers were not up to the standards of the other older students. She smiled and assured me I was doing ok. Then... she touched my wrist, briefly, and asked if I would want to see her personal library. I told her I was free that afternoon and she gave me her address.
Her residence was just off campus property. It was reminiscent of the Tudor period, with brickwork on the ground floor and a high-pitched roof with a quaint chimney and those long rectangular windows and their lovely intersecting diagonal grilles creating that diamond effect. I rang the buzzer. The sound of heels walking across a wooden floor interrupted by silence as if traversing a small rug and then that distinct wooden sound again of a woman smartly walking to her destination. And then... the doorknob turns... the door opens...
"Hello, Shyla," her warm voice greeted me as she opened the door wide.
I stared briefly at her small figure, I stood two inches taller, and smiled back.
"Do come in," as she stood aside to invite me into her modest abode.
I stepped in and commented on her pretty blouse; it was blue brocade fabric to give it that silky look with Asian motif of golden Chrysanthemums and a Mandarin collar with golden trim.
"I'm having some Sherry wine. Would you like some?"
I've never had alcohol of any kind, but I felt safe with her and nodded. As she turned and walked away, I watched her short legs covered in white stockings move quick and precise, almost robotic, and wondered how far up those stockings went under her gray skirt that extended down to her knees.
I followed her into the small dining area with a wooden table stained a deep, rich mahogany color and four matching chairs with nice soft cushioned seats depicting Asian designs and landscapes.
She poured the Sherry as I sat down and accepted the glass. It was white wine, but not the sticky sweet common variety, it was dry and thus had a higher alcohol content, not that I would have known this fact at the time.
Like a toddler falling down while unsuccessfully taking their first steps, my sip was actually a gulp. Trying not to cough and draw attention to myself, I moved my hand through my hair and smiled. She didn't catch my awkwardness and began talking about some of the authors we have read. Judith Butler's "Gender Trouble" was excellent I reminded her. And don't forget Naomi Wolf's "The Beauty Myth" which there is a paper due next Monday, she reminded me.
After my fifth or was it sixth or seventh sip I was already feeling tipsy. In fact, I could feel my kitty getting aroused. I discreetly moved a hand under the table and felt between my legs. Oh, my! Even through my light tan chinos that were rolled up exposing my calves and ankles I could feel a dampness. Of course, I attributed that to wearing no panties and how very tight my pants were. Now every movement was sending electrical charges of pleasure to my brain.
When I had emptied my glass, she offered me more which I gladly accepted, and then she invited me into her library room. I got up trying not to stumble and looked down between my legs. Yes, a visible damp spot, but she kept her house semi dark, so maybe she didn't notice.
Her library room was a small study lined by bookcases from floor to ceiling on two walls and a nice reading desk against another. And there was a very large and comfortable dark leather couch in the middle.
I walked over, trying not to trip, to one of the bookshelves. Amongst the many notable volumes, I spied Simone de Beauvoir's "The Second Sex" and Eve Ensler's "The Vagina Monologues". My body swayed as the alcohol began to affect my balance.
I sensed her presence behind me and prayed that she would touch me. And then her arm softly pressed into my back as her hand rested on my shoulder while her other hand reached around me for a book. It was a collection of poems by Dorothy Parker, the same book she would eventually give me and that I would be reading that Fall day in the university courtyard when Becky introduced herself to me.
"Here, let me read some selections to you," she said as she helped me to the couch.
We sat down next to each other, and she began turning the pages looking for a particular passage. I finished off my second glass of sherry and Prof Zhou took it from my hand and set it on the nearby table. Then I let my body sink into the comfy couch and leaned my head back and closed my eyes as my professor read to me.
It seemed like hours had passed when I woke to her voice.
"You seem to like Dorothy Parker a lot," she whispered into my ear. Her hand was resting on mine that was slowly moving between my legs. I didn't stop.
"Yes..." my voice softly agreeing with her statement.
"You should get more comfortable, maybe remove your pants," she suggested.
I pulled off my canvas boat shoes and slowly stood up in my bare feet and unzipped my tan chinos. She leaned over and helped pull them down revealing my light brown skin. I put a hand on her shoulder as she helped me shrug them off. She didn't look directly at my sex, but rather my chest.
"I love your cotton shirt. So simple, white with narrow dark blue stripes. It gives your upper body definition. I slumped back down next to her on the soft couch.
"Professor Zhou, you are the prettiest woman I ever saw..." my voice fading as my eyes started to close.
"Call me Chan, my dear Shyla."
And I felt her hand now massaging my kitty, my very wet kitty. Within moments she slipped a couple fingers inside me.
"Ooooh... it... it's... what I want..."
"Are you sure? I think I gave you too much to drink," Chan said.
I opened my eyes and looked Chan in the face.
"I'm fine, and yes, I want you. I need this."
"So do I," Chan smiled and kissed me.
Her fingers twisted around and curled inside me. Her other hand pressed against my breast. Her lips released mine as she whispered sweet words to me. And kissed my open mouth again and again, repeating more words of passion. I was floating upward like some dandelion seed drifting on the wind currents. It circled in loops as my body was losing control. Chan felt my muscles contract and kissed me harder, squeezing my breast through my cotton striped shirt.
