Girl Genius Teacher In A Dress

Email: Thomas Matthews

RE: Chair of the Science & Technology Department

Effectively immediately, I'm appointing Alison to be the next Chair, even though some faculty members are strongly against it.

There are three reasons Ms. Alison Bailey is a controversial pick. 1) She's only 29 years old, which would make her the youngest Chair in the history of this prestigious institution. 2) She comes from a wealthy family with ties to this university, so it looks like a nepotism hire. 3) People think she's odd.

Here's my rebuttal; Ms. Bailey is a literal genius. Full stop. She is a genius. The woman is a prodigy and her record reflects that.

Perhaps more importantly, we've accepted the all-female Afghanistan science team to join our student body. It's a last minute decision, based on political circumstances, and we think the national coverage is a great PR move to boost enrollment.

With the promotion of Ms. Bailey as the new Chair, she will A) serve as a spokeswoman to the media when necessary and B) use her personal relationship with the Afghan students to help them adjust.

Ms. Bailey, as a professor, had previously worked with the all-girls Afghan college students on a national science competition last year.

Let me know what you think. I may need your support if faculty members voice opposition to my choice of appointing a 29 year old to the job. I'll admit it's a crazy decision, but I have positive feelings about this.

Be well,

Tom

Perspective: Ms. Conway

The breakfast is prepared in a meticulous manner. It's placed on the dining table; granola cereal, milk, with chocolate chips on top. Beside it is a cup of water along with natural supplements. She likes everything arranged in geometric patterns. It looks prettier and piques her intellect.

I go upstairs where Alison left her bedroom door open. It's always a treat to summon her for breakfast. Her bedroom is like a rustic library. There are a variety of colors, mostly dark, somewhat gothic, and the wall is lined with crime novels and literature.

On the table there's a small, toy-sized robot that she's working on. Every time I come to her room, there are new additions to this robot. She makes these as a hobby; sometimes she gives them away, sometimes she shows them to her students.

Alison knows I'm here but she's watching tv while sitting on her bed. She's a thin girl with snow white skin. Her face is innocent. Her long black hair is wavy and the only makeup she ever wears is mascara. She's fresh from a shower and is wearing a thin gown.

"Your food is ready, Ms. Bailey."

She keeps watching the market news. Aside from her teaching job, she trades stocks and gives her father advice on when to buy/sell. It's a side gig that nets them a lot of money, more than they already have.

"This sucks," she says of the news reports.

Alison stands while watching the markets. With little effort, she pulls the gown overhead. When her arms lift, I can see her ribs and pale skin. Her small breasts look flat when her arms go up. Her nipples are so pink they almost glow. Her pubic hairs, for whatever reason, are trimmed at the exact same length, all year round. Half an inch.

I open a drawer (yes, a drawer) for the stacks of dresses that I wash, iron, and fold for her. The thing about Alison is that she always wears a dress, usually a sundress. It's her favorite. She's more than capable of dressing herself, but she loves being spoiled.

Sweet, spoiled girl.

Today she's going to campus for meetings, so I select a white dress with black flower patterns on it. A matching white bra and panties underneath. If she's at home, she'll be without the undergarments.

She watches tv and lifts one foot at a time while I put her panties on. I clasp her bra. Then I put the sundress on her body.

Alison looks at herself in the mirror. Every angle of her dress must be right. Every strand of her wavy black hair must be symmetrical to the other side. She does a twirl and smiles at her reflection, then smiles at me to show approval.

While she eats in the dining area watching a different tv, I arrange her supplies for the short work-day, including her laptop and purse. She'll be meeting with faculty and the Afghan women's science team that was recently granted admissions.

Alison loves these girls. She first met them a year ago when they traveled to America for a global science competition. They connected instantly and remained email buddies ever since. In the last month, Alison donated $50,000 of her own money to help them adjust to life in this country. That number is expected to grow.

When she's ready, I give her the car keys and she takes her things. She puts on black sunglasses and drives to work in a sports car.

***

Alison is reading a book by the balcony of her bedroom. She's reading Sara Gran's

Claire Dewitt

series. She's on a lounge chair and her feet and calves are under the sun, while her face is under the shade. She believes this will help avoid future wrinkles.

If she wants, she can finish this novel within a day. Tomorrow I can test her on the contents of the book and she'll know all the answers. When she was younger, that was a game we used to play. I stopped playing because defeating her is futile.

She reads with a quiet intensity as I clean her bedroom.

"Do you know how to cook lamb?" she randomly asks.

I give her my full attention. "Sure, what are you in the mood for? Whole roast or lamb chops?"

"Well, it's for the Afghan students. They mentioned they like eating lamb. But I was thinking they might want to try some American food, like burgers or pizza. It could be a cultural exchange."

"Are you inviting them for lunch? Or are you bringing food to campus?"

"I might invite them here," she says. "None of them have ever gone swimming before. It makes sense, but that's shocking to me."

"Are they going to swim here?"

"Possibly, if they want. I'm interested in seeing their reactions to being in a pool for the first time. That would be a great experience and a lot of fun."

"I can express order a variety of hijab swimwear."

"Cool, cool," she says. "Something modest, of course. And in different sizes. That should be fun."

"Are you finally going to wear a bikini again?"

She gives a sly smile. "I guess I'll have to, for the sake of being a good host."

I finish cleaning her room, then afterward I order the hijab swimwear. When it comes to gifts, Alison insists on the best of everything, so I order the expensive items and it costs almost a thousand dollars.

Later I help Alison get dressed before she heads to campus. Alison and the Dean are giving press interviews regarding the Afghan students. For this task, she wears a blue sundress. Always a sundress.

Before she leaves, Alison walks by the pool and looks at the water. Maybe she's visualizing how the party will happen. She dips a toe into the water and twirls her foot. Then she gets into her sports car and leaves.

***

Alison has a complicated history with the pool and sunbathing. When she officially became a professor four years ago, she -- in her words -- didn't want to 'look like a vampire' so she felt the need to work on her tan.

She laid by the pool for exactly 20 minutes on each side, for a week. Sometimes with a book, sometimes closing her eyes to meditate, sometimes with music.

During that period she stayed home all the time. The only time she saw friends and family was when they came over to visit. She'd wear thin gowns around the house. That's her style.

When it was time for the new semester to begin, she was horrified when she wore her trademark sundress. None of her dresses could hide the bikini tan lines around her neck area.

I told her it looked pretty, but she thought it looked tacky. To someone like Alison, everything has to be perfect and geometric. You should see her bedroom. Every book is lined. The placement of lamps, photographs, electrics, her laptop, are always in parallel or 90 degree angles. That's why her clothes are folded and placed in a drawer, as opposed to hanging in a closet. The sight of hanging clothes bothers her.

To remedy the situation, she pulled her long black hair over her shoulders to cover the tan lines. She was fuming because her hair looked messed up.

"Damn it," she hissed, as if placing a curse on everybody. "I'm so clumsy. Oh well."

Alison is cute when she's mad. Her nose crinkles. I sat her down in front of the dresser and brushed her hair, while she had pouty lips. I told her the tan lines were beautiful. She replied that the angles didn't match any of her dresses.

Since then, she only went swimming on cloudy days.

***

We host a small party in our backyard. Every member of the Afghan group is present. Their ages range from 19 to 24. I've heard about them and seen their pictures, but it's my first time meeting them. They are beyond lovely.

Some members of the faculty show up, from the Science & Technology Department, and from other departments as well. They want to meet with these girls. A few students also join.

I know that Alison's relationship with some faculty is fraught. But they put that aside to support a greater cause. I think Alison is earning their respect. As emotionally distant as she can be, she has a big heart and she knows how to make right decisions. She has wisdom to accompany her book smarts.

The Afghan students laugh and howl when Alison brings out the hijab swimwear. Their eyes show interest but they're understandably too modest. Maybe next time, Alison says in a discreet voice, when there are fewer people around. I realize it's a mistake to invite this many people, because now the girls don't want to swim.

Instead they compromise. Alison leads the girls to take off their shoes so they can walk barefoot in the shallow end of the pool. They go knee-deep. The girls howl. A few faculty and students also join. Afterward they sit on the edge of the pool to chat.

While everyone mingles, I grill cheeseburgers made with fresh halal meat. It's my first time purchasing halal and I've already prepared a variety of condiments.

I overhear the Afghan girls talk about last year's science competition and the robotics they built and what they could have done differently. Alison reveals her intellect and gives pointers on engineering. The girls listen and learn, as Alison explains details with just her memory.

The hours pass and people are worn out. It's always a joy to watch Alison mingle with a small crowd because she's like a machine. She goes to each person and has different conversations with ease. She remembers them, what their interests are, and delves into that. She's a human algorithm. A walking youtube.

Older faculty members leave first. The ones skeptical of Alison being the Chair have been won over. Other students and acquaintances leave after.

The girls accept my offer to stay for dinner; roasted lamb and vegetables. In the late afternoon hour, they need a nap, and I show them guest rooms upstairs where they can share beds to nap.

Meanwhile, the oldest of the pack, an adventurous girl named Ferhana decided to try the swimwear since no one else is around. I wonder if Alison is attracted to Ferhana's mocha skin or green eyes that shine like emeralds.

I help the other Afghan girls get comfortable while Alison and Ferhana are in a changing room together outside by the pool. It's wholesome watching these exhausted girls drift into a nap upon contact with the bed, but my mind wanders to the changing room.

When my work is done, I go to the hallway window. I see Alison and Ferhana together. Alison is wearing a standard white bikini. Ferhana is wearing hijab swimwear that covers her figure. Both of them are having so much fun. But it's the look in Ferhana's eyes that gets me. There's so much light and life.

They dip their toes in the pool and step in. By this hour, the water is cooler, so it's more of a struggle. Alison's specialty is teaching advanced mathematics, but as it turns out, she's also a great swim teacher as well.

It appears flirtatious to me, with Alison being her calm and cool self, while Ferhana's energy remains constant. They splash water at each other. They laugh and giggle. Ferhana takes her first full-body dip in the pool, and when she comes up, it's like a revelation. She enjoys it.

They hold hands and go deeper into the water. Ferhana tries to tread and laughs as she struggles. Alison does her best to help. This lasts for about five minutes when Ferhana gives up and decides to lean against the pool with a smile on her face.

Alison knows how to flirt and I see that happening. Ferhana is flirtatious in return, which surprises me. Both of them are in their 20's and there's a small age gap between them. Despite their different lifestyles and upbringing, hormones are hormones. Women are women.

Both of their faces turn serious. The conversation has shifted.

Then I see Alison pull the left side of her bikini, exposing a pink nipple. This surprises me, but Ferhana is more surprised. Had they been discussing this? It would explain why their faces are straight.

Alison holds her bikini open so Ferhana can gaze in admiration at the pink button nipple. I'm certain it's the first time Ferhana has seen a pink nipple on a white woman in person. Ferhana speaks and I wish I could hear what they're saying.

When the nipple is tucked away, I notice a quiver on Ferhana's lower lip. Alison smiles, as if proud of this interaction, as if giving someone a priceless gift. They talk more.

Then they kiss on the lips. A gentle peck at first. Then an actual kiss, the kind you'd see in a movie when the main character gets the love interest. The kiss ends and they keep talking.

Maybe I'll ask Alison later what they've talked about. Maybe not. Some conversations are better left private. But then again, some secrets are meant to be shared.

***

Before my bedtime, I receive a text message from Alison, summoning me. The text is a kiss emoji with the word

'now'

after it. She enjoys being cryptic and having me solve puzzles. She plays brain-games with the people closest to her. Her way of showing affection.

When I enter Alison's bedroom, only the lamp light beside her bed is on, the rest of the room is dark. She wears a thin gown. Her blanket is pushed to the side. Alison sleeps on a king-sized bed and there's enough space that she spreads her arms and legs. She looks like a snow angel.

She's staring at the ceiling in a way that suggests deep thought. Alison is often in deep thought at this hour.

"Tonight I'm in a good mood," she says upon reflection. "My muscles are tired from swimming and I'll be sore tomorrow. I did a lot of talking, lots of conversations. Overall, it was an incredible day. Lots of connections were made, and others were strengthened. Yes, a great day, indeed."

I stand beside her feet. "Now you want the final touch."

Alison lifts the hem of her gown while laying there, still staring at the ceiling. Her pubic hairs are showing and her legs are spread. The lamp only gives light to her upper body, but down below, I can't see the pinkness of her vagina. I can smell it though. Her aroma is distinct.

I rub her feet and toes. Then I get on the bed, between her legs. The aroma between her legs is more prominent as I get closer. From the smell of things, I know she won't last long. The heat is strong tonight.

My lips kiss her warm thighs. Both sides, up and down. I kiss her crotch and mound. Her pubic hairs tickle my nose, but I don't flinch. Sometimes I wonder if she keeps her pubic hairs just to tease me.

When I kiss her labia she moans.

"I noticed you watching today," she says.

Right away, I know what she is referring to.

I kiss her labia again. "You and Ferhana seem close. Was there any past history? Or was it a spur of the moment occurrence?"

Alison knows what she wants and is never shy about getting it. She wants to talk, but she also wants my mouth on her vagina, so she reaches down and nudges my mouth towards her. She does this by putting her index finger on my chin. It's one of her common ways of asking.

I use my mouth on her vagina.

"Oh, it was mutual," Alison says in a state of reflection. "When we first met last year, she was very nice to me. Of course, I thought those green eyes were marvelous. I wish you could see them up close. They're precious."

My tongue goes up and down.

She continues, "Our relationship was formal because I'm a professor. I was a technical advisor to their group project. I also showed them around in America and taught them about local customs. I noticed that Ferhana liked being around me. She always sat next to me at restaurants. She took a keen interest in whatever I had to say."

My tongue circles the clitoris and Alison moans.

She continues, "In all honesty, the feeling was mutual. I enjoyed listening to stories about her life and family. She has a beautiful speaking voice and her accent is enchanted. Listening to her talk, that voice, looking into her eyes -- it was harmony. Out of everyone in the group, I found myself talking to Ferhana the most."

My tongue goes inside, making Alison's legs squirm.

"When she went back to Afghanistan, we agreed to remain in touch. I didn't think we would, but it happened. She sent me pictures of her family and home, I did the same. She sent me pictures of her classes in Kabul, and I sent pictures of my lecture hall. When I sent her selfies in my bedroom, she did the same."

My tongue swirls inside. Alison pauses and moans.

"Can I tell you a secret?" she asks.

"Mmm Hmmm."

"I cannot begin to imagine what it's like being a young Muslim woman in that part of the world. I did my best to respect her boundaries, even though I knew what was happening between us. One night, I was laying in bed, using my phone, and I got a picture from her. Ferhana was naked in front of a mirror, wearing nothing but the hijab on her head. I couldn't believe it."

She continues, "I wanted her so bad. I must have spent a few minutes just staring at the picture. I even zoomed in on her brown nipples, her curves, her pubic hairs. I studied her image and it's in my memory forever. I took off my clothes and stood in front of the mirror. Right then and there, I was going to take my first naked selfie and send it to her. I even thought about dirtier pics, like inside my pussy, or even masturbating. Anything to get her off.

"Before I could snap a picture, I got a message from her. Ferhana was apologetic. She was mortified. She begged me to forgive her. She said she felt so much shame and that she didn't know why she did it. I sat naked on my bed and we messaged back-and-forth and I tried telling her that she did nothing wrong. I wanted to cry because I felt so bad for her. That's human sexuality for you. Sex and religion are a complicated sibling duo."

I pull my tongue out. "That explains why you showed Ferhana your nipple."

My tongue goes back to work and she enjoys it.

"Yes. Make me cum, please. I'm begging you."

As she requests, I work her clitoris, labia, and g-spot with my fingers. Making her cum is easy. Her pleasure spots are easy to find and she gives me a flood.

She falls asleep after an orgasm. Just like always. I look at Alison in her dazed state of being, eyes closed, breathing light. I use a tissue on the bedside table to dry the wetness between her legs. I pull her gown to cover her vagina. Then I tuck her into the blanket.

"Good night, Ms. Bailey."

When I turn off the lamp light, I leave the room and close the door. All I can think about is her story. Before I sleep, I wonder what the future holds.

Perspective: Alison Bailey

Ferhana's eyes glow green for me. We're alone in my pool and I've never seen her so happy. This private meeting is her idea, presumably because she wants to see a nipple again -- at the very least.