Prologue
Today
I can't believe I'm smitten by her. Me, a thirtyish professor of psychology at a prestigious liberal arts college—smitten—of all things, by a young counter girl just out of high school.
"May I help you, Miss?" she asked in an inviting tone. I stood silent and frozen, staring like a cougar. In her early twenties, the young counter girl looked like an angel. Almost old enough to be her mother, I felt stupid.
After the usual pleasantries, I gathered my keys and belongings, heading to my room. Reaching my room, I sighed, waiting for my lover and considering my life over the past year. We took the trip to spend some quality time away from the hustle of academia. I looked forward to sleep, hours of sleep...
and of course, hours of sex.
*******
I've always known I'm gay, but I locked my secrets away at a young age. My parents burned the entire conservative protestant dogma into me like a brand, making it impossible for me to consider any other public option except the pretense of heterosexuality. Good Christian girls weren't gay, and given a choice between heaven or hell, I steadfastly chose heaven.
"Will you marry me?" Damn, I said yes, marrying Bernard twelve years ago in a vain attempt at normalcy.
"What the Fuck!" he yelled. The poor guy, it upset him so when I came out, but at least now we can carry on a reasonable conversation. I'm sure he knew a few screws rattled in my head, and a loony bin waited for me around the next corner. I rarely fucked him, drinking when I did.
Even after masturbating regularly for twelve years, I basked in a public denial, making my mental state a mess. I even tried believing my lies, saying I loved Bernard, but we both knew otherwise. I fooled no one. My body wanted women—my mind couldn't cope with the world knowing a lesbian existed in my body.
No kids resulted from the difficult union. I didn't own the desire for a baby after what happened to produce my only pregnancy. Losing my virginity in a very miserable manner, I feared sex with a male. The hymen breach of that male's penis resulted in a deep wound. I later miscarried the child. The rape left me paralyzed with fear, and I found myself institutionalized for six weeks. Finding Zoloft, and a few years later, vodka, I existed for years in a broken state of equilibrium.
Most refer to me as plain, with long black hair. I'm a bit taller than the average woman and keep my figure fit with daily workouts at the gym with my friend, Rachel. Fortunately, I have no weight problem and consider my legs and bum my best assets. They're pretty sexy for a frumpish professor.
I have a frightening scar running across my left wrist, covered by my watch. The scar resulted from an attempted suicide at eighteen. Yes, it was because of the aforementioned rape and loss of the baby.
My lesbian experiences before the freshmen amounted to fooling around in a few sleepovers at my best friend's house in high school. The nights with Jaime left me uncomfortably happy, and I looked forward to staying with her often. I still think back to those first few nights of exploration with fondness and a twinge of guilt.
One might think I'd accepted my queerness and the entire public identity issue. It would've saved many people much heartache. I later found out Jaime was queer like me. We're still good friends.
I guess you might have a little idea about who I am, one fucked up college professor, screwed on so many levels. This story is going to help me sort it out, but not many will care. I mean, it's not like a great opus or anything. It's certainly not going to make old Hemmingway wake from the dead. Perhaps some secretive lesbian will read it, and it may help her.
*******
Chapter 1
The Seduction Begins
One Year Ago
"Hey Teach," said Laura, as she walked her shapely ass in the room, followed closely by her girlfriend, Stacey.
"Oh gawd," I thought, as a queer little bug chewed my pussy. The freshmen entered my Psych 101 class holding hands, oblivious to the scrutiny of their classmates. Their beauty didn't help the chewing; lovely hair and glowing skin made them desirable. Laura, tall and thick, was absolutely the most breathtaking female on the face of the earth, with a curvy body and long blonde locks ending below her breasts.
The other teen, Stacey, was about my height, and possessed an exotic countenance that suggested an aristocratic lineage. Slender yet muscular, she moved with grace and dignity, bearing smallish breasts no larger than a teacup.
Unable to keep my eyes off the two, I delivered my lectures in a
sotto voce
, which differed from my usual professor speak. I realized my frustration resulted from jealousy. Jealousy because these two kids admitted their lesbianism brazenly. Looking at the two affected me, causing pain and excitement, stirring a long quashed lesbian sex gene. Regretting time lost in the heterosexual world, I questioned my sorry life, considering happiness never found.
As the weeks passed, the girls flirted with me when leaving the room. Starting with innocent looks and giggling, and then progressing to lustful scrutiny. I found myself masturbating in the bathroom each night, fantasizing about the undergraduates. The semester progressed from winter to spring, and I wore out many batteries in my vibrator.
Laura made the first move, having correctly read my strained lectures as a sign of attraction. She did it simply, waiting until all the other students left the class while she lingered.
She glided straight up to me and boldly propositioned, "How 'bout a threesome?"
This removed every bit of air from my lungs, leaving me speechless, a problem for a professor. I fixated on her like a scared kitten, trembling with fear while inhaling her perfumed scent. Finally, I shook my head. She lifted her hand and lightly stroked my cheek with the back of her nails. Tearing into me with piercing blue eyes, she said, "Don't be scared, Teacher." Then she turned and walked away. "The day will come when I eat your pussy," she called back, flipping her blonde mane while walking toward the door and lifting her short blue-jean skirt, exposing a thick naked bum.
"Christ," I whispered, under my breath, an expression she heard, because her hand slapped her ass loudly. My comfortable ivory-towered world crumbled, and I spent a restless week wondering about sex with the girls.
Sex? Carnal love? Neither bothered me, but accepting my lesbianism terrified me. My mind still couldn't accept a public image that didn't include heterosexuality. Lesbianism didn't fit the structure of my religiously bent world.
For some decadent reason, I looked forward to the next class session. I recognize now that the sexual flirtation of the two young women freed my heterosexual burden. The thought of going public with my lesbianism never entered my mind, but I believed it might be possible to take a female lover in secret.
Drinking heavily each evening, I drowned most of my doubt in vodka. The drinks eased the discomfort temporarily, although the angst returned in the morning with a hangover that left me abandoned in a forced psychological reversal. Looking at my puffy face in the mirror one morning, I realized alcohol and thoughts of sex ruled my every waking moment.
The next week the girls continued to tease during class, holding hands and giving each other little pecks on the cheek. As class dismissed, Laura lingered until the other students left. She approached me directly, invading my personal space. Moving in, she placed her hand underneath her short pink dress and rubbed. Her blue eyes burned into me as she stroked something under her dress. She fondled her firm breasts beneath a tight tank top. I tried backing away and bumped into the lectern. She took a single step forward, and then lifted her hand to her mouth and blew me a kiss. Her fingers glistened with juice, and I focused on the digit and decomposed. Excited in a way I never felt, my knees buckled and every cell in my body pulsed. Laura's beauty defied words and realizing she wanted me violated my warped view of self.
"Today?" she asked.
Red and breathless, savoring a level of eroticism never experienced, I paused and considered the offer. Foolishly, I shook my head, while wanting to say yes. She turned and walked away while saying, "I'll get you. I get my gals." Turning to face me at the door, she lifted her skirt, showing a purple dildo haltered around her waist. She put her skirt back down, and said, "Yours for the taking."
I almost passed out as she turned around and left. My cheese not only moved, but melted into sauce fit for a queen.
It took me about ten minutes to recover my composure as passionate thoughts for the girls raced through my mind. I felt no love for the two, just a deep painful lust for pussy. Feeling warmth in my panties, I thought about a place to masturbate. The faculty rest room came to mind, although, as I soon found out, my private office was a smarter choice.
*******
Chapter 2
My Hand is My New Best Friend
Entering the faculty lounge, I turned toward the one person restroom and bumped into my colleague's tits. Rachel looked at me, and asked, "Are you okay? You look flushed." The strong woman was one of my dearest friends in the department and a few short years older than me. I didn't realize the depth of her concern indicated something life changing for my future.
"Feeling a little ill...something I ate," I said, and then gave her a wink. Closing and locking the restroom door, I removed my matronly dress, hanging it on the rack behind the door. Removing my panties and bra, I hung the bra on the rack and searched for a place to put my panties. Not finding any place sufficient, I cast them on the floor. "What am I doing?" I thought while standing in front of the mirror fondling my breasts. The relief of my touch caused a purr to slip from my mouth—the purr graduated a few minutes later to a roar.
My hands trailed from breasts to thighs, lightly tickling my skin. I paused momentarily, closing my eyes and lifting my hands to caress my face. Thinking of the satisfaction of the coed's tongues on my breasts—and Laura's dildo in my pussy, I softly moaned,
"Kiss me Laura. Lick me, fuck me, fuck me."
Sitting on the toilet, I moved my right hand across my body to my pussy; I placed the thumb and index finger on my clit and stimulated the creamy bud. I took my left hand and touched the stiff, black, curly hairs between my legs for a few seconds. Feathering my fingernails from my pussy to my breasts, I squeezed, enjoying sweet pain.
With a small sound, the cooling breeze of the central air wafted through the room, and I smelled the mushroomed scent of my womanhood. Leaning back, I spread my legs, easily sliding the middle finger deep inside my pussy. I stroked for a few seconds, and then lifted the finger to my mouth, savoring my juice and wishing it was Laura's. Tickling my tongue with my finger, I sensed an orgasm with my touch—a touch I knew with expertise.
My velvet spoke in want of the need for my fingers, begging in a silent prayer. My fingers became a savior as they sated a sinner's need. The shock of the fingers entering my pussy sent stinging bites through my body. Stroking with conviction for several minutes, my climax readied for forgiveness.
Stroke, stroke, stroke—kiss me Laura, fuck me!
