Numbers

One Halo, Two Wings, And An 'A'

Thursday, May 16th, 1991, 2:03 p.m.

"Karen Boswell?"

"Here."

"Ricky Burke?"

"Yeah."

"Angela Cadwick?"

"Present and accounted for!"

20-year-old Angela—who preferred but did not demand to be called Angie—liked to announce her attendance in such a fashion. When the semester opened and she did so, pockets of classmates tittered at her. Now as it came to a close, they were pretty much used to it. Whatever reaction or none at all, Angie refused to let them persuade her to be anything but herself. She was whimsical, quirky and sweet-hearted, with a nice dash of goofballishness. And more than a bit, she'd striven to be unique. Quite honestly, conformance and the like bored the tears out of her. This didn't mean she went about being rebellious and breaking rules; she'd always been a good girl. It meant that Angela didn't just march to her own drummer. She

was

her own drummer.

Professor Catherine Reeds finished taking roll—a more or less obligatory task at Denmore University—and got class underway. She'd been teaching college algebra and trig for twenty-five years, and molded one of the most successful math curricula in the United States. Her secret was her ability to analogize course material with real-life situations. This dispelled the widespread declaration that these maths held no practical uses, or that normal individuals would never need them. She hoped these analogies served her students well when it came time for finals in just a few more days. She was also, however, astute enough to perceive that math was a core requirement for most degrees, and for many students nothing more. So she divided her exams in halves. One half were take-home open-book exams, the other were not. The upcoming final would be fifty-fifty.

Over this semester, Prof Reeds taught Angela something other than mathematics without even realizing it. Upon meeting on day one, Angie'd thought,

Gosh, she's really pretty.

Over the four months that followed, her feelings developed beyond those of a simple girl-crush. The young lass realized she had an

actual

crush on her professor. This in turn challenged her to reexamine her feelings for boys and men, which had diminished to mere friendship. And few things had been clearer in her twenty years. It would seem she'd turned out to be a... lesbian? Sources of pop culture had acquainted her with male homosexuality. But the female variety? Not very much. Also less than typical of most girls, Angela'd always liked math and numbers. A lot. And thought she'd like to cultivate a career in the sciences with this power (no pun intended). But this "lesbian" lesson she saw just as valuable.

The epiphany alone determined she'd a tough row to hoe ahead of her. The minority was self-explanatory. She'd hardly met any other gay chicks in film, television or literature, let alone in person. (Not that she'd been specifically looking for them.) She had no clue how to meet another lesbian for a friend, to say nothing of more. It also made her look at other young ladies in a special new way. Their allure was real. And intense. So this was...maybe how it felt for boys when they hit puberty. It seemed her challenge of finding a significant other had grown... significantly steeper.

She'd dated a number of boys, but hadn't steadily been with anyone. And she was perceptive enough to see that a durable education weighed heavier right now. So this was what she focused on. Though in Prof Reeds' class, focus (on what she was "supposed" to be studying) could be tough. Angie turned in a decent performance and got her homework done, but golly, could she get distracted. And were she to be totally honest, she'd have to confess to a more than occasional impure thought about Catherine Reeds. Prof regarded the students as the adults they were, placing herself on a first-name basis with them. And suggested they call her Cat. Angela liked this. She imagined being intimate with her and making her

purr

. As well as the experienced prof making her

own

kitty's engine hum.

Though Angela didn't know her exact age, Professor Cat Reeds was twenty-eight years her senior. And while there was nothing wrong with girls her own age, Angie

liked

older women. She admired their warm touch and disposition, their wisdom, their faces nicely worn with laugh lines and wrinkles, their voices naturally deepened in pitch. In the case of Prof Reeds—again, in complete honesty—Angie now and then put those impure thoughts into action, scratching and jilling off to fantasies of her. Australian band Divinyls had just come out with the international hit "I Touch Myself," opening the '90s with a bright new dawn for the art of masturbation. Angela approved. She was all for sexuality being expressed in creative ways.

Using a few of the logical tactics Cat Reeds had taught them, Angie developed a rationalization. She deemed her arguably depraved behavior okay, with the reasoning that the chances of Cat liking her back were absurdly low. This way, she could finger or vibe herself beyond oblivion and back and keep her libido in check in class. At the same time, she felt anxiety grow as the semester rolled to its end. Once it was over, she didn't know if, when or where she'd see Prof Reeds again. This weekend, the take-home half of the final exam would be handed out, and the last two classes would take place next Monday and Thursday. The following Thursday, Cat would hand out the in-class closed-book half of the final. Angela'd be very sad to not see Professor Reeds anymore—at least without letting her know she liked her. Even if only in a respectful platonic way.

As much as she really did

like

the woman, Angie'd been preparing herself to face reality. The semester'd be over after just a few more hours spent in this room. All this in mind, she could live with the prospect of sharing her feelings and letting this be her farewell. She simply felt she needed this closure. They wouldn't associate anymore—unless perhaps Angie flunked the course, which she definitely didn't plan on doing—and that was fine. She just had to say

something

. So at 2:50-ish, as Cat prepared to dismiss, Angela prepared her approach. Figuratively and literally. She got up, took a breath, and trod forth.

Ahem.

"'Scuse me, Professor Reeds?"

Cat raised her eyes.

"Oh, Miss Cadwick. Yes, always a pleasure. I respect your preference, but you know you can call me Cat."

"Okay...Cat," the girl smiled. "And, me, Angie. Um...oh gosh, that sounded silly. I meant you can please call me Angie. Please."

"Noted, Angie. What can I do for you?"

Oh... golly, well... there's a

number

of things you can

do

for me. But, within the confines of reality...

"Well, erm... I dunno if you're leaving yet. But, I am, and, well...

"...I was wondering if you might mind... maybe walking me out to my car?"

Cat looked thoughtfully aside just a moment, and reached for her purse.

"I s'pose I can arrange that. Something you wished to discuss? Or have you been getting mugged by the squirrels?"

"Oh. Hee hee...no, no, nothing like that. But, um..."

Gosh, your smile's pretty. Gosh, I wanna just kiss your nose. Okay, stop that, Angie. Focus.

"...But yes, I guess there's something I kinda wanted to talk about."

Cat nodded. "Very well." She folded the papers on her desk perfectly in half, sharpened the fold, and slid them in her purse. Over her shoulder it went as she rose. "Shall we then?"

So outside they adjourned. Angela reclaimed her bearings, and guided Professor Cat Reeds to where she'd parked.

"So what's on your mind?"

"Uh, right. Well... Cat..."

Oh goodness, I like calling you that.

"Here's the thing..."

Angie took a breath and opened her mouth, but no more words came out. She considered herself a woman of logic and scientific reasoning, and yet, she realized she could not locate the means to present her findings. Second after second passed as they strode in silence. Cat did not prod, willing to let Angela proceed—or

not

proceed—at her discretion. The student felt embarrassment slip over and shadow her as she tried to untie her tongue. Before she knew it, they'd reached Angie's coupé.

"...This is my car," she gestured with a sheepish giggle. "...Ain't she a cutie?"

*****

Ninety-Six Hours Later: Take Two

Monday, May 20th, 1991, 2:52 p.m.

"Okay, so now

here

's the thing. Or, things. I...I-I guess I was too nervous to...well, wing it, so to speak, on Thursday. So I'm...really glad you walked me out again."

"No problems whatsoever, Angie—mathematical or otherwise. So there are things on your mind? Are you nervous about the final?"

"Actually, no, no, I feel pretty good about that. I'm almost done with the take-home part. And I could kinda see this being maybe a little awkward—for me—if I didn't do so great. But I think I'm gonna be fine with it."

"Well, you'll have no arguments from yours truly. You've turned in a strong performance this semester."

"...Y'know, um...Cat... I've really enjoyed having you as a professor."

"Why thank you, Angie! A pleasure having you in my class as well."

"So...after Thursday, since we won't really be student and prof anymore... well, maybe not officially till after you grade my exam and all... I was just kinda wondering... um... oh, gosh, I'm not totally sure how to ask this..."

"Form the words with your lips and tongue, and affect the tone you wish to convey."

"Heh! Uh, thanks. Okay, here it is...

"May I, eh...take you to dinner sometime? Or to...maybe see a movie?"

"...My goodness, Angie, are you asking me out?"

"Well, uh...kinda, I guess, but-but not necessarily. It could be just a friendly thing. Maybe that's...more appropriate anyway..."

"Mm, I s'pose a case could be made for that viewpoint... Tell you what, Angie. I can tell this was a bit of a challenge for you to ask, and so by the logic, I compute it means a good bit to you. So here's the deal. Like you pointed out, our academic relationship's indeed coming to an end. And to be quite frank, after that... I wouldn't mind spending some recreational time with you..."

Inner gasp! Omigod!! Okay, be cool, be cool. Let her finish.

"But at the same time, I don't want your performance on Thursday to be interfered with or jeopardized. So you go ahead and finish up the take-home half, study sufficiently, and...for right now, why don't we forget about this, just, again, till the exam's over with."

"Okay, cool. So, can I give you my number?"

"If you like. I'm not gonna give you mine just yet. Just to limit the distraction and let you cram. Then after Thursday, we can define the relationship. So, let 'x' represent the nature of our future association, set 'a' to whatever activities we'd share, 'p' for the parameters of said activities..."

"...Aaaaaand then 't' for time spent together? So, like, paren-'n-a'-close-paren times paren-'n-p'-close-paren all over 't', define the 'n's when the time comes, solve for sex? Er, '

x

'

??

"

"Very good, well done! See, you're gonna do wonderfully."

*****

You Don't Have To Guess... When It's Three, You Can See...

Thursday, May 23rd, 1991, 8:24 p.m.

Monday's Angela adjourned home all but literally walking on air. She couldn't

believe

it. She'd asked Professor Cat Reeds to go out and spend some time with her, and against all measurable odds, the woman had accepted. She did not know what she'd done to deserve such a smile bestowed upon her by fate. But whatever it was, she felt she had a right to be proud.

As her semesters came to a close, Angie'd developed something of a formula. A formula regarding her academic career versus her sex life. Though she'd fooled around with a few guys before discovering her orientation, she technically remained a virgin. But teendom unearthed another discovery equally invaluable. Angela now highly enjoyed—nay, adored—masturbation. She tried to pull out (pun intended) an orgasm or two each day, and in her more adventurous moods, upwards of four or five. On days leading up to finals, she stuck to one so the rest of the time could be put to use studying. Giving herself one good release was helpful, as it cleared her mind, relaxed her, and let her cram more effectively. And so this was what she did Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday.

The studying done Monday was extra intensive, as Angie too had biology on this semester's docket, and the bio final was Tuesday. Furthermore, challenging though it was, she made herself think about someone and something other than Professor Reeds. The wise Prof was right. Until the final was over with, it was more prudent to keep the relationship platonic. "Untransferred," as it were. To keep the foxy li'l ol' lady off her libido, and her mind off Cat's kitty. This wasn't easy, but there was no shortage of other attractive women around. Angie had a particularly comely neighbor in her biology class named Gwendolyn. A hot ginger called Piper helped mind the local Cedar Convenience she frequented. And ever since she'd seen Heathers—and then Edward Scissorhands—she'd had a

huge

crush on Winona Ryder. Any of them would make a marvelous centerpiece for her masturbatory excursions. So from Monday through Wednesday, Angie had them take turns lighting stars in her eyes and making her dance with no pants.

Thursday's Angela popped out of bed, showered, made sure she had her take-home exam, and headed to Cat's classroom for the final time. A skosh of giddy excitement accompanied her normal energy. She was sure she'd do fine. It went without saying that she wanted to do

great

, but she could live with fine. She'd give it her best; it was all she could ask of herself.

The exam went more or less as Angie'd expected. A few questions tripped her up, but the strength in her performance was overall intact. And as she sauntered up to Prof Reeds with a finished test, she slipped her a torn-off sliver of looseleaf with her phone number. Cat slipped Angie her own digits, and the student was on her bubbly way.

Angela could lie neither to herself nor to anyone else; she was

pumped

. Not only was the semester closed out—granting her another few months off from school—but the teacher-student dynamic between her and Cat was all but dissolved. Angie also worked part-time at Babbage's in the Juniper Mall, giving extra significance to the freeing up of time. Two collegiate courses plus even a part-time job equaled enough on her proverbial plate. She liked working here because she got to see the newest computer software and video games hit the shelf. The store and entire video gaming community were abuzz with the imminent arrival of Nintendo's 16-bit system. The

Super

NES. This was going to be huge. With the rise in technology, and her intrigue in math, science and cybernetics, Angela was sure her future career lay somewhere in these fields. Just waiting to be plucked like the juicy ripe fruit it was.

Whatever she ended up doing, Angie hoped there'd be some mathematical or numerical work to be mined. She could understand why some of her peers might—and did—think of her as a dweeb or a weirdo, but the fact was, she loved numbers. She thought in numbers, approaching and computing life situations like equations. She enjoyed counting random things, for no reason but the sole sake of it. Then again, she liked a handful of things others may consider odd. Not necessarily negative, just...odd. And truth be told, Angie was okay with being a little odd. So, she suspected, was Cat Reeds. Which brought her back to her state of excitement.

She had to work a few late afternoon hours, and thus wait a bit longer to get home, settle in, and shed her outfit. It was time to jill off, and

this

evening she was going to milk it—pun very much intended—for all it was worth. Splendidly naked once more, Angie climbed into bed, pulled the comforter over, stretched out on her front and burrowed her head in the pillows. As foreplay came easy, and as she had all the time she wanted tonight, she slipped both arms around her body, hugging, squeezing, rubbing. She was in the mood for things to be natural and organic this evening. Into mind she bade images and scenarios of Prof and herself. Pretending around her were the warm, soft arms and paws of Cat Reeds, sifting and massaging each other's hair, tasting those delicious-looking lips... or, more sinisterly innovative, being a delinquent pupil in Prof Reeds' class, coming in without having done her homework. Resulting in a chastisement the likes of Cat harshly spanking her bare ass with a ruler. Or more preferably, her palm.

God

, that turned her on. Disciplinary fantasies. Angie

loved

them. Perhaps this wasn't the most unique thing about her, but oh well.

Gradually, her puffy nipples hardened against her forearms. She moaned tranquilly, stretching and arching her back, making sumptuous love to the mattress. Soon enough, her pussy went damp, and when the moment was right, she half-unhanded herself to tend to it. Fingertips given a lick, down slid the dominant hand, to her wet, young womanhood. The tinglingly pleasurable sensations rushed. Keeping her focus on Cat Reeds was self-explanatory and key. It also bore repeating, as she'd been telling herself since Monday, not to let her hopes float too high. Not to be disappointed or crestfallen if her fantasies didn't come true. She could handle that. She was a big girl, and it wasn't as if she'd never experienced the throes of heartbreak. Cat Reeds hardly struck her as the type to break hearts anyway. And she herself certainly wasn't.

With a name like mine, I couldn't be anything but lovely

, she jokingly thought.

Chicks named Angela're...well, angels! Everyone knows that!

She opened by gently stroking and fingering herself, over and around the labia. The other hand found purpose cupping, groping, grasping her tits. As she guessed with many girls, here came the wish that she had a third hand. But then, if she were to wish for a third, she might as well go for a fourth or fifth, to do a lot

more

to herself at once. Oh well, two sufficed. They'd always gotten her by, and continued to serve thus far.

Imaginary music and numbers swelled around her as she swirled into a vortex of passion. This was sneaky, roguish, and a teeny bit depraved, but felt

so

good and right. She let her pussy tell her when it wanted visitors by smoothing and pressing against her moist pink muffin, waiting to feel the autolube. And judging by the squishy sounds and the feel alone, this wouldn't take long.

It was time, now time indeed, to invite Cat in and have her occupy the longing recesses of Angie's mind. Eyes sublimely closed, mouth widening into a big giddy grin, she imagined the doorknob being turned from the other side.

Inside slipped Professor Catherine Reeds, softly shutting the door behind just as Angie wanted her to. She alternated pinching and nubbing her nipples and began feeling the sticky wet suction of "Little" Angie devour... for lack of a more subtle term, her pussy paw. And as she began jilling off inside and out, she felt a tingly rush devour her entire

body

. A rush that brought with it a sizzle of pleasure, as in her fantasy, Cat sauntered up, behind and over her, and pulled the comforter off.

"Miss

Cad

wick!" Angie had her exclaim, feeling that addressing her professionally in this context was hotter. Her real-life form jilled harder and more vigorously under the blanket that remained, while her exposed fantasy self curled up in a frightened, guilty naked ball. She gasped, throwing a scared look up at the prof.